Absolutely Beautiful

Bunny

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reader

summary: Struggling to keep her and JJ’s home afloat, Y/N turns to the only option that guarantees fast cash- stripping at a club on the Cut. But when Rafe Cameron catches her in the act, he sees the perfect opportunity to tighten his grip around her life.

a/n: I actually said I'd never do another series again but here we are 😼. Looollll anywho, Y/N literally is literally a walking definition of older child syndrome and her and Rafe hate eachother so much stop. This is gonna be such a good enemies to lovers get me outta here

warnings: mentions of drugs, smoking, drinking, a strip club (duh), naked women, drug dealing, aggressive behaviour.

(P2)

The faucet dripped steadily, each drop hitting the rust-stained sink with an echo that filled the quiet of the house. Y/N stood in the cramped bathroom, arms crossed, lips pressed together in frustration as she watched the slow but relentless leak. 

Another thing broken. 

Another thing they couldn’t afford to fix.

She let out a slow breath, running a hand down her face before turning sharply at the sound of footsteps thudding through the hallway. She knew them well—JJ, heading for the door, heading out. Again.

“JJ.” 

Her voice was firm, but it barely slowed him down as he moved through the house, searching for his keys. He muttered, pushing past the worn couch and shoving a hand into the pocket of his frayed shorts.

“Not now, Y/N, alright?” 

“JJ, seriously.” 

She stepped into his path, arms out now, forcing him to stop. 

“Can you just- can you talk to me for five seconds?”

“What?”

His blue eyes flicked up to hers, but there was impatience in them, already halfway gone even as he stood in front of her. Y/N clenched her jaw, gesturing back toward the bathroom. 

“Shit’s breaking faster than I can fix it. We need money and I can’t do this alone.”

“I’ll figure something out, okay?” 

JJ sighed, rubbing a hand down his face as he stepped around her, heading toward the door again. She let out a humorless scoff watching her brother avoid the conversation- once again.

 “What about that job interview at the gas station I told you about last week?”

She’d told him about it last monday, she could still remember begging the manager to give him a chance, given his reputation- well it wasn't the best. JJ’s shoulders tensed slightly, and for the first time, he hesitated. 

“Uh… yeah, about that…”

Y/N’s stomach dropped. She already knew the answer before he finished his sentence. She spoke slowly, warning in her tone.

 “JJ” 

“Look, me and the Pogues were fishing, and we kinda… lost track of time.”

He winced, rubbing the back of his neck. Y/N shut her eyes, exhaling sharply as she lifted her hands to cover her face. 

“Are you serious?”

“I mean, technically, I did show up. Just… a little late.”

JJ let out a half-hearted chuckle, like maybe that’d soften the blow. She dropped her hands, shaking her head as exhaustion settled deep in her bones. 

“Jesus, Jay. Do you even care?”

JJ frowned but didn’t answer right away. He knew he was being a little unreasonable- but in his defense he was just a teen. His silence however told her everything. She looked at him and momentarily took in his appearance, his messy blond hair, his summer kissed skin; she envied him a little, the way he was always out and about, not worried, never stressed. She muttered, turning on her heel.

“Forget it” 

“Y/N—”

But she was already walking away, back toward the bathroom, back toward the leaking faucet, back toward everything she had to deal with alone. JJ hesitated for a second, watching her go, then sighed and yanked open the door. And then it shut behind him, leaving Y/N standing there in the silence. She swallowed hard, blinking back the stinging frustration behind her eyes.

"Yeah," she muttered to herself, voice barely above a whisper.

 "Guess I'll figure it out myself."

After a while she had given up on the leaky faucet, cleaning up the house- to the best of her ability- before settling down in the kitchen.The stack of bills sat on the dining table, a messy pile of final notices and overdue warnings. Y/N stared at them, her fingers running over the edges of the envelopes, as if touching them could somehow make the numbers smaller, make the debt disappear. The utilities, the rent- hell, even the grocery bill? It was all piling up faster than she could keep up with. Sometimes she wished she could turn back time, move back to when she didn't even know about all of this, before she showed her dad she could look after herself - and JJ… maybe then she wouldn't have this constant weight on her shoulders.

With a sigh, she dropped her head down onto the table, resting her forehead against the cool surface. Think, think, think. There had to be a way to come up with money, something quick, something that didn’t involve relying on JJ, because clearly that wasn’t an option either now. Her mind raced through possibilities, but every idea led to a dead end. The front door swung open and then slammed shut. Y/N didn’t even lift her head as heavy, stumbling footsteps made their way inside. 

She knew that gait all too well. 

Her jaw clenched as her father mumbled something incoherent under his breath, his words slurred, laced with whatever shit he had put in his system tonight. She stayed still, hoping, praying, that he’d just pass out somewhere and leave her be. Without a word to her, he shuffled through the house, disappearing into her bedroom. Y/N pursed her lips, lifting her head slightly as she listened to him rustling around in there. She knew better than to go after him. Whatever he was looking for- money, booze, something to pawn- she wasn’t about to get in his way.

Instead, she pushed back from the table, standing up slowly, her hands pressing against the wood as she steadied herself. The house was too quiet now, except for the occasional sound of drawers opening and closing in her room. Her stomach twisted. She needed to get out of here, needed to fix this mess before it swallowed her whole.

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

She’d been driving with no real destination, letting the silence of the night and the hum of the engine settle her thoughts. She’s gripping the wheel tightly, her thoughts tangled in the mess of overdue payments, an empty fridge, and a father and brother who barely acknowledge her existence unless they want something.Then, as she’s driving through the dimly lit streets, she passes by it. The neon sign flickers, casting a dull pink glow onto the pavement, and without even thinking, she slams the brakes. Her car comes to a sudden stop in the middle of the empty street and can feel her seat belt digging into her chest momentarily, her heart pounding as she stares at the building.

It’s not like she’s never thought about it before. 

She’s heard things, seen the type of girls who walk in and out of there, all done up with money to spend. And right now, she has nothing- nothing but overdue bills and a house falling apart. Her hands grip the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. A part of her wants to just drive away, pretend she never even considered it. But another part of her- the part that’s desperate, the part that’s sick of drowning- knows this might be her only shot. She swallows hard, taking a deep breath before finally pulling her car to the curb. She sits there for a second, hands still on the wheel, staring at the entrance, she brings her hand up to rub it down her face, hand resting over her mouth as she thinks. 

Really thinks.

Then, before she can change her mind, she kills the engine and steps out.

The night air is cool against her skin, but it does nothing to settle the heat rising in her chest. Her heart is hammering, her stomach twisting as she closes the car door behind her. The pavement feels unsteady beneath her feet as she walks toward the entrance. The music from inside is faint but pulsing, the bass reverberating through the ground. She hesitates, staring at the worn-down exterior and the neon sign buzzing overhead. As she approached the door, something caught her eye- a flyer taped to the window, the bold letters glaring at her in the dimming light.

NOW HIRING

This is insane. 

She shouldn’t be here.

And yet, she doesn’t turn around, instead her fingers flex at her sides before she pushes the door open, stepping inside. The shift in atmosphere is immediate. The air is thick with perfume and alcohol, the dim lighting casting deep shadows across the room. The club isn’t packed- it’s late on a weekday- but there are still men scattered around, cash in hand, eyes glued to the stage. A girl moves fluidly under the colored lights, her body illuminated by pinks and blues as she wraps herself around the pole. Y/N swallows, forcing herself to keep walking, past the wandering eyes of men who glance at her but don’t linger. She doesn’t know exactly where she’s going, only that if she stops now, she’ll most likely lose her nerve.

She spots a bar toward the back and makes a beeline for it, hands slightly clammy. A woman stands behind the counter, pouring a drink for some guy in a suit. Y/N waits until she’s done before leaning in slightly. 

“Hey, um- do you know who I talk to if I’m looking for a job?”

The woman lifts a brow, gaze flicking over Y/N, taking her in. Then, without a word, she jerks her chin toward a door near the back as she picks up a glass on the counter and starts drying it. 

“Through there. Ask for Tommy.”

Y/N nods, her pulse jumping as she turns toward the door. This is it. She can still leave, still pretend she never came here. But instead, she takes a breath and pushes the door open. The door swings shut behind her with a dull thud, muffling the thumping bass from the main room. The air back here feels different- less suffocating, it’s dimly lit, the walls lined with old vintage posters of strippers and liquor crates, the faint scent of cigarettes lingers in the air.

Y/N’s eyes adjust quickly, landing on a man seated behind a cluttered desk, lazily counting a stack of cash. He looks to be in his late forties, broad-shouldered with thinning hair and a face that’s seen its fair share of rough nights. A half-smoked cigarette dangles between his fingers. He doesn’t look up immediately, just exhales a cloud of smoke before finally lifting his gaze to hers. His eyes sweep over her, slow and calculating. 

“You lost, sweetheart?”

“I saw you were hiring.”

Y/N shakes her head, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket.That piques his interest. He leans back in his chair, eyeing her with something between amusement and scrutiny. 

“That so?”

“Yeah. I—I need a job.”

She nods, trying to keep her voice steady. Tommy taps his fingers against the desk, sizing her up. 

“You ever danced before?”

Y/N hesitates for half a second, “No.”

He smirks like he expected that answer, responding with a slow nod as he places the money he was counting into an envelope labeled ‘Bambi’. 

“You got any experience bartending? Serving?”

“...I'm a waitress at the country club.”

His brow lifts, and for a moment, she thinks he’s going to laugh in her face. Instead, he sighs, rubbing a hand down his jaw, momentarily pausing as he closes up the envelope, puts it onto a pile and looks up to her. 

“So, what? You just walked in here hoping I’d throw you on stage?”

“I’m a fast learner.”

Y/N presses her lips together, shifting on her feet. Tommy watches her for a beat, then gestures toward the empty chair across from him. 

“Sit.”

She does, moving forward and lowering herself onto the chair in front of him, the leather squeaking a little as it makes contact with her bare thighs. He studies her in the dim light, tapping his cigarette against the ashtray. 

“What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N,” he says, dragging the word out like he’s tasting it. “You don’t look like a girl who just woke up one day and decided this is what she wanted to do. So tell me- what are you really doing here?”

“I need the money.”

Y/N clenches her jaw. Tommy hums, nodding like that doesn’t surprise him as he taps the ash of his cigarette on the edge of an empty whiskey glass. 

“That part’s obvious.” 

He leans forward slightly as he continues, resting his elbows on the table. 

“But I need to know what I’m dealing with. You got people who’ll come looking for you? A jealous boyfriend? Strict parents? Any reason this might come back to bite me in the ass?”

Y/N hesitates, because the truth is- complicated. JJ wouldn’t approve, not in a million years, his sister working in a strip club? There was no way he would be happy about it, but the more she thought about it, he’s barely around- and besides she is the older sibling. And Luke? She doubts he’d even notice with the way he’s always high out of his mind. Yet deep down she knew, if he did find out it certainly wouldn’t end well.

“No,” she says finally. 

“No one’s coming after me.”

Tommy watches her carefully, like he’s weighing her answer. Then, with a slow nod, he exhales another stream of smoke and flicks his butt of his cigarette into the glass. 

“Alright, Y/N… I’ll give you a shot.”

Relief floods her chest, but it’s short-lived as he continues.

“First things first- you start off small. No stage, not yet. You’ll work the floor. Waitress, maybe some private rooms if you’re up for it. Tips are yours, but the house gets a cut. If you prove you can handle yourself, we’ll talk about dancing.”

Y/N nods, ignoring the way her stomach tightens at the mention of private rooms. She can handle this. She has to. Tommy gestures toward the door. 

“Come in tomorrow night. Nine o’clock. One of the girls will show you the ropes.”

“Okay, thank you.”

He hums out as Y/N stands up, gripping the back of the chair briefly before letting go. As she turns to leave her hand reaching out for the door handle, Tommy’s voice stops her.

“One last thing, sweetheart.”

She glances back.

“I hope you know what you’re getting into.”

His gaze is sharp, knowing. Y/N doesn’t reply. What could she possibly say to him? She just nods once and steps back through the door, back into the neon-lit haze of the club.

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

The dressing room hummed with chatter, the air thick with the scent of perfume, body shimmer, and a mix of fruity smoke drifting around. Mirrors lined the walls, reflecting girls in various states of getting ready- adjusting lingerie straps, applying a final coat of lip gloss, securing thigh-high stockings into garter belts. Y/N sat at one of the vanities, leaning in close as she fixed the last flick of her eyeliner. Her figure was wrapped in black lace, tiny straps and sheer panels leaving just enough to the imagination- but she still had a few finishing touches to go. Naomi- better known as Bambi- was beside her, placing her straightener down and popping her gum loudly as she smirked at Y/N through the mirror. 

“You’re getting faster at this,” She mused, eyes flicking down to Y/N’s hands as she fastened a delicate silver choker with a small heart pendant around her neck. 

“First week, you were takin’ forever in here. Now look at you. A real pro, Bunny.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled, smoothing out a stray strand of hair before reaching for her gloss. She teased, voice light but with that tired edge that never quite went away these days.

“Yeah, yeah. You gonna pat me on the head next?” 

“Mmm, maybe after your first private dance of the night. If you’re good girl.”

Bambi grinned and Y/N huffed a laugh, pressing her lips together to even out the gloss. A month and some into this life, and she wasn’t sure if she was settling in or just getting better at pretending she had. It was easier now- knowing the regulars, knowing what songs meant what, knowing how to smile just enough but not too much. The money helped. 

God, did the money help.

She glanced down at her phone, screen lighting up with a notification. 

JJ :  Staying at John B’s 

JJ  :  See you tmr

JJ  :  Good luck at work!!!

Y/N stares at the screen for a moment, her stomach twisting like it always does when she thinks about how much she’s keeping from him. He thinks she picked up an extra night cleaning shift at the country club since that’s what she told him. He has no idea that while he’s crashing at the chateau, she’s slipping into heels and stepping onto a stage under flashing neon lights. She locks her phone, pushing the thought away. 

Guilt won’t pay the bills.

“Busy night, you think?”

She spoke as she ignored the message, flipping the phone over and looking back at the girl next to her. Bambi gave a lazy stretch, rolling out her shoulders. 

“Always is on a Friday. High rollers’ll be in. You might get lucky.”

“Yeah, real lucky.”

Y/N scoffed, grabbing her perfume and spritzing it lightly over her collarbones. Bambi side-eyed her, then leaned in with a smirk. 

“Come on, Bunny. You might actually have fun tonight. If not, at least make it worth your while.”

Y/N just hummed, adjusting the strap on her heel as the familiar pulse of bass-heavy music leaked in from the club floor. The music thrums through the floor as Y/N steps out of the dressing room, the familiar pulse of bass settling into her bones. The club is alive tonight- packed booths, the bar swarmed with men flashing cash, neon strobes flickering over clinking glasses and loose laughter. Bambi walks beside her, adjusting the strap of her bra as she surveys the crowd. 

“It’s a good night,” she muses, eyes gleaming as a man waves down a waitress with a fat roll of bills in his hand. 

“Everyone’s in a generous mood hmm.”

 “Looks like it.”

Y/N hums, already spotting a few regulars scattered through the crowd. The air is thick with perfume and cologne, the scent of whiskey and something heavier and smokier lingering beneath. Girls weave through the crowd, balancing trays of drinks, draping themselves over men who let them. The DJ’s set switches, the bass rattling the room, A voice calls from near the DJ booth, and Bambi nudges Y/N with her hip, a smirk tugging at her lips as she sends her a little kiss.

“Knock ’em dead, baby.”

Y/N exhales, rolling her shoulders back as she steps into the chaos of the club. The energy is thick tonight- bodies packed around the stage, eager hands already tossing bills, the bass thrumming deep in her ribs. She grips the pole, the cool metal grounding her for a brief moment before she moves.The nerves are familiar but distant now, part of the routine; she’s used to it- the way the outside world fades the second she steps onto the platform.

Her body flows with the music, slow and teasing at first, rolling her hips as she wraps a leg around the pole and lifts herself with ease. She spins, the world blurring for a second, heels gliding effortlessly over the platform. A whistle cuts through the noise. A few more bills flutter at her feet.

She twists, sliding down with a deliberate drag before pushing herself back up, hooking her knee and arching her back; thighs squeezing the pole as she extends her body in a perfect line. The music pulses, dictating her movements- fluid and sultry. For a moment, there’s nothing but the heat of the lights and the electric charge of the crowd.

But then as she lifts her gaze mid-spin, her eyes catch on something in the far corner.

Two men in a booth, half-hidden in the dim lighting. They sit relaxed, a quiet presence amidst the chaos, yet people keep coming up to them- leaning in, hands subtly exchanging cash, small bags slipping from one palm to another. She doesn’t need to look too closely to know what’s going down. She presses her palm to the pole, as her feet hit the platform again, hips swaying slowly, her focus slipping back to the crowd in front of her, but something gnaws at her, pulling her attention back. Then, the lights shift, a quick flash of neon, just bright enough to cut through the shadows, and she sees him.

Rafe Cameron.

And he’s looking right at her.

Leaning back in the booth, one arm draped lazily over the seat, a glass of whiskey in his other hand. Her breath catches in her throat, her grip faltering just slightly as she steadies herself. But it’s too late. Her moment is stiffer now, the tension stretched between them, across the crowded room, and he’s locked in the way he watches her. Unblinking. She can’t tell what he’s thinking but she knows one thing for certain- 

He knows exactly who she is.

Y/N forces herself to keep moving, to stay in rhythm with the music despite the ice-cold feeling creeping up her spine. But it’s impossible to ignore the weight of Rafe’s stare. It lingers burning through the dim haze of the club. She glides down the pole, making sure to keep her expression smooth- indifferent. Her heart is hammering against her ribs, but no one in the audience would know it. They see only the show, the slow hypnotising sway of her hips as she lands back on the stage, the way her fingers tease at the hem of her lace bra before she moves toward the edge of the stage dropping to her knees. The song is winding down. One last arch of her back, one last deliberate sweep of her hands up her thighs before letting the final beat pulse through her body.

Applause, whistles, the sound of crisp bills hitting the stage.

She scoops up what she can as she stands, but her mind is barely there. Not when she can still feel the weight of him watching. As she steps offstage, she risks a glance toward the booth again.This time Barry is grinning, chatting with some guy in a backwards cap who’s slipping a wad of cash into his pocket. And Rafe- he’s still looking at her, Y/N’s breath catches as their eyes meet again and this time, he smirks. It’s small, almost lazy, but there’s something in it that makes her stomach flip.

Shit.

She rips her gaze away, hurrying toward the bar, barely registering the sound of heels clicking against the floor or the music thumping through the speakers. She drops her earnings into her basket at the end of the bar- before grabbing a glass of water. Her hands are steady as she lifts it, but her heart is pounding wildly. The bartender gives her a once-over as she wipes down the counter. 

“Damn, Bunny- y'look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“You have no idea.”

Y/N exhales, pressing the cold glass to her lips. Her eyes drift back to Rafe before she can stop herself. He’s talking to someone else now, some guy in a backward cap, shaking his hand as something small and discreet trades between them-

Fucking hell.

She jumps at the sudden touch on her arm, nearly spilling her drink. Whipping around, she exhales sharply when she sees who it is.

“Jesus, Tommy.”

“What’s up with you?”

“Nothing- It’s nothing.”

She responds as she shakes her head slightly, Tommy doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it slide.

“Someone put in a request for you.”

“Who?”

Y/N wipes her palm against her thigh, trying to shake the uneasy feeling creeping up her spine. Tommy leans in slightly, his voice calling out over the music as his head nods in the direction she was just looking. 

“Rafe Cameron.”

Y/N freezes and Tommy notices her stiff shoulders instantly. 

“Something I should know about?”

“Um… I think he and his friend are selling coke-”

“—I know” 

Tommy says easily as he picks up one of the clean empty glasses on the bar, putting it away. Y/N frowns at his words. Since the first day she’d started working here, he had stated to her he had ‘zero-tolerance’ for any of the girls doing coke… so how come now, Rafe Cameron was allowed to walk in here and make this his personal dealing spot. 

“But I thought you—”

“I made a deal with them,” he shrugs, “keeps people coming in, keeps them buying drinks. Business is business Y/N.”

“Right.”

Y/N purses her lips as he speaks and Tommy studies her for a moment, then gestures towards where Rafe was sitting, once again passing over something she couldn't quite make out to a man in a white shirt. 

“I can send someone else, but you’ll lose out on the cash for the night.” 

His voice has that slight edge to it, the one that tells her he won’t be making a habit of exceptions. She hesitates. She could probably say no. She should say no. But then she thinks about the pile of bills waiting for her at home, the ones she still doesn’t know how she’s going to all pay.

“I—” She clears her throat. 

“It’s fine.”

“Good. He’s waiting.”

Y/N exhales, setting her glass down with a quiet clink and then she turns, smoothing out her hair, checking her reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall. Rafe still leaned back in one of the lounge chairs, legs spread, arm slung over the back of the seat. Barry is beside him, but he isn’t paying attention to whatever he’s saying. His eyes are already on her.

Watching. 

Waiting.

She swallows hard, ignoring the way her pulse kicks up as she straightens her shoulders and starts moving toward him. Her heels click against the floor, her movements slow and she can feel the weight of his gaze. When she finally stops in front of him, Rafe tips his head slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Hey there, Bunny.”

Y/N clenches her jaw at the sound of his voice- low and smooth, edged with amusement. She doesn’t let it show, though. Instead, she gives him the same sultry smile she’s perfected for every other man who’s sat in front of her.

“Cameron” 

She says, tilting her head slightly, letting her fingers trail lightly over her bare thigh. Rafe grins like this is all some kind of joke. Like she isn’t standing in front of him in six-inch heels and a barely-there outfit, about to dance for him like she doesn’t know exactly who he is.

"Didn’t think I’d ever see you here"

His voice is smug like he’s savouring every second of this. Y/N bites back a retort. She wants to tell him to fuck off. Wants to ask him what the fuck he’s doing here, why he put in a request for her.

But she doesn’t. 

Because she can’t.

Her fingers twitch by her side as she takes a step closer instead, smoothly moving into his space. Rafe doesn’t move back. If anything, his smirk deepens as he spreads his legs a little wider and Barry chuckles beside him, knocking back the rest of his drink before running his hand over his head. He mutters, already moving to stand.

“ 'ight I’ll leave you to it,” 

But before he can leave, Rafe shakes his head, a smirk pulling at his lips,

"No, no—stay man."

Y/N’s stomach twists. She doesn’t want an audience, especially not Barry, she doesn't even want to be doing this in the first place. The club is still packed, neon lights flickering across the space. There are men scattered around, girls in their laps, some whispering things in their ears that’ll have them reaching for their wallets without hesitation. Y/N has done this a hundred times now. She knows the drill.

But this- this is different.

She inhales slowly as she notices Barry sitting back in his seat, eyes racking over her body and she has to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. She hesitant, her inner conflict gnawing at her mind but eventually she lets out a small breath a moves forward, swinging a leg over Rafe’s lap, lowering herself onto his thighs, moving her hips in a way that’s meant to tease. She lets her hands trail up his chest in a way that’s meant to be practiced and seductive. But then- his hand comes to rest on her hip.

Her whole body tenses.

Rafe notices. Of course he does. His thumb presses against the curve of her hip, just enough to make her teeth clench. Y/N forces a tight-lipped smile, shifting on his lap just enough to make it look like part of the dance- but really, it’s an attempt to put space between them. Her voice stays low, sharp beneath the sultry act.

"There’s a no-touching policy."

Rafe’s smirk doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens. His fingers stay right where they are, his grip on her hip solid, unmoving. He tilts his head slightly, blue eyes gleaming with something threatening.

"None of the policies here apply to me, Maybank."

He speaks out as his finger slips under the strap of her black thong, tugging on it and letting it snap back into position, the feeling causing a sharp sting on her skin. The way he says her last name- it’s teasing, taunting. Like he enjoys the way it sounds in his mouth and Y/N can’t help but clench her jaw at the thought, heat creeping up her neck.bShe doesn’t let her movements falter though, even as his words sink into her skin like a slow-burning ember. Her ass grinds down onto his lap intone with the song blaring out through teh clubs speakers, her fingers trailing over his shoulders, a practiced motion, a distraction- for herself more than for him.

“That so?”

She murmurs, voice light, teasing, playing into the role she’s supposed to be in. Rafe lets out a quiet hum, his thumb stroking over the thin fabric of her outfit.

“Mhm. I don’t think Tommy would wanna lose his best customers, do you?”

She bites down on the inside of her cheek at his words but th rhythmic roll of her hips never stops. She knows he' s pushing her.

It’s in his nature.

Barry lets out a low whistle from his seat which is followed by a chuckle. Her eye's drift over to him sitting his legs spread wide as he takes lazy sips from his drink.

“Damn didn’t peg you for this line of work Maybank. Not that I’m complainin’.”

Her spine stiffens, at she meets his eye's- yet she refuses to give them the satisfaction of leaving before the song is finished. Her focus shifts to Rafe, on the smug expression he wears as he watches her, like he’s got all the time in the world.

Like he’s enjoying this far too much.

Y/N exhales sharply through her nose. He’s trying to get under her skin. And it’s working. Rafe grins, his grip on her hips unwavering he taunts, his other hand sliding down to her thigh, drifting awfully close to her inner thigh as he tilts his head slightly.

“What’s the matter huh? You dance for all these guys, but you’re nervous around me?”

The song drags on, seconds feeling like minutes. Her body moves on instinct, performing for him, back arching as she struggles not to unravel under his gaze. And then, just as she starts to think she can get through this without losing it- he leans in. His breath fans against her ear as he speaks, voice just low enough for only her to hear.

“Wonder what your brother would think if he saw you like this.”

His voice is casual, but there’s something sharp behind it, something that makes her stomach twist. Her jaw tightens.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Just seems like something he’d wanna know,”

Rafe doesn’t even acknowledge her as she speaks, his full attention locked onto the way her hips are still grinding against him. He muses, tilting his head.

“Bet he thinks you’re a little cleaner or somethin' huh?”

Her pulse thrums in her ears, but she doesn’t let it show. Rafe’s smirk deepens, catching the movement. His fingers drum now against her knee.

“Relax, Y/N. I’m just making conversation.”

“Yeah? Funny, doesn’t feel like that.”

She scoffs under her breath. He hums, tilting his head as he takes her in, eyes darting down from her face. Her stomach knots, but she refuses to cower under his gaze. Instead, she leans in just enough that only he can hear her. “You know,” she murmurs, voice dripping with saccharine sweetness,

“most guys just pay and keep their mouths shut.”

Rafe tutted, a slow, mocking sound, then, before she can react, Rafe casually plucks a few crisp fifty-dollar bills from the stack in front of him. His fingers ghost along the curve of her waist before he shoves them right between her pushed up tits, tucking the money into her bra. Heat rushes to her face- not from embarrassment, but from the pure, seething hatred bubbling up inside her. Her jaw tightens, and she shoots him a glare so sharp it could cut glass. Barry, watching the whole thing unfold, bursts into laughter, slapping his knee like it’s the funniest thing he’s seen all night.

“Country Club” he wheezes, “she gon' kill you man”

“Nah,” he drawls, eyes flicking up to hers.

“She likes it.”

Rafe just smirks, leaning back lazily in his seat and she scoffs, the sound sharp and dripping with disgust, before snatching the money from between her tits and throwing it straight at him. The crisp bills flutter uselessly against his chest before falling into his lap, but she doesn’t care.

She doesn’t want his money- doesn’t want anything from him.

She shifts to push off his lap, to put distance between them, but Rafe moves faster. His hand snaps around her wrist in an iron grip, yanking her back down before she can escape. A sharp gasp slips from her lips as she stumbles into him, her free hand landing against his chest to steady herself.

He’s close now.

Too close.

Rafe’s smirk fades slightly, replaced by something more irritated as he stares up at her. His fingers tighten around her wrist, his grip just bordering on painful, a silent warning.

“I’d be real careful, Bunny”

Rafe murmurs, his voice low and laced with something that makes her stomach uneasy. Her breath catches, but she refuses to look away, her glare burning into him. He tilts his head slightly, his smirk creeping back as he studies her reaction.

“You wouldn’t want your brother to hear about this little conversation, would you?”

The words hang heavy between them, and she swallows hard, her pulse hammering. Y/N sits there, her body tense, her expression carved from pure, unfiltered hatred. Every fiber of her being screams at her to move, to slap that smug look off his face, but she doesn’t. Because if Rafe tells JJ… she doesn’t know what she’d do.

He watches her, sharp and calculating, before plucking the discarded money from his lap. He folds the crisp bills between his fingers in half, before bringing them up to her face. His eyes stay locked on hers, and his lips curl into that insufferable smirk.

“Open up”

He murmurs, voice taunting but firm. Her jaw clenches and she doesn’t move. Amusement flickers in his gaze, but there’s something else there too- something that tells her that she'd not got much choice now. He lifts a brow, daring her to defy him and she hates herself for it, but after a long, thick moment of silence, she slowly parts her lips. Rafe hums in satisfaction, slipping the folded-up bills between her teeth.

“Atta girl”

He muses as she bites down, his fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary before he pulls away. He leans back lazily in his seat, studying her with open amusement, eyes flicking between the money in her mouth and the fire still burning in her gaze. She can tell he’s so fucking satisfied. The song finally comes to an end, the heavy bass fading into the low murmur of conversation and clinking glasses. The second the last note plays and a new one begins, she jerks her wrist free from his grasp, ripping her hand away like his touch burns her.

Her mind is racing- anger, humiliation, and something else she doesn’t want to name all tangling together in a storm inside her chest. She stands abruptly, plucking the money from between her lips with two fingers like it’s tainted. Without even sparing him a glance, she turns on her heel, ready to put as much distance between herself and Rafe Cameron as possible.

But then- she feels it.

The sharp smack lands right on her ass, firm and unapologetic. A small gasp passes her lips and the audacity of it sends white-hot anger surging through her veins, and she whips around so fast her hair nearly follows the motion. Barry is already laughing, a deep, wheezing sound, blowing out a thick puff of smoke as he watches the scene unfold like it’s the best entertainment of the night.

And Rafe?

Rafe just grins up at her, infuriatingly relaxed, his expression unreadable save for the smug amusement dancing in his eyes. Then, as if he hadn't already done enough, he puckers his lips, blowing her a lazy, taunting little kiss to her. She stares at him, disgust and fury twisting in her chest, her fists clenching at her sides- heart thumping heavily in her chest as she becomes certain of one thing.

She’s never hated anyone more in her life.

taglist: @xoxosblogsblog @moonywhisp3rs @i-love-gvf @my-name-is-baby @ltristessedureratoujours @stoned-writer @mariamadison6-blog @rafecameronswhoore @lovelytoomusic @rafesgurl @mysticbby2009 @vanessa-rafesgirl @silkenthusiasts @partygirl14 @amterasuu @xoxo-ada @icaqttt @willowpains @ivysprophecy @mauvesmax @larema121 @ggraycelynn

─── SO HIGH SCHOOL

pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

summary: As teenagers, you and Dean had a whirlwind romance before everything fell apart. Years later, you reunite—and it’s like high school all over again.

contents! mutual pining, teenage love, soft, flirting and touching, stupid in love dean, mdni 𖤐 18+

word count: 2.8k

𝒟ean masterlist !

Dean was the first and only real love you had.

Well, not exactly real. And maybe not exactly love.

He was the good part of your day. That person you knew would be there. The person who made school possible and tolerable.

Dean was always known for his charm, for his way with girls. For always having them. But the moment Dean joined your group of friends and you two became even remotely close, it was as if something, a connection, that you didn't know could exist, finally made itself present within you.

It wasn't something verbalized, something explicit. But as soon as you had your first kiss, there was no one else. No other girl in school had a chance with him. He wouldn't let you go, and much less took his eyes off you.

Everything felt so real. Even if it was just between the lines.

He was the best "relationship" you ever had. The best moments and the best treatment you had from a boy were with Dean Winchester.

And then just as it all began, suddenly he wasn't there anymore.

One night you two were together in the back seat of the car and the next morning he was gone from town, without any explanation.

And when you were seventeen, that was the last time you saw Dean.

You and Dean were sure you would never see each other again. You were teenagers, it was normal. People come and go from school all the time, it was common to meet people at school and then never see them again, never find out how they are.

This is what you and Dean thought things would be like. Just a memory that would fade in time. Never having to worry about looking each other in the eye again.

But when was anything ever simple in Dean Winchester's life?

A case never ended up being just a case.

The small town didn’t exactly scream "monster hotspot," but something was definitely off. Three people had vanished without a trace in the past two months, all last seen at the same place—a cozy little diner on Main Street that doubled as a bookstore. The place was old-school charming, the kind of spot with checkered floors, the scent of fresh coffee in the air, and a tiny bell over the door that jingled whenever a customer walked in. Nothing about it screamed "supernatural danger," but Dean had learned long ago that the worst things often hid in the most ordinary places.

“Alright, so we got three missing persons, no bodies, and a common location,” Sam said, flipping through his notes. “No signs of struggle, no EMF spikes, no sulfur. If it’s something supernatural, it’s keeping a low profile.”

Dean tapped his fingers against the Impala’s steering wheel, squinting at the diner across the street. “Or it’s just smart. Maybe a witch, maybe something we haven’t seen before.”

Sam sighed. “So, the usual—talk to employees, check out security footage, dig through lore?”

Dean smirked. “Aw, you're so smart, Sammy.”

With that, they climbed out of the car and crossed the street, the bell over the door announcing their arrival. The place was warm and inviting, filled with the quiet hum of conversation and the soft crackle of pages turning. Dean barely had time to take it all in before his gaze landed on someone behind the counter.

He recognized you instantly. There wouldn't be a day that he wouldn't.

You were busy jotting something down, focused on a customer, completely unaware of him—at first. Dean’s stomach tightened, his pulse kicking up. It had been years, but damn if you wasn’t still the same girl he remembered—just sharper, more grown-up, but still you. The girl who had once snuck out of your house to meet him, who had laughed against his lips under the Friday night stadium lights, who had looked at him like he was worth something—until he left without saying goodbye.

When you lifted your head, ready to serve the new customers, that’s when you saw him.

For a second, just a second, your eyes met, and he saw it: the flicker of recognition, the moment your heart probably dropped into your stomach the same way his had.

To this day, Dean always remembers the way you used to look at him. The sparkle in your eyes, the way they seemed to smile, emanating happiness and trust.

Just seeing you made him feel as if he were in high school again.

And now? Now you were standing behind the counter, your apron tied around your waist, a pen tucked behind your ear, looking at him like you weren’t sure whether to punch him or pretend he didn’t exist.

Dean opened his mouth, but for once in his life, words failed him.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” you finally muttered, eyes narrowing.

Sam cleared his throat. "Uh, Dean—?"

“Yeah, yeah, I got it, Sammy.” Dean snapped out of it, forcing a grin. “Long time, no see, sweetheart.”

"Didn’t think I’d ever see you again, Winchester.” Your voice was calm, even, but there was an edge to it, a quiet challenge. "Guess life’s full of surprises."

Dean exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah… guess it is."

Sam, ever the unfortunate third wheel, glanced between them and shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, we’re actually here about the disappearances. We’re—"

"FBI?" you cut in, lifting a brow. "Do you want me to believe that you two are FBI?"

Dean had to bite back a smirk. Of course you weren’t buying their act. You had always been sharp. Always saw right through him.

Sam hesitated. "We just have a few questions."

You sighed, tapping your fingers against the counter before jerking your chin toward an empty booth in the corner. "Fine. Take a seat. I’ll be over in a minute."

Dean watched as you turned on your heel, disappearing into the back. Only when you were out of sight did he let out a slow breath, dragging a hand down his face.

“Well,” Sam muttered, “that wasn’t awkward at all.”

Dean ignored him, eyes still locked on the door you had just walked through.

Yeah. This case just got a hell of a lot more complicated.

Only to get better, when you return, you decided to act as if he didn't exist. There was no sign of recognition on your face. No lingering shock, no flicker of emotion. Just cool, effortless professionalism, like you didn’t just have the wind knocked out of you moments ago.

A notebook is in your hand now, the pen twirling between your fingers as you slide into the seat across from them. Your eyes flick briefly to Sam—acknowledging him first, like Dean isn’t even there.

“So,” you say, tone even. “What exactly do you want to know? If this is about the disappearances, let me say I don’t know much. Just that they all came in here before they went missing. We gave their names to the cops already”

Dean leaned in, arms folding as he tilted his head slightly. “You always this helpful, sweetheart?”

The nickname made your eye twitch—barely.

You finally, finally glanced at him, and for a second, all he could see was the fire behind your gaze.

“I try my best, agent.” Your lips curled in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Anything else?”

Sam cleared his throat, glancing between the two of you, clearly picking up on the weird energy but too polite, more like too damn confused, to say anything. “Uh—right. But anything else you might’ve noticed? Strange behavior? Anyone bothering them?”

You exhaled through your nose. “Not that I remember.”

Feeling that with all this tension he wasn't going to get anywhere, Sam decided to stop there. “Alright, I think that’s all we need for now, then. If you remember anything else, let us know.”

With a nod, you began to rise from your seat, your body moving almost instinctively as you embraced the end of the conversation. “Sure thing."

As Dean watched you walk back to the counter, he couldn't believe you acted as if he wasn’t even there. However, if you thought that was the end of it, you were mistaken. Now that Dean had found you again, he wasn’t planning to just walk away. Not this time.

“Dude,” Sam muttered, voice low, snapping Dean out of his reverie. “What the hell was that?”

Dean exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “It’s complicated.”

Sam frowned. “Yeah, no kidding. You gonna fill me in?”

Dean didn’t answer right away, just watched as you disappeared through the swinging door behind the counter.

He used to love watching you walk away. Now it just felt like he was losing you all over again.

After a beat, he pushed up from the booth. “I’ll be back.”

Sam sighed. “Dean—”

But Dean was already moving.

The back door of the diner led to a narrow hallway—one he knew you’d taken to get a breather. It was quieter back here, the hum of conversation fading into a dull murmur.

And sure enough, there you were.

Your hands braced on the edge of a small counter, eyes closed, breathing deep. He knew that look. Knew you were trying to steady yourself, get your walls up before he could knock them down.

Too late.

“Still not gonna look at me?”

Your shoulders tensed at his voice, but you didn’t turn. “What do you want, Dean?”

He leaned against the doorframe, arms folding. “Oh, I dunno. Maybe a little acknowledgment? A hey, Dean, long time no see. Thought you were dead or in jail—”

“Wouldn’t have been surprised.”

Dean let out a sharp breath, a humorless smirk twitching at his lips. “Yeah, well. Didn’t end up that way.”

Silence.

You reached up, rubbing your temple, like talking to him was physically painful.

And hell, maybe it was.

After a beat, you finally turned to face him, arms crossing. Your eyes were sharp, guarded. But there was something else beneath it. Something raw.

“Why are you here, Dean?”

His chest ached at the way you said his name. Not like you used to—soft, familiar, like it meant something. Now it just sounded… tired.

“Job brought us here,” he said, keeping it simple.

You studied him, unconvinced. “And what? You thought, hey, let’s stop by and ruin her day while we’re at it?”

Dean huffed a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, because that’s what I wanted. To see you look at me like I’m a damn ghost.”

You flinched. It was quick—so quick he almost missed it. But he didn’t.

And suddenly, the fight drained out of you. Your gaze dropped for the first time since this whole thing started, fingers tightening against your sleeves.

Dean’s throat worked.

He could push. Could try to get you to really talk, break down that wall you were building brick by brick.

But the way you looked right now? Like you were holding yourself together with nothing but sheer will—

He couldn’t do it.

Not yet.

Instead, he exhaled, running a hand down his face. “Look. I don’t know how long we’ll be in town. But I think we’re gonna be crossing paths whether you like it or not.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t answer.

Dean nodded, stepping back. “Just… don’t pretend I was never here, alright?”

And with that, he walked away.

He didn’t see the way your jaw clenched, the way your fingers curled into fists like you were stopping yourself from reaching out—

Didn’t hear the breath you let out, shaky and uneven, as soon as he was gone.

You knew this wasn’t the end—couldn’t be. Deep down, you knew that your story with Dean Winchester was far from over. And you knew that the moment he decided to see you again, he would pull you close once more, weaving his way into your heart until you could never imagine leaving his side again.

Weeks passed.

Looking back, you weren’t sure when exactly everything shifted.

Maybe it was after Dean came back to the diner and made you listen while he told you the truth—even though at the time you were sure that the man you once loved was completely insane.

But maybe it was when you started helping with the case, and somewhat believing him—not because you wanted to be a hunter, but because you wanted to be with him.

Or maybe it was just inevitable. Like gravity pulling you back into his orbit, like you never really had a choice in the first place.

All you knew was that, suddenly, it felt like before—like sneaking out past curfew, like warm summer air and stolen kisses in the Impala, like every love song that made your chest ache.

Only now, you weren’t kids anymore.

And Dean Winchester had never been the kind of guy to love halfway.

Which was how you ended up here.

Sitting in a diner, trying to pretend like Dean’s hand wasn’t sliding up your thigh under the table.

Across from you, Sam exhaled sharply through his nose. His patience was wearing thin.

“Dude,” he gritted out, glaring at Dean. “Can you stop touching her for five seconds?”

Dean, the picture of innocence, took a sip of his coffee. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Sammy.”

Sam’s expression was pained.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, but when Dean leaned in—his lips brushing your ear when he definitely didn’t need to be that close—you swatted at his chest.

“Dean.”

“What?” He smirked, not even pretending to be sorry. “Just admiring my girl.”

Sam muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like I hate this.

But it only got worse from there.

Dean was relentless.

His hands were always on you—an arm wrapped around your waist, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt, palm resting low on your back. He kissed your temple absentmindedly, whispered things that made you flush, smirked when he caught you looking at him like you still had a teenage crush on Dean Winchester.

Because you did.

You always had.

Later, at Bobby’s, the three of you sprawled in the living room—Dean practically wrapped around you on the couch, arms snug around your waist, his breath warm against your neck.

Sam was across the room, doing some research on his laptop, eyes glued to the screen as if sheer focus could block out the absolute nonsense happening beside him.

Dean, completely unbothered, nosed at your temple. “You cold?”

You weren’t.

At all.

But you hummed innocently, just to see what he’d do.

Dean, ever the problem, tugged you closer, his hands sliding beneath the hem of your sweater, tracing slow, lazy circles against your skin.

You shivered.

He felt it.

And he smirked.

“You’re shameless,” you whispered, biting your bottom lip to repress a smile.

Dean nipped at your jaw. “Yeah?” His lips brushed your ear, and God, you felt it everywhere.

“Hey.” His voice was quiet, meant just for you. “Wanna know somethin’?”

You swallowed. “What?”

Dean shifted, his mouth so close his breath fanned warm against your skin. “First time I saw you? When we were stupid teenagers?” His hands traced higher, fingers barely grazing the edge of your bra. “Damn near forgot how to breathe.”

Your stomach plummeted.

“Dean.”

“Mm?”

Your heart hammered, but you fought to keep your voice steady. “Sam is right there.”

Dean pulled back just enough to glance at his brother—who was clearly tuning you out, laser-focused on not acknowledging this entire situation.

“If he has a problem, he can get up and leave.”

You swatted at his chest, biting back a laugh, but when you turned to face him, his expression shifted—no teasing, no smugness. Just him, looking at you like he was seeing you all over again.

His fingers brushed your jaw, tilting your chin up.

And just like that, you felt seventeen again.

God, what was it about him that made you feel like this?

That made you ache?

Dean’s lips parted, his gaze flickering down to your mouth.

Your breath caught.

He grinned—slow, lazy, devastating. “You gonna let me kiss you, sweetheart?”

You were sure your heartbeat was so loud.

Sam made a strangled noise in the background.

Dean groaned, dropping his head back against the couch. “Jesus Christ, Sammy, just leave the damn room.”

“I'm living here too,” Sam deadpanned, not directing his gaze towards you.

Dean huffed, shaking his head before turning back to you—his eyes darker now, filled with something deep and warm and completely unshakable.

You swallowed, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt.

This man knew what he wanted and, boy, he definitely got you.

But God, Dean Winchester was so much. And he had been from the start.

And you were so gone for him.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

lina's notes: I should have posted this a long time ago lol, but it didn't turn out exactly how I wanted and I was a little unsure but I hope you liked it <3

taglist: @lyarr24 @cowboysandcigarettes @blossomingorchids @bettystonewell @rositaslabyrinth @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @freeluigihesbae (if you want to be removed or added let me know <3)

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ so highschool,

summary. strangely enough, dean will be staying in the same place for more than a week. it seems like you caught his eye

pairing. teen!dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 477

notes. i was thinking of turning this small lil drabble into more parts. what do you think? let me know if you're interested ehe ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You hear him before you see him—Dean Winchester, the new guy, the one who showed up a month ago and has already carved his name into the school like he owns the place. Girls whisper about him in the hallways, and guys either want to be him or want to fight him. He’s built a reputation fast: charming, cocky, a little dangerous.

And, apparently, persistent.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean drawls, leaning against the locker next to yours like it was put there for him specifically.

You don’t spare him more than a glance, shoving your history textbook into your bag. “Not interested.”

Dean chuckles, undeterred. “C’mon, you don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

You turn to him then, raising an eyebrow. “You were gonna ask me out.”

His grin widens. “Damn, you’re good.”

“And I said no.” You click your locker shut, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder. “So, if you’ll excuse me—”

Dean steps in front of you, not blocking your path exactly, but making it clear he’s not done. “Hold on, now. You didn’t even let me give my pitch.”

You sigh. “Your pitch?”

“Yeah. I’ve been working on it.” He tilts his head, watching you like you’re a puzzle he’s determined to solve. “Okay, picture this: you, me, a classic drive-in movie—real romantic, right? You get to pick the film, I don’t even care if it’s some sappy chick flick. After that, we grab burgers, fries, a milkshake to split—hell, I’ll even let you have the cherry on top. Then I take you home like a perfect gentleman.”

You fold your arms, unimpressed. “And how many girls have you used that exact line on?”

Dean smirks. “Would it make you feel better if I said just you?”

“No.”

“Ouch,” he says, placing a hand over his heart like you just stabbed him. “Alright, alright, I get it. You’re immune to my undeniable charm.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

He doesn’t move. If anything, his eyes soften, like he’s actually looking at you for the first time instead of just working another angle. “Most girls around here fall over themselves the second I flash a smile.”

You shrug. “Most girls around here have bad taste.”

That gets a laugh out of him—real, genuine. “Okay, I deserved that.” He exhales, running a hand through his hair before fixing you with something dangerously close to sincerity. “But listen, I’m not gonna give up that easy.”

You roll your eyes. “Of course, you’re not.”

“Damn right. Because, sweetheart, I don’t just want a yes. I wanna earn it.” He winks, stepping back just enough to let you pass. “So, go ahead, keep turnin’ me down. I’ll be right here, tryin’ again tomorrow.”

And with that, he’s gone, whistling as he walks away, leaving you with the distinct, frustrating feeling that this is far from over.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @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 ⋆ @img14 ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @beakaleak32 ⋆ @ocelotlist51 ⋆ @lelapine ⋆ @pwin098 ⋆ @lacysretribution ⋆ @globetrotter28 ⋆ @aerinu ⋆ @i-love-gvf ⋆ @bejeweledinterludes ⋆ @chi_raz ⋆ @lemonswinchester ⋆ @4k1vrr

busted

author's note: I've been doing really well lately, idk why my mind is filled with angst. the POV is so messy ngl because you see "your" thoughts but there's also a major focus on deans inner turmoil and observations...not my best work but I had to spill it out. I may come back to revisit it later but just wanted to preface that LOL also this is inspired by my bot!

summary: a call from the Greensboro Sherriff's Office causes your heart to stop dead in the middle of your apartment. you bring dean back into reality, as he takes in your reaction to his choices.

pairings: dean x reader

characters: dean (20 years old), reader (anywhere from 18 and up)

word count: 6.1K

warnings: cursing, slight injury (a bruise and a cut), John Winchester hate, HELLA angst, not exactly proof read good luck

-+-+-+-

NOVEMBER 14, 1999

sluggishly jabbing the key into the handle, you open the door to your studio apartment. you drag your feet in, missing the sight of your place, as it feels like you haven't been here for days- when in reality, it was only fourteen hours because of the double shift that you took. 

throwing anything in your hands on the counter- keys, purse, leftover food- you make your way into the bedroom to change into loungewear instead of your work clothes. you couldn't focus on anything else until you stripped yourself of anything from work. an oversized grey shirt that reaches down to your upper thigh is accompanied by your black yoga shorts and fuzzy leopard print slippers. you couldn't bring yourself to care. all you want to do is eat and pass out, because you know you're up again tomorrow to open.

you didn't mind your work at all. there was a consistency about it that was rather soothing to you since hunting was anything but consistent. you only went on hunts every couple of months, since it was hard to take off more than a couple of days at a time. 

once you sluggishly make your way back in the kitchen to grab your leftovers, a buzzing starts to sound from your bag. you rummage through it trying to find your pinging cell phone that seems to have been buried in a mountain of credit cards, mascara bottles, and god knows what else you've tossed in there.

upon finally snatching it, you hurriedly flip it open before it goes to voicemail and accept the call, with an drowsy, "hello?"

the line is still for a moment, before you hear, “is this," your full name is said across the line, an older woman with a gratingly, unenthusiastic tone.

you stand up straighter. the unsteady beat of your heart was the only thing you could focus on for a moment or two, thumping in your chest with unease. a bad feelings swells in your chest. you aren't sure who you would've given your number to recently. you don't give it out at all unless it's to close friends or family. your mind goes to the worst case scenarios. a hospital calling to tell you that someone is gravely injured.

or dead.

you swallow, a moment before you shakily respond. "uh, who's asking?"

the droning woman continues with an exasperated sigh. "you have a collect call from Greensboro Sheriff’s Department, do you accept the charges?” 

perplexity racks your brain for about a second before you close your eyelids with a knowing sigh.

dean.

you try to keep the contents in your stomach down from the rush of nerves. you swear your legs feel like they're about to give out from underneath. you brace your hand on the counter, leaning into it. “yes,” you manage.

a click in the line signals that the operator is connecting the call, as it rings twice before a hoarse voice speaks your name. it is exactly who you figured.

“dean? what the hell's going on?” the panic slips out from your throat as you attempt to keep a level volume.

a waery sigh travels to your ears, and he sounds a lot less assured and cocky than he normally does. he comes across with a softer mumbling, a tone you haven't heard before.

"can you pick me up?”

he sounds tired. embarrassed almost. it didn't help tame your irregular heart rate.

you shake your head with worried incredulity even though he can't see you, "from greensboro? where's that- north carolina?"

"yes."

your eyes squeeze shut, trying to maintain a regular breathing pattern. it was all wrong. you wanted to be angry, and yell and scream and curse at him but this call, his defeated voice, and curt answers... it's not like this was on purpose, you remind yourself. he just makes bad decisions sometimes.

though, this is one probably takes the cake.

you blink your eyes open, a dreadful huff escaping, "god- it'll be a couple of hours before i get there." you glance to your wall clock hanging next to the kitchen cabinets. 10:44PM. you estimate you won't get there until 1:30 in the morning. god damn this.

"no, that's fine- it's...i'm sorry," dean barely raises his voice above a whisper. his strained, resigned voice breathes across the line as he continues, "i didn't know who else to call."

oddly enough, you're genuinely thankful. given that dean was more of an 'i'll do it myself' guy, you are relieved to know that he called you instead of allowing himself to spend a night or two in jail. sure, this is a major problem to deal with, he's in a fucking holding cell at the sheriff's office right now, and you're hours away from having to drive to bail him out.

but he did call for you.

the anger isn't quite faded, but it's pushed to the back of your mind, as you grip the phone a bit tighter, your voice getting stronger again, "just- it's okay. i'm glad you called me. i'm on my way, just- god, don't get into any more trouble while you're there." you're already halfway out the door with a map in your hand as you scold him over the phone.

"i won't, i won't." he ensures tightly, before quietly adding "drive safe, sweetheart."

you utter a quick bye as you hang up, heading to your car parked outside the apartment building.

you can't say that you weren't aware of what you were signing up for when you started dating him. you knew exactly what you were getting into. and it was hard. he's not always around, and when he does show up, more often than not he's battered and bruised. although you take pride in the fact that he shows up to you when he can. it's hard to get close to him, so you take anything you can get when it comes to helping him. and when he is around...you forget how to act. he is unlike anyone you've ever met. he's got this wicked charm and sense of humor that you adore. he is selfless to a fault, putting everyone before himself. he cares deeply for those around him, even though it's not always in plain sight. he's surprisingly romantic- though some times you do have to remind him of what boyfriends do. being one of his first "long-term" girlfriends means that he's doing a lot of learning. and he does learn, you admit, and he makes you happy.

so you keep replaying these thoughts in your head as you curse his name on the three hour drive to Greensboro.

-+-+-+-

only when you park at the sheriff's department is when you realize you never changed. you were still in your lounge clothes from earlier. a funny thing to make note of, but your thoughts were so scattered right now from the evening's events that you couldn't care to linger on the topic.

you walk through the front doors to an eerie and dim-lit waiting room. one officer behind a guarded cubicle shifts his glance to you. you slowly walk up to the desk, trying to hide your uncertainty, seeming as you've never picked up anyone from a holding cell before. you speak up, "uhh- evening...i'm here to bail out dean. he was brought in today..." you left out his last name, hoping that they hadn't got his legal name and that maybe he was using a coverup.

the officer, a balding guy in his mid-forties (if you had to guess), clicks his tongue as he files through a comically large binder, skimming through until he reaches the page with dean's information. "yup. we got 'im. take this. fill it out. he's processed already, so we just need a check and some info and we'll send him on his way."

he hands you a clipboard with a couple of pages of paper and a pen, asking for some of your identification and background. you flash him with a quick, forced smile as you take it over to one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs in the lobby.

you stand up and hand it back to the officer from the slit in the plastic guard. you notice a badge on his chest that reads "WADE", as he just stares at the chunky computer that his eyes seem to be glued to. you clear your throat, offering the clipboard and papers in further, along with a check for $300. 

dean better be damn lucky i have a savings...

"fantastic," although, the enthusiasm obviously didn't reach to his expression as he printed out a receipt, on an obnoxiously loud printer. he slides it through slit and exasperatedly groans as he stands from his seat. once the officer grabs keys from the desk, he shuffles over to the hallway with a pressed, "cyom'on."

you follow behind him with an awkward silence. the only noises to be heard were the echoes of his boots booming with each step, and his occasional throat-clearing. he swings the key ring around his finger with soft, metal clinking and slows down at one of the locked doors.

this room is full of other desks occupied by a small handful of other police officers at their stations filling out paperwork. one or two glance up to you, but it's short-lived.

"wait here and i'll grab 'im," he holds out his palm, signaling for you to stop behind him, as he disappeared through another set of doors.

you are for sure angry with dean, but the way the cop said "grab 'im" makes the protective bones in your body activate. it sounded too aggressive, even though you knew dean could be quite the handful. 

he was your handful, and you have to remember that. when you answered the phone call, you assumed the worst, which was that he was dead. and he's not, thankfully. you just have to remember that this night could have been much worse. 

you take in a long inhale, sitting on the edge of one of the chairs. you lean your head in your hands, the exhaustion taking you out by the minute. and it didn't help that you're out there for another fifteen minutes before you hear the same door open with a second pair of footsteps. you stand up immediately and exhale in relief, and all negative feelings are spared for the moment when you watch dean trudge in front of the officer with a fresh, red-pigmented bruise forming on his left cheek with a small cut paired at the center of impact. his eyes look glossed over from probable sleep deprivation, as his strides are more lethargic than you're used to seeing. 

"this the guy you want?" he points lazily, double-checking as he looks at you unimpressed.

you usher yourself over to them, confirming with a sharp, "yep."

although despite your tone and your blank face, you couldn't help but instinctually reach out to dean and bring him in for a firm embrace. 

he obviously wasn't expecting it, as he grunts from your grip on him, and he raises a surprised brow but puts his right arm around you as he swallows down his own emotions. his gravelly assurance reaches your ears, "i'm fine."

you pull away with a disbelieving scowl, reaching a hand up to the side of his face and turning it so you can see the little souvenir he received from this experience.

"what's this." you deadpan, laced with a bit of a challenging bite to it.

dean sets his jaw as you hold it in place, avoiding your gaze as he grates out a dismissive, "nothin'."

you let go of him, shaking your head. your expression morphing into a controlled irritation and worry.

"son," officer wade impatiently calls from the desk a couple of feet away. he slides a paper towards the edge of his desk with the tips of his fingers, "fill this out for us while i git the rest of your belongin's and such."

dean lets out a quick huff of air, as he turns to the cop leaving their vicinity, "yes sir, officer krupke." he mumbles under his breath, which in turn gets him a backhand on his arm from you. he whips his head to you with shocking amount of surprise, as you eye him with a stern look that said "you better fucking watch yourself". dean rubs his arm slightly and widens his eyes briefly before sitting down at the chair across from the desk, writing on the bail acknowledgement sheet.

after a little while, dean turns his head to you, darting his tongue out to wet his lips before he hesitantly asks, "hey, uh...did they give you an amount for bail?"

you take a deep breath in, grinding your teeth as you avoid his gaze before you numbly answer, "it was $300, dean."

he gulps. his eyebrows flash up in shock and be blinks a couple times, and gives you another glance, "damn. thanks for covering me."

"just fill out the paper." there wasn't any attitude behind it. just clear exhaustion.

he looks at you funny, like he didn't expect you to be this terse. he takes a breath, and huffs a bit of it out, bringing the pen to the designated lines.

after about ten minutes of silence, officer wade drops off a plastic bag of personal items of dean's with a sharpie label on it. he drops it on the desk unceremoniously, bringing dean's attention to him.

"if that's all done, you can git." he points to the doors leading out, "but i don't wanna see you back in here or we'll have problems. y'understand?"

you let out a chide scoff directed at dean, answering for him, "trust me. he won't be back here. thank you, officer wade."

he dips his head in acknowledgement. dean scuffs the chair backwards as he eyes the cop, and he stands up slowly and with a slight threat in his look still.

you hurriedly walk down the hallways of the sheriff's department, not even looking back to dean.

now...

now is when the anger starts to simmer a bit.

you're a couple of feet ahead of dean as you push the door open with more force than necessary, but you figure it might be better than taking it out on dean after he just was released from the cell.

and you can't tell if he knows you're upset- or if he knows and he doesn't want to pay attention to the fact.

"listen, i'll pay you back every penny of that bail, alright?" dean catches up to your strides quickly as you basically dart to your parked car.

you bite your cheek, an unresponsive scowl still on your face after dean's amendment to the situation.

the uncomfortable silence is something that dean wasn't used to between you guys. "it was absolute torture in there. i didn't think what i did was that bad. but then they started playing the BeeGees on the radio in there-"

you stop halfway to the car, and dean almost smacks into your back. you shake your head with disbelief, your lips twitching with aggravation. yet your tone is scarily even and low as you glance to him, "how fucking dare you make jokes right now. after i just drove three hours to get you at one a.m. after my fourteen-hour shift. from jail."

and that did it. he got quiet real quick. you almost feel bad, because his face immediately falls, and he resembled a kicked puppy, even with all the effort in the world to hold up his "everything's peachy" facade. he can barely scoff, unknowing of what to say at all.

you open your mouth to say something else, but it dies off, and all you do is turn around and head back to the car. once you stick the key into the handle of the driver's seat, you unlock it for dean as you both sink into your seats. closing the door where all the negative energy is contained, and stuffy, and hard to vent out.

"where's your car, dean."

he tucks his head down slightly, carefully glancing to you for a moment before he mumbles like a kid, "it's not with me. dad has it with sammy, a couple of states away."

that piques your concern, and you brave it and look to him as you ask, "w-where are you staying then?"

dean nods in a general direction in front of them, "just at a motel near downtown."

john left his eldest son, who is still only twenty, in a shitty part of town with no car, to stay at a dingy motel by himself.

you wish you could say you were surprised.

you sigh, disappointedly. "where..." you begin to buckle your seatbelt, and put the key into the ignition.

the car roars to life, and dean answers flatly, "it's called Morrison's Motel, on Holbrook, Street or somethin'."

you place your right hand on the back of the passenger seat, leaning on it so you could angle yourself backwards while backing out of the parking spot. once you're able to get back into drive and onto the main road, you announce to dean, "you're gonna grab your stuff and come back with me."

his eyebrows furrow with intense confusion, "what?"

"you're grabbing your stuff," you break apart the words with a bit of an edge leaving no room for argument, "then you're coming back to my apartment."

he stares at you in disbelief for a bit. he doesn't argue, but he's unsure if he wants to.

on one hand it was you. you're his everything. and you always took care of him. when he's come by your apartment after hunts, you feed him, heal him, make love to him, talk to him- whatever he needs.

on the other hand... it was you. and you are royally pissed.

he despises the fact that he feels like a child right now. he knows the game you're playing right now, and he loathes it. it doesn't exactly "work" for him. this intense, condemning attitude where you think you know what's good for him. what's better for him. he's heard talks of similar nature and he's dismissed them, because it get's nowhere. his stubborn ass hardly gives thought to what's better for himself. his brain chemistry is practically permanently altered to do what's best for anyone else but himself.

and you were damn determined that you would change that.

not today, and not tomorrow. but you needed that to happen for him.

he sinks into the seat, marinating in his own irritation at the fact that he practically has to deal with this situation. it definitely won't be any better to avoid it. he knows better than to try and get away with anything from you. nor does he want you to resent him.

he knows he fucked up.

once you park outside of his motel, you unlock the door from inside the car. you wordlessly allow him to get out, and collect his duffel and whatever else he had been left with. he checks out of the motel, and he joins you back in the car, closing the door with a slightly irked slam.

you don't pay attention to it, taking off the highway. back home.

-+-+-+-

the silence stretched for the entire three-hour ride. so much so that you didn't even notice that dean fell asleep against the door. you turn and pull the key out of the ignition once your in front of your apartment building, just staring at him for a moment.

he looks exhausted. his eyes had darker bags around them, and he didn't even look comfortable the way his neck is positioned. you were sure going to jail for a night was enough to wear you down from stress alone. he came off aloof when you picked him up, sure, but you know dean. you know that he's not really going to show you everything he's really feeling. you can only imagine how he's been since his dad just abandoned him at the motel.

he doesn't really do well with being alone, you've noticed.

and curse your empathy because the pit in your stomach had settled a bit, and you've calmed down some. you reach a hand out too his bicep. his arms were somehow crossed in his sleep. you barely touch him, and he inhales deeply before jolting slightly against the seat.

"easy," you tell him, not as gentle as you normally would but still you try to disarm him. "c'mon. let's go."

he blinks himself awake, clearly struggling to come back to the present. he jerks his head to the passenger door that you've opened, with a little impatience, and he lets out a tired huff as he climbs out.

once you reach your front door, it opens to the living space dean remembered it to be. he really liked your place. it was simple, and small, for sure, but you didn't require a lot of space. the occasional decoration scatters on the walls and tables throughout, adding a touch of home to your space. dean usually feels at home here.

but for once, he wasn't exactly sure what to do with himself.

he hovers by the door, and you've already taken off to drop your keys and purse on the kitchen counter. you don't yet look him in the eyes.

"come here, please."

he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, expecting a lecture or something. he rests his hands on his arms again, keeping his demeanor closed-off, while he watches you shed your things in the kitchen. and he's dumbstruck again by you.

"do you need an icepack?" you offer.

he swallows, almost forgetting about his bruised cheek, "i'm fine."

you turn yourself to face him, matching his stance with no real emotion displaying on your face, "when's the last time you ate?"

he scoffs defensively this time, lifting his shoulders tensely, "I don't know...today- or yesterday or whatever." he didn't actually eat more than a gas station pizza slice that day.

you note his attitude but neglect it, walking over to the fridge, moving around a couple of loose bottles and containers. you stand on the top of your toes to reach to the back of the top shelf, grabbing a container of macaroni and cheese you had made the other night, along with left-over rotisserie chicken. it wasn't exactly a home-cooked meal, but it's mostly better than what dean normally has.

you pull apart the chicken and silently start putting it on a plate that you grabbed from one of the cabinets, and scoop out some of the mac and cheese on there as well. you throw it in the microwave for a minute, leaning against the counter with your hip with no other words.

dean forfeits his indirect protest at your mother-henning and sits at your miniature table-for-two in the corner of the kitchen. he slumps, resting his back on the wall while he's in the chair, and his legs splay outward, ninety degrees away from the table as he keeps his gaze to the floor. or wall. or anything besides you, really.

the microwave dings and you bring the plate over to him with a fork stuffed underneath the food. you ungraciously drop it in front of him, letting the ceramic plate smack the table a bit. dean casts a quick glance to you before staring straight ahead, not wanting to acknowledge the food in front of him. because if he did, that would entail that he was hungry, like any other human being. that he can starve and that he had been since his dad left.

but it smells fucking good.

he takes a breath, relenting as he grabs a fork and mumbles a quick "thanks". he stirs it around for a couple of moments before taking massive bites at a time.

and you knew he was hungry. you know he doesn't take care of himself on the road. that's why you loved when he would stop by in between hunts. you were comforted by the fact that he ate something more than a a bag of chips and a granola bar when he would stop by.

you don't say anything, as you put away the containers of food and clean up the kitchen some. by the time you're done, you lean against the refrigerator with your eyes on dean.

you couldn't let go of this. you know you won't be able to sleep regardless of tonight, but at least you'll have answers.

"you wanna tell me what happened?" you start, and there's no bite in your tone. it's a simple question.

and with that in mind, dean's response really set you off.

he pauses on his last couple of bites of food, and shakes his head with a short-tempered snort, "you signed the bail papers, didn't you? i'm sure it said why."

your blood boils and your unable to keep the poker face you've been maintaining. you stalk closer to dean, kicking yourself off the fridge. "you know what dean, i did sign the papers for you, so i don't understand why you're the one who's got attitude here. you know what else I did? i paid. for. your. bail. that was three-hundred fucking dollars, dean. do you think i'm made of cash-"

dean brings himself forward and sets his forearms down on the table, causing the ceramic plate to clink at his motion as his voice rises with defense. he looks you dead in the eyes as he reiterates, "i said i'm gonna pay you back. i intend to keep my word on that."

"that doesn't fix the situation, dean!" you retort as your voice starts to seethe with emotion, "you got arrested. i drove three hours after a fourteen hour shift to pick you up, so you don't get to be angry with me."

"i'm sorry, okay?" he snaps loudly, standing up briskly causing the chair to scuff backwards against the floor. "getting arrested wasn't exactly on my agenda for today either."

"you think that makes this more acceptable? because you didn't mean to get arrested?"

he shrugs his shoulders with a hardened expression on his face, "what do you want me to say?

you scowl harshly, like it was obvious. "i want a goddamn explanation! getting arrested doesn't happen on your typical Tuesday, dean."

"i'm a hunter," he says your name with pronounced snark, "there's no such thing as 'typical' for us!"

"were you on a hunt?"

your question stuns him for a second. "I- well," he stumbles, at a loss for words, "not exactly, but-"

"no." your voice is low and dangerous, "you weren't on a hunt. disorderly conduct and false identification were the charges. so this has jack shit to do with hunting." you take a couple of steps closer to him, pointing to him with a thundered glare, "you were at a bar, using a fake ID, illegally drinking and fighting. that is a whole other level of reckless for you, dean."

he matches your intensity and gets closer to you so that you are only about two feet apart. "i wasn't drinking recreationally- i was blending in while hustling pool money! they didn't like that I won, so they tried to start something. they did, not me. there's the whole explanation- are you happy now?"

your voice falters at his spat as you tremble with emotion, face morphing more into distress than anger, "no! no, i'm not happy. do i look happy?"

dean huffs, and he doesn't respond at first. his face neutralizes slightly before he breaks eye contact with you and rubs a hands down his face as he paces away from where he stood.

"jesus christ, look-" he turns back to you with a controlled, firm expression, "they let me off with just a fine. i don't even have to go to fucking court so i don't get why are you turning this into such a big deal-"

"do you know how worried I was when I picked up the phone to hear from the police station?"

the sentence resounds against the walls of your apartment. and dean freezes, the only thing moving is his chest which rises up and down from the overload of his frustrations. for a moment, you could hear the honks and revs in traffic, the buzzing hum of the air conditioning, and the whir of the electronics and appliances around you with how quiet it became.

"a shiver ran down my fucking spine, dean. i felt like my heart stopped. i was damn near shaking when they called. i didn't know i-if they were calling to say they found your body, or if you were hurt, dean. i was scared- i was so fucking scared. why- why, why, why can't you see that I'm worried about you? i don't want to sit here and berate you for your choices, because yes, this was a fuck-up but i know you know better and i know that you're beating yourself up for it too." for a brief second, you wonder to yourself why dean's face had dramatically gentled into a look of pained concern, and you didn't realize up until that moment that you had streams of tears down your face.

then you notice that your breath hitches, and the lump in your throat weakens your speech. "i don't want to sit here and lecture, and yell- i just don't want to feel that again-" your words get cut off in a sobbing squeak.

"okay, okay," dean croons and suddenly his arms are wrapped around you, and your face is buried into his chest. your breath heaves as you try to reign back control on your body, and you want to be angry at dean, but his hands hold onto you so tight and he brings his mouth to the crown of your head, and one of his hands to your hair. he mumbles a couple of apologies, his own voice getting caught as he watches you crumble into him.

"i'm sorry- hey, i'm sorry. i-" you can feel him shake his head above you as he rubs your upper arm and shoulder, "i should've realized- i didn't know you were that worried. i-" dean curses to himself as he feels you shake in his grasp, and he rubs your arm with affection. "sweetheart, i'm so sorry. i never wanted you to worry like that..."

your hands fist the back of his shirt as you try to hide your face into him, your voice slightly muffled, "i'm not bothered worrying about you- but when it's shit like this-"

"no- sweetheart, i- yeah. i get it, i do. it was stupid, okay? it won't happen again." his guilt-laced promise almost breaks its way through to you.

you pull yourself off of dean as he reluctantly lets go of you, not quite looking into his eyes as you bring a hand to wipe your face. you look down, sniffling as you hoarsely choked out, "damn straight it won't."

dean's shoulder's sag, as the events of tonight seem to finally wash over him, as he sees the tolls that it took on you. his hands find his way to your shoulders again, and he tilts his head to try and find your gaze. "thank you. for picking me up, and feeding me, and-and worrying, and driving all that way to pick up my dumb-ass. you shouldn't've had to."

you sniff, bringing your head up but avoid his gaze still. "it's fine."

"no, it's not...and i knew it wasn't and i fought you on it anyways. I just..." dean sighs as he unwillingly admits, "money's tight. dad didn't leave me much when he took off, so i was just trying to make some extra cash. it's just stress- and i didn't mean to get angry with you. i'm not angry with you..."

you look to him then, your face vulnerable and open, "why didn't you ask me for help?"

he scoffs definitively, "i'm not taking your money."

"it costed you an extra $300 to not ask for my help in the first place, dean. i would've rather given it to you then have you borrow it from me in this case." you remind him, and he thinks it over. regret and shame written all over his face.

"you want me to forgive you?"

dean blinks at you, his brows furrowing in confusion quickly before answering, "yeah- i do."

"the next time you find yourself like this- hell, when you need help at all- you call me. and i can't say that i'll always be able to but i will do my damndest to try." you assert sincerely.

he bites his lip, obviously not entirely wanting to admit to needing your help. but for you, he's willing to do anything to keep you pleased.

"alright. i will." his eyebrows slightly lower, serious with his promise to you.

"good," you nod, feeling better about the situation. not all better, but it was baby steps. you bring a hand to his elbow, giving it a gentle squeeze as you utter, "it's late. you should get to bed. you could use the rest."

"yeah." he replies in a whisper, "you too."

you gesture to the bedroom with the cock of your head as he follows behind you like a puppy. you bring your hands to your face, trying wipe away any emotion that remained from the fight. you walk to the adjourning bathroom as you wearily mention to dean, "i need to wash my face, go ahead and change if you need to."

"okay," he replies softly. it's that same quiet tone your not used to.

as you rinse your face from the stress of the evening, you let the cold water cleanse you, allowing yourself to focus on the frigid, november water. it washes over you, and you feel yourself grow sluggish as your mind becomes quieter with every breath you take, and your heart beat slows for the first time in the night.

you pat your face dry with a towel hanging on your wall, and walk out as your met with dean on the bed with the lamp on next to him. he's changed into his sweatpants that he's left here before, along with a plain black t-shirt. his back rests against the headboard as his knees are drawn up. his hands ruffle through his hair before bringing the heel of his palms to rub circles against his forehead. he smooths his hair out quickly as he notices your appearance again, and immediately lays his feet down on the bed, and waits to see if you'll join him.

you shuffle over to your side of the bed, getting under the covers.

"you can turn off the lamp now." you say after adjusting, your voice barely above a whisper.

"right," he reaches over to click the lamp off, and scoots further down so that his head is resting on a pillow.

the silence eats away at you both, before dean speaks up first, "are you still angry?"

you inhale deeply, moving onto your side so that you're facing dean. you lean down and find his lips through the moonlight shining through the room. and of course, he reciprocates the kiss with a bit of surprise.

"yes," you preface, before continuing with a gentle gaze, "but i forgive you, and i still care about you. and even though i'm mad, i'd rather have you next to me then not at all."

dean blinks a couple times, nodding a bit before one side of his lips twitches upwards. this time, it's his turn to kiss you, as he pushes onto his elbow, to meet your lips with his, taking his time. when he lays back down, he lovingly studies your face, "thank you."

"you don't have to thank me for that. i'll care about you always...get some sleep, baby." your hand finds his forearm closest to you, as you give it a soft rub.

dean watches you through the dark as you settle back into the bed. but he doesn't close his eyes yet. after a couple of minutes, he feels you shift, and you sit up and grab his farthest hand, and take it with you as you lie back down, dragging his arm over yours.

his lips quirk into a smile, the first real one of the night, and moves to hold you against him.

now... now he closes his eyes.

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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guys this is so crazy. omg thank you so much 🫶

I read this atleast once a week

public eye (drew starkey x fem!reader)

pairing: drew starkey x reader

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

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

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

requests open!

word count: 1.8k

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

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

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

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

→ Sleeping Angels

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

→ Poguelandia

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

→ Italy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was.

→ The Conformation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

my fav Hayden Christensen acc is deactivated :((

Hii dear ❤️

I just love all your hayden christensen works so much.

I have a request where Reader plays padme's role and during all the shooting for the movie they fall in love with each other and eventually they get married and evan is also very protective of the reader and sees her as a younger sister. You can add scenes like the movie interviews or press tours.

I have searched for a fic with this idea for so long but haven't found one. 😔

Plz I would really be glad if you do a fic regarding this idea. It's also ok if you can't do it no pressure dear 😊

Love ❤️

Taker care

🎀YOU AS PADMÉ X HAYDEN CHRISTENSE: THE LOVE STORY🎀

synopsis: in the bustling backdrop of a New York casting call in 2000, you meet Hayden Christensen, an enigmatic young actor vying for the role of Anakin Skywalker. A shared screen test ignites an undeniable chemistry, blurring the line between performance and reality, and leaving you both with a lingering sense that this is only the beginning of something extraordinary.

words: 1.1k

warning: not based on real events, fluffy, hint of romance

a/n: hello there, I was SO hyped when I read your idea—it’s seriously brilliant and such a vibe! ✨ Honestly, I’m super honored you trusted me to write this with you 💖. IDK if you were thinking of a one-shot, but I was imagining turning this into a mini-fanfic (like 10 chapters or so?) to really explore all the phases of their relationship—the tension, the feelings, the growth, all of it 🫶.

I hope you love what I’ve written so far, and PLEASE feel free to share your comments or opinions—they’re totally welcome and super important to make this story the best it can be for everyone! 🥰

CHAPTER ONE: CASTING

The sun was beginning to dip behind the Manhattan skyline as you stretched in your chair for the hundredth time that day. You’d been at this since the early morning hours, reading the same lines over and over again with a rotating cast of hopeful actors vying for the role of Anakin Skywalker. George Lucas had been clear about what he was looking for—a young man who could embody Anakin’s volatile mix of rebellious passion and burgeoning darkness. But after dozens of auditions, no one had quite nailed it.

Some actors were technically good but lacked the raw, unpolished edge George wanted. Others had the right look but couldn’t summon the emotional depth required for the role. And as the hours wore on, your excitement for the project was slowly being drained away by the monotony of the casting process.

You exhaled heavily, flipping through the well-worn pages of the script in your hands, your mind wandering to thoughts of escaping the stifling audition room and stepping into the brisk New York air. That’s when you heard his name.

“Hayden Christensen.”

Your eyes snapped up as a young man walked into the room. Honey-blonde hair framed his face, and his quiet confidence filled the space effortlessly. He wasn’t overly polished like so many of the others. There was an air of authenticity about him, as though he didn’t need to try too hard to be noticed.

Your gaze lingered on him as the casting director pointed out where he should stand. He nodded, offering a small, polite smile to the room before taking his mark. There was no unnecessary bravado, no nervous fidgeting—just a focused calm that intrigued you instantly.

When he began his lines, it was as though the room shifted. His voice carried a raw vulnerability, his delivery perfectly balancing Anakin’s simmering anger with the aching, earnest desire for connection. It wasn’t just an audition; it was as if he was Anakin Skywalker.

For a moment, you forgot you were supposed to be evaluating him. His intensity drew you in, his words lingering in the air long after they were spoken. You found yourself leaning forward in your chair, captivated. It was the first time all day you’d felt the spark of something real, something electric.

“(Y/N), are you ready?”

Your name snapped you out of the trance. You blinked, momentarily disoriented, as one of the assistants handed you the pages for the scene. Your heart was racing, and you didn’t know why. All you knew was that you were about to step into that scene with him.

The moment you walked up to Hayden, he looked at you, and for a split second, the rest of the room seemed to disappear. His eyes, an arresting shade of blue, locked onto yours, and you felt a spark—like the ignition of a lightsaber. He smiled, a small, almost imperceptible twitch of his lips, and suddenly, the world felt different.

When the scene began, your eyes darted to the script once or twice, double-checking your lines to ensure everything was perfect. But as the words fell from your lips and his presence seemed to pull you in, something shifted. The boundary between reality and performance blurred, and suddenly, you were no longer reading lines—you were living them. The emotions, the conflict, and the forbidden pull between your characters surged through you like a tidal wave.

“I can't. We can't. It's just not possible,” you murmured, your voice trembling with the weight of the words. It wasn’t just Padmé speaking; it was you, every syllable laced with an ache that felt startlingly real. Your heart, unbidden, protested against the logic of the line, just as hers would.

Hayden’s blue eyes locked onto yours, their intensity almost startling. They were so bright, so alive, but within them swirled a mix of hurt, longing, and something deeper—something that made the air between you feel impossibly charged. His voice was low, thick with a quiet desperation as he stepped closer. “Anything’s possible. Padmé, please listen…” His hand extended toward yours, trembling slightly, as though he couldn’t help but reach for you.

For a moment, you forgot to breathe. The warmth of his hand brushed yours, and an unfamiliar spark danced up your arm. Your fingers almost curled instinctively toward his before you pulled back, forcing yourself to remain in character.

“You listen,” you countered, your voice soft yet firm, filled with a mix of resignation and sorrow. “We live in a real world. Come back to it. You’re studying to become a Jedi Knight. I’m a Senator. If you follow your thoughts through to conclusion, they will take us to a place we cannot go… regardless of the way we feel about each other.”

The words came effortlessly now, as though they belonged not just to Padmé but to you. And as you spoke them, you noticed the way Hayden’s expression shifted—how every ounce of his being seemed to pour into the scene. He didn’t just act. He felt. And in his eyes, you saw it too—a connection, an unspoken understanding that transcended the lines on the page.

With each passing moment, the distance between you closed, not just physically but emotionally, spiritually, as if this moment was fated—destined to unfold exactly this way. By the time you finished your last line, the silence in the room was almost deafening, the air charged with something unspoken but undeniable.

The sound of applause jolted you from the trance-like state, breaking the fragile spell that had wrapped itself around the two of you. You blinked, stepping back instinctively, though your chest still felt tight, your heart still racing. George Lucas and the rest of the team stood clapping, clearly thrilled by the chemistry that had just unfolded in front of them.

You forced a smile, stepping back farther to give Hayden the moment he deserved. He was speaking with George now, his body language a mix of excitement and relief. He was the chosen one. Everyone in the room knew it. He had just won the role of a lifetime.

Yet, even as you lingered in the background, trying to focus on the buzz of conversation around you, you felt it—him. His gaze. It burned softly, like sunlight warming your skin even when you weren’t looking. Over the shoulders of directors and producers, he stole glances your way, as if drawn to you in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

And then there was you. A strange, unfamiliar feeling settled in your chest, making it harder to think clearly. You couldn’t quite place it—was it admiration? Excitement? Curiosity? It felt like all those things and more, tangled into a knot that you didn’t want to unravel just yet.

You didn’t know where this would lead, or why you felt so certain that this was only the beginning of something bigger. All you knew was that, somehow, you were eager to find out.

⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 home sweet home,

summary. daddy's home after a day at work

pairing. dean winchester x reader ; apple pie life au

wordcount. 481

The second Dean steps through the front door, he hears the rapid patter of tiny feet against the hardwood floor.

“Daddy!!”

Before he can even drop his duffel, a little body barrels into his legs, arms wrapping tight around his knees. Dean chuckles, bending down to scoop his daughter up into his arms.

“Hey, munchkin,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She smells like baby shampoo and crayons, her tiny fingers fisting into his shirt like she never wants to let go. “Miss me?”

She nods enthusiastically, curls bouncing. “So much! Mommy’s making pie.” Her big green eyes shine up at him, pure excitement. “For you.”

Dean’s lips tug into a slow grin. “Yeah? What kind?”

“Puh-cawn!”

“Pecan?” he corrects, smirking.

She huffs. “That’s what I said!”

Dean laughs, ruffling her hair as he carries her into the kitchen. And that’s when he sees you—standing by the counter, sleeves rolled up, hands dusted in flour. There’s a pie dish sitting on the counter, golden crust crimped perfectly at the edges, the scent of caramelized sugar and toasted pecans filling the warm space.

His stomach growls on instinct.

“Y’know,” he drawls, stepping closer, “a guy could get used to coming home to this.”

You glance up, grinning as you wipe your hands on a dish towel. “You mean coming home to your daughter tackling you or to me making your favorite pie?”

Dean sets your daughter down, letting her scamper off toward the living room before slipping an arm around your waist, tugging you close. “Both,” he murmurs, pressing a slow kiss to your temple. “Definitely both.”

Your smile softens, fingers finding the grease stains on his jacket. “Long day?”

Dean exhales, resting his forehead against yours for a moment. “Yeah. Couple of stubborn transmissions, some asshole who didn’t know how to change his own oil. Business as usual.”

You hum, reaching up to brush a smudge of oil from his cheek. “Well, now you’re home.”

“Damn right, I am.”

Dean leans in, lips brushing over yours, slow and easy, like he’s tasting the very thing he’s been craving all day. When he finally pulls back, there’s warmth in his gaze, something deep and grateful.

You poke his chest playfully. “Now, go wash up. Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he smirks, but before he moves, he steals another quick kiss, grinning against your lips when you sigh into it.

His daughter peeks her head around the corner. “Daddy, are you kissing Mommy again?”

Dean winks at her. “Get used to it, sweetheart.”

She giggles, disappearing with a squeal when he playfully stomps toward her.

And as he heads toward the sink, rolling his sleeves up, listening to the quiet hum of home—his daughter’s laughter, the clatter of dishes, the smell of fresh-baked pie—Dean swears, for the first time in his life, he has everything he’s ever wanted.

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want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @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 ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @beakaleak32 ⋆ @ocelotlist51 ⋆ @lelapine ⋆ @pwin098 ⋆ @lacysretribution ⋆ @globetrotter28 ⋆ @i-love-gvf ⋆ @lemonswinchester ⋆ @4k1vrr ⋆ @bejeweledinterludes ( continues in the comments )

𝔖𝔠𝔬𝔱𝔱 𝔅𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯 ℌ𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔫𝔰

- how you meet, dating, your story together, how he is, etc.. | Fluff . TW: minor mentions of trauma. Some swearing, he called user a bitch. A bit of pervy humor.

🩹 Scott Barringer and you met at Mount Horizon. You were pretty much settled and well liked in the Cliffhangers group when he joined. Like the girls of said group, you were curious about the blonde with the bad attitude. It didn't take long to learn how hostile and nearly unapproachable he was, like most troubled teens when they first arrived. Since Juliet and Shelby seemed to have this little competition for his attention going on, you decided to not get involved, keeping your interactions to a minimum. It wasn't difficult, considering how douchy he was at the beginning of his stay.

🩹 You share a rather similar trauma to Katherine and large bodies of water make you terribly anxious after an accident, not that you speak about it. Scott is quite the trickster and is known to hold grudges, both of you argued over something the other day, which is why he had the moronic idea to push you into the lake. If the Cliffhangers disliked Scott before, they absolutely hated his guts after this, especially since he froze and Peter was the one who jumped after you. “W-what? It's not my fault the bitch can't swim or whatever...” He muttered, but the reality was that Scott had been absolutely terrified. Getting along with him after this was certainly a challenge, Scott didn't make it easy, his own trauma and shame prevented him from doing the right thing, but he eventually had the guts to tell you he was sorry. You almost ignored him, but then you noticed how close to tears he was. Alas, a small flicker of vulnerability that proved Scott was human after all.

He walked into the empty library, it was after curfew, but you were reading quietly on a sofa. Scott hesitated for a couple of seconds, the only reason he was there was because he knew he'd find you, but now that he can see you, he can't seem to talk. What could he say, anyways? It's not a secret that you want to be as far as possible from him, ever since the incident.

“... What do you want?” Your tone isn't exactly friendly, something he knew he deserved, it doesn't stop Scott from flinching though. “Seriously Scott, you don't even read, so why are you here?”

“To talk to you,” he says, trying to not sound too defensive. He sighs. “Can I do that, please? You don't have to say anything... You don't even have to talk to me, just... Hear me out?” Scott stared, pleading quietly, hoping you'll grant him that.

Crossing your arms you decide to humor him, just to hear what he has to say. “Make it fast.”

He gives you a bit of a nod, grateful, even if his heart was hammering against his chest hard enough to break it.

“Listen I...” Scott swallowed, hard, feeling a bump in his throat that prevents him from speaking properly. He takes a sharp breath, hands running through his tousled hair. “I didn't want to hurt you, okay? You need to know that. If I had been aware of your... I never would have- I mean, G-God, I could've... It was never m-my intention, you get that, right? I-I know I'm a dick but I really didn't think... And uhm... I- I'm s-so... I'm so sorry... I'm sorry.” He sniffles, scratching the back of his head in desperation, he hates how pathetic he feels when he cries, but this is something that has been tormenting him. The idea of you possibly having trouble sleeping after he pushed you made him want to crawl in a hole and never come back. “I s-swear I didn't want to h-hurt you. And if I set back your recovery... F-fuck, I'm so sorry, please...” He sobbed, thick tears sliding over his reddened cheeks. “You have to believe me.”

It was in this moment that you hated how compassionate and soft you are, a couple of tears and your heart was practically breaking. Unbelievable.

“I know you are...” you sighed. “But what you did was so fucking dumb, Scott.”

“I know! I know! And I hate myself for doing this to you, I had no idea.” He looks away, breathing through his mouth. He looked absolutely pathetic, struggling with himself. “A-and you're not a bitch... I'm sorry for calling you that.”

“You called me a bitch? What, when?”

He continued to cry, trying to make his case before you decide you've had enough of him. “I thought you knew how to swim, I've heard about you being in a team and everything!! What I didn't know was the reason for you to be here. I swear for everything that I hold dear, that I wouldn't have pushed you if I knew...”

You rolled your eyes, muttering “I do know how, I just kinda can't anymore... I freeze, I don't like to talk about it.”

Scott nods, wiping his eyes.

“...I could have jumped after you, I stood there like a moron because I didn't know if you were being for real... and I—” He kept talking, to a point where you could no longer understand him. It was a little frustrating because you wanted to be mad at him, to be petty, to hold a grudge. But you can't, not anymore.

“Jesus Christ, breathe, Scott. I don't know what the hell you're saying anymore.” You groaned, getting up and gently pulling him into a warm hug, one that he probably doesn't deserve, but needs. This was the day that you understood there was something else going on, that there was more to Scott Barringer than what meets the eye. Your suspicions were confirmed when he began bawling again, clinging to your shirt while sobbing. “It's... It's alright, we're alright.”

🩹 After that awkward evening of apologies, there was a short period of time where Scott didn't know how to act around you, so much that he sorta avoided you for three days. After that, you became friends. He randomly sat down in front of you for lunch, quietly handing you over one of those muffins they made at the cafeteria, it didn't have that much sugar or flavor to it, but it was the closest thing to a decent snack around. People usually don't give those up willingly. A peace offering.

🩹 It became rather common to find the two of you together after this. It's not like you're attached at the hip, but 8 times out of 10, you were next to each other. Your friendship with him isn't automatically perfect, he's still petty and learning how to navigate his own emotions, he's prone to jealousy and has this infuriating mindset of 'I don't like this person so you can't be friends with them either', but those are things that with time he begins to fix. You also learn rather quickly what they meant, and the fact that the blonde was crushing on you. Take that, Shelby and Juliet!

🩹 Your relationship with him happened gradually, and then boom! You got a little closer, hugs lasted a little longer, words were a little flirtier, until one time you kissed goodnight. It was fast, it was cute, it was surprisingly innocent, and suddenly both of you were stumbling with your own words, blushing and waving goodbye like a pair of idiots.

🩹 Scott Barringer doesn't really know how to be romantic, he could try saying something really sweet or do something cute like giving you a flower, but there's a good chance he'll end the sentence with a dismissive "whatever", "some shit like that", or "who fucking cares..." Luckily, you understand him, as frustrating he may be. Patience is definitely a skill you were exercising constantly with him by your side.

🩹 Scott Barringer is an overprotective boyfriend. Even if he's good to you, he still has a long road to go, empathy and teamwork are things he greatly struggles with if they're not related to you. It's not uncommon for him to get in fights, usually with Auggie. If Scott feels like someone looked at you the wrong way he's already stomping his way towards them and making a fist. You joked with your friends about buying a leash to hold him back, but it's not something you're proud of. Pulling him back during a fight? Forget it. His behavior usually causes most of your arguments, and they look a bit like this: "So you're on his side then!" "What? No Scott, but you can't behave like this and expect me to side with you!" "Why the hell not? You're my girlfriend, not his!"

🩹 You guys went through a breakup at some point, it happened when you were certain Scott needed a friend more than a girlfriend and his behavior was the worst it would be. It wasn't easy and he definitely resented you for it, but you insisted in him needing space to grow and to battle those demons that found him when his father came back into his life. It didn't last for long, and best believe he tried to make you jealous during that time "apart", but ultimately you got back together when he promised to work on being better.

“Oh Scott, now what?” You groaned when he pulled you to the side. Funny how you didn't even have to look to know it was him, but when you did, he had this miserable look on his face, like a starved puppy. “Tch. You have two minutes.”

“I know you think it's for the best, and maybe you're right, maybe I'm too dependent on you, but I don't think you understand how truly good you are for me. I've changed, ever since... Ever since we first crossed paths, I have been changing for the better... I know I get in fights, I know I'm an asshole, I know I claim to not care about anything else and maybe I don't to a degree. But when it comes to you...?” Scott sighs, his pretty eyes sparkling with devotion. “You are everything that I care about, yeah? And you've made me want to be better, I don't wanna do this without you, it's not fair! Not when you want to be with me, and I want to be with you. I'm not trying to guilt you into compliance, but I need you, alright? I need you in my life, desperately. You made me believe I'm worth loving, you have any idea how hard that was? You made me believe I matter... And you made me feel like myself again. When I'm with you I am not afraid of anything, not... Not even the storms. So please, give me another chance, because I don't know if I can do this without you.”

🩹 You were the first one to leave Mount Horizon. As soon as you found out you were fit to go back to your home, you told Scott. Safe to say he was absolutely devastated, but at the same time, he forced himself to smile and hug you tightly. You promised that you would write every single week, and even though Scott had his doubts, you did. Scott's turn to leave took place six months after you, at 17 he still had to live with his father, but as soon as he turned 18, he moved out.

🩹 Scott's first apartment is close to a gym and the university he'll go to. He wasted no time in asking you to live with him, and even when your friends thought it wasn't a good idea, you agreed. It was genuinely one of the best decisions you ever made.

🩹 Scott Barringer has a dirty dirty mind, like any guy his age. His thoughts of you are downright obscene, and even if he doesn't say so, you can tell by that look in his eyes. He'll stare at you almost in a trance, pupils will dilate so much you'll wonder if he took something. His chin points downward and you can swear the guy isn't even blinking. Sometimes it creeps you out.

“Alright that's enough you perv, stop it!” Your dramatic squeal brought him back to the present, Scott blushes as he gets ready to protest.

“But I'm not doing anything!”

“Yes you are!”

“No I'm not! The fuck?! Can't I look at my girlfriend? Damn. So dramatic... I wasn't even thinking about it...” He grumbled, even though he's 100% lying. “I said I wasn't!”

🩹 Scott Barringer is the type of guy that during a sleepover he'll make it sound like he can make cool shadow puppets, starting with the basics: bunny, bird. At this point you're invested. Spider. Butterfly. Aaaand he just made a circle for his middle finger to move in and out repeatedly.

“This one's my favorite.” He grins. “Wanna emulate?”

“You are such a child, Scott! Gosh!”

🩹 Scott Barringer developed the habit of leaving you notes, just because. He thinks you get rid of them after reading, so the day he found your little shoe box filled with his notes he teared up. Scott still has days of struggle, but knowing that someone loves him enough to literally save a stupid bubblegum wrap with the words 'I love you', is enough to make him want to bawl. He can't even bring himself to tease you for it, he'd be a hypocrite if he called you sentimental or a crybaby.

🩹 Scott Barringer loves you more than he loves himself. But that's not something you approved of, so you made sure to remind him of how damn valuable he was.