HEY, JUDE ㅤ₊ ㅤ˚ ㅤ✧ ㅤ ﾟ ㅤ. ㅤ☾

☽ㅤdetails, or, dean never expected to have a family of his own, and his expectations hold true when all that becomes of it is a baby who looks identical to you.

☽ㅤincludes, single dad!dean, girl dad!dean, reader exists in mentions, self deprecation, grief, blood mentions, death mentions, i am so sorry

word count: 7.1k

baby girl.

“hey, jude,” he murmurs softly into his baby girl’s ear, cradling the fussing, teary eyed infant to his chest. she was still so little — so fucking little — but he wasn’t sure when being little shifted from something to coo over to something to fuss over. and he doesn’t have much comparison to go off of, over what is too small, not when everything shrinks in the expanse of his biceps.

it is not the first time he wishes you were still around, but instead another tack on the growing list.

he is so fucking useless without you. he really is. and it only hits him now, in the dead of night when his little girl won’t stop crying like something aches or something’s wrong, and he’s completely at a loss on how to fix it.

he couldn’t fix losing you; and now he can’t fix her. he’s all she’s got left, and he’s failing her.

those thoughts are a plague. they fester. they gnaw on his skin and feast on his blood and whittle his bones. and he is so sick, and he is so lost, that he couldn’t find his way to a cure if he tried.

jude is wailing now, and he’s seconds from joining her. he doesn’t know, still, the difference in a baby’s cries. he did not nurse her for nine months in his belly, like you did; the internal guidebook on fatherhood was not automatically installed into him when she was brought out to be cradled by you that very first time. his was a manual installation, and it was still, seven months in, fucking lagging.

“m’sorry, jude,” he whispers into the soft hair gracing the top of her head. it’s the same color as yours. the only thing she inherited from him was his eyes, and he hates looking into them and seeing every failure he’d made so far reflected back at him.

all he can do is rock her, until she stops her fussing or she doesn’t, and then he can switch tactics. he doesn’t think often about the military-sort of childhood that he was raised in, but it comes up every time in times like this, when his methods of defense present themselves in tactics.

the cradling tactic: for when jude wailed like she was grieving, like she’d sobbed so hard in her dreams that it broke into real life. there was no way that little girl remembered your face, but sometimes he thought that she missed your voice, with the way his never seemed to soothe her in times like this.

the food tactic: for when it was clear that the cradling tactic didn’t work. sometimes her lips opened and closed like a fish’s, and he could skip the first step entirely and go to this one. maybe he wasn’t entirely useless as a father, after all, if he subconsciously knew this little tell of hers. he’d never let himself think so kindly of himself for long, though.

the diaper tactic: no explanation needed. this one he could always tell when was necessary. sometimes, it’d linger like the plague in his blood, and then he’d had to dive into,

the bath tactic: which jude hated. god, she fucking hated baths, almost like she could tell that warmth was the thing that took you from the both of them. that’s why sometimes, even when it felt awful, he let her cry while he sat idly in the rocking chair beside her crib. didn’t want to stress her out more with his lack of coherency when it came to what she needed — and that little fact, that he thought it upset her more sometimes when he tried to be the thing to fill the missing, bleeding wound that was you.

in his arms as he rocked her, jude’s little mouth opened and closed. her cries were still ear piercing and raw, but at least he could do something about it now. he nearly sighs in relief the moment that she gives him that little hint, like she can tell, in her infancy, that he was incapable of this on his own.

she’d moved away from bottles long before, and upgraded to the wonderful world of mashed vegetables and fruits. though, she hated new flavors. he thought it was a game, in a way; always making him have the first tiny spoonful of pureed asparagus. he felt like a bodyguard in moments like those, testing if the princess’s food was poisoned before she got a taste.

but it was late, and she didn’t need any of the cereals that they’d been working on, too — though, he really would never have argued with stealing a couple or a couple dozen of those little strawberry banana things.

and she was spoiled, despite all of his worries that he was failing her. she’d get to stay in his arms while she ate, instead of the high chair he should have been adjusting her to.

oh well. add it to the tallied list on how he was fucking up his — your — little girl. he could take it.

“feelin’ midnight snacky, is that it?” he asks, so softly, always so softly like any increase to his volume will shatter her. honestly, he thought that she was the strongest person he’d ever met, and she wasn’t even a year old yet. she could only grow up to impress him — and ruin him, with how she was already turning into a mini you.

she still cried, because she always cried until her problem was fixed in its entirety, but the sobs had broken and given way to sniffles and unintelligible noises that sounded too close to mama for his comfort.

mama, mama, mama. shit— how did he tell her that he missed her, too? how does someone baby-talk down the fact that she was dead, and there was nothing, nothing, nothing left anymore without her?

well, except for jude, of course. and what a stark reminder that is, that she’s all he has left of you.

tonight’s snack was mashed carrots. the last one of that flavor, because it was jude’s favorite. had to be because it was such a stark color, the color of the deepest sunsets, one of the things that you loved the most.

he pops the top with one hand, the other still cradling this tiny thing that was his daughter to his chest. the metal lid clatters to the ground, and he winces, thinking that the noise is only going to startle and break his daughter’s heart more. but to his surprise, as he dips his hand into the drawer of silverware, now mostly full of those baby sized spoons with zoo animals on the handles, jude is silent.

not just silent, but curious. dean knows the curious look, even if he doesn’t know how to differentiate most of her expressions still. it’s because it’s the same as yours used to be. lips parted, eyes wide, darting around. it’s more devastating on jude, though, because she has the longest eyelashes, and the smallest little lips, so small he can hear every breath she draws in as she searches for what captured her attention.

dean smiles to himself. it’s these moments where he doesn’t feel quite so much like a terrible father; when his little girl has stopped wailing, and looks at him for every answer he might have.

maybe by the time she’s grown, he’ll have some of those answers.

toddler.

“hey, jude,” dean snaps his fingers to capture jude’s attention, his expression flat and exasperated at once, “get the remote out of your chompers, alright? don’t know where all it’s been.”

really, he doesn’t know. at one point or another: between the couch cushions, underneath the rocking chair cushion — every damn cushion, really, the dusty floor, the clean floor. hell, it’d probably been in his mouth before, when his hands were too occupied with a beer and a plate. wouldn’t put it past him.

jude is becoming a sassy little thing. she does specifically what he tells her not to, even at her ripe age of four, when she’s just barely beginning to figure out she’s a person.

you didn’t even back talk him this much, when you were around, which leaves the answers for his many internal, baffled questions to be that jude had gotten it from him.

karma always does get its kiss, eventually. its kiss was in the form of a toddler with his attitude, his eyes, and your face.

she looked so much like you now.

her little button nose was filling out in the shape of yours, her eyes were as big as yours, and she was so little compared to him, just like you’d been. she was in the in-between stage of her growing, small chubby limbs that made her whine every night, thumb still in her mouth because he can’t, can’t, bring himself to stop that little habit.

if dean could keep her this little and innocent forever, he would. fuck, he would. it was selfish, to want to preserve this tiny little girl in a box and keep her on his shelves, but the thought of watching her grow into a version of you…

it was easier, now, that a few years had passed. never easy, and never simple, but easier. his feelings were still complex, still bottled up deep within him and ignored, where the oddest things sometimes could send him into a spiral. sam would come, pick up his pieces and keep him from doing something stupid, and the cycle of denial would repeat.

but every day, dean swore he saw more of you in her. if it wasn’t the fact she was a mini you, it was the way she acted. hence the attitude — which, realistically, was all his own, but why would he ever vocalize that out loud?

jude stomps her bare foot on the hardwood, her little face scrunched up with so much volition you’d think he beheaded all of her teddy bears, and she was coming to enact revenge on him for it. “why?”

oh, you used to do that too. that angry why at him instead of just trusting that whatever he said was with good intentions, or to the best of his knowledge, fact.

dean stands in front of her at his towering height, staring down at this knee-height little girl with bows in her hair, and a little sundress that she’d fought and fought him about putting on. it’s a battle of centuries.

jude breaks first. another foot stomp. her hand holding the remote is raising suspiciously slowly back to her mouth.

“juliet.” dean tries to make his voice sound stern and commanding but he can never quite manage it with his little girl. that’s his princess, alright? “don’t make me go get mr. bear bear.”

that used to get her. it used to get her so bad that she’d cry, thinking he was going to send mr. bear bear packing. that’s probably why he has such a hard time scolding jude — because any time he did, she’d start bawling. it had to be a manipulation tactic.

at least he was aware of it, even if he fell for it everytime.

“mr. bear bear isn’t talkin’ t’you.”

dean bristles. “and what does mr. bear bear think i did this time, huh? is he mad i made you brush your teeth?”

it’s ridiculous, standing in the middle of his living room, having a cowboy showdown with his four year old daughter about a stuffed animal named mr. bear bear. but that’s parenthood, he guesses.

her arms cross firmly over her chest. in this moment, and this moment alone, he sees himself in her. he’s standing just like that too. “he says,” she starts, interrupted by a hiccup that discredits all of his arguments, because he’s a goner. already wants to swoop her into his arms and apologize to her. “he says you make things up.”

vague. and true. but how does mr. bear bear know this? frankly, none of his business, if you asked dean.

“what’s he sayin’ i’m lyin’ about?” dean shoots back, his head tilting up in that cocky little sneer that jude loves. good cop, bad cop is her favorite game to play with him, even though her version of a good cop includes smashing her toy cars into his leg to make him confess. it works, though. his bruises prove it.

as if on cue, jude’s giggling up a storm, interrupted only by bursts of her hiccups. “lyin’ about mommy.”

the floor drops out from beneath him. he feels nauseous. he feared this day coming and here it was. the first time she brought you up, too much intelligence in that little brain of hers, to know that it just wasn’t common to not have a mommy alongside your bad cop daddy.

he keeps a brave face, though. bad cops don’t break persona the first time something detrimental gets dropped into their lap. “go bring ‘im out here. lemme give him a talkin’ to, too.”

she sprints off, so steady on her little feet now that it adds to the ache in his chest. she was getting so much bigger, and you weren’t here to see it. maybe you were looking down, watching as her tiny form grew taller and stronger. he could hope, couldn’t he?

jude returns moments later, soft brown teddy bear in her arms. his little bowtie is a mockery of him, if what jude says that he says is true.

in his heart, he knows that all of the things that the bear tells her are her own thoughts, manifesting in a gentler form so that it doesn’t hurt her as badly when they do. it breaks his heart. so little, and she’s already gotten a defense mechanism in place.

dean kneels down to be eye level with jude, gingerly plucking mr. bear bear out of her small fingers. “a certain pretty princess told me you were mad at me, sir,” he says, voice lowered like it was just him and this fucking bear, ear forever wet from jude’s gnawing, even though he’d thought she’d gotten over that fixation. he’ll feel like an idiot for having a serious, talk-it-out conversation later with his daughter’s teddy bear, but for now, her feelings are more important to him. always. “i’ll be honest, bear bear, i have been keeping things from the pretty princess. your feelings are very valid.”

he’s quoting things from his therapist, now. to a teddy bear. they don’t tell you a thing about parenthood before you get into it, but they certainly don’t tell you this.

“i just didn’t want her to think that it was her fault, not at all, about what happened to her mommy. surely you understand. you and i, we keep our pretty princess safe, don’t we?” he even pauses for an answer that won’t come, his eyes flicking over to his little girl, her folded hands in front of her as she patiently waits. she’s so sweet that it kills him. “mama didn’t go away on a business trip, you’re right. mama died, very tragically, while protecting our pretty princess. and it’s not her fault, and not our girl’s, either.”

there’s a little sniffle from behind the bear in his hands, and he looks up to see jude, eyes welled and lip wobbly in that way that makes his heart ache. just like when she was a baby, when her screams shattered his heart to pieces, but worse, because her tears were silent now, like she was trying to soothe it all away herself.

she didn’t have to. that’s why he was there. dean hands her back the bear, and in that same movement, scoops her into his arms in a tight embrace. instantly, she falls apart at the seams, her shoulders shaking as the stuffing pours from the buttons of her eyes.

“she would have loved you,” he whispers into the top of her head, smoothing out the tangly strands with his fingers. you really would have loved her, too. she humbled him — you humbled him. she broke his heart, you broke his heart.

maybe she’d forgive him one day, for letting something happen to you when he promised he wouldn’t, when he swore up and down that you were it for him, that you wouldn’t—

it’s too much. even when dean feels like he’s getting better with this grief thing, he can’t move past it. not when there’s a smaller you attached to his hip, waiting for him to hang the world for her and protect her, too.

he can only hope that he gets it right this time.

child.

“hey! jude!” dean stands out on the sidewalk before the elementary school, seeing jude off on her first day of third grade. in his hands is her little lunchbox, ever forgotten in her excitement.

every single first day, dean cries. he’s not ashamed of it, either. it’s tough seeing his little girl run off into the real world on her own, and being the one to see her off, all on his lonesome.

it wasn’t like the single moms didn’t try to catch his attention, either. they constantly did. it was that he preferred the isolation over the company every time. how could anyone hold a candle to you?

jude glances over her shoulder, her long hair flipping in the process, catching in the wind. he has to bite back a sigh. the braid’s already loose, the strands already spilling out of it, tangling in the wind.

her little feet stomp back toward him, splashing in the remnants of last night’s rain in the concrete,and dean wants to tell her to slow down. wants to tell her to stop time, stay exactly like this. young, small, forever protected by him. just to prove to himself that he could protect something, and that he’d never have to see her hurt.

“thanks, daddy!” she lisps through her wide, toothy grin. she’s got the cutest gap tooth right now from losing one of her front teeth in a burger a few days ago, the pink gums peeking from between her middle teeth making him smile every single time he saw it. she was never embarrassed, or shy, about that smile, either.

her hand is outstretched for the lunchbox. pink and purple and glittery, and one of the most expensive at the store. anything for his jude, though.

dean keeps it back from her, his chin tilting up in mock sternness. “what do we do if people are mean to us?” he asks in a reminder of their rules. he had a couple of them that he never let up on.

“kick their ass,” jude says, her fingers clapping against her palm in a gesture to get her box. “ass. ass?” each attempt comes out more lispy, her face contorting in her irritation. “kick their ass.”

dean cackles, inching the lunchbox slightly closer. “very good, baby girl,” he says with a nod, “now what do we do if someone puts their hand on us?”

“break their fuckin’ fingers,” jude grins, her eyes glimmering. ever since she found out that her dad’s rules had bad words in them, she was as mischievous as ever about saying them.

dean’s eyebrows raise. “how?”

her little hand — so big now, though, it makes his heart clench in his chest — grasps his fingers and pulls back, and once his hand is as bent as her strength can manage, she twists.

dean lets out a nervous chuckle, tugging his hand free from her light grip. “whoa, princess. no breakin’ daddy’s fingers, alright?” he flexes his fingers, reaching out to grab her hand and kiss her tiny knuckles.

she was nowhere near close to hurting him. but who was he to ever crush his little girl’s spirits? he couldn’t. he couldn’t.

jude’s evil grin only widens, though. “maybe someone will try me t’day and i’ll get t’break their fingers!”

“you should not be wishing for that,” dean says, even though his heart swells in the process. jude may have been an identical version of you, but the longer she spent around him, the more parts of him shined through. god, he loved her so much. “last rule?”

jude’s expression softens. her milky green eyes glisten with unshed tears, and this is the part that always ruins him, that brings him to his knees. “hug my daddy goodbye, always.”

“almost forgot this time,” he mumbles, his voice more strained than it should be after having done this four years now. he kneels, holding open his arms, the lunchbox still dangling in his fingers.

she was growing up too fast. getting so independent so fast. jude practically jumps into his arms, his grip tight around her little frame as hers is around his neck.

he doesn’t want to let go. letting go always feels like giving her away to someone else, and he can’t. she’s all that’s left of you, and he’s selfish, and he doesn’t want anyone else to love his little girl as much as he does.

“can i tell you a secret?” she whispers in his ear, and he nods into her hair, taking the liberty to reach up and tug the hairtie out of the ends. it would get lost somewhere in that school if he didn’t now, and the purple ones were her favorite. couldn’t lose them on his watch.

“i tell mommy goodbye, too,” jude says, lifting her head to look dean in the eyes. her look was so earnest, so warm and raw, that dean’s eyes got glassier than they already were.

“yeah?” dean asks, clearing his throat. the last thing he wanted to do was cry in front of his kid. he was a tough guy, took all of the hits that life tried to deliver to her, was covered in bruises and scars all over the skin she loved to cling to. “mommy ever say anything back?”

she nods, picking at a thread on her shirt. “she says she’s always watching.”

how weak did it make him to nearly buckle under that quiet admission? how pathetic was he that any mention of you, even in his daughter’s big imagination, had him clinging to those thoughts, using them as ways to self soothe the aching hole that you left in his soul?

dean reaches up to pinch her cheek between his two fingers, handing her the lunchbox, finally. “go on, pretty princess. don’t want you to be late.”

didn’t want her to see him cry, either. he was clinging to the last shreds of his stability, losing grip by the second.

“bye bye, daddy!” jude hugs him one last time as he stands, clinging to his knee for a second before turning on her heel and sprinting away.

he watches. watches as her little self disappears into the big front doors of lawrence elementary. watches until she’s long gone, and straggling parents running late drop off their kids that sprint away without a goodbye hug, or a promise that their mommy’s always watching them when dean can’t.

dean’s eyes flick up to the sky, like maybe he can see you there in between the clouds. the sun looks a little brighter today. maybe it’s you, seeing jude off, too.

“thanks,” he whispers, nodding once to you. he watches, then, too. for any sign in the sky that you heard him — a twitch in the clouds, a flicker in the sunbeams pouring down on the concrete. but everything is still.

☽ ₊ ㅤ˚ ㅤ✧ ㅤ ﾟ ㅤ. ㅤ☾

“i’m serious, sam,” dean says into the phone, keeping it held to his ear with the press of his shoulder, “it could just be kid stuff, but—”

“...but when is it ever actually just the imagination explanation, yeah,” sam finishes, voice scratchy through the speaker. both of them are silent for a second, dean shoveling fries into his mouth while he sits in the long ass pick-up line outside of the school. “and, you know, jude doesn’t seem like she’d make things up.”

dean almost snorts. he’s talking about the little girl that still puts mr. bear bear at the kitchen table when they eat dinner, still makes dean make him a plate and everything.

but he’s right, about this. jude had stopped asking her prying questions about you the moment dean told her the truth, so it didn’t make sense for her to suddenly tell him this, insisting that her mother talked to her—

“she died like mom did,” sam continues, his voice softer, more sincere. “which could mean—”

“that she’s one of those chosen special kids like you were, yeah, i know.” dean shakes his head. the thought makes his stomach feel like it’s bottoming out. he shoves the fast food bag further into the passenger seat, appetite vanished. “m’not thinkin’ about that right now.”

sam scoffs into the speaker. “you’ll have to. and if you don’t tell her now—”

“do not fucking tell me, sammy,” he says through gritted teeth, moving the phone from his shoulder to properly hold it at his ear, “how to raise my kid.”

“dean.” sam’s sincerity makes dean want to kill him, in this moment. “you can get cute little kid questions now, or you can get resentment later.”

dean’s eyes flick up to the front entrance of the school, to the hundreds of kids piling out of the doors. in the midst is his kid, her tiny feet carrying her quickly to his car. “gotta go, sammy. good talk.”

he hangs up before sammy can get another word in. realistically, he knows sam is right, but that doesn’t make him happy about it. what little kid doesn’t want to have superpowers? and what teenager wants to be outcasted? the choice was clear. just… uncomfortable.

jude throws up the front passenger seat door, tossing her backpack onto the ground with a hard thump. “fun first day?” dean asks, automatically scanning over her. no injuries, hair still in the loose waves from the fallen out braid, dress still in tact, shoes both still on—

“boring.” she sighs, climbing up into the seat with practiced ease. her eyes light up at the greasy bag in her seat. “for me?”

“who else, pretty girl? i don’t see anyone else around.” dean waits until she’s nice and buckled up before he takes the car out of park and starts to — slowly — leave the school zone.

jude already has her fist shoved deeply into the bag, digging around. there’s half a box of fries left, half a burger — he got hungry, alright? it isn’t until her little fingers are shoving two fries in her mouth at once than dean asks it.

“any new updates from mommy?” hurts to say, hurts to think, but he can’t imagine being jude, potentially having a direct hotline to you on the other side, and not ever getting to see you. not knowing how great you were, besides the fact that you were her mommy.

jude shrugs her shoulders. “just a little one.”

dean’s fingers tap idly on the steering wheel. “and? what was it?”

jude’s chewing with her mouth open, half bitten fries hanging out of her hand. “she said, ‘always.’ but i dunno what the heck mommy was talking about.”

dean knew. and maybe the sun was a little brighter now, and maybe the clouds looked a little bit more like you.

teenager.

“hey, jude,” dean sighs, a frown already tugged deeply on his lips at the sight of his daughter standing on the stairs, still dressed in her pajamas.

she’d been sadder lately. wouldn’t talk. wouldn’t open up. he’d pushed a little too hard, and now he was suffering the tail end of the silent treatment. tail end because he was certain that she was going to talk to him, now. even if it wasn’t to let him inside that angsty head of hers.

jude had her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes full of a deep disappointment that no girl her age should know about, let alone replicate. “dad.”

see? he knew she would talk. it was… a very poor start, but a start nonetheless.

“m’sorry that i asked about…” he made a broad, vague gesture with his hand. “you know.”

“about my abilities, or about mom?” she snaps back, her eyebrows raising. one of her arms unwind from herself and the hand leans on the stairs’ railing. “because i have a feeling that you’re only sorry for one thing.”

damn it. dean has to close his eyes and count to ten. he’s had to do this a lot, recently. teenagers were not for the faint of heart, and jude was as sassy as they came, just like you’d been.

god, she looked so much like you. it was more evident now than anything, as she approached the age that you were when you…

“jude,” he starts, his hand moving to his face, scrubbing at it. his face is scruffier than usual, not in the mood to clean it up when his little girl was seething and hurting in the other room. who could do that? who could go about their routine while their daughter suffered? “you know i don’t use you to hear from her, right? you know that?”

jude bristles. another wrong thing to say. he wants to be frustrated, but wasn’t he just like this as a teenager too? expecting everyone to know what he was thinking and what he wanted? “well, you never ask about the others.”

“the others?”

“the others,” she echoes again, like he’s the stupidest guy that’s ever walked this planet. “you never ask about grandma—”

“don’t wanna know about grandma,” he says instantly.

her eyes roll. “don’t ask about grandpa, either.”

“especially don’t wanna know about him.” dean’s figured out, in his own way, at his own pace, that his father’s treatment toward him wasn’t kind. all of the expectations placed on him were not normal, and were entirely neglectful as they were harsh.

it took having his own kid to figure that out, sure, but he did. it should count for something.

“why are you talking to grandma and grandpa, anyways?”

“because they’re telling me things!” she shouts, her lip starting to wobble. dean didn’t mean to break through to her like this, but he did, and he’s thankful, in a way, for the progress. “they’re saying—”

dean waits. he knows better than to approach without warning, has learned just how mean a teenage girl can get if you try and comfort her in the ways that she liked as a kid. he also knows that asking will only push her away. that’s how they’d gotten here, after all.

“they keep saying something bad is going to happen.”

dean blinks in alarm. “what?” he takes a step forward anyways, and he can’t help but reach out now. his hand closes around her wrist lightly, waiting for her to pull back. she doesn’t. that’s how dean knows that she’s serious, that she’s afraid. “what are they saying, princess?”

her free hand lifts to wipe at her eyes, the irises that match his own locking and holding his stare. he can almost see the little girl in them, again; the one that was so curious, had so many questions, that looked at him like he held them in his palms.

“grandma says she’ll be here for me,” she whimpers, shaking her head, “grandpa says to stay strong. mom says…”

dean holds his breath. as much as he hates jude thinking that he uses her to hear from you, each update on what you say sticks in his mind until the next comes. he’s selfish, selfish, selfish.

“mama says she’s so, so sorry.”

dean is floored. it’s all so vague, all of the messages that come through the veil and into jude’s heart are always so vague, like the energy it takes to reach her is too much, and so they try to condense it down, but it’s an unintelligible mess.

he can only think that that means something is going to happen to him. if the ghosts of his past are comforting her, that means that something godawful is in the plans for him.

he tries to keep up a strong appearance, but the thought of abandoning jude, his little girl, makes him want to be sick.

“that’s just ghost speak,” he tries to say lightheartedly, his thumb gently tracing circles on her inner wrist, trying to soothe her worries about his impending death. god, this was the worst update of them yet. he’d thought hearing your promise to watch over her always was hard, but this… “you know how they are. vague, unhelpful, stirrin’ the pot from the other side because they're bored…”

“mama’s never done that to me.” jude is starting to close off now. how come all of his worst traits made it into her, mixed in with all of your best traits? every time he’d come to terms with the fact that the only thing jude got of his was his eyes, something else peeked out, rearing its ugly head.

stubborn. hot-headed. reserved.

he couldn’t bear to see it all reflected back at him in her identical eyes.

dean doesn’t want her to keep pulling away, disappearing into her mind, a mind so much older than it needed to be. jude was only sixteen. there was no reason for her to bear all of this, to wear it so blatantly on her face.

“it’s little glimpses into the future,” he says instead of reassurances that don’t land, “right? you hear them speak to you when they can manage it, and it coincides with the—”

“visions,” jude fills in, nodding. every time sammy came over, they talked about this shared connection they had. it makes dean a little more angry than it should, that sam had this one-up on him, when it came to connecting with his impossibly-reserved daughter. “the visions.”

dean nods along with her, letting go of her wrist finally. “so what was the vision this time?”

dean’s phone starts to vibrate in his pocket. he doesn’t answer it. sam usually calls a few times after dean’s initial lack of response, and he either picks up if he’s freed before the routine comes to a close, or he just calls back when he can. right now, he wasn’t abandoning his daughter for anything.

the phone stops ringing. jude must have been waiting for it to, before she spoke, because her words are firm and confident. “you were there.”

dean closes his eyes. he expected this, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt still.

“you were there, and you had blood all over you—” her lip is trembling again. his phone is ringing again. “and you were screaming, your voice was nearly gone…”

his mind cuts back to his time in hell, when all he could do was scream as he was tortured relentlessly. every piece added up.

his phone stops for a few seconds, starts up again. dean pulls it out of his pocket to turn it off. “that it?”

jude’s eyes snap back into focus. “that’s it.”

he’s devastated. all sixteen years of jude’s life, he wished that you were here alongside him. now, more than anything, he wished it too. he’d be abandoning your daughter. leaving her to face the real world alone, by herself. he could have handled it — at least better than now — if he knew he’d be leaving jude with you, but—

“we’ll figure it out, okay?” he says softly, and when he pulls jude into his arms, she doesn’t pull away. she buries her face into his chest like she used to when she was smaller, less broken on the inside.

he wished you were here, too, with your ability to stop time. keep him and you and jude in this moment forever, before he was taken away from her.

young adult.

“hey, hey, jude,” dean’s voice trembles, shock and adrenaline at war in his veins. he’d never moved so fast in his life, catching her before she could tumble to the ground.

her body folds on itself anyways, blood staining her chin, pooled in the corners of her lips. her mouth opens and closes, and no words come out, only the sound of gurgles as her throat fills with blood.

her chest is so red that it’s black, shining under the moonlight. there, beneath her shirt, was a gunshot wound, fabric torn open where the collision happened.

this wasn’t supposed to happen. this wasn’t supposed to happen. jude asked for anything, and he gave it to her, even when she was twenty-one now, and a lot of parents would take that as meaning it was time for her to find her own footing.

how could she without trying the things that she wanted? she knew about how he used to hunt. was desperate to see what it was like, just once, at least, before he was stolen away. five years later, he was still kicking strong, and he thought — he thought it would be okay. just a lone vampire on the outskirts of kansas.

the drive had been fun. easy. he let jude drive baby a little, let her pick the music for once, and somehow fell asleep to the lullaby that was metallica. being raised by him had embedded itself into her nature, it seemed.

he didn’t anticipate that he was, maybe, out of practice. maybe a bit too old for this. it was no wonder that his dad was gone for long periods of time on hunts because it took a while to get things right, when your body was slowing and your defenses were weakening.

he hadn’t seen the gun. he hadn’t seen the gun. he—

“jude?” he asks, his voice uncharacteristically small. “jude, baby, c’mon, open your eyes—”

“dad?” her voice is barely even a breath, wet and thick and faint. “dad, what’s… what’s happening?” jude’s mouth is opening and closing again. she coughs, and blood splatters onto his shirt, onto the wetness seeping through hers. “i don’t feel good.” her grip on his hand is loosening. his tightens.

dean’s phone rings in his pocket. sam. has to be sam. no one else ever calls him but sam, anymore, and jude. but jude was here bleeding out. sam, sam, sam, if he could spare a few seconds to answer it—

but his eyes dart away and in that moment, jude’s eyes start to roll back into her head, and he panics. he pulls her tighter to his chest with one arm, letting go of her hand to fumble for his phone. it stops ringing.

“just keep talking, baby girl, c’mon,” he mumbles, and he wants to shake her, he wants to force her eyes open, to force every bit of his life force into her. it was on a time limit anyways, right?

his heart stops. his phone starts ringing again, or maybe it’s just his ears.

grandma says she’ll be here for me.

grandpa says stay strong.

mama says—

dean feels his stomach lurch, his throat full of bile and tight with the growing lump in it. it was never him that was going to die. it was never him.

it took five years for her fate to reach her. fate was so fucking fickle like that; turning your brain into a worried muddle of mess all the while knowing and withholding the exact things that worried you.

he looks down at himself, and he’s covered in blood. and he knows exactly when he’ll start screaming to the point of losing his voice.

“dad, it’s so cold,” jude says through a small sob, tears prickled in the corners of her eyes. “it’s so—”

dean isn’t going to tell her, that she saw her own death five years prior. that this was the moment they’d been dreading, but reversed. tears pool in his eyes and spill over like waterfalls, turning the blood on her face watery and pink.

“it’s okay,” he promises, his voice shaking, tremoring. “it’s okay, baby girl.”

it wasn’t okay. but he’d been keeping secrets and sparing her from the truth for years now, when he could. maybe she’d forgive him for it. but he was not strong enough to let her feel bad for his mistakes this time.

“i’m sorry,” she chokes out, another coughing fit bursting from her blood-slickened mouth. “i’m s’sorry—”

“nothing to apologize for, pretty princess,” he says, and his voice strains through his throat like it’s being cut by shards of glass. “you have always, always been the perfect little girl. even now, look at you. trying to apologize to me, when—”

dean doesn’t finish. his lips pull into a forced, small smile. “do you remember when you were a little girl?”

jude doesn’t react. doesn’t move. each moment between her chest rising and falling is growing longer. “you’d be scared of the shadows in your closet, or of the voices you heard that i didn’t,” he explains anyways, each breath of his own trembling, “and you’d make me sing to you. remember? like my mama — like grandma used to, with me.”

her lips quirk ever so slightly, her eyes distant, foggy. “hey, jude.”

he nods. his grip on her gets tighter, like he can hug the life back into her. but dean can’t. he’s not the son with the abilities, or the dad with the magic or the answers, or you, who could stop time in this moment and call someone while the clock stayed still. he’s just dean, and he’s losing the last piece of you he had left, and the pieces of his daughter that he loved so, so much.

“i don’t want you scared right now,” he whispers, moving her carefully in his arms to cradle her. he used to wish that she’d stop growing, would always stay small enough to fit in his arms. it feels like a sick joke now. “so if you want me to sing, i’ll sing.”

“okay,” jude says, and her eyes lock onto his for a brief second, before they start to fade again.

the words fall from his mouth in shuddering, shaky gasps, his eyes locked on jude’s. jude’s, that are open and unmoving. jude’s, that have always matched his, the one thing that she got from him.

his voice is raw, echoing in the abandoned den, screaming so loud that it would have woke the dead up, if it worked that way. but it didn’t, because jude didn’t move, and the world was silent and buzzing in his ears, or maybe it was his phone ringing again, again, again, and the only thing that played in his head was the song that used to comfort him.

hey jude, don't make it bad. take a sad song and make it better. remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better.

tags, @depressionbarbie2023 @jasvtsc @deanswidow @titsout4nicholas @cosmicanakin

@beausling @whyyouegg @ostaramoon @ultravi0lence14 @bombarda-babe

i fr don't know who esle to tag the more ppl i tag the more i will have to say sorry to

HUSBAND/DAD!CLAY HEADCANONS

TW: at some point it contains filthy, crazy sexual content, so if you're sensitive to that or don't feel comfortable with it, please do not read it for your own safety and comfort.

Author's note: of course my requests are open! I just LOVE seeing notification from my inbox, so thank you very much <3 hope you like it

MARRIAGE

Clayton Beresford who after two delightful years of your relationship proposed to you. He took you to the fancy restaurant, and since it was something you did often, you hadn't have any suspicious. But have you thought about marrying him? Of course, yet, you wanted to give him time. You knew how his earlier marriage ended so it'd be out of your character to even suggest him taking your relationship to another level. But the ring you got was out of your wildest dreams - 4 carat round cut diamond ring that seemed to shine more than every star in the sky

Clayton Beresford who got even more all-about-you after wedding. Even more love making with no care in the world, long honeymoon, even more spent time together just more everything

Clayton Beresford who, despite his demanding job, always makes time for you. He’s the type of husband who will surprise you with small gestures; like leaving sweet notes in your purse or sending you flowers (mostly to your workplace) randomly just to remind you that he’s thinking of you.

Clayton Beresford who loves planning spontaneous weekend trips to your favorite places. Whether it’s a cozy cabin in the mountains or a luxury hotel in the city, Clayton enjoys these escapes to focus solely on you without any distractions.

Clayton Beresford who's big on surprises. He might book a last-minute trip to Paris (or any place on earth), arrange for a private dinner on the rooftop of the restaurant's building or just in the place you'd not be able to pay by yourself. Or buy you that piece of jewelry you casually mentioned months ago.

Clayton Beresford who has a strong protective instinct. He always ensures you’re safe, and anyone who might pose a threat to you or your happiness would have to face his wrath.

Clayton Beresford who depended on you doing the grocery shopping since he had never done that before (however after a few times he gained knowledge);

Clay glanced away for just a second, but when he looked back, you were gone. His brow furrowed as he scanned the immediate area, stepping away from the cart to see if you had wandered behind another display. But there was no sign of you.

“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, frustration creeping in as he quickened his pace, determined not to lose you. Not in this place.

He began weaving through the aisles, his eyes darting around in search of you, listening intently for any sound that might be your voice. But the supermarket was huge, and the weekend crowd made it even more overwhelming.

With a groan of annoyance, Clay pressed on, moving faster now, his heart racing a little at the thought of losing you in this sea of people. Then, suddenly, his eyes caught a glimpse of you between rushing people. A glimmer of hope flickered in his chest as he turned sharply toward the sound.

You were standing by the dairy section, casually chatting on the phone as you picked up items. Relief washed over him, and he silently thanked whatever forces led him to find you.

Like a lost puppy or a child who had been separated from their parent, he hurried over to you, his earlier frustration melting into a quiet sense of relief.

Reaching for a carton of milk, you sensed someone close behind you. Turning around, you found Clay standing there, his expression a mix of worry and boyish vulnerability that made you smile. It was as if he had been a little kid lost in a big mall again.

You handed him the shopping list, tapping the line where it said 'bananas' with a knowing look.

Clay accepted the list with a determined nod. He was a grown man—he could handle picking up some bananas.

But when he reached the produce section, his confidence wavered as he stared at the six different types of bananas on display, his frown deepening in confusion.

It was supposed to be a simple task: grab the bananas and return to you. Yet here he was, staring at the display like they were some exotic species he had never encountered.

He didn't recognize any of the types, and he had no clue which one you wanted. So, with a loosing sigh, he carefully picked a bunch of yellow bananas, added some mini ones, and then tossed in a few green ones for good measure. Feeling a bit more confident, he placed them all in the cart and made his way back to you. A small, proud smirk forming on his lips as he approached.

“I got them,” he announced, a hint of pride in his voice as if he had just completed a great feat.

You glanced down at the cart, noticing the remarkable assortment. A smile tugged at your lips as you looked back at him. "Baby, but... they're all different kinds."

His smirk faded slightly as a flush of embarrassment crept up his neck. He glanced at the cart, then back at you “I know,” he admitted, his voice soft and a bit self-conscious. “I wasn’t sure which ones you wanted, so I just… grabbed a few to be safe.”

Your heart melted at his effort, and you stood on your toes to press a tender kiss to his cheek. "C'mon, we'll figure out these bananas together."

His cheeks flushed a deeper red at your affectionate gesture, and he looked down at you with warm, loving eyes, a shy smile curving his lips.

“Okay,” he murmured, feeling content as he started pushing the cart again, this time with you walking beside him.

PREGNANCY

Clayton Beresford who was shocked yet thrilled when he found out you're pregnant. He was always gentle with you but from that day he got on another level of doing everything in his power to make sure you're safe, happy and comfortable

Clayton Beresford who seemed to be hypnotized by your changing body (so obviously loved to have his hands on it, and you loved when he did)

Clayton Beresford who had to deal with your neediness for attention/affection;

"Baby, I'm already late. You know I can't stay longer," he sighs, slipping on his black cloak, the fabric rustling as he moves with familiar urgency.

"Are you sure you can't stay just a little longer?" you pout, leaning against the doorframe of your mudroom

He chuckles softly and walks over to you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist to pull you close to his chest "Baby, I'd love nothing more than to stay," he murmurs "But…" he sighs again, the weight of responsibility heavy in his voice, "you know I can't be late twice in a row."

He presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, his muscles firm against your softer frame. The warmth of his embrace makes you want to hold onto him just a little longer.

"But I thought you'd make love to me all morning," you tease, your voice soft and playful "and then spoil me with a big breakfast."

His eyes softened after his large hands roam over to cup your pregnant belly, his fingers gently tracing over the curve "That was the original plan," his lips formed into a knowing smirk. His hands linger on your body, as if memorizing every inch before he has to let go. "But you know I've got to go to work…"

"But what if the baby comes out while you're not here?" you pout, feeling the warmth of his knuckles as they gently trace over your swollen belly.

He chuckles softly at your worry, his lips curling into a reassuring smile. He steps back slightly, his hands slipping from your waist to admire the sight of your pregnant form. "Babe, we've talked about this. The baby's not coming today," he says with a confident grin, glancing down at your round belly before meeting your concerned gaze.

"Yeah... right," you mumble, still not entirely convinced.

He can't help but smirk at how endearingly moody you are, especially when you pout like that. With a gentle touch, he wraps his fingers around your chin, tilting your face up so you're looking directly into his smiling eyes. "Don't give me that look," he murmurs softly, his voice filled with warmth as he leans in closer, his breath brushing against your lips.

"I'm gonna miss you," you whisper, your voice barely audible as the reality of his departure sinks in.

His gaze locks onto your big, sparkling eyes as he gently cups your cheeks. "I'm going to miss you too, baby. But I have to go to work," he murmurs with a tender smile, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips once more.

"I love you, you know," your voice lingering, trying to stretch out the moment just a little longer.

His smile deepens, touched by your efforts to keep him close, but he's all too aware of the ticking clock. "I love you too, more than anything. But if I don't leave now, I'll be late for a meeting with the board... and I can't afford to do that again," his tone a mix of regret and urgency as he gives you a sympathetic look, hoping you understand.

"But you're their boss," you protest softly, a pout forming on your lips.

He sighs, knowing that leaving without giving you something special will likely leave you moody for the rest of the day. Even though he’s pressed for time, he quickly pivots. "How about I give you a kiss for the road?" he suggests, a playful glint in his eyes as he shifts the mood.

"Okay," you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He smiles back, his hand finding its way to your cheek once more, tenderly cradling your face. He pauses, taking a moment to get lost in your sparkling blue eyes, savoring the connection before slowly closing his own and leaning in. His lips meet yours in a slow, loving kiss

Clayton Beresford who makes sure to lift up your pregnancy mood;

His heart sank at the sight of your tear-streaked face. Instantly, worry fills his eyes and he kneels beside you, his voice soft and full of concern. "Baby, what’s wrong?" He gently tilts your chin up with his fingers, urging you to meet his gaze.

"I feel so huge..." you murmur, your voice trembling with emotion.

"Baby, you know I love every part of you. Nothing could ever change that," he says tenderly, his words full of sincerity.

But your insecurities linger, and you turn to him, searching his face. "So you think I’m huge?" you ask, misinterpreting his silence as agreement.

He sighs again, feeling a pang of guilt at how vulnerable you are right now. Quickly, he tries to soothe your worries before they spiral. "No, no, love..." he insists, cupping your face with both hands, his thumbs brushing away the traces of your tears. "You’re not huge, you’re beautiful."

You glance down at your growing belly, frustration evident in your voice. "I barely fit into my pants."

He smiles softly, his gaze never leaving yours, understanding the deep-seated concerns you have about your changing body. "I know, sweetheart, I know," he murmurs, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. "But that’s just because of the incredible little life you’re carrying."

"You look absolutely radiant when you’re pregnant," he adds, his words filled with admiration, careful not to say anything that might upset you further.

"Yeah?" you sniffle, your voice small and uncertain.

He nods slowly, his eyes locked onto yours, full of love and reassurance. "Yeah, baby," he repeats softly. "You’re glowing, and you’re absolutely, stunningly beautiful. Anyone would be lucky to have you, pregnant or not."

"But what if after I push the baby out, I still look pregnant? And... and I have all these marks, and my body doesn’t go back to the way it was? And you'll leave me?"

His heart aches as he listens to your fears, unable to bear hearing you doubt the body he cherishes so deeply. "No, no, no, shhh, baby, no..." he murmurs urgently, his voice soothing as he tries to calm your spiraling thoughts. "I would never, ever leave you for that. My love for you knows no limits, nothing could change that."

His hands continue to tenderly stroke your face, his touch gentle and reassuring as he speaks. "I love you so much, sweetheart. The marks on your body from carrying our beautiful child—they'll only make me love you and your body even more."

"Yeah?" you sniffle, looking at him with tear-filled eyes.

his eyes filled with admiration and love as he nods "Yeah, baby. Because those marks are proof of your incredible strength, of the life you’ve nurtured for nine months.. and only an absolute goddess could manage that"

Clayton Beresford who every day remaided you how beautiful you are, what a treasure you are in his life that nothing could replace

Clayton Beresford who got more cuddly with you;

"Look at that… he’s a little boxer" his lips curved up as he felt the baby’s tiny movements beneath his fingertips. His voice was filled with awe, and there was a boyish excitement in his eyes that made you smile.

"He?" you asked, raising an eyebrow as you glanced up from your book. "How do you know it’s a boy?"

He shrugged, but the cheeky grin that spread across his features betrayed the certainty in his heart. He leaned closer, letting his chin rest on your bump. His touch was gentle, almost tingly at times while his long fingers made sure to memorize the path over your swollen skin

"Father’s instincts," he whispered

"Oh? Didn’t know you had those," you chuckled, your fingers threading through his tousled curls. There was something endearing about how intensely focused he was on your belly - his brow furrowed in concentration as he searched for more signs of the baby’s movements.

Clay still kept his, this time less wider, smile over his lips. He seemed to calm down under not only your touch but the feeling of your belly with his child right in his reach and right before his eyes. He shifted slightly, pressing his lips gently against your tummy. His lips lingered for a little longer, his expression changing to more surprised;

"Hush," he murmured softly, his hand stilling when he found the spot where the baby seemed to be resting. "I can sense him…"

Yet, the baby had quieted, and clay's lips formed into a pout. The frustration knitting his brows before he nuzzled to your belly "Can’t you encourage him to kick or something? I want to know that he’s alive…" he mumbled, his voice laced with a mix of concern and childish impatience (that you rarely saw before)

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his earnestness. "Clay, how am I supposed to encourage him? Maybe he’s sleeping."

He groaned softly, looking up at you with those soulful eyes, making it impossible not to find him utterly endearing. He looked like a grumpy child who hadn’t received the attention he thought he deserved and it was both cute and hilarious

"Well, I don’t know," he muttered, his hand still drawing small circles on your belly. "Talk to him? Tell him how cool I am… maybe he’ll be excited then and want to say hi."

You rolled your eyes playfully, still stroking his curls. "Baby, don’t be ridiculous… he's probably sleeping."

He huffed in response, still pouting but clearly knowing you were right. The baby was just asleep, and there was nothing he could do but wait. Still, the idea of his child not acknowledging his presence seemed to tug at something deep within him.

"I just want him to know that I’m here too," he mumbled

You smiled down at him, your voice soothing as you reassured him. "I bet he does, clay."

"Just imagine how cute he’s gonna be," clay mused, his voice softening as he let himself drift into the fantasy of fatherhood. "A baby version of me, running around, being a menace to everyone…"

You smirked, raising an eyebrow. "What if it’s a girl?"

His hand paused for a moment, the weight of the thought catching him off guard. For a few seconds, his expression was blank as he processed the idea of having a daughter. Then, slowly, his usual cocky grin reappeared, but with a touch of tenderness that hadn’t been there before.

"A baby girl," he echoed, as if trying out the words. "She could get your looks, though. I wouldn’t mind that. The second most beautiful girl in the world… and daddy’s little princess."

Just then, he felt a light flutter beneath his palm. His eyes widened in surprise, lighting up like a child on Christmas morning, the pout completely erased by a wide grin "There you are…"

The baby seemed to respond to his voice, shifting slightly as if acknowledging his father’s presence. He continued to rub gently over your belly, his touch loving and protective, showering the area with soft kisses.

"Already responding to me," he whispered, a wave of satisfaction washing over him as he felt the tiny movements beneath his hands. "Smart baby…"

clayton continued to soothe your belly, his hands and lips moving in a calming rhythm until the baby settled back into stillness. Even as the baby quieted, he wasn’t ready to let go. He lingered, enjoying the feeling of being close to both of you, his heart full and content.

"Guess he’s asleep again…" he said softly, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

"Or maybe he’s just tired of you," you teased lightly, brushing a strand of hair away from his face.

His eyes widened in mock offense, his pout returning as he looked up at you, clearly not appreciating the joke. "Very funny," he grumbled, his frown deepening. "I am the most interesting person this baby will ever meet—"

But despite his grumbling, you could see the love and excitement in his eyes, the way he couldn’t wait to meet the little life growing inside you. And you knew, without a doubt, that he would be the best father this baby could ever ask for.

Clayton Beresford who spoiled you way more during your pregnancy. More presents without occasion, more affection, more cuddles, just more everything there was to give

Clayton Beresford who was there on most of your doctor appointments. If he had a busy schedule, which happened often, he then couldn't appear (but you didn't mind, since it was just doctor appointment to check on your and the child's health, nothing more so much important for him to be there everytime)

Clayton Beresford who was obsessed with making love to you during your pregnancy;

"youre-youre so big--" you mewl underneath him

"I am, aren't I?" he panted, his hands gripping your plump hips tightly. "And you're so fucking tight, sweetheart." His words spurred him on, pushing deeper inside you to hit that sweet spot over and over again.

your eyes barely could keep themselves open from the sensation of having him again in your hole. Who would have known that your pregnancy hormones would make you so horny you would cry to Clayton about it. And him, being such a generous gentleman who loved his wife with all his being, how could just leave you like that? When you sobbed, begged for his touch

"Don't close your eyes," he commanded softly "Open them. Let me see the look on your face when I'm inside you."

your eyes reluctantly opened, at least they lingered between half opened and half closed. A moan rumbled through your throat as you took in the sight of his muscles that ripped whenever his hold grew too much

"That's it," he panted, his eyes locked onto yours. "Let me hear you." Clayton's breath hitched as he felt her body tremble beneath him. The way you moaned and your completely swollen breasts jingled with each thrust was driving him wild. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he warned you, picking up the pace even more.

PARENTHOOD

Clayton Beresford who was there for you for the whole childbirth. Encouraging you, giving you support, etc. He'd insist you'd hold the baby first, not him. And before he'd even hold the newborn, he'd make sure you're all safe and everything's okay;

After making sure you held the newborn first and you were all okay, he had time to take the baby close to his chest, his large, strong arms cradling the fragile newborn bundle with a tenderness that belied his powerful frame. The baby’s skin was a delicate shade of pink, still wrinkled from the birth, and Clay couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming surge of emotion as he gazed down at the tiny life nestled against him. The baby was so small, so impossibly vulnerable, and it made something deep within him tremble and break.

Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision as he gently stroked the baby’s cheek with a trembling hand. His touch was feather-light, his fingertips barely brushing the baby’s soft, downy skin and his hand looked enormous in comparison to the baby’s minuscule features.

“He’s so small…” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. His throat tightened as he tried to hold back the tears threatening to spill over.

“Are you crying?” you asked softly, a tired smile playing on your lips as you rested after the long and exhausting delivery

He glanced up at you and he felt a single tear escape and trail down his cheek “…No—yes… maybe…” he admitted, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He quickly wiped the tear away with the back of his hand, but it was clear that his composure was unraveling. He returned his gaze to the baby in his arms, his expression softening as he ran a gentle finger over the baby’s tiny hand, marveling at how delicate and perfect it was.

When the newborn's hand wrapped around clay's finger, he felt like his new heart might explode from overwhelming feeling. It was so cute, the baby’s grip firm and warm

“He’s holding my finger…” he murmured, his voice filled with pure, unfiltered awe

The baby continued to cling to his finger, his tiny hand gripping the large digit with a determination that was both heartwarming and humbling. Clay smiled through tears and a mixture of pride and amazement shined in his eyes as he gently caressed the baby’s hand, utterly mesmerized by the strength in such a small being.

“Such a tight grip… I’ve already created a little warrior,” he mused with a soft chuckle, his voice laced with pride. He looked down at his son, his heart brimming with a love so profound it was almost overwhelming. “You’re going to be strong, just like your momma” he added, his tone filled with admiration.

“…You have your momma’s eyes, you know?” he whispered, his voice barely audible as a fresh wave of emotion washed over him. There was a hint of pride in his voice, but also something deeper, something reverent. The sight of those eyes, so familiar and yet so new, made him feel as though he was looking at a piece of you—a part of the woman he loved more than anything in the galaxy.

As if sensing the weight of the moment, the baby cooed softly, his tiny body wriggling uncomfortably against the confines of the blanket. You watched the first interaction between your husband and your child and it was the most endearing thing you experience. Delivery was hard, damn it hurt like hell, as if devil himself teared your insides but as soon as the baby was out, all the pain was forgotten

“You don’t like that, huh?” he murmured, his voice filled with amusement as he gently traced soothing circles over the baby’s cheek “I don’t blame you… I’d hate being swaddled too.”

Clayton Beresford who is the kind of dad who’s always one step ahead when it comes to the safety and well-being of your children. He’s vigilant about who they spend time with and ensures they grow up in the safest environment possible.

Clayton Beresford who, despite his often serious demeanor, has a major soft spot when it comes to his children. He’s not afraid to get down on the floor and play with them, and he’ll often indulge them in things other might not—like staying up a bit past bedtime for just one more story.

Clayton Beresford who enjoys spoiling his kids, whether it’s with the latest toys, gadgets, or extravagant birthday parties. However, he’s careful to balance this with teaching them the importance of gratitude and not taking things for granted.

Clayton Beresford who, if you have a daughter, is wrapped around her little finger. He’s the type of dad who will attend tea parties, help with ballet practice, and learn how to braid hair just to make her happy;

"Hold on, baby, I'm almost finished," he murmured, his voice a soft yet deep rumble as he focused on working his fingers through the strands of your daughter's hair.

"Maybe we should just ask Mommy," she whispered, her small voice carrying a hint of doubt.

"No, no," he shook his head gently, a determined glint in his eye. "We don’t need Mommy for a braid. Daddy can do it just fine."

Clay's fingers moved clumsily but with care, tugging her hair a bit too tightly at times. His brows furrowed in concentration as he carefully looped the strands together.

"But Mommy always likes to help," she insisted, her tone hopeful.

"Daddy likes to help too," he replied, his voice tender but resolute, wanting to prove himself to his little girl.

He paused for a moment, examining his work with a critical eye. The braid was far from perfect—slightly uneven and a little messy, held together by a hairband that seemed to be doing more of the work than the braid itself. But as he looked at it, a small, proud smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"See? Not so bad, huh?"

Clayton Beresford who is big on teaching his children responsibility from a young age.

Clayton Beresford who made sure to pay attention to your kids after he came back from work. Even if he was extremely tired, he'd rather fall asleep with your baby boy in his arms than leaving you alone to deal with the children

Clayton Beresford who found you as his inspiration. You, with kids most of the time, still having energy to take care of him and the house. So, as soon as he changed his clothes after work, he replaced you in duties so you'd have your alone time.

Clayton Beresford who, if you had a son, played all the games the boy wanted. Like toys where the boy came up with some plot, plastic cars, playgrounds outside;

Clay sat on the floor, carefully stacking blocks into a tall tower while his son sat comfortably on his lap, his tiny hands occasionally reaching out to help—or hinder.

"What do you want to eat?" you asked softly from the kitchen doorway, watching the two with a fond smile.

Clay glanced up at you, a playful gleam in his eye. "You?" he teased, genuinely curious about your preference.

But before he could say more, the boy clumsily knocked over the tower with an excited shove, sending the blocks tumbling in all directions.

“Hey! You just destroyed Daddy’s masterpiece,” Clay said in mock offense, though his voice carried a warm, playful tone. He looked down at him, who was dissolving into giggles, his face scrunched up in pure joy.

"Well, I was thinking pasta... I'm really craving it," you said, your giggles mingling with theirs.

Clay's heart swelled as he watched you enjoy the moment just as much as he was. Turning back to the toddler, he gently poked his son’s side, earning more bubbly laughter from the little boy. “We don’t normally allow such behavior in the tower-building world,” he joked, his tone still light before turning his gaze to you "But pasta sounds good tho.."

With a grin, Clay stood up from the carpeted floor, scooping the boy up by his armpits and swinging him side to side, much to the toddler’s delight. "C'mon, you little silly guy, let's go help Mommy with dinner,"

Clayton Beresford who, no matter what interests or hobbies your kids have, is fully supportive. He’ll invest in lessons, equipment, or anything else they need to pursue their passions, always encouraging them to follow their dreams.

Clayton Beresford who, no matter how busy his life gets, always prioritizes family. He ensures that you and the kids know that you’re his number one priority, making time for family dinners, vacations, and just spending quality time together.

Clayton Beresford who propritazed your time together. His kids were important but you were more important. So, regularly he hired a babysitter (a trusted one), and took you out on dates (or on a vacation but then your parents took care of the children) so you could focus on each other and on the bond you share without screaming kids

Clayton Beresford ho didn't mind making you pregnant again (if you even wanted to be pregnant again);

"Fill this beautiful cunt with my seed once more?" He growled, plunging back into you with a single powerful thrust that made you both cry out in pleasure "you want that love? Be pregnant again?"

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @ysrjune (sad about her not being her anymore..) @divineani @erosmutt @haydensprettyprincess @mistress-amidala @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @fuckmyskywalker @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex

(if you want to be removed or added then don't be shy and let me know 💋)

629 notes View Post

writtenbyhollywood

6 months ago

I read this atleast once a week

public eye (drew starkey x fem!reader)

pairing: drew starkey x reader

warnings: none, all cute shiz and some sexy moments. ;) shotgunning smoke, make out.

summary: all the times the public thought the two of you were dating, and the one time they knew.

a/n: sorry I've been on such a long break, life got a bit busy recently but i'm hoping to get back into writing - especially for drew! also sorry if the use of arse scares anyone - im british x

requests open!

word count: 1.8k

You and Drew has always been close. The cast were aware, the fans were aware. Ever since season one of Outer Banks came out, and both of your statuses grew, people began to dig. Your relationship friendship dated all the way back to your teenage years, doing multiple high school theatre shows together, and going on to attend the same University.

This also meant that there were a lot of photos and videos of the two of you being stupid kids, and while you had never explicitly said you were dating, even denying it to this day, there were early on suspicions.

A main one being the hundreds of photos together at family events, arms wrapped around each other, in some his jacket thrown over your shoulders as weddings went on into the night.

Though, the more incriminating stuff came much more recently, as now people knew who you were and so what was and wasn't posted was no longer in your control.

→ Sleeping Angels

The first video to cause rumours was posted onto Chase's story. It was short, only fifteen seconds or so, meaning no one was really concerned about what it might cause.

It was clearly from the set of OBX as the trailer surrounding you was littered with both cast and crew members, all shuffling around while you and drew were the complete contrast.

The pair of you were lying (quite comfortably) on a leather l-shaped sofa in the corner of the room. You could hear what you assumed to be Chase and Rudy giggling as they approached, laughing at how tightly Drew held you to him.

You were wrapped closely into his chest, arms lying softly on his wait while on of his held the back of your head, the other tucked under your t-shirt (which was actually your characters wardrobe and not your own) sitting on your back.

They couldn't see your face, but judging by Drew's closed eyes they could assume you were asleep.

Ever so gently the boys began to take gummy worms from their pockets. Each placing one in both of Drew's ears, and finally one was wedged into his mouth which woke him up.

At first, he was confused, looking down at you but upon seeing you still asleep his eyes looked up, squinting to avoid the lights. Unable to hide their humour at the situation anymore Chase and Rudy burst into laughter, Drew joining but much quieter due to his sleepy state as he threw the gummy worms back at the pair.

The removal of his hand on your back is what brought you back to the non-sleeping world. Hearing a mumbled 'fuck off' from Drew as he smiled at the two boys.

"What's happening?" You mumbled, utterly confused, hair sticking up in every direction and Drew quickly attempted to smooth it down maintaining your dignity as you were filmed.

"Nothing. Ignore these idiots ba-." The camera quickly shut off, leaving the viewers intrigued. What had Drew been about to say? Was it an accident? It was all unclear.

Of course with obsessed fans it didn't take long for rumours to fly, the main one being that the words coming out of his mouth were to be 'baby'. They were right. Thought you wouldn't tell them that, not yet at least.

→ Poguelandia

The next clip to blow up and cause hysteria was the two of you at the Outer Banks season three event 'Poguelandia'. You had arrived together and explored together, alongside Austin, your arm linked through the two boys'.

You talked to fans, played minigames and drank. Drank a lot. Which you blamed for your obliviousness when acting a bit too close to Drew for someone who wasn't dating him. To be fair, he also could've avoided it and yet neither of you did.

It happened as the cast and close friends stood atop the exclusive stage, all singing and dancing together as bands played - especially when 'Left hand free' came on.

You mostly behaved for the first twenty minutes, dancing with Madelyn, Madison and Carlacia but soon you wanted to spend some time with Drew, tending to get clingy when tipsy.

You began your walk over as the video begun, Madelyn attempting to grab your arm but it was a futile attempt as now, with him in your sights, you were determined.

The girls looked concerned before Austin- who was stood with Drew- leaned over and whispered something to them all, waving off their concern as they continued to dance and the camera now panned to you and the much taller boy.

You were talking, pressed against the edge of the silver fence which kept you from falling as the crowd kept growing around you.

As you got bumped by an unknown person Drew wrapped his arm around your waist, offering you a sip of his drink which you gladly took but soon regretted as you realised it was beer.

He chuckled with a smirk already knowing you didn't like it. Then he said something, but as the camera was miles away the viewers began to assume, and being reasonable, it did look awfully similar to 'sorry, sweetheart' before you received a gentle kiss to your forehead.

Soon after you joking turned away in annoyance, facing the stage and beginning to sway, your front pressed against the fence, back against Drew's stomach. He wrapped his hand around your waist, beginning to sway with you and you could tell the Filmer subtly freaked out as the camera jolted for a few seconds before it zoomed in further.

It showed Austin wide eyed as he searched the crowd for anyone watching. Not seeing anyone he shrugged taking a sip from his plastic cup before once again dancing with a smile.

Unfortunately, he had been wrong and once again your and Drew's relationship was being speculated.

→ Italy

The final clip of you and Drew which went viral without real confirmation of anything more than a close friendship was while he was filming in Italy.

After being spotted out and about alone for months, suddenly you appeared by his side wearing a pretty sundress, once again arm linked through his.

He wore a cap and you both wear sunglasses, looking like typical celebrities avoiding being spotted, though now it was known he had been here for months it was near impossible.

You were stood calmly in a corner attempting to navigate the way to a restaurant you were going to try when a small group of girls approached you both.

They explained they were big fans of Outer Banks and both of your characters in said show, asking very politely for a photograph in their adorable Italian accents.

They began screen recording in order to be able to capture the whole interaction, as fans often did and it was decided you would take the photo as you were in the middle, the girls on one side, drew on the other.

The viewers watched as you took the phone, hand briefly passing the camera showing a thick silver band ring, in it was a delicately carved cursive 'D'.

As soon as the girls watched the video back and saw it they posted the video to Tik Tok, it garnering as much attention as you imagined it would when showing something so potentially interesting.

What they didn't expect, however, was the further observations. The most major being the necklace that had been in almost every photo of Drews for the past few years, the charm which hung from the end now looked weirdly similar to your necklace, and the viewers couldn't help but wonder if it was a matching one of his own, with your initial carved instead of his.

It was.

→ The Conformation.

The final and real proof to all the fans who suspected you and Drew may be together was a video of the two of you at a cast night out in South Carolina at a club.

The two of you were stood outside of said club, clearly trying to cool down as both of you faces were red, Drew's shirt unbuttoned at the top, his chest rosy must like his cheeks.

He was leant against the wall of the club, legs wide as you stood between them, hands placed on his hips ever so slightly holding his shirt between your fingers.

Your dress which was black and almost fully covered in diamonds shimmered under the moonlight and you could see mouth something along the lines of 'you look beautiful' followed by you leaning forward, burying your smiling face into his neck.

His hand, which wasn't holding a lit cigarette came up to hold the back of your head, throwing his own back against the bricks in a laugh, clearly finding your bashfulness cute.

Soon enough the conversation turned from casual to flirty, body language changing in a way so blatant, you could tell from the other side of the screen.

Your hands moved from his waist to around his neck, hands linked behind his head as his spare hand held your waist, thumb soothing over the fabric covered skin every once in a while.

Realising his cigarette had been left unattended for a while, Drew brought it up to his lips, inhaling deeply. A wordless conversation ensued between the two of you as he brought you closer, mouths inches from each other as he exhaled into your mouth.

The smirk was evident on his lips as you blew the smoke from yours in turn, quickly pulling you in once again - this time your mouths connecting in a speedy rhythm.

You struggled to keep up due to his height, stretching onto your tip toes even in the platform boots you had put on for this very reason. He realised this, laughing, eyes still closed and lips still next to yours as he decided to lean down further to meet you instead.

As the kiss grew more intense, tongues now making appearance and putting on a show for the whole street, his hands reached down (having long since threw the cigarette to the ground) holding your arse between his palms.

Sadly, your moment was put to an end as a relieved looking JD ran out of the clubs door, seeing the two of you.

He patted you on the back, a blush covering his cheeks - from the heat or the intrusion it was unclear - and said something to the two of you before leaving and giving you a moment to gather yourselves.

You both stood up fixing your postures and straightening each others clothes before you shared one final peck, soon after heading inside, hands entangled.

Soon after, the video was posted onto every single social media platform with the caption, Y/N L/N AND DREW STARKEY MAKE IT OFFICAL DURING STEAMY KISS OUTSIDE SOUTH CAROLINA CLUB.

If only they knew you had been dating for years and this was most definitely not the first 'steamy kiss' the two of you had shared.

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!

2K notes View Post

writtenbyhollywood

2 months ago

The Very Accidental Jedi Council Reveal PT 2

Pairing: Hidden Wife! reader x Anakin Skywalker

Summary: part two of the hidden wife series. What happens when the council find out about his secret wife?

Anakin had been so careful. Well… as careful as he could be, which, if you asked Obi-Wan, was about as careful as a rampaging bantha in a porcelain shop. But still, he had managed to keep his marriage a secret from the Jedi Council for years.

Oh no.

Until today.

Until this disaster.

It all started with a simple Senate gala. You were there, of course, dressed to perfection, mingling with diplomats, and avoiding the usual political nonsense. Anakin, in all his “totally subtle” Jedi glory, was supposed to be on duty as security.

And everything was fine until he saw you talking to a Senator.

Anakin wasn’t the jealous type. Except when he definitely was.

So, naturally, he did what any rational man would do: stormed across the room, wrapped an arm around your waist, and kissed you in front of half the Senate and—oh.

That wasn’t just any group of people standing right there. That was the entire Jedi High Council.

Including Mace Windu, who was staring at Anakin like he was about to throw him into the sun.

Plo Koon, who tilted his head like he was intrigued.

Yoda, who merely blinked slowly and sighed.

Obi-Wan, whose soul visibly left his body.

Anakin, realizing he had just exposed his marriage in the worst way possible, did what any mature Jedi Knight would do in this situation.

He panicked.

“Uh.” He blinked at the Council. Then at you. Then back at them. “Would you believe me if I said this was a… mission?”

Mace Windu’s stare could have melted durasteel. “No.”

“A secret Jedi assignment?”

“No.”

“A—”

“ANAKIN.”

You, ever the supportive wife, cleared your throat. “Well, I mean… technically, it was a secret.”

Obi-Wan groaned into his hands. “This is worse than I imagined.”

Yoda hummed. “Knew, I did.”

Anakin’s mouth fell open. “Wait what? You knew?”

Yoda nodded sagely. “Terrible at hiding things, you are.”

Mace took a deep breath, visibly restraining himself. “Skywalker. Are you telling me you’ve been married this whole time?”

Anakin looked at you. You looked at him. Then you both looked back at the Council.

“…No?”

Obi-Wan groaned louder.

And that was how Anakin’s worst-kept secret finally came crashing down.

114 notes View Post

writtenbyhollywood

2 months ago

PAIRING: teen dad!scott barringer

FLUFF ❦

Scott Barringer never saw or even considered himself as an artist. But as they say, a good parent would do anything to make his kid happy. And well, Scott would not be the type of dad to neglect his daughter when she asked him to draw with her. His elbows were deep in crayons, painstakingly trying to draw something that actually looked like a cat—because Ava insisted.

And, well. Scott couldn't bring himself to say no to her.

Not when she’s all tiny and bright-eyed, swinging her little legs under the too-small, blue, plastic table, clutching a crayon in her chubby fingers while she babbles non-stop.

“An’ den—an’ den, Emmy tooked da blue one an’ said ‘mine,’ but it was myyy tuwn, Daddy, an’ she no shawe!”

Scott had to actually stop being so focused on making his horrible cat look less like a deformed sock to glance up and maintain eye contact. He had learned that made ava more delight during conversations “Uh-huh?”

Ava huffs, crossing her arms, all sass and righteous baby anger. “S’not nice, Daddy.”

Scott nodded solemnly, like he had just heard about some serious betrayal. “Yeah, sounds messed up, Missy.”

She pouted all serious, dramatically scribbling angry little swirls on her paper. “It was!”

Scott smirked, before looking down at his drawing. Well..maybe he should invest in some basic skills to at least look proffesional to his daughter. With a defeated sigh, he let go of the crayon, resting his chin on his palm, watching her. “So what’d you do?”

Ava blinked up at him, big round eyes serious as hell.

“…I bited hew.”

Scott froze. He swore he saw his entire life flash before his eyes.

“…You what.”

Ava just nodded, completely unbothered, grabbing a purple crayon.

Scott deadpanned “Missy. We talk about our problems, we don’t bite people.”

She tilted her head, curious. “Why?”

Scott exhaled, staring at his two-year-old like he’s about to have a full-on existential crisis. “Because—because that’s not how we solve things.”

Ava's brows furrowed at that, clearly thinking deeply about this. After a long second of silence, with the most serious, wise-beyond-her-years expression she muttered “Hmph. Maybe Emmy leawn shawe now.”

"No, you bite food, not people. Biting people bad, biting food good"

Ava just grinned and went back to scribbling, completely pleased with herself.

Scott shook his head, sighing. He should probably have a more responsible reaction to this, but honestly?

He’s just a little proud. He'll deal with it later. When you'll come back and head about this too. Because from who did she learn biting?!

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @babybell-cheese @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty @luluartpop @cloverina @nikiloveshayden @cherriies-snake @skywalkerssgirl

104 notes View Post

writtenbyhollywood

5 months ago

Ahhh so cute!!!

only you my girl, only you babe

PAIRING: rafe cameron x pogue!fem!reader

SUMMARY: four times your “enemy” rafe hinted he cares for you and the one time you actually caught on it. OR you thought rafe doesn’t like you because he hates all pogues. little did you know he has always looked at you differently.

WORD COUNT: 6.7k

WARNINGS: drinking, drugs, swearing, blood and wounds, kinda canon rafe (omg kez????), obx cliches (mainly the whole ‘kooks vs. pogues’ thing from S1), extremely ‘only soft to you and no one else’ vibes, fluff, angry confessions, heavy pining, mentions of y/n

EDITH SPEAKS: oh. my. god. if you were there on my old blog you would know how long it’s been since I first introduced my idea of writing this fic. I got stumped on it way too often and then forgot about it for months, and then decided to abandon it. But I found it again and I got my inspiration back and now I’m so so happy it’s actually finished!! <3

major thank you to @zyafics who helped me last year when i was writing the fic and helped me brainstorm ideas for it :’) kissing your beautiful mind just like always zya xxx

this really is a labor of love and I genuinely couldn’t be happier 🥹I would highly appreciate all kinds of feedback and reblogs, because they really are extremely motivating and fun to get back to! I hope you enjoy reading, and i hope these 6k words are worth all your time and attention :)

masterlist / join my taglist / requests

PROLOGUE

“Stay off Figure 8!”

The all too familiar deep voice boomed across the beach, a completely dead silence started to surround the atmosphere. A loud groan was heard along with the unsteady thump of a person falling onto the sand, causing people standing around to gasp.

JJ struggled to get up from the ground, the big punch he received from the one and only caused his nose to bleed non stop, and when he barely opened his eyes, he was met with a pair of icy cold blues staring back at him.

“You hear me, Maybank? Stay. Off. Figure. 8. You and all your filthy pogue friends.”

JJ tried getting up and talking back, he really did, but the one and only Rafe Cameron punched him so hard he lost all his balance. Blood kept on flowing in a never ending fashion, and JJ could see dark spots in his vision, his mind feeling light headed.

“JJ!”

Rafe froze in his position, not looking up from JJ at the sound of JJ’s name being called out. The voice, the perfume, the general aura of the presence; Rafe didn’t have to look up to see who it was.

“JJ oh my god please tell me you’re okay,” you mumbled, your voice almost trembling with the worry dripping from your words. You got on your knees and gently cradled JJ’s face, pulling it into your lap as you brushed his hair aside to look at the extent of damage on his face. JJ mumbled something incoherently and you let out a sigh, relieved he wasn’t completely knocked out.

Rafe stood there on the side, his eyes widened as he saw how your fingers ran through his hair and wiped off his blood, he saw how careful you were with him, he saw how you mumbled small words of sweet nothingness to him.

Rafe didn’t know what to say, he stood there limply as he watched you help JJ up, let him loop an arm across your shoulders so you could help him walk back to The Cut.

As he saw you both walk back, he felt his blood boil. The rage built in him slowly like a thunderstorm, his breathing started to become erratic and his fists clenched tightly on his sides.

“FUCK!”

Rafe’s foot kicked across an empty beer can buried in the sand, causing it to fly and topple a few meters further from him.

He wouldn’t have done anything to JJ, heck, he wouldn’t have looked at him if he knew you were on the beach too.

The look on your face when you saw how hurt JJ was, the concern clouding all over your facial features; from the furrow of your brow to the frown on your lips, he knew you now hated him more than ever. He knew you would never want to look at him ever again. He knew you would never acknowledge his presence ever again.

He knew there was no chance you would look at him the way he looked at you.

ONE — THE PARTY

It was crazy.

The lights were neon and bright and they pierced your eyes harshly. The people at the party were almost sticking next to each other, their sweat, weed, alcohol, and an ungodly mix of expensive and cheap colognes being the only thing you can smell.

You almost gagged as you maneuvered your way through the sweaty crowd, but you finally did, finding yourself taking deep breaths as you leaned against the countertop of the makeshift bar in the kitchen, letting the awful smell wash away from your nose palette.

When you started feeling better, you got yourself a nice cold beer, letting the icy liquid run down your throat, sending chills down your spine but in a way you relished deeply.

It was a scene like any other party; there were people dancing, some catching a smoke break at the side, some making out on the other side, nothing new.

And it wasn’t anything new when a fight broke out.

You didn’t know who the boys were who started to fight; all you saw was them go at each other like wolves, their courage mostly coming from the plethora of drugs in their system, profanities after profanities spilling out their mouth, and you were just watching from the side, completely nonchalant about it.

But you were not so nonchalant when glass bottles were involved in hurting the other; you being in close proximity to the fighting pair resulted in one of the flying broken piece of glass cutting your hand, making you yell out at the sharp pain. The cut looked deep as the blood didn’t stop gushing out, but no one focused on you. Everyone was too busy watching the fight, trying to stop it, or just enjoying it for the heck of it.

You hissed in pain, your own beer bottle set aside as you squeezed your eyes shut from the stinging pain spreading from your hand to your forearm. The blood started to trickle down from your palm down to the floor, and you had no idea what to do or who to go to.

It all became a huge mess very quick, you on the side with your hand bleeding, and the rest of the party too busy to peg the immature boys on.

You felt a tall shadow stalking over you, the scent of the rich cologne all too familiar.

“That looks bad,” you heard in your ear.

You turned to be face to face with Rafe. He was stalking down your wound, the blood flow not really stopping as the drops dripped down on the hardwood floor. His expression wasn’t one of worry. But it wasn’t one of detest either. It was just… emotionless.

“Yeah no shit,” you muttered, looking down at your wound too.

“Here,” he said, fishing out his handkerchief from his pocket. “This should help for the moment…” he muttered as he gently took your hand and wrapped the handkerchief around your cut.

You looked at his hands working around your hand, covering up the cut. The pearly white cloth was quickly stained with a deep red of your blood, slowly spreading throughout the cloth.

“You should get that checked once, just in case you need stitches,” he said, tying a knot to fix the cloth in its place. Just like his facial expression, his voice is also emotionless, monotone words leaving his lips.

“Why are you doing this?” You couldn’t help but ask, out of all the people, Rafe was there to help you with your wound.

“Because you’re bleeding a little too much,” he said, taking a step back from you. His hands then buried in the pockets of his jeans as he shrugged at you.

You looked up in his icy blue eyes, not a single emotion in them. You weren’t sure what to say, finding yourself to be quite stunned which was never really the case; whenever Rafe talked to you, you were always quick to talk back, never letting him be the one who said the last words.

“Right… thanks,” you muttered, looking down at the securely tied handkerchief around your hand.

“Yeah,” he said with a nod of his head, and left you alone.

TWO — THE FAILED DATE

You clutched on the tablecloth out of utter anxiousness, your eyes darting around the room. You took a look at your watch for the umpteenth time, and saw that the time you were supposed to be meeting someone got farther and farther in the past with each passing second.

It had now been over an hour, the waiters had politely asked you if you would like to eat something, and all you asked for was a simple glass of water, because what if he shows up?

But now you could very clearly see that he won’t.

You had a date, which unlike the past dates you had been on, really excited you. You thought he was a nice boy, someone you met while you were buying some beer for you and your friends. You don’t remember how the conversation started, but you both used to talk quite often, numbers exchanged and texts sent under the pale moonlight of 3 am.

He finally asked you out on a date, and you were thrilled, to say the very least. But now, here you were at a fancy restaurant on Figure 8 which you barely got to go to, absolutely impatient as your knee bounced up and down out of anxiousness and embarrassment.

You felt tears prick your eyes but you were quick to not let them fall, wiping them away from your waterline. You looked down in your lap, your fingers nervously pulling onto each other as the reality of being ditched settled in you. You took another look at your phone, desperate for any text, but there were no notifications.

But then, you felt the sunlight falling onto you from the window next to you being blocked by a huge shadow, and when you looked up, you saw Rafe.

Of course, Rafe, out of all the people.

He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you; your slightly red eyes and the tears accumulated in them didn’t go unnoticed by him.

“Why are you here all alone?” He asked you, still standing in front of you.

You just shook your head as a reply and picked up your belongings from the table. “It’s none of your business Rafe… I’ll just leave…” you muttered, but before you could do anything else, Rafe sat in the seat opposite to you.

He took a look at your outfit, noticing it’s something different than the attire you’re usually sporting, something more formal.

It didn’t take him long to connect two and two together to figure out everything.

“You got ditched huh?” He said silently. His tone came off condescending to you, even though he didn’t mean to sound that way at all.

You mentally braced yourself to get embarrassed by him, ready to hear a comment or two from him, because that’s what he did: say rude things to people, especially Pogues, because he felt like it.

But he didn’t say anything.

Absolutely nothing.

You looked up at him, small streaks of tears had started making their way down. “I told you it’s none of your business,” you said, sniffling.

He only sighed as he leaned back in the chair, watched you carefully as your head hung low, silent sobs escaping you as you occasionally wiped away your tears.

“Listen, it’s not your fault okay?” He mumbled. You looked up from your lap with your eyes filled with tears. “I know you must be feeling really bad right now, and there is nothing wrong about it, but don’t think too much about it,”

“I… I got ditched Rafe. I am sitting here all alone in this expensive restaurant crying my eyes out. How can I not think too much about it?” You whispered, your eyebrows creased together.

He leaned a bit closer to you. “I’m trying to make you feel better…” He said softly.

“Well,” you sniffled, looking away from him, “I didn’t ask for it, okay?”

These were the last words you said, before you got up from your chair and left the restaurant, whilst Rafe watched you walk away, wanting to hold your hand and to stop you, but he just couldn’t.

THREE — THE BEACH CLEAN UP

You looked up at the sun, wiping the sweat off your forehead as you took in a deep breath. The summers only seemed to be getting hotter this time around, and the fact that you were at a beach clean up at noon was not helping your situation.

You liked to pick up work like beach clean ups in between your main job at the island club so you could make a little side money.

As you got back to picking up the trash from the beach, throwing it in the little basket you’re carrying with yourself, you looked up to hear some chatter besides the otherwise quiet beach and the other people working quite silently.

It was a group of Kooks – their expensive clothes and accessories shining under the bright rays of the sun completely unmissable. And in the group of them, a pair of electric blue eyes had its gaze fixed on you intensely.

You didn’t even know why Rafe was there. Or why the other Kooks were there. They didn’t have any need to participate in these kinds of jobs. Everything was just handed down to them, daddy’s money being what they thrive on.

You ignored them and got back to working, focusing on clearing the trash from the specific area of the beach you were at. Just a few minutes later you felt the sunlight being blocked by a huge shadow, and when you looked up, you saw Rafe right by your side, separated from his Kook friends.

You wanted to say something, but you weren’t sure what, so you peeled your focus away from him and got back to picking up the trash and throwing it into the basket.

“Here,” he said almost suddenly, causing you to look up at him. “I’ll hold it for you,” he gestured the basket in your hand, and even proceeded to hook two of his fingers into its side, holding onto it.

Before you could have protested, he gently pulled the basket from your hand, causing you to let go of it. You wouldn’t lie, your basket had started to get heavy from the innumerable aluminum cans and other trash sitting in it.

“Thanks,” you murmured under your breath and from the corner of your eye, you saw Rafe acknowledged you with a nod of his head.

For the next hour or so, you went around picking up the trash and Rafe followed you holding the basket for you as if it weighed nothing, and you kept on dropping the trash in it. It was oddly comfortable, the silence between you two as you weren’t sure what to say – and frankly, you thought that was the best.

As the clean up came to an end, everyone was sitting in the sand, and light laughter and chatter filled the group. The afternoon had started to turn into evening, the bright rays of the sun turning into something more warm, more comforting instead of burning. You sat in the sand, leaning back on your forearms a little away from the rest, just letting the summer breeze blow past you gently.

Rafe sat down next to you, and held out something. You saw it was a glass of iced lemonade he got from the little surf shop.

“You didn’t have to,” you mumbled, eyeing the glass in his hand, the condensation on the surface causing water droplets to slide against the smooth glass.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You’ve worked all afternoon. Have it, it’s my treat.”

You took another second or two before taking the glass from him, sipping on the cool, sour yet sweet liquid and allowing it to run down your throat. He remained seated next to you as you both watched the waves crash on the shore, the seagulls flying over and the sun only delving you into a comforting warmth more and more with each passing second, and slurped on your little lemony drinks.

FOUR — THE TIP

The day was slowly turning into dusk, the bright afternoon light leaving to welcome darker pink and orange streaks cast by the almost setting sun. This was the time when the island club started filling in more and more, the bar being one of the first parts of the club to get exceptionally occupied.

You were busy serving an older woman, your mind completely occupied to make the martini, when out of the corner of your eye, you caught the all too familiar gist of a head of dirty blonde curtain bangs.

You turned your head to meet Rafe’s blue eyes looking intently at you. The way he was focused on you, his gaze not wavering for even a fraction of a second, and the strong intensity behind them made you feel like the only girl on this planet. Though, of course, that feeling was short-lived when you were snapped out of your daze by a customer calling out for you.

You were quick to rush over to the customer, who had just finished the drink you had served him. He left the money for his drink where he was sitting and was already making his way out of the club.

You picked up the dollar bills to see he paid completely for the drink, but the tip wasn’t even touching the bare minimum. You didn’t know what the reason was, you had been kind to the customer, made his drink perfectly and served it on time, and even presented it as aesthetically as you could. Even then, your tip wasn’t up to the mark. Sighing, you made your way over to the other end of the bar counter where you kept your tip jar, which coincidentally also happened to be where Rafe was sitting.

“Everything alright?” He asked, eyeing your woeful expression as you were putting the newly received ‘tip’ (if it can be even called that) in the jar. His eyes raked over the jar, and he couldn’t help but find it a lot more empty than it should be.

“Yeah everything’s fine,” You mumbled, keeping the jar aside. You wiped your hands once on the towel slung in the loop of your apron before looking up at Rafe. “What can I get you?” You asked.

“A neat whiskey’s fine,” He said and you nodded. You served him the neat whiskey, setting the glass right in front of him. He gave you an acknowledging nod and wrapped his fingers around the glass and bought it closer to his mouth, drinking from it.

You decided to work around the bar a bit, just cleaning everything up, preparing everything you may need in advance, practically anything you could get your hands at – because anything was better than having to talk to Rafe, who, by the way, didn’t take his eyes off you for even a second. His gaze was firm and jaw was set as he just saw you work around the bar, silently sipping on his whiskey.

You kept yourself wonderfully distracted as you served the customers and prepared everything behind the bar, but every so often, your gaze would magnetically be pulled back to Rafe, and you would always catch him looking at you.

When you noticed Rafe’s almost done with his glass of whiskey, you made your way back to him.

“Another one?” You asked, and he only silently nodded as his reply. You refilled his glass with the neat whiskey, and leaned back against the counter, just simply glancing around the scene of the bar and the club and catching a small break.

A silence fell over the two of you, the light chatter and the music playing in the club thrumming against your eardrums. Rafe was just silently sipping the whiskey, not saying or doing anything, just sitting there and having his drink.

“So uh… you’re alone here tonight?” You asked, your words feeling cautious. “I mean, you’re usually here with Topper, or with someone, atleast,”

He set his almost finished glass at the counter, his fingers still wrapped around the clear glass. His gaze found yours, a warm blue instead of the usual icy one sinking into your eyes.

“Topper was busy,” He muttered, “so I came alone,”

You just quietly hummed at his words, and from the corner of your eye you saw one of your customers finishing their drink and leaving their money on the counter. You went to get it, and when you did, you saw it’s the same thing repeating itself: the ‘tip’.

You sighed, slightly aggravated as you made your way back to where the top jar was, and dumped the money in it.

“Will it kill them to just pay something to their bartender?” You sighed, leaning against the counter and tilting your head back, closing your eyes for a moment. Your shift was close to coming to an end and if that’s the money you had to go home with tonight, well, it’d be kind of fucked.

You could feel Rafe’s gaze on you, but he didn’t say anything, just finished the last sip of his whiskey in a gulp. You were about to ask him for another refill, but you heard someone calling you out.

You turned around to see it was one of your coworkers, who told you were being called inside. You turned to look back at Rafe, but he just shook his head, and gestured to you to leave. You followed your coworker and went inside to where he was leading to.

After being freed from the quite useless meetup with your manager, you finally walked back out to the bar after 15 minutes. When you did, you saw Rafe’s stool was empty, and there was money kept on the counter.

You approached the counter, and the moment you saw the money, your eyes almost fell out from how wide they got.

Ten crisp hundred dollar notes sat unfolded on the marbled counter along with the money for the whiskey, and you couldn’t believe your eyes. For a second, it felt unreal. You reached your hand out and your fingertips touched the paper, and you realised the money was real. You picked the notes up, your lips parted in shock as you gaze at them.

Rafe tipped you $1000.

1000 fucking dollars.

Your gaze immediately turned towards the exit of the bar, and of course, you couldn’t spot Rafe – you had completely missed him.

You carefully kept the notes in your tip jar and sealed the jar shut. Through the glass, you couldn’t remove your gaze from the notes, your mind now completely clouded with Rafe, and his tip.

ONE — THE BROKEN DOWN CAR

You let out a frustrated groan, kicking the tyre in utter vexation, which helped you release just the tiniest fraction of your rage. You fished out your phone from your pocket just to see it was nothing more than a dead device, serving you no purpose. You almost had the urge to throw the phone, but you stopped yourself at the right second, because you realized, you can’t afford to hear the sound of the glass screen cracking.

Instead, you just kicked a pebble in your path and slumped against the side door of your beat up car which decided to stop working halfway across your journey from Figure 8 to the Cut. You were at the side of the road, watching other cars and vehicles pass by as you sat there on the roadside, not having a single clue on what to do.

10… 15… 20 minutes passed and you were still in the same position, not knowing what to do and not making any effort to find out either. The road fell silent a few minutes ago, no vehicles crossing, but the silence was short lived when you heard the revving of an engine from the distance, and it came to a stop right next to you.

An all too familiar red and black bike stood next to you, the rider’s face covered by the helmet. But the bike, the gold signet ring on the index finger of the left hand, and the taut muscles peeking from under the t-shirt were more than enough to confirm who it was.

The helmet came off and Rafe’s piercing blue eyes found yours.

“What happened?” He asked, getting off his bike as he ran a hand through his hair, his curtain bangs pushed back momentarily before they fell down on both the sides of his face in a ragged middle part just like always.

“My car broke down,” you muttered as you looked up at him.

“Hm.”

He rounded around you and lifted the cover of the engine, holding it up with one hand as he inspected the engine carefully. You watched him intently, trying to figure out what the expressions on his face meant, but there weren’t any to begin with. It was a face so cold and plain, suiting well with the cold blue eyes.

“There’s some issue with the battery. You most probably need to get it replaced.” He declared, letting the cover fall back in its place.

“Oh great,” you said, sarcasm dripping from your words as you threw your head back against the door of your car. “That’ll probably cost nothing, won’t it?”

Rafe caught the sarcasm of your words very well but didn’t comment anything, just wiped the dust off his hands as he gazed down at you.

“Come on,” you heard, and as you looked up, you saw he was holding his hand out for you. “You were probably going back home yeah? I’ll drop you.”

You opened your mouth to argue but he cut you off the next instant.

“No ifs, or buts, or ‘Rafe’s, you hear me? You’re letting me drop you off, and are letting me take care of this,” he said, gesturing to your car. “I’ll call a mechanic who’ll get your car towed from here and will work on it. Now come on, none of us have got all day.”

By the end of his words, you knew whatever you’ll do is equivalent to pointless, so you gave in. You gently held his hand and helped yourself up from the road, brushing a hand over your clothes as he led you to his bike parked aside.

Rafe put his helmet on top of your head and adjusted the strap, and you heard a faint click as it fixed in place. You wanted to ask ‘what about you?’ when the only helmet was now sitting on your head, but you decided against it. He mounted the bike and gestured to you to do the same, revving the engine twice or thrice before taking off.

He was definitely faster than what you had expected, and you couldn’t help it when you gripped the sides of his t-shirt, fisting the crisp material in your fingers to provide yourself some stability. For a second, he took one hand off the handlebar and reached for your hand scrunching his t-shirt. He gently took your wrist and you let go of the fabric in the process, allowing him to tug your hand and place it on his waist. Your other hand followed suit, and both of your arms were firmly wrapped around his waist. His hand landed back at the handlebar, and he only sped up more, the wind whipping past you at a phenomenal speed.

The ride to The Cut came to an end when Rafe reached your home, and you didn’t want to admit to him or to yourself, but you felt it was short. The ride was nothing short of exhilarating, the wind whipping past your skin, and the way your arms found purchase around his waist gave you the comfort you needed.

You got off the bike, firmly planting your feet on the ground as you did so, and Rafe’s hand instinctively wrapped around your arm to make sure you remained stable. You carefully took off the helmet and handed it back to him.

“So uh,” You muttered, clearing your throat subtly, “thanks for the ride. Really,”

He shook his head, kicking the stand of the bike in place and allowing it to lean on one side. “Don’t worry,” He said, still sitting on the bike.

“You, you really didn’t have to,” You said, your fingers intertwined with each other behind your back.

“And do what? Leave you alone at the side of the road? With a broken down car and a dead phone?” Rafe sighed. “I wasn’t gonna do that y/n, you know that,”

You know that.

Yeah you do.

You swallowed the thick lump in your throat as a small silence fell over you two as none of you said anything, and you kept on contemplating how you could possibly return such a massive favor.

“You…” You began, your voice low, the words on the tip of the tongue feeling experimental, “you wanna come inside for a moment?”

Rafe’s response didn’t come out the very next second, and that small pause felt like years to you.

“Sure,” He said, getting off his bike. You let out a sigh of relief and nodded, leading him towards your place.

“It’s nothing big…” You muttered as you climbed up the stairs of the porch and he followed suit, watching you unlock the front door. “But it’s home, I guess.”

Knowing he had grown up in the richest part of the island, surrounded by everything he could possibly need and want, you had a feeling he’d definitely make some snarky comment. Cause isn’t that what he did? Rafe Cameron: the Kook prince, but also the biggest asshole?

But he was completely silent when he followed you inside and only quietly sat down on the couch you led him to, which you definitely were shocked to see, but nevertheless you didn’t really let it show on your expressions.

“So uh…” you began to speak, wanting to break through the awkward air around you two, “anything you’d like? Water? Or some tea maybe?”

He shook his head silently, and a moment later, gestured to the empty seat next to him.

“Come sit,” he said, words simple and direct, no beating around the bush, just like always.

You took a sweet moment to let his words settle in you, but when you did, you walked up to the couch and sat down next to him, a small distance maintained between the two of you. Your gaze remained fixed on your shoes, your hands perfectly intertwined in your lap, and your habit of pulling onto them – something which only tended to happen you felt really anxious – came back.

The awkward air was around you two again, settling over you two like a blanket that is way too warm for hot weather, making you feel uneasy and has got you squirming for any sort of cooling.

“Why do you do that?”

There it was.

It was out.

You blabbered out the question as if it meant nothing, when in reality, it carried so much more weight than you could possibly ever imagine.

When you were met with silence for a moment, you looked up, and saw Rafe sitting with his hands on his knees, his own gaze fixed at something on the floor. What was it exactly – you couldn’t tell.

When he still didn’t speak anything, you decided to take the chance.

“You’re always… there for me, in one way or the other. You patched my hand up at that party weeks ago, when you could’ve just ignored the situation. You saw me crying to myself when my date didn’t show up and came up to me when you could’ve just ignored the situation. You helped me at the beach clean up and carried my heavy bin for me when you could’ve ignored the situation. You saw my lack of tips and paid me a massive one when you could’ve ignored the situation. You could’ve always ignored the situation, Rafe. Just like you always do with the other Pogues. With them, you don’t care for even a damn second. But… why are you doing so much for me?”

The silence kept on greeting you, and you could feel yourself beginning to get impatient. Your gaze flickered over Rafe, and you didn’t miss the way he flexed his fingers over his knee, as if gripping it tightly.

“I, I don’t know…” He mumbled weakly. You had never heard his voice take such a softer tone. It’s as if you didn’t even know it existed.

“What– what do you mean you don’t know?” You sighed, turning your body a bit so you could face him. “That’s fucking ridiculous Rafe!”

“It’s not ridiculous I just can’t explain it the way you wish I could–”

“Well you should be able to cause I need explanations–”

“Not everything can be given a logical explanation come on–”

“Yes it can if you try hard enough–”

“I care for you okay!”

His words were loud, much louder than any of his previous words. Their loudness and conviction shut you up right at that moment, your eyes widening, and your lips slightly parted as you stared at him with a look of disbelief in your eyes.

“I–I Rafe began, running a hand through his messy bangs, and you had to control the urge to run your own fingers through them and gently push them out of his eyes, “I don’t know why, but I just can’t stand the thought of you being hurt, or being sad, or going through any discomfort. I just can’t okay? Each time I see you that way I– I immediately get to solving it cause I can’t bear to see you all troubled. I don’t want to see a single scratch on your skin or– or a single furrow in your brow I just… want to see you happy. Cause you look... so so pretty when you’re smiling, y/n, it’s… it’s unexplainable,”

A silence fell over you two as you let his words sink in you, which was a lot harder than you’d like, but you were doing it.

“And i just… wish that one day… you’d smile that pretty smile of yours because of me,” He murmured, “because I made you smile,”

You could see Rafe’s own words taking a massive toll on him, just as it was taking on you. You parted your lips to say something but you were just so horribly stumped, you couldn’t utter a single word.

He ran a ragged hand through his hair once again and stood up, clearing his throat.

“I should leave now,” He muttered, standing in front of your seated form but not facing you, but instead facing the door. Your own gaze was fixed at the floor, and you could hear your heartbeat thumping loudly in your eyes, his words repeating over and over like a broken record in your mind.

You didn’t say anything to stop him, so Rafe silently walked out the door, closing it behind himself with a silent click.

You were left all alone in your living room, Rafe’s weighted words lying heavy on your heart and mind, and the distant noise of his bike’s engine revving a bitter reminder that he wasn’t next to you anymore.

Just two days later, when you woke up in the morning and looked out your window, you saw your car parked. Not only was the battery replaced, a whole paint job was done, the ripped car seats were replaced with some fancy leather, the tyres were exchanged for upgraded ones, and for a second, you didn’t even recognise your own car.

You noticed a piece of paper held in place by the windshield wiper, and when you went outside and took the piece of paper and unfolded it, you saw a small phrase scrawled in black against the white of the paper.

don’t mention it. – R.C.

EPILOGUE

You let out a deep sigh as you watch him laugh, patting his friend’s arm in the process. A smile of pure contentment crosses your face, watching the rays of the bright, afternoon sun hit his bare skin and making it shine, his muscles seeming more pronounced than ever.

You watch him turn around and glance at you over his shoulder, his smile wide as he gives you a flying kiss. You can’t help but chuckle at the endearing action, causing you to send one his way too. He lifts up two fingers in the form of a peace sign and gestures to his friend next to him, silently conveying to you that he will be by your side in just two minutes. You give him an understanding nod and watch his head turn back to the front, getting delved into the conversation with his friend again.

You sip on your drink as you lean your head back, the sound of the boat rushing past the waves of the ocean filling your ear drums deeply. You close your eyes and just listen to the sound of waves, your mind shutting out the chitter chatter of the conversations of the other people on this boat.

Soon enough you feel the sunlight being blocked and as you open your eyes, you see him standing right in front of you, a smile on his face. The chain around his neck along with the little gold capital letter of your initial hanging from it catches the sunlight and gleams more than it usually does. He sits down next to you and silently wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. You smile as you lean into him, your fingers going immediately to fiddle with the chain, feeling the edges of the cool gold initial under your fingertips.

You take a glance up at him, running your other hand along the side of his now buzzed head, feeling the short, prickly hair gently tickle your fingers.

“Are you having a good time so far?” He mutters softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, your head tucking in the crook of his neck.

“Yeah, yeah I am,” you say quietly, your fingers mindlessly continuing fiddling with the gold initial on his chest. “You?” You ask, slightly lifting your head up from his neck.

“Oh, the absolute best time,” He says softly, looking down at you with a gentle smile on his face. “We’re on our boat, and I’m with my gorgeous girlfriend, what else could I need?”

You can’t help but softly chuckle at his words, silently shaking your head as you lean your head against his shoulder again and resume fiddling with the chain. You do it often, almost each time you get your hands on him, and he loves it; feeling the occasional brush of your fingers against his skin and the gentle tugs on the chain.

He allows you to relax against him completely, his arms around you to keep you close to him as you both sit silently, only the sound of the water and the light chatter of your friends accompanying you two.

“Thank you,” Rafe says softly, his fingertips tracing gentle patterns on your shoulder.

You furrow your brows at his words, slightly confused, as you look up at him. “What for?” You ask.

Rafe only keeps on gazing at you, a gentle smile pulling his lips. He quietly shakes his head, and with a gentle pull, he allows you to rest against him again.

“Nothing.” He stays quiet for a moment. “Everything.”

Your own lips can’t help but upturn in a small smile too. “Well, in that case…” you murmur, leaning back to look up at him, one hand coming to rest against his cheek as you gently caress the soft skin, and you slowly lean in, pressing your lips to his in a sweet kiss.

“Thank you,” you mumble softly against his lips. Rafe’s hands grip your waist and he pulls you closer, not letting you pull back from the kiss. His fingers splay across your back as he kisses you, his lips moving in an unhurried, tender motion against yours.

A moment or so later, he pulls back, his eyes opening by just a fraction. You let your arms hook around Rafe’s neck, keeping him close to you.

“You’re the only one for me, Rafe,” you mumble quietly. “You’re the only one I’ll ever want.”

He leans his head against you and takes a deep breath, your scent and the smell of the ocean around you filling his nostrils deeply.

You both let the moment just simply sink in you, the sun rays bathing you in the warmest light, along with the presence of each other, which might be warmer than the sun any time of the day.

“Only you, my girl,” he mumbles quietly. “Always and forever.”

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

taglist: @oxpogues4lifexo / @drewstarkeys-world / @inthelibrarybtw / @mileyraes / @chenslucy / @totalswag / @wearemadeofstardust0 / @percysley / @superswaggycooch / @khaisdrz / @weirdowithnobeardo

specific tags for this fic: @writingmeraki / @ghoslyethastaryn / @congratsloserr / @helloloverz / @littlelamy / @eolsens / @wtfdudesblog / @jkrafe / @onlyrealjoy / @husherstan / @lilithblackkk / @sublimepenguinpeach-blog

tagging some moots: @runningfrom2am / @b1mb0slvt / @nemesyaaa / @ilyrafe / @zyafics / @jjsbank444 / @ladyinbl00d

caught in your spell

you had always been a fan of wrestling but you never imagined you’d be there, in that moment.

the arena was alive with energy, the sound of cheers and roars filling the air as the wrestlers did their thing in the ring but for you, there was only one wrestler who mattered - rhea ripley.

rhea was incredible, unapologetically herself and completely captivating.

every time she stepped into the ring, you couldn’t help but be drawn to her presence. she wasn’t just a wrestler, she was a leader, a champion, owning the ring with every move, every look, making her opponent fear for themselves.

you didn’t think much about it at first, standing there in the crowd - just another fan, waiting for the match to begin.

but when rhea stepped into the ring everything else faded into the background. you couldn’t take your eyes off of her. there was something about the way she carried herself, the way she dominated that space.

and then it happened.

she looked out into the crowd, her eyes scanning the audience and for a split second, your eyes locked. your heart skipped a beat. her intense, confident gaze met yours, and for that moment, it felt like you were the only person in the arena.

a smirk tugged at the corners of rhea’s lips. was it meant for you?

you weren’t sure, but the way she held your gaze that moment made it feel like she was seeing you, really seeing you.

your stomach fluttered and your mind raced, unsure whether you had just imagined it or if there was something more to that look.

before you could think on it too much, the match continued, and she shifted her focus back to what was happening in the ring but the memory of that moment stayed with you, replaying in your mind over and over. could she have noticed you? or was it just a coincidence?

a few days later, as you scrolled through your social media, something caught your eye.

a notification.

you opened it and your heart nearly stopped when you saw who had tagged you in a post.

@rhearipley_wwe.

that rhea ripley.

the rhea ripley.

the post replayed the scene caught by the cameras - you and her looking at each other.

“she has eyes for mami but mami has eyes for her.” - the caption said.

you blinked, uncertain if your eyes were deceiving you. there was a message attached to the post, and you hesitated for a moment before clicking it open.

“hey, i hope you don’t mind the post! i saw you at the show. wanna grab a drink sometime?”

your heart pounded in your chest as you reread the message. this couldn’t be real, could it? was rhea ripley really messaging you? was this some kind of joke? or was it actually happening?

you took a deep breath, your fingers trembling as you typed a response.

“hey! that sounds great. i’d love to.”

you sent the message before you could talk yourself out of it. seconds later, you got the notification - rhea ripley is typing….

you held your breath as the message popped up.

“perfect. i’ll pick you up tomorrow night. don’t be late.”

your heart was racing now. was this really happening? rhea ripley, the woman who had dominated your thoughts since that moment at the arena wanted to meet you, spend time with you.

the woman everyone wanted, wanted you?

————————

the next evening, you were a bundle of nerves. you couldn’t believe this was happening. you had to keep reminding yourself that this wasn’t a dream. when the knock on your door came, you nearly jumped out of your skin. you opened it, and there she was, standing on your doorstep. rhea ripley, looking even more incredible in person.

“hey” she said, her voice deep and confident, with that signature smirk of hers “you ready?”

you could barely form words, but you nodded, not trusting your voice. she chuckled and held out her hand. your pulse quickened as you took it, her touch warm and strong.

the night passed in a blur. you talked, laughed, and even shared a few personal stories. it was easy with her. she wasn’t just the fierce wrestler you’d seen on tv - she was real, and she was interested in you. as the night went on, you found yourself more and more drawn to her, to the way she made you feel like you were the only person in the world.

toward the end of the evening, as the two of you were walking to the car, rhea’s hand brushed against yours, and you felt your cheeks flush. she turned toward you, her expression softening.

“hey” she said, voice quieter now, almost teasing “there’s something i’ve been meaning to tell you.”

you froze, feeling the weight of her gaze “w-what?” you stuttered, suddenly shy, unsure of where this was going.

rhea smirked, but there was something more vulnerable in her eyes now “you captured my attention from the moment i saw you in the crowd. i couldn’t get you out of my head. you make me go crazy, you know that?”

your heart skipped a beat.

you blinked at her, too stunned to respond at first.

did she really just say that?

“you…” you began, your voice barely a whisper, still processing her words, feeling the heat of your cheeks “you’re… crazy?”

rhea laughed softly, stepping closer, her hand gently touching your arm “in the best way, trust me. i’ve never felt like this about anyone before. you make me want to lose control…i saw you in the crowd and i thought - shit she’s incredibly beautiful - but as we spent the night together i also learned that you’re both gorgeous and smart, talented and sweet…” rhea confessed.

you could barely hold back your smile, the shyness in you overtaking everything. you didn’t know what to say, but just the fact that she was here, that she was saying this to you - it was enough.

rhea’s hand gently cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing over your skin “is it crazy that i want more of this? more of getting to know you? more of you?”

your heart raced, and you couldn’t help but nod, a shy smile playing on your lips “no…i want that too.”

rhea leaned in closer, her lips just inches from yours. she paused, searching your face for any sign of hesitation but all she found was your nervous, eager expression. with a quiet chuckle, she closed the distance between you, her lips pressing softly against yours.

your breath hitched at the contact and you froze for a moment, unsure of what to do. but rhea’s hands were gentle as she guided you, one hand cupping your cheek, the other resting at your waist. she kissed you slowly at first, as if savoring the moment, before deepening it, her lips moving with more urgency.

the kiss was intoxicating. rhea’s presence overwhelmed you in the best way, her warmth and confidence making you forget everything around you. you felt yourself melting into her, your body instinctively responding to hers. you had never felt anything like this before.

when the kiss finally broke you were both breathless, your face flushed with heat. rhea pulled back slightly, still holding you close. her eyes were darker now, filled with desire, but there was tenderness in her touch as she smoothed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“i’ve been waiting for that” she murmured, her voice low and husky “from the moment i saw you tonight…”

you couldn’t help but smile, the shyness creeping back in as you glanced up at her “me too.”

rhea chuckled softly, brushing her thumb over your lips - she still couldn’t get over your shyness “i think this is just the beginning for us.”

you nodded, your heart full as you stared up at her, feeling like you were floating. this was real. and rhea ripley wasn’t going anywhere.

_________________________

likes, comments and reblogs are always welcomed!

271 notes View Post

writtenbyhollywood

5 months ago

No Time- Rhea Ripley

Summary; you and Rhea are hosting Christmas dinner for the first time

WC: 474

Warnings: suffocatingly domestic fluff

This is so much shorter than I usually write🫣

Also thank you so much for the love on my first couple stories, always appreciated💛

The warm glow of the oven light warms your face as you lower in front of it, checking the bird for the hundredth time, anxiety pulsing in your chest.

“Darlin’,” you stand quickly at the sound of your wife’s voice, she leans against the door frame in her slacks and button up, “it’s not going to explode if you look away,” The grin on her face annoys you, how was she so calm about this?!

“I just want it to come out good,” you explain fiddling with the dish cloth in your hand. Your ring sparkles in the string lights you put in the window, you polished it earlier and made sure to pin your soft curls in place and donned a red dress in effort to look like a good host,

“It’s going to be amazing,” your wife insists coming to stroke your bicep with a tattooed hand, “and if it’s shit we can order pizza,” you pull away and whip the towel at her and she jumps away laughing. You roll your eyes and despite her fucking around you do feel better, tossing the towel towards the sink.

“Oh fuck me,” you sigh as it hits the edge and falls just short onto the floor, your attention soon pulled from the smirk you’re getting from Rhea, “Not an invitation,”

You stick your arm out with a finger up, you both really should finish getting the house together but she takes a step towards you. You stand straighter with your arms folding across your chest, refusing to back down.

“I mean it,” you argue trying to convince her which might’ve gone better had you actually been convinced yourself. She stops just in front of you and leans down to stare you down face to face and hums deeply. “We… we have no time,” You feel your cheeks getting warm and mentally curse, people who said marriage is boring were wrong.

“Rhea,” you warn one more time as her hand comes up to your chin and pulls it upwards and forward. Her breath is warm next to your ear and you shiver at the feeling,

“Turkeys on fire,” she whispers and you whip around to the oven where the bird is cooking just fine and then back to her. You slap her arms and she bursts out laughing before grabbing your hands and pulling your back flush against her body.

“That was mean,” you whine as she rocks you both gently in the kitchen, her lips place soft kisses along your jaw, her hands running down the front of your hips

“Lemme make it up to you,” tempting… but you hold your resolve, turning around and throwing your hands around her neck,

“We have no time,” you tell her again and stand on your toes to press a quick peck to her nose before moving to walk into the dining room. “Come help me set the table!”