Eight Years Ago, You Walked Away From Montana—away From The Sprawling Ranchlands, The Smell Of Fresh-cut
Eight years ago, you walked away from Montana—away from the sprawling ranchlands, the smell of fresh-cut hay, and the boy who swore he'd love you ‘til the day they put him in the ground. You built a new life, one far from dusty backroads and rodeo lights, far from the memories that still linger like the scent of rain on dry earth.
But now, you’re back. Not to stay, not to rekindle anything long lost—just to settle unfinished business. One last trip home to sign the divorce papers, to finally close the door on a past that’s been waiting for you to turn the key.
Beau Arlen was never the type to beg, but he's wrangled enough steers to know how to chase what didn’t want to be caught. He’s not making this easy. Because he’s still the same stubborn, maddening, sweet-talking cowboy who stole your heart all those years ago. And the way he looks at you now—like nothing’s changed, like he still sees the fire in you even when you swear it burned out long ago—makes you wonder if leaving was ever really the right choice.
You came back to let go. But some things, some loves, don’t die easy. And Beau—he was never one to give up without a fight.
warnings — second chance romance trope, i never stopped loving you vs the self-sabotage lover, reader is all fire and spark, beau basks in that warmth with a smile on his face lyrics — tattoos by tyler childers 10k words
Cousin Cheyenne’s house is louder than you remember—fuller, busier, like it’s been bursting at the seams ever since you left. The wooden floors tremble under the thunder of little feet, shrieks piercing the air one after another.
Still blinking sleep from your eyes, you shuffle down the hall just as Carson barrels past, his younger siblings, the twins are hot on his heels, their laughter mingling with the distant clatter of dishes from the kitchen.
Tillie, struggling to keep up with her brothers, wobbles around the corner, her too-big nightgown dragging at her ankles. She beams up at you with a gap-toothed grin, pigtails bouncing. “Mornin’, Auntie!”
Before you can respond, Cheyenne’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Y’all take it outside before you break somethin’!”
A second later, she appears, the baby of the bunch balanced effortlessly on her hip, her chubby fist clutching a half-eaten pancake. There’s flour smeared across her cheek, batter splattered on her shirt, but the amused glint in her eyes says she wouldn’t have it any other way.
The twins groan but obey, scrambling toward the back door—nearly knocking over Arleigh, who’s leaning against the fridge, scrolling through her phone. She lets out a long-suffering sigh, rolling her eyes so hard she might sprain something.
Tillie latches onto your pajama pants, looking up at you with big, hopeful eyes. “Auntie, tell ‘em to quit runnin’ from me!”
You sigh, prying her tiny fingers from your leg and nudging her toward the back porch, where the dogs have joined the morning mayhem. “Not my battle, tuts.”
Cheyenne smirks as she wipes her hands on a dishtowel. She’s still watching you—that look that says she’s got a million and one questions—but, for now, she keeps them to herself.
“You’re up early,” she remarks.
You gesture vaguely at the chaos around you. The house had been clean when you arrived late last night, when all the littles were tucked in and only the low hum of the TV filled the quiet. Now, toys litter the floor like battlefield debris, muddy boots and paw prints track through every room, and even with the kids outside, their shouts still seep through the walls.
“Hard to sleep through the circus,” you mutter.
Cheyenne snorts and slides a mug of coffee across the kitchen island toward you. “Welcome home.”
The words land heavier than they should. You drop your gaze, fingers tightening around the warm ceramic, staring into the dark swirl of coffee as if it holds an answer you’re not ready to face. Home. You’re still figuring out what that means.
Clearing your throat, you watch Cheyenne putter around the kitchen while you take a slow sip, letting the caffeine work its way through your system.
“Beau still working at his daddy’s ranch?”
Cheyenne freezes, her back to you, fingers tightening around the dish towel in her hands. She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she turns to her oldest, passing baby Ginny into the girl’s waiting arms. “Arleigh, sweetheart, can you get her cleaned up for me?”
Arleigh hesitates, her big brown eyes flicking between you and her mother, catching on to the shift in energy at the mere mention of his name. She may not understand the full weight of it, but she knows enough to tread lightly. “Sure, Mama.”
You watch as she carries Ginny down the hall, the soft sound of her murmuring to the baby disappearing behind a closed door.
Only then does Cheyenne turn to you, arms folding tight across her chest. Her expression is unreadable, but there’s a sharpness in her gaze, one that warns you she isn’t about to entertain any bullshit. “Beau’s not at the ranch,” she says evenly. “He’s the new sheriff. Took over from Old Man Ray last year.”
You blink. Beau Arlen—your Beau— all cleaned up and sharp, walking around with a shiny gold badge. You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Is that so?”
Cheyenne hums, unimpressed. “Mhm.” She tilts her head, studying you like she’s trying to pick apart your intentions before you can even say them. “Please tell me you aren’t planning to walk in there and slap those papers down the second you see him.”
Your fingers tighten around your coffee mug, the warmth seeping into your palms, grounding you against the weight of her disapproval. “Chey, I came here for one reason,” you say, your voice firm but not unkind. “I’d like to just get it over with.”
She exhales sharply, shaking her head as she turns back to the counter. “That man hasn’t seen you in eight years, and you’re just gonna waltz into his office and crush his heart all over again?” She doesn’t look at you as she speaks, pouring all that frustration into scrubbing an invisible stain from the worn wooden surface.
You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Oh, please. I’m sure Beau’s just as eager as I am to get rid of this damn thing.”
Cheyenne’s hand stills. Slowly, she turns, pinning you with a look that cuts deeper than you’d like to admit. “Damn thing,” she echoes, voice softer now, but no less pointed. “I think you’re forgetting who we’re talking about here.”
Something uneasy flickers through you, but you push past it, draining the last of your coffee and setting the mug down with a quiet clink. “The office still in the same place?”
Cheyenne watches you for a long moment before sighing, tossing the rag into the sink with a wet slap. “Sure is.”
The sheriff’s office looks just about the same as it always has—plain walls, scuffed floors, the faint scent of burnt coffee lingering in the air. The only difference now is the girl sitting at the front desk, chewing her gum loud enough to hear from across the room. She looks young, early twenties maybe, with a messy ponytail and nails painted a bright, chipped pink.
She doesn’t acknowledge you right away, too busy clicking away at her keyboard with a pointedly bored expression. You clear your throat and step forward, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “Hi, I was hoping to see Beau Arlen.”
The girl doesn’t so much as glance up. She just hums, shaking her head. “Sheriff’s mighty busy,” she says, dragging out the words like she’s said them a hundred times today. “I can redirect you to one of the officers if it’s urgent.”
You exhale through your nose, already feeling the dull throb of frustration settle in. “I’d really prefer to speak with him directly.”
Another absent shake of the head. “Sorry, ma’am, but the sheriff don’t see just anyone without an appointment.” She pops her gum, eyes still fixed on her screen. “If you’d like, I can set you up for later this week.”
Later this week. Yeah, no.
You press your lips together, glancing toward the frosted glass door at the far end of the room. You can just barely make out the shape of a desk, the outline of a man moving behind it. Your stomach tightens, an old, worn-out kind of ache settling in your chest. You’d expected this part to be easier—just walking in, handing over the papers, and walking right back out. No dramatics. No feelings. No Beau looking at you like you’d stolen the breath right out of his lungs.
But standing here now, waiting for some disinterested secretary to dismiss you for a third time, you realize nothing about this was ever going to be easy.
You take a slow breath, adjusting your stance. “Why don’t you go tell the sheriff…” you hesitate, but only for a fraction of a second before forcing the words out. “That his wife is here to see him.”
That does it.
The girl stills, fingers frozen over her keyboard. Her jaw pops once as she chews, processing, and then, finally, she turns her head to look at you. Her gaze sweeps over you with open curiosity. It’s no secret that Beau married young, less of a secret that his pretty little wife skipped town eight years ago. You see the rumor mill ticking behind her eyes, and you’re sure the whole damn town will know that you’ve come back the second she gets a chance to open her phone.
You don’t flinch. Rather, you’re trying not to roll your eyes at her blatant stare.
With a lingering glance, she slowly rises from her chair, heels clicking against the linoleum as she scurries over to the closed door, Sheriff printed across the front in large black letters. There’s a pause, you catch movement through the cracked door.
You exhale slowly, steadying yourself as you straighten your back, shoulders pulling tight with the effort to appear unaffected. Folding your arms across your chest, you press your fingers into your skin, as if the pressure might anchor you, might keep the past from creeping in any further. But it’s useless—the way your pulse stutters betrays you, a telltale flutter deep in your chest, quick and uneven.
The door swings open, and the girl steps out quickly, barely concealing the spark of interest in her eyes. She doesn’t even pretend to go back to her work, instead leaning back in her chair, eyes bouncing between you and the office like she’s settling in for a front-row seat to a long-lost lovers' showdown.
You hear his boots before you see him, easy slow strides as he comes into view.
Beau leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest, the buckle of his belt catching the dim office light. He’s changed, but not in a way that feels unfamiliar. His hair is a little shorter than you remember, a few more lines around his eyes, a scruff along his jaw that wasn’t there before. The years have settled into him well, the boyish charm aged into something deeper, something steadier.
He whistles low, shaking his head just slightly, like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. His gaze doesn’t stray from you, pinning you in place.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he drawls with that devil-may-care smile.
That voice—it yanks you straight back in time. . .
Back to a sticky summer night at the county fair, when you were fourteen and ran headfirst into a boy who stole the breath right out of your lungs.
The fairgrounds had been alive with energy, buzzing with laughter and the squeals of kids clutching cotton candy bigger than their heads. The bright lights of the Ferris wheel spun lazily against the deep violet sky, the scent of funnel cakes and kettle corn thick in the warm air. Somewhere in the distance, a band played, the twang of a banjo and the wail of a harmonica weaving through the night.
You hadn’t been paying attention, too caught up chasing after Cheyenne who was sprinting toward the ticket booth, laughter spilling between you. One second, you were hurrying after her, and the next—
Oof.
You smacked into something—someone—solid, knocking yourself back a step. Hands caught you before you could stumble in the dirt, steadying you with an easy strength.
“You alright there, sweetheart?”
Your stomach flipped at the slow southern drawl, a voice you recognized before you even looked up.
Beau was the new upperclassman from Texas, the one everyone had been whispering about ever since his Daddy’s pick up truck rolled into your small town. The Arlen’s, who bought up a few hundred acres to fill with cattle. Beau—their pride and joy—with the pretty green eyes, the lazy, lopsided grin, the kind of voice that dripped honey and heat.
You’d only ever seen him from afar before—leaning against the hood of his truck in the school parking lot, at a bonfire party with one of the pretty senior girls clinging to his arm. Always surrounded by people, always grinning like he had the world in his back pocket.
You blinked up at him, heart hammering, and for the first time in your little life, you didn’t know what to say.
He grinned like he could read you clear as day. Watching through his lashes as your cheeks turned pink. “Didn’t mean to knock the wind outta ya,” he teased, his hands still loose around your arms. “Though I gotta say, I’ve never had a girl throw herself at me quite like that before.”
Your face burned, and just like that, your words came rushing back. “I did not throw myself at you,” you shot back, the heels of your boots digging into the ground as you stepped back some.
Beau arched a brow, like he wasn’t entirely convinced. “That so?”
You huffed, straightening your posture, trying to shake off the way your pulse was still racing. “You were just… in the way.”
His grin doesn’t waver as he watches you, that knowing glint in his eye like he’s already got you figured out. He pulls off his brick cattleman hat, pressing it to his chest with an easy charm, the other hand stretching out toward you in introduction.
"Beau Arlen," he says smoothly, voice as rich and warm as the summer air around you. "And you are?"
You let out a soft scoff, tilting your head as you cross your arms over your chest. "Yeah, I know who you are," you shake your head like the idea of introducing himself is ridiculous. "Everyone in the damn county knows who you are."
That earns a low chuckle from him, deep and amused, as he sets his hat back on his head, adjusting the brim with an easy nod. "Yeah?" he muses, looking at you with something close to intrigue dancing behind his green eyes. "Well, I’ve heard about you too."
You blink, caught off guard. Your arms drop slightly, curiosity flickering across your face as you search his expression. "Oh yeah?" you ask, cautious but undeniably intrigued.
"Mhm," he hums, rocking back on his heels, taking his time as he lets the words settle between you. "Spitfire of a girl, headstrong as they come. Got a way with words that'll put a grown man in his place." His smirk deepens as he watches your reaction, the weight of his gaze settling on you like he’s waiting to see if the rumors match the real thing. "Sounds about right?"
You narrow your eyes at him, though there’s a pull at the corner of your lips that you try to fight. "Depends on who's been runnin’ their mouths."
He chuckles again, slow and easy, as if he’s enjoying this more than he probably should. "Only folks who know what they’re talkin’ about."
You can’t keep your eyes on his, a match you never thought you’d cross in all of Montana. You glance down at your dress, fidgeting with the hem. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“Maybe,” he mused, eyes dancing over you without any damn shame in it. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his dirty jeans, drawing your eyes to his shrugging shoulders. You never had the opportunity to really look at him, up close like this, and you couldn’t help but notice the evident strength in his arms and shoulders. The result of the kinda life where he learned how to rope a dummy calf before he knew his ABCs.
His smooth chuckle brings your attention back to his lips, “But I think I like it just fine right here.”
That night at the county fair stretched on, the kind of summer night that settled deep in your bones, the kind that felt like it could last forever.
After your collision, Beau should’ve walked away. Should’ve tipped his hat, flashed that lazy grin, and gone about his night. But he didn’t.
Instead, he stuck around.
You felt his eyes on you as you trailed after Cheyenne, her sharp little smirk letting you know she’d clocked everything the second she turned around and found you breathless, face flushed. She didn’t say anything—yet—but you knew that look. Knew she’d be digging into you for details the second you were alone.
The county fair was the biggest event of the year, crawling with people, but somehow—Beau and his rowdy crew kept popping up everywhere you turned.
It started at the rodeo pens, where you and Cheyenne were watching the bull riders, the air thick with excitement and the distant sound of hooves pounding against dirt. Beau leaned against the railing a few feet away, arms crossed over his broad chest, that familiar smirk playing on his lips every time your eyes happened to meet.
Bailey Bassett, standing next to him, elbowed Beau in the ribs and muttered something that made Beau’s laugh rise up low and steady, though the announcer's voice drowned out the words.
Then Hayes Pomeroy, always trying to be helpful but usually just making things worse, turned just enough so you had to hear him over the crowd. “You gonna talk to her, or just stare like a damn fool all night?”
You turned your head just in time to catch the look Beau shot at the snickering brunette. The fire in his gaze could’ve burned through a hundred barns, and you couldn’t help but bite back a smirk at the sight. Hayes might have a death wish, but at least it was entertaining.
Then came the fried Oreos.
You were happily minding your business, trying to act like the grease-drenched dessert wasn’t the best thing you’d ever tasted, when you heard that familiar drawl creep up beside you.
“You mind sharing some of that, miss?”
You didn’t even have to look up. You could feel his presence before he even spoke, settling into the picnic bench beside you like he always had a spot next to you. His arm pressed against yours, warm, solid. The rest of his crew—Bailey, Hayes, and Austin—crowded Cheyenne's side of the bench, as if they had all joined in a game of make-your-best-friend-uncomfortable.
You rolled your eyes but slid the paper tray between you anyway, trying to act like it didn’t matter that your heart had skipped a beat. His fingers brushed yours as he grabbed one, and your pulse did that stuttered thing it always did when he was near. He took a slow bite, deep-fried chocolate and powdered sugar clinging to his lips as he stared at you like he knew exactly what it did to you.
Across the table, Hayes groaned dramatically, leaning back in his seat. “God, I can’t watch this.”
“Then don’t,” Beau drawled without breaking eye contact with you, chewing thoughtfully as if there weren't eyes watching from across the table.
Austin leaned over to Bailey, “This is like watchin’ one of my Nan’s romance movies happen in real-time.”
Bailey snickered, giving his buddy a knowing glance. “She’s fightin’ it, but she’s doomed.”
Cheyenne, sipping her lemonade, grinned like a cat that caught the canary. “Ain’t it great?”
You rolled your eyes and tossed a napkin at her, but the laughter from the table only made her grin wider. The night spun on, the fair alive with neon lights and the chaotic hum of people. But no matter where you went, whether you were trying to escape to the petting zoo or drag Cheyenne over to the concession stand, Beau was there. He wasn’t pushing. Not outright following, but somehow he always seemed to find a way to be near. It wasn’t anything obvious—just a subtle presence that hung around, like a shadow you couldn’t shake.
By the time the Ferris wheel loomed overhead, its lights blinking in the dark like stars that had wandered too far from home, Cheyenne turned to you with that saccharine-sweet smile she saved for moments of pure, unadulterated mischief.
“I think I’ll sit this one out,” she cooed, her voice dripping with innocence—way too much innocence.
You barely had time to glare at her before your attention snapped back to the sound of Beau’s boots on the gravel. He’d been leaning against a nearby post like he was just casually waiting for the world to come to him, but now he pushed off and strolled toward you like he had nowhere better to be.
“Well,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning over you with that same easy grin he always wore. “Looks like you need a partner, huh?”
From behind him, the boys—who’d clearly been watching this play out like they were in the front row of a damn rodeo—made their bets.
Hayes was first to pitch in, his voice loud enough for you to hear from a mile away, “Bet you ten bucks she says no.”
Bailey, ever the optimist, shook his head. “Nah, she’s gone. Look at her.”
Cheyenne raised an eyebrow, tossing a look between you and Beau before throwing a dangerous grin at the guys. “I’ll bet all of you twenty that those two get married.”
Austin, ever the realist, just chuckled and shook his head, clearly not willing to make any bets. “Yeah, right, your cousin’s one helluva girl, Chey, but Beau’s got his pick of the litter.”
“And that look in his eye says he’s seeing nothing else but her,” Cheyenne shot back, her voice laced with confidence.
Beau just stood there, that smirk of his not going anywhere as he waited, knowing full well what was going through your head.
You wanted to say no. Wanted to roll your eyes, tell him he was full of himself, tell Cheyenne she was the worst for setting you up like this. Tell the laughing bunch of idiots to mind their own. Because your heart was hammering harder than it ever had—worse than the first time you were bucked off the back of a horse.
But you don't.
You let him lead you to the Ferris wheel, let him help you into the cart even though you didn’t need the help, let yourself feel the warmth of him next to you as the ride carried you higher and higher.
The Ferris wheel rocked gently as it climbed higher, the town stretching out below in a warm sprawl of wide pastures and glowing lights from the fairgrounds. From up here, the world felt small, the hum of carnival rides and laughter muffled by the height.
You swallowed, gripping the cool metal bar in front of you, trying not to fidget under the weight of his gaze. Beau was leaning back, one arm slung over the seat like he had all the time in the world, his knee knocking into yours every time the cart swayed.
“Didn’t take you for the shy type,” he murmured, voice low, teasing.
You scoffed, keeping your eyes on the blinking lights of the fairground. “I’m not shy.”
His smirk deepened, slow and knowing. “Oh, I know,” he drawled. “Just don’t think you’ve ever had a boy look at you the way I’m lookin’ at you now.”
Your fingers curled against the peeling paint of the safety bar as your stomach flipped—not from the height, not from the way the Ferris wheel jolted slightly as it came to a stop at the very top, but from him. From that voice, thick as molasses, and the way his green eyes traced your face like he was memorizing every little thing about you.
He was two years older, always just a step ahead, but never far enough to be out of reach.
After that night at the fair that pull between you was magnetic—unspoken but undeniable. Like gravity, like instinct, like something stitched into the fabric of who you were.
It started small. Brushing shoulders in crowded hallways, stolen glances across the stands at a football game, the way he’d always find you at a party, beer in hand, offering it to you with that slow, knowing grin.
Then it grew. Late-night drives down empty roads, the radio humming between easy conversation. Sitting on the tailgate of his truck, passing a bottle back and forth, watching the stars blink awake. Him showing up unannounced, leaning against your porch railing like he belonged there, just to ask, “You busy?”—and the answer was always no, not for him.
At every bonfire party, leaning against his truck with that slow, easy confidence, eyes locked on you as you twirled around with Cheyenne, laughter spilling into the night. Running out of his family’s barn to greet you in the driveway, always opening your car door for you, pulling you into a hug that left the scent of hay and dust clinging to your clothes. At the gas station on slow summer nights, leaving his truck door open as he filled the tank, saying something so damn funny it had you laughing until you snorted—something he never let you live down.
You grew up tangled in each other’s lives, inextricable. Beau was the first boy who ever made your heart stutter, the first set of hands you trusted to catch you when you fell. He was there when you turned sixteen, sneaking you out to the lake, exploring each other’s bodies beneath the moonlight while the cicadas sang. He was there at eighteen, always ready to hold you in his arms whenever the weight of the future pressed heavy on your shoulders.
No matter where life tugged you—through the petty bickering, breaking up one week just to get back together the next—you always found your way back to each other. Because you were Beau and he was you, because from that first night at the fair, something had settled into place.
And neither of you ever really let it go.
And now, even after you’ve spent more time apart than together, he’s standing in front of you again—older, broader, wearing the years like they did him a favor. The sharp angles of youth have settled into a sweet, defined ruggedness. The way he looks at you hasn’t changed—like he still knows you better than you know yourself.
Your fingers curl at your sides as you force yourself to stand still under his gaze, to not fidget under the weight of history pressing between you.
You swallow hard, shaking the heavy thoughts loose before clearing your throat. “Beau.”
His smile stays put, but something flickers behind those green eyes—something softer, something cautious. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he says, voice quieter now, rougher around the edges.
The warmth in his drawl tugs at something in your chest, something you thought you’d buried a long time ago. You exhale sharply, willing yourself to stay focused, to not get swept up in the sound of him.
Movement beside you catches your attention—the secretary, still perched at her desk, now leaning just slightly forward, chin propped in her hand, watching the two of you like she’s already writing the town gossip in her head.
You sigh, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “Think we could talk somewhere private?”
Beau doesn’t answer right away. He just watches you, long and steady, like he’s trying to piece together what the hell you’re doing here after all this time. Like he’s debating whether or not he wants to open that door again.
Eventually, he exhales through his nose, something unreadable passing over his face before he gives a slow shake of his head. Then, with a tilt of his chin, he steps back, pushing off the doorframe.
“After you, darlin’.”
And just like that, the past isn’t just a memory anymore. It’s standing right in front of you, waiting to see what you’ll do next.
You step inside, the scent of old paper greeting you as the door clicks shut behind you. The office is simple—wood-paneled walls, a heavy desk, a few dusty plaques hanging crooked. It suits him.
Beau goes over to the desk but doesn’t sit, just leans against the edge, arms loosely crossed as he watches you expectantly. You clear your throat, shifting your weight as you reach into your bag. The rustle of papers fills the quiet, and your pulse pounds as you pull out the documents, gripping them tighter than necessary.
“So,” you start, unfolding them with stiff fingers. “These are, um—” You exhale sharply, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. “Divorce papers.”
Beau doesn’t move right away. He just takes them from your hands, his brows pulling together as he flips through the pages. The silence stretches, thick and unyielding, as he skims over the fine print.
Your mouth is already running before you can stop it. “I know it’s been a long time, and I should’ve handled this sooner, but—well, life happened, and I’m moving south soon so I figured it was time, and I thought—” You huff a humorless laugh, rubbing your palm over your forehead. “I just figured I should finally do the right thing and bring these to you in person.”
Beau hums, still looking down at the papers, expression unreadable. Then, just as you’re bracing for him to say something—anything—he glances up and asks, “You been riding much these days?”
You blink. “What?”
“Horses,” he clarifies, flipping a page absently. “You still riding?”
You stare at him, momentarily thrown off balance. Here you are, standing in front of him with legal proof of the one thing still tying you together, and he’s asking about horses?
Your lips part, then close. Then part again before you shake your head, exasperated. “Beau, are you serious?”
His mouth quirks, just the faintest bit, before he shrugs. “It’s a simple question, darlin’.”
You let out a sharp breath, pressing your fingers to your temples. Of course. Of course, this is how he’s handling this.
Some things never change.
You huff out a sharp, “No,” crossing your arms, your irritation bubbling over.
Beau doesn’t seem fazed. If anything, the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s holding back a smirk. Without so much as a glance at the papers, he tosses them onto the desk beside him, the pages fanning out in a crumpled heap. Then, he braces his hands on the wood, leaning in just enough to shrink the space between you.
“Remember Indigo?” he asks, voice low and smooth.
Your breath catches.
Of course, you remember Indigo. The dapple-gray mare with the bright blue eyes and a stubborn streak as wide as the county line. She was your first real show horse, the one you begged your parents for when you were twelve, the one you spent years training, the one who knew your moods better than anyone else.
The one you left behind when you left Beau.
Your throat tightens, and you will yourself not to look away. But Beau’s watching you too closely now, his gaze full of something unreadable, something that makes your chest ache.
“Yeah,” you murmur, swallowing hard. “I remember.”
Beau leans back slightly, his hands pressing down on the edge of his desk as his gaze shifts to something distant, something hidden beneath that easy smile of his. "Got a whole lotta of offers for her after you left," he says, the words slipping out with a quiet, almost reluctant tone. His eyes flicker to you briefly, his gaze softening just a fraction. "But none of ‘em were good enough."
Your chest tightens, but you don’t let him see it, just nodding as you let the silence stretch for a moment.
He huffs out a quiet laugh, the sound a little bitter. "Ramsey Wilcox—hell, he was the worst of 'em all. Wouldn't leave me alone for weeks. I caught him at the bar one night—he's leanin’ against the counter, shootin' the shit with me, talkin’ ‘bout work and life, y’know, all that normal bullshit." Beau's lips curl in a playful sneer at the thought, his fingers rubbing at his jaw as he recalls the memory. "Then he pulls out his damn wallet. Thought he was showin' me a picture of his kids or something, but nah—he pulls out this check. Fifty grand, darlin'. Fifty thousand dollars, with Indigo written right there on the ‘for’ line."
You don’t even think about it. You cut in without hesitation. “She’s worth a whole lot more than that.”
Beau laughs, and the sound is easy, genuine—a warmth that you can feel even in the space between you. He nods, agreeing with you. "Hell, don’t I know. I told him that, too." But then his eyes narrow just a touch, and his expression shifts, like he’s thinking back to that moment—back to the guy with the check and the offer that tried to strip away a part of his world.
You raise an eyebrow, still waiting for him to tell you what he did next. “So what’d you do with that pretty penny?” you ask, trying to steel your tone, keep it light despite the anger seeping into your bones.
Beau holds your gaze for a long, drawn-out moment. His brows crease as he studies you, wracking his brain. He looks almost hurt by the words, but it’s gone as he shakes his head slowly.
"Took a sip of my beam," he starts, his voice low and deliberate, "and poured the rest of it right on that damn check. Just ruined it, right then and there."
A chuckle escapes him, but it’s not lighthearted like before—it’s something deeper. Something that only he understands. His eyes are warmer now, softer, as he reminisces, and you find yourself leaning in, waiting for him to continue.
"Little Miss Indigo’s got herself a nice pasture now, better than the paddock we fixed up for her when we first got the house," he says, his smile returning but in a quieter, more nostalgic way. "Course, she shares it with ‘ol Bud."
Your brows furrow as you glance toward the window, trying to process everything in that statement. Indigo—your horse. The one you left behind when you left Beau, the one you thought would be forgotten like so many other things in your past. You never imagined she’d still be there, still cared for as if no time had passed.
Beau looks at you with that same familiar, knowing gaze, as if nothing had changed. The years didn’t seem to have done much to him—he was still Beau, the guy who always had a story to tell, who never seemed to give a damn what anyone thought, who had a quiet way of making you feel like you were the most important person in the room.
And even now, after all this time, all those miles apart—it felt like you were still tethered to him in ways you couldn’t quite explain.
Your lips part, then press together as you blink at him. A quiet sort of disbelief settles in your chest, like you hadn’t expected him to say that.
Beau just watches you, still leaning back against the desk, arms crossed over his broad chest. His smile lingers, but there’s something else there now, something softer—something that twists in your gut.
"You kept her," you say, almost to yourself.
He scoffs, shaking his head. "’Course I kept her. What kinda man do you take me for?"
You look down, your fingers curling at your sides, heat creeping up your neck. You don’t know how to answer that—not when you were the one who left.
Beau doesn’t push. He just tilts his head, studying you like he’s trying to read between the lines of everything you’re not saying.
"You retired Bud?"
His grin deepens, eyes flashing with something smug. "Sure did, old bastard did good on the ranch. He came home with me last year, when I took up this new job."
There’s something dangerously warm settling in your chest. The kind of warmth you don’t know what to do with. Because even after all this time, even after all the miles and mistakes between you—Beau never really let go of the things that mattered.
Beau sighs, the weight of something unspoken hanging in the air as he shifts his weight back to his feet, walking over to the window. His back is turned to you now, but you can still feel his presence in the room—every inch of him is alive with quiet tension. The space between you seems to stretch, but there’s something magnetic pulling you in, as it always had.
He glances over his shoulder at you, his eyes still distant but the corners of his lips pulling into a half-smile, like he knows he’s already got you. “How ‘bout I take you to see the ‘ol girl?” His voice is steady, though it holds that same depth of nostalgia, the same gravity that has always drawn you closer to him.
Your chest tightens, a hesitant laugh escaping your lips as you bite your bottom lip, looking over at the divorce papers sitting on his desk. “Beau, I—”
He turns fully now, his gaze landing back on the papers, but there’s something in his eyes—something that makes you pause. His brow furrows as he watches the way you hesitate. It’s like he’s waiting for you to fight it, for you to push back one last time. But his voice, when it comes again, is softer, coaxing. “Then we can talk about me signin’ those papers of yours.”
The air between you thickens as you absorb his words. He’s still giving you an out, but you know it’s not an out you can take—not anymore. You’ve spent so much time avoiding this moment, but now it’s right here, hanging between you both like a thread that’s just about to snap. And it’s funny, you realize, how every time you came back to him, it never felt like you were going backward. It always felt like you were just finding your way home.
You swallow hard, your fingers curling around the divorce papers, tucking them back into your bag. Your gaze lifts to meet his. His face is unreadable, but in his eyes, you can see it—he’s offering you something far more important than just a tour of the pasture. He’s offering you the chance to fix the one thing that’s always been left broken.
"Okay," you whisper, your voice quieter than you expect, but it carries the weight of everything that’s unsaid between you. You feel the tension in your chest release, the knot loosening, and you take a slow step forward.
Beau’s lips twitch upward, a flicker of something soft passing through his eyes. He nods once, like he’s accepting your unspoken surrender, but he doesn’t make a big deal of it. Instead, he grabs his jacket from the back of the chair and swings it over his shoulders with that same easy, practiced movement you’ve always known. “Alright then,” he mutters, his voice a touch lighter now. “Let’s go.”
The drive to Beau’s place is quiet, the hum of the truck's engine lulling you into a strange calm. You watch the passing scenery but it doesn’t seem to register at first—too much noise, too many memories, too many feelings trying to fight their way through. The road seems to stretch endlessly, but it doesn’t feel like the long, winding path you remember from the past. It feels different now. Like the past is catching up to you, inch by inch.
And when you finally see the house again, your breath catches in your throat. It’s like seeing a ghost—something so familiar, but so far out of reach. You’re standing at the edge of something, a threshold you can’t quite cross. You feel out of place here, like there’s no space for you to fit anymore. The house, the land, the memories—all of it seems to hold its breath, waiting for you to step back into it. But you know the truth, the one Beau’s been side stepping for the past hour—you don’t belong here anymore.
Beau doesn’t say a word when he parks the truck, leaving the engine running for just a moment. His presence fills the air around you, and you can almost hear his thoughts as you both sit there in the quiet. It’s like he’s giving you space, allowing you to sort through whatever it is that’s twisting inside you.
Then, the door opens and he steps out, his boots crunching softly against the gravel as he walks to the passenger side. He pauses, standing still for just a beat before your door is creaking open. His eyes, patient and careful, lock onto yours as he leans against the side of the truck, waiting for you to climb out.
You move without bothering to say a word, because at this moment, you don’t need to. It’s like every step you take toward that house is one step closer to finding something you’d forgotten.
The house is still standing, unchanged in some ways, but you can see the subtle signs of age, of time catching up. The porch creaks underfoot as you walk up to it, your feet feeling too light, too heavy all at once. Beau follows behind you, a quiet presence that gives you the room to breathe.
But when you look out toward the pasture, you see her.
Indigo.
Your heart skips a beat at the sight. Her spotted coat glows in the late afternoon sun, the dapples of grey and white shimmering like they always did. She’s grazing lazily in the field, her movements graceful, as if time had never passed. The sight of her steadies you, somehow grounding you in the moment. Your discomfort starts to melt away, like the world slows down for just a second. She’s still here. She’s still yours.
Without thinking, your feet carry you across the front lawn toward the fence. Beau watches you closely, his eyes tracking every movement with the same careful attention he’s always had. As you reach the fence, you place your hand against the rough wood, the memories flooding back with every touch. Indigo’s head lifts, ears flicking in your direction. She trots over, a soft whinny escaping her as she noses into your palm, a familiar warmth that makes your heart ache with the depth of everything you’ve left behind.
Beau is beside you then, standing close enough for your arms to brush, his hand coming to rest gently on Indigo’s neck. He speaks softly to her, words you can’t quite make out, but the affection in his voice is unmistakable. You watch, mesmerized by the tenderness between him and your horse, feeling like an intruder in a life that could have been yours.
Then, as if remembering you’re there, Beau nudges your shoulder, his teasing smile returning. It’s easy, familiar—like nothing’s changed. “C’mon,” he says, the words low and laced with that hint of mischief you’ve always known so well. “Let’s get you saddled up.”
The warm afternoon sun filters through the trees as you and Beau ride through the trails behind his house, the quiet sounds of the horses’ hooves striking the dirt mingling with the chorus of birds overhead. The terrain out here is rugged, the trails winding through dense woods before opening up to rocky outcroppings and wide, sweeping views of the distant mountains. The earth smells rich, like the pine trees and fresh moss, and it’s easy to lose yourself in the rhythm of the ride, in the way the air feels on your face, crisp but gentle.
With that well-worn felt hat atop his head, the brim tilted just enough to shade his eyes, he looks so much like the Beau you knew. The one who lived for long days under the sun, for the smell of fresh-cut hay and the burn of whiskey after dark. He’s settled deep in the saddle, moving with easy confidence, the way he always did. Like he was born to be there. Like the saddle was just another part of him.
And that horse—the sleek Arabian beneath him—you remember the day he got Bud. He was too wild at first, too quick-footed, and for weeks, you watched Beau learn every quirk and stubborn streak he had, determined to turn him into a proper cattle horse. He swore up and down he’d never trust anything but a quarter horse, but damn if he didn’t rise to the challenge anyway. And now, watching him guide Bud through the tall grass with nothing but the shift of his weight and the sure pull of the reins, you can tell he’s as much a part of Beau as that damn hat.
For a moment, it’s like you’ve been thrown back in time. You can almost hear the reckless laughter of your younger selves, the way he used to tip his hat at you like he was some kind of cowboy out of a storybook, always playing at being larger than life. But that boy isn’t just a memory—he’s right here, riding beside you. He’s older, sure, a little more worn by time, the lines at the corners of his eyes a little deeper, but the heart of him—the thing that made him Beau—that’s still there.
Then, breaking the silence between you, Beau speaks up, his voice cutting through the peaceful backdrop.
“So, how’s the vet tech work been?” he asks casually, his gaze still forward as he guides his horse around a sharp bend in the trail.
It catches you off guard, and he can see it in the way your brows furrow when you glance over at him. He chuckles softly, a little nervous, like he’s realizing he might’ve just cracked a door open on something he wasn’t sure he should.
“Uh, yeah,” he continues, his voice a bit flustered now. “Probably should mention that Chey’s been keeping me posted on what you’ve been gettin’ up to over in Washington.”
“Uh-huh,” you murmur, a small sigh slipping out. Of course, Cheyenne has—she can’t help herself when it comes to you and Beau. She’s always been the bridge between the two of you, passing on every little detail. She’s always had a habit of rambling on about something special, something sacred existing between the two of you.
You made her stop talking like that a long time ago, on one of your darker nights, when the mere mention of his name made you angrier than you cared to admit. Still, you can’t help the surprise that Beau even cared enough to listen to those updates.
His eyes flick to you briefly, like he can read the shift in your mood, sensing the storm brewing behind your gaze. “Don’t worry that pretty little head of yours too much,” he adds softly. “She never tells me anything too personal. Just the milestones. You know, little tidbits here and there.”
You nod, trying to shake the tension that suddenly tightens in your chest. “Uh, well, it’s been good,” you answer after a beat. “I’ve been busy. Mostly small animal care, but a lot of emergencies. It’s intense, but I love it.”
Beau nods, his expression thoughtful, but there’s something else there too—quiet curiosity, the kind you haven’t seen in years. “Yeah? That’s good. Chey mentioned something about you helping with a few surgeries and—”
You feel the need to steer the conversation in a different direction before it gets too personal. You turn your gaze back to the trail ahead, focusing on the winding path that stretches out before you. “Well, actually, I’m heading to Colorado soon. Been thinking about making a move. Looking for something new. I think I’ll be able to get a job at one of the bigger animal hospitals down there. It feels like the next step.”
Beau nods again, absorbing the news, but before he can say anything, you feel a sudden surge of courage bubbling up in your chest. The question has been sitting there since the moment you saw him again, unanswered and waiting.
“What about you, Beau?” you ask, your voice tentative at first, but firm. “You’re the sheriff now, got this beautiful home and all... have you... found someone?”
For a moment, he doesn’t answer. He keeps his eyes trained ahead, guiding his horse with a steady hand. You can see the corners of his lips twitch, like he’s trying to hold back a smile—or maybe a laugh.
“Nope,” he says finally, shaking his head with a quiet chuckle. “No one worth mentioning, I suppose.”
His gaze flicks to you then, and there’s something in his eyes—a look of amusement, but also something deeper. “Girl of my dreams asking me if I’ve met someone? Thought I’d be the one asking you that after all this time, darlin’.”
You feel a little flustered, the old playful Beau returning in full force. He’s got that teasing look on his face, the one that always made you roll your eyes and laugh. You don’t have time to respond, though, because with a swift kick to his horse’s side, he speeds up, the sound of his horse’s hooves increasing in pace.
“Race ya back home, sassy!” he calls over his shoulder, his voice full of mischief, his tone dripping with that familiar nickname. The one he’s always called you.
Sassy.
You can’t help the smile that pulls at the corners of your mouth, that playful challenge luring you into action. The nickname, meant as a jab at your attitude all those years ago, is like a thread tying you back to something simpler. Something good. . .
You stood near the fence line at his family’s ranch, arms crossed, your boots dug into the dirt like you were planting yourself there just to spite him.
Beau, for his part, looked entirely unbothered, his hands resting casually on his belt, that easy, damn near infuriating smirk playing on his lips. He had a way of looking at you like he knew exactly what you were going to say before you even opened your mouth.
“That damn attitude of yours is somethin’ else, y’know that?” he chuckled, shaking his head like you were amusing him.
Your scowl deepened. “Yeah? Why don’t I just go on home then so you can quit dealing with my damn attitude?”
Beau let out a full laugh at that, shoulders jumping with the force of it. Like you hadn’t just told him off. Like you didn’t mean it. And maybe you didn’t—not really—but you sure as hell wanted him to think you did.
“Hell no,” he drawled, still grinning. “Sassy as all hell, that’s what you are.”
Your pout stayed firm, arms tightening across your chest, but your traitorous heart wasn’t nearly as steady. Not with the way he was looking at you. Not with that warmth in his eyes—like he liked it. Like he wouldn’t have you any other way.
He sighed then, soft and a little exasperated, but there was something else beneath it, something deeper. Before you could react, he stepped closer, tilting his head down and pressing a kiss to your forehead, his lips warm against your skin.
You barely had time to process it before he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you against his chest. The scent of him surrounded you, familiar and steady in a way that made your stomach flip.
“My sassy miss,” he murmured against your hair, the words quiet, like they weren’t meant for anyone but you.
And just like that, your resolve wavered, your heartbeat betraying you as it hammered hard against your ribs. You wanted to stay mad. You really, really did. But damn it was hard to hold onto your fire when he could hold you like you were something precious.
As you and Beau walk through the back door into the house, the familiar scent of wood and leather instantly wraps around you, bringing back memories of long days spent in this place. You can hear the low hum of the fridge in the kitchen, the creak of the wooden floors beneath your boots. It’s all so familiar, yet it feels like you’re stepping into a time that doesn’t quite belong to you anymore.
Beau opens the door with a casual, almost lazy gesture, stepping aside to let you enter first. He follows, continuing the story that seemed too good not to share. “Anyways,” he grins, “I was at this fundraiser over in town—one of those fancy events where everyone’s trying to impress each other. I’m talkin’ big names, expensive suits, and of course, I show up looking like I’ve never even heard of a tailor in my life.”
You snort, imagining Beau in an unflattering suit.
"So I’m talking to this big-shot rancher, trying to keep my cool, right? But I’m just so out of my element. I reach for my drink, and somehow—don’t ask me how—I knock the whole damn thing over. It spills everywhere. I'm not talking a little dribble, I'm talking splashing all over this poor woman’s white dress. The whole room goes silent, and I’m standing there like I’ve just committed a crime."
You’re already laughing, but Beau doesn’t stop there.
"Then, of course, I try to salvage the situation. I offer her my napkin—a paper napkin—like that’s gonna fix it. She looks at me like I’m crazy. And me? Instead of apologizing and walking away like any sane person would, I try to make a joke out of it. 'Guess I was just trying to add some color to the party,' I say."
You shake your head, still laughing. "I bet that went over well."
Beau shrugs with a sheepish grin. "Yeah. Not my best moment. She didn’t even crack a smile. But hey, at least I made an impression. I’m sure she won’t forget me anytime soon."
You can’t help the laugher that spills out, a full, genuine laugh that bubbles up from somewhere deep inside you. It’s loud and unrestrained, and for a moment, you feel lighter. The sound feels like it belongs in this place, like you’ve come home after all these years, even if it’s only for a short while.
Beau watches you, a smile tugging at his lips, and his eyes—those familiar watchful eyes—never leave you. His grin falters for just a second, something deeper, more serious, taking its place. But he doesn’t say anything, instead nudging you gently as he walks past.
Beau looks at you, his expression soft but purposeful. He nods toward the staircase. “Why don’t you get cleaned up?” he says, voice low but steady. “I’ll wait for you down here. We’ve got some talking to do, I know, but I also know how you get when you’ve got hay and dirty clinging to every bit of you.”
You nod, feeling a mixture of exhaustion and strange contentment. “Yeah,” you murmur, “you’re not wrong about that.”
You make your way up the stairs, the familiar creak of the old wood beneath your feet grounding you in this space. As you pass the hallway, your eyes fall on the little pieces of yourself scattered around the house, tucked away in corners where they’ve stayed all this time. The trinkets you left behind, the blankets you’d picked out together, the small knick-knacks that somehow still hold your mark. There’s no pictures of you, no wedding photos displayed, but it’s there in the details, in the softness of the place that’s held on to you, even after all this time.
You reach the bathroom, the air warm and comforting, and step into the shower. The water rushes over you, and as the steam fills the room, it’s like you’re letting go of all the distance, the years, the heartache.
When you step out, wrapped in a towel, you make your way to the dresser and pull open the drawer. A smile tugs at your lips when you see an old pair of your pajama pants still tucked away, folded neatly beside a few other forgotten clothes. It’s like you never left, like a small part of you has stayed here even when you weren’t.
Slipping on one of Beau’s old shirts, the fabric soft and worn, you feel a strange sense of comfort in the familiarity. The scent of his cologne lingers on the shirt, and for a second, it’s like you’re still that girl who used to live here, who used to be his.
You make your way downstairs, your footsteps muffled on the carpeted stairs, and follow the sound of music drifting from the front porch. When you step outside, you find Beau sitting on the porch bench, his legs stretched out before him, looking out at the pasture as the setting sun casts a golden glow across the land.
The music playing from a little radio beside him is soft with the buzzing of the crickets picking up as the day comes to it’s end. It’s still early spring, when the breeze and the sun take part in a sweet little dance. Like Montana itself is trying to lure you back in.
Beau’s got a long neck in one hand, and a little mug of tea in the other.
He doesn’t say anything when you sit down beside him, just hands you the mug wordlessly, as if it’s always been the unspoken thing to do. You take it, inhaling the sweet scent of chamomile tea, your favorite.
You raise an eyebrow at him, your voice soft and teasing. “I know you don’t drink this stuff.”
Beau just shrugs, his gaze still focused on the pasture. “Yeah, yeah,” he says nonchalantly, “still had a tin in the back of the cupboard. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”
The gesture is simple, but it hits you harder than you expected. Maybe it’s the way the tea warms your soul, how sitting beside Beau now feels no different than when you were fourteen, or eighteen, or twenty. You wrap your hands around the mug, the warmth seeping into your skin, and you let the silence settle between you, feeling the weight of the moment.
But after a while, it’s you who breaks the silence.
“We really gotta talk about those papers, Beau,” you say softly, your voice almost hesitant, as if you’re not sure how to broach it.
He finally looks at you, his eyes holding that deep, steady gaze that makes it impossible to hide anything. His fingers tighten around the bottle in his hand, and he nods slowly, his voice low and sincere.
“I know, darlin’, I know,” he says, his words slow and deliberate. “Just let me sit here with you, alright? Just like this. Then we’ll go inside, and you can have the bed. I’ll take the couch. Then I’ll sign those papers in the morning.”
You nod, the quiet moment stretching between you both, filling the space with a tenderness that feels oddly comforting.
“I’m not the one you need, Beau," your voice comes out soft, hesitant as you try to grip tight onto remnants of your will to keep him at arms length. "I’m not that same girl you grew up next to, all that fire and fun, it died out a long time ago.”
His chest puffs with the deep sigh he takes, his eyes staying trained on the setting sun, “I always loved that fire in you, Sassy.” Then he turns, his arm finding it’s place against the back of the bench, his fingers just barely brushing your shoulder. “But that ain't the only thing I loved.”
The sun continues to dip lower in the sky, casting a soft glow over the pasture as you sit beside him, your hands still wrapped around the tea, the gentle hum of the music and the distant sound of the horses your only company. And you can’t find the words to respond to that, not now—hell, you’re not sure you ever will.
tags <3 @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @daylighted @jollyhunter @soldiersgirl @bejeweledinterludes @bluemerakis @cowboysandcigarettes @dulcescorderitas @couturewinx @ultravi0lence14 @figthoughts
More Posts from Writtenbyhollywood and Others
Feeding my delusions 💋
Dating Hayden Christensen headcanons x NotFamous!Reader. | Fluff, slight nsfw topics since this would be a relationship with an older man.
°°°
˙ . ꒷ ˙— Naturally so, the age gap made him hesitate at first, his mind was plagued with self doubt. 'She's so young', 'she could be my daughter, even if she's already an adult', 'people might think I'm taking advantage— would I be taking advantage? I don't want to do that,' 'would I want my kid to date someone my age when she's older? Absolutely not.' '...It's just lunch, what's the worst that can happen?'
In the end, there was something about you that he couldn't shake off, eventually leading to him asking for your number when he knew your shift was about to end- very awkwardly, might I add. No, fame did not make him a smooth talker. At all. And he was busy hoping you wouldn't find him creepy for asking you out! But you didn't, you said yes. A little too quick.
˙ . ꒷ ˙— First date would be something low-key, especially now that he's back in the public eye. He knows he has to be careful, so he'd be mindful of that. He's a classy gentleman, no quickies in the bathroom as fun that may be that's for when you're already an established couple. If not a simple lunch, dinner at a nice restaurant. I do think he'd first take you out for lunch, though. Dinner is too serious and despite being 43, he probably doesn't want to make himself look and sound much more boring and older than he already is. Besides, lunch is quicker, if you wished to run away, you could. Dinner would be a guaranteed second date.
˙ . ꒷ ˙— I don't believe he'd take you out with the sole purpose of sleeping together, he's at an age where you're either living the bachelor life or settling down. He's got a kid, any hookups he might have are super low-key and most likely with coworkers. With you it would be different, when the time is right. Best believe he won't be taking you to a motel. He's doing this the right way and he's a patient fella. Now, this man screams vanilla, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with this! I mean think about it, having your handsome man who tends to hold some pretty intense eye contact, during missionary, holding your gaze, whispering sweet nothings... Heaven. Besides, there's plenty of time to grow bolder together, sexually speaking. You're younger than him, you will, without a doubt, wake a monster in him. Embrace it.
˙ . ꒷ ˙— He doesn't talk much, it's just who he is. We've seen how awkward he is during interviews, I'm pretty sure his co-workers have confirmed that he isn't a yapper. Especially when he's drained for the day, he'd sit down next to you and quietly read while you're scrolling on your phone on a lazy day. I believe he'd be a great listener instead! Everything you say? He's committing to memory.
˙ . ꒷ ˙— Each time you went to his home you'd take notice of subtle changes that made it obvious he truly listened to you. Suddenly your favorite snacks are stacked up in his pantry. The blinds will be in your favorite color. Little stuff that shouldn't really matter that much, but they do.
˙ . ꒷ ˙— He's so fatherly that it isn't all that surprising how gladly he'll detangle and braid your hair for you after a long day. He'll be so focused, too! With his bottom lip or his tongue slightly sticking out a bit. Cute!
˙ . ꒷ ˙— He is experienced, and by that I don't necessarily mean in bed. He's used to being in long-term relationships, so he'll have a better understanding about how this dynamic would work. He knows which are his faults and he'd work on bettering himself. Despite popular belief, the fact that he's older doesn't make a relationship with him any simpler, he's only human. But Hayden is more than willing to navigate this with you.
˙ . ꒷ ˙— As an established relationship, dates would be thoughtful but not necessarily extravagant all the time. Dinners, Lana Del Rey concerts, hockey games, picnics, trips to the beach, coffee dates, making DIYs on a lazy Saturday, shopping, etc..
˙ . ꒷ ˙— You make him feel young again, but there are times where he's reminded of his age, maybe because you playfully called him an old man, or perhaps you used modern slang that he can't understand. Both of you are always learning from each other, it can be amusing and sometimes irritating.
˙ . ꒷ ˙— He's not active on social media, but you will show him TikToks, maybe some of the fanfics you read before dating him. Hayden would in return show you some old, not so funny memes or photos that he might find by chance. Bless his heart, he's trying to be relatable here!
˙ . ꒷ ˙— He will spoil you. Spoil you. And spoil you. Not only is he a gentleman, I feel like his fatherly ways would reflect on you too. He's a family oriented man, and you're one of the most important women of his life. He will buy you anything you want, especially if he knows it has something to do with your hobbies.
˙ . ꒷ ˙— Normally, Hayden isn't immature or prone to jealousy, but soon enough he'll learn that he's growing a little too possessive of you. He's not one to snap at people or paparazzi, but he'll be glaring in every single photo taken without permission when he's out with you. The pictures will also show him very quickly hiding you behind him.
˙ . ꒷ ˙— If you're pregnant, he will be so protective of you. You want to go down some stairs? He'll grab your hand and your waist. Oh we're going shopping? Sure, but take 10 minutes to sit down and rest, every two to three stores. You're craving a smoothie? He already has his wallet out, but don't order anything too sugary because he wants you healthy! Your feet hurt? Shoes off, he's giving you a massage!
˙ . ꒷ ˙— And since we're in the topic of pregnancy, I do believe this man would be almost illogically feral for you and your changing body. It's biology, baby! Pure instinct. Suddenly he's not so vanilla anymore.
˙ . ꒷ ˙— Cuddling.
˙ . ꒷ ˙— More cuddling.
˙ . ꒷ ˙— Even more cuddling, have you seen him? Duh. I'd cuddle with him.
˙ . ꒷ ˙— Be ready for the holidays, he celebrates them all! Be prepared to match ugly Christmas sweaters, and take cheesy family portraits.
˙ . ꒷ ˙— But most importantly, prepare yourself for being... loved. This man will be your home. Your safe space. He's the type of man you only find once, so hold him tight and never let go.
Bunny (P12)
Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reader
summary: Struggling to keep her and JJ’s home afloat, Y/N turns to the only option that guarantees fast cash- stripping at a club on the Cut. But when Rafe Cameron catches her in the act, he sees the perfect opportunity to tighten his grip around her life.
a/n: well bazinga. here we are- I'm loving you guys all fangirling over rafe and bunny cause they're such cutie patooties. But happiness is not for free, so I'm really really sorry about this one- I hope ya'll can forgive me. (and rafe) (idk if I can)
warnings: angst :(, alcohol, smoking, weed, violence, fights, drunkenness, rafe being a little bitch
(P1) (P2) (P3) (P4) (P5) (P6) (P7) (P8) (P9) (P10) (P11) (P12)
The air is heavy with the lingering warmth of the day, the sky streaked with dying gold and violet as Y/N steps out the back exit of the country club. The low hum of insects fills the silence, broken only by the soft scrape of her boots against the pavement. Her shoulders are tired, the strap of her bag crumpled in one hand, and she taps her phone screen with the other, the glow casting light across her features, a new message flashing on the screen.
JJ : Lost my charger again
JJ. : Its okay tho cuz I took yours
JJ : I'll give it back
JJ : (I won't)
A laugh spills quietly from her lips, soft and genuine. That familiar feeling of warmth spreads through her chest at his messages. It'd been a few weeks since she'd come back from Charleston- since JJ had finally got a job. And she had to admit he was trying, really trying, so now their long awkward conversation which ended with deafening silence had eased in to sweet and stupid messages and playful banter which filled the walls of their bedrooms once more. Her fingers typed out a reply—
Y/N : u better u loser
She places the phone into her pocket and glances up- and then stops dead in her tracks. Her car’s parked at the far end of the staff lot, right where she left it but what she didn’t leave, was the sleek black Range Rover sitting beside it, the glossy paint catching the orange hues of the setting sun. She stiffens immediately, scanning the lot, no one around and her steps towards her car quicken. The driver’s side door opens, and Rafe steps out, tall and unbothered, his hands in the pockets of his dark jacket, and there’s that stupid smirk playing on his lips. Her heart jumps straight into her throat. “Rafe—” she hisses under her breath, marching toward him with panic in her eyes.
“What the hell are you doing here?!”
He lifts a shoulder in a casual shrug, voice low and smooth, “What? I can’t come see you?”
“Not in the staff parking lot,” she snaps in a hushed whisper, “Do you want someone to see you? What if someone from inside walks out—”
“Relax”
He says gently, stepping forward and before she can argue more, his hands are at her hips, warm and familiar, tugging her closer until her body is brushing against his in the narrow space between the cars. The proximity knocks the air from her lungs. Her hands instinctively rest against his chest, palms flat over the material of his t-shirt where she can feel his heartbeat, steady and calm beneath her fingers.
Hers? Not so much.
“There’s no one around...”
He murmurs, head tilted down as he looks at her, his voice softer now, velvety and coaxing and her breath catches. She should push him away. She should tell him this is reckless, stupid, dangerous. But his scent- musky and alluring- clouds her thoughts. And his touch, just the lightest press of fingertips against the small of her back— is so familiar now, so comforting in its own twisted way. And she hates that it’s comforting. Her fingers twitch against his chest. She finally manages a whisper her words stubborn,
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“I know,” he says, and there’s the smallest hint of a smile in his voice as he leans in just a fraction closer, breath ghosting against her temple.
“But I wanted to be.”
She rolls her eyes with a long, exaggerated sigh, but her lips betray her- tugging upward at the corners, betraying the way he’s already wormed his way into her mood.
“We’re gonna get caught”
She mutters under her breath, glancing toward the dark stretch of the staff lot like someone might materialise from the shadows. The words barely leave her lips, soft and hurried, like they know better than to draw attention. Rafe just smirks, tilting his head down slightly, his chin angling toward her as he closes the few inches left between them.
“Not if you kiss me quick”
He says, voice low and roughened with amusement. Her eyes squint in a playful glare, head pulling back a fraction.
“You’re so annoying.”
But her body leans in all the same.
Her fingers find the soft t-shirt, curling into the fabric without even thinking. She rises onto the balls of her feet, just barely, and presses a kiss to his lips. It’s quick and light—barely a brush. Just a flicker of warmth, like a secret passed between two people in the dark. As she pulls away, his face follows hers- like his lips are trying to chase the kiss she’s already taken back. He doesn’t even think about it, just dips forward slightly, a greedy edge in his movement. She breathes out a small laugh, pushing against his chest with a single finger. “Nope,” she says, her smile widening.
“I'm hungry.”
"Yeah well so am I"
He lets his hands slip from her hips with a groan that’s more for show than anything, head rolling back as he leans against the hood of his car. She just shrugs, the inuendo lost on her ears as she adjusts the bag on her shoulder.
“You’re such a tease Bunny”
He drawls and she snorts, already turning on her heel to head toward the trunk of her car.
“I don’t know what you mean Cameron.”
Her fingers make quick work of the car key, popping the trunk. She grabs the rolled-up apron resting on top her bag and tosses it in alongside her worn-out tote bag, the whole thing collapsing into a pile on top of an old hoodie and a dented water bottle. The sound of the trunk slamming shut echoes across the empty lot. Spinning back around to face him, she crosses her arms and leans her weight into one hip, chin tilted up with that same little smile that drives him crazy.
“You really wanna get caught by one of your little Kook friends out here with me?” she teases, cocking a brow. “Have to explain why you’ve been slumming it with a Pogue?”
His smirk twitches- just a smidge. For the briefest moment, his expression shifts and something softer creeps into it. Something a little more sincere. His gaze lingers on her face longer than it should and then flickers back down to her lips before returning back up again.
“Wouldn’t care if they did”
He says simply, a quiet shrug rolling off his shoulders as if he means it, as if it's the simplest answer in the world. It catches her off guard- freezes her for a beat. Her mouth opens, then closes again but she recovers quick, brushing it off with a scoff and a roll of her eyes.
“You’re so full of shit.”
But even as the words leave her lips, there’s a faint flicker of something else behind her voice- something almost moved. Something she doesn’t want to name because it’s been a few weeks since that night.
A few weeks since she tilted her milkshake to her lips and he wiped the sweet drip from her skin with his thumb like it meant nothing. Since he kissed her like he’d been holding back for months and she melted into it like her body had been waiting on that exact moment to exhale. And since then? It’s been a series of late-night meet ups that feel like a secret thread connecting them. Not the kind that spun in lies—but the kind too delicate to speak aloud. The kind you carry with careful hands and quiet hearts in fear of it snapping. Every night, after her shift ends and the world turns quiet, she finds him waiting. Always parked in the back corner of some parking lot—headlights off, music low and she slips into the passenger seat without a word, throws her bag in the back, kicks off her shoes, and leans over to kiss him like she’s been holding her breath all day.
The kisses are slow at first. Always. A shared pause. But then they tip into something deeper, heavier—like they’re trying to memorise each other without crossing any lines they haven’t drawn out loud- but it never goes further than that. His hands stay respectful, if not reverent- one cupping her jaw, the other braced on the back of her seat or tangled gently on her waist, on her hip, in her hair. Her fingers clutch the hem of his shirt like a tether, holding on but not pulling him in any closer than he already is.
There’s a quiet fire, always simmering, but neither of them dare feed it too much. Neither of them dare ask what they are. It’s easier this way. Safer. They stay pressed into the quiet hum of those car rides, the warmth of shared fries, the heat of stolen kisses in the dark, and the steady, unspoken beat of something they’ve both grown addicted to but don’t yet understand.
Rafe leaned against the top of her car, forearms braced over the roof like he had all the time in the world. The late golden hour sun dipped low, casting long shadows over the near-empty staff lot behind the country club. His eyes squinted slightly from the light, jaw sharp as ever, that casual grin tugging at the corner of his mouth “What’s your hurry today, huh?” he drawled lazily, peering down at her with a teasing glint.
“You extra hungry or what?”
Y/N huffed, already halfway into the driver’s seat of her little beat-up car, one leg in, one out, “No asshole- I just don’t want anyone to spot us, okay?”
Rafe chuckled under his breath, the sound low and unbothered. He shrugged one shoulder and pushed off the car just enough to stretch lazily.
“It’s not a big deal.”
She snapped her head up to look at him, her tone sharper now, “Yeah, actually Rafe—it is a big deal. Because if JJ finds out—”
“I know”
He cut in, dragging a hand over his jaw, irritation flashing in his eyes. “If JJ finds out, he’ll be mad. Whatever. I get it, okay? No need to tell me again.”
The words hung between them for a second, heavier than either wanted them to be. The silence wasn’t angry- but it was tense. The same argument they hadn’t quite had, bubbling beneath their stolen moments. He stood there now by her open car door, his figure blocking some of the sunlight, casting a soft shadow over her where she sat inside the car. From where she was, her eye level landed right at his belt. Her gaze softened a bit, guilt tugging at her gut. Then her hand came up, absent-minded and almost sheepish, her fingers catching on the loop of his jeans. She played with it lightly, tugging once. A peace offering. His eyes flicked down to her hand, then to her face, jaw still tight. She asked quietly, tilting her head up at him with a playful sort of pout, brows lifted just a touch.
“You mad..?”
“No,” he replied, voice low. “Why would I be mad?”
She shrugged, still toying with the denim loop, “I dunno. I thought—” she cut herself off, shaking her head a little, “Doesn’t matter.”
Rafe didn’t press. He let it hang, then gave a soft hum, looking around the lot- empty still, save for their two cars and the rustle of wind through the nearby trees. “So,” he drawled, rocking back slightly on his heels.
“We going to get something to eat or what?”
Y/N brightened a little, grateful for the pivot. “I’m feelingggg…” she stretched the word dramatically, “Chinese?”
He smiled at that slightly, nodding, “Chinese sounds good.”
“Cool,” she said, pulling her legs fully into the car now, “I’ll meet you there then?”
He gave a small nod, “Yeah… yeah.”
But she could tell- by the way he paused before turning away, by the way his fingers twitched at his side- that he was still holding onto a bit of a grudge. He hadn’t gotten his kiss, not a real one. And that wounded pride was showing, even if he tried to hide it behind his nonchalant façade. She rolled her eyes with a soft exhale- who would have thought Rafe Cameron was so needy?
Reaching up, she curled her fingers into the front of his T-shirt, tugging him gently back down toward her, guiding him until he bent slightly, face now level with hers. His breath hitched, eyelashes fluttering as he leaned into her touch. She kissed him then- firm, but warm. Just enough to melt that sulking tension in his brow. His lips moved against hers with a soft hum, his hand bracing on the edge of her door as he leaned in a fraction more, savouring it. When she pulled back, his eyes were still half-lidded, lips parted like he wanted to chase her mouth again.
“You done now, you baby?”
She murmured with a crooked smile, eyes teasing but fond. Rafe’s smirk returned, slow and smug. “Yeah,” he murmured, straightening up,
“I’m done now.”
And with that, he backed away from the car, hands in his jacket pockets like he hadn’t just been melting under her touch. She watched him retreat toward his car, her heart doing that dumb little flutter it always did lately, it lingered in her chest. Just as his door swung open, he looked back over his shoulder, eyebrows raised.
“Don’t forget the egg rolls.”
She rolled her eyes and started her car.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The quiet hum of the radio filled the space between them, the soft crackle of music soothing after a long day. They sat there in the dim light of the car, the smell of Chinese food mingling with the fresh evening air that drafted in through the slightly cracked window. Y/N leaned back against the seat, her legs tucked up beneath her as she dug into her takeout container. Rafe sat beside her, elbow propped up on the door, his free hand reaching for his food, the sound of plastic utensils scraping against the containers faint in the otherwise still air. Rafe asked, his voice low as he finally broke the silence, his eyes flicking over to her as he stuffed a piece of chicken in his mouth.
“How was work?”
“It was… okay”
Y/N muttered, chewing before she continued, eyes shifting away from him for a moment, “Had this asshole customer... one of your friends actually.”
“One of my friends? Who?”
Rafe’s brow furrowed, his gaze narrowing slightly in curiosity as he put his food down. Y/N rolled her eyes as she leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest, her expression calm despite the frustration in her voice.
“That guy Brett? The one you hang out with sometimes. Total jerk.”
“Why, what did he do?”
Her expression tightened as she recounted the experience, “he kept clicking his fingers in my face like I was some kind of dog, and whenever I went over to his table, he called me ‘waitress’ like I’m not even good to have a name? God he was so patronising.”
“He really did that?”
He asked, disbelief creeping into his tone, jaw clenched. Y/N tilted her head toward him, not missing the change in his expression.
“Yeah, why? You don’t believe me?”
“No” He muttered, his voice hardening a little as he picked up his food again, his hand gripping the chopsticks tighter than necessary.
“I believe you.”
He took a bite, chewing slowly as he fought the frustration that was rising inside him. A small silence settled between them, the only sound the soft clinking of their chopsticks against the takeout containers. Rafe didn’t like that she had to deal with people like that, didn’t like it one bit.
“What’re you doing tomorrow?”
He asked, his voice casual, but something unreadable flickered in his eyes. Y/N turned her head slowly toward him, her expression soft but guarded as she mumbled,
“Working.”
Rafe blinked raising an eyebrow, “It’s Saturday…?”
“Yeah, and?” She shrugged, taking another bite of her food, her voice low and almost dismissive. “I’m broke, Rafe. I’m always working.”
His eyes darkened again as he placed his food down with a soft clink, his fingers tapping against the lid of the container. He wasn’t about to let this go- he hated it, and they both knew it. He took a sip of his drink, the cold liquid hitting his throat like a jolt, but it did nothing to cool the fire that was building in him. He put the cup back in the cup holder with a sigh, his voice quieter but still firm.
“I don’t see why you can’t just take a break. You don’t always have to work.”
“We’re not having this conversation again Rafe.”
Y/N’s eyes flickered over to him, her face hardening slightly as she gave him a pointed look. He frowned, the words heavy in the air.
“Look, I get that maybe you think it’s embarrassing to accept my—”
“If you keep talking about this,” she interrupted, her tone sharper now, “I’m getting out of your car.”
His eyes narrowed as he looked at her, taking in the shift in her expression- the quiet defensiveness there, the exhaustion she was trying to hide. He didn’t want to push her too hard, but he couldn’t stop himself from trying. He paused, the weight of her words sinking in, then gave a short, almost defeated nod, like he was choosing to back off of the subject for now. Y/N didn’t say anything in response, her eyes softening as she turned back to her food, the brief tension hanging in the air like smoke. She had already given him her answer. She had already drawn the line before, and Rafe knew he’d have to respect it—for now. The silence that settled between them wasn’t heavy but it wasn’t uncomfortable either. Just... quiet. Their takeout containers were nearly empty now, the scent of soy and spice lingering faintly in the car, blending with the low hum of music still playing in the background. Y/N had reclined her seat a bit, one leg tucked up under the other, the other stretched out, socked foot resting against the dashboard. Her shoes sat forgotten on the floor, and a soft breeze drifted in through the cracked window, brushing gently against her skin.
Rafe glanced over at her, his arm draped over the back of her seat, thumb idly brushing the seam of the leather. She looked content, even if a little tired- hair slightly messy from the day, lashes casting soft shadows across her cheekbones as she stared out at nothing in particular. He liked seeing her like this, unfiltered.
“There’s a party tomorrow night”
He said suddenly, voice quiet but breaking the lull between them. He reached forward, placing his empty cup in the holder before leaning back again, tapping a slow rhythm on his thigh. She turned her head lazily, brows knitting together slightly.
“A party?”
He nodded, “One of the beach houses on Figure Eight. Bunch of people’ll be there.” He paused, then looked over at her, expression unreadable.
“You should come.”
“Me?”
Her head lifted a little more now, blinking at him like she wasn’t sure she’d heard that right. “Yeah.” He gave a slow shrug, feigning casual, but his eyes were locked on hers, watching closely.
“I’m gonna be there...”
“Since when do you want me showing up to a Kook party?”
Y/N sat up slightly in her seat, feet slipping from the dashboard and landing softly on the floor. He smirked lightly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Since now.”
There was a beat of silence, then another. Her gaze searched his face, trying to find the catch—but there wasn’t one. Just Rafe, looking at her like he didn’t care if the whole island had something to say about her. She asked, voice lower now, almost testing him.
“You serious?”
“Yeah- I am.”
He leaned a little closer, one arm still draped along the back of her seat. Y/N pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, watching him, chewing over the offer in her mind. The idea of being in that world with no responsibilities- even just for a night- felt risky. Foreign. But something in the way he was looking at her made it hard to say no.
“I don't know Rafe... I’d stick out like a sore thumb besides people will talk-”
"-people always talk”
He shot back cutting her off slightly, amused as she frowned slightly, arms crossing tighter as she shook her head a little.
“This is different. You know it is.”
Rafe tilted his head thinking deeply, but didn’t press her just yet, “Your friend’s gonna be there,” he said instead, voice smooth as ever.
“My—what? Who?”
“Sofia, right?”
He squinted slightly and Y/N straightened a little, her mouth dropping open at the mention of the girls name.
“Sofia’s going?”
“Yeah.” He was smirking now. “That guy she’s been seeing? The new Kook on the island? He’s the one throwing it.”
“She hasn’t told me that,” Y/N muttered, staring at him.
“Well.” He turned more toward her, resting his elbow against the console and tapping the edge of her thigh with his fingers playfully.
“Looks like you’re not the only one with a dirty little secret.”
She let out a shocked laugh, eyes widening at the words passing his lips before narrowing her gaze at him as she shoved his shoulder back, playful but not gentle,
“You’re such a dick, Cameron.”
He only grinned, letting her shove him- indulging in the feeling of her touch even if momentary. Y/N gave a little scoff and turned away, but her smile lingered. A beat of silence passed over them before she spoke out, “Fine,” she said, like it pained her to admit it.
“I guess I can… think about it.”
“Think about it?” Rafe echoed with mock offense, sitting up straighter, “Seriously?”
“Mhm.”
She didn’t look at him this time, just smirked and reached down to close her container, the sound of clicking plastic filling the car. She then bent over placing it down on the floor, and as she sat back up Rafe leaned in closer again, slower this time, the tip of his nose brushing her jaw before his lips followed. He kissed the curve beneath her ear, then slowly worked his lips down the side of her neck.
"Maybe I can persuade you to come hmm...?"
“You’re such a perv”
She mumbled through a grin, her hand finding his chest and giving him a half-hearted push. He pulled back slightly, lips acting from her skin as he muttered,
“So… still a no?”
“Fine... I’ll come.”
She rolled her eyes, biting back a smile that betrayed her. Rafe sat back accomplished as he spoke out, “Knew you'd give in.”
“But,” she added, wagging a finger at him. “You’re not glued to me all night, okay? Or people will notice.”
“Relax. We’ll keep it lowkey.”
He gave her that cocky, lopsided grin again and before she could snark back another smart-assed comment, he hit the button on the side of his seat. With a low mechanical whir, his chair reclined all the way back, and he stretched out like a king- arms behind his head, t-shirt rising just enough to show a sliver of his toned stomach. Then he patted his thigh, smirking.
“So… where were we?”
Y/N shook her head, heat prickling her cheeks as she shifted toward him again, “You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, but her knees were already crawling across the seat.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sun had long dipped below the tree line now, and the soft golden wash of string lights gave the Chateau its usual hazy, warm glow. A lazy summer night settled in with the gentle hum of cicadas in the distance and the low bass of music crackling from the old speaker propped up on a makeshift crate. Everyone was sprawled out in their usual places- Cleo had her legs kicked up on the railing, passing a blunt between her fingers, while Pope leaned back in one of the rickety lawn chairs, letting the smoke curl from his mouth toward the night sky. JJ was stretched across the hammock, shirtless of course, balancing a beer on his chest while making some offhand joke that had Kiara snorting into her drink. John B sat on the edge of the porch, Sarah curled comfortably in his lap, her fingers absentmindedly threading through his messy hair as she hummed along to the music. Then, like she suddenly remembered something juicy, Sarah’s voice piped up.
“Oh! I almost forgot to tell you guys.”
Everyone’s eyes flicked toward her lazily, half-baked or halfway drunk. JJ raised an eyebrow, already skeptical. “There’s this party tomorrow night. One of the beach houses on Figure Eight — some rich kid’s throwing it. But I got the invite,” she emphasized with a little smirk, twirling a lock of her blonde hair,
“which means you guys can come too!”
There was a collective beat of silence, then came the chaos.
“A kook party?” Pope made a face. “Nah, I’m good.”
“Hard pass”
Kiara chimed in, swirling what was left in her cup. JJ sat up a bit in the hammock, giving Sarah a look of exaggerated offence, “Sarah — my best friend’s dearest girlfriend — why the hell would I willingly put myself in a room full of kooks with their Vineyard Vines shirts and trust funds?”
“Kook fest? I don't think so- rude boy's got a point."
Cleo added, completely unfazed. Sarah groaned dramatically, tossing her head back against John B’s shoulder, “Guys, everyone on the island’s been invited. Literally everyone. You want to miss the one time we can sneak in and drink their expensive-ass booze and pretend to be civilised?”
John B scratched the back of his neck, “I mean… Sare, are you sure this is a good idea? These things usually end in someone getting arrested or beat up.”
“That’s what makes it fun,” she shot back smiling up at him, “Come on, baby...”
JJ shook his head with a mock sigh, “I do love chaos, but I also love not getting decked by some pastel-wearing rich boy with a superiority complex.”
“C’monnn,” Sarah pleaded, eyes bouncing between them all. “Free booze. Loud music. Rich kids being embarrassing. You telling me you wanna miss that?” JJ glanced around, took a swig of his beer, then shrugged like he was warming up to the idea.
“Free booze, huh?”
“Like actually free”
Sarah said, perking up as she nodded her head. Kiara sighed before adding to the ongoing debate. “Okay I guess if we go in a group, it’s not like they can kick us all out.”
Pope laughed, “That’s comforting.”
“So it’s decided then?”
Sarah asked, clapping her hands and JJ leaned back with a smirk.
“Eh why the hell not.
The chatter faded back into that familiar haze- the music a little louder now, the clinking of glass bottles, occasional bursts of laughter echoing under the soft glow of the porch lights. JJ had flopped dramatically back into the hammock, tossing a peanut at Pope, who swatted it away with a sharp “cut that out”, but he was grinning as he said it. Kiara and Cleo were side by side, passing the blunt like it was a baton in the slowest relay race known to man, and Sarah was still curled into John B, nose buried in his neck as she murmured something that made him laugh under his breath. Then the crunch of gravel under tires caught their ears- a car rolling up toward the end of the drive, headlights slicing through the trees. Everyone instinctively turned to look, and when the engine cut and the door swung open, a familiar silhouette stepped out.
“Y/N!”
Sarah called out instantly, lifting her hand in a wave. JJ was already in motion. He practically leapt out of the hammock with a lopsided grin on his face, his movements loose and full of that buzzed joy that lived in him when he was around his people. He jogged toward her, arms wide like he was about to tackle her. Y/N had barely rounded her door when JJ crashed into her, arms circling tight around her waist and lifting her a few inches off the ground in a twirling hug. She let out a breathless laugh, one arm instinctively hooking around his shoulder.
“Jay, are you drunk?”
“Yes ma’am”
He said proudly, nuzzling his nose against her cheek like a sleepy golden retriever. John B called out from the porch, raising his beer in salute.
“And high!”
“Wow what a responsible crowd I’ve joined.”
She looked past JJ and shook her head smiling, JJ grinned and still half-latched to her side laced his fingers between hers and started tugging her toward the group.
“Welcome, my dear sister, to the finest motive on the island.”
“Yeah, it looks so lit”
Y/N snorted as she said dryly, eyeing the half-deflated pool float on the lawn and Kiara using a stick to fish a beer bottle cap out of the fire pit. Pope looked up and offered her a beer, cracking open another one.
“You want?”
“Nah, I’m driving.”
She shook her head, raising a hand politely. JJ was still practically glued to her back, and now his chin came to rest on her shoulder, his head leaning sleepily against hers like gravity had chosen her specifically. She glanced sideways, her voice softening.
“You okay, mister?”
“Right as rain”
He murmured, words muffled against the collar of her white work polo. Y/N smiled to herself and brought one hand up to gently pat his cheek, a small fondness in her eyes. She dropped down onto the worn-out quilt Pope had stretched across the grass, tucking her legs beneath her and setting her keys in a little pile beside the cooler. The smell of bonfire smoke and salty air clung to everything, and the mellow strum of a guitar looped in the background from someone’s Bluetooth speaker. The Chateau felt hazy with summer warmth and low buzzed laughter, like time didn’t really exist here.
“Y'missed blondie trying to backflip off the porch railing”
Cleo said, raising her eyebrows at the girl, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth as she handed her a cold bottle of water. Pope snorted from where he sat beside her,
“More like he tripped, flailed, and then landed face-first into the lawn chair. Truly a work of art.”
“Sounds about right.”
Y/N laughed, tilting her head back slightly as she wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. “Y/N!” Sarah suddenly perked up from where she was comfortably curled up on John B’s lap, her legs stretched out across the blanket and her fingers idly threading through his curls.
“I almost forgot to tell you- we’re all going to a party tomorrow night. You have to come”
“Oh—uh…”
Y/N hesitated for a split second. Shit. Rafe had already invited her out tomorrow- there was no way she could show up two places at the same time. She furrowed her brows thinking of a quick excuse, “I don’t think I can,” she said slowly.
“Sofia asked me to cover her shift tomorrow night. Late shift.”
The groans came instantly.
“Noooo” Kiara moaned out in disappointment. “Again?” Cleo frowned as she spoke, “Girl, you’re always working.” JJ leaned up, pulling a dramatic face as he sat up behind her, one hand propped on the ground and the other pointing accusingly.
“Y/N- my sweet, overachieving sister. You never go out.”
“I do go out!”
“When?!” JJ countered, hand waving wildly, “Name one time that we went out that didn’t involve grocery shopping or pretending not to cry while pumping gas for my bike cause you can't afford it.”
“JJ, please,” she groaned, rubbing at her forehead the others watching the small sibling quarrel, “Sofia never gets nights off. I have to fill in for her.”
But even as she said it, her mind was moving. What if I go to Rafe’s first? Just for a bit. Then come late, no one would know, they're on different sides of the island. She knew it was risky but- it was worth the risk if it meant getting her brother off her back. She sighed, trying to keep it casual.
“Where is it anyway... maybe I can stop by before it ends.”
Sarah perked up instantly at the question, “New guy just moved into this insane house on Figure 8- I’m technically on the guest list, so by extension, that means all of you get to come.”
Y/N froze.
Her stomach sank, it’s the same party. Her chest tightened like a fist was forming right behind her ribs. The same one Rafe is going to and now… JJ would be there. All of them would be there. She forced a tight smile, heart beating a little faster and her throat closed up slightly. She can’t go. She can’t risk it—JJ seeing her with Rafe? No. Absolutely not. That would ruin everything. He’d lose it. He’d probably have a fit and if he didn’t, the look in his eyes would be worse. She felt herself retreat inward for a split second- like her body was still sitting there on the blanket, but her mind was miles away, spiralling in panic. Then- she forced it back. Forced her lips into a smile, stretched just wide enough to pass as real. She said, voice smooth,
“I’ll see if I can make it”
“Yeah?”
JJ looked over at her, suspiciously squinting, she nodded without hesitation.
“Maybe just for a bit.”
Even as the lie came out of her mouth, her brain was already racing. Y/N cleared her throat softly, still gripping the now half-empty water bottle in her hand. Her eyes swept across the group lounging lazily on the worn blankets and cushions sprawled out on the overgrown lawn.
“I actually think I’m gonna head back now”
She said, standing up slowly and brushing the bits of grass and twigs from her shorts, “Just came to check up on you guys.”
JJ looked up from where he was sitting cross-legged now on a faded beach towel, lips wrapped around the neck of his beer bottle, and gave her a lazy, crooked smile. He winked, blonde hair a windswept mess.
“Mission accomplished sis.”
She rolled her eyes at him, amusement flickering behind her lashes, and bent to grab her keys from the little crate they’d been using as a table.
“You coming back or staying the night?”
She asked, giving him a look as she nodded toward the house, her tone light but a little pointed the role of big sister coming naturally. Before JJ could even open his mouth to respond, John B was already groaning dramatically from the other side of the blanket. “Take him,” he said, flopping his head back against the tree behind him.
“Please. I don’t want him here. He eats everything and he talks in his sleep.”
Sarah burst into laughter in his lap, her whole body shaking with it as she nearly spilled the beer in her hand. “He really does! The other night he mumbled something about raccoons with spatulas.”
“That was one time!”
JJ threw his hands up like he was being framed for a crime. Y/N just bit back a laugh, fighting back a grin watching the chaos unfold with fondness. JJ tilted his head, smirking toward her. “And just because of that,” he said smug as hell,
“I shall be staying the night here. With Mr. John Booker Routledge.”
A round of exaggerated groans erupted from the rest of the group. Y/N laughed under her breath, her fingers still gripping her keys as she shook her head fondly at them. “Alright, alright,” she said,
“Have fun then... don’t get too smashed.”
“No promises!” Kiara called out with a wide smile, raising her can in salute.
“Speak for yourself,” Pope muttered. “I have dignity unlike some.”
That earned another laugh from the group.
Y/N smiled again, softer this time, eyes briefly flicking back to her brother. He caught her gaze and shot her a lopsided grin, one that still looked more boyish than he probably intended. It made something ache a little in her chest- an affection threaded with worry she’d never admit out loud.
“Night Jay”
She murmured before reaching over to ruffle his hair messily. He smiled her lazily before flopping back onto the blanket like a man who had no thoughts, no responsibilities, and no idea that his sister was walking a tightrope he couldn’t see. Y/N turned, the noise behind her fading into the hum of summer insects and music humming from the portable speaker, and walked back to her car,
The car door creaked softly as Y/N pulled it open, the familiar weight of it grounding her just a little. She slid into the driver’s seat and shut the door behind her with a muted thunk, the quiet inside the car swallowing up the laughter still drifting from the Chateau. The engine wasn’t running yet, and the warm evening air clung to her skin like a second layer. It smelled like sun-warmed leather and pine needles.
For a moment, she just sat there. Her fingers hovered over her bag before she reached in and pulled out her phone, the screen lighting up as soon as her thumb brushed the side. No new messages. Just the same old wallpaper of a blurry sunset and the faint glint of her own reflection staring back. She hesitated and her thumb hovered over the screen for another beat- then tapped into her messages.
Rafe
The name alone made her chest tighten a little. She bit down on her lower lip, chewing at the soft skin absently. Her other hand reached up to pull her hair away from her face, then fell limply against her lap. The inside of the car felt like it was shrinking. “Shit,” she muttered under her breath, a sharp whisper into the quiet. She tapped the messages open. Leaning her head back, she let it fall gently against the headrest, eyes blinking up at the roof of the car as she let out a long, tired sigh. Her fingers rested against the phone in her lap, before tapping her fingers against the screen.
She started typing. Hey, change of plans. I might not— Backspace. No. Too vague so she tried again. Something came up— Backspace. Her heart thudded in her chest, slow and heavy. Then she typed with more finality this time:
Bunny : I'm sorry but I can't do tmr
She stared at it. Read it once. Then twice. Then, with a small exhale that she couldn’t quite tell was relief or regret, she hit send. The text shot off into the thread, disappearing into that blue bubble like a stone dropped into deep water. She locked her phone again, let her head fall back against the seat, eyes fluttering closed. Her lips pressed into a line. Maybe that’s for the best, she told herself. Maybe-
Buzz.
Her eyes snapped open. The screen lit up and she unlocked it quickly, thumb tapping into the thread without thinking.
Rafe : what why not
Short and blunt. Her stomach twisted, that anxious little knot curling a bit tighter as her thumbs moved again.
Bunny : Your sister’s going to be there which means JJ’s gonna be there
She sat there, holding her breath like it’d keep her heart from thudding so hard. The typing bubble appeared instantly, three dots bouncing like they knew what they were about to say was going to matter more than it should.
Rafe : so what?
Of course, she thought bitterly, jaw tightening. But before she could respond, another message popped up. She blinked, stunned by how he could sound so calm about something that made her whole chest tighten.
Rafe : Why is that a problem
Bunny : It’s a problem cause he’ll see us
Her fingers tapped harder this time and her hand trembled slightly as she held the phone. She hated this—how tense it made her. How she had to think of all the possible consequences when Rafe didn’t even seem to care.
Rafe : are you serious
Bunny : Yes I’m serious wtf do u mean???
Her reply came before she could even second-guess herself but then… nothing. No bubble, no typing dots and her eyes flicked to the corner of the screen at the bottom. Read. That was it? He read it and then disappeared. A dry laugh escaped her lips, more disbelieving than amused. She pushed her palm against her forehead, trying to will away the creeping frustration crawling beneath her skin.
Rafe : You’re really gonna let your brother control us
Bunny : He’s not controlling us
Rafe : Well he’s controlling this.
Her teeth sunk into her lip again, harder this time as the message made her fingers still. She stared at the words, something bitter blooming behind her ribs. Then she typed, slowly, like the question had been sitting on her tongue for a while- because it had.
Bunny : What is this
Bunny : What even is 'this' Rafe?
Read
The air in the car felt heavy now. Thick with silence and words that would never be spoken aloud. She watched the screen for a beat. Then two. Then five. The beats turned into a minute but still there was no response from him so her fingers moved again of their own accord.
Bunny : seriously
Bunny : Leaving me on read are you being for real
Bunny : Hello?
Still.
No answer.
Her mouth twisted into a scoff, this one sharper. Less disbelief and more hurt. She leaned her head back against the seat, her knuckles white where she clutched the phone. She could feel it bubbling now- not anger, not really. Just… disappointment. That familiar ache that curled into her chest when something started to crack and she knew she couldn’t fix it. Her lips pressed into a thin line and she typed one last time.
Bunny : Grow up Rafe
Then she dropped the phone into the empty cup holder with a soft clack and her hands came up, pressing into her face, covering her eyes. She let out a breath- long and slow and quiet. She didn’t even know what this was anymore, or what she wanted it to be.
All she knew was that it hurt.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The bass was thumping hard enough to make the floorboards vibrate. Music roared from massive speakers set up on the back patio of the mansion, spilling into every corner of the sprawling beach house like a pulse. The crowd was thick—Kooks and Pogues alike stood packed shoulder to shoulder, laughing, grinding, shouting over the noise. Red solo cups littered the deck, the grass, the kitchen counters. Half-empty bottles of liquor sat abandoned on tables, the scent of alcohol and sweat clinging to the humid air. Inside, the lighting was low and tinted gold, shadows dancing as bodies moved through the house, more people flooded through the front door- new arrivals, drawn in by the promise of booze and the thrill of recklessness that always hung thick in the air.
Rafe was in the middle of it, standing near the table on the backyard patio where a lineup of liquor bottles had turned into a makeshift bar. His button-down was half undone, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, collar a little askew. He reached for another shot, his fingers curled tight around the glass rim as he knocked it back, throat bobbing as the burn slid down. “Bro,” Kelce said, squinting as he leaned forward, voice slurred with the edge of tipsy concern.
“I never do this but- maybe slow down a little”
“That’s like, your seventh” Topper added from where he was slouched against the couch, a beer dangling between his fingers.
“You good man?”
“I’m fine”
Rafe muttered, his voice low, gruff, and not even remotely convincing. His jaw flexed as he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his damp forehead. He didn’t look at either of them as he spoke but he wasn’t fine. Not even close. His head was heavy, the alcohol catching up to him in a sluggish crawl through his limbs. He could feel it in his slow, unsteady blink. In the weight of his shoulders, in the way the music felt a little too loud, a little too sharp.
She wasn’t here- Y/N wasn’t here.
And he hated that it mattered. Hated that he kept glancing toward the front door every time someone new walked in- just in case she'd changed her mind. Hated that he could hear her voice in the back of his mind. “I can’t go, your sister’s going to be there” ... “JJ will be there” ... “He’ll see us.” His jaw tightened as he swallowed hard, the burn of the liquor lingering in his chest. She was always so damn concerned about JJ, about keeping him in the dark- about keeping them in the dark.
Like this is all some secret she needs to protect.
Topper was saying something again, laughing about a girl he’d hooked up with last weekend, but Rafe didn’t hear it. He was staring at the countertop, where drops of clear liquor beaded on the marble surface. His hand was still fisted around the empty shot glass. He looked like a storm waiting to happen- cheeks a little flushed, eyes shadowed and distant, lip twitching at the corner in a scowl. But under it all, he was sulking. Quietly. Bitterly. Like a kid who didn’t get what he wanted.
And all he wanted was her.
The rumble of the Twinkie pulling up was swallowed by the thump of music echoing off the walls of the massive house. Lights flashing inside spilled through the tall windows in bursts that lit up the manicured lawn and the stretch of cars already jammed up along the curb. The Pogues piled out- John B leading the charge in his usual messy curls with Sarah right on his heels, her blonde hair catching the light like a halo. JJ slammed the passenger door shut with his hip, shoving his hands into the pockets of his loose cargo shorts, eyes flicking over the crowd on the lawn before following- Pope, Kiara and Cleo weren’t far behind.
The house was huge. Open floor plan, high ceilings, the kind of kitchen you only saw on cooking shows. People were everywhere—on the stairs, pressed against walls, spilling onto balconies. It smelled like weed and citrus vodka, and someone in the hallway was definitely already throwing up. “Damn,” John B muttered as they walked in, eyebrows raised.
“This place is nice.”
“No shit”
Pope said, already eyeing the built-in speakers in the ceiling. Cleo let out a low whistle and made a beeline for the massive kitchen island, where liquor bottles and mixers lined the counters like a buffet. She said with a grin, snatching a bottle of rum and starting to pour,
“The free alcohol is even nicer”
“Now this is why I dragged you guys here..’.”
Sarah laughed, reaching over to help herself to a half-mixed drink and Kiara grabbed a couple of plastic cups, handing them around. The music rattled the cabinets, the floor under their shoes vibrating faintly in time with the beat. People were dancing in the next room, someone yelling something about beer pong from the backyard, but the Pogues took a moment to regroup in the kitchen. JJ stood a bit apart from the group, back braced against the counter, swirling whatever was in his cup without really drinking it. His hat was pulled low, hair curling beneath the brim, and there was a little pinch between his brows that hadn’t faded since they arrived. Kiara noticed first. She nudged him gently with her elbow, tilting her head toward him.
“She’s not coming then?”
JJ blinked, not catching the question right away over the music.
“Huh?”
“Y/N- she’s not coming?”
Sarah repeated, louder this time, looking up from her drink. JJ’s expression tightened for a split second, and he looked down into his cup like it suddenly had answers. “Nah,” he said, voice clipped.
“She’s not.”
There was something in the way he said it in a short and flat tone, a little irritated like he didn’t want to care, but he did. Kiara gave a small nod and didn’t press. Instead, she reached out, rubbed his arm gently with her hand before stepping away to help Pope crack open a bottle of something suspiciously blue. No one said anything else. But in the middle of the crowd, under the flashing lights and the pounding bass, JJ stood a little stiller than the rest. Eyes drifting toward the front door they'd came through like maybe- just maybe- she’d still show.
Rafe shoved his way through the backyard, the lights and thumping music cutting through the cool air like a heavy pulse. He could feel the tension in his chest, the tightness that hadn’t loosened since their texts earlier... "What is this"... That question had been eating at him ever since because he didn't know what it was. But that didn't change the fact that his mind kept circling back to her. The way she made him feel, how easy it was to talk to her, how easy it was to just be around her- it wasn’t like anything he'd ever experienced. And it scared him. Because he wasn’t the kind of guy to get tangled up in feelings, he didn’t do that. But Y/N, she was different- it unsettled him. He couldn’t admit that to her, though. Couldn’t let her know that she was getting under his skin, into his bloodstream like a drug, that she was getting too close.
By the time he made it through the crowd and into the kitchen, he was ready for another drink, maybe more than one. The sound of glass bottles clinking and people chatting loudly barely registered in his mind as he reached the counter, eyes scanning the chaos for what he needed. He was almost there, his hand reaching for the first bottle of vodka, when he collided with someone.
Thud
He didn’t even flinch, just kept moving forward until he heard a sharp, annoyed voice.
“Excuse me?”
Rafe’s shoulder had shoved into Sarah, causing her to stumble back just a little. She glared up at him, her eyes narrowing with irritation. He didn’t care and he certainly wasn’t in the mood for small talk with her.
“You’re excused”
He muttered back, not even bothering to meet her eyes as he grabbed the bottle and twisted the cap off.
“Asshole”
Sarah muttered under her breath, clearly unamused, but Rafe wasn’t listening. He poured the liquor into his cup with a steady hand, watching the clear liquid slosh into the glass. The burn in his throat might’ve been the only thing that could numb the frustration gnawing at him. He downed it in one go, feeling it course through his body. Rafe stood near the edge of the kitchen, the alcohol still burning in his stomach as he surveyed the crowd. The noise was becoming a dull roar in the background, a blur of laughter and shouting, but his mind was still running on autopilot. He tried to focus on his drink, twisting the glass in his hand, but then something caught his ear.
JJ
He was talking to John B, and it didn’t take long for Rafe to hear the frustration in his voice. JJ’s words carried across the room, loud enough for Rafe to pick up on.
“I don’t get it bro”
JJ was saying, his voice edged with something close to bitterness already lightly slurred from the alcohol he consumed since they arrived, “Y/N’s always working. Always dude. It’s like- I literally got a job so she could work less? And she still can’t make time for anything. Not for me. Not for us. She's always got some lame ass excuse.”
Rafe’s jaw tightened at the sound of JJ’s voice, and he instinctively stepped closer to the conversation, the growing frustration in his chest gnawing at him. He watched as JJ’s face twisted, anger bubbling up in his expression.
“She’s never around anymore. Like, she’s always somewhere else, doing something else. It’s like she doesn't care- You know what? Maybe it’s just me she doesn’t want to spend time with maybe I’m just a fucking inconvenience to her.”
John B shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable, but he didn’t know how to respond. He just nodded slowly, not really agreeing or disagreeing as he brought his beer bottle to his lips. Rafe’s pulse spiked. His chest felt tight, and for a moment, the room seemed to narrow around him. His fingers tightened around the glass until his knuckles went white.
He was angry.
No, he was beyond angry.
He could feel the heat rising in his body, but it wasn’t just because of JJ’s words. It was the way he was talking about Y/N, so dismissively, so coldly. The kitchen was still a chaotic blend of chatter and clinking glass, the music vibrating through the floor, and the air thick with alcohol. But his mind wasn’t on the drink anymore. It was on her—on Y/N. On the way she would slave away all day in her shitty job only to go home to a brother who wasn't even grateful? He could hear JJ’s voice cutting through the noise of the house, loud and full of venom. Rafe turned, just in time to catch the words.
“Acting like she’s such a good fuckin’ sister,” JJ spat, his words as he gestured around. “When she can’t even take the time out of her day to talk to me. It’s a fuckin’ jok, man..”
John B was still next to him, leaning against the counter, his eyes tired, clearly not wanting to get involved in the growing tension. But he let out a soft sigh and said,
“Come on, man. You’re being a little harsh she does a lot for you-”
“-No. I’m not,”
But JJ wasn’t having it. His face twisted into a mix of frustration and bitterness. “She doesn't give a damn about anyone but herself," he snapped, his voice louder now.
"She’s a shitty fuckin’ sister.”
Rafe could feel the anger bubbling up in his chest. He was barely holding it together at this point. His hand clenched around his glass, and without thinking, he pushed himself away from where he was and made his way towards the blonde haired pogue,“Hey-” Rafe’s voice was rough, his jaw tightening,
“Watch your fuckin’ mouth.”
JJ didn’t even hesitate as his brow furrowed, his head snapping toward Rafe, his eyes narrowing. The smirk on his face was all cocky arrogance, like he wasn’t the least bit intimidated. Rafe stood in front of JJ, his fists clenched so tightly around the edge of the counter that his knuckles were turning white. His chest rose and fell with each breath, the alcohol in his system only amplifying the frustration that had been simmering for hours.
"You really think you know your sister?"
Rafe's voice cut through the tension like a blade, each word laced with disbelief and a deepening anger. His gaze was intense, narrowing as he stared down at JJ, his stance aggressive and unsteady from the booze. JJ didn’t flinch, instead, he scoffed, the sound dripping with disdain.
“Yeah, well, what the fuck do you know about her?”
The words were laced with spite, his eyes flashing as he shot back, barely holding back his irritation. He was drunk, way too much to back down. The space between them was closing, both of them leaning in slightly, their bodies tense as if they were about to collide. Rafe’s jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line as his eyes flickered between JJ’s face and the rest of the room. John B was already sighing, rubbing his hand over his face, clearly feeling the impending collision. His tone was a little exasperated.
“Alright, guys... let's not do this tonight.”
But his words were barely a whisper in the whirlwind of tension between JJ and Rafe. They didn't take their eyes off each other. Rafe stood his ground, every inch of his body radiating the anger and frustration he’d been holding back all night. His expression twisted into something cold, nasty, as his voice came out low, almost a growl.
"A lot more than you"
He spat, the words dripping with contempt. JJ’s eyes flared with fury, and before anyone fully processed the insult, his body reacted. Without thinking, he shoved Rafe, a rough, sudden motion that sent the air between them crackling.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
His words were sharp, cutting through the already tense atmosphere like a knife. The crowd around them seemed to gather and the only thing that mattered now seemed to be this confrontation, the two of them standing face to face, inches away from an explosion. Rafe’s jaw clenched, his teeth gritting as he stumbled back just a half-step from the shove. But he didn’t let it slide, his eyes burned with rage, and with a brutal shove of his own, he sent JJ stumbling back.
“Get off me, you dirty fucking pogue”
He snarled, his voice a low rasp. John B and Pope, sensing the situation spiraling, rushed in to intervene, but their voices only seemed to intensify the already-fueled fire.
“Hey, hey—alright JJ stop."
“C’mon man”
John B called out, his tone a mix of frustration and concern, his hand on JJ’s arm trying to pull him back. But JJ, his face red with anger, ignored them, shoving them off as if they were nothing. His eyes were locked on Rafe, his fists trembling with barely contained rage. Sarah, standing nearby, caught sight of the escalating tension and turned to Rafe with an incredulous expression.
“What is your problem?”
She spoke out her voice sharp as he brows drew down into a concerned frown, but Rafe didn’t even glance at her. His attention was fully on JJ, the hate between them palpable. The room seemed to hold its breath, the entire kitchen watching in stunned interest as the two guys stood their postures defiant, aggressive. JJ, unable to take the weight of the situation anymore, spun on his heel and began to turn away, his anger boiling over, his fists still clenched with popes hand on his arm leading him away. But Rafe’s voice, cutting through the tense silence, sliced through the air like a final verdict.
“I pity her for having a brother like you”
He said, the words slow and deliberate, aimed to sting. The room went deathly quiet apart from a few low mutters, and for a split second and the words hung in the air like a curse. JJ froze, his back to Rafe, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. His body went rigid, the hurt flashing in his eyes as he clenched his jaw tighter. Kiara’s voice came through softly, but it was too late.
“JJ don’t”
She pleaded, but JJ had already turned and with a motion of pure, unfiltered anger, he threw a punch, his fist flying straight at Rafe’s face with all the pent-up rage he’d been holding back. The force behind it was hard enough to knock Rafe off balance, and in that moment, the air around them seemed to explode. Everything that had been building up, the tension, the anger, the frustration- finally came to a head.
And just like that, the fight erupted.
The air was thick with the sounds of punches landing, grunts of pain, and the occasional slap of skin against skin. People's previous murmuring had turned to excited yells and cheers, phones being raised as they recorded the ordeal. JJ’s vision was red, every inch of his body screamed as he threw wild punches, each one landing with force, but Rafe was no slouch- he met every hit with a violent shove or a retaliatory strike of his own. JJ's jaw was clenched tight as he pushed against Rafe, throwing a punch that caught him square in the ribs, causing the other man to grunt in pain. Rafe staggered but didn’t fall, instead grabbing JJ’s shirt and yanking him forward with a growl. Their faces were inches apart, both of them breathing heavily, sweat and blood mixing, the scent of alcohol clouding the air. Rafe’s eyes were wild, his face contorted with anger as he bit out the words through gritted teeth, each syllable harsh and slurred.
“If you love your sister so much, why is she always running to me when she’s got problems, huh?”
His grip tightened on JJ’s shirt, pulling him in closer, their faces just inches from one another. His words were cold, bitter. JJ blinked, his mind struggling to process what Rafe just said. His nostrils flared as his nose dripped blood, a line of crimson streaking down his face. JJ’s voice was a low growl, disoriented, the anger still there but replaced by confusion.
“What?”
“That’s what I thought”
Rafe sneered, a harsh laugh falling from his lips, his bloodshot eyes alight with a murderous glint. JJ’s fury surged again, his face lit with rage as his eyes narrowed, locking onto Rafe’s smug expression. Without warning, he launched himself forward, his head connecting with Rafe’s face in a brutal headbutt. The impact was sickening- Rafe’s head snapped back violently, and a grunt escaped him. He staggered back a step, dazed, blood oozing from his busted lip.
Rafe didn’t back down, he shoved JJ with both hands, sending him stumbling back a few steps. The two of them were back at it in an instant, their bodies crashing together, fists flying in every direction. JJ’s elbow connected with Rafe’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Rafe faltered this time, falling backward, his balance compromised. He hit the ground hard, the floor beneath him rattling. For a split second, the fight paused. Rafe lay there, stunned, his chest rising and falling rapidly, trying to catch his breath. But JJ was already on him, a feral grunt escaping his throat as he scrambled to pin Rafe down. He grabbed Rafe’s polo top, yanking him up to his face, his grip like iron. His chest was heaving, his breath coming out in harsh, ragged gasps as he leaned in close, his face twisted in disgust.
“Don’t fucking talk about my sister like you know her- you don't know anything about her- you don't know her like I do.”
JJ snarled, his voice low and seething. His words were laced with every ounce of hurt, frustration, and protective anger he could muster. Rafe’s head lolled back for a moment, his eyes glazed and unfocused from the blows. He let out a drunken, mocking scoff, a bitter chuckle escaping from his busted lips. His mouth was smeared with blood, but the sneer on his face was unmistakable, even through the haze of intoxication. He muttered so only the blonde boy could hear, the words sharp, but somehow quieter than before.
“You didn’t even know she was pregnant”
The entire world seemed to stop in that instant.
JJ's grip slackened, his fingers loosening around Rafe’s shirt and his chest tightened as the words hit him like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him in an instant. John B and Pope, who had been trying to pull the two apart for the last few moments, finally managed to tear JJ off Rafe. JJ didn’t resist this time, his body felt stiff like stone, his mind struggling to catch up with what he just heard. Rafe lay on the floor, barely able to lift his head, but his voice, now quieter and almost hollow, drifted through the space between them. “Yeah,” he said, his words slow and deliberate,
“She didn’t tell you, JJ. She came to me.”
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Dark Charms
David McCall x reader
In the dimly lit ambiance of a downtown bar, the air was thick with the murmur of conversations and the occasional clink of glasses. You were there, nestled between your two best friends, Sarah and Mike, unwinding after a long week. The atmosphere was lively, the kind of place that promised forgotten worries and fleeting joys.
That night, the bar wasn't just a backdrop for casual drinks; it was where paths were destined to intersect. Sarah, ever the spontaneous spirit, was caught up in a complex situationship with a guy named Chris, who, as fate would have it, was a friend of David McCall.
David, a name you hadn't known until that night, would soon etch itself into your memory. He walked in with the kind of confident stride that turned heads, a magnetic pull in his step. His eyes found Sarah and Chris, and subsequently, you. There was an intensity in his gaze, a silent promise of something more, something deeper.
You noticed him immediately. He was undeniably attractive, with a charm that seemed to seep through the very air he breathed. When introductions were made, his hand lingered in yours a second longer, his smile a little too knowing, a little too intrigued. It was disarming, the way he looked at you, as if he could see past the facade we all wear in social settings.
As the night progressed, David's attention was unrelenting. He was charming, his words laced with an edge that was both exciting and unnerving. He shared stories that made you laugh, then think, then question. It was a rollercoaster of emotions, his presence a catalyst for a rush you hadn't anticipated.
You found yourself drawn into his orbit, captivated by the duality of his persona. On the surface, he was all charm and wit, but beneath that veneer, there was a darkness, an untamed intensity that you couldn't quite decipher. It was both a warning and an allure, a paradox that intrigued you.
Your friends noticed the chemistry, a mix of concern and curiosity in their glances. Mike's protective nature was evident, his eyes often flickering between you and David, assessing, calculating. But the night belonged to the unexpected, to the thrilling unknown.
As the bar began to empty, the reality of time creeping back in, David leaned in, his voice a low whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. "Would you like to go out with me?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for an answer.
It was a simple question, but loaded with possibilities, with the promise of exploring the enigma that was David McCall. You were at a crossroads, with the safe path on one side and the allure of the unknown on the other. And in that moment, you realized that you wanted to know more, to peel back the layers of this intriguing stranger.
Your "yes" was a whisper, a concession to the curiosity that David had ignited in you. As you left the bar, the night air felt different, charged with the potential of what was to come. David McCall was no ordinary encounter, and you, perhaps against your better judgment, were ready to delve into the mystery.
god i love angst
The Other Woman.
Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Stripper!Reader
tw: Cheating! (not on reader) Drug & Alchohol use! Descriptions of smut! Angst!
“The other woman has time to manicure her nails
The other woman is perfect where her rival fails.”
Her arms feel like the sun on a breezy day. Shining on him and encasing him in warmth while the cool winds prickle at his skin. Her scent like a pheromone that was designed solely to attract him. Her skin like expensive silk under his fingertips, delicate and smooth. Her lips felt like satin, brushing and sponging against his skin, lips and body in a way that was entirely addictive. She was entirely addictive; she was his haven. The luxury between her legs only he had access too. Her arousal was a flavor that could never be matched and that he yearned for when she wasn’t on his tongue. Slipping inside her felt like he had a taste of heaven, something he was entirely dedicated to worshipping. She was a deity he would willingly sacrifice his soul and life to.
“Baby… she keeps calling you.” Whispered out that voice that was like a sweet symphony to his ears and calmed down the ocean of complex emotions that dwelled in his heart. Rafe groaned into disappointment at his moment of peace being interrupted once more, burying his face deeper in the softness of her tummy while her manicured nails grazed his scalp. Feeling the soft pricks of hair under her smooth finger tips, touching him with a delicacy only she knew how to have. He sighed once more before bringing his head up and reaching a hand over to the incessant buzzing next to them in her satin sheets. Watching as Sofia’s contact showed for the 5th time that hour.
Rafe can’t exactly blame her, he promised her a nice dinner. Yet, he got to caught up in the girl who captivated his entire being and the one whose inner legs he finds solace in every night or day he can. Just seeing her glimmering smile or seductive gaze makes his knees buckle. He’s entirely fascinated by her, like a diamond in the rough of people who inhabit the island they live on. She’s unlike anything or anyone he’s ever known, the way she maneuvers her body on stage and glimmers under the club lights. The way he was entirely bewitched by the siren she was. He won’t ever forget the night Topper and Kelce dragged him out to a club he had no interest in being at. Small, yet no conviction in his claims of, ‘I have a girl, bro.’ He’s so entirely grateful he went. Topper’s convincing of, ‘what she doesn’t know won’t kill her, man. Trust there’s this girl there that will drive you insane. She’s got me and Kelce hooked.’ To which Rafe gave a small eye roll and scoff of, ‘any girl with her tits out has your attention.’ Topper only laughed and Kelce along with him before biting back a, ‘but hers are premium.’ As they all toppled into his truck.
That night was fate, and he knew that any woman he met or has yet to meet will pale in comparison to the goddess who’s enthralled his being and keeps him stuck in a perpetual state of desire for her and her alone. The moment he saw her glide across stage, in nothing but glimmering lingerie and wild hair. Her eyes packed on with glitter and pretty lips glossed so enticingly. Her body the kind of thing men carve into stone to keep as a recollection for life. The way she slithered across stage with her eyes set on him and only him. Singling him out while the cheers and hoots of his friends, other club goers and patrons faded into the background. Both of them fascinated with one another. The way she slung herself across his lap with her freed tits pressing into him and her intoxicating perfume swirling around him like an aphrodisiac.
“The other woman enchants her clothes with French perfume.”
He paid for a lap dance that very night and let her help him escape in the private room under glaring, neon pink lights. Running his hands over every inch of her beautiful body as scraped her long nails against his skin and moved sensually across him. That night sealed their fate, and it didn’t take much convincing to let him take her home to Tannyhill. Making out in the back of Topper’s truck while him and Kelce smirked as they watched through the rear-view mirror. Praising their friend and promising to seal their lips when they were dropped off. That night y/n and Rafe brought their bodies and souls together, all night long. Sweat sticking them together as her inner thighs dripped with their mixed arousal. Their lips not leaving any inch of each other‘s bodies undiscovered. He marked her that night with his possession and allowed her to rake her nails down his strong back, calculating in his mind how he’d hide it from Sofia.
After that night any thought of another woman aside from the one under him was gone, his girlfriend included. The unsaid energy bringing their souls together as if they were lovers destined to meet. He licked and snorted lines off her body as he rubbed the powdery substance against her gums. Pouring champagne on her as he licked it up and let it soak his sheets right next to her arousal. She was like an added substance he was quickly growing addicted to and he knew this was an addiction that would never end. He took her apart over the balcony under the stars of the night sky as she whined and whimpered into the warm air. He was king and she would be queen.
-
Now months later their affair is still going strong, he more often than not finds himself entangled in her at her penthouse he put her into. Vowing to move her into his mansion next. He’s yet find a way to end things with Sofia, he knows y/n is the one he wants to settle with. He wants everything with her. Aside from the passion that connects them physically it’s the understanding of their minds that really links them together. She understands him, she loves him in all his dark glory. Allowing him to be himself without feeling the need to try and fix him. Her understands her, in all her shady grandeur. They’re just as fucked up as one another; she’s not ashamed of who he truly is. She doesn’t keep him from changing either, she grows alongside him as the learn to love one another beautifully.
Rafe tells her about his dad, the pogues, even the yearning he has to reconcile with his sister. He cries to her and lets her hold him as he sobs into her naked chest, feeling her kiss his tears away. She always whispers soft, ‘let it out, baby. it’s okay, I’m here.’ Consoling him with gentle caresses and kisses. He feels guilt, guilt for keeping her in the shadows of secrecy. Yet, he’s not ready for the universe they’ve built for themselves to come to an end. He doesn’t want to share her with the world, he’s selfish and wants her all to himself. He keeps her locked away in the luxurious penthouse he’s granted her and has even taken her out of the club by providing for her. She’s his hidden gem, he knows it hurts her. It hurts him too.
He finds it difficult to end things with Sofia. Her softness and kindness to him never forgotten. He’s still fond of the girl who was there for him when no one else was. Who listened to him cry and his grieving words as he spread his father’s ashes into the ocean. Sofia is familiar, she’s routine. She’s comfortable in a different way and he doesn’t want to let it go. He knows he deeply adores y/n, he loves her with every fiber of his being. But he loved Sofia first, she’ll always have a place in his heart for the kindness and love she granted him when he needed it most. That’s why he leaves y/n every morning to go back to her. He knows it’s cowardly; he knows it’s completely selfish. He can see the tears falling from her closed eyes as she pretends to be asleep while he softly walks around the bedroom as to not wake her when he leaves in the mornings. He always knows she’s awake. Especially when he presses a kiss to her forehead as he softly strokes her hair. Promising with a whisper to her skin that he’ll be back and that he loves her. He’ll always go back for her, he’ll always go back to her.
When he greets Sofia, she looks at him with those pretty doe eyes that are so different yet just as beautiful as the ones he’s grown accustomed to love. Natural lashes in comparison to y/n’s pretty extensions he pays for. They’re both so beautiful, yet so different to him. Especially in the way they hold his gaze. When he kisses Sofia it’s not quite as intoxicating, yet he likes it nonetheless. Her scent not as addictive but he still finds himself burying his nose into her neck as he hugs her. While Sofia is all earthly beauty, y/n is pure glamour. Sofia is soft, meek, not a touch of makeup kisses her pretty face. Whereas y/n is more resilient, durable and she has to be in the line of work she succumbed to. With the way of life she lived. Her gorgeous face accentuated by flawlessly done makeup. He doesn’t think she needs it, but he loves it nonetheless. Sofia’s nails are always blunt and rarely polished, y/n’s nails always have a nicely perfected manicure. Sofia loves sandals and sneakers, y/n loves wedges and heels. Sofia’s lips always moisturized with chapstick, y/n lips always glimmering with gloss. He likes how different they are from their personalities to their styles. They’re like day and night. Polar opposites so beautiful in their own right. He’s a selfish, selfish man. He knows one day he’ll have to choose, but for now….he holds both hearts in the palm of his hand. Only one of them is feeling the stabbing pain of abandonment and pining the other has the pleasure of not being subjected too. He knows it, yet he can’t help it. Sofia is pure routine, y/n is his passion. Being with her is like being inebriated. Like an adrenaline rush he always craves, that he loves. He lives for it.
“And when her old man comes to call
He finds her waiting like a lonesome queen.
‘Cause to be by her side
It's such a change from old routine.”
Y/n waits, she always will. She knows he’ll be back. She’s begged him to stay, but he never does. Just a quick promise of his awaited return as his fully clothed body steps to her naked one which is kneeling in the satin sheets. A representation of the vulnerability she’s subjected herself to just for his approval. Her long lashes clumped with tears as her chin wobbles. He thinks she looks so beautiful like this; the dark part of him liking the way she longs and whines for him. He always gives her chin a quick pinch as he pulls away from their kiss and steps out of the bedroom. Y/n always falls back into the sheets as the tears that watered in her lash line fall down her smooth cheeks. Listening to his footsteps farthering and ultimately the front door closing shut as he leaves her once more.
She knows why, she knows what she is. A secret, a mistress. His side girl. She can’t help it; the desire she has for him overcoming her self worth and respect for his girlfriend. She feels the grief that fills her body every time he leaves, only to disappear every time he returns. She can’t bring herself to end it. Can’t bring herself to leave him alone, or give him an ultimatum that it’s me or her. She knows it’s pathetic, yet she can’t bring that thought to overcome the undying love she’s developed for him. So she does as he wants, she waits for him. She always will. When her body lays back down, and she’s sure he’s gone. Only then is when she lets the overwhelming hurt leave her body in sobs of pure anguish as she lets sleep overtake her body. Succumbing to the fatigue of a heart that is continually broken.
“The other woman will always cry herself to sleep
The other woman will never have his love to keep.”
-
a/n: was feeling angsty tn ugh. i hope you all enjoy, pls let me know your thoughts! muah!
Bunny (P9)
Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reade
summary: Struggling to keep her and JJ’s home afloat, Y/N turns to the only option that guarantees fast cash- stripping at a club on the Cut. But when Rafe Cameron catches her in the act, he sees the perfect opportunity to tighten his grip around her life.
a/n: well- here's the next part gang 🤟 Next part is gonna take me 3 day at least pls don't gang up on me and track me down I beg.
warnings: mentions of alcohol and drunkenness, police stations, abuse, bad father daughter relationship, aggression, blood, bruises, malnutrition, sad bunny but soft!Rafe (idk ig?)
(P1) (P2) (P3) (P4) (P5) (P6) (P7) (P8) (P9)
The restaurant is warm, filled with the scent of sizzling meat, it’s small, family-run, where the walls are covered in colourful tapestries and old generational photos. A string of mismatched fairy lights flickers above the booth, casting a golden glow over the chipped wooden tables. It’s comfortable and homey- somewhere that the two girls come all the time given the owners are Sofia's family friends, somewhere Y/N would usually feel at ease.
But not tonight.
She’s sitting across from Sofia in a corner booth, her fingers idly picking at the tortilla chips in front of her, breaking them into tiny pieces but never bringing them to her mouth. Her stomach feels heavy, but not from hunger. The weight in her chest has been there for two days now, pressing down on her every time she tries to push her reality out of her mind. Sofia on the other hand, is talking animatedly, her dark eyes bright with excitement;
“—and then he tells me he’s never been to the Cut before- I mean I know he's new but can you believe that? Like, he’s lived on this island for three months, and he’s never even crossed the bridge for more than a minute?” She shakes her head playfully before continuing,
“I mean, it’s probably a red flag, right? Or maybe it’s, like- cute? No you know what, he needs me to show him around right? I'm not delusional but I really feel that this time its dif-”
Y/N hums absently, nodding as she moves the chips around her plate, the low hum of their conversation in the restaurant blends with the soft guitar playing through the old speakers near the register. Sofia keeps talking, something about how 'this new guy actually texts back', how he asked her about her day, how it’s refreshing. Y/N wants to listen, she really does. She wants to be present, to ask the right questions and tease Sofia about her obvious crush. But all she can think about is the fact that there’s a baby inside her.
A baby she didn’t ask for.
A baby whose father is a faceless, nameless shadow.
Her fingers tighten slightly around a broken chip, her jaw clenching and this time, Sofia notices. She pauses mid-sentence, her gaze flicking to Y/N’s untouched food, the way she hasn’t really reacted to anything she’s said.
“What’s up with you?” Sofia asks, leaning forward with her elbows on the table, “and don’t tell me you’re just tired, because I know when you’re lying to me.”
Y/N’s throat tightens. She presses her lips together, willing herself to keep it together, but under Sofia’s knowing stare, her walls start to crack. She exhales sharply, finally looking up from the mess of now broken crumbs.
“I don’t even know Sof,”
She mumbles, her voice barely above a whisper. Sofia’s expression softens, and she reaches across the table, resting a hand on Y/N’s,
“Hey, come on.- you’re my best friend. You can tell me anything, you know that.”
Y/N swallows hard. She wants to tell her. But saying it out loud makes it real, and she’s not sure she’s fully ready for that. Instead, she just stares down at the table, trying to figure out how to even begin. She shifts slightly in her seat, exhaling through her nose. She knows Sofia won’t drop it- she never does when she knows something’s off. So she pushes out a breath and shrugs, giving Sofia a tired half-smile.
“It’s just... JJ and I got into it a few days ago. And I guess it’s just- taking a toll on me more than I thought it would.”
It’s not a lie.
Not really
“You and JJ always fight. Like, all the time. It never lasts more than a day.”
Sofia’s brows furrow as she looks to the girl comfortingly. Y/N presses her lips together again, tracing the rim of her water glass with her finger, “Yeah, well… this time, he’s not talking to me. He’s just been… I don’t know. Distant? He only texts me if he needs something or to tell me he’s crashing at John B’s.”
She shrugs again, trying to make it seem like it’s not a big deal, even though it is. Because JJ has never done this before. Even when they fought, they never really ignored each other. And now, when she needs him more than ever, he’s pulling away. Sofia watches her carefully, taking in the way Y/N won’t quite meet her eyes, how she keeps fidgeting with her glass.
“Okay, yeah... that sucks,” she admits. “But, this is JJ we’re talking about? He’s your brother. There’s no way he stays mad at you forever- I mean, I literally watched you two try to strangle each other over an out of date Pop-Tart, and five minutes later, you were splitting it in half.” Y/N lets out a small, hollow chuckle at the memory, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes and Sofia sighs,
“Look, I get it. It sucks when things feel off between you two. But whatever it is, you’ll figure it out. You always do.”
Y/N nods, but she doesn’t say anything because although her relationship with JJ is an issue at the moment- it isn’t the problem.
But he’s a safe excuse.
So she lets Sofia keep talking, lets the conversation shift back to her and the guy she’s seeing. But even as she nods and hums at the right moments, she can’t shake the feeling that things are starting to slip out her grasp.
The ride home is quiet, the low hum of Sofia’s car filling the space between them. Y/N watches the streets pass by, the neon lights of convenience stores and run-down gas stations casting eye-catching glows. As they pull up in front of her house, she exhales and turns to her best friend, guilt tugging at her,
"Sorry I was pretty shitty company today."
Sofia scoffs softly waving her hand in dismissal before shifting in her seat to face her, "No, you weren’t. Don’t be silly." She leans over, pressing a quick, reassuring kiss to the side of Y/N’s face. Y/N musters a small smile, trying to believe her.
"I love you."
"I love you too, girlfriend. See you tomorrow?"
Sofia tilts her head, giving her a gentle smile in return. Y/N nods, lifting a hand to send her a playful air kiss before stepping out of the car. She watches Sofia drive away, then turns towards the house, her eyes catching on the familiar sight of JJ’s bike parked in the driveway. Stepping inside, she finds him in the living room, shoving clothes into a bag. He doesn’t look up right away, just keeps moving, shoulders tense. Y/N hesitates, watching him.
She wants to tell him everything.
She wants to fall apart right here and let him put her back together, just to be held by someone who would understand. Yet the way he’s been acting- the distance, the short replies- makes it feel impossible. He finally glances at her, expression unreadable.
"You good... ?"
It nearly breaks her and she forces herself to nod quickly, swallowing down the lump in her throat answering,
"Yeah. You?"
"Been fine."
JJ shrugs, his voice flat as he responds- and that’s it. They both know there’s something wrong, but neither of them know how to fix it. Y/N’s gaze flickers to the half-packed bag beside him. Her throat feels thick as she clears it before she asks,
"Where are you going?"
"John B’s for a few days."
JJ doesn’t stop what he’s doing as he answers. She nods, pretending it doesn’t sting, pretending she doesn’t feel him slipping further away instead putting on a small smile and mumbling out an,
"Oh... okay."
For a second, he hesitates at the sound of her voice.
His fingers grip the zipper of his bag a little tighter, like maybe he wants to say something more, but then he just exhales sharply, slings the strap over his shoulder and mutters,
"I’ll see you later."
And he’s gone.
The door shuts behind him, and all that’s left is silence. Y/N stands there, staring at the empty space where he stood, the weight of his absence pressing down on her. Her mind wanders but she startles at the sudden, shrill ring of the landline. Her brows furrow as she looks over at it. Nobody ever calls the house phone, she's even been meaning to cancel the damn thing for months now, but it always slipped her mind. A weird feeling creeps up her spine as she crosses the room and picks up the receiver.
"Hello?"
There’s a brief pause, then a robotic voice filters through the line:
"This is a collect call from—" a short beep sounds before a gruff, familiar voice cuts in,
"Luke Christopher Maybank."
"—an inmate at Kildare County Police Station. Do you accept the call?"
Y/N's stomach drops and she exhales sharply, pressing her forehead against the wall as she closes her eyes. For a second, she considers hanging up. Just letting it ring out and pretending she never picked up, but instead, she reluctantly whispers,
"Yes"
A click can be heard and then his voice, rough and slightly muffled rings out from the other end, "Y/N?"
She swallows, "Dad?"
"You gotta pick me up," he grumbles. "These fuckin' cops got me locked up for nothin’. Just some bullshit drunk and disorderly charge—it's all a misunderstanding, alright? Just—just get down here."
Y/N presses her palm to her face, dragging it down as she leans heavier against the wall. She doesn’t say anything right away. What is there to say? Why was she picking up her own father from the police station- last time she checked in every other normal families home it was the parents picking up the teenagers. Luke huffs out a frustrated breath when she doesn’t answer fast enough.
"C’mon, girl, I know you’re there. Don’t be difficult, just come get me. And—" he pauses,
"bring some money with you."
Y/N stills and her heart sinks. Money? All she has left is that two hundred and fifty dollars, well now two hundred since she had to tank her car up. The money she was saving for her... problem. Her fingers curl tightly around the phone cord as she stares at the floor, cursing him in her mind, rage bubbling up in her chest. Luke snaps, his voice sharper this time,
"Can you hear me or wha-"
"-yes I can fucking hear you, alright?"
Y/N bites out before she can stop herself. A little too harsh. There’s a beat of silence between them before he hums, a low, warning sound, but he doesn’t say anything else. She feels a little nervous, knowing she shouldn’t have spoken to him like that. She never should have spoke to him like that. The telephone beeps, signaling the time running out. She exhales, pinching the bridge of her nose.
"I'm coming."
Luke sniffs, shifting on the other end, "You better be kid."
The line clicks dead.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Y/N steps into the Kildare County Police Station, her shoes clicking sharply on the tile as she walks toward the counter. The air smells stale, the buzz of the overhead lights almost as grating as the noise in her mind. The officer behind the desk looks up at her and she clears her throat, her voice steady but flat,
"I'm here for Luke Maybank"
The officer nods, picking up the phone to make a call. But before she has time to stand there, Shoupe steps out from behind the door. He notices her immediately, the familiar face giving her a slight pause. He says offering her a nod,
"Y/N"
"Shoupe."
She looks up, a tight smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. He asks, his hands resting on the counter leaning in slightly.
"How’ve you been?"
"Good."
She keeps her answer short and stiff. He raises an eyebrow, as if he expected more before continuing,
"Well, I've been good too thanks for asking."
Y/N hums noncommittally and glances at the floor. Shoupe has always been kind to her, but at the end of the day he's still part of the police... and she can't really trust him, and he knows that. Shoupe exhales and motions to the officer at the desk.
"I’ll take care of this one."
He takes the place of the previous officer, fingers tapping rhythmically to type into the computer. Y/N glances around the waiting room which is practically empty, except for a middle aged man fast asleep in the far corner chair. Shoupe pulls out a piece of paper from the printer and places it on the counter infront of her.
"Your dad’s bail is $500."
Y/N’s eyes flick down to the piece of paper, mouth going dry at the sound of the number. Her eyes flicker across the document and land on the digits printed out in bold. Her hand slips into the pocket of her hoodie and takes out the $200 she’s been clinging to, counting it out slowly before offering it to him by placing it on the counter.
"That’s all I’ve got."
"Y/N..."
"Shoupe," she cuts him off, "That’s literally all I have left."
She gives him a look as if it should be obvious that she's clearly done with all of this. Shoupe runs a hand over his forehead, his eyes softening as he looks down at the cash on the counter. He sighs heavily.
He knows what goes on in that house.
Knows the toll it’s taken on her and JJ, but legally, he can’t do anything unless they report something. He winces, clearly not liking the way she’s speaking to him, but he doesn't push it.
"Look Y/N, I’ve told you before, if you and JJ ever need help... if you’re ready to talk about your dad, about what’s going on-"
"-I have nothing to say -he’s my dad."
She interrupts him again, eyes narrowing, voice steely but her heart is thumping heavily in her chest. There’s a long pause as he studies her, but she doesn’t flinch. Her expression is unreadable. Finally he sighs, running a hand through his hair.
"I can’t keep doing this, Y/N."
He says it softly, almost apologetically. He looks at the money again, then back up at her. He hesitates for a long moment before shaking his head, clearly wrestling with his own conscience. But then, after another long pause, he reaches out and takes the $200 from where it lay,
"This is the last time I it slide."
Y/N doesn’t respond, just stares at him for a beat. She knows she should probably feel something- relief maybe, but instead she just feels tired.
"Thanks"
She mutters, and she doesn’t bother to offer any more words.
Shoupe turns to leave, and when he returns Luke steps into the reception, his presence filling the space with that familiar weight she’s always hated. His eyes land on her immediately, and he plasters on a grin.
“Hey, kiddo”
He greets, the warmth in his voice as forced as the fatherly act he’s putting on. Before she can react, he pulls her into a hug. It’s stiff, his arms heavy around her, and Y/N doesn’t exactly return it. She just stands there, barely breathing, eyes momentarily flicking toward the reception desk where she knows Shoupe is watching. Luke’s grip tightens briefly before he steps back, clapping a hand on her shoulder like nothing’s wrong.
“C’mon, let’s go home huh?”
Without waiting for a response, he turns and strides toward the exit, acting like this is all just some minor inconvenience. Y/N doesn’t move right away. Her gaze moving back to the front desk, landing on Shoupe who’s watching her with that same expression, like he’s waiting for her to say something- to do something.
But she swallows down the lump in her throat and turns away, walking after Luke without another glance back.
Outside, he's is already waiting by the passenger side of her car, leaning against the door, like she didn’t just use the last of her money to get him out of a cell. Y/N doesn’t say a word as she steps toward the driver’s side. The moment she clicks the unlock button, Luke pulls the door open and gets in without hesitation, shutting it behind him.
She lingers outside for a second, inhaling sharply. Her fingers twitch at her side before she finally lifts a shaky hand, curling it around the handle. She pulls the door open and slides in, shutting it behind her with a quiet thud. The quiet settles thick between them and the air in the car feels suffocating. Luke is staring straight ahead, unmoving, unreadable. Y/N doesn’t look at him. She can’t. The tension makes her skin crawl, makes her hands itch to grip the steering wheel just to have something to hol-
CRACK
A sharp, blinding pain explodes across her face.
Her head snaps to the side, and for a moment the world blurs as blood splatters across the driver’s side window, red prominent against the glass. She cries out, the sound involuntary, ripped from her throat as agony spreads through her skull. Before she can process, before she can even breathe, a rough hand seizes her by the t-shirt, yanking her against the door.
“Don’t ever fuckin' speak to me like that again.”
His voice is a low growl, thick with rage, spit flying as he sneers at her and his fingers dig into the fabric, twisting and constricting. Y/N’s hands fly up, wrapping around his wrists, but she’s helpless—he’s too strong, too relentless. The pressure makes it hard to breathe, hard to think beyond the burning pain radiating from her nose.
Her lips part, but no sound comes out. Luke slams her against the door again, harder this time. The whole car shakes.
“Is that fuckin' clear?!”
A sob breaks from her, raw and shaky, “-yes.”
His grip tightens, “What was that?”
“Yes sir.”
She squeezes her eyes shut, voice barely above a whisper, trembling. He stares at her for a moment longer, the fury in his eyes making her stomach churn. Then, with a sharp shove, he releases her, sending her back against the seat. Luke exhales harshly, rolling his shoulders like he’s shaking off the moment, then mutters,
“Drive”
Y/N’s whole body is trembling, her breaths uneven. Slowly, her shaking hand lifts, fingertips grazing the sticky warmth dripping from her nose. She pulls back, eyes locking on the crimson staining her fingers.
“Now.” His tone is sharper this time, a warning.
“If you ain’t gonna drive right now Y/N, I swear to God you’ll be limpin' home.”
She doesn’t hesitate after that.
With jerky, frantic movements, she starts the car, the engine roaring to life. Her head is pounding, the sharp sting of her broken nose making her vision blur, but she forces herself to focus. She pulls out of the lot and onto the road, the streetlights casting long shadows over her shaking hands.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The beach parking lot is empty, save for her car, parked near the dunes. It’s late- but there’s no way in hell she’s going home, not tonight.
Not all alone with him there.
The air is thick with salt, the distant crash of waves the only sound cutting through the quiet. Her car door is open, letting in the cool night breeze, and the windows are rolled down. It helps her breathe, helps her not feel so confined.
She flips down the visor mirror, tilting her face slightly to the side. The faint glow from the overhead light highlights the swelling creeping along the bridge of her nose, the discoloration already setting in- a deep, ugly bruise spreading beneath her skin.
She sighs.
In the cup holder, a fast-food cup sits, condensation dripping down the sides. It was full of ice earlier, but now it’s just cold water. Her passenger seat holds a damp, crumpled t-shirt, stained slightly red from when she pressed it to her face after the bleeding slowed. Her fingers ghost over her nose, wincing when even the lightest touch sends a sharp sting through her skull. She drops her hand, pressing her head back against the seat with a quiet exhale.
She doesn’t know how long she sits there, staring at nothing, just listening to the waves. The night stretches on, then the low rumble of an approaching engine made her fingers twitch against the steering wheel. She flicked the mirror shut, cutting off the reflection of her slightly swollen nose, and turned her head just as the black Range Rover slowed to a stop a few feet away. The headlights dimmed, the driver’s door opened, and out stepped Rafe.
Two whole days.
Forty-eight hours since she’d told him and in all that time, not a single word, she didn't see him once.
Now he was here.
He walked toward her car, his movements purposeful but not rushed. The glow of the parking lot lights bounced off his sharp features, making his expression unreadable. When he stopped at her open door, he glanced down at her in the darkness, his mouth parting slightly before he finally spoke.
“Hi”
Y/N swallowed, feeling like she was made of glass, like she had to keep herself still or she’d crack.
“Hey.”
Her eyes flickered downward. He was holding something—an envelope, brown and slightly crumpled at the edges his voice calls out,
"I had a feeling I'd find you here"
Her brow furrowed slightly, curiosity prickling at her, but before she could ask, Rafe exhaled through his nose and said,
“I think we should talk.”
She hesitated, then gave him a small nod, eyes darting away as she jerked her chin toward the passenger seat in silent invitation. As Rafe moved around the car to get in, she saw it—the bloodied t-shirt still crumpled where she’d left it. She quickly snatched it up in an instant, shoving it into the back seat just as Rafe opened the door.
He settled into the passenger seat, the dim light from the dashboard casting a faint glow over them. He glanced at her, ready to speak, but then his expression shifted. His brows furrowed, his jaw tightening as he took in the dark bruising spreading across her nose, the faint swelling along her cheekbone. His voice was sharp, edged with something she didn’t want to name.
“The fuck is that?”
“I fell down the stairs.”
Y/N barely blinked responding- many years of experience had taught her to lie without hesitation. Rafe let out a short, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head.
“And what? The stairs punched you in the face when you got to the bottom?”
Her fingers curled into fists against her lap, the muscles in her jaw tightening, “Just shut the fuck up, Rafe. If you don’t have anything to say, get out of my car.”
"I'm trying to be nice-"
"Yeah? Well I don't want your niceties"
His nostrils flared, exhaling a long, irritated breath, but he pushed it down. His fingers drummed once against the envelope in his lap before he finally stilled. Rafe shifted in his seat, gripping the envelope before exhaling like he was about to say something.
“So, I—”
Before he could get another word out, a loud growl echoed through the car. She froze, her lips pressing together as if that could take it back. Apart from the lunch she’d had with Sofia, she hadn’t eaten anything else all day. Her body had clearly decided to remind her of that at the worst possible moment.
“Sorry”
She mumbled, trying to act like it was nothing. Rafe gave her a look, one brow lifting.
“Do you need to eat or…?”
She shook her head quickly, “I’m fine.”
He didn’t look convinced at all, he looked skeptical as he started patting his pockets, digging around like he was searching for something. After a few seconds, he pulled out a slightly squished protein bar and held it out to her.
“Here.”
Y/N stared at him, blinking in disbelief and Rafe rolled his eyes.
“Relax, it’s Topper’s. He left it in my car.”
She hesitated for a moment, glancing between him and the protein bar before finally taking it from his hand. “Thanks,” she muttered, unwrapping it and taking a small bite, the dull ache in her stomach started to ease almost instantly.
Rafe just watched.
Y/N’s eyes flickered to the envelope in his hands as she chewed the protein bar. She gestured to it with her fingers, swallowing before asking,
“What is it?”
“It’s a trip to Charleston. With a hotel booked near a—” His jaw tensed, like he was choosing his words carefully.
“Near a clinic.”
Her chewing slowed- then it stopped altogether.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the bar as she stared at him. Two days. He hadn’t spoken to her in two days, and in that time… he had organised this? She asked, her voice quieter than before.
“What?”
“I found a clinic in Charleston. One that’s, you know… quiet.” He lifted the envelope slightly as he shifted in his seat.
“Booked an appointment for you.”
Her fingers crumpled the wrapper before shoving it into the empty cup holder. Slowly, she reached out, taking the envelope from him, her fingertips brushing against the brown paper as she peeled it open. Inside, there were neatly printed documents- clinic appointment verification, hotel booking confirmation, the details laid out in plain ink. She stared at them, her eyes scanning over the words but barely processing them.
“You did this…?”
“Yeah.”
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out at first, she wasn’t sure what to say or how to respond. Rafe ran a hand over his jaw, his voice quieter now.
“You deserve to have that option you know.... It’s not like you asked to get pregnant.”
Her fingers curled around the papers, her grip tightening slightly. She nodded once, her throat suddenly feeling tight. A breath passed her lips, and then, in the softest voice- so quiet because if it was any louder, she knew it would waver- she murmured,
“Thank you.”
She pulled out the clinic information, her eyes scanning over the details. “It’s for Tuesday evening,” Rafe said, watching her as she read. “Least busy time of the week.” Y/N nodded slightly, and she turned the envelope upside down, letting the rest of its contents slide out- and then her breath hitched.
A thick wad of cash fell into her lap, the weight of it heavy.
Her fingers hesitated before picking it up, and as she held it, she could already tell- it wasn’t some small stack of bills- it was a lot. She turned to him, eyes narrowed in confusion.
“Is this for all the clini—”
“No,” he cut in before she could even finish, shaking his head, “the hotel, the ferry, the clinic—it’s all been paid for.”
Her brows pulled together in confusion. “I'm sorry... ?”
“It’s been paid for”
He repeated, voice firm. She glanced down at the money again, gripping it a little tighter. She lifted it slightly, gesturing as she asked him.
“So… what’s this for?”
“It’s for Friday.”
Rafe exhaled through his nose and her stomach clenched slightly. Friday. The evening she'd spent being his- private dancer. “Oh” she muttered, realization settling in. Rafe’s jaw ticked, and he gave her a small nod.
“Yeah… it’s yours.”
Y/N looked down to the green paper biting her lip before she flicked her fingers through the thick stack of bills, her breath catching as she counted. Her eye's widened in disbelief and she recounted it all again- slowly and surely, yet the result was the same.
Three thousand dollars.
Her head shook immediately, “Rafe, I can’t take this.”
“Y/N—”
“No, I— I can’t take this,” she said more firmly now, shoving the cash back into the envelope.
“This is insane. We didn’t even—fuck, I didn’t even 'dance' for you”
She said and both of them knew exactly what she was referring to when she spoke of dancing. His jaw clenched as he sighed out,
“Just take it.”
“No.”
His frustration spiked slightly, “Can you stop being so fucking stubborn and take the money?” Y/N met his stare head-on, her grip still firm on the envelope. Yet neither of them backed down. Rafe exhaled sharply, his fingers tapping against his knee before he tried again.
"Just take the money… please."
His voice was lower this time, a little less sharp, and when she glanced up at him, his eyes weren’t as hard as before. Y/N looked back down at the envelope in her lap, her fingers grazing over the edges. Her chest felt tight, torn between her pride and the harsh reality of needing it. She let out a quiet breath, then slid the money back into the envelope without another word. Deep down, as much as she hated accepting it, she knew she needed it.
Y/N looked back down to her lap and picked up the folded pieces of paper, the crinkling of the paper broke the heavy silence and she stared at it her fingers slowly dragging over the surface, tracing the edge of the ferry ticket she’d just pulled out.
There were two.
Her thumb brushed over the printed words on the tickets, her gaze flickering between them. The cold night air from the open window tugged at her hair, but she barely noticed. “Thought you’d want to take someone with you...” he said, nodding toward the tickets,
“So you’re not alone.”
Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and she caught the sincerity in his gaze. It was strange, this version of Rafe, the one who wasn’t demanding or mocking, just... there. She couldn’t help but feel the tight knot in her chest loosen just slightly.
“One of your Pogues or something”
He added. She let out a small, heavy sigh as her head leaned back against the headrest. Her fingers fidgeted with the tickets again, but this time it wasn’t because she was trying to make sense of them. It was because something in her stomach twisted- an ache that had nothing to do with hunger anymore. Her gaze dropped to the tickets in her hands, the crinkling of the paper loud in the quiet car.
“They don’t know”
She said softly, her voice barely a whisper, the words tumbling out like an admission she hadn’t meant to make. Rafe’s expression shifted, his brows furrowing as he turned to look at her more intently.
“What?”
Y/N’s lips parted, but she hesitated for a moment. She swallowed hard, her eyes still on the tickets, the words coming out barely above a whisper,
“No one knows”
The car seemed to get even quieter, the sound of the ocean in the distance a hum. She could feel his gaze on her, but she couldn’t bring herself to look up tp him. The silence stretched on, thick and unspoken, until finally, she turned to face him, her voice low but steady.
“…You’re the only one who knows.”
Rafe froze.
The words hit him like a punch to the gut, and for a long moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak. His fingers twitched at his sides, his jaw tightening, but all he could do was sit there, processing what she’d just said. Y/N’s words hung in the air, and she couldn’t quite shake the vulnerability that had seeped into her bones- the weight of the secret that had been hers alone to carry. She stared down at the ferry tickets again, her fingers absently shuffling them in her lap, but her mind was elsewhere. After what felt like hours, she broke the silence. Her voice was small, fragile,
“Would—... would you go with me?”
The question hung in the air between them, tentative and raw, her heart pounding in her chest. She hadn’t meant to ask it, hadn’t planned on it, but there it was, slipping out like a confession. Rafe didn’t answer immediately. He just stared at her, his face unreadable, his eyes scanning hers like he was trying to figure out if she really meant it.
If this was truly what she wanted.
The seconds dragged by, stretched thin as they sat in the car, Finally, Rafe spoke out, his voice low, almost as if he's not sure he heard her correctly.
"Me?"
Y/N nodded, her gaze steady on him, her fingers tightening around the ferry tickets. He already knew deep down what his answer was going to be, but the question still caught him off guard and he hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to go with her- but because he wasn’t sure what it would change between them. He sighed, his hand twitching against his thigh before he turned to her fully, meeting her eyes. “Yeah,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Yeah... I’ll go with you."
There's a long pause as the words settle between them, and Y/N looks at him for a moment, as if waiting for him to take it back, but he doesn’t.
He means it.
alec mcdowell is obsessed with everything about you.
he doesn't care if you don't think there's anything "special" for him to obsess over, and he does argue with you on it. how could you not see that you were the hot shit? he practically studied you, partly because he was a little bit out of experience with this whole societal bullshit, and partly because he loved all of your mannerisms and quirks.
you hold his hand by his fingers, just so you can hold on tightly to his much bigger hand when you walk. you nuzzle into his side when he puts his arm around you, like you wanted to be attached to him. you gave him a kiss every time he walked into a room you were in, like clockwork.
god forbid he leave a shirt at yours, because it was gone into your closet, now, lost forever from him. not that he minded; sometimes he did it because he knew you, that was the whole point. you like to ride him in the mornings when everything's slow and syrupy and let him loose at night, when it's dark out and the only witness to the way he defiles you is the stars, who've always kept his secrets, kept them all throughout his time in manticore.
he knows all these little details about you, catalogued in his brain in the important part of it, because alec would be damned if he forgot a single thing about you. sometimes the weight of what he'd gone through and everything he missed out on because of his untraditional and fucked up upbringing weighed heavy on his shoulders, and all he could do was turn to that little place in his mind where you lived and had a home in.
all alec had to do was imagine the way your smile lit up your face, or your eyes sparkled in the morning light, or your hand pressed to his chest when you leaned up to meet his mouth for a kiss, the way you'd giggle when he scoops you up so effortlessly, kissing the corners of your lips and your nose just to make you laugh like the sun itself lived within you, and everything was okay again.
so yeah. he was a tad obsessed. but there were more times than you ever realized that the little things you did were some of the only things keeping him from sinking.
notes! this is my first time with my new taglist YEEEHAWWW if u wanna be a dahlia nation member go here hehehe THANKKK U. idk what this is either I JUST RLY WANT ALEC MCDOWEEEELLLL RNNNNNN HE'S IN MY BRAIN
tags! @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @pieandflannel @viluren @h8aaz @yulianie @angelicjackles @beausling @tinas111 @briisbananass @cowboysandcigarettes @deanswidow
i saw someone mention an idea a while ago (i cant remember who im sorry!!!) about what would happen if baby (the impala) became a real person from some witch spell and what theyd be like 'n ive been thinking about it ever since ...
"would you still love her so much if she was a person?
what a weird thing to ask about a car, dean had thought in that moment, but hey, witches were weird sons of bitches. he'd laughed about it, shoved the stupid witch killing potion down her throat, and went on his merry way.
baby wasn't where he'd parked her. he walked all around the place, head spinning in absolute befuddlement, because how does a parked car move, when-
"dean!"
a girl in a black leather jacket, only a black leather jacket, sprints up to him like he's some kind of sight for sore eyes. his eyes widen, absolutely certain this was just going to chalk up to the weirdest night in the world, and then he remembers the witch and her cryptic talk.
"ah, fuck," dean groans, and the chipper girl in front of him merely blinks, the bags under her eyes a little dark, a little heavy. he knew he needed to get baby an oil change. seeing how rundown she was starting to look now that she was real was like icing atop a fucked up cake.
the girl's head tilts. "is something wrong with my engine?"
dean blinks once. twice. "what?"
"you say that when something's wrong with me." in her hand is his to-go cup from the diner. straw to her mouth and drinking like she'd been in a desert for weeks. right. maybe the oil change was more than overdue. he'd been busy, alright? "i think it's my engine."
"yeah? why's that?"
the girl blinks again. looks down at herself, and then back up. "something did not start right."
no. something did not start right. she's practically bouncing on her heels, though, and she's pretty as all sin, so at the very least, dean's body upkeep with his car was spot on.
it was a long walk back to the hotel. he wasn't even sure how to explain this to sam, or how exactly to handle walking down the highway with a half naked girl, but. stranger things had happened and would happen, he supposed.
the slurping noises from her drinking only got louder as they walked. it was empty, except for the ice melting and pooling in the bottom of the styrofoam. "this was really good. tickled my tongue."
dean couldn't help the curl in the corners of his lips at that. the answer was yes. he would still love her as much if she was a girl.
HOPE THIS IS GOOD I JUST WOKE UP N HAD TO MAKE SOMETHINNGGGG BC THIS IDEA IS SO CUTESIE SILLY AND I TOO DIDNT STOP THINKING AB IT UNTIL I GOT SOMETHIN OUT < 3
Hiiii! I hope you're doing great <3 would you please write something platonic, when Dean and Sam were children (or teenagers, it's up to you), and John were to leave them with an ally/friend of his, and she's very attentive, caring, loving, patient, and understanding with them? I deeply enjoyed that our boys had mother figures in their adulthood, that genuinely cared of them, but I would have had loved if they would have had some type of caring figure when they were younger, bc they deserve the entire world :')
Ofc if you don't feel comfortable writing about this or you just simply don't like the idea, pls feel free to ignore it :)
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ safe haven,
summary. john's out for another hunt and the boys get dropped off with a trusted friend
pairing. sam & dean winchester x mother-figure!oc
wordcount. 435
notes. love this concept and they definitely would've needed this! hope you like it hon
John doesn’t say much before he leaves. Just a gruff “You listen to her, alright?” before he’s out the door, duffel slung over his shoulder, truck rumbling down the dirt road.
Dean watches him go, jaw tight. He’s used to this—watching his dad disappear, knowing it’ll be days before he comes back, if not longer.
Sam, though—Sam still watches the taillights until they’re gone, small shoulders sagging.
“Well,” a voice hums behind them, warm and light, like a quilt fresh out of the dryer. “I don’t know about you boys, but I’ve got a roast in the oven that’s about to fall apart if we don’t dig in soon.”
Dean turns to look at her—the woman John dropped them off with. He doesn’t know much about her, just that her name is Annie, and their dad trusts her.
That’s rare enough.
She doesn’t look like a hunter. No scuffed-up boots, no haunted eyes. Just soft curves, an apron dusted with flour, and a smile that reaches her eyes.
She looks like a mom.
Dean doesn’t trust it.
But Sam—Sam is already inching toward her kitchen, nose scrunching as he sniffs the air. “Roast?” he asks, tentative, like he’s afraid he misheard.
Annie’s eyes twinkle. “With potatoes. And homemade bread. You eat bread, don’t you, sweetheart?”
Sam nods quickly, and Dean huffs, nudging his brother. “Dude, act like you’ve been fed before.”
Annie just chuckles, ruffling Sam’s hair. “Come on, then. Wash your hands first.”
Dean hesitates, lingering in the doorway as Sam beelines for the sink.
She’s too nice.
Nice people don’t last long in their world.
But the kitchen smells amazing, warm and buttery, and his stomach betrays him with a loud growl.
Annie turns, raising a brow. “Well?” she says, gentle but firm. “You coming, or am I gonna have to carry you?”
Dean snorts, shoulders easing just slightly. “I’d like to see you try, lady.”
She grins. “Careful what you wish for, kid.”
That night, she tucks Sam in first, smoothing his hair back, humming something soft. Sam’s out within minutes, relaxed in a way Dean hasn’t seen in years.
And then it’s just him.
Dean is sitting stiffly on the bed when Annie turns to him.
“You don’t have to, you know,” she says softly.
He frowns. “Have to what?”
She smiles, but there’s something sad in it. “Be on guard. Take care of everything. Just for tonight, sweetheart, let someone take care of you.”
Dean doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything.
But when she pulls the blanket up over his shoulders, when her fingers brush against his hair—
He finally relaxes.
ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ
want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @lovewolfspirit ⋆ @kayleighwinchester ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @mrs-pondwater19 ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @myceliumsunshine ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @beakaleak32 ⋆ @bamboobooshark ⋆ @ocelotlist51 ⋆ @lelapine ⋆ @pwin098 ⋆ @lacysretribution ⋆ @globetrotter28 ( continues in the comments )
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
More teen!dean please ?
⋆˙⟡ milkshakes & car dates,
summary. skipping school with dean is always a great idea
pairing. teen!dean winchester x reader genre. fluff
wordcount. 895
notes / warnings. teen dean!!! that's the warning
The school day drags like wet paint.
Your math teacher’s droning on about parabolas or something equally tragic, but all you can focus on is the folded piece of paper tucked into the corner of your notebook. Ink smudged in the corner, slightly torn — unmistakably written in Dean Winchester’s messy, all-caps scrawl.
WANNA DITCH LAST PERIOD? I GOT THE CAR & A KILLER MIXTAPE
You glance up. Two rows over, he’s slouched in his chair like he owns the school — that cocky grin barely hidden behind the tip of his pen. When you meet his eyes, he winks.
You nearly drop your pencil.
Dean Winchester is trouble wrapped in a leather jacket and dimples. He doesn’t do straight A’s or science fairs. He does engine oil and motel beds and smuggles candy into class like it’s contraband. He’s also the only person who’s ever made you laugh so hard you snorted soda through your nose — and then offered you his flannel to wipe it off.
You don’t even remember agreeing to date him. It just sort of… happened. Between one prank war in history class and that time he walked you home in the rain with only his jacket and zero umbrella. He never actually asked, just kissed you one day after detention and said, “Guess you’re stuck with me now.”
And honestly? You are.
“You sure your dad won’t freak?” you ask as you slide into the passenger seat of the Impala, the vinyl still warm from the sun.
Dean smirks, throwing the car into drive with one hand, the other already reaching for the cassette deck. “He’s in another state and doesn’t know what day it is. We’re golden.”
The Impala purrs to life, and so does the music — loud and unapologetic, something with guitars and drums that make your heartbeat speed up even more than it already is.
“Where are we even going?” you ask, half-laughing, wind tossing your hair as he rolls the windows down.
Dean shoots you a look. “You ever had a chocolate shake from that diner off Route 17?”
“No?”
“Blasphemy,” he says, slamming a dramatic fist on the steering wheel. “Guess I gotta change your life.”
And weirdly… you kind of think he means it.
The diner is straight out of a movie: neon signs, checkerboard floors, waitresses who call you “hon” like it’s your actual name. Dean orders two shakes, extra whipped cream, no hesitation. You try to pay. He blocks your hand with a french fry.
“Not a chance,” he says, grinning. “My girl doesn’t pay.”
Your girl. Your stomach flips.
You sip your milkshake, cheeks warm, watching the way the sunset paints gold into his eyelashes. He’s telling some ridiculous story about Sam trying to iron a flannel while wearing it, and you’re laughing so hard you almost choke on your straw.
Dean reaches over, wipes whipped cream from your lip with his thumb, then licks it off like it's nothing. Like it’s not the most casually intimate thing anyone’s ever done to you.
“You’re staring,” he says, cocking an eyebrow.
“No I’m not.”
“You totally are.”
You throw a napkin at him. He catches it mid-air, winks. God, he’s annoying. And you want to kiss him so bad.
He leans in just a little. “You gonna kiss me or just keep drooling over that shake?”
You raise a brow. “Don’t flatter yourself, Winchester.”
He laughs, low and warm, and you swear it vibrates all the way to your spine.
It’s dark when he parks the Impala outside your house. The porch light is still on. Your heart’s racing.
Dean walks you to the steps, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. He’s quiet, but not in a bad way. It’s like the night slowed him down a little. Let him breathe.
“I had fun,” you say softly.
He shrugs, eyes soft. “You always make it easy.”
There’s a beat of silence. The kind that buzzes with something new. Something gentle and real and teenage and too big to name. He reaches out, tugging a lock of your hair behind your ear, then just lets his fingers rest there — along your jaw, like he wants to remember how your skin feels.
“You make me wish we didn’t have to leave,” he says, like it’s not a big deal. Like it doesn’t make your heart ache in a way you don’t have words for.
You lean up, brushing your lips against his. It’s slow. Soft. Barely-there at first, until he kisses you back like he means it — like he doesn’t want the night to end either.
When you finally pull away, breathless and warm, he smiles like he’s just won a bet.
“Best. Shake. Ever,” he says.
“You didn’t even finish it.”
He grins wider. “Didn’t need to.”
You laugh, swat his shoulder, and turn to head inside. But he calls your name — soft, unsure, almost shy, and when you glance back, his voice catches a little.
“Hey… you think about the future? Like, what happens after this?”
You pause. “Yeah. You're there, without a doubt.”
“You too.” His hands are back in his pockets. “Just… makin’ sure we’re on the same page.”
You are. Even if you don’t know what the page says yet.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you say.
He smirks. “Not if I see you first.”
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