writtenbyhollywood

Latest Posts by writtenbyhollywood

omg this is by far my favorite acc! Could u do a part 2 of take one,forever? Set in the future when they’re married. Reader left the show in the early seasons but came back again towards the end.

But shes now married to Jensen. And they really act like those fun married couples. Maybe they even bring they’re kids on set sometimes ?

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ take one, forever²,

summary. you were once the star of the tvshow supernatural, alongside jared and jensen. eventually, you quit the show but you'll come to find out that a decade later, no much has changed.

pairing. jensen ackles x actress!reader genre. extra fluff!!

wordcount. 681

notes / warnings. oh, to be jensen's wife 🤭 thank you for the request sweets!

ᯓ★ read part 1

Years later, the forest's still freezing.

You’d think they’d have figured out how to warm up a damn set by now, but no—Vancouver’s still doing its icy, pine-scented thing. Only difference?

Now you’ve got his jacket and his ring.

“Careful,” Jensen calls from across the clearing, “you’re about to bust your ass on that moss.”

You shoot him a glare over your shoulder. “If I go down, I’m taking you with me.”

He laughs—deep, warm, easy. That laugh you’ve known for over a decade now. “Promises, promises.”

You flip him off, and he winks back like the absolute menace he is.

They talked you into coming back for the final season—“full circle,” they’d said. “Nostalgia,” they said. Really, it was just Jensen, smirking over his coffee one morning and going:

“C’mon, babe. Just one more run. For old time’s sake. Plus, the kids’ll love seeing Mom on screen again. We can make it a family adventure.”

And like always—like always—you’d caved.

So now you’re here. On the same damn show you started all those years ago. Same woods. Same demons. Only now, there’s a wedding band on your finger and a pair of tiny boots sitting by the craft services table, covered in mud and jelly donut glaze.

“Mom!” comes a squeaky voice from behind you.

Speak of the devil.

You turn just in time to see your youngest barreling toward you, arms outstretched like a missile of pure, joyful chaos.

“Hey,” you laugh, bending to catch her. “What happened to staying with Daddy?”

“She wanted gummy bears,” Jensen answers, jogging over with your son balanced on his hip and a juice pouch between his teeth. “And apparently, that was more important than, you know, listening to instructions.”

“She’s got your stubborn streak,” you tease.

Jensen huffs, shifting the weight of your son, who’s now trying to unzip his coat with sticky fingers. “She’s got your everything, babe. I’m just along for the ride.”

You brush a kiss to her forehead, holding her close while she babbles about a giant fake demon head she saw near the props truck.

Jensen watches you the whole time—fond, smug, like he still can’t believe this is real. Like he’s still falling for you even with a diaper bag slung over one shoulder and applesauce on his hoodie.

“Y’know,” he says casually, “you in flannel again is doing things to me.”

You arch a brow. “Jensen.”

“What? I’m just saying. It’s nostalgic. Sentimental. Romantic.”

“It’s sticky,” you deadpan, pointing to a spot on your sleeve where your daughter’s wiped her face. “And covered in god-knows-what.”

“Still hot.”

You laugh, trying to swat him, but he leans in and steals a kiss anyway—quick and warm, just enough to make your heart flutter. Ten years in, and the man still kisses you like it’s the first time.

“Okay, people!” the AD shouts. “Places for rehearsal!”

“Duty calls,” you sigh, passing your daughter off to Jensen and smoothing your hair as best you can.

“You got this,” he says, squeezing your hand before he steps back. “Go remind them who the real badass of this show is.”

You flash him a grin, cheeks flushed, heart full. “Try not to get upstaged by a toddler while I’m gone.”

“She already owns me. It’s over.”

As you walk toward set, flannel flapping behind you, you hear Jensen whisper something to the kids. Then a tiny voice calls out:

“Go, Mom! Kick the monster’s butt!”

You look back—and there they are. Your whole world, waving at you with gummy-sticky fingers and juice-stained smiles.

God, how did this all happen?

How did freezing woods and flirty banter become marriage and two wild kids and a love story still unfolding?

You don’t know.

But as you step back in front of the camera, same forest, same show, same smirk from across the set—you know one thing for sure:

You’d do it all over again.

Even the Wendigo.

Maybe.

If there’s coffee.

And if Jensen promises to keep looking at you like that—like you’re still the best damn thing that’s ever happened to him.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

A Goodnight Kiss

Jake Hill Conley x Lisbon!reader

Fluff!

Warnings:none

Literature class was always quiet.

Jake always sat two rows behind her. Always. He’d watch her narrow shoulders, the way her fingers nervously flipped through pages, the pen between her lips when she was deep in thought. She barely spoke to anyone, always heading off to be with her sisters during breaks. She didn’t really have any friends.

Whenever Jake saw her, she had a book in her hands—reading like she was starving for it, like the real world didn’t matter.

That Tuesday, the teacher handed out a sheet of paper with a bold title across the top: Assignment – Psychological and Social Analysis of “Carrie.”

“Pairs. Find your partner and turn it in by next Tuesday. That’s it, you’re dismissed,” he said, and the room exploded like someone had lit a match in gasoline—whispers, chairs scraping, people rushing out the door.

Jake watched her get up from her desk calmly, her expression as quiet and distant as always.

She didn’t have friends. No one really dared to talk to a Lisbon—people were always whispering about them, saying Cecilia’s name like it was some kind of cursed spell. But Jake didn’t believe in curses.

So, he left the classroom and searched through the crowd for her locker. When he found her, she was standing in front of it, sliding a couple of books inside. She took a deep breath, like the weight of the day was pressing down on her back.

He walked up slowly and tapped her shoulder lightly with the tip of his finger.

“Y/n, right?” he asked, and she turned to look at him, slowly, like she wasn’t even sure who she was.

She nodded.

“Wanna partner up? I mean—for the Lit project,” he said, stumbling over his words, his voice catching awkwardly in his throat.

A flicker of surprise crossed her face. For a second, Jake wanted to say: “I’m not like the other guys—I don’t care what your room looks like”, but he stayed quiet.

“Sure,” she said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips—and it warmed something inside his chest he hadn’t realized was cold.

“Well… you could come over to my place to work on it. I can talk to my mom,” she said in a shy, quiet voice, and Jake had to lean in to hear her over the noise of the hallway.

“Oh—yeah! Yeah, that’d be great. Is tomorrow afternoon okay? Or whenever you’re free,” he said quickly, trying not to sound too eager. She gave a soft laugh, and he smiled too, noticing how her cheeks scrunched a little when she laughed.

“Tomorrow afternoon works. Jake, right?”

He nodded, still smiling.

She nodded back, her gentle eyes meeting his for a moment.

Then the school bell rang—sharp, loud—snapping them both out of the calm bubble they’d somehow slipped into.

“See you tomorrow, then,” she said, closing her locker with a soft click before disappearing into the hallway crowd.

Jake stood there for a few seconds, staring down the hall like he’d just woken up from a really good dream.

The Lisbon house was quiet.

The other sisters had gone out to help Mrs. Lisbon with a church bazaar. Mr. Lisbon stayed in the living room, watching a football game with the volume turned low. And, by some divine miracle, Jake was alone with Y/n Lisbon.

They were in the bedroom the sisters shared. The atmosphere in the room was both melancholic and delicately feminine.

If the boys at school knew he was there, they would definitely crowd around him the next day, asking stupid questions about what he’d seen inside—what the Lisbon girls’ room was like, what kind of dust mites lived in their pillows.

But Jake wouldn’t be able to answer any of that.

Because the only thing he could see was her.

Y/n Lisbon, sitting cross-legged on a faded floral bedspread, her hair loose in a graceful mess of strands, flipping through the pages of Carrie like she was searching for something very specific.

“Well… we can start the social analysis now,” she said softly, eyes on the marked page and the notebooks spread out before her.

Jake blinked, snapping out of his thoughts.

“Right, yeah,” he replied too quickly, shifting awkwardly and trying to look more focused than he actually was.

She glanced at him for a moment. A tiny smile—barely there, without showing her teeth—touched her lips and faded just as naturally as it had come. Then she turned her attention back to the book, flipping a few more pages with delicate fingers.

“Have you ever read Sylvia Plath?” she asked, gently, still not looking up from the paper.

Jake took half a second to respond, more absorbed in how the light from the window traced her profile like a charcoal sketch.

“Just The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath. It was required reading at another school… but I liked it,” he admitted, a little embarrassed.

Y/n nodded slightly, like she approved.

“That’s a start.”

Jake found himself smiling for no reason. Everything about her seemed so absurdly calm and, at the same time, so full of something he couldn’t quite name. Maybe it was sadness. Maybe strength. Maybe both.

He watched her silently, eyes tracing the line of her nose, the curve of her lashes, the way her brow furrowed just a little when she was concentrating.

She was like some ancient sculpture—one you ache to touch but know you can’t. She had the beauty of something sacred, though not unreachable.

He felt like he could really love her, if she let him.

“What is it?” she asked suddenly, still not looking directly at him.

Jake blinked, caught in the act.

“Nothing… it’s just… you seem to really like books.”

She gave another half-smile and murmured,

“I do… I like the feeling of being a little outside of reality,” she said, straightening her posture and letting out a small sigh.

Jake nodded, and they returned to the assignment.

Even though, for Jake, it was impossible to focus on writing—

—not with her soft voice reading lines from the book like a lullaby.

Jake walked down the stairs of the house.

Outside, the crickets had begun to sing, and the sky had turned a deepening shade of blue as the first stars timidly began to shimmer. The Lisbon house was glowing from within, its lamps casting a warm, golden light that softened every corner.

The sisters had returned from the church bazaar with Mrs. Lisbon and were now helping prepare dinner — light footsteps, hushed voices, and the scent of something baking in the oven filled the air.

She was walking ahead of him, guiding him to the front door. With each step, Jake watched how the lamplight spilled across her hair, making each strand glint like gold.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?” she asked softly, eyes on her own feet, her arms gently crossed behind her back, as if trying to hide the nervous energy in them.

“Don’t worry… I promised my mom I’d be back in time for dinner,” Jake replied, now standing too close, feeling the air between them grow thick and quiet.

He opened the front door slowly, letting the cool night breeze brush across his face.

Before stepping out, he turned to her one last time. He smiled without showing teeth and ran his hands down the front of his jeans, trying to calm himself.

“Well… I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he said, trying to sound casual, even though his heart was pounding from the way her eyes looked at him.

She gave a soft laugh, and the sound stayed lodged in his chest.

Y/n glanced over her shoulder, checking that no one was around. Then she turned back to him — slowly — and stepped a little closer.

Their breaths met in the chilly air of the open door. Without saying anything, she leaned in and placed a feather-light kiss — just off to the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night,” she whispered, pulling back slowly, her eyes shining beneath the warm light of the house.

Jake stood frozen, eyes slightly wide, lips parted. But then he collected himself, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“G…good night. See you tomorrow,” he said quietly, just loud enough for her to hear.

She smiled back — a smile that showed the most beautiful teeth he had ever seen — and gently closed the door, leaving behind only her light scent and a racing heart beating on the other side.

I’m gonna pack my things (and leave you behind)

summary: You’re five years old when Darth Vader kills your mom. Or — so you think — your parents.

pairing: han solo x skywalker!reader (eventually), platonic skywalker family x reader

word count: 4.3k

warnings: so many feelings, reader's anakin and padme's daighter, also she's a itty bitty haunted by the force, anakin and padme die but it’s not really explored much (yet), mentions of childbirth, nightmares, mentions of anakin’s demise on mustafar, one swear word i think

author's note: I know y'all want an update on the heir and the wolf and that the star wars fandom is as dead as pope francis but PLEASE HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE 🙏🙏🙏 this is for the 2 people that said they would read it lmao

divider from @saradika

You’re four years old when your mum comes back to your apartment on Coruscant with the happy news. 

She nears your room, where you're trying to screw back together a toy lightsaber that you somehow managed to dissect — tongue sticking out of your mouth, a concentrated pout prominent on your face. You’re really your father’s daughter, she ponders sometimes, thinking back to that blonde boy on the sand planet that managed to build a whole robot with scraps. The nurse droid, RO-N4, is dutifully watching your work, assuring that you don’t hurt yourself in the process and hinting at the pieces that should go back together; she raises her head when she sees that Padmé has returned. 

You jump up when you notice her, running to give her a big hug, almost making her lose her balance; but she’s used to it, and wastes no time in hoisting you on her hip. The robot stands up, ready to gently reprimand you, but your mother gingerly shoos her away with a smile. “Why don’t you go out with Threepio on a walk? I’ll stay here with her. We have something to discuss.” she winks at you, “Some serious girl talk to do, am I right?”

You giggle — that childish, innocent laugh that makes hours of relentless debates in the Senate worth going through — rubbing your cheek against hers. “Yeah! I have shoooo many things to tell you, mama!” 

The robots follow the senator’s suggestion, stumbling their way out of the door, and you soon go back to the area dedicated to your toys to show her your hard work. “Look, mama!” you’re basically jumping up and down in joy, holding up the pieces of the once toy lightsaber. “This is the cyber crystal–”

“Kyber crystal, sweetie.” 

“Ky-ber crystal. And then this is the one part of the handle with the switch–”

You could go on and ramble for hours, she thinks. She’d happily listen to all and any of your thoughts and wonders and never get tired from it. Soon enough, Padmé’s lying down on the soft sponge puzzle pieces of the playmat that serve to prevent any possible injury from falling over. We’ll need to change those soon, she thinks absentmindedly, she’s already grown out of the always-falling-over phase. 

She isn’t sure of how much time passes; at some point your ramblings slow and you scoot closer to her, sniggling in her lap. “Mama,” you mumble, yawning. “‘m so happy that you’re here. I missed you a lot today.”

Her heart breaks. A hand carding through your locks, she smiles sadly, “I know, sweetie, I’m sorry that mama has to work so much. But I promise it’s just so that once you grow up you will be able to live in a peaceful Galaxy, without ever worrying about learning how to fight like your papa.”

You perk up. “But I wanna be like papa when I grow up.”

She shakes her head, feigning her best scandalized expression. “How dare you? What am I, chopped liver?” she takes you in her arms and blows raspberries in your cheeks, making you squeal and thrash around. “Nooo! Don’t, mama, it’s ticklish!” 

“What about being a senator, mh?” she offers, not unkindly. “We can fight too, you know.” She puts on her best imitation of Palpatine and presses a matter of utmost importance, “Senator Skywalker, what do you think we should have for dinner as of today?” 

Your chuckle makes your little chest rumble against her belly. Your surname is not Skywalker — it is Amidala, often Naberrie when on Naboo, but never have your parents referred to you as that; they mostly leave it out when asked, avoiding the question but never stating either the truth or the cover-up. There’s still hope to change the Order, Anakin always says, that one day she can wear my surname without it causing a scandal. And Padmé believes him: and she believes that when the time comes, you’ll be rightly known as Senator Skywalker. 

Suddenly, you go quiet. “I want papa,” you whisper it like it’s forbidden — it kind of is, but you shouldn’t know that. Padmé’s heart breaks a little again. Anakin was sent out on a mission two weeks ago and hasn’t even been able to keep in touch ever since, making you miss him terribly. 

She laughs as softly as she can — she doesn’t want to hurt your feelings. “No can do, sweetie. Papa isn’t due to be home in at least another three days, but I’m sure that once he’s here he’ll be elated to spend some time with you. Besides, you can’t eat papa for dinner.” she rests her cheek on her hand, patting the free space next to her. “Until he comes back, it’s just you and me. What would you like to do tomorrow? I have no Senate meetings.” 

You scoot closer, lying down on the spot she just patted, curling against her chest, “Can we see Ahsoka, then?” 

She chuckles a little quieter now. Her and Anakin still don't know how to explain to you that she left the Order a while ago and has no intention on returning to Coruscant any time soon. “Ahsoka’s away like papa, honey. But I’m sure that once she comes back, she’ll be just as happy as he will to spend time with you.” 

She smooths your hair back, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, pressing her hand up and down your back. She wonders how good of a sister you’ll be; and even if she knows you’ll be wonderful with the new baby, she still can’t bring herself to say it out loud. “How about I make some shaak meat and then get you prepared for a good bubble bath?”

You look up at her, pouting, “But I’m big now! Do I really have to bathe?” 

Padmé bursts out laughing. “You’ll have to clean yourself your whole life, sweetheart, to hopefully not smell like a bantha.”

You huff, glaring at her. “Papa barely even showers.”

“Papa stinks. He was raised on a planet with barely any water and still considers showers optional. Do you ever hear me tell him how I love his perfume? No, that’s because he doesn’t use any. You hear me sending him to sleep on the couch because he smells terribly, though.” 

You end up eating your dinner — vegetables included — without a fuss and going to take your bath like a champ. Somewhere along that timespan both the nurse droid and C-3PO came back home to be of help in cleaning the kitchen as Padmé prepares you for bed, lying down next to you and reading to you one of the stories in the hologram that Anakin bought on one of his last missions. 

MId-story, she notices you get eerily silent. She carefully turns her head, trying to understand if you’re already sleeping, only to find you more awake than her, eyes open wide. “Is… is everything alright, sweetie?” she asks, a bit bewildered– just a moment ago, you looked like you were about to fall asleep, and now you look like you’re ready to fight everything that could be thrown at you. 

“Mama,” you whisper it like it’s a secret, “I just remembered. How are they?”

She blinks, confused. “Who?”

“The twins,” you say, “Luke and Leia.” you pat her belly as if to state the obvious. 

She looks at you, horrified — she found out she was pregnant today, and no droid or doctor mentioned twins. “I– sweetheart, what?”

You lean your head, confused. “I saw them yesterday in a dream. They asked me about you.” 

Her heart almost stops. She laughs nervously, looking at you with wide eyes, expecting you to say something about the weird and absolutely not real dream that you had, but instead you just stare at her, completely serious. “What… what do you mean?” 

You frown. “If you don’t know, then I can’t help you. Nighty night.” you tuck yourself under the covers and curl above her chest once again, sighing happily. 

Padmé’s heart feels heavy. It’s happening again– you murmur something about having had a dream, say something even more alarming, then completely ignore what you just said and act like nothing happened. It’s getting worrying — Padmé managed to get you out of the Jedi program last year just because of her status as senator, but she is sure that this year, she won’t be as lucky. The quantity of midi-chlorians in your blood can’t be hid, unfortunately, and in probably less than a year she will be forced to give you up to the Temple. 

Anakin’s sure you will make a great Jedi, but your mother’s worried — and how can she not be? Her husband’s more away than he is at home, and with the war going on, it’s already a miracle he manages to visit Coruscant. The fact that you seem to possess your father’s horrifying ability to dream about possible futures doesn’t ease her worries. 

“I’m just worried about her–” 

“But why? She’s young, she’ll be trained–”

“She will, but I don’t want her to be haunted by the thoughts of possible futures and whatnot.”

It’s late. You’ve already gone to bed, shushed by Anakin’s stories and anecdotes from his latest mission, and even if this should be a carefree and happy moment because her husband has managed to come back home unscathed again– your mother just can’t get something out of her head. 

Anakin huffs and puts his hands on his waist, looking at Padmé like she’s crazy — there it is, where you got your attitude from. “I can always call one of the Temple guards and tell them that there’s a Force-sensitive kid here. They can train her until I can take her as Padawan; it’ll take, what? Six, seven years? Hopefully I’ll be done with the war by that time and will be able to focus on her as my padawan.” 

His wife crosses her arms, glaring at him, “I don’t want her as your padawan,” she grits out, “I want her safe, here, where we can have a decent relationship and she won’t be stripped away from my arms.”

He leans his head and raises an eyebrow. “Sweetheart, I can’t make her dreams go away. I don’t even know how to make my nightmares go. But at the Temple, they can teach her how to control them, how to use them for her own good– for the Order’s and the Republic’s own good–”

“You say that just because you wouldn’t have any problems in seeing her,” she sniffs, “you’ll be a welcome, familiar presence in the Temple — but it is known that they don’t let anyone outside of the Jedi enter.” 

His shoulders drop, and he starts shaking his head. “Padmé…”

“Don’t. Don’t tell me that we have to give her up to the Temple, because I don’t want to and I won’t–”

“But we’ll have to, Padmé, they’ll teach her everything she’ll ever need and–” 

She bursts out crying. It might be the pregnancy, or the fact that she still hasn’t told him about it and it’s eating her alive, but she’s much more emotional than usual. “I don’t want them to take her away from me!” 

Anakin’s eyes soften, his posture breaks, “Oh, dear,” he mutters, pulling her in his arms and letting her cry out in his chest. “It’ll be alright,” he murmurs, lips pressed to her head, “we’ll find a solution for everything.” He still doesn’t know when or how, but he’ll try with everything he has to solve this situation to the best of his ability.

He had honestly thought Padmé was exaggerating when she said that you were having visions, probably thinking it was just baby babbling or something, but he is proven wrong that same night, when he is abruptly woken up by the sound of the door of their bedroom opening. 

“Papa?” you call out from the doorstep, voice sleepy. 

He manages to get himself out of bed — when he’s home, night duty is always on him, as Padmé already deals with it enough while he’s away — and, yawning, he walks off to you and kneels down to your level, sending a glance to your bantha plushie safely tucked under your elbow. “What is it, sweetheart?” 

Blank stare on your part, you look at him like a war veteran would. “You were being burned, papa.” 

He blinks and counts to five before accepting that it’s way too late in the night — or early in the morning, he has no idea — to deal with this type of shit. “Okay, listen– how about we go catch some fresh air outside, hm?” 

You let him pick you up without any protests, curling up in his arms as you whimper quietly. He drags his feet along the pavement of the apartment, sliding open the door to the terrace that overlooks the whole city; it’s like it never sleeps, always someone going around and about with their speeders, lights often left on in the apartments below. The night air sends a chill down his spine and he instinctively holds you tighter in hopes to shield you from the cold. 

“Mum told me about these dreams you’ve been having,” he starts slowly. 

You hum, pressing closer to him, the plushie squashed between you two. Your eyes look tired, almost older than you actually are, and his heart squeezes at the sight. “Papa, do you know Darth Vader?”

His heart skips a beat. He knows no Vader, surely not a Sith named like that, but the fact that you dreamed about it almost makes his knees buckle. He mentally promises himself to make some digging in the archives and reports for any Vaders that might be hiding out there. “I don’t, sweetheart. Do you?” 

Your brows furrow, your little hand patting the skin above his heart. “I don’t think I do.” 

He presses his lips into a thin line. “Well, what does he do in your dreams?”

Your frown deepens. “I never see him. But Obi-Wan’s afraid of him– or, or angry at him, I’m not sure. Maybe both.” 

His frown mirrors yours. You’ve never met Obi-Wan aside from a time or two when he was assigned as bodyguard to your mother, but that was years ago; you shouldn’t be able to remember him. “How do you know who Obi-Wan is, sweetheart?” 

You stare at him like he’s stupid. “Isn’t he a friend?”

“I mean, I guess he is, but you’ve never actually met him, have you?”

“Then I think I will.” you cuddle back on his shoulder like nothing happened. 

Yeah, we gotta send this one to the Temple, he bitterly thinks. The thought of your mother alone in this apartment after years of having you around makes him sad, but there’s no one else apart from the masters there that could help you — he would try to, if the war wasn’t stripping him of all of his free time. 

Anakin has no time to properly train you. As of now, he could manage to give you chopped notions and barely any principles; in the Temple, all the Jedi solely focus on the younglings’ training, a luxury he can’t afford right now. 

She’s still so young, Padmé’s voice rings in his head, I don’t want her to forget about me. 

Six years old might be already too old for a youngling, Anakin ponders, but five years old would be perfect. They still accept kids that age. 

Another birthday for Padmé, he decides, another birthday and then off to the Temple she goes. 

Except, he doesn’t know there’s no time for another birthday. Not for Padmé, anyways. Nor for him, too, some could argue. 

“Papa,” you mumble, “could you sing me that lullaby?”

He chuckles affectionately. “Aren’t you getting a little too old for that?” He teases, with no actual intent in ever stopping to sing Ghost Star to you. You could be forty and him on his deathbed and, if you asked, he’d still sing it for you. “Ghost star, wonder where you are; Ghost star, are you very far? All night long, I will sing your song, if you watch over me…”

You do end up properly meeting Obi-Wan. That is, unfortunately, after — for what you know — both your parents die. 

The air in the spacecraft is eerily still, as even C-3PO is stunned to silence. The tears on your cheeks have long since dried, and you keep fidgeting with a small, faintly glowing cube in your hands  — the only thing you managed to take with you when your mother loaded you into the spaceship directed to Mustafar. She’s — was, was, was — able to open it, but you still have no idea how to do it; your father promised he would have taught you to, but… well. He now never will. 

The cries from the med bay stopped a while ago. And while you’re still so young, you know that the silence means nothing good. You might not be a master of the Force, or know enough about it to understand fully what it means, but you’ve felt it — your mother’s presence slipping away in favor of two smaller ones. 

Finally, after a time that seems never-ending, Obi-Wan emerges from the door connecting the hallway with the infirmary, his expression full of sorrow. He looks surprised by your calmness, almost as if he had expected you to have gone crazy by now. “Hi,” he breathes lowly, tired and remorseful. How do you tell a kid her mother’s dead when just a few hours ago you had to break the same type of news about her father? 

After he understands that you’re not going to reply, he gets closer and kneels in front of you, taking note of the cube you’re holding in your hands — a holocron. Does she know how to open it, yet? “Hey, kid,” he tries as softly as he can, “I…”

“Mama’s gone, isn’t she?” You interrupt him. Obi-Wan almost stumbles; the look in your eyes is scaringly similar to the one Anakin had sometimes, strangely old for your age. “I felt her slipping away like papa did.” 

His lips are pressed into a thin line as he puts a hand on your shoulder. “I’m really sorry,” he says it even though he knows it won’t change anything. “We tried everything, but even the medical droid had no idea what to do.”

“Oh,” C-3PO mumbles as R2-D2 beeps sadly. “This– this is horrendous news.” 

You nod absentmindedly, like you’d seen it coming. “Are Luke and Leia okay?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Who?”

“The twins. Are they okay?”

As even Padmé looked surprised by the fact she was having twins, he wonders how in the world you knew and gave them names. Your mother left no names behind, and he had thought about just naming them after your parents, but if you already had names picked out… then it’s not his place to name your siblings, is it?

“They are.” C-3PO sighs in relief as R2-D2 lets out a happier beep. “Would you like to see them?” 

You nod timidly, almost stumbling as you stand up from the chair you sat in and taking Obi-Wan’s hand when he offers it to you. You’re still gripping on the holocron like a lifeline, its dim glow faltering every now and then. “Do you know what that is?” He asks, pointing at it as the door to the infirmary opens. 

You glance at it, unsure. “Dunno. Mama always played the hologram inside when I missed papa, but I tried opening it and it didn’t work.”

If Padmé managed to open it, then Anakin must’ve programmed the holocron so that the Force frequency needed to open it was small enough that she could play it; even if you were a prodigy like your father, though, it would be impossible for you to open it without directions or a minimal training. 

The nurse-droid your mother brought with her is feeding some milk to one of the twins when you enter — Obi-Wan guesses she might have had it with her the whole time, because he doesn’t remember this ship having such a thing as baby formula in its stocks. 

RO-N4 places the infant back in the cot with the other twin as soon as they burp, and since you’re still too short to properly look at them Obi-Wan has to take you in his arms for you to have a good peek. 

“This is Leia,” he murmurs softly, pointing at the baby with small tufts of brown hair. “She was born first.” He then points to the smaller, uglier and balder twin, “And this is Luke; he was born right after.”

You coo, pushing your index finger against Luke’s cheek. “They’re so ugly,” you state, not exactly with the intent of insulting them– just saying what’s in your mind. 

Obi-Wan chuckles fondly. “Well, I’m sure you were at least as ugly as them when you were this little. Pretty much everyone is.”

You turn to him, holocron still in hand, hesitantly nudging it to him. “Mister Obi,” you say, calling him with the nickname that later on will stick to him for pretty much your entire time spent with him, “do you know how to play this?”

He nods, taking the holocron in his hand and changing his hold on you so that he can use his other hand while still keeping you upright, “This is a holocron. It’s used by Force users to store information and files, and it opens if infused with the Force. Let’s see…” 

He concentrates on the cube, focusing a small amount of Force within it, then delicately twists the corners as it starts to glow steadier. Just as he expected — the smallest amount of Force that even Padmé could’ve been able to conjure up. The holocron starts to float, projecting a hologram in the dim-lit room. 

It starts with Anakin, clearly just knighted as a proper Jedi: he’s still a bit scrawny, his hair’s yet to grow after the braid and the small ponytail for padawans had been cut. He looks a bit embarrassed to be in front of the camera as a small baby’s cries echo in the recording. “Do I really have to do this?” He mutters. 

A laugh comes from the side, and the baby’s cries get louder — maybe closer to the camera. “Of course you do!” It’s Padmé’s voice, amused but clearly tired, stabbing directly into Obi-Wan's heart. That poor, poor girl… “It’s the only way she’ll stop crying, and since you’re mostly off-world, she’s mostly crying. This will solve a lot of my problems — even the droids are starting to go mad.” 

A pair of arms and a swoosh of a dress appear to the side, and suddenly a crying infant is trusted into Anakin’s hands. It’s you, his master realises, crying as if the world’s about to end, face all red and pudgy, definitely a bit less ugly than your siblings. Your father’s eyes soften in a way that makes Obi-Wan’s heart ultimately crumble. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, cooing and humming as he presses kisses all over your cheeks. He winces as your face contorts even more, “Now, c’mon, don’t look at me like that,”

“Please, Master, just sing the song!” It’s C-3PO’s voice in the distance, full of despair and anguish. “Another sob and the metal holding me together might just turn to rust!” R2-D2’s beeping seems to be of the same idea as him. 

Anakin huffs, glaring down at you with no real hostility. “You’re one hell of a spoiled baby, you know that?” 

Your cries continue nonetheless. He glares at the camera. “Padmé, I love you, but if anyone else ever sees this, I’m divorcing you,” 

“You would never,” your mother’s knowing voice is a mere rumble in the distance as Anakin settles to hold you tight to his chest, pressing a kiss to your forehead before starting to sing. 

“Ghost star, wonder where you are; Ghost star, are you very far? All night long, I will sing your song, if you watch over me. Ghost star, hiding in the night, all your friends are all so bright… when the sky is clear, I can sense you near, looking down on me. Ghost star, silent in the sky, now I start to wonder why. Show me your light; I've waited all night. Ghost star, won't you sing with me?” 

He sings the lullaby multiple times until you’re completely knocked out, dismissing Padmé when she offers to take you back to your room, preferring to keep you close for another while. His stare as he looks at you is so tender that Obi-Wan can’t believe he just had to leave him to die.

Soon enough the recording restarts, the same banter and song again, but he lets it play. Every word is a guilt trip, every laugh a stab in his chest, and the image of Anakin with a baby happily sleeping against his chest might just be the end of him. 

By the time he finally shuts the holocron off both you and the twins are passed out; he tries to convince himself that the hole in his chest isn’t gnawing away at the last bit standing of his sanity. He looks at you, carding a hand through your hair, of the same tenderness as your father but with the same curl of your mother's, and decides here and there to never tell you about what really happened on Mustafar. Not that he really had the intention to do, as of now, but… you don’t deserve to know about Vader. Obi-Wan won’t let you live with the knowledge that your father killed both himself and your mother, no. 

And so, the lie about Darth Vader killing both Senator Amidala and her loyal guard, Anakin Skywalker, who lost his life fighting for hers, is born. 

⋆˙⟡ fbi, open up!

summary. the fbi shows up at your door. these agents are a little... unconventional.

pairing. sam + dean winchester x civil!reader genre. idek. just weird

wordcount. 736

notes / warnings. trauma and early seasons typical dean winchester flirting. beware.

You don’t even get the door halfway open before a badge flashes in your face.

“FBI,” the taller one says, all business. He’s got that too-handsome-to-trust kind of face—sharp jaw, kind eyes, hair that’s one shake away from a shampoo commercial.

The other one’s already sizing you up, less polite about it. His badge lowers slower. “Agent Bonham,” he adds, smirking. “This is my partner, Agent Allman.”

You blink. “Like... the Allman Brothers?”

Agent Bonham—clearly the cockier one—winks. “Big fans.”

You lean on the doorframe, still in your pajamas, coffee half-made in the kitchen, murder still raw in your mind. “Right. The FBI’s really sending classic rock stans door to door now?”

Agent Allman—Sam, according to the badge he flashed—gives his partner a look. You file it away as interesting, not incriminating. Yet.

“We just need to ask a few questions,” Sam says, voice calm, like he’s afraid you might bolt. He’s not wrong.

You step aside. “If it gets you out of the hallway before Mrs. Crenshaw across the hall calls the HOA about ‘suspicious men,’ go for it.”

They walk in. Dean—aka Agent Bonham, which you're almost 100% sure is under a fake name—starts nosing around like he owns the place. Sam stays close to the door, watching you like he’s already piecing you together.

“I already talked to the cops,” you say, flopping onto the couch. “Said everything I knew.”

“Humor us,” Sam replies. And the way he says it... it doesn’t sound like protocol. It sounds like concern. Or curiosity. Or both.

You sigh, running your fingers through your hair. “Fine. My boss—Greg—was a nightmare. Walked around like he was untouchable. Screamed at interns, made everyone miserable. So yeah, not exactly mourning him.”

Dean raises a brow. “So you don’t miss him.”

“About as much as I miss dial-up internet.”

He snorts. Sam’s lips twitch but don’t crack a smile.

“But,” you add, voice dropping as the memory crawls its way back to the front of your mind, “what I saw... it wasn’t right.”

Dean straightens a little. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” you say slowly, as if saying it out loud makes it sound crazier, “I saw something pull him out of his office. Something tall. Human-shaped. But the sounds it made—”

You pause, trying to find the words that don’t make you sound insane. “They weren’t normal.”

Sam leans in, eyes soft. “What kind of sounds?”

“Like... clicking. Bones snapping. Wet breathing. Like a person with a broken rib cage trying to growl.” You shiver. “It didn’t talk. Not exactly. But it wasn’t quiet either.”

The agents exchange a look. Quick. Subtle. But definitely something.

You catch it. Your stomach knots. “You’ve heard that before?”

Dean’s mouth opens, then closes again. Sam gives you a careful shrug. “We’ve heard a lot of things.”

“Okay, well, I’m not saying it was some... demon monster whatever, alright? I’m just saying... it was weird. And I’m still trying to convince myself it had a really bad cold and I was in shock. That’s all.”

Dean gives a low whistle. “That’s some shock.”

“You weren’t there,” you shoot back.

There’s a silence. Not awkward. Just loaded.

Then Dean, ever the charmer, drops onto the arm of the couch. “So, you got a boyfriend who can vouch for you that night? Alibis are stronger when they come from someone who doesn’t sleep in your succulent shelf.”

You raise a brow. “That’s your opener? Really?”

Sam coughs. You glance at him, and he looks away—but not fast enough to hide the smirk threatening his lips.

You point between them. “Do all FBI agents flirt with witnesses?”

“Only the hot ones,” Dean says, deadpan.

Sam mutters, “Unbelievable.”

You laugh—finally. The sound feels foreign in your throat, like it doesn’t quite belong yet. But it’s there.

Dean winks. “Hey, if you remember anything else, call us. Day or night. Especially night.”

You snort. “That sounded less FBI, more Tinder.”

But when Sam hands you the card, his fingers brush yours. Just a little. Just enough.

He doesn’t say much, but the look he gives you? It sticks.

And you? You’re still not convinced the thing you saw was real. Still clinging to logic. But something about them feels just as strange.

You watch them go, heart racing a little faster than you’d like.

You want to believe it’s just adrenaline.

But part of you—small, scared, stubborn—knows better.

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Unexpected Surprise

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Summary: The reader surprises her husband during one of their conventions for the final season of Supernatural.

Warnings: None

MASTERLIST

----

From where I stood backstage I could hear the crowd of Supernatural fans burst into laughter over the story Jensen was telling them about that involved our four year old son tumbling off his bike down the little hill at the park near our house. I didn’t have to pull the curtain to see his reactions as there was a monitor back here and judging by the grin on his face I could tell what was coming next.

“So now Miles is at the bottom of the hill quiet as a lamb and I kid you not, this was Y/N’s reaction. OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD, MILES!” Jensen was now out of his seat mimicking the way I chased after Miles that day which only sent the crowd into another fit of laughter.

“Oh hell no, can I have a mic?”

The thing is neither Jensen nor Jared knew that I hopped on a flight to come to their con in Vancouver so me stepping on stage is bound to take them both by surprise. The assistant handed me a microphone and I climbed the steps to the stage. The crowd cheered even more when I came into their line of sight.

“Meanwhile this was Jensen, HE’S GOT HIS HELMET ON HE’S FINE!” I tried to drop my voice to mimic him and he immediately turned to look at me with such disbelief written on his face.

“Y/N!” Jared pushed Jensen out of the way on his way over to me; the tall beast picked me up with his arms wrapped around me in a bone crushing hug, if nobody that knew a thing about us they’d swear that the moose was my husband with his enthusiasm.

“I haven’t seen my beautiful wife in two weeks and you pushed me out of the way to get to her first. Put her down now!” Jared turned to look at him and from the monitor on this side of the stage I could see Jared sticking his tongue out at his friend refusing to put me down just yet.

“I haven’t seen her in three weeks so shh.” Since my arms were squished to my sides I couldn’t do anything more than stick my face into the crook of his neck which had the fans cooing at the sight.

“I missed you too Jared, now put me down, the air is thin up here.” Finally giving in, Jared placed my feet back onto the ground and steadied me only for my husband to do the same thing but this time I wrapped my legs around his waist and my hands immediately found their place in his grown out hair.

“Hi handsome.”

“Hi beautiful lady, this is a nice surprise.” Jensen took a couple steps back to where his stool is and the way that he did it so effortlessly too had the crowd whistling suggestively. Once I was seated Jensen brought his mic up to his mouth.

“Get your minds out of the gutter.” Although he used his dad voice, his face was saying the complete opposite, happy with the fact that his fans now had a memory that they’re never going to forget.

“Where’s my kid?”

“He’s napping in one of the rooms backstage, where are my manners? Hi everyone, how are we doing tonight?” The fans cheered once more and I took that as a good sign. Jensen nudged my legs open so that he could stand between them with his back to me and just as if we were home, I didn’t hesitate to rake my fingers up his back and through his hair. By the look on Jensen’s face, the fans could tell how much he had missed my touch and if we’re being honest, I missed having him around too.

“Look at him, he’s like a puppy.” Jared shouldn’t be the one to talk when he himself is a sucker for head scratches.

“Says the actual puppy.”

“You know Jay I’ve gotta say, you do look extra handsome today. Dark colours really look good on you.” The olive green shirt and his black jeans was an excellent pairing.

“Thanks darlin and you look gorgeous as always. Alright, back to why we’re really here. See, my wife shows up here and threw me off, we were taking questions. Who’s the next lucky person?” Jared squinted his eyes to search the crowd until his eyes landed on the Castiel cosplayer.

“You in the trench coat, let us haveth thy question.”

“Uh hi, my name’s Sara and my question isn’t about the show but it’s for the Ackles.” A woman’s voice filled the auditorium and by her tone I could guess what her question was going to be.

“Shoot.”

“What is one thing that you both love that your son does and do you guys plan on having another one?” Jensen dramatically leaned back on me at the second part to her question, he hadn’t voiced his opinion on having another kid running around the house so this should be fun.

“Miles is a mama’s boy and every night he makes sure that Y/N is the one who feeds him his dinner, gives him his bath and cuddles with him until he falls asleep and from my point of view I adore their bond, I think it’s amazing.”

“Miles is at the age now where you know, kids mimic what they see and his new thing is wearing daddy’s hat backwards and he’d get me to fill his sippy cup with juice or water so that he could join Jensen on the couch to watch whatever he’s watching on tv.”

“I actually saw the photo you had posted on Instagram about that and I thought that it was cute, he’s Jensen’s mini-me.”

“Definitely and about baby number two, Y/N and I haven’t discussed it but I’m sure if it does happen we’ll both be over the moon about it.”

I didn’t fly all the way from Texas to Vancouver, Canada to just see Jensen, I came because I had something important to tell him and this lovely lady set it up so nicely for me to break the news.

“You know I’m so glad you said that Jay because we’ve got give or take six months left of being a family of three.” Jensen didn’t fully process my words until the crowd went insane at my announcement. He immediately turned around to face me, shocked by what I said.

“What? You- shut up!”

“Surprise!” He cupped my face in his hands before planting a celebratory kiss on my lips.

“When did you find out?”

“Yesterday and I hopped on a flight first thing this morning to come tell you.” Jared bounded over to wrap his arms around Jensen.

“Congratulations you two!”

“Thank you Jared.”

I didn’t want to take up anymore time on their stage so I quickly kissed Jensen’s cheek and told him that I’ll see him afterwards. I waved to everyone in the crowd on my way off the stage and passed the mic back to the assistant.

For the rest of the panel, the boys messed around on stage and Jensen got a whole lot of congratulations on our growing baby inside of me. Coming closer to the end Miles woke up from his nap and Jay called out for me to rejoin them on stage.

“Daddy!” Miles stretched for his father and Jensen immediately took him from me, happy to finally have his son back in his arms. The band played music to close off the event and some of the other cast members came out on stage to join the fun. With Miles on his hip, Jensen pulled me into his side to kiss me once more in the midst of all that’s going on around us.

Although we hadn’t planned for another one, I have no doubt in my mind that he or she is going to be loved unconditionally by us and by extension, the Supernatural family.

More teen!dean please ?

⋆˙⟡ milkshakes & car dates,

summary. skipping school with dean is always a great idea

pairing. teen!dean winchester x reader genre. fluff

wordcount. 895

notes / warnings. teen dean!!! that's the warning

The school day drags like wet paint.

Your math teacher’s droning on about parabolas or something equally tragic, but all you can focus on is the folded piece of paper tucked into the corner of your notebook. Ink smudged in the corner, slightly torn — unmistakably written in Dean Winchester’s messy, all-caps scrawl.

WANNA DITCH LAST PERIOD? I GOT THE CAR & A KILLER MIXTAPE

You glance up. Two rows over, he’s slouched in his chair like he owns the school — that cocky grin barely hidden behind the tip of his pen. When you meet his eyes, he winks.

You nearly drop your pencil.

Dean Winchester is trouble wrapped in a leather jacket and dimples. He doesn’t do straight A’s or science fairs. He does engine oil and motel beds and smuggles candy into class like it’s contraband. He’s also the only person who’s ever made you laugh so hard you snorted soda through your nose — and then offered you his flannel to wipe it off.

You don’t even remember agreeing to date him. It just sort of… happened. Between one prank war in history class and that time he walked you home in the rain with only his jacket and zero umbrella. He never actually asked, just kissed you one day after detention and said, “Guess you’re stuck with me now.”

And honestly? You are.

“You sure your dad won’t freak?” you ask as you slide into the passenger seat of the Impala, the vinyl still warm from the sun.

Dean smirks, throwing the car into drive with one hand, the other already reaching for the cassette deck. “He’s in another state and doesn’t know what day it is. We’re golden.”

The Impala purrs to life, and so does the music — loud and unapologetic, something with guitars and drums that make your heartbeat speed up even more than it already is.

“Where are we even going?” you ask, half-laughing, wind tossing your hair as he rolls the windows down.

Dean shoots you a look. “You ever had a chocolate shake from that diner off Route 17?”

“No?”

“Blasphemy,” he says, slamming a dramatic fist on the steering wheel. “Guess I gotta change your life.”

And weirdly… you kind of think he means it.

The diner is straight out of a movie: neon signs, checkerboard floors, waitresses who call you “hon” like it’s your actual name. Dean orders two shakes, extra whipped cream, no hesitation. You try to pay. He blocks your hand with a french fry.

“Not a chance,” he says, grinning. “My girl doesn’t pay.”

Your girl. Your stomach flips.

You sip your milkshake, cheeks warm, watching the way the sunset paints gold into his eyelashes. He’s telling some ridiculous story about Sam trying to iron a flannel while wearing it, and you’re laughing so hard you almost choke on your straw.

Dean reaches over, wipes whipped cream from your lip with his thumb, then licks it off like it's nothing. Like it’s not the most casually intimate thing anyone’s ever done to you.

“You’re staring,” he says, cocking an eyebrow.

“No I’m not.”

“You totally are.”

You throw a napkin at him. He catches it mid-air, winks. God, he’s annoying. And you want to kiss him so bad.

He leans in just a little. “You gonna kiss me or just keep drooling over that shake?”

You raise a brow. “Don’t flatter yourself, Winchester.”

He laughs, low and warm, and you swear it vibrates all the way to your spine.

It’s dark when he parks the Impala outside your house. The porch light is still on. Your heart’s racing.

Dean walks you to the steps, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. He’s quiet, but not in a bad way. It’s like the night slowed him down a little. Let him breathe.

“I had fun,” you say softly.

He shrugs, eyes soft. “You always make it easy.”

There’s a beat of silence. The kind that buzzes with something new. Something gentle and real and teenage and too big to name. He reaches out, tugging a lock of your hair behind your ear, then just lets his fingers rest there — along your jaw, like he wants to remember how your skin feels.

“You make me wish we didn’t have to leave,” he says, like it’s not a big deal. Like it doesn’t make your heart ache in a way you don’t have words for.

You lean up, brushing your lips against his. It’s slow. Soft. Barely-there at first, until he kisses you back like he means it — like he doesn’t want the night to end either.

When you finally pull away, breathless and warm, he smiles like he’s just won a bet.

“Best. Shake. Ever,” he says.

“You didn’t even finish it.”

He grins wider. “Didn’t need to.”

You laugh, swat his shoulder, and turn to head inside. But he calls your name — soft, unsure, almost shy, and when you glance back, his voice catches a little.

“Hey… you think about the future? Like, what happens after this?”

You pause. “Yeah. You're there, without a doubt.”

“You too.” His hands are back in his pockets. “Just… makin’ sure we’re on the same page.”

You are. Even if you don’t know what the page says yet.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you say.

He smirks. “Not if I see you first.”

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can u make being lee byung hun’s young non-showbiz gf,, but the oc is like rlly rllly prettyyy ( prolly like alexandra saint mleux she’s so gorg) so there are artists/influencers that are trying to hit on her,, but then lbh posted their pics n like hard launched her n stuff to show that she has a bf ??? 😭🥵🤍

MINE | LEE BYUNG-HUN

PAIRING. lee byung-hun x fem!reader

─────౨ৎ─────

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SUNRISES, PENALTIES, AND LOSING SLEEP OVER YOU ── RAFE CAMERON ONE SHOT

── SYNOPSIS when Rafe can't sleep, he ends up at the soccer field to get some practice in. however, he can't seem to stop his sunrise practices when he discovers the pretty girl who reads on the bleachers is there every morning. ── WARNINGS language, so much fluff??? ── WORD COUNT 5.6k. ── NOTES consists of jock!rafe and nerd-ish!reader, college au, mainly rafe pov. ── SONG OF THE CHAPTER everything is embarrassing by sky ferreira

Rafe contradicts himself this time -- he actually doesn't mind being up before the sun if that means some more practice...and some peace and quiet.

Surprisingly, he's quite the night owl, fighting the plague that puts him to sleep by distracting himself with literally anything he can get his hands on, even if that meant school work that's been pushed off for the last minute. He can go all night at a bar and he's the only one out of his friends to be able to actually pull all nighters on their designated movie night.  

While this has severely skewed his sleeping schedule, Rafe prefers to get things done while the rest of the world around him is asleep, you know, for some alone time.

Sure, Rafe's a pretty social guy: he enjoys time with friends and his teammates and classmates, and he definitely jumps at the chance to spend time with them whenever he can. It's a pretty rare occurrence where he isn't with someone or talking to someone, because he's a light converser and easy to fall in stride with. He's the stranger that people often fall in love with and never see again, perhaps it's the handsomely boyish smile or his ability to talk to a brick wall. 

And yet, there's moments like right now where some alone time is needed. 

Once again, Rafe's been up for nearly a day now, the sun just peaking over the horizon behind him, signaling the start of a lot of people's days (and the end of his, since it's Saturday and he'll need to recharge before going out tonight). The sleep simply...doesn't come to him.

Not easily, anyway.

After nights out with his friends (or when they go to bed), Rafe normally tinkers with things in his room, building trinkets from scratch or blueprinting random designs because he's bored, which he doesn't normally admit to people. His ability to draw was something his father always told him to push down deep, to ignore and focus on the money-driven careers of the world: business, science, all that crap.

Well, his father isn't here. And even if he was, Rafe wouldn't really care, anyway.

Sleep doesn't come very naturally to him during the night, which is highly unusual considering he has no insomnia or trouble sleeping. He just doesn't get tired. Usually the sunrise shining through his window signals him to try and sleep. 

He doesn't recall the last time he's really looked at a sunrise, this time being exceptional with colors portraying burning passion and dragon fruit, and the dirty-blond hums to himself, halting his movements to stop and enjoy it for a second.

The soccer ball planted on the ground by his foot is still as Rafe's balance. He holds himself together to take a deep breath in and observe the world around him.

Sure, he's never up this early but, goddamn, it really is pretty.

Hues of pink, orange, purple emerge in sight, getting lighter by the second and changing into something more tranquil. He's at ease. There's something more content and comforting about sunrises than sunsets, and while he cannot put his finger on the exact reason, he deems this a fact. 

Rafe mentally notes to do some sunrise workouts more often. 

At his university, he's on the club soccer team, which isn't the big leagues but it keeps him and shape and the competition isn't nearly as stressful, which he likes. Rafe enjoys the sport to have fun, and while he does care about winning and beating these other lame schools, at the end of the day it's just putting a ball through a net and spending time with his teammates, so he never holds a grudge if his team loses.

He's spent so many years fighting for love, fighting for affection, fighting for meaningless trophies to impress his father that in the end he just...realized it is what it is. Once Rafe learned the implication of life will happen anyway regardless of how certain things go, his outlook on competition changed.

Anger subsided into contention, rage simmered into acceptance, and fear contorted to nonchalance.

Rafe learned a long time ago that, no matter how athletic he may play or how many As he may earn, nothing will ever satisfy his father's insatiability for perfection.

That lifted a considerably heavy weight off his shoulders, once he started living to please himself rather than everybody else.

Of course, he still plays with heart and the frustration of the game naturally spurs during heated moments. But the implications of self pressure are no longer there, and Rafe has found incredible solace with his teammates.

They usually go out after games to celebrate, win or loss, anyway.

Rafe can't really argue with that.

The reason Rafe's alone now is because 1. all of his friends are sleeping and 2. he didn't get drunk enough to pass out.

He had a couple shots early in the night, but curse his heavy weight intake for making it hard to get drunk. So now he's here at the practice field at the ungodly hours of the morning - because he's bored and doesn't want to sleep just yet, and he doesn't have to worry about any classes, just about his plans tonight. 

Besides, his skills could always use some tidying up. 

Rafe goes back to his workout routine after his admiration for the sky, the sun rising behind him mindlessly while he dribbles the ball up and down the field to practice his precision, working on mind trick tricks in terms of scoring (Rafe is a forward, no way could he play defense).

Sweat glistens his forehead as the coolness of the night gradually dissipates, and he doesn't know how long he's been on this field, maybe a few hours? Days? At this point, someone could've told him he's been here for a year and he'd probably take their word for it.

But Rafe, after shooting the ball and missing, notices someone sitting on the bleachers with a book.

You.

A very pretty girl, who now has the book in your lap and is instead watching him.

Rafe just shrugs and gives a welcoming wave with a smile that you definitely can't see, but instead of waving back, you instead close the book with such gentleness and sit up to speak.

"Isn't the ball supposed to go in the net?"

Rafe recoils.

What?

He bites back a laugh because at this ungodly hour, everything is funny no matter what. He decides to ignore the hot raspiness of your voice and pushes it to the back of his mind, because he'll want to think about that later.

Despite his internal turmoil, Rafe plants his hands on his hips and cocks his head to the side. "I don't suppose you could do better?"

You chuckle sweetly, even Rafe can hear that from the distance and thinks it's faint music to his ears. "No, I can't. Have fun playing kickball, though."

Rafe simply stands there, blinking with a dumbfounded expression and a hint of a grin, taking a moment to soak in the faint image of you, a beautiful stranger, who goes back to reading your book. Shamelessly, he continues staring at you, as he can can make out how your silhouette is swallowed by a crimson hoodie looking comfortable enough to make Rafe yawn.

Fuck, now he's tired.

It doesn't take long for Rafe to pack up his things after doing some last work-downs and begin walking off the field (and of course the exit gate is right by the bleachers). The sun is now risen, just barely, and he can already feel the heat coming to bite him in the ass. He's never been a fan of the heat, especially at the start of the school year where it's basically sweltering summer.

Besides, he's been yawning for the past few minutes and his movements are more sluggish than they were before, so he takes this as a hint to finally get some rest.

You look up from your book and notice the alarmingly attractive soccer player leaving. Going against your normal tendency to hide and avoid talking to people you don't know, you can't help but feel inclined to smile when the stranger perks up and makes eye contact with you. The wild thumping of your heart only augments when you notice how pretty his eyes are, a bright blue despite the exhaustion behind them.

Rafe sends you a boyish smile and a nod, almost as if he's known you forever and bidding you a familiar farewell.

Once he gets closer, he notices your coffee sitting idly beside you, ice melting as the sun starts beating down on it. He also notices how pretty you really are, much prettier up close.

"Do you always read at the ass crack of dawn or what?" Rafe decides to pipe up, making his tone lighthearted so you don't think any different.

You huff out a laugh. "I've been here every morning since the semester started, and I'm just seeing you for the first time, why?"

Despite the certainty of your tone, Rafe doesn't ignore the sheepish look that immediately creeps on your face, trying to act cordial but he can tell by the way you're wringing your fingers together, you're somewhat skeptical of him. He decides to spare you and not to comment on the nerves, because he also feels heat in his face (he's gonna blame the workout, not the hot stranger talking to him). 

"Late night, couldn't sleep, and I was bored so I thought I'd shoot around until I got tired."

"Wait a minute," you say, your tone suddenly serious and your expression indulgent, "you haven't slept yet?"

Rafe shrugs nonchalantly, not taking into consideration that other people have normal sleeping schedules, finally meeting someone who does.

"Nah, this is normal for me. I'm surprised you're up...willingly...that's honestly terrifying and I'm scared of you," he jokes and spins the soccer ball on the tip of his ring finger. 

You widen your eyes and let out a low whistle, the look of shock coating your features. "Not sure if I should be fearing you instead. I can't tell if you're a god or just fucking stupid."

This makes Rafe bark out a laugh, one that he doesn't expect to come out, but the fact that this beautiful, fragile, and relaxed stranger just dropped the f-bomb nonchalantly is somehow fucking hilarious to Rafe...or perhaps it's the lack of sleep that makes his perception of things much more different and jagged.

Either way, he doesn't care, because the smile on your face is something Rafe's mind is never, ever going to forget. 

"Probably the latter, unfortunately," Rafe admits in that cheery self-deprecating tone that everyone takes normally. "Well, sunny, I'll leave you to it."

Then he pauses for a second, biting his tongue to refrain from saying something too forward.

"I'll hopefully see you around?"

Your blush intensifies (at the nickname or his confidence, you don't know), and neither speak on it. "Yeah, that'd be nice. See ya, kickball."

Before Rafe can defend his sport, you open your book back up and pick up where you left off, lounging back and crossing your legs to get more comfortable as Rafe splutters and huffs out a response that you seemingly ignore.

Your small smirk of victory makes Rafe want to either punch it off or kiss it off. Please don't ask him which one he prefers. 

Rafe's been at the soccer field almost every morning now for the past week. 

He figures that he'll sleep during the day on the weekends and in between his classes during the week, setting a multitude of alarms and not getting the amount of sleep he wishes to. His sister, Sarah, hassles him because she wants to meet this stranger who's been taking up all of Rafe's free time, finally happy that her brother is 'seeing someone' who isn't a complete jerk.

His best friend, Kelce, begs Rafe to introduce them or at least tell them a name, and have even tried to sneak out of his apartment with Rafe to spy on them (to which Rafe immediately shut down). But Rafe likes the idea of keeping you all to himself, just for a little bit.

Sure, his sleep schedule is even more messed up, but seeing the beautiful stranger every morning is such a goddamned bonus.

Oh, and it's no longer stranger. He learns your name the third time you see him.

Rafe learns that you're majoring in graphic design but that you have a serious love towards history and art, and immediately shy-ed away when he asked you to draw something, anything, on the spot.

And Rafe thinks it's so attractive that you're calm, collected, and easily embarrassed. You're shy, no matter how much you try to hide it. But you've been getting more and more comfortable with him every morning and he counts that as a huge step in his book. The books you read every morning are nonfiction pieces for your classes, and bring a sketch book a couple times a week as a substitute when you don't feel like indulging in history at the ass crack of dawn. 

He's been practicing soccer every morning now and his teammates comment on his change in precision and dribbling, and all Rafe can do is shrug and bitch about how he's the best on the team and can't help his natural talent (which his friends are used to hearing, and immediately humble him).

Well, little do they know you're the entire reason for that, and Rafe teeters between telling you that or keeping that to himself. 

The only downside to all of this is that Rafe's sleep schedule is...no longer. 

He stays up during the night, partying, sketching, whatever, and then makes his way to the field around five-am to practice and wait for you to get there (to make it look like he's already been practicing), and sometimes he doesn't even practice but instead waits on the bleachers for you if he has a game that day, not wanting to push it.

But then Rafe stays with you well into the morning, time that he usually spends sleeping is spent talking and chatting ears off.

Pathetically, he doesn't want to miss a day with you, yet he's really fucking tired.

Maybe you'll understand? Or you won't, and Rafe will have to go back into a panic to figure out if you're actually into him or not. 

Rafe genuinely thinks he's dumb, because you'll graze his hand against his or subtly compliment him, and he doesn't know how to respond, and will just carry on normally because he doesn't want to assume anything is going on.

Because if there's nothing happening between you, then Rafe doesn't want to be embarrassed for thinking that way.

Rafe needs verbal confirmation if you're into him, because these subtle ways of being touchy and flirty are very confusing to a dumb person.

A.K.A., him.

The realization that you're horrifically down bad for Rafe Cameron hits you at approximately 3:22am on a random Sunday, a week after you meet.

You'd gone to bed around eleven, trying to get some early shut eye before your Renaissance history exam tomorrow. The prep had you cozied up in the library all day, forcing yourself to reiterate the material to no end until you were seeing your handwriting in your head when you shut your eyes.

That's usually your tale-telling sign to know when to wrap it up.

But the effort to get plenty of rest proves fruitless in its attempt due to the giant fucking spider you see a foot away from your face.

Panic rises in your chest.

After all, you often wake up naturally during the night at least once to turn over or stretch your legs and sometimes think you see something, like the hoodie on the back of your chair that looks like a person or the piece of string on your floor that emulates a snake. In the moment, you try to convince yourself that it's one of those pranks your brain likes to play on you.

When it moves, however, that's when you scream.

You fliiiiiing off the bed, landing harshly on the tile with a thud, probably dragging half of your bedspread with you as you fumble for the lamp switch on your dresser.

The light makes it worse, because it proves your suspicions as you stare at the biggest spider you've ever seen on the wall, inches from your pillow.

Of course, you panic.

Heart racing, you freeze in your spot as you can't seem to take your eyes off of it, scared that it'll disappear into your sheets or behind your bed if you move or look away for a fraction of a moment. It's a standoff, you realize, and it doesn't look like it's going anywhere.

And there's no way you're getting near it.

Your fingers shake as you reach for your phone on the dresser, not once taking your eyes off the creature. Once it's in your hand, you pause and suck in a breath.

What the fuck is your phone gonna do?

Think, you repeat in your head. Breathe. Call Laney.

Your thumb ghosts over your best friend's contact, but your heart sinks when you catch a glimpse of the time.

Christ, it's the middle of the night. No one is awake at this hour.

You groan, eyes flickering between your phone and the spider that stays still on your wall, probably thinking of its plan to kill you, or whatever arachnids normally plot.

Trembling in place, you run through your options.

A. You could attempt to throw something at it, but that would only work if you had a guaranteed throwing accuracy, which you do not have. This will probably result in you missing entirely, and the spider vanishing in your sheets to never be seen again. Nope.

B. You could attempt to call Laney or your RA for some roadside assistance, but you know that Laney of all people, who once shrieked and ran from a wasp (it was really a fly), would really be of no help. And your RA often slept through a lot of concerning events, as in multiple fire alarms, a cat fight right outside his door, and, once, a literal firecracker. Nope.

C. You could grab your lighter and attempt to light it on fire. Given the circumstances, you're also guessing that's a fat nope.

D. There's a-

Your endless spiraling comes to a halt when you get a text, a fucking text, none other than from Rafe Cameron. At three in the morning.

Rafe: hey! someone make a greg and rowley edit to fake plastic trees. got me fucked up lowkey. heres the link. lets debrief about it later.

A moment passes and you blink hastily at the message, wondering if your eyes are playing tricks on you or if he, truly, is awake right now casually looking at god knows what. You re-read it once, twice, double checking the time stamp he sent it, mere minutes ago, and your chest pains in embarrassment at what you're about to do.

Your gaze darts from the text to the spider and back to the text.

God, your options are thin.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you're pressing on his contact, hitting the call button.

It rings once. "Please don't tell me I woke you up from that stupid text."

"No, um." You bite your lip as you eye the spider. "Uh, are you busy right now?"

"Besides talking to you? Nothing, pretty. Isn't it past your bedtime?"

You hate how your cheeks burn at his nonchalance, but are thankful he can't see you right now, even though he might at some point in the nearby future.

"What's wrong?" Rafe's tone morphs from teasing into what sounds like concern.

"It's stupid," you whisper, swallowing your pride. "But, uh, there's a giant spider in my room, I'm not kidding the size of my palm. I'm just, like, kinda freaking out?"

There's shuffling on the other end, a grunt, then a thud.

"Ow," Rafe grumbles and it sounds far away, as if you aren't meant to have heard it. "What dorm are you in?"

Your heart flips. "Shaffer. But Rafe, you really don't-"

"Room number?"

"509. But-"

"Nah," he interrupts nonchalantly, as if he won't entertain the thought of not helping you. "I'll be there in five. Talk to me, what'd you do today?"

Rafe arrives in three minutes.

Creeping to the door without taking your eyes off the spider, you open it to reveal Rafe Cameron, clad in sweatpants and a ridiculous graphic t-shirt (that looks like it's inside out), hair disheveled and sticking in every direction, holding his phone to his ear where you're still connected on the call. His green sneakers are untied. His smile is bright.

You try not to stare. You really try. Especially since you're supposed to be keeping an eye on the problem to begin with, but it's hard to resist when he looks so disgustingly endearing.

Eager, even, to help you out.

"Good to know it hasn't eaten you yet," Rafe jests, hanging up the call and putting his phone in his pocket.

You swallow the lump in your throat and step aside to let him in. "You really didn't have to-"

He places a cool palm over your mouth, startling you into shutting up.

Blinking stupidly up at him, all your senses are inhibited when you realize how close he is, how you can smell his cologne and see how bright his blue eyes really are.

"None of that." Rafe grins at your wide eyes. "Now, where is it?"

It's almost annoying how fearless he is.

While you're huddled in the opposite corner of the room, hugging yourself through your thin pajamas, Rafe simply scans the scene in front of him: the array of sheets and blankets hazardously scattered on your floor, the spider on the wall, your hand-sized penguin plushie that Laney got you as a joke. He can't help but cheekily smile to himself, getting a glimpse of you through the items you have, the photos you have hanging up, delaying the arachnid trapping for a moment to be selfish.

You catch him staring at a photo on your wall under your miscellaneous posters, and clear your throat.

Rafe snaps his head back to you, as if forgetting why he's here. "Right, sorry, pretty."

You reel as you watch him. Looking around for items he can use for the entrapment, Rafe settles on a discarded empty coffee cup from your trash can, kneeling forward on your bed and holding the cup underneath the spider.

The thump of your heart only gets louder as you see him nudge it with his own bare hand into the cup.

Once the spider is in it, he simply puts his palm over the top, covering it with not so much a second thought.

Rafe stands normally, tilting his head with puzzlement when he turns around to face you, wide eyed and, frankly, a little horrified.

"What?"

"Wh- You-" You splutter. "You touched it."

All he does it shrug, as if it literally means nothing. "No biggie. You have any ops on this floor? I can set him down so he crawls into their room instead."

After you escort him (from a distance) to relocate the spider outside, Rafe only deems it polite to walk you back to your room. On the way back in, he catches a glimpse of himself in the window and winces at his appearance, so the whole walk back he's been subtly trying to flatten down his unruly hair. You stifle a laugh each time he brings his hand up to mess with it more, undoubtedly making it worse.

By the time you get back to your door, it's worse than before. But he's never looked better, in your opinion.

"Um, thank you," you say sheepishly, toying with the strings of your pajama pants. "I know it's late. Or early. Whatever you wanna call it."

Rafe's smile couldn't be bigger. "I was up anyway."

You frown. "I don't think that's very good for you. You know, not sleeping."

Your tone reeks of concern, frankly a little embarrassing to express such distress for his well-being despite knowing him for only a week now.

But he barely seems fazed by it, instead shrugging. "Maybe. But then I wouldn't have answered your call, hm?"

The amused gleam in Rafe's eyes make your head fuzzy.

"I guess," you mumble. "I'll get you a coffee for your...troubles."

Rafe laughs boyishly, leaning against your doorframe as if he has all the time in the world to talk to you. "No need, pretty. I'm a certified arachnid relocator. I'm putting this shit on my resume. You honestly did me a favor," he rambles. "Needed a new job to put on there, anyway."

You can't help but roll your eyes, not really understanding how he has the energy to quip with you right now.

"Right, put it under your specialty in kickball," you tease, fighting a smile when you see his brows raise. "Will you please try and get some rest?"

"Depends," he hums, tilting his head to the side in contemplation. "Will you be at the field tomorrow?"

Ignoring the way your heart leaps, you shake your head. "Can't. All the more reason to catch up on sleep, no?"

"Are you asking me to?"

"Begging, really."

Rafe then nods, but not without trying - and failing - to suppress a stupidly large grin. "Alright, fine. For you? Anything?"

When you finally convince him to go back to his room (only the building next door), you can't help but lie awake in your spider-free bedroom, staring at the dark ceiling as your mind replays the last thirty minutes over and over.

Yeah. You're already in deep.

Rafe's been meeting you for a few weeks now, ever since the spider incident, almost every morning to talk and hang out.

A couple days a week you'll get coffee before classes to keep Rafe stable, and he discovers that you two always have something to talk about, and if there's silence it's always comfortable and natural. You often watch the sunrise in silence when it first awakens, and then carry on your normal routines when the beauty is over. 

It's so stupidly endearing to him that you let him share your moment with him.

Safe to say he's horrendously down bad...despite his overwhelming fatigue.

This morning has been exceptional rough for Rafe, because around three in the morning while he had been bored tinkering with things in his room, he suddenly remembered a paper that needs to be written before his noon class.

Of course, it's the middle of the night. He knows you're definitely asleep and there's no way he'd wake you up for something like this.

Naturally, Rafe spirals into a messy panic, standing in the middle of his room for a few moments debating on writing the paper here in his dorm or just taking all his things to the bleachers and doing it there while waiting for you. He does have a couple hours to spare, but Rafe doesn't think when he grabs his backpack, laptop, and book and runs out of his dorm.

The darkness of the night has never bothered him, not while the moon shines above him and illuminates his path. It's one of the reasons he loves nightfall so much, is because of the beauty of the moon and the light that it reflects on the earth. He wishes he could see the craters more clearly so he can soak in all of her beauty, but tonight he's in too much of a rush and panic to really think about the deep ideas of the moon.

When Rafe gets to the bleachers, he immediately opens his laptop and starts writing, whipping his book out so that he can reference quotes and cite pages while he lazily goes off his shitty outline he wrote a few nights ago about the premise of his paper. The words he hastily types come out as lethargic unpleasantries, and he really, really tries to focus to make it good, but his head keeps lulling forward and his fingers shake from fatigue.

He doesn't even care. He's a STEM student anyway, so literature isn't really at the top of his list of things to care about.

But god forbid he misses a morning with you.

So he lounges back on the bleachers, ferociously typing away everything he can and scraps together every piece of knowledge he has about the book.

And that's exactly how you find Rafe a few hours later: head tipped back with his legs stretched out, laptop discarded beside him with a black screen, light snores emitting from his mouth and his hair disheveled in every sort of direction.

And you think you're gonna melt at the sight. 

Rafe is startled awake by a loud squawking by his ear, and yelps quietly while he shoos away the crow on the fence and tries to remember where he is and what he was doing. He sees the sun...the soccer field...holy shit, where are-?

You, sitting next to him with his laptop in your lap, waiting patiently for him to wake up. You try (and fail) to suppress a grin as you notice how disheveled he is right now, who's trying to piece together what he had been doing before he passed out.

"Good morning," you greet warmly. "Sleep well?"

"What time is it?" Rafe immediately asks, mind fuzzy from the short amount of sleep. "I have class at-"

"Noon," you interrupt calmly, trying to ignore how stupidly attractive his morning voice sounds, "I was planning on waking you up in an hour or so in order for you to have enough time to get there, but your professor emailed you and the rest of your class to tell you that class was cancelled for a family emergency. So I wasn't going to wake you at all, but that crow had other plans for you. Sorry."

Rafe sits up and rubs his eyes, cracking his back and stretching from the uncomfortable position, still foggy as he looks at your pretty and yawns. "I need to...I need to finish a paper. It's about-"

"Frankenstein?" you interrupt again, looking very prideful. "Don't worry, I've read the book before so I finished it for you. I also re-wrote everything you wrote because...well...it wasn't making sense. I mean, no offense or anything. I kinda submitted it already since it was still due at noon, so..."

Letting out a breath of relief, Rafe slouches and utterly destroys his posture as he regains his ability to think coherently.

His mind catches up to the situation. You found him asleep, finished his essay for him, and waited for him to wake up so you wouldn't disturb him?

Yup. Yeah, it's official, he's smitten with you.

"I don't know how to thank you," murmurs Rafe, unknowing of what to even say, scratching the back of his neck as he peers over at you.

You simply shrug, handing the laptop and book back to Rafe (of course while grazing your fingertips together, hopefully intentionally).

"Think of it as..." You rack your brain for words. "...Me returning the favor. You know, for the spider."

His mind is mush.

All he can think about is you not thinking twice to help him out, despite his idiocy and consistently scrappy appearance. Somehow, somehow, he hasn't driven you away yet. Just when he thinks he's fucked something up, you come back.

"That was- I wanted to do that for you."

Once again, you shrug. "And I wanted to do this for you."

Rafe blinks stupidly at you, unable to form a coherent thought. What ends up coming out of his mouth is, "You wrote a paper."

"Yeah."

"For me."

"Well, I couldn't submit the garbage you came up with. No offense, or anything, but I think you confused Frankenstein with Frankenweenie."

"That's a common mistake."

You manage to crack a smile. "Is it?"

Rafe decides it's one of the prettiest things he's ever seen. "Mhm."

But, of course, he has to ruin the moment by yawning so horrendously audacious that he nearly groans in self inflicted embarrassment.

"Sorry," he winces when he comes down from it, rubbing the side of his face in exhaustion. "That's my body's involuntary response to when a pretty girl writes my papers for me."

You roll your eyes to push away your shyness, to ignore the heat flushing your cheeks.

"You really should get some rest."

Rafe yawns again. ""M not tired."

Despite the dark circles under his eyes, Rafe looks perfectly content on these bleachers, leaning back onto the row above and lounging brazenly. His head is lulled in your direction, looking up at you with those pretty blues and a half lipped smirk that seems to be permanently etched on his face whenever he's with you.

You wring the ends of your shirt, nervously biting your lip under his intense gaze.

And you're speaking before he can call you pretty again.

"Well, how about this. After you get some sleep, we can...we can get dinner? We can even do take out, or I can try and chef something up in the communal kitchen, or something..."

His mouth drops open.

You trail off, unsure of what to make of his flabbergasted expression. Is he...Is this not what you thought it was?

But Rafe is over the moon, unable to get that stupid shocked look off his face as he realizes holy shit he thinks you're asking him out? and he can't find the energy to move, he's frozen, relaying the thought over and over in his head that you, of all people, are into him.

Are you? Or is this some sort of friend-quality time thing that's going over Rafe's head because, contrary to popular belief, he's very smart when it comes to blueprints and designs and sometimes mathematics, but also very dumb when it comes to pretty girls.

Is this a direct invitation on a date or not? His tired brain doesn't know how to think strai-

"I'll take that as a no...?"

Rafe blinks his way out of his thoughts at the sound of your voice again, and he finally finds the words and mumbles out a curse word as he notices the confused guise on your pretty face.

He immediately widens his eyes.

"No, no, no-"

Your brows raise.

Rafe recoils. "Yes! Well, I mean yes, yes, I'll get dinner with you. Sorry, I just...Yes, I'd love to." 

You find it in yourself to laugh, and subtly let out a breath you've been holding for all that time Rafe had been yelling at himself in his head, debating the context of the invitation.

Blinking blearily, Rafe shakes his head, trying to figure out if he's still sleeping and he's dreaming, or if this is actually happening to him. But with the intensity of his rapid heartbeat and the way you look so vividly real and present, he deems that this is in fact not a dream, and this is happily real life.

"Good, because I don't know what I'd do if you said no," you joke, twiddling your thumbs out of nerves and letting out a low chuckle. "Probably never talk to you again."

Rafe waves you off with a proud look on his face, a wide grin, saying your name with such a saccharine tone that it makes your brain go fuzzy.

"Oh please, like I'd even think of blowing off my very own essay-writer. I may be stupid, but I am not an idiot."

This makes you laugh with that stupidly adorable smile that you can't seem to fight off that well, and Rafe takes in how beautiful you are, with your perfect grin and bright eyes that remind him of the the lightness in his chest when he finds something funny, or how your sweet voice smoothes over the ridges and hills of his heart and fills in the gaps affectionately.

(Which is painful for Rafe to endure because he loves it so much).

"You are pretty stupid," you admit quietly, timidly. "You're stupid for losing sleep over me."

Rafe closes his agape mouth at the fact that he's been caught. "Well it's worth it." Then softer, "You're worth it."

You roll your eyes and stand up, Rafe watching you do so. "You shouldn't have to accommodate your entire schedule for me. Honestly, you should go home now and sleep," you suggest earnestly, because all you want is for him to be at his best.

"Only if you'll come with."

Your heart skips a beat and you find yourself rolling your eyes once again, but this time feeling heat creep up on your neck no matter how hard you try to fight it.

It's always something about the way Rafe flirts with you so effortlessly, and how you can tell he means it. 

"Fine," you agree gently, saying it as if it was a bad thing (although your suppressed grin gives that away), "c'mon, you stupid idiot."

So, Rafe gets his things together and leaves the signature bleachers with you, this time finding the gall to slip his hand into yours, gingerly squeezing.

All this time, he wondered what it'd be like to hold your hand, and safe to say it's even better than his preconceived expectations.

© salem-s please do not copy or replicate work unless given permission.

notes some fluff for these hard times. hope you enjoyed!

Bunny (P13)

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: Sorry for the cliff hanger guys- but here's the next bit and besides its not like I would leave it on a cliff hanger again- or would I..... ? heh

warnings: angst angst angst, violent behaviour, emotional distress, mentions of past trauma, alcohol, sad!rafe and sad!bunny, luke (he deserves a warning)

(P1) (P2) (P3) (P4) (P5) (P6) (P7) (P8) (P9) (P10) (P11) (P12) (P13)

The house was quiet and peaceful in a way that felt rare lately. Steam still curled faintly from the cracked bathroom door as Y/N padded barefoot through the hallway, the cotton hem of her oversized t-shirt brushing the tops of her thighs. It clung slightly to the damp warmth of her skin, fresh from the shower, the scent of vanilla soap still lingering on her. The shirt, one of her oldest and most worn-in, read 'There’s no place like the OBX!' in faded, peeling letters. The image of a cartoon sunset beneath the text was barely visible now, rubbed off from years of wear, but it was still her comfort shirt.

The evening had been calm. A rare exhale. She knew it was the right choice, not going to the party, instead choosing to stay at home. No JJ, no Rafe, no tension. Just her alone in the stillness of the house. She yawned softly as she made her way into the kitchen, the tiles cool under her feet. Her hand reached for the cabinet, grabbing a glass, then filled it halfway from the tap, the sound of water the only thing cutting through the silence.

Buzz. Buzz.

Her phone, face-down on the counter buzzed again. She frowned a little, setting the glass down with a small clink and reaching for it. When she turned it over, the lock screen was full, message after message.

Rafe

Rafe : Y/N m s sorry

Rafe : It was a mistake I didn mean iit

Rafe : Im sosorry forgive me

Rafe : Please it was ana ccident

Rafe : drunk an angry it just slipedout

She just stood there, blinking, bare feet rooted to the floor. What? Her thumb hovered over the screen as she scrolled back through the weird messages littering her screen, heart creeping higher into her throat. He hadn’t replied to her at all yesterday left her on read after she asked him the question which had been hanging over both of them for a while now. He'd ignored every message she sent and now this? What the hell was he talking about, it made no sense. Her brows knit as she stared at the screen, glass forgotten on the counter as she held the phone in two hands her thumbs typing out; What are you talk-

BANG

The sound of the front door slamming open ricocheted through the house like a shotgun blast. The walls trembled and the floor vibrated slightly beneath her bare feet. Her whole body jolted—glass on the counter rattling dangerously. Her blood ran cold. She'd not seen her dad in a few days and the possibility of his presence was in her mind, whispered in fear, a lifetime of instinct kicking in. But before panic could really settle, the door slammed shut again, the echo bouncing off every wall like a threat. She turned sharply, heart hammering in her chest and then there he was-

JJ?

Standing in the doorway, chest heaving, shoulders tense and strung tight like he could burst. His face was a mess- nose bloodied, dried and smeared to one side, his lip split, a red flush blooming across his cheek. His blond hair was sticking up in every direction under his crooked cap, disheveled like he’d just been through a war. His clothes hung raggedly on his body almost as though his t-shirt had been stretched out, and he was breathing heavy like he ran the whole way here. His eyes locked onto hers furious, hurt.

Betrayed

He stood there, breath ragged in his chest, eyes locked on her like he didn’t recognise the girl in front of him. Y/N stared back at him, frozen for a moment in the quiet hum of the kitchen. Her phone, still glowing with Rafe’s frantic texts, slipped from her fingers and landed back onto the counter with a soft thud. The sound felt loud in the silence. This was JJ, her kid brother who used to cry when he scraped his knees and she'd bandage them up pressing soft kisses over the bandaids. The boy she taught how to sneak out of the house quietly, her best friend since they were in diapers. Now he looked like someone she didn’t know- bloodied, breathless, and storm-eyed. She took a step around the kitchen island, slow and cautious, like she was approaching a wounded animal. She asked gently, her voice threading with worry, hand outstretched, ready to go to him,

“Are you okay- ”

“-were you pregnant?”

But JJ’s voice sliced through the air before she could take another step and she stopped dead in her tracks. Silence crashed between them. Her hand, still halfway out, dropped to her side like a weight and her stomach churned at the words passing his lips.

“What?”

Her voice was almost inaudible. Caught between panic and confusion, her breath hitched. JJ’s face twisted, all disbelief and frustration, and he took a harsh step forward, his voice louder now.

"Did you fucking get pregnant?"

Y/N blinked, wide-eyed, her lips parting like the words might come—but nothing did. Her body language screamed shock, but inside she was cracking open. Splitting down the middle. Her heart was racing now, mouth suddenly dry. “N-no,” she stammered, voice too quick and certainly too fragile.

“What-? No!”

But JJ wasn’t buying it. He whipped his cap off his head as he raked a hand through his hair, exhaling hard as he turned in a quick, agitated circle, the movement jerky with disbelief. His fingers clenched in his hair before he let them drop and he barked out—

“Don’t LIE to me!”

The words exploded out of JJ like a gunshot, and with it, his hand came down hard crack against the edge of the kitchen table. The slap of skin on wood echoed through the house like a warning sound. Y/N jumped, her breath catching violently in her chest. Her whole body flinched, jerking backward instinctively. Eyes wide, pupils blown and her shoulders curled in slightly, like she'd just taken a hit without being touched. Her heart was pounding so loud in her ears it almost drowned everything else out. She felt cold suddenly, like the warmth of her post-shower calm had been ripped from her body in an instant. The oversized shirt clung to her damp skin, sticking uncomfortably as her breathing turned sharp and uneven “Pregnant?” she echoed, voice airy and brittle. It sounded wrong in the space between them. Like the word didn’t belong to her. Like she was trying to believe she didn’t understand- trying to sell a lie even she couldn’t swallow.

“Who told you this?”

And JJ- he looked like he could rip the whole room apart with his bare hands. She already knew the answer he was going to give her. But she needed to hear it. Needed to pray and cling onto the hope for some other name, any name not—

“Rafe Cameron”

JJ said, voice full of venom. His jaw was clenched so tight it trembled, eyes burning into hers. And then she froze, like a statue carved from ice. Her chest stilled and her hands hung at her sides. There wasn’t a flicker of movement. Rafe? She couldn’t even blink, couldn’t breathe at the sound his name.

He promised

Her fingers curled slightly in toward her palms and she felt like someone had just reached into her chest and squeezed.JJ saw it happen- the way her entire body stiffened, how her lips parted but no sound came. The way her eyes went glassy for just a second.He saw it all and it broke something within him. His voice cracked, a bitter sound ripping from his throat, full of raw betrayal and heartbreak as he whispered,

“Oh my fucking god-”

“-no! No I didn’t get pregnant”

Y/N gasped out, voice cracking like thin glass. She shook her head rapidly, hands lifting uselessly in the air like she could physically push the truth away. But her voice was too high, too shaky. Her eyes were darting everywhere but his, and JJ saw right through her.

“I didn’t—JJ. I-"

“-why are you LYING to me!”

He shouted cutting her off, his voice thundering off the walls as his hands flew into the air in exasperation, then slammed back down at his sides. His eyes were wild, glassy with a cocktail of rage and betrayal.

“Why the are you lying to me?!”

“Jay, please just—”

She rushed, taking a few tentative steps toward him, palms out like she could soothe him with touch alone. Her voice wavered, desperate and pleading. But JJ backed up- away from her. “You didn’t even tell me,” he said bitterly, as if the words physically hurt to say. He let out a strangled scoff, pacing now, stumbling back a step.

“And I’m your brother. I’m your fucking brother Y/N.”

Her eyes welled. Her lips trembled because it was happening. Exactly what she’d feared- her worst nightmare made real in their own kitchen, beneath the harsh light, peeling tiles and abandoned glass of water. “Please,” she whispered again, voice breaking down completely now.

“JJ please—”

But he was already unraveling- crashing out. He paced along the kitchen, dragging a hand down his face, his cap was long abandoned on the kitchen island as he dug his fingers into his hair and tugging like he needed to physically hold himself together. His mouth was hidden behind his hand now, muffling a harsh, trembling breath. He was doing everything he could not to lose it. But then, his hand lashed out and swept everything off the corner of the kitchen island. Bills, letters, receipts, all of it went crashing to the floor in a loud flurry of paper and crumpled envelopes.

“You went to Rafe?”

He yelled, voice splintered and feral as he rounded on her again, pointing now— accusingly. His entire face contorted with disbelief, “You went to Rafe Cameron for help?! The same piece of shit who’s tormented us for years- who’s ruined our lives- what the fuck is wrong with you?!”

His finger stabbed the air in her direction, jaw clenched so tight his teeth could’ve cracked. His breathing was loud, heavy. He looked like he was barely staying inside his own skin and Y/N snapped suddenly,

“Don’t raise your voice at me”

She bit out, her voice cutting sharp and fast, almost instinctive. Her chest was heaving now, flushed with fury and panic. Her hands were curled into fists at her sides as her eyes locked with his, finally locked with his. “You have no fucking idea what I’ve been going through JJ. None of it,” she seethed, her voice shaking just beneath the surface, laced with pain that was months in the making.

“You don’t know how hard it’s been trying to make a decision I never asked for in the first place!”

And just like that, the kitchen went still. The broken silence crackled in the air between them like electricity after a lightning strike- both of them breathing hard, standing in the wreckage of papers, secrets, and everything they haven't said to each other in the past months. JJ’s voice cracked on the question,

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

It wasn’t loud anymore. It wasn’t angry. It just… broke. Like something inside him had split clean down the middle. His arms, once tensed at his sides, dropped uselessly as his shoulders sagged. Like all the fight had drained out of him in one breath. Y/N stood stiff on the other the island opposite him, the space between them feeling wider than the whole room. Her breath hitched as her eyes dropped to the floor, shoulders curling inward like she was bracing for impact.

“JJ, I don’t know, I just—”

“Do you not trust me?”

He asked, suddenly, voice low but guarded. She looked up fast, her eyes wide, lashes still wet. Her lips parted like she was about to speak but forgot how. Like she’d been caught somewhere between guilt and fear. She said, voice tight, chest rising with a shaky inhale,

“That’s not what this is about.”

“Yes. Yes, it is what this is about—”

“I DO trust you!”

She burst out, loud and raw, like she couldn’t hold it in anymore. Her hands shot out as if reaching for something she couldn’t quite grasp. She was breathing fast now, visibly trembling, like the admission had cost her something. JJ stepped forward a half-step, hands curling into frustrated fists at his sides. His jaw clenched hard, eyes narrowed, flickering with that familiar mix of hurt and fury.

“Well you don’t act like it”

He said, bitter, almost defeated. He threw his hands up like he was done trying to understand. “Jesus…” he breathed, taking two slow steps back. Y/N rubbed her face roughly, wiping away a tear with the heel of her palm, her fingers shaky. Her mouth opened- then shut again, her brows drawing together in a helpless knot. JJ let out a breath so heavy it sounded like it hurt. Then his hand dragged through his hair, gripping the back of his neck like he needed to ground himself. He looked her dead in the eye,

“Was it his?”

The question struck her like a slap. She went completely still. “...What?” she whispered, barely audible. The word trembled in her throat, her head jerking slightly like she couldn’t believe he’d actually said it. JJ’s eyes burned, his mouth twisted into something between a grimace and a sneer.

“Was it his, Y/N? Was it Rafe’s?”

Her mouth opened again, but no sound came out. Her legs carried her one step back, like the sheer weight of the question shoved her there. Her arms folded across her chest without her realising it, protective. Defensive.

“How can you even ask me that—”

“What else do you want me to think, huh?” JJ’s voice climbed again, every word sharper than the last, “You won’t fucking tell me anything! You kept this whole thing a secret from me like I’m just some... some nobody—”

“JJ—”

“Was it his?”

He snapped again, louder, like saying it might finally make the pain in his chest make sense. His chest rose and fell, his breathing heavy and erratic. He looked like he was burning up from the inside.

“Was it his, and that’s why you ran to him, why you told him before you told me?”

“Stop-stop it— how dare you even think that—”

“Well you’re sure as hell not giving me a lot of reasons not to!”

The shout ripped from him like a gut punch. He slammed the heel of his palm down on the counter once more as the last word left his mouth, she flinched hard at the sound, instinctively taking a step back like it could steady her pulse.

BANG

The front door slammed against the wall with a hard thud, rattling the frame in its hinges as Luke stumbled inside, the scent of cheap bourbon clinging to him like a second skin. Both their heads whipped toward the entrance to the house, eyes wide. The air in the kitchen turned thick with silence, frozen with tension as JJ's chest heaved and Y/N didn’t move. He blinked blearily at the two of them from the hallway, swaying just slightly, his jaw working unevenly as he tried to focus.

“What’s all this fuckin’ yelling?”

His voice was slurred, low and accusatory, slicing through the thick silence like a rusted blade. Y/N’s body stiffened immediately. She stood there, frozen for half a second, then straightened up like someone had yanked her upright by a string. “Nothing,” she said quickly, her jaw clenched so tight it ached. JJ didn’t say a word. His arms were rigid at his sides, chest still heaving, that same fury boiling behind his eyes.

“Nothing is going on”

Y/N repeated, sharper this time. She wasn’t even fully looking at Luke anymore- her gaze was fixed on JJ, like her words were meant for him just as much, like she was pleading with him. Her voice dropped slightly, nearly trembling:

“Right, JJ? Nothing’s happening here.”

There was a long pause. JJ looked at her- really looked at her- and her eyes silently begged, he knew exactly what she was saying in her mind. Don’t say it- don’t let him find out. JJ’s nostrils flared, his whole body rigid, but his face hardened into stone. Then, slowly, almost in disbelief, he shook his head. His hand dragged over his mouth once more as he took a step back.

He didn’t say a single word.

He just turned, snatching his cap of the kitchen counter and walked toward the door and left- slamming it shut behind him with a bang that made the windows shudder in their frames. Y/N flinched. Her chest caved as she dropped down into one of the wooden kitchen chairs like all the strength had just drained out of her. Her elbows hit the edge of the table, head falling into her hands, shoulders hunched. Behind her, Luke mumbled something unintelligible and stumbled down the hallway. The second he was gone, the dam broke, silent tears dripped through her fingers, landing in dark, wet splotches on the old wooden table beneath her.

bzzz bzzz bzzz

Her phone vibrated on the counter, loud in the quiet house. She turned around slowly, reaching for it her hand trembling as the screen lit up.

Rafe

She stared at it, heartbeat thudding in her throat. Her chest rose and fell unevenly. Her thumb hovered over the screen for a long moment and then a soft, broken sound left her lips. She placed the phone face down on the table, letting it buzz until the sound faded.

Until the silence was all that was left in the four walls of the house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The soft clatter of cutlery was the only sound in the back of the restaurant. Y/N stood at the long metal counter, back hunched slightly as she polished a fork with slow, repetitive movements. Her shoulders were pulled up tight- and the faded name tag on her polo was barely clinging on by its safety pin. The white cloth in her hand dragged in steady circles, silver catching the dim light overhead. By the doorway, Sofia leaned one shoulder against the frame. She didn’t say anything at first- just watched her best friend, lips pressed into a thin, uncertain line. Y/N looked like she hadn’t slept a wink. There were shadows under her eyes and a drained stillness in her face. Sofia quietly stepped into the room, picked up another cloth from the drawer, and reached for a fork. Y/N didn’t look up, didn’t say anything, just kept working, kept silent like she had for the past few days. Sofia offered gently,

“Hey”

“Hey”

Y/N murmured back, voice soft but distant, her eyes locked on the fork in her hand like it was the only thing tethering her. Sofia hesitated, cloth in one hand fork in the other, debating how to say what she needed to. Her fingers tightened slightly on the metal.

“I um heard what happened to JJ”

Y/N’s hand paused, just for a second. Just long enough for the silence to crack a little but then she kept polishing.

“Mmhmm”

It was a quiet hum, the kind that meant I heard you, but please don’t ask me to talk about it. Sofia exhaled slowly. She put her fork down, the soft clink echoing in the small room. “Y/N… I haven't seen you for days,” she said, voice quieter now.

“Please talk to me.”

The cloth slipped from Y/N’s fingers. She gently set the fork down beside it, like even letting go of that was too much. Her hand lifted, trembling as she brushed it across her brow- trying to collect herself, to stay composed.

“I don’t know what to do Sof...”

She said, voice breaking mid-sentence. The words hit the air like a wound. Her eyes welled up instantly, lashes soaked before she could even blink. Sofia was already there, wrapping her arms around her in a heartbeat, tugging her in close. Y/N’s chin dropped to her shoulder, her breath hitching in her chest as she pressed her face against Sofia’s polo shirt.

“It’s okay,” Sofia whispered, “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

But it wasn’t okay.

It wasn’t okay.

Because Y/N felt like she was standing at the centre of a storm, everything torn apart. JJ wouldn’t even look at her. Wouldn’t speak to her. Her baby brother- her heart- had walked out and she hasn't seen him since then. And Rafe? Rafe had broken the one promise he swore to keep. He’d hurt her in a way she didn’t know how to come back from.

“What am I supposed to do?”

Sofia’s arms stayed tight around her for a long moment, like she could shield her from the weight of it all- from the ache, from the choices, from the fear. Then, gently, she pulled back and brushed a tear from Y/N’s cheek with the bottom of her polo which she'd tugged up. She said softly, tugging at her friend’s hand,

“Come here”

Y/N let herself be led, her limbs sluggish and almost reluctant. Sofia guided her to a small wooden stool tucked beneath one of the prep counters in the back room. She sat her down with careful hands, like setting a glass sculpture onto stone. Then she crouched in front of her, folding herself down so they were eye to eye. Her expression was open, gentle, patient. Sofia asked her voice low and kind,

“Can you tell me what’s going on... ?”

Y/N’s teeth sank into her bottom lip. Her eyes dropped to her lap where her hands were clenched into fists on top of her apron. For a moment, the silence between them stretched. Then Y/N gave a slow, exhaled surrender- and she told her.

Everything

She told Sofia about the second job — how she’d been dancing at the strip club for months just to make ends meet. How the money had been good, but the shame had clung to her skin like an old perfume. She told her about Rafe, about the way he’d taunted her, messed with her head, haunted her space like a ghost that never left her alone. And then how that twisted thing between them had shifted after what happened to her in the parking lot. About the parking lot. How she’d gotten pregnant, how she hadn’t meant to involve him but had nowhere else to go. And how, when it counted, Rafe had helped her and it had turned into more. Secret late nights, quiet promises in dark corners, a fragile, forbidden thing which they nurtured in silence. And as a result it had all blown up. JJ had found out, the one person she'd always protected now looked at her like she was someone he didn’t recognise. But even through the storm the rift between her and JJ had brought, all she could think about was Rafe.

Rafe, who said he wouldn’t tell anyone.

Rafe, who would hold her in his car on late nights and whisper sweet nothings in her ear.

Rafe, who promised.

And he broke it.

Sofia didn’t interrupt once. She stayed crouched there, one arm resting on her bent knee, nodding gently as each piece fell from Y/N like shattered glass. Her face remained steady and calm, but her eyes were soft with understanding. With heartbreak for her friend. When the story was done, Y/N swallowed thickly and glanced up at her with wet eyes.

“Please don’t judge me”

She whispered, barely audible. Sofia’s reaction was immediate — a sharp shake of the head. She said, gently but firmly.

“Why would I judge you?”

“I don’t know, I just…” Y/N’s voice cracked. She looked away again, blinking hard. Sofia leaned in a little closer, her brows furrowing with affection.

“Why didn’t you say something, mi corazón?”

“I was just… embarrassed.”

Y/N’s lips wobbled as she gave the smallest shrug and whispered. Without a word, Sofia reached out and laid a steadying hand on Y/N’s knee, grounding her. She spoke her voice laced with quiet conviction.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of”

Y/N’s throat tightened instantly. Her chin dipped, tears slipping down once again. But when Sofia leaned forward and wrapped her into another hug, she folded into it without hesitation- burying her face in her friend’s shoulder, arms clutching around her tightly like she might disappear. “We’ll figure it out, okay?” Sofia whispered against her hair.

“We’ll figure it out together.”

“I love you Sof”

Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut. Her body sagged in relief at the promise — not that anything was fixed, but that she wasn’t alone. Sofia just hugged her tighter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N threw back the swinging door to the main bar with her hip, a full tray of used glasses balanced effortlessly in her hand. The low hum of muffled chatter greeted her like a familiar blanket, warm and a little suffocating. Her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the bar's lights as she stepped back behind the counter, dumping the tray beside the industrial sink with a heavy exhale. She hadn’t realised how much she needed that talk with Sofia until now. Something about finally saying it out loud- all of it- had loosened the tightness in her chest. The weight of silence had been unbearable, and now, while the ache still lingered, she could breathe again. Just a little. But there wasn’t time to dwell in her thoughts anyways, not tonight.

The bar was packed, voices raised, chairs scraping against floorboards, orders being placed and the occasional whistle. She adjusted the apron which was tied snug around her waist, as a guy asked from the far end of the bar, adding on the name of his tab.

“Two shots of tequila, lime and salt on the side”

“Of course”

She replied without missing a beat, already grabbing the bottle and reaching for shot glasses. Her hands moved fast- pouring, shaking, stirring. She restocked bottles of liquor without thinking, cracked open a fresh case of beer, wiped condensation from the metal counter and replaced a handful of clean napkins. Someone ordered a mojito and she went to work muddling the mint, crushing ice with a practiced rhythm. It was muscle memory by now- she didn’t have to think, which was exactly what she needed.

No room for thoughts, no room for Rafe, or JJ, or anything else eating her alive from the inside out.

The more she moved, the more she disappeared into the chaos. Her skin gleamed under the bar lights, sweat beading along the back of her neck as she reached overhead to tuck fresh tumblers onto the glass shelf. She barely heard the quiet jazz music anymore, just the beat of urgency thudding in her chest.

“Another whiskey sour”

Someone asked and she reached for the shaker, wipe, pour, shake, serve, repeat, but then something made her glance up and her hand stilled on the bottle. Across the bar, nestled deep into the shadows of the corner lounge area, sat Rafe. Not drinking, not talking.

Just watching her.

He was slouched back in a leather chair like he owned that corner of the room, legs spread comfortably, one arm draped over the armrest. The light barely caught his face, but she didn’t need clarity to know the exact look he was wearing- that familiar unreadable expression, cold eyes fixed solely on her like she was something distant he couldn’t quite reach. Her jaw clenched tight.

The nerve

The audacity?

Y/N quickly looked away, her lips thinning as she focused on the drink in her hands, finishing the sour and passing it across the bar without a second glance. She moved faster now, snatching empty glasses off tables as she passed, ducking into the back cooler for a new bottle of gin, keeping her head down. But every time she looked up- every time- he was still there, still watching. Like a storm cloud on the edge of the horizon, just waiting to roll in, god it made her blood boil.

Her shoulders tensed as she scrubbed a sticky ring off the bar top with more force than necessary. She refused to give him the satisfaction of looking back, refused to let him drag her under again, not tonight. Not while she was trying to hold it together with thin threads and old tape. She poured a round of rum and cokes for a rowdy group at table four, barely registering the guy who tried to flirt with her as she served them. All she could feel was the burn of Rafe’s stare pressing into the side of her face like a brand. The bar area was still pulsing around her, dim lights flickering like fireflies in the low haze, glasses clinking, a muffled jazz beat vibrating through the floorboards but Y/N had started to move on autopilot. Hands quick and precise, wiping down the counters, collecting empty tumblers, taking orders and mixing drinks. She’d just handed off a margarita, salted rim, top-shelf tequila, extra lime, 'the usual', to a woman with long red nails and a tipsy grin when something in her peripheral made her pause.

She looked over and there he was.

Standing just to her left now, not lounging anymore, but leaning forward against the bar- both arms resting casually on the glossy wooden top, the sleeves of his shirt pushed back to his elbows. His expression wasn’t smug, wasn’t cocky like usual. There was no lazy smirk or self-satisfied gleam in his eye. He looked tired, and she could see a faint bruise on his cheekbone. His voice was quieter than normal when he spoke — missing that usual confident drawl.

“Can I get a whiskey on ice?”

Y/N didn’t respond. Not with words anyway, she turned, wordless, and reached for the bottle behind her. Her movements were mechanical and efficient. She pulled out a glass, dropped in the ice, and started pouring slow and steady, never once letting herself really look at him. But she couldn't help it and her eyes flickered up once. Just once. He was already watching her. His gaze was steady, fixed on her with a weight that made her skin prickle. Like he was searching for something in her face, something he couldn’t quite reach, something he knew he might not be allowed to see anymore. Still, she didn’t say a word. Didn’t ask why he was here. Didn’t ask what the hell he thought he was doing. Because truthfully? She didn’t know what she wanted to say to him. There was too much in her mind and it was too loud- much too messy.

Her hand moved on instinct, finishing the pour, and he slid the glass across the bar on a coaster her fingers brushing the condensation as she pushed it toward him. Rafe took it, fingers curling around the glass, but he didn’t drink. He just looked at her, lips pressing into a thin line like he was forcing himself not to say something he might regret. Finally, his voice broke the beat of the music again, soft but edged with something uncertain.

“…are you mad at me?”

Y/N didn’t blink, is he fucking dumb? She didn’t lift her eyes as she answered, her voice flat. Cold. Soaked in disappointment that ran deeper than fury.

“Mad doesn’t even cover it.”

And then she turned, already moving toward the next customer, leaving Rafe standing there, his untouched drink in hand. He didn’t leave, not after that first drink, not after her next round of orders rolled in. Rafe stayed perched on a stool by the bar, watching her every move.

All night.

Eventually he returned to the same leather chair tucked into the farthest corner of the lounge, a space covered just enough in shadow that most people wouldn’t notice him if they were looking. But Y/N did. Every time she turned around, every time she restocked the vodka, every time she handed someone a beer, she felt his eyes.

Waiting.

For what?—she wasn’t sure. A chance to speak to her? Forgiveness? Maybe just a single glance from her in his direction. She didn’t give him that- not once. Not even when her arms began to ache from shaking drinks. Not even when her lower back pinched from bending to stock crates under the bar. She kept moving, kept working, pushing through the ache in her chest and the hot buzz behind her eyes because looking at him, acknowledging him, might just undo her right there behind the bar.

He didn’t make it easy, he stayed there, that untouched whiskey glass still in front of him like he didn’t even have the stomach to drink it. His elbows rested on the armrests of the chair, posture not lazy like usual was but tense. Stiff. Even Sofia noticed. The first time she passed by his corner delivering a round of beers, she glanced his way—and didn’t hide the icy look she shot him. Her brows furrowed in sharp judgment, eyes narrowing as she walked by without breaking her stride. The second time, she muttered something under her breath in Spanish that sounded suspiciously like a curse. The third time, Rafe shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable now. He rubbed the back of his neck, avoided looking at her directly. His fingers tapped restlessly against the side of his glass, but he didn’t leave.

Y/N clocked it all from across the room.

How he didn’t even try to defend himself under Sofia’s glare. How he just sat there, letting himself stew in whatever guilt had driven him here in the first place. Despite every ounce of anger boiling in her chest, some part of her- a stupid, bruised part- still wondered why. Why he was there. Why he hadn’t left. Why he did what he did in the first place.

But she didn’t ask, she couldn't.

She just kept pretending she didn’t feel his stare burning a hole through her ribs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N shoved her apron deep into her bag, the fabric still damp from the shift. Her locker door clanged shut harder than necessary, echoing through the quiet staff room. Her fingers trembled slightly as she pulled the worn bag closed. Sofia leaned against the frame of the doorway, arms crossed, watching her closely.

“You sure you don’t want me to walk you to your car?” her voice soft, gentle, hesitant, "why don't you just come and stay with me for the night? You know my parents really won’t mi—”

“I’m fine”

Y/N cut her off with a half-hearted smile, already slinging her bag over her shoulder,

“Really- I'll be ok”

Sofia didn’t push. She just nodded, a quiet understanding behind her brown eyes, and reached out to give her friend’s arm a warm rub, reassuring and grounding.

“Text me when you get home”

She spoke out with a soft smile, and then turned returning back to serving, leaving Y/N alone with the dim hum of the locker room lights. Y/N let out a breath as the door swung shut behind her, then turned on her heel and started out, walking the familiar halls of the country club in silence. The floors echoed under her shoes, the once-buzzing energy now dulled down to a few scattered patrons still nursing their drinks at the bar. Her path was straight and certain; out the lobby, across the lot, into her car, and then home to her bedroom where she could finally fall apart all over again but that plan cracked the moment she heard his voice,

“I can’t stand not talking to you”

It stopped her mid-step. She turned, eyes narrowing as her gaze landed on him, standing just a few feet away near the archway that separated the main area from the corridor. His posture was rigid, jaw tight, eyes desperately locked on her like the sight of her physically hurt him.

“Cornering me at work Rafe?” Her voice was sharp, cutting.

“Seriously?”

“Please,” he said quickly, “it was a mistake”

Her laugh was dry and humourless as she took a step back, putting more space between them as she spoke out to him,

“Well I don’t want to fucking see you. Okay?”

She turned sharply on her heel, her shoes hitting against the polished floor as she headed for the door to get as far away as she possibly could from him. He took a step after her calling out her name,

“Y/N—”

“I said I’m done”

She snapped without looking back as her hand moved forward to press against the cool glass of the door but that’s when his hand caught her wrist. Not hard- not even rough. Just a desperate, instinctual reach to stop her from walking away from him but it didn’t matter.

She flinched- visibly.

Her body jolted back, her breath catching in her throat like someone had shoved her against a wall, and she harshly snatched her hand away from him. His hand was off her in an instant, eyes wide with horror.

“Shit- I'm sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

His voice was genuinely shaken, like he'd just realised something too late... it didn't take a genius for him to figure out why she'd reacted that way. They stood there, the air heavy and still. Her chest rising and falling in quiet breaths. Him, frozen in place like if he moved too fast he’d shatter the last piece of her that was still standing in front of him. Y/N finally looked up at him, her voice cracked,

“I trusted you.”

Rafe’s lips parted like he wanted to speak, but the words never came. Just the ache of guilt, swelling like a lump in his throat preventing him from speaking out to her. “Out of everyone on this island,” she said, each syllable slow, deliberate, trembling,

“I trusted you.”

And God, that look in her eyes when she looked away- betrayal, hurt- it gutted him. Because no one had ever trusted him like that before- and he’d thrown it away in a moment of reckless anger which was worthless to him now. She didn’t need to see the look on his face to know it would upset her, but when she looked up to him again it almost stopped her in her tracks. Rafe was still standing there, just a few steps behind where she left him, eyes damp with unshed tears, his lower lip trembling like he was fighting it- like he was barely holding himself together. For a moment, she felt like she couldn’t breathe- but she didn’t have the space to carry his pain on top of hers. So she shook her head, a tiny, bitter movement- more to herself than to him- and turned away. She didn’t wait to see if he’d call out again, she didn’t want to hear anything else come out of his mouth. Y/N pushed through the exit doors into the still, quiet night.

The staff parking lot was nearly empty now. Sofia’s little beat-up car was a few spots over from her own, the manager’s black SUV on the far side but that was it. Empty asphalt, dim overhead lights, and the sound of her own footsteps echoing with every step toward her car. She half-expected him to follow, but he didn’t. Good, she thought to herself he didn’t deserve to. As she approached her car, something caught her eye- a small, white rectangle tucked neatly beneath the wiper blade of her windshield. Her stomach twisted. She glanced around the lot on instinct, but saw no one. Carefully, she plucked the paper from under the wiper. It was a folded-up note card. And when she opened it, two crisp hundred-dollar bills fluttered to the pavement at her feet.

Her heart dropped as her eyes scanned the message.

" Sorry baby x "

She scoffed out loud, bitter and disbelieving, the sound catching in her throat like a laugh soaked in gasoline. She bent down slowly, picked up the bills, her fingers trembling. Was this a joke? Was this what he thought would make things better? Footsteps echoed behind her and she didn’t even need to turn because she knew it was him. Hot rage snapped through her chest like a rubber band and before she could think twice, she whirled around and stormed back toward him, shoes slamming against the pavement. Her fist clutched the note and the cash tightly, nails biting into her palm. He was just a few yards away, hands stuffed in his pockets, walking slowly like he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing- but when she closed the distance between them, he stopped dead in his tracks. Without hesitation, she shoved the paper and bills into his chest shoving him back, her voice shaking from fury.

“I don’t want your fucking money Rafe!”

The bills nearly slipped from his hands as he reached up, fumbling to catch them. His brows furrowed, panicked and hurt.

“I’m just trying to help you—”

“I’m not a FUCKING CHARITY CASE!”

She snapped yelling out at him, voice rising, eyes glinting under the parking lot lights. The words hung between them like a slap and he stared at her like she’d just knocked the wind out of him. She could see it now- the way his mouth opened, then shut again, how he couldn’t look her in the eye, how the words on his tongue died before they ever reached his lips. Because he knew. Deep down, he knew this wasn’t something a couple hundred bucks and a sorry would fix. But still… he reached for her. Not to touch, but to speak- his voice cracked, low.

“Y/N…”

She stepped back.

"Don’t."

Her breath hitched, and she swallowed it down with every ounce of strength she had left. She looked at him, really looked at him- messy hair, tired eyes meeting that wounded expression on his face like he was the one who got hurt- and it made her sick. "You don't get to be upset," she whispered, voice trembling but sharp as glass.

"This is your fault."

She spoke out through gritted teeth and he just shook his head in response and he sighed out, his hand coming out and running over his hair before he could say another word to her, she turned and walked away she refused to listen to hi-

“I love you”

His voice cuts through the space between them- soft and low, but it stopped her in her tracks like a bullet. Y/N froze, completely, her back still to him. Her hand comes up over her face, trembling as she tries to breathe through it, tries to swallow down everything rising in her throat. She feels like her knees are about to give out underneath her, chest heaving with the kind of pressure that builds until it becomes unbearable, the kind that threatens to spill out in hot, angry tears. What the fuck was he doing? Her hand drops slowly to her side, fingers twitching, keys clinking in her grip. She turns, slow and tired and sharp all at once, and lifts her chin just enough to meet his gaze. Her voice is tight, quiet, venom-laced and barely hanging on.

“Don’t say shit like that.”

She takes a step back like his presence burns. He tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing in confusion.

“Why not?”

“Because—” she starts, then bites the word off, jaw clenching as she shakes her head, like she can just shake him out of her mind.

“Just don’t.”

But Rafe- he stays rooted to the pavement, watching her like she’s sand slipping through his fingers and he's desperate enough to fall to the floor and start picking up each grain individually. “Please,” he says, voice rough with a pleading edge she’s never heard from him.

“Just listen to what I have to say”

She shakes her head again, more frantic this time, her thumb jabbing the car key until she hears a beep, the headlights flashing like a warning. She storms toward the door, her breath hitching in her throat. “Well then talk to me,” Rafe tries again, following her now, steps echoing hers. Desperation claws into his voice.

“Please Y/N- talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you, okay?”

She whirls around so fast he almost walks right into her, and with a sharpness that nearly cuts the air and she snaps, voice cracking in the middle, hand shaking around the keys.

“I don’t want to talk to you- my whole life is crumbling around me, and funnily enough, you seem to be the core of my problems.”

“No, I’m not—”

“Yes you are!”

Y/N yells as she raises her hands in defeat, voice ringing out across the empty parking lot, echoing off metal and asphalt and silence. She’s standing there, chest rising and falling so hard it looks like she might collapse under the weight of it all. Her lip trembles as she stares at him- like he’s the storm and she’s the goddamn wreckage.

“I seem to only be thinking about you!”

She chokes out, the words ragged. Real. They're out of her mouth before she can stop them and when they land, when the truth hangs heavy and cruel between them, her entire expression shifts. Like the world’s been ripped from beneath her feet and she’s the one who did it. Her lips press together, her shoulders sag, and her eyes flicker down like she’s already trying to take it back.

But it’s too late.

Rafe just stares at her, a flicker of pain surging behind his eyes. No smirk, no cocky retort, no smug line like always. Just... stunned- like he’s been punched in the chest. She exhales shakily and reaches for the car door handle, gripping it so tight her knuckles go white. She tries to anchor herself to the cold metal but then his voice cuts through the silence, earnest.

“...I think about you too.”

She squeezes her eyes shut as though to block his voice out.

“All the time I'm thinking about yo-”

“No.” 

Her voice is barely a whisper now fractured and frightened.

“Stop.”

“Why?” Rafe asks, his tone is softer this time.

“What are you so afraid of?”

Her fingers tremble where they rest against the door, and she swallows hard, the lump in her throat too big to ignore now. “I can’t-” she croaks, shaking her head like it physically hurts her to speak.

“I can’t do this with you, Rafe. I just can’t.”

“Why?”

His voice is gentle- almost pleading- just a thread of sound in the night air. He steps closer, careful not to touch her, but close enough that she can feel the heat of him lingering like a ghost, like he’s haunting her just like everything else she’s tried to bury. “Y/N,” he says, his tone catching at the edges,

“you know you want to. So why are you running away?”

She doesn’t answer. She just stands there, shaking her head slowly, lips pressed tight like she’s trying to hold herself together with sheer will alone. Because how is she supposed to explain it? How does she say out loud that love feels like a noose around her throat- that she's only ever known the kind that hurts. She hates it- hates that he’s asking the very question she keeps asking herself.

Why is she running?

The answer lodges in her chest, sharp and bitter: because she’s scared. Scared of how much this means, scared of what it could take from her, scared of how much it already has. She’s never really been loved. Not the way people are supposed to be. Not by her father, who only ever saw her as a mirror of everything he hated. Not even- if she’s being honest- by JJ, because JJ has the Pogues he has John B and the others and she… she’s always felt like second place- like an afterthought, even when they swore they were all each other had. So yeah- she’s scared. Because this? What she feels when Rafe looks at her, what stirs deep in her gut when he says her name like a prayer he’s never gonna stop saying, it’s terrifying.

Because she loves him.

She loves him.

More than she even knew she could and that’s what terrifies her the most. Rafe sees the shift. The tear rolling down her cheek and his hands twitch at his sides- because he wants to reach out. Wants to tell her it's okay to be scared. That he’s scared too. But his voice breaks around the weight of it.

“Y/N I lov-”

“Please”

She whispers, eyes glossy as the salt water drips down the skin of her face, her voice raw and strained.

“Just let me go home.”

His jaw tenses hard enough it clicks, the muscle there jumping. His mind screams at him to keep her here, to talk it out until she's in his arm again but instead, he nods, jaw locked tight like he’s holding back something that might rip him in half if he lets it loose. He steps back and she can't meet his eyes. She just slips into her car like she’s done a thousand times, hands shaking as she fumbles with the key, breath stuttering through her chest. The door shuts with a quiet thud that sounds final.

And then- she’s gone. Taillights disappear down the dark road, red glow vanishing into the night. Rafe stands there for a second, not moving, just staring at where her car used to be. His chest rises and falls like he’s been running, but he hasn’t moved at all. His hands lift to his hair, a groan tearing from his throat, guttural and helpless. He paces once, twice in rage and heartbreak and desperation tangling all over each other until he doesn’t even know what to feel anymore.

Because fuck.

He knows that she loves him but he’s scared he’s already lost her anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The drive home is silent, except for the low hum of the engine and the occasional crunch of gravel beneath her tires. Her hands are loose on the wheel now, posture slumped like all the weight of the night has finally caught up to her. The headlights sweep over the front of her house as she pulls in, illuminating the weather-worn porch, the chipped paint on the steps.

She parks and cuts the engine.

For a moment, she doesn’t move. Just rests her forehead gently against the steering wheel and closes her eyes quiet sniffles filling the car. She lets herself sink into the kind of stillness that feels like sinking into water- quiet, numbing, heavy. She sits there and thinks for a moment, she thinks how she wishes she could just start over. Somewhere far away, somewhere no one knows her name and no one knows what she’s done. Somewhere she could exist without always feeling like she's on the edge of ruin. Like she's constantly holding everything together with nothing but her fingertips and good intentions. Her chest tightens as she breathes out a shaky sigh finally reaching for the door handle.

She steps out into the cool night, her shoes landing softly on the dried grass. The sky is thick and clouded, swallowing the stars whole, no moonlight shining through. As she approaches the porch, she notices just a faint flicker of light through the drawn shutter blinds. Her steps quiet as she doesn’t want to make a sound. Y/N slides her keys into the lock carefully, twisting them with a gentle hand.

Click

The door eases open and she slips inside and shuts it behind her—softly, gently, like maybe if she moves quiet enough, nothing will break but as she turns around and stops cold. Dead in her tracks. Her breath catches in her throat, and her eyes lock onto the living room just a few feet ahead.

Her father is sitting on the couch.

Half his face lit by the dim glow of the table lamp beside him. The other half shrouded in darkness. His shoulders are hunched forward, one hand dangling off his knee, a glass of something clutched loose in his fingers. Whiskey maybe, or vodka, or whatever was cheapest this week. His eyes are open and staring straight at her. It’s like the air’s been sucked out of the house. His expression unreadable beneath the haze of alcohol—and maybe something stronger. She’s still frozen there, heart pounding so loud she can feel it in her throat, her ears, her ribs. Like it’s trying to crawl out of her. But it’s not him that makes her stomach twist into knots and her lungs forget how to breathe. It’s what’s sitting on the table in front of him, laid out neatly on the small coffee table like some sort of offering.

A pair of her stripper heels.

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Saw this one tumblr post about a soulmate AU where people age until they reach 18 and then stop aging until they meet their soulmate so they can grow old together🥺

I wanted to ask how your take on this idea would be with your favorite spn character

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ til i saw you,

summary. you stop aging at 18, until you reunite with your happily ever after.

pairing. dean winchester x reader genre. fluff ; soulmate au

wordcount. 1080

notes / warnings. very brief mention of sex / this idea is honestly too cute!

You stop aging at eighteen.

Everyone does.

It’s the first thing they teach you in school, right after the alphabet. Right after how to count to ten.

"You will age until your eighteenth birthday," the teacher says, "and then you’ll stay that way until your soulmate touches you. That’s when time will start again. For both of you."

You remember wondering what that touch would feel like. Would it burn? Would it glow? Would the world shift on its axis?

But that was... a long time ago. And you're still here. Still eighteen. Still waiting. Twenty-seven birthdays later.

You wake up on the same mattress in the same little apartment you’ve been calling home for a decade now. Skin smooth, eyes clear, a body that never aches. On paper, you're one of the lucky ones. Immortality is soft on your bones. But it’s hard on your heart.

There’s only so long you can pretend you’re just a late bloomer. People stop asking after a while. They start to look. Whisper. Wonder. You lie. A lot. About your age, about where you’re from, about why you never seem to change.

And maybe the worst part—maybe the cruelest—is how easy it is to fall in love with the wrong people along the way. You’ve done it. Twice. Maybe three times, if you're being honest. But no matter how close they get, no matter how much you want it to happen, nothing changes.

No touch restarts your clock.

Until him.

It’s late when he walks into the gas station. Midnight and humming, the fluorescent lights above your head buzz like insects. You’re chewing gum and half-asleep behind the register when he strolls in, tall and broad and all leather jacket and swagger. He has a look in his eyes that says he’s seen too much and still hasn’t stopped looking.

You barely glance up when he drops a handful of items on the counter: beef jerky, a bottle of whisky, pie.

“Quiet night?” he says, voice deep and rasped, like he’s been singing with gravel in his throat.

You nod. Then look up.

And something... shifts.

It's not a sound, not a spark, not the glowing halo you used to imagine when you were little. It's a feeling. A pull. Your chest tightens like someone’s wrapping a thread around your ribs and tugging—just once. Gently. But enough to make your breath hitch.

He notices. Freezes.

The pie falls from his hand, lands with a soft thud against the counter. You both stare at each other like someone just flipped the universe upside down.

“You feel that?” he asks. And it’s not a line. It’s not casual. His voice is rougher now. Almost afraid.

You nod. Whisper, “Yeah.”

He lifts a hand slowly. Gives you time to step back, to say no, to deny it. But you don’t.

When his fingers touch yours, it’s instantaneous.

Like heat waking in your veins. Like time exhaling. Your heart stutters and then races, faster than it’s beat in years. You feel your skin come alive—blood rushing, lungs expanding, every cell remembering how to move.

And from the way he sways, the way his eyes widen and mouth parts, you know he’s feeling it too.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “I thought—I thought I’d die before this ever happened.”

Your lips curve. “You’re old, then?”

He barks out a laugh. “Let’s just say I’ve been eighteen long enough to miss rotary phones.”

You grin. “I’ve never used one.”

He leans closer. “Wanna come with me?”

You blink. “Where?”

“Anywhere.” A pause. “Everywhere.”

That’s how it begins.

A duffel bag. A backseat. The open road. Dean Winchester drives like it’s a religion and swears like it’s punctuation. He flirts without meaning to, laughs like he’s been starved for it, and kisses you like the world might end at any second.

The first time he makes you come, it’s in a motel room somewhere outside of Denver.

You’re both breathless from running—something about vampires, or maybe ghosts; you didn’t ask, too drunk on adrenaline and the way he’d looked at you in the dark. Like you were already his.

He kisses you soft at first, like he’s afraid he might break you. But his hands are anything but shy. They trail up your thighs, parting them like he already knows what’s underneath. When he finally pushes inside you, it feels like you’ve waited centuries for this exact kind of stretch, that kind of fullness, the kind of groan he makes when you clench around him.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasps into your neck, voice hot and hungry. “You feel like heaven.”

You arch under him. “Then don’t stop.”

He doesn’t.

Being with Dean is nothing like you imagined.

He’s not soft. Not exactly. But he’s gentle in the ways that matter. He makes coffee in the mornings, leaves the radio on your favorite station, kisses the inside of your wrist like a promise. He reads you bedtime stories in Latin just to make you laugh. He teaches you how to shoot a gun and then buys you a strawberry milkshake after because he says it’s “important to balance the badass with the cute.”

And maybe it’s not perfect. You still fight. He still shuts down sometimes, still carries the weight of the world in the slope of his shoulders. But now, when he breaks, you’re there to hold him. And when you tremble, he’s already pulling you into his chest, pressing kisses into your hair, reminding you that he’s not going anywhere.

Not now. Not ever.

Months pass. Then years. You both start to age.

Little things at first. A crinkle at the edge of his eyes when he smiles. The slight ache in your hips when you ride him too long.

But it’s beautiful, this slow unraveling. This proof that it’s real. That you found each other. That time is moving again—together.

He touches the first silver strand in your hair like it’s a miracle.

“I’ve waited a long time for this,” he says, voice thick with feeling.

You cup his cheek. “What? The wrinkles?”

He grins. “No. You.”

And maybe you’ll never know why it took so long. Why fate made you wait. But when he holds you at night, when his breath is warm on your shoulder and his arms are wrapped tight around your waist, you finally stop wondering.

Because your clock is ticking.

And so is his.

And you’ll grow old.

Together.

Just like you were meant to.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

hiii!! i love the “lee byung huns controversially young gf” posts so much🙏🏻😭 that’s all, i just need more of those

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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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Her soldier - part 1/2

Ben (Soldier boy) x Y/N F/Reader

Summary: 1940s setting, Teenage Ben is head over heels with the 5 year older Y/N. His dad didn't like women like Y/N hard working without a ring on her finger and a free spirit. In his free time he starts helping her out, but will she keep seeing him as a cute kid or will time bring other feelings in the mix?

Warnings: 18+ MDNI!, Slowburn, Implied Spice, talk of virginity, Losing virginity, age gab, Violence, Smoking, ...

Sorry wanted to cover as much backstory as possible in one part.

---

**Philadelphia**

It was always busiest near the Navy Yard.

Men came and went in uniforms—sailors on leave, officers grabbing drinks before catching trains south. Most of the bars on Broad Street didn’t ask questions, especially about age. That made The Red Lily a popular stop.

Low lights, too much smoke, the bitter tang of whiskey in the air. And behind the bar: Y/N.

Women didn’t work in joints like this. Not unless they had no choice. Or no shame. Or both.

That’s what people whispered anyway. Ben had heard it all, usually from his father’s friends. "That woman’s no better than a streetwalker," they said. "Tight clothes and cheap smiles. She’s not the kind of woman a good man settles down with."

But all men where drawn to the place of secret pleasure.

Ben didn’t see what they saw. To him, she was electric. She was the light that shine bright in the darkness.

She had a mouth like a sailor, arms stronger than half the men she served, and eyes that saw right through your soul. And when she laughed—really laughed—it sounded like she hadn’t in a long time.

He was sixteen when he first met her.

She’d been dragging two crates of beer from the alley behind the bar, cursing under her breath. The sleeves of her blouse were rolled up, hair pinned back messily, a streak of something dark across her cheek.

Ben was walking by, books under his arm, headed nowhere in particular. Specially not after he was kicked out of school... again.

“You need a hand?” he asked, already stepping forward.

She looked him over—tall for sixteen, a little too lean, sunburn on his neck. Too young to be of any real use. But there was something in his face. Eager. Kind.

“You any good at lifting?”

“I’m not bad,” he said, grinning.

That was how it started.

A Week Later

She handed him a few dollars. He blinked at it, confused. “What’s this for?”

“For helping me this week.” she said. “You’re here every day now, might as well make it official.”

“I—I didn’t do it for money,” Ben said, flustered, holding the bill like it might bite. Y/N shrugged, lighting a cigarette. “Doesn’t matter. You earned it. Get yourself somethin’ that ain’t war rations.”

He started taking the money. Slowly. Learned what a dollar could do. How to fold it right. How to save it. He swept floors, stacked crates, and kept his eyes on her even when he tried not to.

She called him “kid” until one late night, the bar nearly empty, just the sound of a jazz record crackling softly. “You ever think about leaving Philly?” she asked, elbow on the bar, a glass of something brown in her hand.

Ben swallowed, nodding. “I wanna join the Army.” Her brows lifted. “You?”

He straightened. “Yeah. But my dad won’t sign off. Says it’s for ‘real men,’ not dreamers. But I’ll be seventeen soon. And once I’m eighteen…”

He drifted off, unsure if he’d said too much. Y/N watched him for a long beat. Her lips twitched. “Well,” she said, lifting her glass toward him, “cheers to that, Soldier.”

He felt his face go hot. He grinned.

**Philadelphia, Winter, one year later.**

Ben would be eighteen in a few days.

Y/N didn’t forget—she never forgot. For months, she kept teasing him with smirks. "So, when you gonna trade the mop for a rifle, Soldier?" He’d always grin, scratch the back of his neck, and say, "Soon." But “soon” kept stretching further.

The truth was: he hadn’t signed up, not yet.

Not because he was scared. Not of boot camp, not of war, not even of his father’s scorn. He was scared of leaving her.

Y/N wasn’t some helpless damsel—God no. She’d survived more than most men ever would. But that didn’t mean she should have to fight alone.

Not after what that bastard did.

Tommy

Her last boyfriend—a mechanic with calloused hands and a temper that smelled like bourbon—hadn’t taken the breakup well. Ben was glad she dumped him after he had hit her one to many times.

After that he showed up more than once, shouting from the sidewalk, calling her names loud enough the whole damn block could hear. She never flinched, never let her hands shake.

But Ben saw the way she kept looking over her shoulder.

And that was enough to stay.

---

The bar was almost empty. Wind howled outside like a living thing, rattling the glass, echoing in the alleyways. Ben was mopping the back of the floor while Y/N cleaned behind the bar, both of them moving in comfortable silence.

She looked up suddenly. “So,” she said, casual, like it didn’t matter, “what are you planning to do with all that cash you’ve been hoarding? If you don't mind asking.”

Ben paused, wringing the mop. “Dunno,” he muttered. “Maybe something special.” She tilted her head, lips quirking. “Special, huh? That a code word for whiskey or a visit to the women a few blocks away?”

His ears turned red. “No,” he said quickly. “Not like that. I'd rather find myself a nice lady and wait for to settle than pay for it. ”

She chuckled, didn’t press. She knew when to pull and when to leave the line slack.

Ben went back to mopping, heartbeat still loud in his ears. He wasn’t gonna say it. Not yet. Not that every dollar he’d stashed away was meant for a future where she might see him as something more than the boy who swept her floors.

Then the crash came—shattering, violent.

The front window exploded inwards in a hail of glass and brick. Y/N flinched, dropping a bottle that shattered beside her feet.

Ben didn’t hesitate. He was out the door like a shot, glass crunching under his boots. He caught a glimpse of taillights turning the corner—too fast, too familiar.

The same damn car. Her ex. Ben stood in the street, fists clenched, chest heaving, the cold biting through his shirt. He didn’t chase it. Not tonight. But next time?

Next time he’d be ready.

When he walked back inside, Y/N was sweeping up the glass like it was nothing, but her jaw and her hands were bleeding. The glass must have hit her.

He took the broom from her without asking. They didn’t say a word for a while. He’d given up war for her. Because she was his battle. And he had no intention of losing.

The brick was gone. The glass swept. But the silence lingered, heavy and strange.

Y/N sat on the edge of the bar, knees together, one palm upturned in her lap. A thin trail of blood curved across her skin, glass having left its mark.

Ben kneeled in front of her with the first aid tin cracked open beside him. The alcohol stung, but his hands—those were gentle. Ridiculously so. He worked with care, eyes narrowed in focus like she was made of something rare.

“You’re good at this,” she whispered. He looked up, a smudge of blood on his knuckle. “Huh?”

She gave a soft, wry smile. “Tender. I wonder if you learned that from a pretty little girl?” His gaze didn’t flinch. “My mom," he said softly, he never spoke of her.

"Besides, you know, I only have eyes for you.” The room shifted.

She blinked, her smile faltering just slightly. Something tightened behind her ribs. There was a line—bold and simple—and it was not a line she wanted to cross.

Y/N waited for the punchline, the cheeky follow-up, the it was just a joke explanation. But he just looked at her. Looked at her like she was holy. Ben leaned in a little, eyes flicking from hers to her mouth.

She pulled back. The movement was small, barely a breath’s worth of space, but enough.

“I—I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I don’t… feel that way.”

Ben’s brow furrowed, confusion painting itself across his face. “What about everything between us? All the flirting… teasing?” She shook her head softly. “You mean the jokes? The laughter?”

He didn’t answer.

“That’s friendship, Benjamin.”

He flinched at the name. The one no one called him anymore. The one that made him sixteen again, not almost eighteen. Not a man.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” she said, gently but firmly.

“I’m not a kid anymore.”

“No, you’re not. But Ben,” she sighed, “I do like you. I care about you. Just not like that.” His throat hurt, like he was swallowing glass.

“I’ll treat you better than any of them,” he whispered.

“I know,” she said, reaching out to touch his hand, warm and firm. “That's not it. ” He stared at her hand on his. Then slowly stood up, the air colder now between them.

The wound on her palm was forgotten.

Ben stood there, unmoving. He looked at her like he was trying to memorize every line of her face, like if he just understood her expression, maybe the ache in his chest would make sense.

She only now noticed how tall he’d gotten in the last two years. He wasn’t that lanky boy with too-big hands and sleeves rolled up to the elbows anymore. His shoulders had settled broad and strong, the kind that filled a doorway. His voice had dropped a register—warm, firm, sure.

But the look in his eyes tonight was something else entirely.

He licked his lips like the words were too dry to say. “Is it because…” he paused, eyes falling to the floor, “because I have no… experience?”

Her brows drew in, caught off guard.

“I mean—” he rushed to explain, “I know most guys my age… they’ve had girls. In their beds. At parties. I just…” He shrugged, suddenly bashful. “I figured I’d wait. For the one that mattered.”

There it was. That truth, naked and soft in the middle of his chest. Y/N’s breath caught. She stood quickly, stepping toward him, eyes wide.

“No,” she said, almost pleading. “No, that’s not it. That’s not why, Ben. That has nothing to do with it.”

He looked at her, half-hopeful, half-lost.

“I think it’s… it’s cute, that you’re waiting for the one.”

He flinched. “Cute,” he echoed, quietly. A word that stung worse than it should have. "So I'm more like your kid brother?"

“Oh, Ben,” she sighed. “Don’t—don’t take it that way.”

“How else should I take it?” His voice cracked just a little. “You think it’s sweet, adorable. But you’ll never see me like them. Like the men who leave you bruised, and hurt. You rather have you face beaten up and cheated on than date a guy a few years younger?”

“That’s not fair—”

“I’d never hurt you.”

“I know,” she said. “I know you wouldn’t. But who said I won't hurt you?”

The silence wrapped around them. He didn’t look angry, not really. Just… wounded. Like something sacred had cracked in his chest and he didn’t quite know how to hold the pieces.

“I care about you,” she said, quieter now. “God, Ben, I care about you so much. But you’re still figuring out who you are.”

“I already know who I am,” he said. “I’m yours.”

Her breath hitched. But she couldn’t say what she wanted to. Not now. Not when the right words didn’t exist.

She just stepped back. "Ben, I'm not the girl for you." She let him go.

---

Two Weeks Later

Y/N hadn’t seen him.

Not for thirteen days. Not since the night he’d left without looking back, heartbreak stitched across his broadening shoulders.

And then, on the fourteenth morning, there he was—just like always.

No fanfare. No words.

Just Ben, sleeves rolled, arms straining as he carried two heavy crates through the back door like he’d never left. She blinked from behind the bar, setting down her coffee. “You’re alive.”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t even glance her way. Just walked past and set the crates down where they belonged. Her smile faltered.

Something had changed. And it was her fault.

---

She didn’t get a chance to ask. Not then. Because an hour later, he walked in.

Tommy.

The guy who’d thrown a brick, bruised her arms, and spat at her name in the street. His swagger oozed entitlement, like nothing had happened, like he belonged.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, loud enough for Ben to hear. And then, without warning, he grabbed her by the waist and kissed her.

Y/N froze. Not responding. Not resisting. Just… enduring.

Ben was across the room, stacking a barrel near the back. He turned slowly, jaw clenched, eyes dark. Tommy caught it.

“Oh, it’s the boy again,” he sneered. “Still sniffing around like a mutt.”

Ben didn’t respond. Just went back to what he was doing. Focused. Calm. If Y/N wanted him rather than him he would behave, for her.

But the guy wasn’t having it. He strode over and shoved Ben forward, hard, slamming him chest-first against the barrel.

“Don’t ignore me, punk.” Y/N moved to help—fast—but she didn’t need to.

Ben whipped around, jaw tight, eyes burning, and drove his fist into the man’s face. A clean, sharp punch—one he’d clearly been holding back for months.

The man staggered and crashed into a table, toppling it sideways. Chairs scattered. Blood bloomed from his nose. He groaned, standing up, teeth bared. “You little shit—”

He lunged. But before he could lay a finger, Y/N stepped between them.

“Don’t!”

She wasn’t shouting. But her voice cut like a blade. “I’m done. You hear me? Get out of my bar. Out of my life.” He stared at her, stunned. “You’re choosing him? A goddamn kid?”

“Better than a coward who only feels strong when he's hurting someone smaller.”

“You crazy bitch,” he snapped, wiping his nose. “You’d rather play house with a teenager? Fine. You’re nothing but a slut. A child abuser.”

Ben moved again, fury in his stride—but Y/N grabbed his arm. Her head shaking no. She turned back to Tommy. “If you ever come near me again, I swear on every name I’ve ever loved—I will call the cops.”

He hesitated. Then spat on the floor and stormed out, slamming the door behind him hard enough to rattle the windows.

Silence returned, thick and humming.

Y/N stood there, breathing heavy. Still between Ben and the door. Then slowly, her shoulders sank.

Ben stepped forward. “You okay?” She nodded, not looking at him. But her hands were trembling. Her eyes finally lifted to his, her hand moving over his cheek.

"Thank you.... soldier."

**Philadelphia, Spring that same year**

They’d fallen into their old rhythm again—like nothing had ever broken between them.

Ben came in early, lifted the heavy stock, cleaned without asking. She poured his coffee just how he liked it, always before the bar opened, always before the real world could intrude.

They didn’t talk about that night anymore. The one with the fight and the shouting and her standing between him and the kind of man she swore she was done with. But things were different after that. Not in big ways—just in the quiet ones.

He watched her more protectively. She touched his arm a little longer when saying thank you. Neither of them said what it meant.

---

One morning, Ben lingered by the register longer than usual. She was cleaning glasses, humming low, when he finally spoke.

“Hey, uh…” He cleared his throat. “You think I could maybe… get a raise?”

She paused, one brow lifted. “A raise?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “My dad said I should at least be making double. Said I’m being used.”

It was a lie. A clumsy one. His father barely spoke to him anymore. Y/N frowned, glass halfway polished. “Ben… I can’t pay that. I barely make enough to cover my own rent.”

He winced. “Right. I shouldn’t’ve—” She stepped around the bar quickly, grabbing his arm. “Hey. I didn’t say no.”

He blinked.

“I said I can’t pay that much. But I can give you something. A little more. Whatever I’ve got to spare.” He looked down at her hand on his arm. Then at her eyes—soft, tired, but still kind.

“Thanks,” he said, giving a half smile. “That’s… that’s really kind of you.”

But guilt still hung on his shoulders.

After a beat, he added quietly, “Maybe I could find a second job. You know. For evenings, after I'm done here here. I just… I don’t wanna be a burden.”

Her face changed. “You’re not a burden, Ben. I just make enough for myself and I do appreciate your help but... ” He looked at her, and for a second, the air between them felt like that night again. Unspoken things. Uncrossed lines. "I get it."

“I just o do my part,” he said. “I know,” she replied. “You always had my back.”

And then she did something she hadn’t done in a long time. She reached up, and brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. A touch too tender to be casual.

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. But neither of them said a word.

---

**Philadelphia, Summer **

Ben had picked up a second job two weeks after asking for the raise. It paid good money, enough for him to save. But more than that, the work gave him something else—distance. Time to think. Time to breathe.

The place was just a few blocks down. A brothel hidden behind a red-painted door, dressed up like a jazz club to fool the right eyes. It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t safe. But it paid in cash and didn’t ask questions.

He worked the door mostly. Kept drunks out, broke up fights before they started. He didn’t look like the kind of boy you’d mess with anymore, and people listened.

And then there was Minny.

She was Y/N’s age. Maybe a little older. Red lipstick, lazy laugh, cigarette always dangling between her fingers. Minny was smart. Sharp-eyed. She liked to come outside for a smoke and talk to him, especially when the night was quiet.

“You’re sweet,” she’d tell him. “Too sweet for this place.”

He trusted her. Maybe because she never looked at him like he was a kid.

One night, he told her everything.

About the bar. About Y/N. About how she called him her soldier, About her troubled love life and how his dad saw her as cheap. About how it hurt when she didn’t look at him the way he looked at her.

Minny smiled around her cigarette.

“Let me guess,” she said. “She likes her men rough. Loud. With hands like vices.”

He blinked.

“She likes experienced men,” Minny said. “Women like that, like us..." Ben frowned but she just continued. "we don’t admit it, but we don’t want to teach. We want to be taken.”

Ben swallowed. His cheeks red.

"Would you like to learn?” Her lips curved. Slow. Knowing. “I could teach you,” she said. “Nice and slow.”

His mouth went dry. “What’s… what’s the price?”

She grinned wide, all teeth and mischief. “Oh, honey. For you? First lesson’s free.”

---

Weeks later

Y/N wasn’t looking for him.

She was just walking home after closing. Same route as always passed the red door. The sky a navy bruise above her, streets slick from earlier rain. She tugged her coat tighter around her ribs, cutting down the side street for once. Tired. Bone-deep.

That’s when she saw him.

Ben.

Tall, lean, head down as he followed a woman out of a building. Y/N slowed. Watched the red door swing shut behind them.

Her stomach twisted. That building. The girl had red lips, long legs, her hand brushing Ben’s chest like she’d done it before.

Y/N stood frozen. The ache in her chest blooming sharp, fast, ugly.And just like that, it made sense. Why he needed the money.

Why he stopped coming around as much. Why his eyes had started looking elsewhere. She turned before the tears could sting.

And for the first time since that boy walked into her bar with eager hands and dreams of becoming a soldier—she felt ... jealous.

---

The next morning, Ben came in quiet.

Tired. Under-eyed. His shirt rumpled, knuckles slightly bruised from God knows what. Y/N didn’t flinch. Didn’t let the strange tightness in her chest change the tone of her voice.

“Morning, soldier,” she said like always, handing him his usual coffee.

He smiled—faint, grateful—and sipped like it was the only warm thing in his life. She asked him, casually, “How’s the new job going?”

“Good,” he said.

That was it. No details. No mention of Minny or what he was really learning behind that red door. Just a tight-lipped answer that sounded more like a lie.

And then came the nights.

---

Y/N told herself she wasn’t checking. But she was. Every night after closing, she’d pass by the brothel on the way home, gaze hidden under the brim of her coat. Once. Twice. A third time.

And always—always—there he was. Sometimes handing the girl with red lips folded cash. Sometimes disappearing inside after a quiet word, like it was routine now.

And it burned.

Not just the thought of him with another woman. Well if she was honest that too. But the look on his face—gentle, soft, like she used to see when he brought her her favorite beer after a rough night. The look, that smile, used to be hers.

It was raining again. Cold and sharp against the sidewalk.

Y/N stood across the street under the eaves of a shuttered deli. Her hands buried deep in her coat. Ben stood out front of the brothel with that girl again. Talking. Close. She said something and laughed, touching his arm.

Then she kissed his cheek. Her red lips leaving a stain on his cheek. He smiled, slow and soft. Y/N’s heart stuttered. She turned on instinct—spun away fast, like the very sight had cut her.

She didn’t hear his footsteps until they were behind her. “Y/N—!” She didn’t stop. He chased her through the wet streets, calling her name until she finally snapped, “Let me go home, Ben!”

But he didn’t. She reached her apartment door, keys shaking in her hand, when he grabbed her shoulder and turned her around. “What were you doing there?” he asked, breathless, wet from the rain. "That is a dangerous alley to be in for a woman."

She laughed bitterly. “I should ask you that.” His face tightened. “It’s not what you think.”

“You sure about that?”

“She’s just a friend. At my new job.”

“Friends don’t take your money, don't lead you inside a brothel and, and... and kiss your cheek like that. Besides its none of my business who you fuck around with Ben!"

He flinched.

She scoffed. “That’s none of my business, right? I’m just your boss.”

“No, you’re not,” he said, voice cracking. “You never were just my boss.” She looked at him then—really looked. He was wet, shivering, bare in a way he rarely let himself be.

“I needed someone to talk to,” he said. “And I work there, I watch the door. And Minny, she.. I, I needed someone who wasn’t you, because you never let me in.”

She blinked.

“I wanted to know why I wasn’t enough,” he said. “Why I wasn’t man enough to you. So I... I...”

Silence stretched long between them.

And then she whispered, so quietly, “You were always enough. You are more than enough!”

He stepped forward.

The storm outside intensified as Ben closed the gap between them, his chest rising and falling with each breath, the rain dripping off his damp hair. The world felt muffled, contained between the two of them. There was something about the silence in the air, heavy with confession and unspoken emotions.

Ben’s words cut through the stillness.

“You never thought I was enough for you.?” He leaned in closer, his green eyes dark with something she couldn’t quite place. “Not enough to be with you, not enough to be with you.”

Y/N’s heart sank. She opened her mouth, but the words caught in her throat. She felt trapped in that moment, the rain pouring, cold between them, and Ben standing there—waiting.

“I work there,” Ben said suddenly, his voice steady but his hands shaking. “As a bouncer, at the brothel.”

Y/N didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t form a response, so she just stared at him, wide-eyed, her mind racing. He took that as a cue to continue, his words spilling out faster now, raw and unguarded.

“I only slept with Windy twice,” he confessed, and the way he said it made her insides churn. “I didn’t know anything about women. I thought… maybe if I did this, you’d see that I wasn’t just some kid. That maybe, one day, you'd let me in. I thought maybe you’d see me differently, that I’d at least know something.”

Y/N’s heart twisted. She wanted to speak, wanted to tell him that he was so much more than that, but the words wouldn't come. She felt something deep in her gut—a kind of anger mixed with regret—but mostly… sadness.

“And Minny…” Ben’s voice dropped lower, hesitant now. “She said you’re a woman with experience. She said you need a man with experience, someone who knows how to take you, how to handle you, how to be the man you need.”

Y/N felt her breath catch in her throat. There it was—the truth, sharp and unforgiving. Minny had told him what he thought was the reason, the explanation he’d needed all this time. She’d put the idea in his head that she wanted someone like that—someone who could match her in ways Ben hadn’t been able to.

She played him.

For a second, the air around them felt heavy, crackled. Like a storm waiting to break. Y/N blinked, forcing herself to steady her breathing, to look him in the eye, to see the boy she had always known.

But this—this was new. This was him being something he wasn’t. Y/N didn’t know how to answer, but she needed to. She had to say something. Anything.

“I never needed someone like that, Ben,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I just… You don’t have to pretend to be something else, not for me, not for anyone.”

Ben stepped back, almost stumbling, and he ran a hand through his wet hair, frustrated. He wanted to argue, but the words felt foreign now. Everything felt too raw. His lips trembled as he tried to piece together the jumble of emotions.

“I wanted you to see me differently,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I wanted you to see me as a man, not a kid.”

Y/N reached out, gently touching his arm, her fingertips cold against his wet sleeve. “Ben, you’ve always been more than a kid to me. I see you. I always have.”

He shook his head, the doubt still clouding his eyes. “Then why didn’t you ever…?” He trailed off, unable to finish. His vulnerability hung in the air like a weight neither of them could escape.

“I was scared" she admitted. “I was scared of what would happen if I let you in. What it would mean for us. I was scarred you'd learn I'm crazy or or I don't know, not what you want. Scarred you'd leave me like every man in my life had ever done!”

Ben stepped back again, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “I won't. Not now to ever.”

Y/N’s gaze softened as she took a step toward him. The rain poured down on them, but it was nothing compared to the storm inside them both.

“I know,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

The rain kept falling, heavy and relentless, as they stood pressed against the door. The storm outside seemed to echo the tension between them, the weight of everything unspoken, everything unsaid, finally crashing over them.

Ben’s hands gripped her arms, holding her firmly, but there was a gentleness now in the way he touched her. His face was close—so close—and his breath was shaky, full of longing and uncertainty.

“Tell me what to do, Y/N,” he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion. “Tell me what to do. I don’t know how to fix this. How to make you see me the way I see you.”

She reached up, her fingers trembling as they pressed against his lips, silencing him gently. His words died in his throat, his eyes wide, searching hers.

The world outside was muted—the steady rhythm of rain, the crackle of thunder, all faded in comparison to the intensity of the moment.

Her fingers lingered on his lips, the touch tender, almost hesitant, but there was something about it that grounded them both. Her heart raced, her pulse quickened, and she finally realized that everything that had built up between them—the fear, the desire, the confusion—was ready to spill over.

A flash of lightning lit up the dark street, and in that blinding moment, something shifted. The walls between them, the distance they’d tried to maintain, crumbled.

Ben’s gaze flickered to her lips, then back to her eyes, searching for permission, for some sign that she wanted this too. The question in his eyes was so raw, so vulnerable, it made her heart ache.

Without thinking, without hesitation, she stepped forward and kissed him.

His lips met hers with an intensity that caught her off guard, his kiss desperate and sure, as though he’d been waiting for this for so long. The heat of it spread like wildfire, and her breath hitched as his lips moved against hers, slow at first, then more urgent.

Ben pulled her hand to his lips, kissing her palm softly, his lips warm against her skin. She gasped, the sensation sending a shiver down her spine, and then he kissed each of her fingers, one by one, his mouth worshipping the delicate skin of her hand.

Her body tensed, her breath quickening, and before she could stop herself, a soft moan escaped her lips. The sound—raw, hungry—echoed in the space between them, only fueling Ben’s need.

In one swift movement, Ben leaned in, his mouth capturing hers once more. This time, it was more than just a kiss. His tongue swept against her lips, demanding entry, and she parted her mouth without thinking. The moment his tongue slid against hers, a gasp broke free from her throat, and she felt the world fall away.

Y/N opened the door blindly behind her, pulling Ben inside with her.

The kiss deepened, both of them losing themselves in the heat, in the urgency. The way he kissed her, like he couldn’t get enough, made her heart race faster. Her hands moved to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat, matching the pounding of her own.

Y/N’s hands fisted in his wet shirt as she pulled him closer, her body responding to the magnetic pull between them. She moaned again, louder this time, the sound almost foreign to her, but it felt right, felt like something she’d been holding back for far too long.

Ben broke the kiss, both of them gasping for air, but his lips stayed close, brushing against her skin as his hands roamed to her waist, pulling her in tighter.

“I don’t know if I can stop,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire. Y/N looked up at him, eyes wide, chest heaving. She felt like she was floating, drowning in the feeling of him.

“I don’t want you to stop,” she murmured, barely able to form the words.

His lips crashed against hers again, this time with no hesitation, no fear. The storm outside raged on, but it was nothing compared to the feelings between them.

The rain hammered against the windows as Ben followed Y/N to her bedroom, his heart racing, the heat of the moment making everything feel surreal. She tugged him toward her bed, her hands shaking slightly, but there was no hesitation in her movements.

Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of her wet jacket as Ben shed his soaked clothes, the storm outside growing louder, more intense.

Every touch between them was electric, charged with all the emotions they had never allowed themselves to feel before. Y/N pulled him closer, her body pressing against his as she kissed him once more, desperate, as if afraid of losing him.

Ben gently guided her to the bed, the softness of the sheets contrasting with the urgency between them. He lay her down carefully, as if she were something precious—something worth protecting.

She wasn’t just overwhelmed by desire—there was something in Ben’s touch that made her feel seen, understood, as though they were both finally shedding their fears and their insecurities.

Ben kissed her softly, his lips trailing down her neck, her shoulders, his hands exploring her skin with a tenderness that made her heart flutter.

His touch was both reverent and needy, as if he had waited a lifetime to get to this moment—and in some way, maybe they both had.

She closed her eyes, her breath shallow as she felt the heat of his body against hers. But then, when he moved lower, she stopped him, her hand gently on his shoulder.

“Ben… What are you doing?” Her voice was soft, uncertain, but she wasn’t pulling away. He looked up at her, his eyes full of that familiar intensity, but this time there was something else—vulnerability, an unspoken question.

He smiled, that mischievous grin she knew all too well, and then he whispered, “Lay back. Let me show you something.”

Y/N hesitated for a heartbeat, but then she relaxed, sinking back into the bed, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her while she felt his wet hair trailing the way his lips kissed her lower and lower, until his head was between her thighs.

--

Later that night, the storm had quieted, the thunder now distant and low, like the final heartbeat of something long chased. Rain still whispered against the windows, soft and steady. The room was dimly lit by the occasional flicker of lightning far off, casting silver shadows across the tangled sheets and the two bodies entwined within them.

Ben lay on his back, one arm behind his head, the other resting lightly along Y/N’s spine. She was tucked against him, her bare skin warm and relaxed against his side, her head rising and falling with the rhythm of his breath. Her fingers traced slow, lazy patterns across his chest—circles, stars, lines with no real destination. It was quiet in the way people grow quiet after sharing something that changes them.

She broke it first, her voice low and thoughtful. “Why didn’t you ever go?” she asked softly, her finger pausing over his heart. “You always talked about joining the army. You were going to be a soldier.”

Ben didn’t answer right away. His chest rose, then fell, and he turned his head to look at her, his damp hair curling a little at the edges. “You know why.”

Y/N looked up at him.

He exhaled through his nose and gave a small shrug. “I stayed for you.”

Her eyes searched his, but he didn’t flinch, didn’t shy away. It wasn’t a line. There was no performance in the way he said it. Just quiet truth, raw and simple.

“I couldn’t leave you, not with the way things were. After... after everything... You weren’t some damsel, I know that. But you were hurting. And I couldn’t bear the thought of being gone and something happening to you.”

She laid her head back on his chest, heart aching, fingers still against his skin. “You shouldn’t have given up on your dream for me.”

Ben smiled a little, the corner of his mouth tugging up as he looked at the ceiling. “Didn’t feel like giving anything up. Felt like doing the only thing that made sense.”

She was quiet again, her fingers drawing shapes once more—slower now, thoughtful.

“You still could,” she whispered. “If you wanted it.”

He glanced down at her, brow furrowed. “What, join up now?”

“You’re still young. And strong. And stubborn as hell. You’d make a damn fine soldier.” Ben was quiet for a moment, thinking. “Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know if that dream still fits me, y’know?”

“You talk like you’re fifty,” she said, laughing softly. He grinned, pulling he in closer. “Feels like I’ve lived a lot in the last few years.”

Y/N propped herself up just enough to look at him, her hand resting on his chest, fingers splayed over his heartbeat. “Whatever you do, don’t do it for me, Ben. Not anymore. I care about you too much for that.”

His green eyes held hers. “And what if everything I want just happens to have you in it?”

That made her heart flutter—and ache at the same time. She wasn’t sure what the future looked like. The world was still at war, and they were two people who’d crossed a line they couldn’t uncross. But in that quiet, rainy moment, tangled in each other, she didn’t look away.

She leaned down and kissed his chest softly. "I promise I'll be here at home, waiting for you."

Y/N blinked, her lips still parted from the soft kiss she’d just pressed to his chest, her breath catching in her throat as Ben suddenly slipped from the bed in a rush.

“Ben?” she asked, pulling the covers up instinctively, the air around her cool without his warmth.

“Just wait,” he said over his shoulder, voice breathless, urgent—like he was afraid if he didn’t move fast enough, the moment might vanish. She heard the shuffle of clothing, then the creak of the floorboards as he made his way back to her side of the bed.

He was still completely bare, skin kissed gold by the faint flicker of the streetlamp outside, but he didn’t seem to care. His chest rose and fell with the weight of everything he was feeling, everything he hadn’t been able to say until now.

“I’ll sign up,” he said, voice low but certain, green eyes locked on hers. He was trembling slightly—not with fear, but with something bigger, heavier. “I’ll go. I’ll fight. I’ll do everything I said I would.”

She sat up a little, her brows furrowing, confused by the shift, her heart hammering.

“If…” he took a breath, then dropped to one knee beside the bed, the small velvet ring pouch clutched in his fingers. His hand shook as he opened it.

“If you do me the honor of marrying me.”

The ring wasn’t flashy or grand. It was simple. Modest. A delicate gold band with a single glimmering stone—likely one he’d saved for over months with whatever money he could spare. But in that small piece of jewelry, she saw every early morning he’d helped carry boxes into her bar, every heavy can he’d lifted without being asked. Every bruise he noticed on her arm before she could hide it. Every time he came to work with tired eyes and a quiet heart.

And now he was here. On one knee. Bare and open and honest. Asking her for something that scared them both.

Y/N’s lips parted, but no words came.

Ben swallowed hard, his eyes searching hers. “I know I’m young. I know this is fast. But I’ve loved you since I was just a dumb kid carrying boxes. I loved you when I didn’t even understand what love really was. And I swear, if you say yes—I’ll come back. I’ll survive whatever hell they throw me into just to get back to you.”

Y/N looked down at him, at the ring, at the man he’d become— but after all these years still hers.

And for once, she didn’t think about what was proper, what was smart, or what the neighbors might say. She thought about how she hadn’t really slept the week he disappeared.

She leaned forward, cupping his cheek, and whispered against his mouth, voice trembling—

“Yes, Ben. Yes.”

His exhale was ragged, his forehead falling to hers as he wrapped his arms around her, both of them tangled up in each other again, the storm outside now just a hum. There were still things to face, still a world at war waiting for him—but for that moment, there was only the promise between them.

And it was enough.

For now

--

Taglist Jensen:

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not your girlfriend. - rafe cameron.

-

He’s leaning against your car again. Shirtless. Again.

You don’t even flinch when you see him in the parking lot, arms crossed over that annoyingly perfect chest, hair still wet from whatever poor excuse of a beach day he just had. You walk past him like he’s air.

"Hey, baby," he says, smirking, falling into step beside you. "Missed you."

You don’t look at him. "Rafe, I told you. Stop calling me baby unless you’ve scheduled your first therapy appointment."

He grabs your arm, gently. "C'mon. Just one date. One. I’ll even wear a shirt this time."

You finally turn, eyebrow raised. "Wow. A shirt? That’s commitment. What’s next? Not threatening people who look at me for too long?"

He grins like that’s the most romantic idea he’s ever heard.

"You’re sick in the head, Cameron," you mutter, but you don’t pull your arm away.

"And you love me."

"I do. Which is the worst part."

He perks up. "So you admit it!"

"I’ve been admitting it. Since May." You pause. "Still not dating you."

He groans dramatically, stepping back like you just stabbed him. "Why do you play these games with my heart?"

"Because your heart comes with a criminal record and severe trust issues."

"But I’m working on it."

"You said that last week."

"I stopped bringing my gun places, didn't I?"

You squint at him. "...Did you?"

A beat.

"...Mostly."

You sigh so hard it shakes your whole soul. “Rafe.”

“I’m trying!” he whines, leaning his forehead dramatically against your shoulder. “I’m trying, baby.”

"Don't call me baby."

"But you just said you love me."

"I do. Like I love my cat. Which also bites me sometimes."

He laughs against your skin, arms sliding around your waist now like he’s trying to melt into you. You should push him away. You always push him away.

Instead, you let him hug you. Just for a second. Just long enough to feel how warm he is. How much he smells like sunscreen and trouble.

He pulls back a little, looking down at you with that annoying little smirk. “You really love me?”

“Rafe—”

“No, I just wanna hear it again. Like, properly. Full sentence. Maybe with a kiss after.”

You roll your eyes so hard they practically leave your body. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re beautiful,” he says, soft now. Sincere. That look in his eyes—the rare one that says I’d die for you, but like, in a surprisingly non-toxic way.

You shake your head, but your hand slides up his chest anyway, landing on the side of his neck. “If I kiss you, it doesn’t mean I’m your girlfriend.”

“Would never assume,” he says quickly, hopeful. “Might cry though.”

You laugh, short and sharp, and then—well. You kiss him.

Slow, warm, dangerously good. His hands tighten on your waist like he can’t believe this is real. Like he’s scared you’ll disappear.

You pull back just a little, lips still brushing his. “You really want a chance with me, Cameron?”

He nods, dazed. “More than anything.”

You tap his chest with one finger. “Therapy. Every week. No skipping. And no more guns.”

“Even the little one?”

“Especially the little one.”

He groans, head falling into your shoulder again. “God, you’re so mean.”

“And you’re lucky I’m in love with you.”

You feel him smile against your neck.

“Don’t worry,” he mumbles. “I’m gonna get my shit together. Just you wait, baby.”

“Rafe.”

“…Right. Sorry. My love.”

You sigh. “Still not your girlfriend.”

“Yet.”

You glare at him.

He grins.

And you kinda hate how much you’re smiling too.

-

read the headcanon!

COMING HOME. †

꒰ . ⋮ minors do not interact .ᐟ ֹ ꒱

༝༚༝༚ synopsis. after two excruciating weeks apart, dean finally comes home. the kids are asleep, and he's desperate to make up for lost time.

ⓘ warning(s). smut | rough sex | mild dominance | biting & marking | bed-breaking sex (literally) | post-hunt reunion | explicit language.

༝༚༝༚ word count. 1.3K

༝༚༝༚ kari notes. the people wanted this, so the people are gonna get it <3 + i actually HATE the way this came out, but fuck it we ball 👁️👁️

you hear the impala roar into the driveway before you see it, the familiar rumble sending a rush of warmth through your chest. two weeks. fourteen long, exhausting days of managing four kids alone, of missing him with a sharp, constant ache that settled deep in your bones.

you've learned to deal with dean's absences over the years, but somehow it never gets easier. especially now, with three daughters—ages eight, five, and three—and a mischievous eight-month-old son who has his daddy's green eyes and stubborn streak.

you're halfway through cleaning up the dinner table, your youngest balanced snugly on your hip, drooling adorably on your shirt, when the front door swings open. dean steps inside, dirt-stained jeans hugging his hips, his faded flannel hanging open over a worn black t-shirt. the sight of him sends your pulse into overdrive.

"hey, sweetheart," dean drawls gently, dropping his duffel by the door. he looks tired—lines etched deeper around his eyes, scruff thicker than usual—but god, he's gorgeous. your heart flips as he steps closer, his eyes softening when your baby boy reaches tiny arms out toward his dad, babbling excitedly.

"hey, buddy," dean murmurs, scooping his son effortlessly into his arms. your heart aches, watching the way dean's face lights up, exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the presence of his child. his lips brush the baby's soft forehead, lingering there as if soaking up every ounce of comfort and affection he can.

"missed you," you whisper, stepping close enough to lean against his chest, breathing in his familiar scent of leather, gunpowder, and something uniquely dean winchester. his free arm wraps tight around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

"missed you too, baby," he whispers hoarsely, his lips pressing softly to your temple. the brush of his stubble sends shivers down your spine, and your fingers fist gently into the fabric of his shirt. "you holdin' up okay?"

you nod against him, savoring the warmth of his strong frame, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. "better now."

the sound of tiny footsteps breaks the moment, and your three daughters come racing into the kitchen screaming excitedly. dean's eyes crinkle at the corners, his mouth breaking into a wide, genuine smile as they swarm him, hugging his legs, giggling when he ruffles their hair, calling each one by their special nickname.

it's pure chaos, loud and messy and beautiful. you step back a little, watching him interact with your children—your chest tightening with an overwhelming surge of love.

the evening passes in a blur of baths and stories and bedtime cuddles. dean insists on handling bedtime, savoring every moment he's missed over the past two weeks.

you watch him from the doorway as he kisses tiny foreheads, tucks blankets gently around tiny shoulders, whispering softly until eyelids flutter closed. your heart swells as you see him in his element, and it makes you fall impossibly more in love with him.

when the last bedroom door finally clicks shut, he turns to you, eyes dark and heavy with a different kind of exhaustion—the kind that only you can soothe. the tension that's been simmering between you since the moment he walked through the door ignites instantly, crackling in the air between you like electricity.

without a word, dean crosses the hallway, his fingers tangling into your hair as he pulls you in, mouth crashing against yours hungrily. your back hits your bedroom door with a soft thud, his broad frame crowding you against it as his tongue sweeps into your mouth, claiming you roughly, possessively. the kiss is messy, desperate—his teeth catching your lower lip, tugging just enough to make you gasp.

"goddamn, baby," he growls against your mouth, voice thick and gravelly with need. "been goin' fuckin' crazy without you."

your hands slip beneath his shirt, nails scraping lightly over his strong stomach, tracing the familiar curves of muscle and softness. he groans into your mouth, pressing his hips into yours, letting you feel exactly how much he's missed you. your breath hitches as you grind against him, desperate for friction, desperate to feel him fill you again.

"need you," you whisper breathlessly, your lips trailing along his jaw, tasting the salt of his skin. "now."

he doesn't hesitate, pulling you away from the door long enough to shove it open. the second it clicks shut behind you, his hands are everywhere, stripping clothes away roughly, impatiently. your shirt lands somewhere across the room, jeans and underwear quickly following.

you fumble with his flannel, tugging it off his broad muscular shoulders, your fingers trembling slightly as you push his jeans down his hips, freeing his hard length.

he backs you toward the bed, lips never leaving yours, and you're both naked before your knees hit the mattress. he lays you down roughly, climbing over you, his mouth blazing a trail down your neck, across your chest, tongue swirling around your nipples, biting gently until you're arching into him, moaning his name.

"dean," you gasp when his teeth scrape over your sensitive skin, sending pleasure pulsing through your veins. "please, baby—"

he doesn't make you wait, pushing your thighs apart with strong hands, sinking into you in one swift thrust. you both groan simultaneously, overwhelmed by the tight heat, the perfect friction. he sets a brutal pace immediately, hips snapping hard against yours, driving you higher, faster, closer to the edge you've been craving.

"fuck, sweetheart," he grunts, his voice raw, desperate, as he pounds into you. "missed this pussy—missed you—so goddamn much."

you dig your heels into his lower back, urging him deeper, harder, your nails leaving red marks down his back as you cling to him. the bed creaks dangerously beneath you, but neither of you cares. you're too lost in the feeling, in each other, in the messy, desperate heat of making up for lost time.

he sits up suddenly, pulling you with him, never slipping out of you. he spins you around until you're on your knees, gripping the wooden headboard tightly, his strong chest pressed hot against your back. he pounds into you from behind, teeth sinking gently into your shoulder, your neck, marking you as his. you push back against him, matching each thrust, feeling your orgasm building quickly, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it snaps.

"oh fuck, dean—" your voice breaks, your body shaking violently beneath him, pleasure washing over you in wave after wave. he growls your name, hips stuttering, his thrusts becoming erratic as your walls squeeze around him, pulling him over the edge with you.

his hand slams down on the headboard as he comes hard, hips jerking, cock pulsing deep inside you. there's a loud crack, wood splintering beneath his grip, but he hardly seems to notice, too caught up in the intensity of his orgasm.

you collapse onto the mattress together, breathing heavily, limbs tangled, hearts pounding in sync. dean's hand slides gently along your back, tracing soft circles over the bite marks he's left behind, soothing your skin as you both slowly come down from your high.

"think you just broke our bed," you tease softly, nuzzling into his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

he chuckles, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "worth it."

you laugh quietly, your fingers trailing lazily along his chest. "missed you so much, de."

his arms tighten around you, pulling you impossibly closer. "i ain't goin' anywhere, baby," he whispers, voice thick and sincere. "promise."

and for the first time in weeks, you finally feel complete again—safe and loved and exactly where you're meant to be.

@ deansbeer is tagging you .ᐟ @titsout4jackles @daylighted @soldiersgirl @bluemerakis @jensenacklesballsack @h8aaz @bluestrd @ultravi0lence14 @blue-d @stereotypicalbarbie @funkycoloured @fuckedupfate @deanswidow @beausling @bejeweledinterludes @blossomingorchids @tinas111 @0ccvltism @bittersweetfig @deanswifeyy @dollyfiles @cupidzbunny @tallandcunt @kamisobsessed @pieandflannel @faiszt @apocalyqsc @coquitokisses @americanvenom13 @rubyvhs @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @mahi-wayy @maddie0101 ╱ wanna follow the chaos? join my taglist <3

Love, Mum and Dad - Harry, James x reader

summary: Harry gets the memory book you and James made for him to open on his 17th birthday, but he gets it a little sooner, and discovers things about the family he could have had. (angst/fluff) wc: 2.8k

Sirius didn’t know if it was the time to give Harry the memory book. The gift you’d planned on building until Harry was 17, when you’d finally give it to him. At James’s bachelor party — a small gathering between him, Sirius, Frank Longbottom and the Prewett twins (You had claimed Remus for your bachelorette), James had excitedly revealed what you’d told him. “She said, I want to start collecting all our memories from when we started dating to make a memory book. A memory book that we can keep making until our future baby is an adult, and then we’ll give it to him.” The boys had all cheered, giving James a few pats on the back. “So apparently she wants us to have a son, and I know exactly what I want to name him.” He had joyfully laughed along with the others, refusing to reveal the name of his future boy, claiming that it’s somehow bad luck.

Now that Harry was actually here at Grimmauld Place, even at the age of 15, Sirius knew he had to give him the book. Sirius knew Harry was insecure, doubting that anyone loved him at all, and especially facing such dark times, he knew Harry could use the love of his parents, a love that had saved his life once before.

Harry was a wanderer, he couldn’t sleep at night, so Sirius was not surprised to find him in his family’s make shift library, scanning through all the outdated titles. Sirius made himself known by clearing his throat from where he stood in the doorway. Harry jumped, spinning around to look at Sirius, who held the memory book in his right hand. Harry’s godfather told him to follow him to a private room, one with a pensieve he hadn’t seen before. “This is from your parents. They wanted to give it to you when you became an adult, but given the circumstances…” Sirius averted his teary gaze as Harry took the book in his hands, flicking through the pages, his breath becoming heavier as he caught glimpses of moving images in the book.

“Each and every memory… Just don’t forget to put them back.” And with that, a teary eyed Sirius left Harry alone. When Harry properly opened the first page of the photo book, he found small tubes with glimmering memories next to each photo. His breath shook. He looked at the first picture.

The first image of you and James had been taken from afar, as though someone had been spying on you. When he released the memory into the pensieve below, he quickly learned that Sirius and Remus had been the ones spying on you, on your first date. Harry had laughed, listening to Sirius constantly narrating everything to a muggle camera he held, watching as he and Remus quickly ran behind people to avoid being seen by you. Harry quickly learned through these memories that not every memory would make him laugh, and that he would actually shed a few more tears than intended.

This next memory was different than all the other celebrations — the anniversaries, the weddings — Harry realised, as he watched you nervously tuck your hair behind your ear. You were in the kitchen of the house you and James had just moved into. It wasn’t decorated yet, with the exception of a single image of you and James on your wedding day. Your entire house was barely furnished, with James taking on all the building due to the growing baby in your belly. Harry jumped up on the counter to watch the scene in front of him unfold. You had a worried crease between your eyebrows, and you leaned back on the counter, staring at the warm batch of cookies you had baked. James walked in front of you with a smile, his arms sliding under your sweater to rest on your small bump — one Harry hadn’t realised was present until James brought it to his attention. Harry hopped off the counter, taking slow steps towards you to admire your baby bump. He tried reaching out to touch it, but his hand went right through you.

“What if they say no James, what if they don’t want to?” You asked worriedly, looking up at James. “Baby,” James started with a chuckle, “They’re going to be the most excited people on earth.” You huffed doubtfully, a small pout on your lips that James happily pressed his lips to. “James.” You muttered, but before your new husband could reply, the front door slammed open. “Honey, I’m home!” Sirius loudly called, causing you and James to laugh, though you had clear distress laced in your voice. “I really don’t know why we keep apparating outside your front door when we just end up barging in anyway.” Sirius announced as he walked into the kitchen. “Oh hey, cookies!”“I for one, suggested to knock.” Clarified Remus as he followed his boyfriend into the room. James moved from where he stood in front of you so that your best friends could see you.

James tutted, snatching the plate of freshly bakes cookies from the table just as Sirius reached out to take one, causing the boy to frown. “In the living room.” The two boys went silent, Sirius running a hand through his hair as Remus nervously tugged on the sleeves of his sweater. James gestured to the door, letting the boys wander out so that he could wrap his free arm around your waist, tugging you close to his side to kiss your cheek.

Harry eagerly followed you all into the living room, which he noticed looked painfully bare. It looked like something that was becoming a family’s first home, though it wasn't quite there yet. There were so many pictures laid out on the coffee table, empty picture frames stacked beside them. In a corner of the room, tools were scattered on the floor, wooden parts and instructions beside them. Harry theorised that it might be a crib in the making.

“Okay, sit down, have a cookie.” You said, hands clasped in front of you. You took in a deep breath as Remus and Sirius both cautiously reached for a cookie, watching as James hugged you from behind, his hands snaking around your waist to rest on your stomach. He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, and decided to take initiative when you opened and closed your mouth a couple of times. “So you guys know we’re having a baby.” The two boys nodded, and Harry watched closely as Sirius put a hand on Remus’s thigh. “We want you guys to be the godparents!” You squeaked loudly, physically cringing as you revealed the information.

“Shut up!” Sirius screamed, immediately jumping up on his feet with a giant smile on his face as he ran up to hug you. James threw his hands up in the air jealously, watching his best friend hug his wife, and accepting the hug Remus offered him. “This is what you baked cookies for?” Remus asked with a smile when he let go of James to wrap his arms around you tightly. You nodded, tears filling your eyes, and Remus pulled you close to his chest as you sniffled. “So is that a yes?” Your question was immediately answered by the two boys, with Sirius saying “This calls for drinks!” before apologising profusely as he immediately realised that you could, in fact, not drink. This time when you laughed at his words, it was genuine.

Harry was smiling widely, desperate to join in on the shared hugs when he took notice of the lump in his throat that made it hard to swallow. Not wanting to cry, the teenager left the memory, returning it to its glass tube before putting the next one in the pensieve.

This time, Harry is somewhere new. Somewhere he’s never been before. A warm house, with a similar atmosphere to the Burrow. There’s bustling energy, and a special kind of joy in the air. The only person Harry recognises in the room is Sirius, who leads a woman into the living room of the house with an arm familiarly thrown over her shoulder. The woman looks like someone he knows, but he can’t tell who. It’s only when the mysterious woman is led towards an unknown man that it clicks for Harry. His father is the spitting image of the man in front of him, and therefore, so is he. “Oh Euphemia, I can’t believe we’re meeting our grandbaby.” The man says, hugging his wife tightly. The pair doesn’t look nearly old enough to have grandchildren, they barely look like they’re in their 40s. Someone comes in from the garden door, saying “I’ve picked the apples for you Mrs. Potter, is there anything else I can do?” But she only thanks Remus, who's wrapped in countless warm layers of clothing, asking him to put the apples in the kitchen.

There’s two soft knocks on the front door, and the entire room goes silent as James’s parents rush to open the door. James shyly smiles at them, his arm protectively wrapped around your side. Euphemia immediately bursts into tears when her eyes land on you and your newborn baby, only a few days old. Fleamont wraps his arms around his son, who instantly begins crying like his mother, and Remus ushers you into the house, closing the door behind you to protect you from the chilly weather. Euphemia wants to hug you, but she's too busy wiping her tears away as she asks questions about your health and delivery, making sure you’re okay. You nudge your husband’s side, and he happily takes Harry from your arms, showing him off to the other three men in the room.

Euphemia hugs you tightly before leading you to sit down and instantly handing you some tea. She lets the men rave over the little baby boy, but she’s concerned for the new mother's health. It doesn’t take long for James to come back to your side carrying Harry in his arms, and he takes his mother’s place next to you on the couch. He doesn’t let anyone hold Harry, too happy to finally be able to hold him himself after you've spent nine months doing so. Present Harry walks across the room, between Sirius and his grandfather, over the gifts on the floor and past his beautiful grandmother to sit on the arm of the couch next to you. He looks at his young sleeping figure, only born days ago, and knows how much he is loved. By his parents, grandparents, godparents, and all your friends and family.

And he knows it’s too much. All Harry ever wanted was for his parents to be alive, and the thought of the life he could be living with them right now makes him feel as though his heart has been ripped out of his chest. He would do anything to be back in that position again: in his parents’ arms, a joyful family around him. He didn’t even need his grandparents there; you two would have been enough.

Harry needs to take a moment for himself when he finally breaks away from his memory. He leans on a table for support, taking in heaving breaths as he sobs and sobs, tears dripping on the ground. The small glass tube containing the memory rolls onto the floor and Harry dives to catch it, holding it close to his chest as pain runs through his entire body. These memories should have made him happy, he thinks, so why do they hurt so much? Harry gasps for oxygen, trying to urge his panic and sadness away, trying to turn it into happiness for the things he had, for the love he still has. Slowly, he pushes himself off the ground, moving all the way to the last page of your memory book and taking out the corresponding tube.

When Harry is sucked into the pensieve again, the atmosphere has completely changed. He’s located back at home again, in Godric’s Hollow, where you and James had built your forever home. The sole sight of the homey and safe atmosphere has tears clouding Harry’s vision again, but his feet bring him further down the entryway and into the living room of your house. The first thing Harry does is take in the sight of the decorated house, made to look like his very own heaven. The lighting is warm, photos of family and friends hung up on the wall next to the fireplace. The room is filled with plants, and a small crib was placed next to an armchair. And here you are: sat there with James on the couch, sharing a passionate kiss. The moment is intimate, with your legs tangled up and James’s hand cupping your jaw, but Harry can’t bring himself to look away from you. “James.” He hears you mumble in the kiss, eyes fluttering open as you let James’s familiarity envelop you. “My sweetheart.” James echoes, his eyes still shut as he immerses himself in the moment.

Harry gulps loudly, harshly wiping a tear off his cheek as he watches his dad’s eyes slowly open, a wide smile forming on his face when he finds your eyes already on him. You laugh softly as your husband kisses you again, but you instantly pull away from him, eyes going wide with alert. Harry frowns, his expression matching his father’s, and that’s he he hears it: the soft padding of feet on the floor, and a quiet call of “Mama?” Harry’s eyes are instantly glued to his younger self, appearing around the corner on wobbly feet.

Your body runs past him in a flash, travelling across the living room on quick feet to kneel in front of your son. Young Harry makes grabby hands at you, and you immediately scoop him up in your arms, speaking to him in a soft whisper. “What’s wrong sweetheart? You hungry?” You ask, cradling him in your arms. Young Harry makes an incomprehensible noise, and Harry laughs in adoration. He has to be a year or two in this memory. Harry glances back to where James now stands up, walking over to his family, where he wraps his arms around both of you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Think he’s hungry.” You tell your husband, who hums, leading you to the couch to sit down. James helps you pull your jumper up just enough for baby Harry to latch on to your breast, humming in innocent satisfaction. You smile down at him, running a hand through his soft short hair. James carefully wraps an arm around your shoulder, letting you rest your head on his shoulder as you blink tiredly. Harry stares at the perfect image of the family in front of him, and soon enough, realises he’s not the only one crying. James is sniffling next to you, taking in shaky breaths in a poor attempt not to disturb you or baby Harry. You lift your head off your husband’s shoulder to look up at him, and smile lovingly at him, a hand lifting off the back of Harry’s head to wipe at James’s tears. “James.” You whisper, and he instantly opens his mouth, voice breaking as he says “I love you both so, so much.” And his words have a sob wracking out of present Harry’s chest.

He floats out of the memory just as you bring James into a short kiss, the sight of him being loved by his parents the last thing he sees before finding himself standing at the foot of the pensieve again. Harry shuts the memory book, closing his eyes tightly — it’s enough for one lonesome night. But something catches his attention as his hand rests on the back of the book. An odd texture under his fingertips, forming crevices into the leather. Harry’s eyes flutter open, and he notices a gold engraving into the book. Engravings that form letters, words. A note.

Dear Harry,

You’re finally an adult!!! You can do anything you ever wanted, even without our permission. And move out if we’re too annoying sometimes, though that feels wrong to write with you sitting in front of us as a little baby boy. We just wanted you to know that no matter where you are, or what you’re doing, we’ll always support you and be here for you. And not just us, everyone in this book, everyone who forms your family.

We love you so much Harry, and even though you’re all grown now, you’ll always be our baby, just like in these first memories.

Love,

Mum and Dad

To say the least, Harry doesn't sleep that night.

A motherly visit - son!harry potter

summary: when harry sends you another owl claiming that professor snape has it out for him, you decide to pay them a short visit wc: 1.5k+

Irritation flooded through yours veins, your eye nearly twitching with annoyance as you read through Harry’s letter. Once again, your son had been unfairly treated by his Potions teacher, graded lower on his exams and essays than he deserved. Your chair scraped loudly on the floor of your potions lab as you pushed it out from under your desk, grabbing your coat as you made your way to the fireplace in your office.

You wiped down your clean hands on the soft fabric of your coat before grabbing a handful of floo powder and travelling to Professor McGonagall’s office. As the green flames died away, revealing your confident stance, Professor McGonagall blinked slowly, only mildly surprised to find you in her office. “I need to find my son so we can have a chat with Professor Snape.” The older woman opened her mouth to reply, but you were already walking out of her office. She sighed, leaving you to your own devices in the rogue hallways of the Hogwarts castle.

Luckily for you, a loud call of “Mum!” had you stopping in your tracks and spinning on the balls of your feet to see Harry jogging towards you, his book bag flapping uncontrollably at his side. Harry gripped the strap of his back, holding it snugly against his jumper clad chest as he ran towards you with a smile. Ron and Hermione immediately quickened their pace to catch up with their friend, who threw his arms out to engulf you in a tight hug.

“Hey, sweetheart.” You mumbled, lips pressed against Harry’s forehead as you wrapped your arms around him. “What are you doing here?” He questioned excitedly, adjusting his glasses in a way that instantly reminded you of your husband. “I got your letter.” Harry furrowed his eyebrows. “I sent you that like an hour ago!”

“And I’m sick of hearing about how your incompetent Professor keeps poorly grading your papers, which I know deserve higher grades on.” You huffed angrily, putting both your hands on your hips. “You have your papers on you, don’t you?” Harry nodded, immediately ruffling through his book bag. You winced at the sight of loose papers in the bag but looked away, instead busying yourself by greeting your son’s two best friends. Harry made a noise of achievement as he pulled out two separate stacks of papers, presenting them to you with a smile. You scanned through them quickly as he explained “That’s my essay on the uses of mandrake plants in advanced potion making, and then that’s our most recent end of unit test.” “Well, come along then, Harry.”

“Mum, I’ve got a lesson now.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure your Professor will understand I’m on a time crunch.” Your heels clicked loudly against the concrete floors, heads of students turning to look at you curiously. That would probably be one of two reasons: 1. You were a parent who had no business currently being at Hogwarts. 2. You were the most successful potioneer of your generation, specialising in poisons and their remedies, with a success so prominent that every potions student in Year 5 and above stared at your name on the cover of their potions textbooks every time they used it.

The chilly atmosphere of the dungeon welcomed you as you made a beeline to the potions classroom. Harry’s thoughts were racing as he tried predicting what you were going to tell Professor Snape, holding your son’s exam papers in hand.

Luckily for you, Snape had just exited his classroom, opening his mouth to let his students into the dark room, when he spotted you. His eyes were immediately clouded with annoyance, but something else lingered in his gaze. “Snape,” You started, glancing at the group of students waiting to be called into their classrooms. “I suggest you give your students a free period. We have things to discuss.” You didn’t wait for Snape to respond, pushing past him to walk into his classroom. You settled your things down on a table near Snape’s desk, standing up behind the uncomfortable stools. “Take a seat, sweetheart.” Harry smiled gently as you returned your gaze to him, eyes softening as they took him in. You pushed a rogue strand of hair away from his face before turning around to meet Snape’s eye as he trudged towards you.

“You realise it’s been almost twenty years, right?” Harry wasn’t expecting those to be your first words. “So I suggest you get over your little crush on me and your hatred towards my husband, because my son is facing the consequences of your feelings.” Harry gasped at the revelation, his eyes wide with shock. He pursed his lips suddenly to suppress his laughter.

Snape hated him because he was jealous of Harry’s father?

You turned over Harry’s papers to face the Professor. “Look me in the eye and tell me you believe these deserve a Poor.” Snape looked up, making solid eye contact with you, though he didn’t say anything. “Y/N-” “It’s Mrs. Potter to you, Snape.”

The long-haired Professor inhaled deeply. “Mrs. Potter, I strongly believe that your son’s papers deserve the grades they were awarded.” You hummed, entirely unconvinced. Pushing Harry’s essay to the side, you flipped his exam paper open. “Then we seriously need to question your teaching. Green pen, please.” Snape grumbled quietly as he stood up walking to his desk to retrieve a green pen for you, placing it in your extended hand.

“Let’s see.” You spoke under your breath, moving around the table to stand next to Snape. The next few minutes were dreadfully tense for Harry, watching as Snape spent most of the time looking at the side of your face rather than the paper, where you were adding small check marks next to Harry’s answers. When you reached the end of the paper, you flicked back to the beginning, counting the marks in a quiet whisper.

“You’ve given my son an 18/50. The mark he should have gotten is a 39. Not an outstanding by any means, but still two entire grades above the one you gave him.” Harry swallowed thickly as you spoke, crossing your arms over your chest whilst you stared down Professor Snape.

“Keep up with this prejudice against my son and I promise, you will come out of a job.” Snape scoffed, finally saying “You act as though anyone will take your word over mine.” Your genuine laugh surprised Harry. “You can stop pretending you think they’ll choose you over me. We both know Professor Dumbledore has been begging me to take this position for, what, four years now?” All colour drained from Professor Snape’s face as you revealed that information. You walked around the hopeless professor to place a hand on your son’s shoulder.

“Who knows, maybe next year I’ll take his offer?” You leaned closer to Professor Snape, bringing your voice down to a whisper. “If I don’t hear that you’ve changed my son’s grade by tomorrow, I promise, worse things will happen to you than losing your job." You straightened up, clearing your throat before adding "Who knows, maybe I’ll even send my husband to visit you.”

Harry revelled in the way Snape shuddered at the mention of his father. He didn’t bother hiding his smile at Snape’s reaction to your friendly threat, holding his hand out for you to hold as you gathered your things. You took Harry’s hand, guiding him out of the room with a satisfied smile. “Is it true they asked you to come work here?” You nodded with a hum.

“Why didn’t you take the offer?” You turned to look at Harry’s hopeful eyes, furrowing your eyebrows. “I didn’t want to be invasive. I mean, I know for a fact I wouldn’t have wanted my parents to hear every rumour that was spread, or know every time I got into trouble. That would be inevitable if I worked here, and, you know, I want you to have some freedom.”

“Well, what if you came next year?” You stopped in your tracks at Harry’s question, turning to look at him properly. “You know, it’ll be my last year, so I’d have had my freedom, and you’ll be a great teacher for everyone. And I guess it would be nice having you around.” Harry’s cheeks were flushed pink and your heart warmed as you realised the true reason for his request. He missed you and his dad.

“Okay.”

“Okay!?” Harry jumped up at your agreement, laughing joyously. “But!” “But?” Harry echoed, sounding slightly horrified. “I’ll still live at home. I won’t stay here overnight like some Professors do. We’re just one apparation from home anyway. But I guess I’ll stay here until late afternoon if I have to mark papers.” Harry grinned, throwing his arms around your shoulders to bring you into a tight hug. You laughed, eyes widening as you realised he was looming over you despite the heels you wore. “Harry, honey, you are getting too tall.” The boy shrugged as he let go of you. “Madame Pomfrey said I’m still growing. I’ve still got a couple of inches ‘til I catch up to dad anyway.”

“He won’t be too happy about that, but the two of you can argue about it at dinner tomorrow, yeah? I’ll send McGonagall an owl to let her know. Just come by using floo.”

“Ooh and can we play a game of Quidditch after?”

“Only if you’re willing to lose.”

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @juliet-017, @boromoony, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin

i love how s3 finale completely flips our perspective on the hunt from the pilot. half of the girls weren’t even hunting. van standing over the pit seemed so menacing in the pilot but now it’s just heartbreaking. mari being pit girl, not because the wilderness chose but because shauna chose. mari was only wearing a nightdress so she could use her clothes as a decoy. and turns out mari was a decoy while the others tried to get rescue. misty removing her mask and smiling not because they caught mari but because they’re getting rescued and there’s nothing shauna can do about it. the hair on the antler queen costume wasn’t a collection of various victims’ hair, it was just mari’s. this whole time we thought it was all the girls collectively giving in to the hunt and the wildness of it, but really it was just shauna, along with lottie and tai. none of them wanted to do a hunt, none of them wanted mari to be chosen.

YELLOWJACKETS 203. Digestif / 301. It Girl / 303. Thems The Brakes / 310. Full Circle

Dark Charms

David McCall x reader

In the dimly lit ambiance of a downtown bar, the air was thick with the murmur of conversations and the occasional clink of glasses. You were there, nestled between your two best friends, Sarah and Mike, unwinding after a long week. The atmosphere was lively, the kind of place that promised forgotten worries and fleeting joys.

That night, the bar wasn't just a backdrop for casual drinks; it was where paths were destined to intersect. Sarah, ever the spontaneous spirit, was caught up in a complex situationship with a guy named Chris, who, as fate would have it, was a friend of David McCall.

David, a name you hadn't known until that night, would soon etch itself into your memory. He walked in with the kind of confident stride that turned heads, a magnetic pull in his step. His eyes found Sarah and Chris, and subsequently, you. There was an intensity in his gaze, a silent promise of something more, something deeper.

You noticed him immediately. He was undeniably attractive, with a charm that seemed to seep through the very air he breathed. When introductions were made, his hand lingered in yours a second longer, his smile a little too knowing, a little too intrigued. It was disarming, the way he looked at you, as if he could see past the facade we all wear in social settings.

As the night progressed, David's attention was unrelenting. He was charming, his words laced with an edge that was both exciting and unnerving. He shared stories that made you laugh, then think, then question. It was a rollercoaster of emotions, his presence a catalyst for a rush you hadn't anticipated.

You found yourself drawn into his orbit, captivated by the duality of his persona. On the surface, he was all charm and wit, but beneath that veneer, there was a darkness, an untamed intensity that you couldn't quite decipher. It was both a warning and an allure, a paradox that intrigued you.

Your friends noticed the chemistry, a mix of concern and curiosity in their glances. Mike's protective nature was evident, his eyes often flickering between you and David, assessing, calculating. But the night belonged to the unexpected, to the thrilling unknown.

As the bar began to empty, the reality of time creeping back in, David leaned in, his voice a low whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. "Would you like to go out with me?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for an answer.

It was a simple question, but loaded with possibilities, with the promise of exploring the enigma that was David McCall. You were at a crossroads, with the safe path on one side and the allure of the unknown on the other. And in that moment, you realized that you wanted to know more, to peel back the layers of this intriguing stranger.

Your "yes" was a whisper, a concession to the curiosity that David had ignited in you. As you left the bar, the night air felt different, charged with the potential of what was to come. David McCall was no ordinary encounter, and you, perhaps against your better judgment, were ready to delve into the mystery.

𝐃𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐃 𝐌𝐂𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 ┆ not so hidden 𖢖

reader catching david being violent with someone ᬬ david’s other side isn’t as hidden as he thinks ᬬ

you steps slowed when you hear the whimpering. then your brow furrows when you hear the voice. david’s voice. he sounds angry? and why is there someone pleading with david not to hurt them?

you round the corner, coming to a halt at the sight in front of you. david, with his back turned to you, one fist holding a guy a few inches off of the ground by his shirt. the other first, posed in the air, angling to hit the guy.

“you know what’ll happen if you touch her again, right? do i need to remind you? is that bruise not enough, you want more?” david sounded manically. . joyous as he said the words. almost like he said them with a smile on his face that you couldn’t see.

the guy shook his head quickly, his head slightly moving to the side as david’s fist inched closer. “i don’t need your filthy hands touching my girl and tainting her. i oughta cut them off right here,” david lowered his fist to reach into his back pocket.

you quickly called out his name before he could reveal what he was reaching for. both of the boys turned to you. one, relieved to see you, the other, stumped.

david quickly let go of the boy’s shirt, taking a step back like he wasn’t just about to. . severely hurt the guy. he quickly moved his hand from his pocket, tossing an innocent smile your way. “hey, baby. i was just on my way to get you. this guy here,” david gestured to the trembling boy, “looked lost. was just trying to help him out.”

you couldn’t believe the lie that steered so far from what you just witnessed. david furrowed a brow, chest heaving from the anger he felt towards the guy and now seeing you, not sure how much you saw and how you’ll react. “why aren’t you still at school? were you walking home? why would you do that, i said i was getting you. just, just come back to my car. let’s get out of here.” david gestured his head towards where his car was parked.

you slowly shook your head, taking a step back. “i’ll walk. it’s fine.” you spun on your heels, deciding to take a different route. a route then didn’t involve david trying to stop you.

“no. .” you heard from behind you before your arm was snatched back, david pulling you toward him. “no, i’ll drive you. i don’t like you walking, it’s weird people out here. just get in the car.”

you turned your head towards david, movement behind him catching your eye. you looked over his shoulder to see the guy david was threatening, putting a phone up to his ear, nodding at you.

you swallowed, nervously looking back to david. “he’s calling the cops.” you whispered. david scrunched his face, looking back to the guy and letting go of you to rush over to him. you took that moment to run off.

david turned in time to see you fleeing the scene. he huffed out a breath, turning to the guy. he silently grabbed the phone, throwing it to the ground, and crushing it. “she just needs some time to herself. it’s fine. i’m not pressuring her. nothing is wrong.” he told the guy, or more so himself, then got into his car.

he drove to his place, actually giving you some time to yourself. after spending some time worrying his head about you, he decided to call. when you didn’t answer, he tried again. then again. were you ignoring him? david was quick to leave out again, driving to your place.

once he pulled up, he grabbed the spare key he had made from underneath the plant that sat outside of your front door. letting himself in, he wandered around looking for you.

spotting you in your room, david was methodical to sneak up behind you, grabbing you in a hold that you couldn’t escape from. you yelped out, david shushing you. “it’s just me. it’s just me. you weren’t responding to me and i got worried.” david spun you around in his arms. you peered up at him, not knowing what to say. first, he threatens a guy for touching you, which you don’t really remember, then gets into your house when the door was locked.

“i just. . i felt like walking. and you looked busy. .” you tried to explain. david smiled down at you. he shrugged. “wasn’t busy. i told you, he was lost. and i offered to drive you, you know i wasn’t busy. why’d you really walk off? why’d you ignore my calls? i told you what happened, why are you acting scared of me?” david rambled on, getting more aggressive after each sentence.

“david, i think you know why. .” you tried to slip from his arms. he was quick to tighten his grip though, pulling a confused face. “no, i don’t. i think you’re confused. you think you saw something that you didn’t. it’s fine. you know i wouldn’t hurt anyone. and i definitely wouldn’t hurt you. i just have to let people know sometimes. . that you’re off limits. i have to gently remind them, it’s nothing wrong with that.” david smiled softly again.

you nodded along, too scared to disagree or continue to try to make your point. you leaned forward into david for a hug, him immediately embracing you and sighing out at the touch of you. while he was distracted, you quickly reached into his back pocket, pulling out whatever he was reaching for earlier. when your hand returned with a switchblade in it, you simply gasped as you stared at it.

david was quick to snatch it back. “don’t touch that. you’ll hurt yourself.” he placed it back in his pocket.

with his arms free from around you, you took multiple steps back. “david, you were going to. . cut him? stab him? you threatened him with a knife.” your voice raised.

david shook his head at you, coming closer to kneel in front of you, grasping your arms and peering up at you. “i told you, i have to remind people. this guy just had to be reminded. . differently. he wasn’t listening. you understand that, right? you understand i can’t let people hurt you. you want to be with me, right? you want me to keep you safe? that’s how i do it. you can’t be mad at me for that. you can’t ignore me for that.” david sneered.

you slowly nodded as david rose to his full height. “yeah? you believe me? you done thinking those crazy thoughs?” he chuckled.

“yeah. . yeah, i’m sorry.” you whispered. what could you even say? he was proving to be a caring, protective boyfriend. why wouldn’t you appreciate him?

david smirked at you. “it’s alright, don’t apologize. just don’t ignore me again, okay?” the light smirk fell from his face. “i mean it, don’t do that to me again.”

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. on the run,

summary. you're being chased by a werewolf and holy hell! werewolves are real!

pairing. dean winchester x civilian!reader genre. fluffy

wordcount. 529

The thing chasing you is not human.

You don’t know what it is, but people don’t run on all fours like that. People don’t snarl like that—low and guttural, vibrating in your bones. And people sure as hell don’t have glowing yellow eyes that catch the light like a predator.

Your lungs burn as you sprint through the woods, dodging trees, stumbling over roots. Your pulse is a wild thing, hammering in your throat, your ears. The town bar had been warm, safe, normal. A couple of drinks. A walk home. You didn’t expect—this.

Branches snap behind you. It’s gaining.

You risk a glance over your shoulder and instantly regret it.

Too close. Too fast.

You’re not gonna make it.

A flash of silver—gunfire.

You duck on instinct as something whistles through the air, followed by a sickening thunk.

A man steps out of the darkness. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, all leather and rough edges, a gun still raised in his hands. The werewolf—because, holy shit, that’s a werewolf—lets out a strangled howl before dropping like a sack of bricks, the silver bullet lodged deep in its skull.

Silence. Your breath heaves in the aftermath, your legs wobbling like a newborn deer.

The man exhales, rolling his shoulders like this is just another Tuesday. He spins the gun, tucks it into the back of his jeans, then turns to you with the kind of slow, assessing look that makes your stomach flip.

"You okay?" he asks. His voice is low, rough—gravel wrapped in honey.

You blink at him. Open your mouth. Close it. Then gesture wildly to the very dead monster a few feet away.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?"

He winces. "Okay. So. Bad news? That was a werewolf. Good news? It’s dead."

"Werewolves aren’t real," you say automatically, brain still playing catch-up.

He snorts. "Try telling that to him."

You stare at him, then back at the corpse. The fur is already receding, limbs twisting back into something almost human. Your stomach turns.

"What—what the hell is going on?"

Leather Jacket Guy tilts his head, eyes sharp, unreadable. Then, like a switch, his face softens—just a little. "You from around here?"

You nod, still catching your breath.

"You alone?"

"Uh. Not anymore?"

That gets a grin out of him, small but cocky as hell. He extends a hand. "Dean Winchester."

You take it, hesitantly. His grip is warm, solid. "…Y/N."

"Y/N," he repeats, like he’s testing the sound of it. "Alright, Y/N. Hate to break it to you, but the world’s a little weirder than you thought."

"No shit," you deadpan, which makes him chuckle.

The sound does something weird to your stomach.

Dean glances back at the body, then back at you. His expression shifts, that easy grin dimming just a little. "You should come with me. Just for tonight. Lay low, let me explain some things."

You should say no. You should scream, run, pretend none of this happened. But you just watched a man turn into a monster, and this guy—this Dean—saved your life like it was nothing.

You swallow hard, meeting his gaze.

"…You got whiskey?"

Dean grins. "Sweetheart, I got the whole bottle."

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

Bunny (P10)

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: Guys- #roadtrip! (this aint no godamn roadtrip.) Lets seeee, this is actually pretty sad but then again bunny and rafe have me in a chokehold. oh and since everyones been dying and sobbing on there knees for it- JJ redemption :)

warnings: mentions of pregancy sickness, anxiety, abortion clinic, an abortion, sad bunny but soft!Rafe

(P1) (P2) (P3) (P4) (P5) (P6) (P7) (P8) (P9) (P10)

The dock was quiet, only the sound of the water lapping against the wooden posts filling the night air. A few dim lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows across the worn planks. Y/N sat perched on a stack of crates nearby, a small bag slung over her shoulder, her fingers gripping the strap absentmindedly. The night air was cool, the wind rolling in off the water and she exhaled slowly, watching the way her breath disappeared into the darkness. Her body felt tense, an anxious energy humming beneath her skin and it wasn’t just the cold keeping her on edge.

The sound of boots against wood made her lift her head, and there he was- Rafe, moving toward her in dark clothing, a baseball cap pulled low over his face. She huffed out a small laugh at the sight.

"You look dumb."

"And you don’t?" 

He countered, raising an eyebrow as he gestured to her own cap lightly before stepping beside her. He took a glance around the dock, assessing, scanning, before finally exhaling and leaning against the crate beside her. She looked out at the water, pulling her jacket tighter around herself.

"Thanks for coming with me,"

She said, voice quieter now, like she wasn’t sure if she should say it. He turned his head toward her, studying her profile for a beat before looking back out at the water.

"Of course."

Rafe watches her from the corner of his eye, the way she stared out toward the oncoming ferry, her face unreadable in the dim light a dark shadow covering half her face due to her cap. He asked, his voice quieter this time, not pushing, just… checking.

“Are you okay?”

She blinked, like she wasn’t expecting the question, like she hadn’t even realized she’d been staring for a few seconds too long. She blinked, small but harsh, then followed it by a forced nod,

“Uh, yeah- let’s go.”

Rafe didn’t quite believe her, but he didn’t push. Instead, he reached out, taking the bag from her shoulder without a word and to her own surprise- she let him- watching as he placed it on the opposing shoulder which had his own bag. She followed after him silently as he stepped onto the ferry nearing the empty entrance. The ticket attendant, a tired-looking man in a navy uniform, scanned their tickets. He glanced at the names printed on the peices of paper and read aloud,

“Mr. and Mrs. Walker?”

Y/N furrowed her brows slightly, eyes flicking to the ticket in the man’s hand before turning to Rafe. Before she could say anything, she felt the warm weight of his hand press lightly against the small of her back as he stepped forward smoothly. “Yeah,” Rafe says with an easy grin.

“Me and my wife are just going for a short trip.”

The man barely spared them a glance, nodding as he handed the tickets back, “All good—enjoy your journey.” They stepped past the checkpoint and as soon as they were out of earshot, Y/N whispered,

“Mr. and Mrs...?”

Rafe couldnt surpress the small grin tugging at his lips, eyes ahead as he lead them toward the deck, “I thought you didn’t want to be recognized...” He murmured, voice dripping with amusement.

“Or should I have put your name down as Bunny?”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes as she elbows him, “Shut up, smart ass.”

Rafe just chuckled, pushing open the door to the ferry’s indoor seating, the cool night air following them inside. Yet as he pushed Y/N hesitated for a moment before speaking,

“...Can we sit outside?”

Rafe paused, furrowing his brows as he looked down at her, “Why would you want to do that? It’s dark as hell out there.”

She huffed, crossing her arms, “I’m pregnant Rafe—I get nauseous all the time. At least outside, I’ve got fresh air.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, studying her like he’s trying to figure out if she’s being truthful or just making an excuse so he does what she wants. After a beat, he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he muttered, motioning toward the door that leads to the deck.

“Go on then”

Without hesitation, she pushed through it, stepping out into the crisp night air. A breeze rolled over the ferry, cool and salty, and she breathed it in deeply. She didn’t have to turn around to know Rafe was following right behind her- she could hear his heavy steps. She settled into one of the worn seats, putting her bag he'd passed her on the floor next to her before shifting to get comfortable. The air was cool against her skin, the faint hum of the ferry’s engines vibrating beneath her. Rafe sat down next to her, stretching his legs out and leaning back slightly. He watched her from the corner of his eye, and it didn’t take long for her to notice.

“What?”

She asked, her voice carrying a little edge, like she’s too tired to deal with whatever comment he’s about to make. “Nothing,” he says easily, his lips twitching like he’s holding back a smirk.

“What, can I not look at you?”

“No”

She deadpanned, rolling her eyes before shifting her position, bringing her legs up onto the chair. She folded her arms over her knees, her head resting against them. Rafe eyed her again.

“Are you about to throw up or—?”

“No asshole, I’m just tired”

She muttered, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. He scoffed at her harsh tone of voice before speaking up,

“You know, considering I organized this whole thing for you, you’re not very nice are you?”

She shifted her head, now looking at him, but she didn’t say anything. In reality, she knows he’s right. He didn’t have to do any of this for her. Yet, here he is- booking a ferry, making sure no one recognizes them, sitting beside her in the cold night air without a single complaint. She exhaled softly, pressing her lips together.

Maybe he doesn’t deserve the attitude.

She exhaled through her nose the breath rising in a small clous from the chill of the air, gaze dropping to where her fingers play idly with the hem of her sleeve.

"Sorry"

She muttered, barely above the sound of the wind. Rafe didn't say anything right away. He just hummed in acknowledgment, shifting slightly in his seat, like he hadn't really expected her to say it. The ferry rocked gently beneath them, the rhythmic sound of waves slapping against the hull filling the quiet between them. The water stretched out into an endless black abyss, only interrupted by a gleam of moonlight rippling across its surface. The island behind them grew smaller and smaller, its warm, glowing lights fading into the distance, swallowed by the dark. The silence stretched on, the distant hum of the engine the only sound breaking through the quiet between them. "So... " Rafe shifted, his gaze flicking to her profile before he asked

"What did you tell your brother?"

At first, she didn't answer, the question hanging in the air like a weight. Her fingers tightened around the fabric of her sleeve, her gaze still focused on the dark horizon ahead. After a beat, she finally responded, her voice low, almost like she's trying to convince herself as much as him.

"Told him I had a job interview."

Rafe raised an eyebrow in curiosity, "In Charleston... he believed that?"

She hummed softly in response, offering a casual nod as she lets out a quiet breath,

"Yeah."

Her eyes flickered briefly to him, and then she looked away again, the conversation itself being enough to bring on an ache she didn't want to face. She doesn't push the subject further, her gaze falling to the water, watching the faint ripples dance under the boat’s wake. Rafe caught the shift in her demeanour but chose not to say anything. He leaned back slightly, lost in his own thoughts, as the boat cuts through the black sea, the island now nothing more than a faint memory in the distance. His eyes flicked to her, the question sitting heavy on his tongue. The wind whipped through the air around them, but the tension between them felt more heated than the cold.

"Does he know?"

"What?"

"Does JJ know?"

The question seemed simple but his voice softened. Y/N pressed her lips together, her gaze flicking to the dark horizon- looking anywhere but to him. She hesitated before answering, almost like she was trying to convince herself to tell the truth.

"No... he doesn’t."

Rafe blinked, surprise flickering across his features, but he quickly masked it. He nodded, his fingers drumming gently against the table between them. There was something about her answer that he wasn’t expecting.

"...I thought you two were close."

The words hung between them, and Y/N’s shoulders stiffened at the words. She turned toward him, her eyes narrowing, a little defensive. "Look," she started, her voice edged with frustration,

"I don’t go around asking you about your relationship with Sarah or your lack thereof, so why don't you just drop it?"

Rafe’s jaw tightened, and he flinched slightly like he’d been slapped. The air between them shifted and from the way his hand now lay in a fist against the dark coloured table top, she knew she shouldn't have said what she did. He let it linger, only to let out a short, sharp comment-

"Alright, no need for the fuckin’ attitude."

Y/N clenched her own fists, feeling her temper flare at his words. She had no idea why his comment hit her like that- but deep down she knew it was because it sounded awfully similar to what someone else would always say to her- to the words that lingered in the walls of her home.

"God, you know- I just don’t get you Rafe."

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his arms folding across his chest, "Yeah? Well I’m all ears Bunny."

Y/N shook her head, her voice biting now, "One minute, you’re nice. Actually, not a complete asshole. And the next? You're right back to being your self-entitled kook self."

He scoffed, leaning back slightly, but the words stung. He wasn’t used to people talking to him like that- he knew what people whispered when he walked but, but directly to his face... no one said a thing- especially not someone like Y/N. Yet instead of apologizing, he shot back, crossing his arms even tighter.

"So, what do you want from me huh? Actin' like you're such a saint yourself Maybank"

Y/N scoffed right back at him, pulling her legs up under her. "You just—" she paused, running a frustrated hand over her face.

"..I don’t know you- you’re just confusing. I can’t figure you out."

Rafe stared at her for a moment, trying to gauge her. There was a vulnerability in her words, a softness she was trying to hide behind all the frustration she kept targeting him with. He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on her, reading her better than she realized. Maybe that was part of the issue- they both knew each other a little too well for their own good. Y/N stood up suddenly, brushing the fabric of her jacket down, her movements quick as she stepped away from him. She didn’t look at Rafe as she moved to stand by the railing, her arms resting on the cool metal as she stared out at the dark expanse of water. The sound of the boat's engine and the subtle slap of the waves against the hull filled the air, but the tension between them still hung thick, unspoken.

Rafe stayed seated, watching her from the corner of his eye. She was illuminated softly by the dim lights of the boat, casting a faint glow across her face, her features softened, but there was still a heaviness to her posture. He felt a pang of guilt deep in his chest, something sharp and uncomfortable. He knew he shouldn’t have pressed her like that, but he couldn’t help it.

For some reason, he always assumed she and JJ were the kind of siblings who shared everything, who didn’t keep secrets. The way she’d been so quick to shield her brother from everything, to keep him from knowing about her pregnancy, caught him off guard. He ran a hand over his jaw, a quiet sigh slipping from his lips. His thoughts drifted—unbidden.

To Sarah.

He hadn’t spoken to her in ages their relationship was... complicated, to say the least. But looking at Y/N now, standing at the edge of the boat with her back to him, he couldn’t help but wonder if that was how she and JJ were now- unable to speak about the things that hurt. The night was growing colder as the boat continued its steady path, the rhythmic hum of the engine almost lulling them into a quiet trance. Y/N shifted in her seat which she had returned to, a soft shiver running through her. The chill in the air seemed to settle in her bones, and without thinking, she muttered,

"I’m going inside. I’m cold."

Her voice was low, almost swallowed by the wind. Rafe, not looking up from his phone hummed in acknowledgment, fingers tapping out a message to Barry who was speaking to him about a new 'supplier'. The noise of his fingers tapping against the phone screen echoed faintly between them, but otherwise, there was nothing more to be said. Y/N didn’t wait for him to reply, standing up with the intention of heading inside. She moved with purpose, but as her foot shifted on the deck, the boat suddenly jolted—a subtle shift in direction that caught her off guard. Her body teetered for a split second before she stumbled, her hand shooting out to catch herself against the railing. It was nothing too dangerous, just the motion of the boat, but in the brief moment of imbalance,

Rafe’s instinct kicked in.

He reach out toward her, his hand halfway in the air before he pulled it back, seeing that she’d already steadied herself. His body froze for a second as he watched her, his gaze lingering on the way her posture straightened again.

Y/N, catching the small flicker of movement from him, glanced over at Rafe, her eyes locking with his for just a moment longer than either of them anticipated. It wasn’t a look of gratitude or acknowledgment- just a silent gaze in his direction, a brief pause that hung between them before she quickly looked away. She said nothing, just turned and continued her walk toward the cabin, moving a little faster now. Rafe stood frozen for a beat, his hand still in the air as though unsure whether to reach out after her. He let his hand drop to his side, watching her retreating figure. The silence around them seemed louder now, the distance between them more palpable than before.

After a moment, he exhaled, a soft sigh escaping his lips, and with a brief glance toward the dark waters, he followed her inside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The soft hum of the taxi filled the air as it moved through the quiet streets of Charleston, the city’s lights casting long shadows on the pavement. The streets, usually busy with the bustle of tourists, were almost empty at this early hour of the morning. The moon hung high in the sky, its light reflecting off the buildings as they passed. Y/N stared out the window, her face illuminated by the passing streetlights. Her eyes weren’t focused on anything in particular- just the empty streets, the quiet that felt too loud between them. She shifted slightly in the backseat, then broke the silence, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to ask the question.

"When’s the... clinic booked for?"

Her gaze didn’t leave the window, but she was still waiting for his answer, the question just another small part of this strange, tense journey. Rafe’s eyes flicked to her for a moment before he glanced out his own window, his fingers drumming idly on the seat beside him.

"Evening"

He said simply, his voice low, he didn’t look back at her after that, the words hanging between them with an unspoken understanding. She nodded softly, her gaze still fixed on the darkness outside, her eyes slightly glazed as she thought about what was ahead. The clock on the taxi’s dashboard blinked a bright 3:13 AM, the streets were empty.

The taxi slows to a stop in front of a hotel, the headlights casting a long, soft shadow across the dark pavement. The building isn’t the most luxurious from the outside, but to Y/N, it’s the fanciest place she’d ever set foot in. As she steps out of the cab, she hesitates for a second, looking up at the hotel’s grand but understated exterior. The soft glow of lights spill from the inside, and the hum of quiet conversations can be heard from within.

Rafe’s already out, paying the driver. Y/N adjusts the small bag slung over her shoulder as she follows him inside, her footsteps echoing as they step through the double glass doors.

The lobby is elegantly designed—modern. There are soft armchairs scattered throughout the space, a sleek chandelier hanging overhead, and the hum of quiet conversations. It feels foreign to her, like she doesn’t belong here. Rafe heads up to the reception desk without a second glance, but Y/N, lost in her thoughts, lingers by the lobby’s wide glass windows, gazing out at the city streets. The street is still, save for a few scattered cars driving by.

Her attention is pulled back into the room when she notices a man sitting in one of the armchairs, talking animatedly on his phone. His voice is low, his hand gesturing as he speaks. Sitting beside him, though, is a woman who looks to be in her early thirties, her hair pulled back in a neat bun, dressed simply but elegantly. Y/N’s eyes are drawn to the curve of her belly. The woman’s hand rests gently there, a soft and loving gesture, cradling the life growing inside her. The man finishes his call and puts the phone down, settling next to her with a smile. His words are muffled, but Y/N can tell by the way he’s looking at her- so tenderly- that he’s saying something reassuring. She presses a kiss to his cheek, the act so natural and intimate, and his hand moves automatically to rest on her belly, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Y/N’s heart tightens as she watches them, her breath catching in her throat. For a moment, the world around her seems to blur as she’s struck with the emptiness that threatens to overwhelm her. She feels a sting of jealousy- sharp and uncomfortable- but it’s not jealousy of them, not really. It’s jealousy of their simplicity. The way they seem to have it all figured out. Rafe returns to her side, his steps sure as he walks toward her. His eyes quickly flick over to where hers are fixed, but he doesn't need to follow her gaze to know what she's looking at. He doesn’t say anything at first- just watches her for a second longer before clearing his throat. The sound is like a small signal to break the tension hanging in the air.

“I’ve got the key card”

He says, his tone neutral, trying to sound casual but his voice sounds more empathetic than he'd like to let on. Y/N doesn’t respond immediately, she only gives a short nod, her mind still caught on the sight of the couple in the lobby. She blinks a few times, pushing down the emotions threatening to flood her again.

“C’mon”

He says again, stepping toward the elevator. It’s easy to just follow his lead, so she falls in line behind him, her footsteps light as she walks into the lift with him. The doors shut with a soft chime, and the silence between them is thick with the unspoken, and neither of them seems willing to break it. Y/N catches a glimpse of Rafe from the corner of her eye. He’s standing a little too still, his jaw tight, but then he shifts slightly, a sudden yawn catching him off guard.

It’s a soft sound.

She watches him for a moment, then quickly looks away, guilt swirling in her stomach. She feels bad. It’s hard to ignore the fact that she’s dragged him off the island for something she hasn’t even fully explained, and it doesn’t help that she’s been distant with him. He doesn’t owe her this, and yet, here he is. He’s sacrificed his time, his peace, to follow through with something she needed.

Something she couldn’t even handle on her own.

Her chest tightens, but she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t even know how to apologize properly. The doors to the elevator ding, and Y/N shakes herself out of the fog in her head as the doors slide open. She steps out, trailing behind him down the corridor, the low hum of the building’s air conditioning the only sound between them. Her thoughts continue to swirl in a haze, and she follows Rafe wordlessly, her gaze flickering over the brightly lit walls and the muted carpeting underfoot. The beep of the card unlocks the hotel room, the handle clicking softly as Rafe steps forward to push the door open. He enters first, his eyes scanning the room for a moment before pausing just inside the threshold. He’s holding the door open, his back to her, but he doesn’t move forward immediately. Y/N stays a step behind, and she tilts her head slightly, a mix of curiosity and hesitation in her posture.

“What?”

She asks quietly, her voice sounding smaller than she intends. She doesn’t know why she’s asking. Maybe it’s just the lingering unease she feels with the way he's paused, or maybe it’s just the awkwardness of being here with him.

Alone.

In a hotel room.

Rafe doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his eyes flick to her, briefly meeting her gaze, then turning to the room as if weighing how to explain this. Y/N, now more aware of the pause, steps forward and brushes past him to peer into the room, her eyes scanning the space. The moment her gaze lands on the large, neatly made bed in the center of the room, her stomach drops. She takes a slow step back, blinking.

One bed.

Of course.

Her mouth opens as she exhales a soft, surprised “Oh,” almost as if she’s disappointed in herself for not anticipating this. The reality of the situation sinks in quickly, the silent weight of the choice she’s facing now becoming apparent. She glances back at Rafe, her eyes narrowing slightly. He stands frozen for a second, looking at the bed, then at her and his expression shifts into something more neutral—calm, but there’s a flicker of something else beneath. His gaze lingers on her for a second too long, the tension thick in the air between them. Rafe, standing just behind her now, clears his throat and shrugs.

“There was meant to be two singles...”

His voice is more earnest than she expects, but the tension is still thick. His gaze flickers to the bed and back to her.

“Guess they messed up with the booking.”

“Right”

She mutters and rolls her eyes, feeling that old frustration bubbling up again. She hears him shift behind her, and the tone of his voice softens slightly.

“No, seriously, I booked two beds Y/N.” he pauses, then sighs. “They messed up. Besides... not like I’m used to dealing with rooms for more than one.”

His voice is quieter now, maybe even a little... sheepish?

Y/N’s shoulders stiffen, and she tries not to think too much about it. She shouldn’t be frustrated, not really. He did try. It wasn’t his fault, but- she just nods, not trusting herself to speak, her eyes still locked on the bed as the weight of the situation settles in. It feels too personal, too uncomfortable, but she forces herself to exhale and shake it off. She half-turns to face him, her voice a little sharper than she intends.

“Great... so, what now?”

Y/N takes a few steps further into the room, her eyes scanning the rest of the space. It’s huge, definitely bigger than anything she’s used to, with a bathroom off to the side that looks like it could fit a small army. She almost feels out of place in the luxury of it all. Her fingers brush the smooth edge of the desk, the furniture pristine, and she can’t help but feel a little self-conscious. As she moves toward the far side of the room, her gaze lands on the couch. It’s medium-sized, tucked neatly against the wall near the bed. Her eyes linger there for a moment. She hears Rafe step closer behind her, his heavy footsteps echoing slightly in the quiet room. He follows her gaze, then looks back at her.

“I’ll sleep on the couch”

He says, and Y/N pauses, slightly skeptical. She turns to face him, a little incredulous.

“What?”

Rafe’s hand rubs the back of his neck, his posture a little stiff. “I mean, it’s fine... you’re pregnant and I’d rather not—” He cuts himself off, realizing that the sentence sounds ridiculous.

“I’ll take the couch.”

She doesn’t want to seem ungrateful, but she can’t help but bristle at the idea. “It’s fine,” she starts, shrugging it off, “I can take the couch.”

Rafe’s expression tightens, his eyes narrowing slightly in disbelief. “No. You’re not sleeping on the couch.” His tone is firm but not unkind.

“We’re not doing that.”

Y/N opens her mouth to protest, but then she catches the look in his eyes. Something about the way he’s saying it, the way he stands there, not pushing but still resolute. She presses her lips together, swallowing her own stubbornness.

“Fine”

She mutters, walking toward the bed and sitting down on the edge. He gives her a half-smile, nodding. He pauses for a second, his gaze flickering over her, before he heads over to the couch, testing the cushions.

“I'm sorry abou-”

"-It's fine Rafe."

She shoots him a side-eye, still a little uneasy but also strangely grateful that he’s not making her sleep in the same bed. The night passed in an odd kind of quiet. Y/N had turned away from the sofa, curling into herself under the blanket, her back to Rafe. He, on the other hand, lay awake for a while, his eyes tracing the outline of her figure in the dim light, the soft rise and fall of her breathing making him feel strangely protective- though he wouldn’t admit it. Eventually, sleep claimed them both, though neither one of them seemed to rest all that peacefully.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning came slowly, the bright sunlight spilling through the blinds, casting a soft glow across the room. Y/N woke first, rubbing her eyes before slipping out of bed quietly, trying not to disturb Rafe. He was still asleep on the couch, his body turned slightly, his arm thrown across his forehead. She grabbed a quick shower, dressed in the clothes she’d brought, and then made her way downstairs as he stirred from his sleep.

The small café downstairs was cozy, a little more upscale than the usual diner, but not so fancy it felt out of place. She and Rafe sat down at a table near the window. Y/N absently pushed her pancake around on the plate, the syrup drizzling down the soft stack of pancakes in front of her. Rafe had ordered eggs, bacon, and toast, and his plate was practically a mountain compared to her much smaller serving. Rafe looked at her plate,

“There was so much on that menu, and you got pancakes?”

Y/N shot him a small glare, her fork poking at her pancakes. “You’re one to talk. Look at your own plate.”

She rolled her eyes, the usual defiance in her tone. Rafe couldn’t help the small, amused grin that tugged at his lips. It was impossible to not appreciate her sass, even if it was often sharp-edged. He shook his head, stabbing into his food. They ate in silence for a few moments, the air between them comfortable. Y/N pushed a cut pancake around her plate, her mind clearly elsewhere.

“...When I was younger,” she started quietly, not looking up from her plate, “my dad used to make me and JJ pancakes for breakfast every Sunday.”

Rafe, who’d been about to take another bite, paused. He studied her for a moment, his gaze flicking from her to the food, but he didn’t say anything. Y/N continued, her voice softer now.

“He hasn’t done that for years.”

His eyes softened a little, the layers of tension between them briefly melting away as he processed her words. He didn’t know how to respond to her suddenly opening up, so he just stayed silent, watching her as she cut into her pancake. For a second, he wished he could ease her melancholy, the way her voice had faltered just a little when she’d spoken of her father. Y/N looked up at him then, catching the brief flicker of empathy in his eyes, before she quickly glanced back down at her plate, focusing on her food. Neither of them said anything for a while, and the quiet lingered between them. Rafe cleared his throat after a beat, as though considering whether to share what was on his mind. He looked down at his plate, pushing some bacon around before speaking again, his voice quieter now.

"My dad used to… uh…" He paused, as if trying to find the right words, "used to say that a growing man needs a filling breakfast, so ever since then, if I have breakfast, I have this."

He motioned vaguely to his plate of eggs and bacon. Y/N, in the middle of cutting up her pancakes, glanced up at him, her eyes taking him in, trying to process his words. It was strange to hear him speak so casually about his father- considering everything she knew from Sarah about the difficulty of their relationship. She hummed in acknowledgement, a simple gesture before she spoke up again, a question lingering on her tongue.

“Aren’t you bored of it?”

He didn’t answer right away, chewing a bite of his food, his eyes never leaving her face.

“Some things you don’t get bored of.”

Her fork paused midair, and for a second, she just studied him. She gave a small, almost imperceptible nod of understanding before looking back down at her plate, cutting up another piece of pancake. But his eyes stayed on her, the weight of his gaze just enough to make her feel like he was reading her again. She didn’t look back at him, though- her mind was too busy running through the conversation, the way his words felt like an opening, even if just a crack.

Y/N sets down her fork, her plate now empty, and picked up the warm cup of tea in front of her, holding it between both hands. She takes a slow sip, letting the warmth spread through her as she looks out the window, her gaze distant. Rafe, still focused on his food, catches her pause out of the corner of his eye, sensing a change in her demeanor. He swallows a bite and glances at her, then back at his plate.

"How far away is the clinic?"

She asks quietly, her voice slightly less steady than usual. She’s trying to keep it calm, but there’s a subtle weight to her words, as though she’s still sorting through the emotions building up inside. Rafe chews for a moment before answering, his tone straightforward but gentle.

"It’s not far, maybe a 30-minute drive. Shouldn’t be too bad."

He doesn’t press her for a response, letting her take the lead in how much she wants to engage with him. She nods slowly, but her eyes remain unfocused, drifting out the nearby window as her thoughts spiral. She feels a tight knot forming in her stomach. The decision she’s made, the steps she’s about to take—they all feel heavier now, so much more real than ever before. The thought of the procedure is enough to make her feel a little sick, though she doesn’t want to admit it out loud. It’s all she’s been thinking about since they left the island, but now that they’re so close, it’s almost suffocating. Y/N’s fingers wrap more firmly around her cup as she stares out the window again, but there’s a slight unease in her posture now. After a moment of contemplation, she breaks the silence with a soft, almost tentative voice.

"Do I... do I have to give my name or...?"

Her voice trails off, unsure, as though she’s not even sure she wants to know the answer. Rafe, sensing her hesitation, quickly cuts her off, shaking his head. "No," he says, his tone firm but gentle.

"It's anonymous. You don't have to. They won't even know who you are."

Y/N's eyes flicker to him, and she exhales a quiet breath of relief. "Right," she mutters, her fingers tightening around the cup again.

The idea that it could be so impersonal, that no one would know her, seems to bring her some comfort, though she doesn’t show much outward emotion. The thought of keeping it all anonymous, of having no strings attached, gives her a strange sense of control over something that’s felt so out of her hands.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hours leading up to the appointment felt like they were dragging, each minute stretching on, yet it was as if time was slipping by too fast at the same time. Y/N had spent most of the day trying not to think about what was coming, but now, as she stood outside the clinic, she couldn’t stop her mind from racing. Her heart was pounding, her stomach tied in knots, but she didn’t have the strength to back out now. Rafe walked ahead, pushing the door open for her, and she stepped inside, the sterile, clinical air hitting her as soon as she crossed the threshold. The waiting room was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that made her skin prickle. It was empty, except for one woman in her mid-thirties, flipping through a magazine, and the receptionist sitting behind the desk, typing away. "Go sit down," Rafe murmured softly, his tone steady as he gestured to the row of empty chairs against the wall,

"I'll get the papers you need to fill in."

She didn’t have to be told twice. Her legs felt like jello, and she made her way to an empty seat, trying not to let her nerves show. The walls of the room were a bland gray, making everything feel dull and lifeless. The fluorescent lights above hummed quietly, and there was a small window in the ceiling letting in the dim light from the dark sky. Y/N's eyes drifted to the woman sitting across the room. The woman glanced up from her magazine and caught her gaze, offering a kind, understanding smile. Y/N hesitated for just a second but returned a small, tight-lipped smile in return. The woman nodded in acknowledgment before looking back down at her magazine and Y/N took a deep breath, trying to steady her thoughts. A moment later, Rafe returned, clipboard in hand, and sat beside her.

"Here"

He said, passing it to her with a soft smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. She nodded, taking the clipboard from him. She looked down at the forms, at the boxes she’d need to fill in, the questions that seemed to stare up at her, expecting answers. Her grip tightened around the pen as she brought it to the paper, but the tremble in her hand was almost impossible to ignore. She bit her lip and tried to steady herself, but it was no use. Her hand wouldn’t stop shaking, and she could feel the hot sting of tears threatening to fall, though she desperately fought to keep them in check. Rafe noticed immediately, his eyes narrowing with concern. He sat closer, his hand lightly resting on her hand for a moment before he gently took the clipboard from she had grasped in it.

"Let me do it," he said quietly, his voice soft but insistent.

"I’ll fill it in for you."

Y/N opened her mouth to protest, but the words got stuck in her throat. She muttered, feeling embarrassed, but she couldn’t seem to help it,

"But… you might not know..."

Rafe looked at her, his expression unwavering but gentle,"Then you tell me," he replied, his voice calm,

"and I’ll write it down alright?"

Y/N stared at him for a beat, her heart doing something strange in her chest, something like relief mixed with disbelief. She could feel the weight of his kindness, and for a moment, it almost made her want to cry more. But instead, she simply nodded, her throat tight.

"Okay"

She whispered, taking a steadying breath. She started telling him the details- any medical allergies, then other information like her date of birth- which he reassured wasn't necessary if she didn't want it there. Rafe wrote it all down, his handwriting neat and precise, his hand steady despite her trembling voice. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him directly, but the warmth of his presence beside her was oddly grounding, even though it didn't make her fear go away. The woman who had been reading the magazine had gone in, and the receptionist was somewhere out of sight, probably dealing with paperwork or something in the back.

It left just Rafe and Y/N sitting together in quiet.

Y/N sat forward slightly, her hands laid pressed under her thighs, her fingers digging into the chair. She couldn’t bring herself to look up. Her eyes stayed focused on her shoes, her mind racing, all the thoughts running in every direction. Rafe, stayed sitting beside her, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His jaw was tense, his brow furrowed slightly, and despite the calm exterior. Then, out of nowhere, Y/N broke the silence.

"Rafe, I’m scared."

Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but it hit him hard. He was taken aback, not expecting her to admit it. He had seen her put up walls, but hearing her say those words made something tighten in his chest. He turned to her, trying to offer some kind of comfort, even if he wasn’t sure how to give it.

“Hey- it's okay...”

He said, his voice quiet but earnest. But she wasn’t reassured, her teeth caught her bottom lip, and she bounced her leg nervously, her eyes still downcast. Her voice cracked slightly, and she swallowed hard.

“What if something goes wrong, and—”

"Y/N—this is the best clinic in Charleston, alright? I promise."

Rafe shook his head in a reassuring gesture. Her eyes flickered up to him for a moment, but she quickly dropped her gaze again, her voice barely audible when she spoke again.

“I—but what if something happens?”

"Maybank" he said, his voice firm yet gentle, as if trying to anchor her in the moment.

“Nothing is going to happen, okay? You’re gonna go in there, they’ll do the procedure, it'll take 15 minutes and then you’ll be out. I’ll be right here waiting for you."

She let out a breath she’d been holding in, almost like a tiny surrender, but still, her hands were clenched under her thighs, her shoulders tense. Rafe could see her trying to hold it together, but the vulnerability in her eyes was there, clear and raw. Her hands moved then, resting on top of her thighs, and then, as if she couldn’t hold it in anymore, one hand came up to cover her mouth, the other rubbing her face in frustration. She mumbled,

“I’m so scared.”

The words hit him like a punch, torturous, he felt it deep down, the weight of her fear, and it gutted him in a way he didn’t expect. She was trusting him enough to let this fear out, and it made him feel an overwhelming pressure in his chest. For a moment, he hesitated. He didn’t know what to do, what would help her calm down. But then, without thinking, he reached out, his hand resting gently over hers, the one still resting on her thigh. Her eyes flickered down to where his hand met hers, and for just a second, their gazes met- her eyes searching his, full of uncertainty, and something else.

Something almost... vulnerable.

"I’m going to be waiting here for you the whole time," he said softly, his voice steady but carrying a quiet reassurance.

"I’m not going anywhere."

Y/N’s chest rose and fell with a deep breath as she processed his words, her bottom lip trembling slightly. Then, slowly, she moved her hand so it was now holding his, her fingers slipping between his as she squeezed gently. He felt her hand in his, felt her trust in that simple gesture, and his thumb instinctively began rubbing soothing circles on the back of her hand. Neither of them said anything more. The silence between them wasn’t oppressive now; it felt almost comforting, as if the simple connection of their hands could steady them.

The quiet of the waiting room was broken by the soft click of a nearby door opening. An older woman in a crisp white doctor’s coat stepped out, glancing around the space before her eyes landed on Y/N. Her face softened immediately, smile warm and gentle as she called out,

“We’re ready for you now sweetheart.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath, so subtle it could’ve been missed if Rafe wasn’t watching her so closely. She straightened a little, gathering herself. Her fingers slowly, reluctantly, slipped from his, and Rafe let her go, though his hand lingered in place for just a second longer like it didn’t want to lose the contact.

“You’ll be fine”

He said quietly, his voice steady. She nodded- small, but firm- and stood up. Rafe watched as she walked toward the woman, her steps light, almost unsure. The doctor opened the door beside her and stepped inside, holding it open behind her. Y/N followed, before she paused in the doorway.

She looked back.

Her eyes found Rafe's, and for a moment, the world seemed to still. He met her gaze from where he sat, arms still crossed over his chest, jaw tight, but his eyes—his eyes soft blue eyes watching her like he didn’t want her to go in there alone- like he wanted to be there right beside her, holding her hand.

And then the door closed behind her.

Rafe exhaled slowly through his nose, the weight of the silence hitting him all over again. He hadn’t even noticed how hard his heart was beating until now. His hand twitched once on his leg, like it still remembered the feeling of her fingers in his.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The room was quiet.

Still

Only the faint sound of a random film playing on the TV filled the silence- a movie neither of them was really watching. Y/N sat curled up on the bed, knees pulled tight to her chest, her arms looped around them as her eyes stayed fixed on the screen like it was holding her in place.

She hadn’t said a word since the procedure.

Not in the car.

Not during the walk back up to the room.

Not once.

Rafe sat on the couch for a while, watching her more than the movie, caught somewhere between giving her space and wanting to do something, anything, to make this less heavy. Eventually, he stood up, quiet steps carrying him to the small desk tucked in the corner of the hotel room. He picked up the room service menu lying there, flipping it open. He glanced over at her again—still quiet, still curled up, like if she moved too much, she might fall apart and he walked back over and perched on the edge of the bed, not too close, careful with her space. Gently, he set the menu down beside her.

“You should eat something,”

He said, voice low, her eyes dropped to the menu for a second, but she didn’t reach for it. Then she turned to look at him, but he was already watching her. She gave a small shake of her head, still not speaking. Rafe sighed, running a hand down his jaw, rough with tension. “Maybank…” he tried again, softer this time.

“You gotta eat.”

Nothing, she didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just stared ahead at the TV like she wasn’t really in the room at all. “Alright,” he muttered, half to himself, picking up the menu again.

“Let’s see…”

He started listing, casual but careful, “Mozzarella sticks... caesar salad... bbq wings... mac and cheese.... tomato soup with grilled cheese....? Sliders? Pasta? Uh- spaghetti with truffle and mushroom? No..? Alright, club sandwich... chicken tenders... fries…?”

Her head shifted slightly.

Just enough to catch his attention and make his eyes flick over, catching the way hers had finally lifted, just the tiniest bit of reaction. “Fries?” he asked, tone light but a little hopeful.

“You want fries?”

She didn’t speak, but after a beat, gave him the smallest nod. It wasn’t much, barely anything- but it was something to Rafe. That was enough to make a small, quiet smile tug at the corner of his lips. “Alright” he said softly, already reaching for the hotel phone to place the order, his eyes lingering on her just a second longer.

He crossed the room in a few slow strides, grabbing the hotel phone off the receiver with one hand while flipping open the room service menu with the other. His thumb hovered briefly over the order as he pressed the button for the front desk. When the soft voice of the receptionist answered, he ordered simply- just the fries, nothing else. His voice was steady, careful, like he didn’t want to disturb the fragile quiet that had settled over the room. As he hung up, the faint mechanical buzz of the line disconnecting filled the space for a second, then faded. The silence returned but this time, it was broken—softly,

“Thank you”

Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper. Rafe blinked and turned around slowly, surprised. She hadn’t spoken since she’d walked out of the clinic, hadn’t looked at him much either. And now, her voice was small—tired in a way that made something twist in his chest. He offered a quiet nod.

“It’s fine.”

He didn’t say anything else, just turned to go back to the sofa where he’d been keeping his distance since they got back. He didn’t want to crowd her, not after he'd just managed to get her to ease open. But just as he reached the edge of the bed, her voice stopped him again “You, um…” she said, hesitating, chewing at her bottom lip.

“You can sit here- if you like...”

He looked over at her slowly. She was still curled up near the pillows, knees hugged to her chest, the hotel duvet tangled loosely around her legs. She wasn’t quite looking at him- her eyes were flickering toward the television instead- but her fingers were nervously fidgeting in her lap.

“You sure about that?”

He asked gently, his voice softer now, the usual sharpness dulled by caution. She nodded, the motion small but certain. “Yeah,” she murmured, her voice slightly more sure this time.

“I’m sure.”

He hesitated only a second more before moving- careful and quiet, almost like if he made too much noise the moment might break apart. He rounded the bed and eased himself down beside her on the opposite side, lowering slowly until his back rested against the padded headboard. He kept a respectful distance, just enough to give her space but not so far that she felt alone. The curtains were drawn tight, muffling the city beyond, and the quiet hum of the air conditioner blended with the low volume of the movie.

Y/N sat propped against the pillows now, the bowl of fries resting on her lap. She was picking at them slowly, not ravenous, just nibbling. The taste of them felt grounding, something familiar in all the strange quiet of the day. Beside her, Rafe sat with his arms crossed over his chest, head tipped back against the headboard, eyes half-lidded as he watched the television. His expression was unreadable- tired maybe, the pale light of the screen moved across his face, catching the curve of his jaw and the furrow between his brows.

She glanced at him for a moment, then looked down at the bowl in her hands. Without a word, she nudged it a little toward him- silent but clear in her offering. Rafe’s eyes slid down to the bowl, then back up to her. He gave a faint shake of his head.

“I’m good, Maybank.”

“Have some,”

She tilted her head slightly, not pressing, just… encouraging as she said quietly. He looked at her again, her face soft in the dim light. There was a gentleness in her voice that tugged at something in his chest.

“They’re really good,”

She added, as if that might tip the scales.

And it did.

Rafe gave a small, defeated nod and reached into the bowl, pulling out a fry. He took a bite, crunching into it—and he had to agree it was perfect. Crisp, golden, just the right amount of salt. He gave a quiet little amused breath through his nose, the corner of his mouth lifting into a small smile.

“That’s pretty damn good”

He admitted and Y/N let out a breath that was almost a laugh, her lips curving into a small smile- soft, genuine. It was the first real one all day. She spoke, nudging the bowl toward him again.

“Have another”

He didn’t argue this time. He reached in and grabbed another fry, and then another after that because it seemed to satisfy her- make her happy. She shifted a little, adjusting the bowl so it sat between them now, and in doing so, she edged closer to him—just enough that their arms were nearly brushing. The bowl sat empty now, discarded somewhere by their feet, but Y/N hadn’t moved. She was still tucked in beside him, her side pressed into his, arms brushing with every breath, every subtle shift. The silence was back—but it wasn’t the heavy kind from earlier. It was different now, calmer.

A little softer around the edges.

Rafe hadn’t shifted either. His arms were no longer crossed, his hands resting on his stomach now as he leaned against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him. He could feel the warmth of her against him, not overwhelming—just there.

Solid.

Y/N's knees were still drawn up, but her shoulders had eased, the tension from earlier leaking out of her bit by bit. Her cheek was tilted slightly toward him, not quite resting, but close enough that if she leaned an inch more, she could. The TV kept playing, casting dull light across the room, neither of them really paying attention to it. Rafe shifted just slightly, glancing down at the point where their arms touched, then at her profile. The flicker of the screen light danced along her skin, catching on the curve of her cheek, the arch of her nose.

Rafe’s throat felt dry, like he hadn’t swallowed in hours. He blinked, but his gaze didn’t shift.

Not from her.

Not from the way the soft hotel light picked up on her lashes or the way the curve of her lips- soft and slightly parted- seemed impossibly delicate. Y/N sensed it, felt his eyes on her. She turned her head slightly, brows pulling together gently. She asked, her voice soft, barely above a whisper.

“What?”

“Hm?”

He blinked again, slower this time. She tilted her head, a small crease forming between her brows as she brought a hand up to swipe lightly across her cheek.

“Is there something on my face?”

Rafe’s eyes followed her hand, the slow sweep of her fingers against her skin. He shook his head quickly—too quickly maybe—and leaned back against the headboard again. “No,” he said, his voice low, the edge of it a little hoarse.

“No there isn’t.”

Her hand fell away as she looked at him. Really looked. The space between them felt warm, heavier somehow than it had a second ago. The TV was still going, but the sound barely reached them anymore. Her eyes stayed on his, searching his expression like she wasn’t sure what she was seeing there.

Neither of them looked away.

Her gaze dipped- just briefly- to his lips and then in return his eyes did the same, flickering down to hers. His tongue slipped over his bottom lip dampening it slightly and the moment stretched, thick with something unsaid, something almost fragile.

The moment shattered with the sharp buzz of her phone against the bedside table. Y/N blinked, her gaze finally dragging from Rafe’s- like coming up for air- and she turned toward the sound coming from the bed side table, phone screen lighting up the darkened corner of the room.

JJ

She stared at the name for a second too long, her stomach twisting. He didn’t know where she was, as far as JJ was concerned, she was in Charleston chasing a job offer. She picked it up, pressed the screen to answer, and forced her voice to be steady.

“Hey, Jay… everything okay?”

There was a pause on the other end, the background sound fuzzy like he was outside before his voice came through, rough but familiar.

“Uh… yeah- yeah. I’m cool. Just… wondering how your interview went.”

Her brows pulled slightly together in surprise.

“Oh. Uh—it was okay. Yeah. Went fine.”

There was a soft hum from him in response and then silence. She shifted on the bed turning away from Rafe who was now looking at her somewhat curiously, especially since he noticed the tension in her shoulders tightening. She asked, the edge of concern pushing through.

“You sure everything’s okay?”

“Yeah, I’m at the Chateau,” he answered, “It’s… chill here.”

“That’s good,” she said quietly.

There was another stretch of silence, a tense one to the point she could feel something sitting behind it. Then JJ cleared his throat.

“Y/N, I was just thinking… um-”

“What’s wrong?”

She asked quickly, her voice dipping softer as she could sense her distress. She could hear something different in his voice—like guilt “I’m sorry,” he said, barely above a whisper. “For not talking to you...” Her breath caught a little and she swallowed. Her grip on the phone tightened just slightly.

“I, uh- I got a job, that’s what I was calling to tell you. It’s, uh, at the fish and tackle shop.”

She froze and for a second, she didn’t even process what he said. she just stared down at the carpet of the room, lips parted then spoke out, “… are you being serious?”

“Yeah” There was another pause before he continued his voice coming out through through the small speaker of the phone,

“I’m sorry I’ve been slacking and you’ve had to carry the house by yourself. I’m… I’m trying to be better. For you.”

She stared at the wall, that ache behind her ribs swelling. A sad smile tugged at her lips as her eyes glistened. She blinked fast, the sting behind her eyes catching her off guard. She drew in a slow, quiet breath through her nose.

“I’m proud of you Jay”

“Thanks,” he said, quieter now and then he asked, “When are you coming home?”

She drew in a slow breath, “Tomorrow. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Okay…”

She glanced at the clock on the bedside table, its red digits glowing up to her, her voice lightening.

“You going to sleep soon or what? It’s pretty late.”

He let out a tired “mmhmm,” and then he said, almost too quietly, “I miss you.” She pursed her lips tight, holding in the rush of emotion building in her throat. “I miss you too.”

“Goodnight,” he mumbled out to her.

“Go to sleep”

“I will.”

“You better.”

He let out a low chuckle- small, but real- and she could almost envision his boyish grin in the dark. “See you tomorrow,” she said.

“See ya tomorrow, sis.”

The line went dead.

She lowered the phone slowly, staring at it in her lap. The silence of the hotel room returned, and with it came the dull, heavy pressure in her chest. That hollow feeling. That shame. Because even though she had smiled and said all the right things, one truth lingered loud in her head—

She’d lied to him- and she'd never done that, not as seriously as this.

Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as her fingers tightened slightly around the edges of her phone. The guilt crept in like a tide, slow but suffocating. JJ’s voice was still echoing in her ears—the softness in it, the hesitation- he was trying so hard. He had called just to tell her he’d gotten a job, just to let her know he was trying to be better for her.

And here she was.

Sitting in a hotel room far from home, sharing quiet and warmth with the one person her brother hated more than anyone else on the island. The one person who'd hated and tourmented them since they were kids. She glanced over at him, still silent on the other side of the bed. His gaze was fixed on the muted television, though she could tell he wasn’t really watching. There was a calmness to his posture now, a quiet presence that shouldn’t have felt safe- but somehow did.

And that made it worse.

Because the longer they sat here, the more she realized that her feelings for him were starting to shift. The edges of her anger had dulled, the lines had blurred. He had seen her at her lowest, and he hadn’t run, he hadn’t mocked her like he always had. He’d stayed- and that terrified her more than anything.

Because JJ could never know.

Not about why she was really in Charleston.

Not about Rafe.

And especially not about the way her heart was starting to beat differently when he looked at her.

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꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ fire and air,

summary. you've got castiel under some kind of spell. and it's freaky!

pairing. castiel x demon!reader genre. fluff

wordcount. 529

Castiel shouldn’t be here.

Shouldn’t be standing in the dim glow of a rundown motel room, watching the way your black eyes flash before fading back to their human hue. Shouldn’t be memorizing the curve of your smirk, the way it tilts like you know a secret he’ll never understand.

And yet—he can’t leave.

“You know,” you hum, tilting your head, “I can hear your thoughts when you look at me like that.”

Castiel stiffens. “That’s not possible.”

You grin. “No, but I wish it was. Bet they’re all righteous and tortured.” You step closer, slow, like you’re testing him, seeing how far you can push before he pulls away. He never does. “You’ve got it bad, angel.”

His jaw clenches. “You are a demon.”

“Mmm.” You press a finger to your lips, feigning deep thought. “And yet, you’re still here.”

The room feels smaller. He can hear the motel sign buzzing outside, the hum of a television through the thin walls. But none of it matters—not when you’re this close, the scent of smoke and something sweet curling around him like temptation itself.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Castiel admits, voice low, strained.

Your smile softens, just a little. “I don’t want anything.” You reach up, fingers ghosting along the lapel of his trench coat. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

He swallows. He should smite you. He should walk away. He should do a thousand things that don’t involve watching your lips part like you’re waiting for him to make a move.

Instead, he stays.

And he falls.

The first time he kisses you, it’s after a fight that wasn’t even yours to begin with.

You hadn’t planned on getting involved—whatever demon had pissed off the Winchester brothers wasn’t your problem. But then you saw one of Hell’s lapdogs get the jump on Castiel, a blade pressed too close to his throat, and something in you snapped.

So you killed it.

Messily.

Now, blood stains your collar, some of it yours, most of it not. Your lip is split, and there’s a bruise forming high on your cheekbone, but you’re grinning like you just won the damn lottery. “That was fun,” you breathe, licking blood from your teeth.

Castiel should be disgusted.

He isn’t.

“You’re reckless,” he murmurs.

You shrug. “And you’re obsessed with fixing things that can’t be fixed.”

He doesn’t realize he’s moved until his hands are cupping your face, his thumbs skimming over the bruises. A flicker of grace would heal them, erase every mark, but you grab his wrists, shaking your head.

“I like them,” you whisper. “Proof that I made it through.”

Castiel’s resolve crumbles. He kisses you before he can think better of it, before he can remind himself of what you are, what he is, what this will cost him.

Your lips are warm, chapped, and tasting of copper and sin. You make a sound against his mouth—something soft and surprised before you melt into him, pressing closer, fingers threading into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp.

And Castiel—who has fought wars and killed gods and carried the weight of Heaven itself—lets himself fall a little deeper.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

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alec mcdowell is obsessed with everything about you.

he doesn't care if you don't think there's anything "special" for him to obsess over, and he does argue with you on it. how could you not see that you were the hot shit? he practically studied you, partly because he was a little bit out of experience with this whole societal bullshit, and partly because he loved all of your mannerisms and quirks.

you hold his hand by his fingers, just so you can hold on tightly to his much bigger hand when you walk. you nuzzle into his side when he puts his arm around you, like you wanted to be attached to him. you gave him a kiss every time he walked into a room you were in, like clockwork.

god forbid he leave a shirt at yours, because it was gone into your closet, now, lost forever from him. not that he minded; sometimes he did it because he knew you, that was the whole point. you like to ride him in the mornings when everything's slow and syrupy and let him loose at night, when it's dark out and the only witness to the way he defiles you is the stars, who've always kept his secrets, kept them all throughout his time in manticore.

he knows all these little details about you, catalogued in his brain in the important part of it, because alec would be damned if he forgot a single thing about you. sometimes the weight of what he'd gone through and everything he missed out on because of his untraditional and fucked up upbringing weighed heavy on his shoulders, and all he could do was turn to that little place in his mind where you lived and had a home in.

all alec had to do was imagine the way your smile lit up your face, or your eyes sparkled in the morning light, or your hand pressed to his chest when you leaned up to meet his mouth for a kiss, the way you'd giggle when he scoops you up so effortlessly, kissing the corners of your lips and your nose just to make you laugh like the sun itself lived within you, and everything was okay again.

so yeah. he was a tad obsessed. but there were more times than you ever realized that the little things you did were some of the only things keeping him from sinking.

notes! this is my first time with my new taglist YEEEHAWWW if u wanna be a dahlia nation member go here hehehe THANKKK U. idk what this is either I JUST RLY WANT ALEC MCDOWEEEELLLL RNNNNNN HE'S IN MY BRAIN

tags! @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @pieandflannel @viluren @h8aaz @yulianie @angelicjackles @beausling @tinas111 @briisbananass @cowboysandcigarettes @deanswidow

ㅤTHE SON OF THE SEAㅤandㅤTHE DAUGHTER OF THE DEEP.

SUMMARY ㅤtwo sirens walk into a bar . . . ㅤWARNINGSㅤ( 18+!! )ㅤsiren ! dean & siren ! readerㅤDEAN IS SO ARROGANT 😭ㅤhooking up in a bar bathroom which is icky gross :/ㅤunprotected p in v (they're half fish forgive them </3)ㅤNOTESㅤsorry ive been slacking on writing lately i have no excuse except to blame the economy. pls have this as an apology it is a silly lil idea i got

there was something about you that dean winchester could not fucking shake.

moe's seaside grill was always his place, you know. he'd walk between those saloon style doors dragging in sand clinging to the bottom of his newly acquired golden tan legs, he'd ruffle his saltwater curled deep blonde hair with a hand that must have shimmered in the light, catching the very small peeks of iridescent black scales that he never truly bothered to hide, and the women who frequented the place just for him would fall to their very knees.

some guys, too, though dean didn't pay them much attention unless he was starved and knew he could get away with ditching their bones along with the other litterings of fish skeletons and crab shells and lobster tails in the dumpster outside of the grill.

you were a new face. dean loved new faces. the girls got so boring because the song and dance that they fell into trying to peacock around him was always the same. the siren call of his voice and invitation of his green-gold eyes couldn't give the same targets variety, and it wasn't their fault or his fault that there basic instincts, without fail every time he walked in, were to just repeat their same routine.

he'd tried to ignore you. really, he did. he didn't like when girls stared too long without approaching him, and you were seriously lacking respect in that department, not even bothering to hide the way you studied him. studied! as if there was more to him that mattered to you besides what his cock felt like inside of you.

the problem with dean was that he thought he was hot shit. he wasn't one of these people in this little tourist trap on the shoreside of the ocean. he wasn't even a local. he popped out of his little home in the sea when he got hungry or desperate or both, and he picked and chose like the world was a frequently changing menu. he did not consider if they had families, or if they had spouses, or if they were here on spring break or using well-earned vacation days.

he cared that they wanted to fuck him, and he was always trying to quelch that eternal thirst within him, never quite getting there. that's why he devoured the men, see; it was just wrong to eat a woman in a way that wouldn't make her squeal in pleasure and curl her toes into the wet sand as if the ocean cared about what a woman who posted bikini pics in its waters just to piss off her ex did.

no, the ocean answered to him. the ocean liked him. it fed him, gave him sanctuary. and because he'd effectively scared off any other siren like him to find their own turf, he thought he could command the rest of the world to bend to his will, too.

except for you. which pissed him off a little, considering dean was actively sparing your life. he could eat your heart out. he could suck the life source out of you through your mouth or through your pussy and leave you as nothing but a husk of a person, left to rot and die. but he didn't. wasn't that so nice of him?

and all you could do as a thank you was stare at him like you knew his legs were only temporary, like you knew he had a special rock tucked away out of sight where he'd made love to more women than you'd probably ever met on - and devoured more men than you'd probably ever have the misfortune of meeting, too.

it was some grace of god miracle that he got you away from the crowded bar and into a bathroom stall. he'd seriously never had to work so hard to seduce someone in his life. even then, he wasn't certain that you weren't just playing along with his games, still, considering you hadn't once tried to rip off his cloth shorts yet. he was seriously supposed to just... take his time? savor this?

"your eyes are so..." you break apart from his mouth once more, and dean thinks he could actually fucking cry. this was not supposed to be slow and patient, he was supposed to be balls deep in you, kissing your open mouth just enough to swallow the traces of your pleasure down into his throat.

dean deadpans, giving you his best attempt at a smile. "i know."

"no, i mean--"

"no, i know." he catches the bottom of your dress in one hand, eyebrow raising as he starts to lift it up. "off?"

you don't protest, instead giving him a little smile as you nod, which is at least some sign that you were into him. kind of? at least into this. maybe he needed some sort of pill or something to get his allure back up, which would be fucking crazy, and even if that was the case, you wouldn't catch him dead taking that. no, he just needed a little time. a little extra effort, and he'd have you salivating over those eyes you were drawn to.

he's not slow or patient, so off really meant lifted, and your dress spilled over your thighs and his waist as he tugged his still in tact shorts down to midthigh and slammed between your legs in one fell swoop.

maybe he should have went for the hard-to-get ones more. you felt so fucking good wrapped around him, your wet pussy squelching around him through each tight thrust of his hips. the metal stall's door rattled in its hinges, only held steady sometimes when you clenched your fists around the top of it.

you were really pretty like this. he was so damn distracted. first he couldn't seduce you with his abilities, had to rely on the old trick of the trade human interaction to get you into this stall or whatever, and now he couldn't draw his eyes away from yours.

this was a sick joke. it's not your fault that he's having a bad day, but the slam of his cock into your fluttering walls would make you think he was punishing you. dean doesn't even bother to stifle the mewls or the sharp moans you let out, either - let everyone in this place know how good he could treat a pretty girl who made him work so hard.

your hand falls down to his shoulder, digging into his skin with your pretty painted nails, and dean hisses under his breath, hoisting your legs up higher around his waist to fit in between them better. his head tips forward to hide between your shoulder and your neck, tongue darting out to taste the traces of salt on your skin.

you tasted so damn good too, as pretty as you looked, and now he wasn't even paying any mind to the fact he was supposed to be feeding from you. he was supposed to lick into your mouth and let you finally take the bait of his siren call, giving your everything to him just to make him happy. he was supposed to savor this part, the part where he went and he went and he went, until your legs gave out and you couldn't string together a sentence, just so he could get the most he could from you.

he was staring at your eyes. gold in them, in the light. if he wasn't so distracted by how tightly your cunt squeezed around him, he'd have put it together sooner, but alas, he's just a man. not just a man, but one who actually needed pussy to live. in a way. well, there were certainly other ways to keep him afloat, but he really liked the way where he'd get to fuck someone.

you nudge his head up to kiss him, and he's seriously done for then. his back hits one of the stall walls, his thrusts slowing, as he let you fuck yourself against the aching cock buried inside of you. forget whatever the hell he wanted. seriously. he'd give you every single thing on this planet to see your eyes glitter like they were.

he tilts his chin up to kiss the corner of your mouth, his dark eyelashes fluttering as he takes in every inch of your face and your expressions. "your eyes are so..."

"so...?" you ask, tilting your head to the side, and the smile you give him is devastating. so completely devastating. like this was a first date, and your fingers brushed over the table -- not like you were torturing him with the slow grind of your hips up and down his hardness.

"i don't even know."

you kiss him again, slower, like you're savoring every taste of his saliva whereas he was drowning. on his lips, you say, "i'm really close," panting it into his mouth like you were dazed, those parted lips of yours just round enough to fit his cock between them, if you wanted him to.

hell, he was a mess. he barely drew enough awareness back into himself to focus, to understand that those words were exactly what he wanted to hear but also not, because he wanted this to go on longer, he didn't want to stop until he physically couldn't.

your back hits the other side of the stall wall again, and he's stepped back behind the reins again now. your legs are secured around his waist and his palms hold your hips in place as he rams himself into you, over and over again, the obscene sound of skin against skin and the drenching of your juices making the invasion that much easier.

he knocks his forehead against yours, never close enough to you, his mouth brushing against yours as you wrap your arms around his neck tightly to keep him there. it's not much longer later that you choke on a scream, barely muffling it into his mouth when you steal one final kiss.

there is something about that kiss. he's not usually so easy to get off, never really focusing on himself until the very end of a very long night since he didn't get fed from his own arousal. that'd be too easy.

but your lips touch his and your tongue laps at his and, seriously, he came on the spot. he's never done that before. he's not a teenager, especially not a fucking human one. but here he was, arms somehow going weak from the force of it, as he tries to stay coherent enough to lazily push his hips up and up into you so it stayed inside.

"that was really fun," you say, so fucking giddily like his lungs didn't feel raw and his cock didn't ache, somehow. one round? seriously? was he genuinely going to have to get some sort of siren arousal pill to keep up like he used to before this?

dean gives you a weak little laugh. "yeah, yeah," he breathes, and you slip off of him like that act alone wasn't too fucking much when he was this sensitive. he was a goddamn wreck. "hey, so what's your--"

you adjust your dress again, and he watches the shift in your eyes, how they once glimmered gold and had now melted back into something more mundane. you were still dropdead gorgeous, but there was something about you now than two seconds ago that felt a little more human.

his face falls. your grin widens.

"i'll tell you next time," you say with a wink, sauntering toward the locked bathroom door with so much arrogance in your strut that he can't look away. dean hated you, he thought. no one should be that pretty and so damn manipulative.

but, really, same could apply for him, so he didn't voice any of that out loud. his irrational hate would just exist inside of him where his soul was assumedly supposed to be. big gap to fill. it was perfect.

"and dean?" you're half out the door, the gold gleam in your eyes back and captivating, so utterly, devastatingly, captivating. "it's not nice to scare the rest of us away. some of us have sharp teeth and bite back."

well, it was going to happen eventually, wasn't it? he just didn't expect the siren most offended by his possessive dictatorship here at moe's to be so pretty.

he'd have to exercise these legs more often. just in case you came back again. especially if you came back again.

notes. siren!dean has been in my head for like 2 days now pls I JUST THINK THIS IS SO FUNNYYYY 😭 i love him down bad i'm afraid. everyone cross ur fingers that this short lil thing pulls me out of this writing slump & i can get back to daddy dadsbsf!jackles soon

tags. @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @figthoughts @bejeweledinterludes @funkycoloured + anyone else i have to redo my taglist so sorry if u aren't listed </3

Bunny (P9)

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reade

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- here's the next part gang 🤟 Next part is gonna take me 3 day at least pls don't gang up on me and track me down I beg.

warnings: mentions of alcohol and drunkenness, police stations, abuse, bad father daughter relationship, aggression, blood, bruises, malnutrition, sad bunny but soft!Rafe (idk ig?)

(P1) (P2) (P3) (P4) (P5) (P6) (P7) (P8) (P9)

The restaurant is warm, filled with the scent of sizzling meat, it’s small, family-run, where the walls are covered in colourful tapestries and old generational photos. A string of mismatched fairy lights flickers above the booth, casting a golden glow over the chipped wooden tables. It’s comfortable and homey- somewhere that the two girls come all the time given the owners are Sofia's family friends, somewhere Y/N would usually feel at ease.

But not tonight.

She’s sitting across from Sofia in a corner booth, her fingers idly picking at the tortilla chips in front of her, breaking them into tiny pieces but never bringing them to her mouth. Her stomach feels heavy, but not from hunger. The weight in her chest has been there for two days now, pressing down on her every time she tries to push her reality out of her mind. Sofia on the other hand, is talking animatedly, her dark eyes bright with excitement;

“—and then he tells me he’s never been to the Cut before- I mean I know he's new but can you believe that? Like, he’s lived on this island for three months, and he’s never even crossed the bridge for more than a minute?” She shakes her head playfully before continuing,

“I mean, it’s probably a red flag, right? Or maybe it’s, like- cute? No you know what, he needs me to show him around right? I'm not delusional but I really feel that this time its dif-”

Y/N hums absently, nodding as she moves the chips around her plate, the low hum of their conversation in the restaurant blends with the soft guitar playing through the old speakers near the register. Sofia keeps talking, something about how 'this new guy actually texts back', how he asked her about her day, how it’s refreshing. Y/N wants to listen, she really does. She wants to be present, to ask the right questions and tease Sofia about her obvious crush. But all she can think about is the fact that there’s a baby inside her.

A baby she didn’t ask for.

A baby whose father is a faceless, nameless shadow.

Her fingers tighten slightly around a broken chip, her jaw clenching and this time, Sofia notices. She pauses mid-sentence, her gaze flicking to Y/N’s untouched food, the way she hasn’t really reacted to anything she’s said.

“What’s up with you?” Sofia asks, leaning forward with her elbows on the table, “and don’t tell me you’re just tired, because I know when you’re lying to me.”

Y/N’s throat tightens. She presses her lips together, willing herself to keep it together, but under Sofia’s knowing stare, her walls start to crack. She exhales sharply, finally looking up from the mess of now broken crumbs.

“I don’t even know Sof,”

She mumbles, her voice barely above a whisper. Sofia’s expression softens, and she reaches across the table, resting a hand on Y/N’s,

“Hey, come on.- you’re my best friend. You can tell me anything, you know that.”

Y/N swallows hard. She wants to tell her. But saying it out loud makes it real, and she’s not sure she’s fully ready for that. Instead, she just stares down at the table, trying to figure out how to even begin. She shifts slightly in her seat, exhaling through her nose. She knows Sofia won’t drop it- she never does when she knows something’s off. So she pushes out a breath and shrugs, giving Sofia a tired half-smile.

“It’s just... JJ and I got into it a few days ago. And I guess it’s just- taking a toll on me more than I thought it would.”

It’s not a lie.

Not really

“You and JJ always fight. Like, all the time. It never lasts more than a day.”

Sofia’s brows furrow as she looks to the girl comfortingly. Y/N presses her lips together again, tracing the rim of her water glass with her finger, “Yeah, well… this time, he’s not talking to me. He’s just been… I don’t know. Distant? He only texts me if he needs something or to tell me he’s crashing at John B’s.”

She shrugs again, trying to make it seem like it’s not a big deal, even though it is. Because JJ has never done this before. Even when they fought, they never really ignored each other. And now, when she needs him more than ever, he’s pulling away. Sofia watches her carefully, taking in the way Y/N won’t quite meet her eyes, how she keeps fidgeting with her glass.

“Okay, yeah... that sucks,” she admits. “But, this is JJ we’re talking about? He’s your brother. There’s no way he stays mad at you forever- I mean, I literally watched you two try to strangle each other over an out of date Pop-Tart, and five minutes later, you were splitting it in half.” Y/N lets out a small, hollow chuckle at the memory, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes and Sofia sighs,

“Look, I get it. It sucks when things feel off between you two. But whatever it is, you’ll figure it out. You always do.”

Y/N nods, but she doesn’t say anything because although her relationship with JJ is an issue at the moment- it isn’t the problem.

But he’s a safe excuse.

So she lets Sofia keep talking, lets the conversation shift back to her and the guy she’s seeing. But even as she nods and hums at the right moments, she can’t shake the feeling that things are starting to slip out her grasp.

The ride home is quiet, the low hum of Sofia’s car filling the space between them. Y/N watches the streets pass by, the neon lights of convenience stores and run-down gas stations casting eye-catching glows. As they pull up in front of her house, she exhales and turns to her best friend, guilt tugging at her,

"Sorry I was pretty shitty company today."

Sofia scoffs softly waving her hand in dismissal before shifting in her seat to face her, "No, you weren’t. Don’t be silly." She leans over, pressing a quick, reassuring kiss to the side of Y/N’s face. Y/N musters a small smile, trying to believe her.

"I love you."

"I love you too, girlfriend. See you tomorrow?"

Sofia tilts her head, giving her a gentle smile in return. Y/N nods, lifting a hand to send her a playful air kiss before stepping out of the car. She watches Sofia drive away, then turns towards the house, her eyes catching on the familiar sight of JJ’s bike parked in the driveway. Stepping inside, she finds him in the living room, shoving clothes into a bag. He doesn’t look up right away, just keeps moving, shoulders tense. Y/N hesitates, watching him.

She wants to tell him everything.

She wants to fall apart right here and let him put her back together, just to be held by someone who would understand. Yet the way he’s been acting- the distance, the short replies- makes it feel impossible. He finally glances at her, expression unreadable.

"You good... ?"

It nearly breaks her and she forces herself to nod quickly, swallowing down the lump in her throat answering,

"Yeah. You?"

"Been fine."

JJ shrugs, his voice flat as he responds- and that’s it. They both know there’s something wrong, but neither of them know how to fix it. Y/N’s gaze flickers to the half-packed bag beside him. Her throat feels thick as she clears it before she asks,

"Where are you going?"

"John B’s for a few days."

JJ doesn’t stop what he’s doing as he answers. She nods, pretending it doesn’t sting, pretending she doesn’t feel him slipping further away instead putting on a small smile and mumbling out an,

"Oh... okay."

For a second, he hesitates at the sound of her voice.

His fingers grip the zipper of his bag a little tighter, like maybe he wants to say something more, but then he just exhales sharply, slings the strap over his shoulder and mutters,

"I’ll see you later."

And he’s gone.

The door shuts behind him, and all that’s left is silence. Y/N stands there, staring at the empty space where he stood, the weight of his absence pressing down on her. Her mind wanders but she startles at the sudden, shrill ring of the landline. Her brows furrow as she looks over at it. Nobody ever calls the house phone, she's even been meaning to cancel the damn thing for months now, but it always slipped her mind. A weird feeling creeps up her spine as she crosses the room and picks up the receiver.

"Hello?"  

There’s a brief pause, then a robotic voice filters through the line:  

"This is a collect call from—" a short beep sounds before a gruff, familiar voice cuts in,

"Luke Christopher Maybank." 

"—an inmate at Kildare County Police Station. Do you accept the call?"

Y/N's stomach drops and she exhales sharply, pressing her forehead against the wall as she closes her eyes. For a second, she considers hanging up. Just letting it ring out and pretending she never picked up, but instead, she reluctantly whispers,

"Yes"  

A click can be heard and then his voice, rough and slightly muffled rings out from the other end, "Y/N?"  

She swallows, "Dad?"  

"You gotta pick me up," he grumbles. "These fuckin' cops got me locked up for nothin’. Just some bullshit drunk and disorderly charge—it's all a misunderstanding, alright? Just—just get down here."  

Y/N presses her palm to her face, dragging it down as she leans heavier against the wall. She doesn’t say anything right away. What is there to say?  Why was she picking up her own father from the police station- last time she checked in every other normal families home it was the parents picking up the teenagers. Luke huffs out a frustrated breath when she doesn’t answer fast enough.

"C’mon, girl, I know you’re there. Don’t be difficult, just come get me. And—" he pauses,

"bring some money with you." 

Y/N stills and her heart sinks. Money? All she has left is that two hundred and fifty dollars, well now two hundred since she had to tank her car up. The money she was saving for her... problem. Her fingers curl tightly around the phone cord as she stares at the floor, cursing him in her mind, rage bubbling up in her chest. Luke snaps, his voice sharper this time,

"Can you hear me or wha-"

"-yes I can fucking hear you, alright?"

Y/N bites out before she can stop herself. A little too harsh. There’s a beat of silence between them before he hums, a low, warning sound, but he doesn’t say anything else. She feels a little nervous, knowing she shouldn’t have spoken to him like that. She never should have spoke to him like that. The telephone beeps, signaling the time running out. She exhales, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"I'm coming."  

Luke sniffs, shifting on the other end, "You better be kid."  

The line clicks dead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N steps into the Kildare County Police Station, her shoes clicking sharply on the tile as she walks toward the counter. The air smells stale, the buzz of the overhead lights almost as grating as the noise in her mind. The officer behind the desk looks up at her and she clears her throat, her voice steady but flat,

"I'm here for Luke Maybank"

The officer nods, picking up the phone to make a call. But before she has time to stand there, Shoupe steps out from behind the door. He notices her immediately, the familiar face giving her a slight pause. He says offering her a nod,

"Y/N"

"Shoupe."

She looks up, a tight smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. He asks, his hands resting on the counter leaning in slightly.

"How’ve you been?"

"Good."

She keeps her answer short and stiff. He raises an eyebrow, as if he expected more before continuing,

"Well, I've been good too thanks for asking."

Y/N hums noncommittally and glances at the floor. Shoupe has always been kind to her, but at the end of the day he's still part of the police... and she can't really trust him, and he knows that. Shoupe exhales and motions to the officer at the desk.

"I’ll take care of this one."

He takes the place of the previous officer, fingers tapping rhythmically to type into the computer. Y/N glances around the waiting room which is practically empty, except for a middle aged man fast asleep in the far corner chair. Shoupe pulls out a piece of paper from the printer and places it on the counter infront of her.

"Your dad’s bail is $500."

Y/N’s eyes flick down to the piece of paper, mouth going dry at the sound of the number. Her eyes flicker across the document and land on the digits printed out in bold. Her hand slips into the pocket of her hoodie and takes out the $200 she’s been clinging to, counting it out slowly before offering it to him by placing it on the counter.

"That’s all I’ve got."

"Y/N..."

"Shoupe," she cuts him off, "That’s literally all I have left."

She gives him a look as if it should be obvious that she's clearly done with all of this. Shoupe runs a hand over his forehead, his eyes softening as he looks down at the cash on the counter. He sighs heavily.

He knows what goes on in that house.

Knows the toll it’s taken on her and JJ, but legally, he can’t do anything unless they report something. He winces, clearly not liking the way she’s speaking to him, but he doesn't push it.

"Look Y/N, I’ve told you before, if you and JJ ever need help... if you’re ready to talk about your dad, about what’s going on-"

"-I have nothing to say -he’s my dad."

She interrupts him again, eyes narrowing, voice steely but her heart is thumping heavily in her chest. There’s a long pause as he studies her, but she doesn’t flinch. Her expression is unreadable. Finally he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"I can’t keep doing this, Y/N."

He says it softly, almost apologetically. He looks at the money again, then back up at her. He hesitates for a long moment before shaking his head, clearly wrestling with his own conscience. But then, after another long pause, he reaches out and takes the $200 from where it lay,

"This is the last time I it slide."

Y/N doesn’t respond, just stares at him for a beat. She knows she should probably feel something- relief maybe, but instead she just feels tired.

"Thanks"

She mutters, and she doesn’t bother to offer any more words.

Shoupe turns to leave, and when he returns Luke steps into the reception, his presence filling the space with that familiar weight she’s always hated. His eyes land on her immediately, and he plasters on a grin.

“Hey, kiddo”

He greets, the warmth in his voice as forced as the fatherly act he’s putting on. Before she can react, he pulls her into a hug. It’s stiff, his arms heavy around her, and Y/N doesn’t exactly return it. She just stands there, barely breathing, eyes momentarily flicking toward the reception desk where she knows Shoupe is watching. Luke’s grip tightens briefly before he steps back, clapping a hand on her shoulder like nothing’s wrong.

“C’mon, let’s go home huh?”

Without waiting for a response, he turns and strides toward the exit, acting like this is all just some minor inconvenience. Y/N doesn’t move right away. Her gaze moving back to the front desk, landing on Shoupe who’s watching her with that same expression, like he’s waiting for her to say something- to do something.

But she swallows down the lump in her throat and turns away, walking after Luke without another glance back.

Outside, he's is already waiting by the passenger side of her car, leaning against the door, like she didn’t just use the last of her money to get him out of a cell. Y/N doesn’t say a word as she steps toward the driver’s side. The moment she clicks the unlock button, Luke pulls the door open and gets in without hesitation, shutting it behind him.

She lingers outside for a second, inhaling sharply. Her fingers twitch at her side before she finally lifts a shaky hand, curling it around the handle. She pulls the door open and slides in, shutting it behind her with a quiet thud. The quiet settles thick between them and the air in the car feels suffocating. Luke is staring straight ahead, unmoving, unreadable. Y/N doesn’t look at him. She can’t. The tension makes her skin crawl, makes her hands itch to grip the steering wheel just to have something to hol-

CRACK

A sharp, blinding pain explodes across her face.

Her head snaps to the side, and for a moment the world blurs as blood splatters across the driver’s side window, red prominent against the glass. She cries out, the sound involuntary, ripped from her throat as agony spreads through her skull. Before she can process, before she can even breathe, a rough hand seizes her by the t-shirt, yanking her against the door.

“Don’t ever fuckin' speak to me like that again.”

His voice is a low growl, thick with rage, spit flying as he sneers at her and his fingers dig into the fabric, twisting and constricting. Y/N’s hands fly up, wrapping around his wrists, but she’s helpless—he’s too strong, too relentless. The pressure makes it hard to breathe, hard to think beyond the burning pain radiating from her nose.

Her lips part, but no sound comes out. Luke slams her against the door again, harder this time. The whole car shakes.

“Is that fuckin' clear?!”

A sob breaks from her, raw and shaky, “-yes.”

His grip tightens, “What was that?”

“Yes sir.”

She squeezes her eyes shut, voice barely above a whisper, trembling. He stares at her for a moment longer, the fury in his eyes making her stomach churn. Then, with a sharp shove, he releases her, sending her back against the seat. Luke exhales harshly, rolling his shoulders like he’s shaking off the moment, then mutters,

“Drive”

Y/N’s whole body is trembling, her breaths uneven. Slowly, her shaking hand lifts, fingertips grazing the sticky warmth dripping from her nose. She pulls back, eyes locking on the crimson staining her fingers.

“Now.” His tone is sharper this time, a warning.

“If you ain’t gonna drive right now Y/N, I swear to God you’ll be limpin' home.”

She doesn’t hesitate after that.

With jerky, frantic movements, she starts the car, the engine roaring to life. Her head is pounding, the sharp sting of her broken nose making her vision blur, but she forces herself to focus. She pulls out of the lot and onto the road, the streetlights casting long shadows over her shaking hands.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The beach parking lot is empty, save for her car, parked near the dunes. It’s late- but there’s no way in hell she’s going home, not tonight.

Not all alone with him there.  

The air is thick with salt, the distant crash of waves the only sound cutting through the quiet. Her car door is open, letting in the cool night breeze, and the windows are rolled down. It helps her breathe, helps her not feel so confined.  

She flips down the visor mirror, tilting her face slightly to the side. The faint glow from the overhead light highlights the swelling creeping along the bridge of her nose, the discoloration already setting in- a deep, ugly bruise spreading beneath her skin.  

She sighs.  

In the cup holder, a fast-food cup sits, condensation dripping down the sides. It was full of ice earlier, but now it’s just cold water. Her passenger seat holds a damp, crumpled t-shirt, stained slightly red from when she pressed it to her face after the bleeding slowed.   Her fingers ghost over her nose, wincing when even the lightest touch sends a sharp sting through her skull. She drops her hand, pressing her head back against the seat with a quiet exhale.  

She doesn’t know how long she sits there, staring at nothing, just listening to the waves. The night stretches on, then the low rumble of an approaching engine made her fingers twitch against the steering wheel. She flicked the mirror shut, cutting off the reflection of her slightly swollen nose, and turned her head just as the black Range Rover slowed to a stop a few feet away. The headlights dimmed, the driver’s door opened, and out stepped Rafe.

Two whole days.

Forty-eight hours since she’d told him and in all that time, not a single word, she didn't see him once.

Now he was here.

He walked toward her car, his movements purposeful but not rushed. The glow of the parking lot lights bounced off his sharp features, making his expression unreadable. When he stopped at her open door, he glanced down at her in the darkness, his mouth parting slightly before he finally spoke.

“Hi”

Y/N swallowed, feeling like she was made of glass, like she had to keep herself still or she’d crack.

“Hey.”

Her eyes flickered downward. He was holding something—an envelope, brown and slightly crumpled at the edges his voice calls out,

"I had a feeling I'd find you here"

Her brow furrowed slightly, curiosity prickling at her, but before she could ask, Rafe exhaled through his nose and said,

“I think we should talk.”

She hesitated, then gave him a small nod, eyes darting away as she jerked her chin toward the passenger seat in silent invitation. As Rafe moved around the car to get in, she saw it—the bloodied t-shirt still crumpled where she’d left it. She quickly snatched it up in an instant, shoving it into the back seat just as Rafe opened the door.

He settled into the passenger seat, the dim light from the dashboard casting a faint glow over them. He glanced at her, ready to speak, but then his expression shifted. His brows furrowed, his jaw tightening as he took in the dark bruising spreading across her nose, the faint swelling along her cheekbone. His voice was sharp, edged with something she didn’t want to name.

“The fuck is that?”

“I fell down the stairs.”

Y/N barely blinked responding- many years of experience had taught her to lie without hesitation. Rafe let out a short, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head.

“And what? The stairs punched you in the face when you got to the bottom?”

Her fingers curled into fists against her lap, the muscles in her jaw tightening, “Just shut the fuck up, Rafe. If you don’t have anything to say, get out of my car.”

"I'm trying to be nice-"

"Yeah? Well I don't want your niceties"

His nostrils flared, exhaling a long, irritated breath, but he pushed it down. His fingers drummed once against the envelope in his lap before he finally stilled. Rafe shifted in his seat, gripping the envelope before exhaling like he was about to say something.

“So, I—”

Before he could get another word out, a loud growl echoed through the car. She froze, her lips pressing together as if that could take it back. Apart from the lunch she’d had with Sofia, she hadn’t eaten anything else all day. Her body had clearly decided to remind her of that at the worst possible moment.

“Sorry”

She mumbled, trying to act like it was nothing. Rafe gave her a look, one brow lifting.

“Do you need to eat or…?”

She shook her head quickly, “I’m fine.”

He didn’t look convinced at all, he looked skeptical as he started patting his pockets, digging around like he was searching for something. After a few seconds, he pulled out a slightly squished protein bar and held it out to her.

“Here.”

Y/N stared at him, blinking in disbelief and Rafe rolled his eyes.

“Relax, it’s Topper’s. He left it in my car.”

She hesitated for a moment, glancing between him and the protein bar before finally taking it from his hand. “Thanks,” she muttered, unwrapping it and taking a small bite, the dull ache in her stomach started to ease almost instantly.

Rafe just watched.

Y/N’s eyes flickered to the envelope in his hands as she chewed the protein bar. She gestured to it with her fingers, swallowing before asking,

“What is it?”

“It’s a trip to Charleston. With a hotel booked near a—” His jaw tensed, like he was choosing his words carefully.

“Near a clinic.”

Her chewing slowed- then it stopped altogether.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the bar as she stared at him. Two days. He hadn’t spoken to her in two days, and in that time… he had organised this? She asked, her voice quieter than before.

“What?”

“I found a clinic in Charleston. One that’s, you know… quiet.” He lifted the envelope slightly as he shifted in his seat.

“Booked an appointment for you.”

Her fingers crumpled the wrapper before shoving it into the empty cup holder. Slowly, she reached out, taking the envelope from him, her fingertips brushing against the brown paper as she peeled it open. Inside, there were neatly printed documents- clinic appointment verification, hotel booking confirmation, the details laid out in plain ink. She stared at them, her eyes scanning over the words but barely processing them.

“You did this…?”

“Yeah.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out at first, she wasn’t sure what to say or how to respond. Rafe ran a hand over his jaw, his voice quieter now.

“You deserve to have that option you know.... It’s not like you asked to get pregnant.”

Her fingers curled around the papers, her grip tightening slightly. She nodded once, her throat suddenly feeling tight. A breath passed her lips, and then, in the softest voice- so quiet because if it was any louder, she knew it would waver- she murmured,

“Thank you.”

She pulled out the clinic information, her eyes scanning over the details. “It’s for Tuesday evening,” Rafe said, watching her as she read. “Least busy time of the week.” Y/N nodded slightly, and she turned the envelope upside down, letting the rest of its contents slide out- and then her breath hitched.

A thick wad of cash fell into her lap, the weight of it heavy.

Her fingers hesitated before picking it up, and as she held it, she could already tell- it wasn’t some small stack of bills- it was a lot. She turned to him, eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Is this for all the clini—”

“No,” he cut in before she could even finish, shaking his head, “the hotel, the ferry, the clinic—it’s all been paid for.”

Her brows pulled together in confusion. “I'm sorry... ?”

“It’s been paid for”

He repeated, voice firm. She glanced down at the money again, gripping it a little tighter. She lifted it slightly, gesturing as she asked him.

“So… what’s this for?”

“It’s for Friday.”

Rafe exhaled through his nose and her stomach clenched slightly. Friday. The evening she'd spent being his- private dancer. “Oh” she muttered, realization settling in. Rafe’s jaw ticked, and he gave her a small nod.

“Yeah… it’s yours.”

Y/N looked down to the green paper biting her lip before she flicked her fingers through the thick stack of bills, her breath catching as she counted. Her eye's widened in disbelief and she recounted it all again- slowly and surely, yet the result was the same.

Three thousand dollars.

Her head shook immediately, “Rafe, I can’t take this.”

“Y/N—”

“No, I— I can’t take this,” she said more firmly now, shoving the cash back into the envelope.

“This is insane. We didn’t even—fuck, I didn’t even 'dance' for you”

She said and both of them knew exactly what she was referring to when she spoke of dancing. His jaw clenched as he sighed out,

“Just take it.”

“No.”

His frustration spiked slightly, “Can you stop being so fucking stubborn and take the money?” Y/N met his stare head-on, her grip still firm on the envelope. Yet neither of them backed down. Rafe exhaled sharply, his fingers tapping against his knee before he tried again.

"Just take the money… please."

His voice was lower this time, a little less sharp, and when she glanced up at him, his eyes weren’t as hard as before. Y/N looked back down at the envelope in her lap, her fingers grazing over the edges. Her chest felt tight, torn between her pride and the harsh reality of needing it. She let out a quiet breath, then slid the money back into the envelope without another word. Deep down, as much as she hated accepting it, she knew she needed it.

Y/N looked back down to her lap and picked up the folded pieces of paper, the crinkling of the paper broke the heavy silence and she stared at it her fingers slowly dragging over the surface, tracing the edge of the ferry ticket she’d just pulled out.

There were two.

Her thumb brushed over the printed words on the tickets, her gaze flickering between them. The cold night air from the open window tugged at her hair, but she barely noticed. “Thought you’d want to take someone with you...” he said, nodding toward the tickets,

“So you’re not alone.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and she caught the sincerity in his gaze. It was strange, this version of Rafe, the one who wasn’t demanding or mocking, just... there. She couldn’t help but feel the tight knot in her chest loosen just slightly.

“One of your Pogues or something”

He added. She let out a small, heavy sigh as her head leaned back against the headrest. Her fingers fidgeted with the tickets again, but this time it wasn’t because she was trying to make sense of them. It was because something in her stomach twisted- an ache that had nothing to do with hunger anymore. Her gaze dropped to the tickets in her hands, the crinkling of the paper loud in the quiet car.

“They don’t know”

She said softly, her voice barely a whisper, the words tumbling out like an admission she hadn’t meant to make. Rafe’s expression shifted, his brows furrowing as he turned to look at her more intently.

“What?”

Y/N’s lips parted, but she hesitated for a moment. She swallowed hard, her eyes still on the tickets, the words coming out barely above a whisper,

“No one knows”

The car seemed to get even quieter, the sound of the ocean in the distance a hum. She could feel his gaze on her, but she couldn’t bring herself to look up tp him. The silence stretched on, thick and unspoken, until finally, she turned to face him, her voice low but steady.

“…You’re the only one who knows.”

Rafe froze.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, and for a long moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak. His fingers twitched at his sides, his jaw tightening, but all he could do was sit there, processing what she’d just said. Y/N’s words hung in the air, and she couldn’t quite shake the vulnerability that had seeped into her bones- the weight of the secret that had been hers alone to carry. She stared down at the ferry tickets again, her fingers absently shuffling them in her lap, but her mind was elsewhere. After what felt like hours, she broke the silence. Her voice was small, fragile,

“Would—... would you go with me?”

The question hung in the air between them, tentative and raw, her heart pounding in her chest. She hadn’t meant to ask it, hadn’t planned on it, but there it was, slipping out like a confession. Rafe didn’t answer immediately. He just stared at her, his face unreadable, his eyes scanning hers like he was trying to figure out if she really meant it.

If this was truly what she wanted.

The seconds dragged by, stretched thin as they sat in the car, Finally, Rafe spoke out, his voice low, almost as if he's not sure he heard her correctly. 

"Me?"

Y/N nodded, her gaze steady on him, her fingers tightening around the ferry tickets.  He already knew deep down what his answer was going to be, but the question still caught him off guard and he hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to go with her- but because he wasn’t sure what it would change between them. He sighed, his hand twitching against his thigh before he turned to her fully, meeting her eyes. “Yeah,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah... I’ll go with you."

There's a long pause as the words settle between them, and Y/N looks at him for a moment, as if waiting for him to take it back, but he doesn’t.

He means it.

𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

— a rafe cameron one shot (1 of 2) part one • part two

✰ rafe and barry were on their way back from handling business when they come across someone stuck on the side of the road — that someone being the richest kook in town’s daughter, y/n.

rating: sfw — cw: very suggestive/graphic language

“i don’t give a fuck what he said,” barry grumbled as he leaned back in his seat, “he’s payin’ by tonight or we’re bustin’ his fuckin’ head in, alright?” rafe nodded dismissively, unaffected by the graphic comment as his blue eyes were lazily focused on the road before them, a singular hand resting on the wheel as he steered the old truck. the following moments were silent, only filled with the soft hum of the engine and low buzz from the radio before something — or someone — caught rafe’s eye.

“oh, shit,” he whispered to himself, gradually lifting his foot from the gas as he peered out the dirty window. barry perked up at his utterance and followed his gaze, his eyes landing on a girl in the near distance sat perched on the curb, a hand in her hair as she held a phone to her ear. beside her was a pearly pink bronco, slightly tilted forward on it’s front, right side — flat tire.

“who the fuck is that? you know ‘er?” barry wondered aloud, his dark eyes flickering between rafe and the girl outside. “nah… i mean, yeah, kinda… that’s—uh, she’s grant mason’s daughter,” rafe mumbled, feeling sudden waves of internal conflict wash over him.

he’d seen her insanely expensive car before, perched in the long winding driveway of the mason’s mansion whenever he’d drive past — it was unmistakably of mason property. he’d also seen her face before on a company advert pamphlet in his fathers office: her mother, father, sister, dog and her — a perfect family.

“mason?” barry began with rafe quickly answering his unspoken question, “yeah, mason manufacturing.” barry laughed, a small smile pulling at his lips leaving his his shiny silver tooth on full display, “aw shit, lil’ kook princess done fucked up her ride.”

rafe bit the inside of his lip in a moment of contemplation, unsure of whether he should slam on the gas or the break. a beat passed as the cogs in his brain began to turn before he let out a defeated sigh, abruptly twisting the wheel and averting the truck onto the opposite side of the road.

“aye, fuck're y'doin’? you’re not about to go play bob the fuckin’ builder, are you?” barry gripped, sitting up in his seat with thick, furrowed brows. “relax,” rafe reasoned in annoyance, “i know what i’m doin’.”

and that, he did — rafe wasn’t one to do favors for people, especially for someone he doesn’t know, but this time was different. he’s learned over time to always keep your friends close and your potential assets closer; the daughter of the grant mason was simply a door he needed opened to fully set foot inside — to give himself and his father an upper hand.

barry scoffed and leaned back in his seat once more, resting an elbow on the passenger door before resting his forehead in his hand. “right — know what y’doin’ like y’always do,” barry muttered dismissively, “jus’ make it quick.”

“could go faster if you helped, y’know,” rafe murmured sarcastically, causing barry to let out an even more sarcastic laugh, saying, “yeah, ain’t shit in that for me, country club — you got it.”

and with that, rafe begrudgingly exited the truck with a light slam of the door, preparing himself to feign the fakest, most well-rounded persona he possibly could in order to make, what would hopefully be, a lasting impression.

the girl on the curb’s head perked up at the sudden noise, her eyes slightly widening at the stranger rapidly approaching. rafe noticed, forcing a smile across his face before speaking. “hey! you alright?” he asked as ‘warmly’ as he could, jogging across the road before stopping a mere few feet away.

“uh, hi — yeah, i’m good, i just— i got a flat,” she explained bashfully with a smile, gesturing to the leaning bronco. it was immediately evident to him that photos simply didn’t do her justice, the sight of her alone unexpectedly making his stomach do a flip, taking him by surprise.

“ah, that sucks,” rafe forcefully sympathized, “y’got a spare, right? i could change it for you.” her face lit up at the proposition, and she quickly mutter a few words into the phone before hanging up and shoving it in her pocket, quickly standing and dusting off the back of her denim shorts.

“would you really?” she beamed, her hopeful eyes glistening as she gazed at him. rafe nodded, his blue ones scanning over her face as he felt a weird stitch of something in his chest. “yeah, it’s no problem — i’ve got some tools in my truck,” he assured, motioning behind him.

“thank you so much,” she breathed out in relief, abruptly holding out a small, manicured hand in his direction, “i’m y/n.” rafe was taken aback by the sudden gesture, reluctantly encasing her palm with his own — her’s was soft, undoubtably the softest he’s ever felt.

“rafe…” he reciprocated before remembering the entire purpose of this interaction, “cameron — rafe cameron.” her brows furrowed, the name tumbling through her mind before realizing it was rather familiar.

“like, cameron development?” she wondered aloud, her hand still absentmindedly resting in his, though rafe was all too aware of it. “uh—yeah, yeah, m’ward cameron’s son,” he muttered, feeling almost awkward at the prolonged contact.

“no way! i’m grant mason’s daughter — our dad’s are friends!” she gasped, and rafe almost scoffed bitterly at the loose, frankly false, title — friends? sure.

“really? small island,” rafe forcibly laughed, internally puking at the sound of his own voice and the cliches he was spewing, and y/n replied with a sweet, “yeah!”

“hey, so, i’mma go get some stuff from my truck so we can get you back on the road, yeah?” he offered, pulling his hand from hers and pointing a thumb behind him. “yeah, okay, thank you again,” she called out as he spun on his heels before briskly crossing the road.

“yo, you trynna hit that or what? what’s with all that chummy shit?” barry snickered as rafe approached the truck, having overheard the entire conversation. “shut up,” rafe groaned, completely unamused as he reached into the bed, fishing around before retrieving a rusty jack and lug wrench in either hand.

“can’t lie, she kinda fine,” barry projected, ensuring rafe could hear him from outside. “she can probably hear you,” the taller man muttered in annoyance. “shit, let her,” barry exclaimed carelessly, “if you don’t tap that, i will.”

“look, can you just—just chill out for like ten minutes? i’m changin’ her fuckin’ tire then we’re goin’, alright?” rafe snapped in agitation, now standing by the car door and of course, the other man only found it comical. “alright — whatever you say, babyboy,” barry mused, feigning surrender with a sly grin before rafe trudged his way back across the road.

“hi,” y/n grinned, her arms crossed lightly over her chest as she ceased absentmindedly twisting her shoe in the dirt. “hey,” rafe reciprocated, tossing the jack onto the concrete with a loud clank, “i’ll get the tire.” y/n nodded, watching as he took the wrench to the back of the car and began twisting at the lugnuts before casually joining him there.

“so, how long have you guys lived here?” she questioned sweetly as she leaned against the bumper, attempting to make conversation as if he wasn’t preoccupied. rafe peered down at her out the corner of his eye, a twinge of annoyance sparking in his chest that was somehow extinguished when he noticed the small smile on her lips as she gazed at him expectantly.

“uh, m’whole life,” he grunted as he twisted at a rather difficult fastener, “you? never seen you ’round before.”

“i’ve only been here a a couple months, actually — we move alot for dad’s work so we’re never really in once place for long,” she explained, distant sadness evident in her tone. “yeah? you likin’ it so far?” rafe asked as he pulled the tire down with ease, finding himself to actually be somewhat interested in the answer.

“uhm—yeah, yeah, it’s nice. i mean, m’always going back home to visit and haven’t been anywhere on the island besides the elementary school,” she explained. “s’that where you were headed?” rafe wondered as he rolled the heavy wheel towards the front of the car, y/n following close behind.

“yeah, i was going to get my sister before the tire busted — was calling the school to let them know i’d be, like, really late,” she sighed. “your dad couldn’t get her?” rafe questioned, admittedly asking a question that may have been a little intrusive. "i— uh, no,” she laughed awkwardly, tucking a loose strand behind her ear as he began to crank the jack, “he’s always so busy.”

“and your mom?” rafe breathed out as he stood to his feet, dusting his hands on his pants before wiping the sweat from his forehead. y/n couldn’t help but shamelessly ogle at his biceps as they flexed with each movement, her eyes flickering up and down the length of his tanned arms in awe.

“she’s— uh, she’s pretty busy, too,” y/n shrugged, her small smile faltering — this piqued rafe’s interest. “yeah? what does she do?” he asked casually, playing off his prying as casual conversation as he began to remove the damaged wheel from the car.

“she used to be an accountant,” y/n murmured, staring off into space down the road, watching as a car drove by. “used to?” rafe chimed in, rolling the busted tire into the grass before beginning to mount the new one.

“yeah, before my sister was born,” she affirmed.

“what’s she doin’ now?”

“she’s retired,” y/n muttered, causing rafe to furrow his brows to himself — retired mother who’s somehow too busy to pick her kid up from school?

“she-uh… she drinks sometimes,” y/n answered quickly, having noticed the expression on his face, “she’s usually too hungover in the mornings to drive… and afternoons.”

hardly a moment passed as rafe was processing her words while simultaneously fastening on lug-nuts before she spoke up again. “i— i’m sorry,” she laughed nervously, squeezing her eyes shut as she mentally kicked herself, “i’m absolutely oversharing.”

“no,” rafe promised casually with a shrug, fastening the last bolt in it’s place, “i asked.” it was a simple statement, though it sent a wave of warmth throughout her chest, the simplicity of reassurance being comforting and seldom.

“what about you?” she asked as he began to lower the car back to the ground, the new tire now in place. “what about me?” rafe rebutted, standing to his feet once more with a huff, the beaming sun beginning to take a toll.

“i— i just mean… what’s your family like?”

“uhh, well, my dad runs a business, and-uh, got a step-mom ‘n two sisters,” rafe explained, though he was never fond of talking about himself or his family.

suddenly, a loud honk sounded out from across the street, causing them both to turn their heads towards the source. “aye, country club, let’s go!” barry called out, rafe’s good deed of the year being noticeably completed and his patience having worn thin.

“whose that?” y/n wondered, a small smile pulling at her lips when rafe sighed in annoyance and ran a hand down his face. “he’s my-uh… friend,” rafe answered, though truthfully, he’s wasn’t sure he’d call him that.

“i think your friend is ready to leave,” she laughed lightly, rafe nodding in agreement as his eyes then found their way to hers, suddenly finding themselves stuck there. she didn’t notice until then just how blue his eyes were, nor did he notice how big and doe-like her’s were. seconds passed that felt like minutes, neither of them in any position to break the eye contact for a reason they couldn’t explain.

inevitably, the horn was honked again and jolted them both from the stalemate, causing rafe to cough before scratching his neck. “uh, so, i’m gonna get going,” he announced, grabbing his tools from their places on the curb, “tire’s all good ‘n i can get rid of the old one if y’want.”

“thank you, rafe — seriously, it means so much,” y/n sighed out, eyes glistening with gratitude and rafe’s stomach did that same, stupid little flip as before when she said his name and he wanted it to fucking stop.

“yeah, no worries,” rafe grinned, though he tried to hide it, actually feeling somewhat good about himself, “you should-uh… probably head out, too, yeah?”

“shit, yeah,” y/n swore, quickly pulling her phone from her pocket and checking the time, “hey, so-uh, my dad’s having a little business dinner type-thing next weekend — food ‘n music and all that if you, maybe, wanted to come?”

rafe froze at the mention as he recalled a conversation with his father from not too long ago. they had spoke about that very event, rafe wanting to accompany his father in order to learn more about the mason’s business, though his wish was denied due to ward only being allowed to bring one guest — his choice being his wife, rose.

“i’m— i’m sorry, you don’t have to, i just figured as like a ‘thank you’ i’d—,” y/n rambled, feeling as though rafe’s lack of response and blank stare was an answer within itself, but he quickly interrupted.

“nah, nah, i’ll—,” he paused, blue eyes flickering across her now hopeful face, his heart doing a little skip at the sight, “yeah, i’ll be there.”

“awesome, yeah, here — put your number in, i’ll text you the details,” she smiled, handing her phone over to who rafe dropped his tools to the ground before accepting it. their hands grazed one another for a moment, somehow feeling different from the first time they touched.

he obliged, quickly typing in the digits and saving the contact before handing it back. “cool, so, i’ll see you then?” she smiled, watching at rafe gathered the tools from the ground once more. “yeah,” rafe nodded, quickly swiping his tongue over his lips before a soft smirk overtook them, “unless i find you on the curb with another flat before then.”

“with my luck,” she laughed, and rafe couldn’t help but let out a soft, genuine, chuckle. “thank you again,” she continued, her tone sincere, and rafe could tell just how genuine it was, giving her a small nod in return, “i’ll see you.”

and with that, she climbed her way into the ridiculously large car, giving rafe one last glance with a smile before disappearing down the corner and around the bend. rafe finished loading everything back into the truck, including the flat wheel that he planned on abandoning in some unfortunate pogues yard, before rejoining barry inside.

“the fuck’re you so happy about?” barry mumbled, loathing the fact that after waiting in a hot truck for ages, rafe comes waltzing in with a grin.

“told’ya i know what i’m doin’.”

 personapeters 2025 — all rights reserved • masterlist

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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