BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 1

Frat boy rafe doesent know how to fuck properly

Pairing: frat!rafe cameron x reader

Warnings: (smut 18+, frat boy Rafe behavior (cocky, entitled, desperate), inexperience, unfulfilling experience, mild degradation/frustration, light alcohol consumption, messy, not romantic)

Rafe had been circling you like a vulture for weeks.

It wasn’t even about you—not really. It was about the chase, the fact that you weren’t giving in as easily as the others. The more you rejected his advances, the more he obsessed over the idea of getting you in bed. And you knew it. You saw the way his eyes would darken whenever you shot him down, the way he would always try again like he had something to prove.

He wasn't subtle. Not at all. Every chance he got, he had some excuse to get you alone. Every night at parties, he was in your space, offering you drinks you didn’t ask for, whispering things in your ear that he thought were smooth. He didn’t even try to hide that he was only after one thing.

"Come on," he groaned one night, cornering you in the kitchen at a house party. His breath reeked of cheap beer, his hand splaying against the counter beside you, blocking you in. "Why are you making this so hard?"

"Maybe because I don’t want to?" you teased, watching frustration flicker across his face.

But that wasn’t entirely true, and you both knew it.

Rafe was an ass, a spoiled rich boy with entitlement issues, but you couldn’t lie and say you hadn’t thought about it. He was hot, obnoxiously so. He had this effortless kind of arrogance, all strong arms and cocky smirks, and as annoying as he was, he was still magnetic. You knew exactly why girls lined up for him. But still—you held out, dragging it on longer than necessary, just to see how desperate he’d get.

And he got desperate.

By the time you finally gave in, he was already half out of his mind with want.

It happened in his room, the air thick with tension, his hands greedy and impatient. He didn’t waste time. The second you let him know it was happening, he was on you—mouth everywhere, hands fumbling with your clothes like he was scared you’d change your mind.

He was rushed. So, so rushed.

You could tell he had no idea how to pace himself, no sense of control. He was all over you, hands squeezing, pulling, gripping, as if he couldn’t decide what to focus on. He didn’t know how to take his time, how to make it good for you. He was just chasing his own high, acting purely on impulse.

"Fuck—" he panted against your skin, already working to get his jeans off, his breath hot against your neck. "You don’t know how bad I need this."

You almost laughed. Oh, you knew.

The desperation was pouring off him in waves. He was so worked up, so frantic, that he barely let you breathe between kisses. His hands trembled slightly when he shoved your underwear down, his fingers clumsy against your skin.

And then—just like that—he was in you.

No teasing, no buildup, no attempt at making it feel good for you. He just buried himself inside you with a strained groan, gripping your hips so tight it almost hurt.

And it was bad.

Not the worst experience you’d ever had, but definitely not good.

He was messy, unsure, and completely out of rhythm. His thrusts were erratic, too fast one second and too slow the next, like he couldn’t decide what worked. He kept adjusting, shifting positions, like he thought the issue was in the angle instead of the fact that he had no idea what the hell he was doing.

"You like that?" he asked at one point, voice breathless, and you almost rolled your eyes because—no. Not really.

It was obvious he was trying to figure out how to talk you through it, but it just wasn’t working. Every time he opened his mouth, he second-guessed himself, stumbling over his words like he didn’t know what you wanted to hear.

And then—it was over.

Way too soon.

His breath hitched, his body tensed, and you barely had time to process it before he was finishing, groaning against your shoulder as he lost control completely.

You didn’t even try to hide your disappointment.

Rafe, still breathing heavily, finally pulled back enough to look at you. His face was flushed, his hair damp with sweat, and for the first time since you’d met him, he looked uncertain.

You could practically see it in his eyes—the slow realization that he hadn’t gotten you off. That it hadn’t been good for you. That maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as smooth as he thought.

"Did you…" he trailed off, searching your face.

You just raised a brow.

He groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. "Fuck."

Love, Mum and Dad - Harry, James x reader

summary: Harry gets the memory book you and James made for him to open on his 17th birthday, but he gets it a little sooner, and discovers things about the family he could have had. (angst/fluff) wc: 2.8k

Sirius didn’t know if it was the time to give Harry the memory book. The gift you’d planned on building until Harry was 17, when you’d finally give it to him. At James’s bachelor party — a small gathering between him, Sirius, Frank Longbottom and the Prewett twins (You had claimed Remus for your bachelorette), James had excitedly revealed what you’d told him. “She said, I want to start collecting all our memories from when we started dating to make a memory book. A memory book that we can keep making until our future baby is an adult, and then we’ll give it to him.” The boys had all cheered, giving James a few pats on the back. “So apparently she wants us to have a son, and I know exactly what I want to name him.” He had joyfully laughed along with the others, refusing to reveal the name of his future boy, claiming that it’s somehow bad luck.

Now that Harry was actually here at Grimmauld Place, even at the age of 15, Sirius knew he had to give him the book. Sirius knew Harry was insecure, doubting that anyone loved him at all, and especially facing such dark times, he knew Harry could use the love of his parents, a love that had saved his life once before.

Harry was a wanderer, he couldn’t sleep at night, so Sirius was not surprised to find him in his family’s make shift library, scanning through all the outdated titles. Sirius made himself known by clearing his throat from where he stood in the doorway. Harry jumped, spinning around to look at Sirius, who held the memory book in his right hand. Harry’s godfather told him to follow him to a private room, one with a pensieve he hadn’t seen before. “This is from your parents. They wanted to give it to you when you became an adult, but given the circumstances…” Sirius averted his teary gaze as Harry took the book in his hands, flicking through the pages, his breath becoming heavier as he caught glimpses of moving images in the book.

“Each and every memory… Just don’t forget to put them back.” And with that, a teary eyed Sirius left Harry alone. When Harry properly opened the first page of the photo book, he found small tubes with glimmering memories next to each photo. His breath shook. He looked at the first picture.

The first image of you and James had been taken from afar, as though someone had been spying on you. When he released the memory into the pensieve below, he quickly learned that Sirius and Remus had been the ones spying on you, on your first date. Harry had laughed, listening to Sirius constantly narrating everything to a muggle camera he held, watching as he and Remus quickly ran behind people to avoid being seen by you. Harry quickly learned through these memories that not every memory would make him laugh, and that he would actually shed a few more tears than intended.

This next memory was different than all the other celebrations — the anniversaries, the weddings — Harry realised, as he watched you nervously tuck your hair behind your ear. You were in the kitchen of the house you and James had just moved into. It wasn’t decorated yet, with the exception of a single image of you and James on your wedding day. Your entire house was barely furnished, with James taking on all the building due to the growing baby in your belly. Harry jumped up on the counter to watch the scene in front of him unfold. You had a worried crease between your eyebrows, and you leaned back on the counter, staring at the warm batch of cookies you had baked. James walked in front of you with a smile, his arms sliding under your sweater to rest on your small bump — one Harry hadn’t realised was present until James brought it to his attention. Harry hopped off the counter, taking slow steps towards you to admire your baby bump. He tried reaching out to touch it, but his hand went right through you.

“What if they say no James, what if they don’t want to?” You asked worriedly, looking up at James. “Baby,” James started with a chuckle, “They’re going to be the most excited people on earth.” You huffed doubtfully, a small pout on your lips that James happily pressed his lips to. “James.” You muttered, but before your new husband could reply, the front door slammed open. “Honey, I’m home!” Sirius loudly called, causing you and James to laugh, though you had clear distress laced in your voice. “I really don’t know why we keep apparating outside your front door when we just end up barging in anyway.” Sirius announced as he walked into the kitchen. “Oh hey, cookies!”“I for one, suggested to knock.” Clarified Remus as he followed his boyfriend into the room. James moved from where he stood in front of you so that your best friends could see you.

James tutted, snatching the plate of freshly bakes cookies from the table just as Sirius reached out to take one, causing the boy to frown. “In the living room.” The two boys went silent, Sirius running a hand through his hair as Remus nervously tugged on the sleeves of his sweater. James gestured to the door, letting the boys wander out so that he could wrap his free arm around your waist, tugging you close to his side to kiss your cheek.

Harry eagerly followed you all into the living room, which he noticed looked painfully bare. It looked like something that was becoming a family’s first home, though it wasn't quite there yet. There were so many pictures laid out on the coffee table, empty picture frames stacked beside them. In a corner of the room, tools were scattered on the floor, wooden parts and instructions beside them. Harry theorised that it might be a crib in the making.

“Okay, sit down, have a cookie.” You said, hands clasped in front of you. You took in a deep breath as Remus and Sirius both cautiously reached for a cookie, watching as James hugged you from behind, his hands snaking around your waist to rest on your stomach. He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, and decided to take initiative when you opened and closed your mouth a couple of times. “So you guys know we’re having a baby.” The two boys nodded, and Harry watched closely as Sirius put a hand on Remus’s thigh. “We want you guys to be the godparents!” You squeaked loudly, physically cringing as you revealed the information.

“Shut up!” Sirius screamed, immediately jumping up on his feet with a giant smile on his face as he ran up to hug you. James threw his hands up in the air jealously, watching his best friend hug his wife, and accepting the hug Remus offered him. “This is what you baked cookies for?” Remus asked with a smile when he let go of James to wrap his arms around you tightly. You nodded, tears filling your eyes, and Remus pulled you close to his chest as you sniffled. “So is that a yes?” Your question was immediately answered by the two boys, with Sirius saying “This calls for drinks!” before apologising profusely as he immediately realised that you could, in fact, not drink. This time when you laughed at his words, it was genuine.

Harry was smiling widely, desperate to join in on the shared hugs when he took notice of the lump in his throat that made it hard to swallow. Not wanting to cry, the teenager left the memory, returning it to its glass tube before putting the next one in the pensieve.

This time, Harry is somewhere new. Somewhere he’s never been before. A warm house, with a similar atmosphere to the Burrow. There’s bustling energy, and a special kind of joy in the air. The only person Harry recognises in the room is Sirius, who leads a woman into the living room of the house with an arm familiarly thrown over her shoulder. The woman looks like someone he knows, but he can’t tell who. It’s only when the mysterious woman is led towards an unknown man that it clicks for Harry. His father is the spitting image of the man in front of him, and therefore, so is he. “Oh Euphemia, I can’t believe we’re meeting our grandbaby.” The man says, hugging his wife tightly. The pair doesn’t look nearly old enough to have grandchildren, they barely look like they’re in their 40s. Someone comes in from the garden door, saying “I’ve picked the apples for you Mrs. Potter, is there anything else I can do?” But she only thanks Remus, who's wrapped in countless warm layers of clothing, asking him to put the apples in the kitchen.

There’s two soft knocks on the front door, and the entire room goes silent as James’s parents rush to open the door. James shyly smiles at them, his arm protectively wrapped around your side. Euphemia immediately bursts into tears when her eyes land on you and your newborn baby, only a few days old. Fleamont wraps his arms around his son, who instantly begins crying like his mother, and Remus ushers you into the house, closing the door behind you to protect you from the chilly weather. Euphemia wants to hug you, but she's too busy wiping her tears away as she asks questions about your health and delivery, making sure you’re okay. You nudge your husband’s side, and he happily takes Harry from your arms, showing him off to the other three men in the room.

Euphemia hugs you tightly before leading you to sit down and instantly handing you some tea. She lets the men rave over the little baby boy, but she’s concerned for the new mother's health. It doesn’t take long for James to come back to your side carrying Harry in his arms, and he takes his mother’s place next to you on the couch. He doesn’t let anyone hold Harry, too happy to finally be able to hold him himself after you've spent nine months doing so. Present Harry walks across the room, between Sirius and his grandfather, over the gifts on the floor and past his beautiful grandmother to sit on the arm of the couch next to you. He looks at his young sleeping figure, only born days ago, and knows how much he is loved. By his parents, grandparents, godparents, and all your friends and family.

And he knows it’s too much. All Harry ever wanted was for his parents to be alive, and the thought of the life he could be living with them right now makes him feel as though his heart has been ripped out of his chest. He would do anything to be back in that position again: in his parents’ arms, a joyful family around him. He didn’t even need his grandparents there; you two would have been enough.

Harry needs to take a moment for himself when he finally breaks away from his memory. He leans on a table for support, taking in heaving breaths as he sobs and sobs, tears dripping on the ground. The small glass tube containing the memory rolls onto the floor and Harry dives to catch it, holding it close to his chest as pain runs through his entire body. These memories should have made him happy, he thinks, so why do they hurt so much? Harry gasps for oxygen, trying to urge his panic and sadness away, trying to turn it into happiness for the things he had, for the love he still has. Slowly, he pushes himself off the ground, moving all the way to the last page of your memory book and taking out the corresponding tube.

When Harry is sucked into the pensieve again, the atmosphere has completely changed. He’s located back at home again, in Godric’s Hollow, where you and James had built your forever home. The sole sight of the homey and safe atmosphere has tears clouding Harry’s vision again, but his feet bring him further down the entryway and into the living room of your house. The first thing Harry does is take in the sight of the decorated house, made to look like his very own heaven. The lighting is warm, photos of family and friends hung up on the wall next to the fireplace. The room is filled with plants, and a small crib was placed next to an armchair. And here you are: sat there with James on the couch, sharing a passionate kiss. The moment is intimate, with your legs tangled up and James’s hand cupping your jaw, but Harry can’t bring himself to look away from you. “James.” He hears you mumble in the kiss, eyes fluttering open as you let James’s familiarity envelop you. “My sweetheart.” James echoes, his eyes still shut as he immerses himself in the moment.

Harry gulps loudly, harshly wiping a tear off his cheek as he watches his dad’s eyes slowly open, a wide smile forming on his face when he finds your eyes already on him. You laugh softly as your husband kisses you again, but you instantly pull away from him, eyes going wide with alert. Harry frowns, his expression matching his father’s, and that’s he he hears it: the soft padding of feet on the floor, and a quiet call of “Mama?” Harry’s eyes are instantly glued to his younger self, appearing around the corner on wobbly feet.

Your body runs past him in a flash, travelling across the living room on quick feet to kneel in front of your son. Young Harry makes grabby hands at you, and you immediately scoop him up in your arms, speaking to him in a soft whisper. “What’s wrong sweetheart? You hungry?” You ask, cradling him in your arms. Young Harry makes an incomprehensible noise, and Harry laughs in adoration. He has to be a year or two in this memory. Harry glances back to where James now stands up, walking over to his family, where he wraps his arms around both of you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Think he’s hungry.” You tell your husband, who hums, leading you to the couch to sit down. James helps you pull your jumper up just enough for baby Harry to latch on to your breast, humming in innocent satisfaction. You smile down at him, running a hand through his soft short hair. James carefully wraps an arm around your shoulder, letting you rest your head on his shoulder as you blink tiredly. Harry stares at the perfect image of the family in front of him, and soon enough, realises he’s not the only one crying. James is sniffling next to you, taking in shaky breaths in a poor attempt not to disturb you or baby Harry. You lift your head off your husband’s shoulder to look up at him, and smile lovingly at him, a hand lifting off the back of Harry’s head to wipe at James’s tears. “James.” You whisper, and he instantly opens his mouth, voice breaking as he says “I love you both so, so much.” And his words have a sob wracking out of present Harry’s chest.

He floats out of the memory just as you bring James into a short kiss, the sight of him being loved by his parents the last thing he sees before finding himself standing at the foot of the pensieve again. Harry shuts the memory book, closing his eyes tightly — it’s enough for one lonesome night. But something catches his attention as his hand rests on the back of the book. An odd texture under his fingertips, forming crevices into the leather. Harry’s eyes flutter open, and he notices a gold engraving into the book. Engravings that form letters, words. A note.

Dear Harry,

You’re finally an adult!!! You can do anything you ever wanted, even without our permission. And move out if we’re too annoying sometimes, though that feels wrong to write with you sitting in front of us as a little baby boy. We just wanted you to know that no matter where you are, or what you’re doing, we’ll always support you and be here for you. And not just us, everyone in this book, everyone who forms your family.

We love you so much Harry, and even though you’re all grown now, you’ll always be our baby, just like in these first memories.

Love,

Mum and Dad

To say the least, Harry doesn't sleep that night.

better leave your man at home!

mini stories of vi, sevika, abby, and ellie showing you your true worth.

wc : 7.306

contains : sfw and nsfw. fxf. fem!reader. cheating on the men's part until ellie's part lol. ellie’s is a modern!au the rest are in canon. mentions of violence and alcohol. silco but he's chill. owen but he's not chill. reader can be interpreted as bi or comphet i think!

a/n : ladies if you're reading this...cheat on him. or cheat back. yknow what just leave him.

VIOLET ꨄ

ʚɞ ever since getting out of prison and restarting her life, vi had been looking for a new purpose.

ʚɞ she had found a solid job, managed to reconnect with wither last siblings left alive, and started to build up a life for herself, but still, she felt...aimless. she longed for a deeper connection than the ones she had, someone she could yet again.

ʚɞ and then she meets you, a sweet little store owner with a voice that sounds like a symphony and an attitude as sweet as cookies. the first time she even met you she bumped into you on the street outside your bakery, knocking you supplies for your treats all over the ground. she's expecting that usual zaunite 'watch where you're going!' but instead you tell her not to worry, that you were carrying too many things anyway.

ʚɞ it was almost instinct for her to assure you she was at fault, downright demanding she help you carry everything that dropped inside and that it was the least she could do. you call her a sweetheart and tell her if she does you'll send her home with a plate of her favorite dessert. how could she say no?

ʚɞ she cant help but to quickly hang out with you whenever she can. after her shifts she stops by to help you close up, telling you its the least she could do for someone who was oh-so sweet. you seem to welcome her affections, whispering one late night when making some extra batter that you always appreciate when she stops by. she goes home on a high that night.

ʚɞ but then the worst thing ever happens. you get a boyfriend.

ʚɞ apparently he's some old family friend who moved back to the city when he found a small fortune overseas and was ready to come back to 'win you over like he tried years ago'. you told the story with a slightly wistful voice but all vi could do was nod along with wide eyes and a shut mouth.

ʚɞ eventually, she meets the guy, a tall and rather weasly looking guy who was waiting impatiently outside the store. she gave him a simple greeting and all he could do was tilt his head in recognition that she was there, apparently. she passed him and went to the back of the store and asked you what he was doing standing outside looking all suspicious. her eyes nearly bulged out of her head when you told her he was waiting to take you out but had to stand outside because he couldn't stand the smell of bread.

ʚɞ yeah, this definitely wasn't gonna last long. she’d just have to get you to see that.

ʚɞ sadly, she didn't have to do much work. ton a sunny day when the two of you were walking through the upper city levels together you stopped in your tracks, a talking vi whose arm was wrapped with yours questioning what made you stop before following your eyesight to see your boyfriend in the arms of another woman, way too close for comfort. vi wanted nothing more in that moment than to go and knock the bastard's lights out, but she had to prioritize you first.

ʚɞ you go into a depression for a week, your shop closed and your apartment locked as you skulk and cry in your home. but thankfully you gave vi a key not too long into your friendship, and she wakes you up one afternoon and demands you go and clean yourself up while she takes care of your chores.

ʚɞ you come out of the shower feeling rejuvenated and refreshed, your mood only lifting higher at the smell of cookies in the air. you pad out to the kitchen and cant help but smile when you see vi standing with a tray of perfectly made chocolate chip cookies on the island counter.

ʚɞ you sit up on your counter and moan at the taste of the cookies, vi accepting your praise of her baking skills with pride as she rubs over your bare thighs. eventually the topic steers to your recent heartbreak and vi makes sure you can complain and vent to her all you want.

ʚɞ but the last thing she wants to hear is you blaming yourself, teary-eyed and mumbling about how maybe you were too overbearing in your affections. she gently but sternly brings your attention to her, making sure you look her in the eyes when she goes on about how you’re the nicest and most soft-natured person she’s ever known and he was a fool to not see what an amazing woman he had in front of him.

ʚɞ and you cant help but feel even worse at the clear effect her affection has on you, unconsciously biting her lip at her praise and closeness. her eyes dart down to your lips and back to your eyes, slowly inching her head forward for permission. as soon as you slightly nod your head she’s kissing you with months of pent-up adoration, warmth, and lust.

ʚɞ a small part of you feels guilty for moving on to your close friend only a week after you broke up with your boyfriend, but when her fingers are drifting down to your cunt and making you cry as you cum over and over again, you can't find it in you to care.

ʚɞ “he was an idiot to give up on someone as sweet as you. but down worry muffin, i’m not gonna take that chance.”

SEVIKA ꨄ

ʚɞ sevika had made a promise to herself years ago: don't mess with married women.

ʚɞ she could give herself some grace, she was young and dumb, and the woman was incredibly gorgeous. and when a woman with legs that could bring any person woman or man to their knees comes up to you and asks you your plans for the night, you cant exactly pass up the opportunity. though she wishes she did after her partner caught them together in bed and she got in one of the worst fights of her life.

ʚɞ but she had to admit things in her life were getting a bit…stale, to say the least. her schedule was a steady routine of doing tasks for silco, reeling in jinx, and keeping the last drop working like a well-oiled machine. she didn't want anything drastic that would screw up their plans to happen, just…something.

ʚɞ and oh, does she get it. some out of towner got too rowdy in the bar and started a bar fight and before she could come in and get things under control theirams leg gets broken. so now she’s tasked with finding a good enough replacement to cover him for the few months it gets healed since he for some reason couldn't just take a shimmer dose and get back on his feet in no time.

ʚɞ she goes through dozens of recruits, all either too disobedient or downright atrocious behind a bar. she’s just about to give up and force one of the goons to do it when you come through the door. you’re rather unassuming, and at first she things you’re joking until you travel behind the bar and instruct her to give you any drink and you can make it. after ten different drinks she’s more than convinced.

ʚɞ she doesn't talk to you much at first, you’re just another cog in the machine that keeps the enterprise running smoothly. obviously she’s noticed that you’re attractive, surrounded by a stern but easy-going aura that makes most customers sit and want to talk to you for hours on end. it amused her when she watched how you convinced three different patrons to buy some more drinks so you’d continue telling them a wild story of some adventure you apparently had in bilgewater years back.

ʚɞ she can't help but ask you if its true later when the bar is closing and you’re wiping everything down, rolling her eyes when you call her out for listening to your conversations. you reveal that all your stories of adventure and excitement are true, but that you gave that life up when you decided to settle down after you get married.

ʚɞ she scoffs that the woman you married must be a hell of a catch to get you to leave behind such an exciting life, and she sees your eyes drop when you reveal that life with your husband is a nice and quiet alternative to your days of danger. sevika’s always had a good poker face, and she’s really glad she has it now after hearing you gave up all of that for a guy. and that her gaydar was apparently wrong, which never happens.

ʚɞ but its almost like this is the challenge her mind has been looking for, because after that conversation she keeps having late-night talks with you when no one else is around. you’re disarmingly easy to talk to, able to show a compassion and understanding that isn’t common for the folks down here. its only a few hours after she gets a bit too tipsy and accidentally lets slip a story about her upbringing that she lays in bed and slaps her human hand to her forehead in frustration when instead of being embarrassed all she can think about is your soft hand gently rubbing her shoulder as she poured her heart out.

ʚɞ she is so screwed.

ʚɞ eventually, you draw silco’s attention. mostly because the profits from the bar have nearly doubled since you started working, partly because he can tell a certain someone is distracting sevika. he gave her a list of tasks one day that he could tell she hated doing and she went off with a nod and without a word, and she either had a new woman in her life or she was about to snap. he made sure to find out about you a few minutes later, and asked/demanded to know more about your life. in particular, any outside connections you had.

ʚɞ sevika doesn't know whether she wants to thank silco or kill him when you’re given a more permanent position at the bar and finally introduce the crew to your husband, a man who silco has apparently given a job in his booking department. when sevika pulls him aside later to ask why he would od something like that, he just. shrugs. silco never just shrugs.

ʚɞ now that you’ve basically part of their little crime family it's even easier for sevika to spend more time with you. unfortunately for you jinx has taken a liking to you, but you handle it well and always make sure to give the girl her favorite drink in her favorite cup whenever she stops in the bar to babble on about some new weapon of mayhem she’s decided to make.

ʚɞ but after a few weeks she notices your mood start to sour, how you start getting snippy with some of the more rowdy drunks who stumble through the bar. she catches you a few hours after closing sat behind the bar with a half drunken bottle in your hand and mascara running down your cheeks. normally if this was anyone else she’d scoff to herself and quickly make her exit but instead she plops herself down next to you and demands you tell her what's wrong. through hiccups and tears, you tell her that you’re pretty sure your husband is lying to you. about a lot. in particular about where he spends his nights and comes back grumbling about ‘unfair bets’ and losing cash.

ʚɞ sevika assures you she’ll get to the bottom of it, and it only takes her a few hours of trailing thee guy to find out the problem. it seems your betrothed has been gambling your money away in seedy gambling circles, with some guys she swore she told to cut it out months ago when it came to rigging their dice when playing with tourists. but the amounts he’s using are definitely more than what either of you are making on a salary.

ʚɞ she tries not to smile when she picks the excuse of a man up by the back of his neck with her mech hand, reveling in the horrified look on his face as he makes up excuse after excuse for why he’s been stealing money from you and the boss, that he swears he’ll make it back up to silco-

ʚɞ you come in the next day as confused as ever, whispering that your husband packed up his things in the middle of the night and disappeared. sevika sits you down and explains that your husband was a thief, stealing hundreds from silco rather sloppily under his nose, and was dealt with in a timely manner. but she assures you that you won't be affected by any debts he may have had, she’ll make sure of it and make sure none of those gamblers come after you.

ʚɞ you only grow closer and closer after that night, and its no surprise you start to catch feelings for the gorgeous woman who constantly makes sure you’re safe and protected. its on one of the bars rather more exciting nights that you relent and play a drinking game with some members of the crew, and in a moment of weakness accidentally admit that since your husband left you haven't been laid in weeks, and in an additional moment of weakness admit that the first person you’d like to rock your world would be none other than silco’s second hand.

ʚɞ it was just your luck that the woman was walking by when the words left your lips, and fueled by her own dose of liquid courage came up behind you and whispered that she was free at that moment.

ʚɞ you expected many things when you settled down in zaun, and getting bent in half for hours on end by the second in command to the rule of the underground was not one of them. but when sevika groans in your ear and moans about how you have the tightest pussy she’s ever had the pleasure of taking, you’re really glad it happened to you.

ʚɞ “god, i’m really not gonna be able to stay away from you now. promise that the next time you get married you’re not gonna have to worry about being disappointed ever again.”

ʚɞ (when sevika walks in the next morning with a rare smile on her face silco does admit that he hired your husband knowing he’d be an idiot that she’d have to get rid of. you’re welcome.)

ABBY ꨄ

ʚɞ abby never saw herself as a jealous person. she’d only been in one relationship before, and even though it ended rather sourly she knew it was only natural that they’d both eventually move on. but when she sees you, a new wlf recruit walking and smiling side by side with owen, she feels…weird. really weird.

ʚɞ she does feel bad that as soon as he introduces you all to the group at a small party thrown by some of the soldiers all she can manage is tight-lipped smile and a small wave. you visibly deflate and smile it off, immediately pulled away by nora and leah to grab some drinks. manny butts her shoulder with his, giving her that ‘what the hell?’ look he loves to do. she defensively apologizes, because how should she react? her ex-boyfriend clearly has a thing for you, is she supposed to be all buddy buddy with you?

ʚɞ it doesn't help that its clear to everyone that you’re pretty. like, weirdly pretty for someone in the middle of an apocalyptic setting. crystal clear skin, smooth lips, and eyes of a beautiful shade. she caught herself staring once in the gym as you laughed with one of the trainers and had to quickly get herself together.

ʚɞ isaac must be playing a sick game because you then get assigned to go with her on patrol. she initially resented, questioning why you were tagging along when you mostly worked with the medics and mel was already trailing along. he said that apparently you had asked for the chance to get some more field practice and left it at that, dismissing her with a wave.

ʚɞ she was quiet for most of the ride to the patrol spot, hands tight on the steering wheel as you sat in the back of the truck with the others in the group and laughed at some story one the guys was talking about.

ʚɞ god, even your laugh is cute, she thinks as she carefully maneuvers the truck around a downed tree. youre like if a dream girl was placed down in this wasteland to torture her, a giant sign to tell her of course owen went after you, you were perfect. more perfect than she could be.

ʚɞ it isnt helpful that shes left partnered with you as you clear out the abandoned store in the strip mall they've all been sent to check and re-clear the spaces if necessary. she finds herself frustrated when you very reasonably and very smartly stick to her side the whole time. she swears she almost trips over an overgrown branch when she catches a whiff of your soap and she doesnt know where the hell you managed to snag vanilla flavored anything.

ʚɞ everything is fine for a while. you both remain vigilant as you walk through the barely lit aisles of the department store, the only action when a clicker jumps up out of nowhere and nearly tackled you before she’s roughly pushing you out of the way and kicking out its knees before bashing in its head with her boot. she’s panting and catching her breath before roughly asking if you were alright and reminding you to stay vigilant, taking your wide eyed stare for shock at a close encounter to what would be a rather painful death.

ʚɞ but despite her rather abrasive attitude you try your best to be friendly with her. you reveal that owen did confide about their past relationship, and as awkward as the situation sometimes was you wouldn’t let it drive a wedge between you, that you in fact wanted to be friends with abby. you had heard a great many things about her, how she was a loyal friend, a courageous leader, clearly an incredibly strong soldier-

ʚɞ her brain. short circuits a bit. the way you called her strong, like it was fact that was so obvious that she’d already proven it to you just by being out here. sure she’d pushed you of out the trajectory of that clicker but that was normal, anyone should and would do the same. she realizes you wouldn’t get the chance to see any displays of strength like that back in the base save for the visits to the gym, and a foreign voice in her head laments what a shame that is.

ʚɞ she doesn’t realize until a day later just how screwed she is.

ʚɞ whatever weird…feelings she has for you don’t even get a chance to go away or settle, just fester and multiply with your constant presence. where abby is her friends are close by, and that now includes you. at small get togethers, shared gym workouts, breakfast lunch and dinner hangouts, you’re always there with a bright smile and a warm greeting for her. she thinks she’s hiding whatever it is she’s hiding pretty well until nora pulls her to the side and asks why she just keeps staring at you whenever you’re around, that she understand there might be some lingering feelings of jealousy and resentment towards owen but that’s no reason to treat you rudely.

ʚɞ abby stumbles over her words, insisting that she’s not treating you rudely, that’s the last thing she would want to do. who would ever do that to someone as nice and sweet and gorgeous as you? she ends her mini explanation with a stiff chuckle and looks at nora who’s now staring at her with an open mouth and a flabbergasted look on her face.

ʚɞ so it’s clear that abby likes you. she doesn’t know how to grapple with the fact, and decides its best to just deal with it privately and wait for it to just pass as most things do. the only person who knows is nora, who after not talking to her for a few hours after their last encounter came back to abby’s room to apologize for walking out on her in a moment where they so clearly needed to talk more about what was just revealed. she assures abby that she’ll help her through this but it’s very confusing to herself as well. it’s not every day you have to deal with your best friend falling in love with her boyfriends new girlfriend.

ʚɞ she doesn’t agree with abby’s method, frequently telling her that dealing with this in private will only have the opposite effect. and just like normally she’s right, abby’s increased attempt at distance from you only peaks your worry and drives you to constantly check in on her to make sure she’s okay. one day you come by her room after one of your workouts, and the sight of you covered in a thin sheen of sweat in shorts and a tank asking her sweetly if she’s feeling okay and if she’d like to join you for lunch let’s her know for sure that she really can’t do this for much longer.

ʚɞ so she’s tries her best to try a different approach : exposure therapy. as bad as it sounds, she’s sure once she starts spending more time with you she’ll realize you aren’t some mythical girl of of her dreams and are just a normal person who’s dating her ex and who she can totally just be normal friends with. she comes up to you in the halls a few days later and asks if you’d like her to help you train for more field work and you beam up at her before wrapping your arms around her neck and thanking her a multitude of times before composing yourself. you go one about how you were so eager to prove yourself and you’d do no better than to have the abby anderson teaching you the basics. she zoned out as soon as she felt your skin against the back of her neck, nodding along to all of your words with a doe-eyed blank look.

ʚɞ it’s really nice bonding with you over the course of a few short weeks. you quickly pick up on the things she teaches you, and whatever you don’t she’s more than eager to help you learn. she hates to admit it but her conscious cheered a little bit when you told her you needed help aiming one of the bigger rifles, and it nearly screamed when she got to place herself behind you and helped you aim at the target practice. maybe she’s a bit delusional at this point but she swears she felt your body relax into hers, felt your breath stutter just a bit when her chest met your back.

ʚɞ and she knows it’s serious when she trusts you enough to share her space in the library. it’s a night when manny has a girl over so she’s in her usual cozy spot surrounded by the book shelves when she shears your gentle footsteps and call of her name, remarking that you initially went to the room out of loneliness about owen being gone for the night but came here when a breathless and shirtless manny told you her usual sleepover spot. she invites you to settle in with her in her heap of old blankets surrounded by dusty novels, trying her best to remain calm when you lean your head on her shoulders and insisted she keep reading her current book aloud.

ʚɞ she wakes up to the early morning light with her head rested on top of yours, snuggled up to battle the chill of the stadium air and your hand clamped around her arm. when she looks down at your face and wishes she could see you like this every day she realizes that she is really, really screwed.

ʚɞ luckily she doesn’t have to wait long to see you like that again. well, the circumstances are rather horrid. yet another soldier was having small secret party ok one of the larger stadium dorms and you were glued to abby’s side. everyone besides nora was confused but happy that the two of you seemed to be getting along so well, and nora herself kept giving abby looks that were a mixture between pity, worry, and just a bit of ‘you need to just get this off of your chest to anyone else but me’ annoyance.

ʚɞ abby was your designated drink manager, constantly making sure you weren’t too drunk and were drinking enough water to stave off any of the negative effects of the smuggled in alcohol they brought in for the party. you’re both sitting on one of the couches and observing the party when you make an off handed comment about not seeing owen for a while and abby decides to sit you down snuggly on the couch while she goes to look for him to appease your tipsy haze. her search leads her down the hallway, and it’s only when she hears an object drop in a nearby maintenance closet does she find out the truth.

ʚɞ she whips open the door to see owen and mel in a rather…well, let’s just say a really lewd position. in the midst of being disgusted and infuriated she finds a bit of amusement at mousy mel of all people doing a drunken hookup in a dingy closet. owen hurriedly tries to fix himself and his pants, insisting to abby that it’s not what it looks like, and suddenly his eyes lock on an object behind her and she turns around to see you, teary eyed and clearly betrayed before you silently stoop off to the direction of your own room.

ʚɞ abby is normally a calm person. as a soldier she isn’t afforded the luxury to let her emotions get the better of her in moments of stress. but seeing you with tears in your eyes and a wobbly lip makes her wish she broke owen’s nose on the spot. collecting all of her composure, she slaws the closet door in his face and quickly runs after you.

ʚɞ she quickly chases after you, making her way down the stadium halls until she finds your bedroom door agape, quickly knocking and entering when she hears your quiet cry demanding owen leave. she makes sure to announce who she is once she settles in beside you on your bed, gently extending her hands to make sure shes allowed to physically comfort you before pulling you into a tight hug once you let her know it’s okay.

ʚɞ she had again struggles to keep her composure when you cry into her shoulder, not minding the tears staining her t-shirt when she hears you weep about what a fool you wer, how you were such an idiot to believe that someone like him could truly care about you.

ʚɞ in the morning, she can blame the weeks of pent up feelings, or maybe the cup of beer she had an hour before, but she can’t stop herself from grabbing your shoulders and turning you towards her, commanding your attention before she reveals that should’ve warned you about owen earlier, that she should’ve known he would take advantage of someone with as sweet a nature as you. She’s always known he was a fool, but to ruin his chances of someone like you is the dumbest thing he ever could’ve done.

ʚɞ when you sniffle and look up at her with those shiny eyes and puffy lips and ask her if that’s true she feels her composed facade slipping, hands shaky as she reaches up to wipe your tears away before letting her palm letting her fingers trail down your face, biting her lip when she sees your eyelids flutter closer when her hands start to ghost down your neck.

ʚɞ she doesn’t feel sorry when she watches you take off your top, doesn’t feel guilt when she pushes you down to the bed and lets her lips bite and kiss from your neck to her chest and draw out all manners of whines and gasps from your throat. and when she feels your hips lift up and grind into her crotch, when her hands attach themselves to your hips and forces you to bring yourself to an orgasm in your pants, she doesn’t give a shit how it’ll seem when she parades you around the stadium tomorrow.

ʚɞ manny and nora are open mouthed and shocked when you walk hand in hand into the cafeteria the next morning, both starry eyed and covered in love bites as you sit together nearly attached at the hip. when owen walks in a few minutes later and quickly storms out after seeing the two of you, abby can’t help but shrug when manny asked her what the hell is going on.

ʚɞ “owen had his chance, and he should learn that jealously is a monster.”

ELLIE ꨄ

ʚɞ in moments like these ellie remembers laughing at how her fellow lesbians would fall for their straight friends in middle and high school and end up with broken hearts and broken friendships. and now as she sits across from you and listens to you lament about your boyfriend, she realizes that karma is real and she is totally a bitch.

ʚɞ truly, she has no one to blame, but herself the moment she saw you walk into the record store she worked at she knew that this would only lead to trouble for herself. It was obvious to Dina, who lightly pushed his shoulder and told her to stop drooling and to focus on her work and not fall into another relationship so soon after her catastrophic breakup with cat. she had rolled her eyes at the brunette and assured her nothing would happen, that she’d politely introduce herself, help you buy a product, and never think about or see you again.

ʚɞ god, what an idiot she was.

ʚɞ as soon as she introduced herself, you complemented her tattoo, mention that you had wanted one but were too indecisive about a design and placement. before she can even think of what she wants to say she’s telling you that wouldn’t mind hooking you up with her tattoo artist who could help you decide what you wanted. hell, she wouldn’t mind helping you decide what kind of vibe you were going for when it came to the body art and where exactly on your body would be best to showcase it.

ʚɞ you’re beaming up at her and thanking her, telling her that she really is just too kind. she’s even kinder when she continues to talk to you as she helps you look through the store, helping you decide which record would be best for your collection.

ʚɞ and helping you pick out another record as a gift. for your boyfriend. she can hear dina snicker at the counter all the way from three aisles away, passing it off as allergies when you turn to look at her.

ʚɞ but it’s not like she’s gonna fall for you. she gives you her number, but that’s because she already promised she’d help you with the tattoo stuff. and sure she talks with you for hours the following week and even goes with you to the parlor for moral support, but that’s because she’s a good person! and you even told her she’s a great friend for helping you with this! she’s just being friendly.

ʚɞ soon enough she basically becomes your new best friend. she doesn’t know how it happened really, somewhere between helping you when your car broke down in the middle of the road and having dinner with your parents when they demand to meet the person who’s been taking up an extra chunk of their daughters time. it’s frightening how easy it is to just be with you, to talk to you about any and everything. she remembers it took dina pestering her at work for weeks for them to become friends, and here she is laughing with your dad over roasted chicken after a month.

ʚɞ dina and jesse call her delusional. when the former shows the latter a picture of you on the instagram account you have to ellie he folds over in laughter and tells ellie oh so eloquently that she’s definitely going to fall for you, it’s only inevitable. but she remains vigilant that she wouldn’t do something so dumb. i mean yeah you’re basically exactly her type, like a deity went into one of her wet dreams and plucked the woman she manifested and placed you in the real world, but she was strong. there were plenty of fish in the sea. plenty of gay fish, to be exact.

ʚɞ she tries to go on dates, scrolls through tinder and likes every other attractive viable woman she sees. she even manages to have a few hookups. its really just a coincidence that they have some of your similar characteristics, truly. she’s not actually looking for you in any of these girls, that’d just be weird.

ʚɞ but then it happens. she has a girl over, her leg thrown over her shoulder as she grinds herself into the pretty girl’s cunt. she’s lost in a high after the blunt they’d shared earlier and her heads thrown back as she’s letting out expletive after expletive, and then she does it. she moans your name. she pauses, the girl pauses, and its silent as they remove their entangled limbs from each other and rigidly lay in bed side by side. it hurts even worse than the embarrassment when the girl pats her shoulder with a smile after she’s put her clothes back on, wishing her luck with whatever’s goin on between the two of you.

ʚɞ there’s no point in denying it then. she doesn't even get the chance to keep it to herself, the next day when she’s watching a movie on your couch you poke and prod at her until she reveals what’s got her in such a sour mood. she doesn't tell you the full story, of course, just that something absolutely mortifying happened last night when she was riding some girl. she groans that she didn't even get to finish and that was way worse then what she said, hoping the joke will ease some of the embarrassment she has telling the story and the guilt about passively lying to you.

ʚɞ she doesn't notice how you hips shift in your seat, how your teeth bite at the skin of your lip. she does notice when you question what she meant by riding a girl. she cant help but think about how adorable you are before explaining the position in the nicest way possible. you hum and turn your attention back to the movie and she thinks that's the end of the conversation. but only seconds later you’re asking her to show you.

ʚɞ she thinks she's dreaming. no, she knows she's dreaming. its happened before, weird dreams she has after a strong high where she swears her dreams become all the more vivid and lifelike. it was super annoying the second time it happened, she woke up to a world where she in fact did not win the lottery and get to make out with her celebrity crush. but this is just cruel, she didn't know her brain could be so masochistic. but no, the feel of your hand shaking her shoulder and shyly asking if you’ve made her uncomfortable is real, your big eyes flitting to anywhere but hers is real.

ʚɞ she stutters over her words, asking if you really mean it. and you say yeah, you’d been curious about this anyway. it wouldn't hurt to do it with ellie, you were friends, right? and god what an idiot she was because she’s nodding along like of course, this couldn’t make your friendship weird at all, right? so she gets to work, not doing anything too lewd except for gently pushing you to lie on your back as she maneuvers her body over yours, placing her crotch over yours until she can feel the heat of you through her jeans. she tries not to show a reaction to the sight of you looking up at her, curious and flushed as your hand briefly comes up to rest on her hip. its only when your hips delicately press up into hers that she abruptly removes herself from on top of you, stiffly chuckling before recommending you get back to the movie.

ʚɞ neither of you bring it up again.

ʚɞ it’s so much more difficult to be around you now. before she was resolute in the fact that she was alone in whatever weird feelings she had towards you, but eventually she might move on. but with only a few actions you threw that whole viewpoint out the window. now it was clear that you were interested. maybe not in ellie but in sex with another woman. a small part of her is upset at the fact it might not be her. its only cliche that if you started having these feelings you’d fall for your gay best friend, who the hell else were you thinking about? whatever, that wasn't important.

ʚɞ what was important was what occurred over the next few weeks. it happens slowly but surely, your complaints about your intimate troubles with your boyfriend. now ellie had met the guy before, and it made her feel slightly better that she had a valid reason right from the start not to like him. the man was clearly an ass, looking her up and down the first time they met and giving her a ‘yeah you’re weird’ look that he apparently didn’t think she’d recognize. luckily she didn’t have to see him often, only seeing him in passing when she spent time with you at yours or picked you up to go hang out.

ʚɞ but now his weirdness is apparently front and center. she nearly chokes on her chipotle when you tell her that he questioned why the two of you were spending so much time together, feeling like ellie was going to make a move on you.

ʚɞ and yeah, it was offensive. just because she was a lesbian didn’t mean she wanted to jump the bones of every woman she met. unfortunately that didn’t apply here because she very much did want to jump your bones. not like he knew that. hopefully.

ʚɞ but she doesn’t want to get in the way of your relationship, begrudgingly recommending that maybe the two of you should spend some time apart so he can chill out and realize he’s being paranoid. she’s very happy to hear your quick rebuttal, remarking how you’d rather dump him then spend any more time away from her.

ʚɞ god you are making this so confusing. and it only reaches a head the next time she sees you. you’d texted her to ask if she could come over late at night and obviously she said she would, along with a bag of your favorite drinks and snacks just in case you got peckish. so she’s sitting on the couch as you both eat some shareable m&ms when the topic becomes a bit more…intimate.

ʚɞ she notices your rigid shoulders as you sit stark straight on the couch and laughs about how pent up you must be. your following laugh is awkward as you agree that you have been a bit stressed lately. so she tells a joke, that your boyfriend isn’t up to par in bed. she expects you to laugh and hit her shoulder but you nod your head.

ʚɞ you…nod your head. and then you turn to her, and she’s getting flashbacks to the last time you were this close on your couch. her face is hot as whisper that the past few times you’ve tried to sleep with your boyfriend he, as you eloquently put it, ‘just pumps and dumps’, and brushes you off whenever you bring up the fact that you haven’t had a release. that as much as it ashamed you to say it, once he falls asleep next to you you sometimes find your hand trailing under your shorts and thinking back to her stories of the hookups she told you about, wishing she could show you how all of that felt.

ʚɞ ellie has always liked your bedroom. its soft and sweet, with vines of fake ivy hanging across the ceiling and a large canopy hanging over the bed. you even have an adorable collection of stuffed animals, a few of them gifted to you by her throughout the months of your friendship. all of the little guys have been shoved to the floor now, and for a fleeting moment she things they’re really just going to have to understand before her mind is consumed again with you, how you’re pretty flushed face is staring and moaning up at her as her wrist nearly cramps with how fast her fingers are pistoning into your wet cunt.

ʚɞ you haven’t even touched her and she’s already on cloud nine. your confession nearly made her pass out, and she swore she had died and gone to heaven when you asked her to help you with your problem and grabbed her hand to lead her to your bed. it was like her horniest dream come true to see you undress, to feel over your skin, to lower her head to your pussy and try her best to suck out your soul in the most loving way possible.

ʚɞ she feels her boxers get soaked when you cum around her fingers again, legs wrapping around her waist and head raising to muffle your sounds in her shoulder. she swore she nearly came when you bit into her shoulders, already knowing she was going to look into the mirror later to look at the mark your teeth left on her with a smile. but she didn’t predict for you to be so insatiable, for as soon as she pulls her fingers out of your cunt you’re whining and grinding your hips up into hers, whispering little *‘please, el, need more’*s

ʚɞ “don’t worry, baby, i’ll give you whatever you want. swear once i’m done you’re never even gonna think of that stupid boyfriend of yours again.”

Bunny (P9)

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reade

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

a/n: well- here's the next part gang 🤟 Next part is gonna take me 3 day at least pls don't gang up on me and track me down I beg.

warnings: mentions of alcohol and drunkenness, police stations, abuse, bad father daughter relationship, aggression, blood, bruises, malnutrition, sad bunny but soft!Rafe (idk ig?)

(P1) (P2) (P3) (P4) (P5) (P6) (P7) (P8) (P9)

The restaurant is warm, filled with the scent of sizzling meat, it’s small, family-run, where the walls are covered in colourful tapestries and old generational photos. A string of mismatched fairy lights flickers above the booth, casting a golden glow over the chipped wooden tables. It’s comfortable and homey- somewhere that the two girls come all the time given the owners are Sofia's family friends, somewhere Y/N would usually feel at ease.

But not tonight.

She’s sitting across from Sofia in a corner booth, her fingers idly picking at the tortilla chips in front of her, breaking them into tiny pieces but never bringing them to her mouth. Her stomach feels heavy, but not from hunger. The weight in her chest has been there for two days now, pressing down on her every time she tries to push her reality out of her mind. Sofia on the other hand, is talking animatedly, her dark eyes bright with excitement;

“—and then he tells me he’s never been to the Cut before- I mean I know he's new but can you believe that? Like, he’s lived on this island for three months, and he’s never even crossed the bridge for more than a minute?” She shakes her head playfully before continuing,

“I mean, it’s probably a red flag, right? Or maybe it’s, like- cute? No you know what, he needs me to show him around right? I'm not delusional but I really feel that this time its dif-”

Y/N hums absently, nodding as she moves the chips around her plate, the low hum of their conversation in the restaurant blends with the soft guitar playing through the old speakers near the register. Sofia keeps talking, something about how 'this new guy actually texts back', how he asked her about her day, how it’s refreshing. Y/N wants to listen, she really does. She wants to be present, to ask the right questions and tease Sofia about her obvious crush. But all she can think about is the fact that there’s a baby inside her.

A baby she didn’t ask for.

A baby whose father is a faceless, nameless shadow.

Her fingers tighten slightly around a broken chip, her jaw clenching and this time, Sofia notices. She pauses mid-sentence, her gaze flicking to Y/N’s untouched food, the way she hasn’t really reacted to anything she’s said.

“What’s up with you?” Sofia asks, leaning forward with her elbows on the table, “and don’t tell me you’re just tired, because I know when you’re lying to me.”

Y/N’s throat tightens. She presses her lips together, willing herself to keep it together, but under Sofia’s knowing stare, her walls start to crack. She exhales sharply, finally looking up from the mess of now broken crumbs.

“I don’t even know Sof,”

She mumbles, her voice barely above a whisper. Sofia’s expression softens, and she reaches across the table, resting a hand on Y/N’s,

“Hey, come on.- you’re my best friend. You can tell me anything, you know that.”

Y/N swallows hard. She wants to tell her. But saying it out loud makes it real, and she’s not sure she’s fully ready for that. Instead, she just stares down at the table, trying to figure out how to even begin. She shifts slightly in her seat, exhaling through her nose. She knows Sofia won’t drop it- she never does when she knows something’s off. So she pushes out a breath and shrugs, giving Sofia a tired half-smile.

“It’s just... JJ and I got into it a few days ago. And I guess it’s just- taking a toll on me more than I thought it would.”

It’s not a lie.

Not really

“You and JJ always fight. Like, all the time. It never lasts more than a day.”

Sofia’s brows furrow as she looks to the girl comfortingly. Y/N presses her lips together again, tracing the rim of her water glass with her finger, “Yeah, well… this time, he’s not talking to me. He’s just been… I don’t know. Distant? He only texts me if he needs something or to tell me he’s crashing at John B’s.”

She shrugs again, trying to make it seem like it’s not a big deal, even though it is. Because JJ has never done this before. Even when they fought, they never really ignored each other. And now, when she needs him more than ever, he’s pulling away. Sofia watches her carefully, taking in the way Y/N won’t quite meet her eyes, how she keeps fidgeting with her glass.

“Okay, yeah... that sucks,” she admits. “But, this is JJ we’re talking about? He’s your brother. There’s no way he stays mad at you forever- I mean, I literally watched you two try to strangle each other over an out of date Pop-Tart, and five minutes later, you were splitting it in half.” Y/N lets out a small, hollow chuckle at the memory, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes and Sofia sighs,

“Look, I get it. It sucks when things feel off between you two. But whatever it is, you’ll figure it out. You always do.”

Y/N nods, but she doesn’t say anything because although her relationship with JJ is an issue at the moment- it isn’t the problem.

But he’s a safe excuse.

So she lets Sofia keep talking, lets the conversation shift back to her and the guy she’s seeing. But even as she nods and hums at the right moments, she can’t shake the feeling that things are starting to slip out her grasp.

The ride home is quiet, the low hum of Sofia’s car filling the space between them. Y/N watches the streets pass by, the neon lights of convenience stores and run-down gas stations casting eye-catching glows. As they pull up in front of her house, she exhales and turns to her best friend, guilt tugging at her,

"Sorry I was pretty shitty company today."

Sofia scoffs softly waving her hand in dismissal before shifting in her seat to face her, "No, you weren’t. Don’t be silly." She leans over, pressing a quick, reassuring kiss to the side of Y/N’s face. Y/N musters a small smile, trying to believe her.

"I love you."

"I love you too, girlfriend. See you tomorrow?"

Sofia tilts her head, giving her a gentle smile in return. Y/N nods, lifting a hand to send her a playful air kiss before stepping out of the car. She watches Sofia drive away, then turns towards the house, her eyes catching on the familiar sight of JJ’s bike parked in the driveway. Stepping inside, she finds him in the living room, shoving clothes into a bag. He doesn’t look up right away, just keeps moving, shoulders tense. Y/N hesitates, watching him.

She wants to tell him everything.

She wants to fall apart right here and let him put her back together, just to be held by someone who would understand. Yet the way he’s been acting- the distance, the short replies- makes it feel impossible. He finally glances at her, expression unreadable.

"You good... ?"

It nearly breaks her and she forces herself to nod quickly, swallowing down the lump in her throat answering,

"Yeah. You?"

"Been fine."

JJ shrugs, his voice flat as he responds- and that’s it. They both know there’s something wrong, but neither of them know how to fix it. Y/N’s gaze flickers to the half-packed bag beside him. Her throat feels thick as she clears it before she asks,

"Where are you going?"

"John B’s for a few days."

JJ doesn’t stop what he’s doing as he answers. She nods, pretending it doesn’t sting, pretending she doesn’t feel him slipping further away instead putting on a small smile and mumbling out an,

"Oh... okay."

For a second, he hesitates at the sound of her voice.

His fingers grip the zipper of his bag a little tighter, like maybe he wants to say something more, but then he just exhales sharply, slings the strap over his shoulder and mutters,

"I’ll see you later."

And he’s gone.

The door shuts behind him, and all that’s left is silence. Y/N stands there, staring at the empty space where he stood, the weight of his absence pressing down on her. Her mind wanders but she startles at the sudden, shrill ring of the landline. Her brows furrow as she looks over at it. Nobody ever calls the house phone, she's even been meaning to cancel the damn thing for months now, but it always slipped her mind. A weird feeling creeps up her spine as she crosses the room and picks up the receiver.

"Hello?"  

There’s a brief pause, then a robotic voice filters through the line:  

"This is a collect call from—" a short beep sounds before a gruff, familiar voice cuts in,

"Luke Christopher Maybank." 

"—an inmate at Kildare County Police Station. Do you accept the call?"

Y/N's stomach drops and she exhales sharply, pressing her forehead against the wall as she closes her eyes. For a second, she considers hanging up. Just letting it ring out and pretending she never picked up, but instead, she reluctantly whispers,

"Yes"  

A click can be heard and then his voice, rough and slightly muffled rings out from the other end, "Y/N?"  

She swallows, "Dad?"  

"You gotta pick me up," he grumbles. "These fuckin' cops got me locked up for nothin’. Just some bullshit drunk and disorderly charge—it's all a misunderstanding, alright? Just—just get down here."  

Y/N presses her palm to her face, dragging it down as she leans heavier against the wall. She doesn’t say anything right away. What is there to say?  Why was she picking up her own father from the police station- last time she checked in every other normal families home it was the parents picking up the teenagers. Luke huffs out a frustrated breath when she doesn’t answer fast enough.

"C’mon, girl, I know you’re there. Don’t be difficult, just come get me. And—" he pauses,

"bring some money with you." 

Y/N stills and her heart sinks. Money? All she has left is that two hundred and fifty dollars, well now two hundred since she had to tank her car up. The money she was saving for her... problem. Her fingers curl tightly around the phone cord as she stares at the floor, cursing him in her mind, rage bubbling up in her chest. Luke snaps, his voice sharper this time,

"Can you hear me or wha-"

"-yes I can fucking hear you, alright?"

Y/N bites out before she can stop herself. A little too harsh. There’s a beat of silence between them before he hums, a low, warning sound, but he doesn’t say anything else. She feels a little nervous, knowing she shouldn’t have spoken to him like that. She never should have spoke to him like that. The telephone beeps, signaling the time running out. She exhales, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"I'm coming."  

Luke sniffs, shifting on the other end, "You better be kid."  

The line clicks dead.

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

Y/N steps into the Kildare County Police Station, her shoes clicking sharply on the tile as she walks toward the counter. The air smells stale, the buzz of the overhead lights almost as grating as the noise in her mind. The officer behind the desk looks up at her and she clears her throat, her voice steady but flat,

"I'm here for Luke Maybank"

The officer nods, picking up the phone to make a call. But before she has time to stand there, Shoupe steps out from behind the door. He notices her immediately, the familiar face giving her a slight pause. He says offering her a nod,

"Y/N"

"Shoupe."

She looks up, a tight smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. He asks, his hands resting on the counter leaning in slightly.

"How’ve you been?"

"Good."

She keeps her answer short and stiff. He raises an eyebrow, as if he expected more before continuing,

"Well, I've been good too thanks for asking."

Y/N hums noncommittally and glances at the floor. Shoupe has always been kind to her, but at the end of the day he's still part of the police... and she can't really trust him, and he knows that. Shoupe exhales and motions to the officer at the desk.

"I’ll take care of this one."

He takes the place of the previous officer, fingers tapping rhythmically to type into the computer. Y/N glances around the waiting room which is practically empty, except for a middle aged man fast asleep in the far corner chair. Shoupe pulls out a piece of paper from the printer and places it on the counter infront of her.

"Your dad’s bail is $500."

Y/N’s eyes flick down to the piece of paper, mouth going dry at the sound of the number. Her eyes flicker across the document and land on the digits printed out in bold. Her hand slips into the pocket of her hoodie and takes out the $200 she’s been clinging to, counting it out slowly before offering it to him by placing it on the counter.

"That’s all I’ve got."

"Y/N..."

"Shoupe," she cuts him off, "That’s literally all I have left."

She gives him a look as if it should be obvious that she's clearly done with all of this. Shoupe runs a hand over his forehead, his eyes softening as he looks down at the cash on the counter. He sighs heavily.

He knows what goes on in that house.

Knows the toll it’s taken on her and JJ, but legally, he can’t do anything unless they report something. He winces, clearly not liking the way she’s speaking to him, but he doesn't push it.

"Look Y/N, I’ve told you before, if you and JJ ever need help... if you’re ready to talk about your dad, about what’s going on-"

"-I have nothing to say -he’s my dad."

She interrupts him again, eyes narrowing, voice steely but her heart is thumping heavily in her chest. There’s a long pause as he studies her, but she doesn’t flinch. Her expression is unreadable. Finally he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"I can’t keep doing this, Y/N."

He says it softly, almost apologetically. He looks at the money again, then back up at her. He hesitates for a long moment before shaking his head, clearly wrestling with his own conscience. But then, after another long pause, he reaches out and takes the $200 from where it lay,

"This is the last time I it slide."

Y/N doesn’t respond, just stares at him for a beat. She knows she should probably feel something- relief maybe, but instead she just feels tired.

"Thanks"

She mutters, and she doesn’t bother to offer any more words.

Shoupe turns to leave, and when he returns Luke steps into the reception, his presence filling the space with that familiar weight she’s always hated. His eyes land on her immediately, and he plasters on a grin.

“Hey, kiddo”

He greets, the warmth in his voice as forced as the fatherly act he’s putting on. Before she can react, he pulls her into a hug. It’s stiff, his arms heavy around her, and Y/N doesn’t exactly return it. She just stands there, barely breathing, eyes momentarily flicking toward the reception desk where she knows Shoupe is watching. Luke’s grip tightens briefly before he steps back, clapping a hand on her shoulder like nothing’s wrong.

“C’mon, let’s go home huh?”

Without waiting for a response, he turns and strides toward the exit, acting like this is all just some minor inconvenience. Y/N doesn’t move right away. Her gaze moving back to the front desk, landing on Shoupe who’s watching her with that same expression, like he’s waiting for her to say something- to do something.

But she swallows down the lump in her throat and turns away, walking after Luke without another glance back.

Outside, he's is already waiting by the passenger side of her car, leaning against the door, like she didn’t just use the last of her money to get him out of a cell. Y/N doesn’t say a word as she steps toward the driver’s side. The moment she clicks the unlock button, Luke pulls the door open and gets in without hesitation, shutting it behind him.

She lingers outside for a second, inhaling sharply. Her fingers twitch at her side before she finally lifts a shaky hand, curling it around the handle. She pulls the door open and slides in, shutting it behind her with a quiet thud. The quiet settles thick between them and the air in the car feels suffocating. Luke is staring straight ahead, unmoving, unreadable. Y/N doesn’t look at him. She can’t. The tension makes her skin crawl, makes her hands itch to grip the steering wheel just to have something to hol-

CRACK

A sharp, blinding pain explodes across her face.

Her head snaps to the side, and for a moment the world blurs as blood splatters across the driver’s side window, red prominent against the glass. She cries out, the sound involuntary, ripped from her throat as agony spreads through her skull. Before she can process, before she can even breathe, a rough hand seizes her by the t-shirt, yanking her against the door.

“Don’t ever fuckin' speak to me like that again.”

His voice is a low growl, thick with rage, spit flying as he sneers at her and his fingers dig into the fabric, twisting and constricting. Y/N’s hands fly up, wrapping around his wrists, but she’s helpless—he’s too strong, too relentless. The pressure makes it hard to breathe, hard to think beyond the burning pain radiating from her nose.

Her lips part, but no sound comes out. Luke slams her against the door again, harder this time. The whole car shakes.

“Is that fuckin' clear?!”

A sob breaks from her, raw and shaky, “-yes.”

His grip tightens, “What was that?”

“Yes sir.”

She squeezes her eyes shut, voice barely above a whisper, trembling. He stares at her for a moment longer, the fury in his eyes making her stomach churn. Then, with a sharp shove, he releases her, sending her back against the seat. Luke exhales harshly, rolling his shoulders like he’s shaking off the moment, then mutters,

“Drive”

Y/N’s whole body is trembling, her breaths uneven. Slowly, her shaking hand lifts, fingertips grazing the sticky warmth dripping from her nose. She pulls back, eyes locking on the crimson staining her fingers.

“Now.” His tone is sharper this time, a warning.

“If you ain’t gonna drive right now Y/N, I swear to God you’ll be limpin' home.”

She doesn’t hesitate after that.

With jerky, frantic movements, she starts the car, the engine roaring to life. Her head is pounding, the sharp sting of her broken nose making her vision blur, but she forces herself to focus. She pulls out of the lot and onto the road, the streetlights casting long shadows over her shaking hands.

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

The beach parking lot is empty, save for her car, parked near the dunes. It’s late- but there’s no way in hell she’s going home, not tonight.

Not all alone with him there.  

The air is thick with salt, the distant crash of waves the only sound cutting through the quiet. Her car door is open, letting in the cool night breeze, and the windows are rolled down. It helps her breathe, helps her not feel so confined.  

She flips down the visor mirror, tilting her face slightly to the side. The faint glow from the overhead light highlights the swelling creeping along the bridge of her nose, the discoloration already setting in- a deep, ugly bruise spreading beneath her skin.  

She sighs.  

In the cup holder, a fast-food cup sits, condensation dripping down the sides. It was full of ice earlier, but now it’s just cold water. Her passenger seat holds a damp, crumpled t-shirt, stained slightly red from when she pressed it to her face after the bleeding slowed.   Her fingers ghost over her nose, wincing when even the lightest touch sends a sharp sting through her skull. She drops her hand, pressing her head back against the seat with a quiet exhale.  

She doesn’t know how long she sits there, staring at nothing, just listening to the waves. The night stretches on, then the low rumble of an approaching engine made her fingers twitch against the steering wheel. She flicked the mirror shut, cutting off the reflection of her slightly swollen nose, and turned her head just as the black Range Rover slowed to a stop a few feet away. The headlights dimmed, the driver’s door opened, and out stepped Rafe.

Two whole days.

Forty-eight hours since she’d told him and in all that time, not a single word, she didn't see him once.

Now he was here.

He walked toward her car, his movements purposeful but not rushed. The glow of the parking lot lights bounced off his sharp features, making his expression unreadable. When he stopped at her open door, he glanced down at her in the darkness, his mouth parting slightly before he finally spoke.

“Hi”

Y/N swallowed, feeling like she was made of glass, like she had to keep herself still or she’d crack.

“Hey.”

Her eyes flickered downward. He was holding something—an envelope, brown and slightly crumpled at the edges his voice calls out,

"I had a feeling I'd find you here"

Her brow furrowed slightly, curiosity prickling at her, but before she could ask, Rafe exhaled through his nose and said,

“I think we should talk.”

She hesitated, then gave him a small nod, eyes darting away as she jerked her chin toward the passenger seat in silent invitation. As Rafe moved around the car to get in, she saw it—the bloodied t-shirt still crumpled where she’d left it. She quickly snatched it up in an instant, shoving it into the back seat just as Rafe opened the door.

He settled into the passenger seat, the dim light from the dashboard casting a faint glow over them. He glanced at her, ready to speak, but then his expression shifted. His brows furrowed, his jaw tightening as he took in the dark bruising spreading across her nose, the faint swelling along her cheekbone. His voice was sharp, edged with something she didn’t want to name.

“The fuck is that?”

“I fell down the stairs.”

Y/N barely blinked responding- many years of experience had taught her to lie without hesitation. Rafe let out a short, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head.

“And what? The stairs punched you in the face when you got to the bottom?”

Her fingers curled into fists against her lap, the muscles in her jaw tightening, “Just shut the fuck up, Rafe. If you don’t have anything to say, get out of my car.”

"I'm trying to be nice-"

"Yeah? Well I don't want your niceties"

His nostrils flared, exhaling a long, irritated breath, but he pushed it down. His fingers drummed once against the envelope in his lap before he finally stilled. Rafe shifted in his seat, gripping the envelope before exhaling like he was about to say something.

“So, I—”

Before he could get another word out, a loud growl echoed through the car. She froze, her lips pressing together as if that could take it back. Apart from the lunch she’d had with Sofia, she hadn’t eaten anything else all day. Her body had clearly decided to remind her of that at the worst possible moment.

“Sorry”

She mumbled, trying to act like it was nothing. Rafe gave her a look, one brow lifting.

“Do you need to eat or…?”

She shook her head quickly, “I’m fine.”

He didn’t look convinced at all, he looked skeptical as he started patting his pockets, digging around like he was searching for something. After a few seconds, he pulled out a slightly squished protein bar and held it out to her.

“Here.”

Y/N stared at him, blinking in disbelief and Rafe rolled his eyes.

“Relax, it’s Topper’s. He left it in my car.”

She hesitated for a moment, glancing between him and the protein bar before finally taking it from his hand. “Thanks,” she muttered, unwrapping it and taking a small bite, the dull ache in her stomach started to ease almost instantly.

Rafe just watched.

Y/N’s eyes flickered to the envelope in his hands as she chewed the protein bar. She gestured to it with her fingers, swallowing before asking,

“What is it?”

“It’s a trip to Charleston. With a hotel booked near a—” His jaw tensed, like he was choosing his words carefully.

“Near a clinic.”

Her chewing slowed- then it stopped altogether.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the bar as she stared at him. Two days. He hadn’t spoken to her in two days, and in that time… he had organised this? She asked, her voice quieter than before.

“What?”

“I found a clinic in Charleston. One that’s, you know… quiet.” He lifted the envelope slightly as he shifted in his seat.

“Booked an appointment for you.”

Her fingers crumpled the wrapper before shoving it into the empty cup holder. Slowly, she reached out, taking the envelope from him, her fingertips brushing against the brown paper as she peeled it open. Inside, there were neatly printed documents- clinic appointment verification, hotel booking confirmation, the details laid out in plain ink. She stared at them, her eyes scanning over the words but barely processing them.

“You did this…?”

“Yeah.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out at first, she wasn’t sure what to say or how to respond. Rafe ran a hand over his jaw, his voice quieter now.

“You deserve to have that option you know.... It’s not like you asked to get pregnant.”

Her fingers curled around the papers, her grip tightening slightly. She nodded once, her throat suddenly feeling tight. A breath passed her lips, and then, in the softest voice- so quiet because if it was any louder, she knew it would waver- she murmured,

“Thank you.”

She pulled out the clinic information, her eyes scanning over the details. “It’s for Tuesday evening,” Rafe said, watching her as she read. “Least busy time of the week.” Y/N nodded slightly, and she turned the envelope upside down, letting the rest of its contents slide out- and then her breath hitched.

A thick wad of cash fell into her lap, the weight of it heavy.

Her fingers hesitated before picking it up, and as she held it, she could already tell- it wasn’t some small stack of bills- it was a lot. She turned to him, eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Is this for all the clini—”

“No,” he cut in before she could even finish, shaking his head, “the hotel, the ferry, the clinic—it’s all been paid for.”

Her brows pulled together in confusion. “I'm sorry... ?”

“It’s been paid for”

He repeated, voice firm. She glanced down at the money again, gripping it a little tighter. She lifted it slightly, gesturing as she asked him.

“So… what’s this for?”

“It’s for Friday.”

Rafe exhaled through his nose and her stomach clenched slightly. Friday. The evening she'd spent being his- private dancer. “Oh” she muttered, realization settling in. Rafe’s jaw ticked, and he gave her a small nod.

“Yeah… it’s yours.”

Y/N looked down to the green paper biting her lip before she flicked her fingers through the thick stack of bills, her breath catching as she counted. Her eye's widened in disbelief and she recounted it all again- slowly and surely, yet the result was the same.

Three thousand dollars.

Her head shook immediately, “Rafe, I can’t take this.”

“Y/N—”

“No, I— I can’t take this,” she said more firmly now, shoving the cash back into the envelope.

“This is insane. We didn’t even—fuck, I didn’t even 'dance' for you”

She said and both of them knew exactly what she was referring to when she spoke of dancing. His jaw clenched as he sighed out,

“Just take it.”

“No.”

His frustration spiked slightly, “Can you stop being so fucking stubborn and take the money?” Y/N met his stare head-on, her grip still firm on the envelope. Yet neither of them backed down. Rafe exhaled sharply, his fingers tapping against his knee before he tried again.

"Just take the money… please."

His voice was lower this time, a little less sharp, and when she glanced up at him, his eyes weren’t as hard as before. Y/N looked back down at the envelope in her lap, her fingers grazing over the edges. Her chest felt tight, torn between her pride and the harsh reality of needing it. She let out a quiet breath, then slid the money back into the envelope without another word. Deep down, as much as she hated accepting it, she knew she needed it.

Y/N looked back down to her lap and picked up the folded pieces of paper, the crinkling of the paper broke the heavy silence and she stared at it her fingers slowly dragging over the surface, tracing the edge of the ferry ticket she’d just pulled out.

There were two.

Her thumb brushed over the printed words on the tickets, her gaze flickering between them. The cold night air from the open window tugged at her hair, but she barely noticed. “Thought you’d want to take someone with you...” he said, nodding toward the tickets,

“So you’re not alone.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and she caught the sincerity in his gaze. It was strange, this version of Rafe, the one who wasn’t demanding or mocking, just... there. She couldn’t help but feel the tight knot in her chest loosen just slightly.

“One of your Pogues or something”

He added. She let out a small, heavy sigh as her head leaned back against the headrest. Her fingers fidgeted with the tickets again, but this time it wasn’t because she was trying to make sense of them. It was because something in her stomach twisted- an ache that had nothing to do with hunger anymore. Her gaze dropped to the tickets in her hands, the crinkling of the paper loud in the quiet car.

“They don’t know”

She said softly, her voice barely a whisper, the words tumbling out like an admission she hadn’t meant to make. Rafe’s expression shifted, his brows furrowing as he turned to look at her more intently.

“What?”

Y/N’s lips parted, but she hesitated for a moment. She swallowed hard, her eyes still on the tickets, the words coming out barely above a whisper,

“No one knows”

The car seemed to get even quieter, the sound of the ocean in the distance a hum. She could feel his gaze on her, but she couldn’t bring herself to look up tp him. The silence stretched on, thick and unspoken, until finally, she turned to face him, her voice low but steady.

“…You’re the only one who knows.”

Rafe froze.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, and for a long moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak. His fingers twitched at his sides, his jaw tightening, but all he could do was sit there, processing what she’d just said. Y/N’s words hung in the air, and she couldn’t quite shake the vulnerability that had seeped into her bones- the weight of the secret that had been hers alone to carry. She stared down at the ferry tickets again, her fingers absently shuffling them in her lap, but her mind was elsewhere. After what felt like hours, she broke the silence. Her voice was small, fragile,

“Would—... would you go with me?”

The question hung in the air between them, tentative and raw, her heart pounding in her chest. She hadn’t meant to ask it, hadn’t planned on it, but there it was, slipping out like a confession. Rafe didn’t answer immediately. He just stared at her, his face unreadable, his eyes scanning hers like he was trying to figure out if she really meant it.

If this was truly what she wanted.

The seconds dragged by, stretched thin as they sat in the car, Finally, Rafe spoke out, his voice low, almost as if he's not sure he heard her correctly. 

"Me?"

Y/N nodded, her gaze steady on him, her fingers tightening around the ferry tickets.  He already knew deep down what his answer was going to be, but the question still caught him off guard and he hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to go with her- but because he wasn’t sure what it would change between them. He sighed, his hand twitching against his thigh before he turned to her fully, meeting her eyes. “Yeah,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah... I’ll go with you."

There's a long pause as the words settle between them, and Y/N looks at him for a moment, as if waiting for him to take it back, but he doesn’t.

He means it.

baby!reader working a case???

ok let me lock in bc i don't think i can logically headcanon this and we all deserve to see it come to fruition.

it was a very special day for you. new car, new clothes (really, a mix of dean and sam's handmedowns from the depths of their packed bags, but they were new to you which made them special), and a new identity.

they were acting as fbi for this case, something ghostly and ghoul-like and a bridge that seemed to be the centric point of it. they had badges and everything, dean even let you play with his before he got (rightfully) anxious you'd manage to lose it and took it back.

you'd seen them in action before, but it was so much less involved than this. you'd be where the new car was; parked at the beginning of the bridge, doing absolutely nothing at all, staring at the police cars that got to see more action than you did.

not today, though! you were walking right up to the scene, past the stupid police cars and the men themselves in their cute little uniforms, looking all serious and grimace-y.

it was going swell, too, until you'd accidentally made eye contact with the most grimace-y one, and he seemed to think that the fact that you were grinning at a murder scene was a little off, because he holds out his arm to stop the three of you from approaching.

"hey, what the hell is this?" he asks, glancing firstly between the two men and then to you.

that didn't ever really bode well, when people treated you as an afterthought. dean opens his mouth, sam's already fishing for the lanyard beneath his shirt, but you speak instead. "we are investigating."

the man's lips purse in amusement. like you were joking, or amusing. there was nothing funny about this. this was your very first mission with the winchester gang; it was so incredibly important to you.

"we are investigating," the policeman says, straightening his spine as he does, like he feels the need to emphasize his status and talk down to a girl. "you guys are going to get behind the yellow tape." again, it doesn't bode well, but it was dean's turn to interrupt you.

dean holds his fbi badge out. today he was dean williams. could you read? no. but he'd schooled you on what role you were and what his said so you didn't accidentally do something stupid, like this, and throw their whole game out the window before it'd even started. "the higher-ups called us in."

sam holds his up, too, and now you feel a little left out, but this was a part of the game.

the policeman nods to you, his face still impassive and, in a way, amused. "who's this, then?"

dean and sam look at each other, and then back at the man. you are still smiling like this is the best day of your life. it actually was, too. you didn't have many sentient days to use as reference.

"intern."

he watches you for a long while, like he knows that you're seconds from cracking, and just when you're about to tell him about how fun and exciting this is, he shakes his head. "nuh uh. this isn't happening. we've got it handled, thanks."

dean's lips flatten, and sam's already stepping forward to have a personal one-on-one with the cop, like he alone could change his mind, but your eyes go to the left. the edge of the bridge, where police officers are gathered around, assumedly, where something happened.

"...don't know where their daughter is," one says, low enough that you could only hear because you were attached to dean's arm, and he was drifting in that direction for the very reason of overhearing, "hasn't answered a call or text, but phone pinged here a few hours ago."

the bridge was long, and distant from any sign of civilization. your head tilts to the side. dean complained when he had to walk for long periods of time, sam was decently tall so it didn't take him as much time, but he didn't seem to like it much, either. neither of them would have walked the length of this bridge to somehow vanish, no matter if they were chasing something.

and daughter. assumedly younger, if her parents realized so quickly that she'd not come home the night before. girls could be tall, young girls could be tall, but even then, it would not make sense for a girl at least somewhat young to walk the length of this bridge on her own, especially in the middle of the night, from however far the family lived.

your head raises in an epiphany. you don't know social cues. don't know how to tell when a conversation is private, and when it's open for comment, so you blurt out the words in your head. "she was driving."

dean's head snaps toward you, and the police officers all tense, including the one that sam had been sweet talking.

"what?" dean asks you, even as the officers start to walk toward you with blatant intent.

how were you supposed to know that presenting a theory as a complete and total stranger bystander would lead to suspicion? that's not something taught in two hour long drives by the winchester boys.

you shove past all of them, going to lean over the edge of the bridge. the river below was deep and winding, its depths emphasized in the darkness of the water, even from this height. impossible to see the car that you knew was down there.

"she was driving," you repeat, your hands running along the railing, feeling for grooves or cracks you knew had to be there. sure enough, there's a huge crack a couple of feet from you, one that isn't paralleled on the other side of the bridge. "very fast. it's a straight road and bridge, so maybe she felt safer to speed. or maybe she was scared, and something was chasing her, which could be why she went to the left and..."

you nod toward the river below again, past the cracked edge. "went over the edge."

the entire bridge is silent. even the birds have stopped cawing. finally, the police officer who'd looked at you like you were nothing but a little girl trespassing presses the comm on his chest, holding it to his mouth. "get a search and rescue on the ground."

dean huffs out a laugh, not in the same way that the officers had poked and prodded at you. you knew dean very well, and knew his tells more than you knew general ones. he was impressed.

"what's your name?" the first officer asks as the others begin to load up into the useless, idle cars, heading off of the bridge toward the murky riverbank.

you straighten this time, as tall as you can be, and as proud as you could, in worn and faded and too-big clothes. "baby."

a huff of amusement, more similar to dean's than the officer's rude teasing before. he pats sam's back, offer's dean a gruff nod, and then turns back toward you. "you boys are dismissed. you can stay."

hi! A fan here! Can you please do a dean x reader where she's a substitute teacher at the school that makes the supernatural play, she turns out to be a hunter as well and she's on the same case as the Winchesters. Thank you so much!

✮⋆˙ the substitute,

summary. the real winchesters come to join the supernatural musical

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 554

notes. thank you so so much for requesting, lovely 😙

The first time Dean sees you, you’re standing at the front of a high school auditorium, wrangling a bunch of teenagers who clearly couldn’t care less about whatever speech you’re giving.

“…And remember, if you forget your lines, just keep going,” you say, clapping your hands. “The audience doesn’t know you messed up unless you tell them.”

Dean leans toward Sam, who’s sitting beside him in the back row. “I don’t get it. Why the hell are we wasting time at a school play?”

Sam sighs. “Because kids keep disappearing from the drama department. And—” He gestures toward the giant banner above the stage.

Supernatural: The Musical!

Dean groans. “Right. ‘Cause that nightmare needed to make a comeback.”

Before Sam can reply, you spot them. Your gaze flickers over the two men in the back, assessing. Then, with a quick word to the students, you step down from the stage and make a beeline for them.

Dean straightens, expecting some kind of lecture about visitor passes or whatever, but when you reach them, you cross your arms and smirk.

“You must be the Winchesters.”

Dean blinks. “Uh—sorry, what?”

You tilt your head. “You guys aren’t as sneaky as you think. And you definitely don’t look like parents of a student here.”

Sam shoots Dean a See? look.

Dean recovers fast, flashing you his signature grin. “Depends. If we say yes, do we get detention?”

You don’t take the bait. Instead, you gesture toward the exit. “Let’s take this outside.”

Dean exchanges a look with Sam before following you into the hallway.

The second the doors swing shut behind them, you turn on your heel. “So, which one of you is the genius who thought it was a good idea to work a case without checking if another hunter was already on it?”

Dean blinks. “Excuse me?”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’ve been here for three weeks investigating these disappearances, and then you two waltz in, stepping all over my toes.”

“You’re a hunter?” Sam asks, surprised.

“Yup.” You pull a small flask from your pocket, unscrewing the lid and taking a swig. “Been tracking this thing since the first kid vanished.”

Dean crosses his arms, studying you. He’s met plenty of hunters in his time, but none quite like you. You seem… comfortable here. Like you actually like the whole teacher thing.

“So, what’s the play?” he asks.

You grin. “Oh, that’s easy. I keep being a responsible adult, and you two try not to traumatize any more students while I figure out where this thing is hiding.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “And what exactly is this thing?”

You hesitate. “Still working on that part.”

Sam frowns. “The bodies—”

“Never found.” You nod. “No sulfur, no EMF, no signs of witchcraft. Just kids vanishing without a trace.”

Dean scratches his jaw, intrigued despite himself. “Alright, teach. You got room for two more on this field trip?”

You smirk. “That depends.”

“On what?”

Your eyes flicker to his. “How well you can follow instructions.”

Dean’s grin is slow and lazy. “Sweetheart, you have no idea how good I am at taking direction.”

Sam groans. “Oh my God.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Fine, Winchester. You’re in.”

And just like that, the case—and whatever this is between you and Dean—just got a whole lot more interesting.

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drummer!rafe and the girl he met at a concert he's playing...

it was during one of the periods where jj—the lead singer—was giving a small speech to the fans and where everyone gets to rest a bit when rafe cameron himself saw you on the front row, looking dolled up as ever.

with your hair in an absurdly gorgeous blowout—and your white top that had thin straps that clung to your body, and fuzzy shorts littered with rhinestones, rafe cameron was sure he went to heaven and back.

so, imagine your surprise when he walks off stage during said break and then sprinted towards you like his life depended on it. "hey miss," you were met with a sweaty, masculine mess which was rafe—and the distance between you two closes the more he stepped towards you further.

the girls around you screamed and shouted—practically begged—for rafe's attention, but his main focus was you; and to have you for at least a while on stage with him.

"i'd love it if you got on that goddamn stage and... well, y'know, show the world how stunning you are."

you couldn't even process the fact that the rafe cameron himself asked you to get on stage with him, let alone look your way. so you did what most girls he met do—which was to nod and follow him on stage.

he hoisted you off the floor and carried you bridal style, then got on the stage with you. the crowd erupts into loud cheers and screams at the sight of you and rafe.

he gets back on the drums and then faces to turn you while he grabs your waist and sits you down on his lap. you stared at him wide-eyed, with your cherry-red lips parted while you sat on his lap, face inches away from each other.

jj finishes his speech and looks back at you with a wink. rafe does the same, then. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and then he whispers to you. "just sit still and look pretty f'me, alright?"

with that, you wrap your arms around rafe's neck, and then bounce on time with the beat of the drums.

you were living the goddamn life by that very moment.

you threw your head back and laughed, feeling carefree—as if you were the main character and all eyes were on you. and for a fact, of course it was true.

rafe's focus was on you—and only on you—without you even realizing. you were too busy enjoying the concert (and sitting on rafe's lap) to even notice the way he eyed you.

"oh my god, this is so fun," you look back down to meet rafe's eyes, and he replies with a soft chuckle. "damn right it is, doll. glad you're enjoying yourself."

tonight had been the best night of your life. you caught the attention of your favorite band's drummer, and had your main character moment for at least a while.

you're headed towards the exit when a guard stops you from leaving. he hands you a folded piece of paper without a word, and you open it in front of him while you eyed the paper cautiously.

'hey, angel. so glad you attended the concert tonight—thought i laid eyes on the prettiest girl i ever saw. what do you think about a little backstage tour?'

you don't even need to know who sent the note, since you interacted with only one of the band members for the night. the guard clears his throat after he sees you read the note, then he points behind you.

you see rafe—now in a black leather jacket and a tight white shirt, but with the same ripped flared jeans he had on earlier, and a cigarette tucked in his ear.

he eyes you up and down while walking towards you, a smirk plastered on his face while he did so.

"so..." he says, tucking a strand of your hair once he's finally in front of you. "how about that backstage tour, angel?'

what i would do to experience that istg. yeah anyway this is just a drabble so pls excuse my messy-ass mind

taglist: @jadastarkey @tillysslife @hrtsforstrkysblog @hoefordrewstarkey

drew / rafe's masterlist

My heart can’t take this 💞

10 Times Drew Starkey and His Actress Girlfriend Had Fans Swooning

Drew Starkey x actress!reader

word count: 2k???

masterlist

fluff, soft drew and i’m literally melting

1. The Subtle Hand Hold

At a high-profile red carpet event, Drew and Y/N stood side by side, looking effortlessly glamorous as they posed for photos. As the flashes went off, Drew subtly brushed his pinky against Reader’s. Fans watching the livestream noticed the soft touch immediately. Just a few seconds later, Drew quietly interlaced their fingers, giving her hand a comforting squeeze as she smiled up at him.

livestream comments:

@fan1: Did y’all see the way Drew just HAD to hold her hand? My heart can’t take it.

@couplegoalsfan: Power couples don’t need to be over the top. Drew and Y/N’s quiet love speaks volumes.

@obxbesties: THE HAND HOLD. I’m not okay. Someone hold me like Drew holds her.

JonathanDaviss✔︎ reposted the video: “Smooth, Starkey.”

2. “She’s My Rock” Moment

During an interview with Entertainment Tonight, Drew was asked about balancing his hectic schedule. He didn’t hesitate to credit his girl, saying, “Honestly? She’s my rock. I couldn’t do any of this without her support.” The interviewer smiled as Y/N looked visibly moved, her hand instinctively reaching for his.

youtube comments:

@fan4lif: When a man knows his queen is his foundation, that’s real love.

@readerfanclub: Drew calling her his rock while she looks at him like he hung the stars? BRB sobbing🥹

@itsmeari: Find someone who talks about you like Drew talks about Y/N.

ChaseStokes✔︎ reposted the clip “We all need a Y/N in our lives.”

3. The Matching Outfits

At the premiere of one of Y/N films, the couple turned heads in subtly coordinated outfits—Drew in a navy suit with a matching pocket square and Y/N in a sleek navy gown with intricate beading. Fans noticed how their looks complemented each other without feeling forced.

tiktok comments:

@fashiondaiy: Drew and Y/N’s stylist deserves a raise. The coordination is impeccable.

@fanpage14: You know you’re in sync when your outfits slay together. Power couple vibes!

@obsssedfan: They don’t just attend events; they OWN them.

Even the film’s director commented, “Forget the movie; people are here for them.”

4. Drew’s Protective Side

At a fan meet-and-greet, a fan jokingly asked if they could get a solo picture with Y/N. Drew, standing just behind her, playfully crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “Hey, I’m not chopped liver!” he teased, earning laughter from the crowd. He then added, “But okay, I’ll allow it. Just take care of her, alright?”

madelyncline story replays:

@fan12: Drew pretending to be jealous is the cutest thing ever. Protect her at all costs!

@teamdrewnreader: Y/N’s biggest fan is Drew, and it shows every time.

@fangirl: The way he says, ‘Take care of her.’ STOP, I CAN’T.

MadelynCline✔︎ add to story a video of them “Drew’s protective big bad boyfriend energy is unmatched.”

5. Caught in the Act

A behind-the-scenes video from a press junket showed Drew fussing with Y/N’s hair. She was talking to a reporter, oblivious to Drew as he smoothed a stray strand. When she finally noticed, she laughed, “Are you my stylist now?” Drew shrugged, grinning. “Just trying to make you look perfect for the camera.”

interview comments:

@fanxoo: Imagine having a man who cares about you looking flawless. Drew, you’ve set the bar.

@perfectionpair: The way he fixed her hair like it’s second nature. We love a supportive king.

@flawlessfan: He’s her biggest cheerleader and her impromptu stylist???

Rudy Pankow joked in the comments, “Drew’s available for hair tips, folks. DM him.”

6. “We’re a Team” Speech

On another red carpet, a reporter asked how the couple manages the pressures of fame. Drew replied, “We’ve always said we’re a team. Whether it’s in life, on set, or handling the craziness of this industry, we’re in it together.” Y/N smiled up at him, echoing, “We make each other better.”

twitter comments:

@teamgoals: They’re a team, and it shows. Nothing but respect for this duo.

@couplpower: When love and partnership go hand in hand, you get Drew and Y/N.

@relationshipency: If they ever break up, love isn’t real.

Jonathan Daviss reacting to this clip of them “I’m crying, and I’m not even in this relationship.”

7. The Inside Joke

During a group interview for Outer Banks, Drew referenced an inside joke between him and Y/N. When the interviewer asked what it was, Drew smirked and said, “Oh, it’s just something silly. She knows what I mean.” Y/N chuckled, shaking her head, “He’s never letting that one go.”

youtube comments:

@whatthejoke: Okay, what’s the joke, and how do we get in on it?

@insideteam: I need to know what this joke is. The curiosity is killing me!

@investigatorfan: Drew and Y/N’s inside jokes are now my life goal.

Chase added in the interview “Inside jokes are for couples, but they’re letting us suffer. Rude.”

8. Y/N’s Name Drop

During a fan Q&A, someone asked Drew about his favorite on-set memory. Without skipping a beat, he launched into a story about working on a film with his girl. “Honestly, every scene she’s in is a masterclass. She’s insanely talented.” His face lit up as he spoke, and Y/N playfully nudged him, “Stop, you’re making me blush.”

comments:

@obssessedwithlove: Drew bragging about Y/N is the content I signed up for.

@favoritefan: Every scene? Every single one? He’s her biggest fan, and we love to see it.

@lovestoryfan: Man, if someone doesn’t hype me like Drew does Y/N, I don’t want it.

@stanning: He said EVERY scene. He’s down bad, y’all.

9. The surprise kiss

At a red carpet event, a reporter playfully asked Drew what his favorite scene from Y/N’s recent movie was. Instead of answering, he leaned over and kissed her cheek, then said, “Every scene you’re in.” Y/N laughed, covering her face as the crowd behind them cheered.

live comments:

@kissmefan: Drew’s surprise kiss. I’m not okay, you guys.

@forevertogeher: The most adorable and unexpected moment ever. Someone hold me.

@screamingan: This man loves her so much, and it shows every second.

@obsessedforeer: I’m gonna rewatch this clip until I can no longer function.

@dreamcouple: Somebody give these two their own rom-com.

MadelynCline✔︎ reposted on her story, “Okay, even I screamed when I saw this live.”

10. Couple Q&A Video

In a casual Q&A posted on social media, the couple answered fan questions. When asked about their favorite things about each other, Drew didn’t even pause before saying, “Her laugh, without a doubt. I’d do anything to hear it.” Y/N blushed, laughing softly, which only made Drew grin wider.

Y/N, laughing softly, replied, “And I love how he never takes life too seriously. He keeps me smiling.”

youtube comments:

@cutecouple: They’re too cute. My heart is bursting.

@lifegoal: This is what real love looks like, y’all.

@lovereal: Their energy together is so pure. I’m rooting for them forever.

Madison Bailey commented, “Adopt me??”

During a joint interview with Outer Banks cast members—Drew Starkey, Chase Stokes, Madelyn Cline,Jonathan Daviss and Y/N. The interviewer couldn’t resist diving into what fans truly wanted to know: Drew and Y/N’s dynamic as Hollywood’s “It Couple.”

Interviewer: So, Drew, Y/N, you two are pretty much the internet’s favorite couple right now. How does it feel to be labeled the ‘It Couple’ of Hollywood?

Y/N laughed, looking slightly flustered. “It’s surreal, honestly. I mean, we’re just two people who love each other and happen to work in the same industry.”

Drew, ever the charmer, leaned in with a smirk. “She’s being modest. I feel lucky every day to be by her side.”

Madelyn immediately chimed in, laughing. “Ugh, they’re like this all the time. It’s both heartwarming and mildly infuriating.”

Chase nodded. “No, but seriously, the love these two have? It’s not just for show. It’s real, and you can feel it even when the cameras aren’t rolling.”

Jonathan added with a grin, “We’re all kind of their biggest fans. They make us believe in love again.”

Interviewer: Drew, you’ve been very open about how much Y/N means to you. Fans are constantly swooning over your sweet moments together. How do you handle all the attention?

Drew glanced at Y/N, his expression softening. “Honestly, it doesn’t feel like something I need to ‘handle.’ Loving her is the easiest thing in the world. The attention is nice, but at the end of the day, it’s just us.”

Y/N reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “He’s too good to me,” she said with a fond smile.

The interviewer turned to the cast. “Okay, be honest—what’s it like working with these two? Any cute or funny stories?”

Madelyn grinned. “Oh, plenty. They’re so supportive of each other. I remember one day on set, Y/N had a tough scene, and Drew showed up with her favorite coffee and snacks, like the ultimate cheerleader.”

Chase laughed. “Yeah, and during breaks, they’ll have their little moments—like Drew fixing her hair or Y/N making sure he stays hydrated. It’s cute, but also, where’s our care packages, Drew?”

Jonathan nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! But in all seriousness, their relationship sets such a positive tone on set. It reminds us to cherish the people we care about.”

The interviewer smiled. “It’s rare to see such genuine love in the industry. What do you hope fans take away from your relationship?”

Y/N paused thoughtfully. “I think we just want to show that love can be kind, supportive, and fun. It’s not about grand gestures; it’s the small, everyday things that matter.”

Drew added, “Yeah, we hope people see that real love doesn’t have to be perfect—it just has to be real.”

honestly i love it 😭💗

banter

Jensen Ackles x Actress!Reader

You’re barely settled in the chair when Jensen leans over and mutters, “Go easy on me today. I’m running on coffee and spite.”

You smirk, adjusting your mic. “You live on spite.”

“Yeah,” he says, eyes twinkling, “but usually I’m well-rested.”

The cameras are already rolling, the lights warm and soft, and the Entertainment Weekly host gives the usual bubbly welcome—but you barely hear it. Jensen’s still watching you like he’s waiting to start something.

He always is.

They ask the usual question—what was your first impression of each other?—and Jensen doesn’t hesitate.

“She was late,” he says, deadpan.

You whip your head toward him. “It was daylight savings and I didn’t realize my phone didn’t update!”

“She walked in like a hurricane,” he goes on, completely unfazed. “Sunglasses, coffee cup bigger than her face—looked like she’d barely survived a bachelorette party.”

“I was just fragile,” you say, laughing. “It was Monday!”

He raises a brow. “You were twenty minutes late and called me ‘broody in a hot way.’”

“And you were. Still are.”

The host jumps in, clearly amused. “Safe to say you two clicked right away.”

Jensen glances at you, smirking. “If that’s what we’re calling it.”

You don’t rise to it—just smile sweetly and nudge his boot with yours. Beneath the jokes and sarcasm, there’s a rhythm to the way you talk. Like it’s all part of a well-rehearsed song. Tease, react, retreat. Repeat.

Then the host adds, “And fans noticed… Pedro Pascal visited the set a few times?”

Your body stills just slightly—enough for Jensen to catch.

“Yeah,” you say with a casual smile. “Pedro and I worked together last year. He stopped by when we were filming in L.A.”

Jensen makes a noise. A quiet, unimpressed huff you pretend not to hear.

“More like every other day,” he says under his breath.

You look over at him, amused. “Jealous?”

He snorts. “Of Pedro Pascal? Please.”

The way he says it is all calm and clipped and just a little too fast. You tilt your head.

“Because it kinda sounds like—”

“I’m not jealous,” he says firmly, eyes forward.

You hum like you’re not entirely convinced, then turn back to the host before Jensen can get any deeper into whatever corner he’s painting himself into.

The host moves on to a lightning round. Favorite way to unwind after a long shoot?

“Whiskey,” Jensen says instantly.

“Pedro,” you say at the same time, deadpan.

Jensen chokes.

You grin and nudge him again. “I’m kidding. I read. Like a classy, unproblematic adult.”

He rubs a hand across his jaw, that classic “I’m smiling but I’m gonna get you back later” look creeping in. “You’re impossible.”

“You like that about me.”

He doesn’t argue.

The next question is simple: describe your co-star in one word.

You glance at Jensen and answer without missing a beat. “Broody.”

His scoff is immediate. “That’s rich coming from you. Fine. Stubborn.”

You smile, leaning back in your chair. “Still not as stubborn as you.”

“Debatable.”

The interview wraps shortly after. You pull off your mic and stand, stretching your legs and trying to shake off the residual adrenaline. Jensen brushes past you as he shrugs out of his jacket, his voice low and warm as it lands in your ear.

“For the record…” he says, “I’m not jealous.”

You turn, slowly, meeting his gaze.

“I didn’t say you were.”

You wait for him to fire something back, to double down or deflect. But instead, he just watches you for a second too long, like he’s trying to decide if it’s worth the trouble. Then he gives a small shrug, smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

And just like that, he walks off.

But the silence he leaves behind says more than anything he could’ve come up with.

Her soldier - part 1/2

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

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

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

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

---

**Philadelphia**

It was always busiest near the Navy Yard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was sixteen when he first met her.

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

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

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

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

“You any good at lifting?”

“I’m not bad,” he said, grinning.

That was how it started.

A Week Later

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He felt his face go hot. He grinned.

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

Ben would be eighteen in a few days.

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

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

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

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

Not after what that bastard did.

Tommy

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

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

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

And that was enough to stay.

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then the crash came—shattering, violent.

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

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

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

Next time he’d be ready.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t answer.

“That’s friendship, Benjamin.”

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

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” she said, gently but firmly.

“I’m not a kid anymore.”

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

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

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

The wound on her palm was forgotten.

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

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

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

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

Her brows drew in, caught off guard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not fair—”

“I’d never hurt you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Two Weeks Later

Y/N hadn’t seen him.

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

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

No fanfare. No words.

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

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

Something had changed. And it was her fault.

---

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

Tommy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t!”

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

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

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

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

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

Silence returned, thick and humming.

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

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

"Thank you.... soldier."

**Philadelphia, Spring that same year**

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

He blinked.

“I said I can’t pay that much. But I can give you something. A little more. Whatever I’ve got to spare.” He looked down at her hand on his arm. Then at her eyes—soft, tired, but still kind.

“Thanks,” he said, giving a half smile. “That’s… that’s really kind of you.”

But guilt still hung on his shoulders.

After a beat, he added quietly, “Maybe I could find a second job. You know. For evenings, after I'm done here here. I just… I don’t wanna be a burden.”

Her face changed. “You’re not a burden, Ben. I just make enough for myself and I do appreciate your help but... ” He looked at her, and for a second, the air between them felt like that night again. Unspoken things. Uncrossed lines. "I get it."

“I just o do my part,” he said. “I know,” she replied. “You always had my back.”

And then she did something she hadn’t done in a long time. She reached up, and brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. A touch too tender to be casual.

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. But neither of them said a word.

---

**Philadelphia, Summer **

Ben had picked up a second job two weeks after asking for the raise. It paid good money, enough for him to save. But more than that, the work gave him something else—distance. Time to think. Time to breathe.

The place was just a few blocks down. A brothel hidden behind a red-painted door, dressed up like a jazz club to fool the right eyes. It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t safe. But it paid in cash and didn’t ask questions.

He worked the door mostly. Kept drunks out, broke up fights before they started. He didn’t look like the kind of boy you’d mess with anymore, and people listened.

And then there was Minny.

She was Y/N’s age. Maybe a little older. Red lipstick, lazy laugh, cigarette always dangling between her fingers. Minny was smart. Sharp-eyed. She liked to come outside for a smoke and talk to him, especially when the night was quiet.

“You’re sweet,” she’d tell him. “Too sweet for this place.”

He trusted her. Maybe because she never looked at him like he was a kid.

One night, he told her everything.

About the bar. About Y/N. About how she called him her soldier, About her troubled love life and how his dad saw her as cheap. About how it hurt when she didn’t look at him the way he looked at her.

Minny smiled around her cigarette.

“Let me guess,” she said. “She likes her men rough. Loud. With hands like vices.”

He blinked.

“She likes experienced men,” Minny said. “Women like that, like us..." Ben frowned but she just continued. "we don’t admit it, but we don’t want to teach. We want to be taken.”

Ben swallowed. His cheeks red.

"Would you like to learn?” Her lips curved. Slow. Knowing. “I could teach you,” she said. “Nice and slow.”

His mouth went dry. “What’s… what’s the price?”

She grinned wide, all teeth and mischief. “Oh, honey. For you? First lesson’s free.”

---

Weeks later

Y/N wasn’t looking for him.

She was just walking home after closing. Same route as always passed the red door. The sky a navy bruise above her, streets slick from earlier rain. She tugged her coat tighter around her ribs, cutting down the side street for once. Tired. Bone-deep.

That’s when she saw him.

Ben.

Tall, lean, head down as he followed a woman out of a building. Y/N slowed. Watched the red door swing shut behind them.

Her stomach twisted. That building. The girl had red lips, long legs, her hand brushing Ben’s chest like she’d done it before.

Y/N stood frozen. The ache in her chest blooming sharp, fast, ugly.And just like that, it made sense. Why he needed the money.

Why he stopped coming around as much. Why his eyes had started looking elsewhere. She turned before the tears could sting.

And for the first time since that boy walked into her bar with eager hands and dreams of becoming a soldier—she felt ... jealous.

---

The next morning, Ben came in quiet.

Tired. Under-eyed. His shirt rumpled, knuckles slightly bruised from God knows what. Y/N didn’t flinch. Didn’t let the strange tightness in her chest change the tone of her voice.

“Morning, soldier,” she said like always, handing him his usual coffee.

He smiled—faint, grateful—and sipped like it was the only warm thing in his life. She asked him, casually, “How’s the new job going?”

“Good,” he said.

That was it. No details. No mention of Minny or what he was really learning behind that red door. Just a tight-lipped answer that sounded more like a lie.

And then came the nights.

---

Y/N told herself she wasn’t checking. But she was. Every night after closing, she’d pass by the brothel on the way home, gaze hidden under the brim of her coat. Once. Twice. A third time.

And always—always—there he was. Sometimes handing the girl with red lips folded cash. Sometimes disappearing inside after a quiet word, like it was routine now.

And it burned.

Not just the thought of him with another woman. Well if she was honest that too. But the look on his face—gentle, soft, like she used to see when he brought her her favorite beer after a rough night. The look, that smile, used to be hers.

It was raining again. Cold and sharp against the sidewalk.

Y/N stood across the street under the eaves of a shuttered deli. Her hands buried deep in her coat. Ben stood out front of the brothel with that girl again. Talking. Close. She said something and laughed, touching his arm.

Then she kissed his cheek. Her red lips leaving a stain on his cheek. He smiled, slow and soft. Y/N’s heart stuttered. She turned on instinct—spun away fast, like the very sight had cut her.

She didn’t hear his footsteps until they were behind her. “Y/N—!” She didn’t stop. He chased her through the wet streets, calling her name until she finally snapped, “Let me go home, Ben!”

But he didn’t. She reached her apartment door, keys shaking in her hand, when he grabbed her shoulder and turned her around. “What were you doing there?” he asked, breathless, wet from the rain. "That is a dangerous alley to be in for a woman."

She laughed bitterly. “I should ask you that.” His face tightened. “It’s not what you think.”

“You sure about that?”

“She’s just a friend. At my new job.”

“Friends don’t take your money, don't lead you inside a brothel and, and... and kiss your cheek like that. Besides its none of my business who you fuck around with Ben!"

He flinched.

She scoffed. “That’s none of my business, right? I’m just your boss.”

“No, you’re not,” he said, voice cracking. “You never were just my boss.” She looked at him then—really looked. He was wet, shivering, bare in a way he rarely let himself be.

“I needed someone to talk to,” he said. “And I work there, I watch the door. And Minny, she.. I, I needed someone who wasn’t you, because you never let me in.”

She blinked.

“I wanted to know why I wasn’t enough,” he said. “Why I wasn’t man enough to you. So I... I...”

Silence stretched long between them.

And then she whispered, so quietly, “You were always enough. You are more than enough!”

He stepped forward.

The storm outside intensified as Ben closed the gap between them, his chest rising and falling with each breath, the rain dripping off his damp hair. The world felt muffled, contained between the two of them. There was something about the silence in the air, heavy with confession and unspoken emotions.

Ben’s words cut through the stillness.

“You never thought I was enough for you.?” He leaned in closer, his green eyes dark with something she couldn’t quite place. “Not enough to be with you, not enough to be with you.”

Y/N’s heart sank. She opened her mouth, but the words caught in her throat. She felt trapped in that moment, the rain pouring, cold between them, and Ben standing there—waiting.

“I work there,” Ben said suddenly, his voice steady but his hands shaking. “As a bouncer, at the brothel.”

Y/N didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t form a response, so she just stared at him, wide-eyed, her mind racing. He took that as a cue to continue, his words spilling out faster now, raw and unguarded.

“I only slept with Windy twice,” he confessed, and the way he said it made her insides churn. “I didn’t know anything about women. I thought… maybe if I did this, you’d see that I wasn’t just some kid. That maybe, one day, you'd let me in. I thought maybe you’d see me differently, that I’d at least know something.”

Y/N’s heart twisted. She wanted to speak, wanted to tell him that he was so much more than that, but the words wouldn't come. She felt something deep in her gut—a kind of anger mixed with regret—but mostly… sadness.

“And Minny…” Ben’s voice dropped lower, hesitant now. “She said you’re a woman with experience. She said you need a man with experience, someone who knows how to take you, how to handle you, how to be the man you need.”

Y/N felt her breath catch in her throat. There it was—the truth, sharp and unforgiving. Minny had told him what he thought was the reason, the explanation he’d needed all this time. She’d put the idea in his head that she wanted someone like that—someone who could match her in ways Ben hadn’t been able to.

She played him.

For a second, the air around them felt heavy, crackled. Like a storm waiting to break. Y/N blinked, forcing herself to steady her breathing, to look him in the eye, to see the boy she had always known.

But this—this was new. This was him being something he wasn’t. Y/N didn’t know how to answer, but she needed to. She had to say something. Anything.

“I never needed someone like that, Ben,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I just… You don’t have to pretend to be something else, not for me, not for anyone.”

Ben stepped back, almost stumbling, and he ran a hand through his wet hair, frustrated. He wanted to argue, but the words felt foreign now. Everything felt too raw. His lips trembled as he tried to piece together the jumble of emotions.

“I wanted you to see me differently,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I wanted you to see me as a man, not a kid.”

Y/N reached out, gently touching his arm, her fingertips cold against his wet sleeve. “Ben, you’ve always been more than a kid to me. I see you. I always have.”

He shook his head, the doubt still clouding his eyes. “Then why didn’t you ever…?” He trailed off, unable to finish. His vulnerability hung in the air like a weight neither of them could escape.

“I was scared" she admitted. “I was scared of what would happen if I let you in. What it would mean for us. I was scarred you'd learn I'm crazy or or I don't know, not what you want. Scarred you'd leave me like every man in my life had ever done!”

Ben stepped back again, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “I won't. Not now to ever.”

Y/N’s gaze softened as she took a step toward him. The rain poured down on them, but it was nothing compared to the storm inside them both.

“I know,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

The rain kept falling, heavy and relentless, as they stood pressed against the door. The storm outside seemed to echo the tension between them, the weight of everything unspoken, everything unsaid, finally crashing over them.

Ben’s hands gripped her arms, holding her firmly, but there was a gentleness now in the way he touched her. His face was close—so close—and his breath was shaky, full of longing and uncertainty.

“Tell me what to do, Y/N,” he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion. “Tell me what to do. I don’t know how to fix this. How to make you see me the way I see you.”

She reached up, her fingers trembling as they pressed against his lips, silencing him gently. His words died in his throat, his eyes wide, searching hers.

The world outside was muted—the steady rhythm of rain, the crackle of thunder, all faded in comparison to the intensity of the moment.

Her fingers lingered on his lips, the touch tender, almost hesitant, but there was something about it that grounded them both. Her heart raced, her pulse quickened, and she finally realized that everything that had built up between them—the fear, the desire, the confusion—was ready to spill over.

A flash of lightning lit up the dark street, and in that blinding moment, something shifted. The walls between them, the distance they’d tried to maintain, crumbled.

Ben’s gaze flickered to her lips, then back to her eyes, searching for permission, for some sign that she wanted this too. The question in his eyes was so raw, so vulnerable, it made her heart ache.

Without thinking, without hesitation, she stepped forward and kissed him.

His lips met hers with an intensity that caught her off guard, his kiss desperate and sure, as though he’d been waiting for this for so long. The heat of it spread like wildfire, and her breath hitched as his lips moved against hers, slow at first, then more urgent.

Ben pulled her hand to his lips, kissing her palm softly, his lips warm against her skin. She gasped, the sensation sending a shiver down her spine, and then he kissed each of her fingers, one by one, his mouth worshipping the delicate skin of her hand.

Her body tensed, her breath quickening, and before she could stop herself, a soft moan escaped her lips. The sound—raw, hungry—echoed in the space between them, only fueling Ben’s need.

In one swift movement, Ben leaned in, his mouth capturing hers once more. This time, it was more than just a kiss. His tongue swept against her lips, demanding entry, and she parted her mouth without thinking. The moment his tongue slid against hers, a gasp broke free from her throat, and she felt the world fall away.

Y/N opened the door blindly behind her, pulling Ben inside with her.

The kiss deepened, both of them losing themselves in the heat, in the urgency. The way he kissed her, like he couldn’t get enough, made her heart race faster. Her hands moved to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat, matching the pounding of her own.

Y/N’s hands fisted in his wet shirt as she pulled him closer, her body responding to the magnetic pull between them. She moaned again, louder this time, the sound almost foreign to her, but it felt right, felt like something she’d been holding back for far too long.

Ben broke the kiss, both of them gasping for air, but his lips stayed close, brushing against her skin as his hands roamed to her waist, pulling her in tighter.

“I don’t know if I can stop,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire. Y/N looked up at him, eyes wide, chest heaving. She felt like she was floating, drowning in the feeling of him.

“I don’t want you to stop,” she murmured, barely able to form the words.

His lips crashed against hers again, this time with no hesitation, no fear. The storm outside raged on, but it was nothing compared to the feelings between them.

The rain hammered against the windows as Ben followed Y/N to her bedroom, his heart racing, the heat of the moment making everything feel surreal. She tugged him toward her bed, her hands shaking slightly, but there was no hesitation in her movements.

Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of her wet jacket as Ben shed his soaked clothes, the storm outside growing louder, more intense.

Every touch between them was electric, charged with all the emotions they had never allowed themselves to feel before. Y/N pulled him closer, her body pressing against his as she kissed him once more, desperate, as if afraid of losing him.

Ben gently guided her to the bed, the softness of the sheets contrasting with the urgency between them. He lay her down carefully, as if she were something precious—something worth protecting.

She wasn’t just overwhelmed by desire—there was something in Ben’s touch that made her feel seen, understood, as though they were both finally shedding their fears and their insecurities.

Ben kissed her softly, his lips trailing down her neck, her shoulders, his hands exploring her skin with a tenderness that made her heart flutter.

His touch was both reverent and needy, as if he had waited a lifetime to get to this moment—and in some way, maybe they both had.

She closed her eyes, her breath shallow as she felt the heat of his body against hers. But then, when he moved lower, she stopped him, her hand gently on his shoulder.

“Ben… What are you doing?” Her voice was soft, uncertain, but she wasn’t pulling away. He looked up at her, his eyes full of that familiar intensity, but this time there was something else—vulnerability, an unspoken question.

He smiled, that mischievous grin she knew all too well, and then he whispered, “Lay back. Let me show you something.”

Y/N hesitated for a heartbeat, but then she relaxed, sinking back into the bed, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her while she felt his wet hair trailing the way his lips kissed her lower and lower, until his head was between her thighs.

--

Later that night, the storm had quieted, the thunder now distant and low, like the final heartbeat of something long chased. Rain still whispered against the windows, soft and steady. The room was dimly lit by the occasional flicker of lightning far off, casting silver shadows across the tangled sheets and the two bodies entwined within them.

Ben lay on his back, one arm behind his head, the other resting lightly along Y/N’s spine. She was tucked against him, her bare skin warm and relaxed against his side, her head rising and falling with the rhythm of his breath. Her fingers traced slow, lazy patterns across his chest—circles, stars, lines with no real destination. It was quiet in the way people grow quiet after sharing something that changes them.

She broke it first, her voice low and thoughtful. “Why didn’t you ever go?” she asked softly, her finger pausing over his heart. “You always talked about joining the army. You were going to be a soldier.”

Ben didn’t answer right away. His chest rose, then fell, and he turned his head to look at her, his damp hair curling a little at the edges. “You know why.”

Y/N looked up at him.

He exhaled through his nose and gave a small shrug. “I stayed for you.”

Her eyes searched his, but he didn’t flinch, didn’t shy away. It wasn’t a line. There was no performance in the way he said it. Just quiet truth, raw and simple.

“I couldn’t leave you, not with the way things were. After... after everything... You weren’t some damsel, I know that. But you were hurting. And I couldn’t bear the thought of being gone and something happening to you.”

She laid her head back on his chest, heart aching, fingers still against his skin. “You shouldn’t have given up on your dream for me.”

Ben smiled a little, the corner of his mouth tugging up as he looked at the ceiling. “Didn’t feel like giving anything up. Felt like doing the only thing that made sense.”

She was quiet again, her fingers drawing shapes once more—slower now, thoughtful.

“You still could,” she whispered. “If you wanted it.”

He glanced down at her, brow furrowed. “What, join up now?”

“You’re still young. And strong. And stubborn as hell. You’d make a damn fine soldier.” Ben was quiet for a moment, thinking. “Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know if that dream still fits me, y’know?”

“You talk like you’re fifty,” she said, laughing softly. He grinned, pulling he in closer. “Feels like I’ve lived a lot in the last few years.”

Y/N propped herself up just enough to look at him, her hand resting on his chest, fingers splayed over his heartbeat. “Whatever you do, don’t do it for me, Ben. Not anymore. I care about you too much for that.”

His green eyes held hers. “And what if everything I want just happens to have you in it?”

That made her heart flutter—and ache at the same time. She wasn’t sure what the future looked like. The world was still at war, and they were two people who’d crossed a line they couldn’t uncross. But in that quiet, rainy moment, tangled in each other, she didn’t look away.

She leaned down and kissed his chest softly. "I promise I'll be here at home, waiting for you."

Y/N blinked, her lips still parted from the soft kiss she’d just pressed to his chest, her breath catching in her throat as Ben suddenly slipped from the bed in a rush.

“Ben?” she asked, pulling the covers up instinctively, the air around her cool without his warmth.

“Just wait,” he said over his shoulder, voice breathless, urgent—like he was afraid if he didn’t move fast enough, the moment might vanish. She heard the shuffle of clothing, then the creak of the floorboards as he made his way back to her side of the bed.

He was still completely bare, skin kissed gold by the faint flicker of the streetlamp outside, but he didn’t seem to care. His chest rose and fell with the weight of everything he was feeling, everything he hadn’t been able to say until now.

“I’ll sign up,” he said, voice low but certain, green eyes locked on hers. He was trembling slightly—not with fear, but with something bigger, heavier. “I’ll go. I’ll fight. I’ll do everything I said I would.”

She sat up a little, her brows furrowing, confused by the shift, her heart hammering.

“If…” he took a breath, then dropped to one knee beside the bed, the small velvet ring pouch clutched in his fingers. His hand shook as he opened it.

“If you do me the honor of marrying me.”

The ring wasn’t flashy or grand. It was simple. Modest. A delicate gold band with a single glimmering stone—likely one he’d saved for over months with whatever money he could spare. But in that small piece of jewelry, she saw every early morning he’d helped carry boxes into her bar, every heavy can he’d lifted without being asked. Every bruise he noticed on her arm before she could hide it. Every time he came to work with tired eyes and a quiet heart.

And now he was here. On one knee. Bare and open and honest. Asking her for something that scared them both.

Y/N’s lips parted, but no words came.

Ben swallowed hard, his eyes searching hers. “I know I’m young. I know this is fast. But I’ve loved you since I was just a dumb kid carrying boxes. I loved you when I didn’t even understand what love really was. And I swear, if you say yes—I’ll come back. I’ll survive whatever hell they throw me into just to get back to you.”

Y/N looked down at him, at the ring, at the man he’d become— but after all these years still hers.

And for once, she didn’t think about what was proper, what was smart, or what the neighbors might say. She thought about how she hadn’t really slept the week he disappeared.

She leaned forward, cupping his cheek, and whispered against his mouth, voice trembling—

“Yes, Ben. Yes.”

His exhale was ragged, his forehead falling to hers as he wrapped his arms around her, both of them tangled up in each other again, the storm outside now just a hum. There were still things to face, still a world at war waiting for him—but for that moment, there was only the promise between them.

And it was enough.

For now

--

Taglist Jensen:

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