hi lol so i seen your ask for more dean requests.. ive never requested anything before lmaoa im so shy😭😭 but im willing to help out bc i love dean sm but anyways here's my idea:
so boom, reader and dean they like go on a hunt, and they're doing okay and stuff and then reader almost gets injured but they're fine and they manage to defeat the demon or wtv and so on their way back, dean and reader are arguing and he's saying reader is all types of reckless and stupid and lecturing them on how they could've gotten hurt. and reader doesn't really understand why dean cares so much because like sure they're cool but like they never figured they meant anything special to him even though they have a fat crush on him but what reader doesn't know is that dean has ALSO been pining for reader for like EVERRRRR so when they get home or wtv they're still arguing and finally reader has had enough of the lecturing so they say like "wtf is your deal" like why are you so mad? and dean is like "fuck, bc i care abt you dummy" and so reader's like.. what and dean is like fuck.. and so then they have the whole confession thing which leads to a REALLY heated kiss and then a makeout and passionate NASTY FREAKY PENT UP SMUT.. thank you for your time🥹
𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐩, 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭?
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!reader
Summary: Dean and reader argue. Dean and reader fuck.
An: this was one of those once you start you can’t stop writings. Like it all just flowed out. 2.7k words and more than half is straight smut. Thank you zayn Malik for pillow talk because that was on repeat. This is my first like real Dean smut, and the first time I wrote about giving head. If it’s bad don’t tell me. Also thanks for this request it was so much fun to write like wtf, I love angsty/gentle/dom Dean. I need him shipped to my front door. Thanks 😊
WC: 2.7k - Dean Masterlist
You could barley hear deans shout for your name over the ringing in your ears.
The demon, you had him right in your clutches but you slipped up, one second of hesitation and you were thrown through the termite eaten wall.
You groaned at the sudden pain, you rolled over onto your back as the demon took stalking steps towards you. He smiled menacingly at you "I might not be able to kill him. But you? You I can kill."
He grips the knife in his hand so tight his knuckles turn white. You try to stand up, to give yourself a fighting chance, you even begin muttering the exorcism, but he kicks you in your gut, sending you back a few feet.
"Night, night" he sings.
Your heart hammers in your chest, as he raises the knife, but before he could make any move to bring it down his body lights up like a firework.
He drops to the ground, behind him stood a battered and bloody Dean. His eyes raked your body for any major injuries before he helped you up.
"You alright?" He asks shortly. you swallow, nodding looking down at the dead demon.
In the car things were tense. Dean had been glaring at the road for the past fifteen minutes. He didn't turn on his post hunt music and he hadn't said a word.
You sat in the passenger seat, watching him through the corner of your eye. His jaw was set, eyes unblinking and his lips were pursed. He was visibly pissed.
"You shouldn't have tried to take him alone" he said finally.
You turn to face him fully, with knitted eyebrows "Excuse me?" You scoff.
Deans grip on the steering wheel tightens "It was stupid, and reckless you could've gotten yourself killed"
You glare at him "I don't know if you're aware Dean but hunters die" It's your job. You risk your lives to save those who need saving, you've long accepted that hunting may lead you to an early grave.
Dean laughs, though there was no amusement on his face "Yeah well not you. You're not allowed to die."
"Are you joking? That's a joke right?"
"Do I look like I'm joking" he finally looks at you, you could see the seriousness on his face.
You scoff when he turns back to the road, instead of arguing further you let Dean have his fit and hope that he'd be over it by time you reach the motel.
This was new, Dean had never gotten angry at your recklessness before. In fact he praised you for your quick thinking skills.
When you reached the motel room you knew none of that anger had gone away. Especially since he slammed the door closed after entering behind you.
You give him an irritated look, but he ignores you. "Sit down" he points to the bed. You wordlessly oblige, sitting in the corner of the bed.
You watch as he moves through the kitchen, most likely in search of the first aid kit. Once he found it he dragged a chair over and sat in front of you.
"Take off your jacket" he demands. You take it off.
"Lift your shirt"
You lift it.
His frown deepens as the forming bruise on your stomach. "You need to be more careful. Turn"
You turn on the bed, now facing away from him but you still argue "we're still doing this? Dean I'm fine."
You feel him lift the back of your shirt, and he freezes "take your shirt off" he says. You turn your head towards him with wide eyes "what?!"
His eyes are darkened with anger "you got a cut on your back. Can't reach the whole thing with your shirt on. Take it off." He explains.
Your breath catches in your throat.
"Do I need to take it off of you?" He asks impatiently. you roll your eyes, pulling the shirt off " I'm doin it. No need to be an asshole." You snark.
Dean scoffs, you quietly hiss from the alcohol pad he rubbed against the scar, "an asshole wouldn't care if you live or die"
"I don't know why you care if I live or die" you argued back. Some part of you should feel exposed, sitting shirtless in front of Dean. But you didn't.
He ignores you "That demon could've laid you out right then and there because you didn't wanna wait" you could hear the anger arising in his tone.
"Yeah, or he could've killed that woman" you defended, hissing when he pressed a little too hard to your wound, now adding an ointment.
"Better her than you." He says. It was so out of character for him it made you stand up from your seated position.
You look at him, wide eyed and irritated "okay that's enough. What's your deal?"
He looks at you confused "what do you mean?"
You lick your lips "I mean this. Why are you grilling me, why do you care so much, because last I checked I wasn't even in the top five most important people in your life."
It hurt you to admit it, because Dean didn't know but he had stolen your heard from you years ago and refused to give it back.
Dean stands, he steps towards you, his demeanor making him seem two times your height "if you had died tonight I would've brought hell to earth and killed every one of those son of a bitches" he says.
He's so close you cloud feel the heat radiating from his body. Your stomach twists with something pleasant and familiar "what?" You were breathless.
"Sweetheart, you're above everybody. Without you there is no list."
Your breathing speeds up, "what are you saying" his eyes are green again, and they're looking at you like you have all of the answers.
"I'm saying that I care about you. More than anybody, or anything. And if you died… if you died there would be nothing that could stop me from getting to you." Dean gets closer and breathing gets harder.
"If you're saying… what I think then I need you to tell me. Please."
Deans mouth opens, there's words are on the tip of his tongue, refusing to slip out. His mouth closes and your heart sinks.
Tears brim your eyes as you take a step back from him, but he's quick to grab you "I can't… every time I say it someone dies. But I do, I need you to know that I do." He promises.
His forehead meets yours and he grips your hips like he's holding on to a lifeline. His breath fans offer your lips, waiting for you to say something back.
"Show me"
A fire ignited between you. Deans lips met yours and it was like it all clicked into place. His soft pillowy lips against yours felt like heaven.
His tongue bullied its way into your mouth, making you moan. Deans hands wandered up and down your bare stomach, lightly brushing over the swell of your covered breasts.
Dean broke the kiss, bending down to lift you up by the back of your thighs. You wrap your arms around his neck and he kisses your chest, you moaned faintly running your hands through his slightly grown out hair.
Dean walks you both over to the bed, gently laying you down without separating from you. Deans hands trailed down, undoing the button of your shorts, he pulls away from you to pull them off.
He looks at you. Really looks at you, eyes blown with lust. "Fuckin beautiful" he mutters grabbing your ankle, he pressed light kisses all the way up your calf and all over your thighs, completely ignoring the place you needed him most.
You sat up, wanting to see him. You took the initiative to pull his shirt off, he grins cockily "you wanna see me too baby?" He teases.
You give him a chaste kiss, muttering a "shut up. Pants" against his lips. Dean laughs "yes ma'am" he stands up, kicking his shoes off followed by his pants.
You stood up from the bed, moving in front of him, biting back a smile, Dean looked at you curiously until you descended down onto your knees "oh fucking- Christ" dean groaned.
You smirked as you came face to face with his member, your mouth salivated as you pulled his underwear down his legs.
His cock sprang up making you gasp. He was bigger than you had imagined, and pretty. You grabbed his cock and dean almost lost all ability to stand.
You gave him a few pumps before pressing a kiss to his tip
Dean groaned louder, his hand found your jaw gently prying it open. You stuck your tongue out, Dean slid his cock into your mouth, you closed your lips around him and began moving.
"Oh- fuckin- oh yeah baby" his hand guided you, controlling the pace.
You hollowed your cheeks, letting your jaw go slack in attempt to take all of his length, you gagged when his tip hit the back of your throat.
You could feel yourself growing wetter as you watched dean try to keep himself together. He had began controlling the pace himself, rocking his hips back and forth.
"Shit baby, you're suckin me so good" he muttered, his voice was deep filled with lust "I could cum just from lookin at you take my cock like this baby" he says , but he pulls you off of his cock.
You whined, but Dean pulled you up from your knees, his lips found yours again as his cock nudges your fold making you quiver.
"That feel good baby?" He asked, you nod. Dean smirks, and leads you back to the bed, "it's okay honey, m'gonna take good care of you."
Dean reaches around your back and expertly un-clips your bra, pulling it off and throwing it somewhere. He immediately has his mouth on one of your nipples, sucking and licking like its what's keeping him alive, you arch up into him, grasping onto his shoulders for dear life.
His hand wanders down to your pants covered pussy and he presses his finger right against your clit, "ah- fuck Dean" you gasp.
He starts rubbing your clit, "does that feel good pretty girl?"
You nod feverishly as your hips with a mind of their own begin moving along with his motions. He stops briefly, and slips his hand into your panties, his finger slips between your pussy lips with ease "you're wet honey"
"It's your fault, you're too sexy for your own good" you mutter, pressing your lips to his.
He smirks into the kiss, slipping his finger into your hole, "oh my g- Dean"
"I got you, makin' you see stars ain't I?" His finger starts pumping in and out of you, curling at that spot that makes your lags quiver "fuck" you squeal, your hand grabs his wrist but it does nothing to stop his actions. Not that you wanted it to.
"I can feel you flutterin around my finger. You want another?" He asks, kissing your jaw. You nod pathetically "yes, ple- please"
Dean obliges, slipping another finger into your pussy. The stretch feels pleasurable combined with the steady pace of his fingers going in and out of you.
"I wanna taste you" he mutters, Dean moves down your body, positioning himself between your thighs, he kisses your inner thigh, then moves to the other one.
He blows on your pussy, the feeling sending goosebumps up your body. "Dean" you warn him.
"I know, just admirin this pretty pussy. Been wanting to you for so long." He kissed your pussy, before using his finger to spread your lips giving him full access to your clit.
He licked once. Then kissed, another lick. Another kiss.
"Fuck baby, look at you, drippin for me" he says as he dives in.
His tongue swirls around your clit, the most you let out was beyond pornographic, making him groan into you.
Your legs closed around his head, but it doesn't bother Dean. He slips a finger back into your hole, moving with practiced precision.
"Dean! Oh my- fuck- that feels so good" the words come out jumbled and barley coherent.
"You're rightening round my fingers baby, I can't wait to fuck you" Dean says into your pussy.
His unused hand squeezes your thigh ligh it's keeping him grounded. The feeling of him on you was almost overwhelming, you feel the coil in your pussy start to build.
You moan, way too loud. If you were coherent you'd probably be afraid of the neighbors hearing, but deans abuse in your cunt sent every thought that didn't have to do with him right out the window.
"You getting close?" Dean asks, his eyes stay on you, enjoying how thoughtless he'd rendered you. You nod in response, your hand moving to grip his hair tightly.
"That's it honey, come around my fingers. Let me taste you" he was controlling your body like you were a puppet at his mercy, your climax crashed into you like a truck.
You tremble as he continues his abuse on your cunt, writhing against the bed you struggled to find your breath.
Dean slowed his pace, noticing how sting the irgasm was, wanting to grant you some mercy. "That's it pretty girl. Did so good for me." He moves back up your body, kissing every patch of skin he could on his way.
"You're a dream" he says, wiping away the tear that had unknowingly fallen down your cheek. Your eyes connect with his, he's checking to make sure you're okay to continue.
"I'm gonna fuck you now. S'that okay?" He asks. You nod, blinking slowly "yes, please fuck me dean"
He kisses you.
He grabs his rock hard cock, pimping it a few times before lining himself up with your hole. He pushes in easily, his previous work helping him out.
Your warmth engulfed him entirely "fuck baby, y'so tight n warm"
You moan at his praise and the feeling of him filling you up. He moved slowly, stretching you open a little bit more, allowing you to get used to his size.
"I can feel you in m'stomach Dean" you mutter, Dean groans pressing is forehead to yours "yeah? M'all the way in your stomach?"
You nod. Dean picks up his pace when you start moving your hips to match his rhythm. "y'gonna feel it when I fill you up? Gonna pump you full of my cum"
his strokes hit deeper, rendering you almost mute. Dean takes one of your nipples in his mouth, and his hand moves down to your clit.
All you could think of was Dean. His scent, his cock, his finger rubbing your clit. Dean let out a low groan from his chest, "fuck baby, this pussy's gonna make me come. You gonna come with me?"
You nod against his forehead, nose brushing against his. He leans in closer, lips nearly touching yours "come on baby, come on my cock, milk my cock" he urged you. It was like your body wanted to obey his every order, because suddenly out of nowhere your climax hit you, stronger this time.
"Ah f-f-fuck! Oh my god" you moaned, clinging to Dean, he kept pumping in and out of you, rhythm a bit unsteady.
He bit your shoulder, groaning deeply as he filled you with his seed. His strokes slowed and deepened as he twitched inside of you, making you whimper.
You stayed like that for a minute, both of you coming down from your highs and coming to terms with the fact that Dean Winchester just fucked the energy out of you.
"Fuck baby, I knew you'd be a godsend but- that was the best sex I've ever had" he kissed your shoulder, then your neck, then your lips.
You smiled into the kiss "you and I both"
He pulled away, with one last lingering kiss. He pulled his softening cock from you, watching as your mixed down leaked from your hole.
"What does this mean?" You ask.
Dean scoffs "sweetheart I'll kill anyone who thinks of touching you in cold blood." He lightly slaps your thigh. You laugh tiredly in response.
He looks at you, seriousness creeping back into his expression "just- try to be more careful. 'Cause I need you here baby."
Summary: Sam misses you, luckily your stuffie is there to keep him company.
An: this is so cute omg. If my future husband isn’t like this I DONT WANT HIM! Based off of this request because I forgot to put it in the right way and I’m too lazy to re-do it. Fk it we ball.
Drabble - Sam Masterlist
Sam sat on his normally shared bed alone. You were away for a few days, handling family letters that you swore he didn't need to be involved in, which meant his usually shared bed was empty; aside from himself, and the very old, but well taken care of giraffe named Kori that you've had since childhood.
He was initially surprised that you even left him, you took Kori everywhere. Anytime you knew you would be sleeping away from home, Kori was with out a doubt tagging along.
Usually, you'd be here. In Sam's arms, and in-between the two of you would be the stuffed animal that Sam too, has come to love overtime.
But instead he was left with just Kori, who had an almost mocking smile on his face. "I'm not really about to do this am I?" Sam mutters to himself.
He sighs begrudgingly, grabbing the Stuffie and bringing it to his chest. The smell of you engulfed his nose and something inside Sam had finally allowed him to relax.
He walked around like that all day, Kori clutched to his chest, just like you when you're in need of comfort.
He sat in the library, absentmindedly flipping through old lore books when Dean walked in. He didn't notice at first. In fact, he and Sam had an entire conversation without Dean noticing.
That was until Dean glanced at Sam after the conversation ended, and laying right there in the middle of his chest was kori.
Deans eyes narrowed in on the sight, brain trying to comprehend the image in front of him. His grown man of a brother… reading a book about demons and hell… with his girlfriends childhood Stuffie on his chest.
"Sam" Dean says. His brother hums in response, as if anything about this was normal.
"Sam." Dean says firmer, more is insistent. Sam looks up from his book, confused and irritated "what?" He snaps
Deans eyes squint, looking from Sam's face, to the stuffie smiling mockingly at him, and back.
Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader - formerly Sam Winchester x reader
Summary: you and Dean get a little closer, hidden feelings come to light.
An: finally something for my Dean. I’m in a bit of a Dean phase rn I can’t even lie, like I’ve been absorbing so much Dean content as of late so here’s to that. Definitely gonna do a part three where they finally… yk.
wc: 1.9k - Dean Masterlist - part 1
You left home.
The change had been simple at first. You had cut Sam from your life in the ways that mattered. That was every way.
You supposed it was because you had accepted a long time ago that you and Sam weren't meant to be. That maybe the budding feelings you've had for his brother was the universes fucked up way of ruining the small family you had.
It hadn't. It had just opened your eyes to the bigger picture.
You were at a park, sitting on a bench watching the lives of men, women, and children who hadn't been tainted with the knowledge of too much.
You sighed, pulling your knees to your chest, praying that the approaching footsteps weren't who you thought they were.
"You ever plan on comin home?" Said a familiar voice that you had come to miss. You shrugged your shoulders. "Didn't know if I was still welcome." You replied.
Dean takes a seat next to you. You can feel the warmth of his body even through the layers of clothing he insists looked sexy.
He snorts "please. Sam and I say worse things to each other on a daily basis" he tries to comfort. You knew he wasn't truly aware of your inner turmoil.
You shook your head, looking at him, he looked like he hadn't been sleeping, and drinking too much, even for him. "I meant what I said Dean. Sam and I… were done. I think we have been for a long time and just refused to accept it."
Deans eyes connect with yours, his eyebrows were drawn and the frown on his face deepened. "Sam loves you"
You laughed bitterly "he left me Dean. Over and over. Would you do that to… someone?" 'To me' is what you meant, but you couldn't say it.
Deans expression didn't waver, but his anwser came immediately "I'd take myself out before I willingly leave… someone I love" 'before I willingly leave you' is what he meant but couldn't say. "I'd- I'd like to say Sam would do the same… but-" he couldn't finish his sentence as if finally accepting what you already had.
You swallowed harshly, understanding perfectly "right"
"Right"
You went home with him. Against your better judgment you did.
You looked around the bunker cautiously, not ready to face Sam and the final acceptance that comes with it.
Dean noticed the caution on your face "He's not here. Left out this morning for a hunt. Shouldn't be back for a few days."
Your body visibly relaxed. What Dean refrained from telling you, was that he made Sam go because he knew you were less likely to come home if he was there.
You looked at Dean, who looked just a few pounds lighter. "Thank you for bringing me home" you said, giving him a soft smile before taking off to your room.
You spent the rest of the day there.
You were in the middle of making your bed when a knock sounded at your cracked door. You looked over and it was Dean, pushing the door open further, his apron on and a plate in his hand.
You raised your eyebrows, he cleared his throat "I uh- figured you were-" he gestured at your new change of clothes "decent, since your door was open" his ears reddened
You smiled "lucky you" you mused.
He gave a small smile, "yeah… well I made you dinner. Know you like my burgers so I fired up the grill" he held out the plate to you.
You walked towards him, grabbing the plate noticing how he kept the burger meat seperate from the bun and all of the toppings to the side because you hated soggy burger buns.
"Thank you Dean." You said, the smile on your face growing. "I- did you already eat? Or can I join you?"
"Uh no, I was gonna watch a movie in the Dean cave, you can join if you want." He offered.
You nodded "yeah of course"
That's how you spent the night, Dean, a snack bowl he had prepared (with the hopes of you joining him) and a cowboy movie.
You spent half of it giggling at deans dramatic but accurate reinactions of the movie.
The next half you spent asleep, head in deans lap. He had moved you because your head kept slipping from his shoulder.
His heart sank and soared at the sight of you in his lap. On one hand, the guilt from the feelings that had been eating him alive for years was gnawing at him more than ever. Sam's his brother, he'd do anything for him.
But in the other hand he couldn’t deny that his brother didn't deserve you. The woman that picked him up after every fight, the one who stayed beside him even after he'd done something to humiliate her (yet again) the woman he kept proving would never be the one for him.
Dean couldn't fault you for leaving Sam. Hell he'd prayed for the day that you realized he wasn't it for you. Selfishly he prayed for the day that you looked towards him with eyes that looked at him like he hung the stars and moon for you. Because he would.
Of all the things in the world Dean would do anything for you. Anything. Even if it came down to it- betraying his brother.
He tuned out the galloping sounds coming from the tv, focus set solely on you. His thumb caressed your jaw, holding back from saying everything his heart pleaded of him.
Three words and eight letters. Except he couldn't say them, not out loud. Not to you.
You woke up in your bed, your mind immediately reminded you of last night. You smiled to yourself at the content you felt.
It had been a long time since you felt that. Content. Not worrying yourself to the ground wondering if the man you loved truly loved you back. Now it didn't matter.
You slipped out of bed, quietly making your way to the kitchen to put coffee on. Your foot tapped impatiently, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing before realizing you needed a mug.
You moved towards the cabinet where the mugs were kept, groaning in irritation when you noticed the mugs far too out of your reach. "Seriously?" You muttered.
"Need a hand?" Deans voice infiltrated your ears. You turned around, eyes locking with Dean who looked at you with raised eyebrows.
You nod, stepping back. Dean brushed past you, effortlessly grabbing a mug and placing it in your hand. He glances as the coffee maker "enough for me?" He asks. You nod, he turns to grab one for himself.
"You always bring me back." you spill randomly.
He looks at you, confused and intrigued "what do you mean" his eyes narrow in the way they always did when he was trying to decipher something.
His gaze was heavy on you, like you could physically feel the weight of it. It made your heart flutter, the familiarity of it.
You turned away from him, opting to pour your coffee than watch his reaction to the words about to spill from your mouth. "When Sam messes up. Or when he decides that I'm no longer needed in the next chapter of his life. It's never him to come pick up the pieces" you explain as the coffee fills the cup.
Dean was caught off guard. Of course he knew that. Because something in him. Some sick and twisted part of him kept hoping that one day its be him that you come home to.
"Why?" You asked
'I'd be better for you. I bring you back because even with Sam I can't do this without you. I don't wanna. I want you to hurt anymore but I can't sit and watch you go.' It's what his heart said.
"Because you deserve better" was what slipped out. His gaze stayed heavy on your back, the weight almost felt like a plea. For everything and nothing at the same time.
Please let me down easy.
Please give yourself to me.
You placed the mug down on the counter, letting out a breath "I need more than that Dean. Tell me the truth." You knew there was more. You felt it and you knew he did too.
"I- look at me. Please" Dean softly demanded. You turned to him, his eyes were softer, shoulders sagging, body looking like it was half in, half out.
He moved closer to you, "I- I bring you back because I need you here." His hands grab yours " even if I can never have you, even if you're Sam's-"
"I'm not"
"Doesn't matter. You were and I can't have you because of it. But I'd rather have you around than not at all."
Your vision blurs, tears filling your waterline. "You can have me. For once be selfish." You pleaded with him. Dean closed his eyes, forehead leaning against yours "you still love Sam" he tells you.
You shake your head ready to object but he cuts you off "and even if you don't. You're off limits to me."
"I don't have to be" you muttered "he's your brother, but where was he when you were In purgatory? While I spent night and day trying to find you? In bed with another woman. One he loved."
Dean pulled away from you, he looked shocked. As if you had burned him. "You looked for me?" He asked breathlessly.
"I never stopped."
In the blink of an eye he was on you. His lips pressed against yours and for the first time ever your world seemed at peace. You moaned into his kiss, your hand moving to the back of his head and tangling in his hair.
"Thought you forgot about me" he muttered against your lips. You whined in response because how could he possibly think that? "I could never." You promised.
Deans tongue danced with yours, both of your breathing harsh and heavy against the others skin. It was so wrong, but it felt so right.
Dean grabbed your hips, pulling you as flush with him as possible. He pulled away from the kiss, his lust blown eyes connecting with your own "I need you to be mine now" he said. His eyebrows were pulled together and he looked two seconds from dropping to his knees.
He wasn't going to beg you. Not verbally. And even if he did, you didn't need to. The second you realized that Dean was the one, months before he'd returned from purgatory, you knew.
Your lips brushed against his, "I've been yours" you whispered back. Dean smiled, connecting your lips once again he pulled you tighter "damn right"
You could feel his touch travel through your bloodstream, it sparked feelings in you that you didn't know where possible. The touch, smell, and feeling of him made you feel like you were floating.
However, that all came crashing down when the sound of a clearing throat interrupted you. You killed away from Dean, looking towards the sound.
There he was, back two days early from his trip. Sam stood in the doorway, looking between you and Dean who made no effort to separate further than you already had.
Sam's jaw clenched "you weren't kidding" he said.
You shook your head "nope. How does it feel?" Your expression cold and hardened. You stepped towards him "I hope it hurts. I hope it shatters you. Maybe then- you will know a fraction of that hurt you caused me. Over and over again."
Sam's looked utterly crushed. His eyes connected with deans who's expression was as unreadable as it always was.
He looked back at you there were now tears in his eyes.
Summary: Sam misses you, luckily your stuffie is there to keep him company.
An: this is so cute omg. If my future husband isn’t like this I DONT WANT HIM! Based off of this request because I forgot to put it in the right way and I’m too lazy to re-do it. Fk it we ball.
Drabble - Sam Masterlist
Sam sat on his normally shared bed alone. You were away for a few days, handling family letters that you swore he didn't need to be involved in, which meant his usually shared bed was empty; aside from himself, and the very old, but well taken care of giraffe named Kori that you've had since childhood.
He was initially surprised that you even left him, you took Kori everywhere. Anytime you knew you would be sleeping away from home, Kori was with out a doubt tagging along.
Usually, you'd be here. In Sam's arms, and in-between the two of you would be the stuffed animal that Sam too, has come to love overtime.
But instead he was left with just Kori, who had an almost mocking smile on his face. "I'm not really about to do this am I?" Sam mutters to himself.
He sighs begrudgingly, grabbing the Stuffie and bringing it to his chest. The smell of you engulfed his nose and something inside Sam had finally allowed him to relax.
He walked around like that all day, Kori clutched to his chest, just like you when you're in need of comfort.
He sat in the library, absentmindedly flipping through old lore books when Dean walked in. He didn't notice at first. In fact, he and Sam had an entire conversation without Dean noticing.
That was until Dean glanced at Sam after the conversation ended, and laying right there in the middle of his chest was kori.
Deans eyes narrowed in on the sight, brain trying to comprehend the image in front of him. His grown man of a brother… reading a book about demons and hell… with his girlfriends childhood Stuffie on his chest.
"Sam" Dean says. His brother hums in response, as if anything about this was normal.
"Sam." Dean says firmer, more is insistent. Sam looks up from his book, confused and irritated "what?" He snaps
Deans eyes squint, looking from Sam's face, to the stuffie smiling mockingly at him, and back.
This is a silly request and it’s kindof stupid so please feel free to ignore.. Sam Winchester cuddling reader’s favourite childhood stuffed animal when she’s away? He misses her and it smells like her, and I always headcanon that Sam copies the people closest to him’s mannerisms, so he cuddles it because that’s what reader does. Maybe Dean catches him, teases him a bit. His brother has always been such a sap. <333
It’s doneeee!! 🤭 here is “stuffie” creative Ik 😭
I found this idea so cute and my standards are raised from impossible to untouchable 😊
༗description: As Sam is dealing with his addiction to demon blood and Dean fearing his brother is becoming a monster, no one checks up on you. Especially with these weird changes happening. Winchesters x Fem! Sibling Reader
༗a/n: it’s been so hard uploading lately and honestly I kinda feel like utter shit fighting with grammar and formatting as always not edited
༗WARNINGS: body gore, inspired by the movie Black Swan, vomiting, burning, cuts, blood, body parts melting like heat melting
The first feather appears on a Tuesday. You don't think much of it.
Honestly, compared to everything else happening in your life, a random black feather isn't exactly worth panicking over.
You find it caught in the sleeve of your worn down jacket while Dean drives and Sam pretends to read in the passenger seat. You flick it away and forget about it. At least, you try to. It was probably just some stupid misplacing its grooming techniques.
Then another appears.
And another.
And another.
By the end of the week you've found six.
All black.
All identical.
All showing up where they shouldn't.
Inside your backpack. On your motel pillow. Tangled in your hair. Tiny ones under your fingernails. Every time you find one, a strange feeling settles in your stomach. A warning. A feeling that something is very, very wrong.
But nobody notices.
Dean's too busy watching Sam's every move with paranoia. And Sam's too busy hiding things. So you keep your mouth shut. Like always.
⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰⋆
The coughing starts a few days later.
At first it's minor. Just a tickle in your throat. An irritation kinda like the beginning of strep throat.
Something easy to ignore. And curable with hot tea and steaming.
Then one morning you wake up feeling like your lungs are filled with broken glass.
Every breath hurts. Every inhale burns. Every exhale rattles your bones.
You spend ten minutes bent over the motel sink trying to catch your breath. The force of the cough was so strong it had left you hunched over, pushing your vertebrae to stick out against your skin.
When you finally emerge from the bathroom, Dean barely glances up from his lukewarm coffee.
"You sick?"
You force a smile.
"I'm fine. Just some allergies."
Dean nods.
"Well pick up some claritin on the way over."
Then he immediately turns to check on Sam.
It was September. Maybe the bees were also pollinating your lungs as well, leaving their stingers right next to your heart. A reminder of them in the winter.
⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰⋆
The first time you see the cuts, you almost screamed - key word almost.
You're changing clothes after a hunt when you catch sight of your reflection on the dirty motel mirror.
For a second your brain can't process what you're looking at.
Then realization hits. There are marks on your back. Long. Deep. Jagged.
Running across your shoulder blades. They look like claw marks or lizard skin. Except they're perfectly symmetrical. As if someone drew them there with a ruler.
You twist around. Trying to get a better look. Pain shoots through your back.
The skin feels tight. Tender. Almost stretched to its brim.
Like something underneath is pushing outward.
You don't tell Dean.
You already know how that conversation goes.
“Later, Y/N.”
“Not now.”
“We're dealing with Sam.”
Everything is Sam. Sam and his stupid demon blood causing him to lean into the possession of Ruby. Dean hated her. But at least he would talk to her, unlike you.
Lately it feels like you're disappearing.
Standing right in front of them and somehow being invisible.
⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰⋆
The next symptom terrifies you.
You catch your reflection in a gas station bathroom.
For half a second your eyes red.
Not bloodshot.
Not irritated.
Glowing. As the retinal veins filled with neon and burst in your frames of view, penetrating your iris.
A bright crimson flash. Your pupils began to open towards the liquid streaming down your eye ball. As if your eyes became cherry slushies in a matter of seconds.
Then they're normal again.
You stumble backward.
Your heart pounding.
"No."
The word comes out as a whisper.
You grip the sink.
Stare into the mirror.
Wait for it to happen again.
It doesn't.
But the fear stays.
Growing.
Spreading.
Poisoning every thought.
Because you know someone else whose eyes do strange things.
Someone else who was fed demon blood as a baby.
Someone else who's becoming less human every day.
Sam.
⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰⋆
The thought follows you everywhere.
Maybe you're like him.
Maybe Azazel chose both twins.
Maybe you're just finding out later.
Maybe you're turning into something awful.
You start noticing similarities.
Sam gets headaches.
You get headaches.
Sam has nightmares.
You have nightmares.
Sam's changing.
You're changing.
It makes sense. Too much sense.
And the more you think about it, the more convinced you become.
⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰⋆
Then the feathers start coming up. Again.
One minute you're brushing your teeth.
The next you're doubled over the sink coughing so hard tears blur your vision.
Something catches in your throat.
You gag.
Choke.
Spit into the sink.
And freeze.
A black feather sits in the white porcelain.
Covered in blood.
For a moment the world stops.
You stare.
Unable to breathe.
Unable to move.
Unable to think.
The feather shouldn't be there. You shouldn’t even question why it is coming within you instead of outside. This is not normal.
Nothing about this should be possible. Sure, you lived in the supernatural world, but you weren't part of it yourself. This couldn't be real.
Yet there it is.
Real.
Proof that whatever is happening to you is getting worse.
⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰⋆
You stop sleeping after that.
Every night you wake gasping.
Covered in sweat.
Your back burning. Your lungs aching. The cuts stretching wider every day.
And nobody notices.
Or maybe they do.
Maybe they just don't know what to do.
Dean spends every waking second worrying about Sam.
Following Sam.
Arguing with Sam.
Trying to save Sam.
Sometimes you want to scream at him.
Sometimes you want to grab his shoulders and shake him and shout:
LOOK AT ME.
I'M FALLING APART TOO.
But you never do.
Because Dean already looks exhausted.
And because part of you is terrified of what he'll find if he actually starts paying attention.
⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰⋆
The breaking point comes three weeks later.
You're sitting alone in a motel room when Sam walks in.
He immediately notices something is wrong. He has for a while now, he just never grew the courage to say it until now. (Especially with Dean being gone.)
You look awful.
Your skin lacks color.
Dark circles sit beneath your eyes.
Your hands won't stop shaking.
"Y/N?"
You look up.
"What?"
His forehead wrinkles.
"You look terrible."
You laugh.
A harsh, bitter sound.
"Thanks."
"I'm serious."
You look away.
For some reason that hurts.
Because Sam noticed.
Sam noticed before Dean did.
⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰⋆
Later that night, after another coughing fit leaves blood staining your shirt, Sam approaches you quietly.
He's holding a flask.
You already know what's inside.
Demon blood.
The thing Dean hates.
The thing Sam swears helps him.
The thing that's slowly destroying him.
"I think you're like me," Sam says softly.
Your stomach drops.
Because you've been thinking the exact same thing. For weeks. For months. The only difference is Sam got to beat demons and you ended up feeling like one. It wasas if you got the other end of the deal.
"I know."
Sam sits beside you.
For a moment he's just your twin.
Not Lucifer's vessel.
Not the chosen child.
Not the boy carrying the weight of the apocalypse.
Just Sam.
Your brother.
The boy who used to hold your hand during thunderstorms. The boy who always shared his snickers. The boy who once punched a bully for making you cry.
"It helps," he says.
You stare at the flask. "If it helps you..."
"Maybe it'll help you too." He finished your sentence.
You don't want to do it.
Every instinct in your body screams not to.
But you're desperate.
You're scared.
And most of all—You want this nightmare to stop.
So you take the flask, and drink.
The second it touches your tongue, you know you've made a mistake.
Pain explodes through your body. Not discomfort. Not nausea.
Fuckin pain. Pure. Blinding.Agony.
The flask slips from your fingers and crashes onto the motel floor.
You barely hear it. Your ears are ringing. Your heartbeat is pounding so loudly it drowns everything else out.
"Y/N?"
Sam's voice sounds far away.
You clutch your throat.
It feels like you've swallowed fire. Actual hell fire.
Like molten metal is burning its way down your chest. Molding your insides to steel beams.
"Sam..."
The word comes out broken. Barely audible.
Then your knees hit the carpet.
Hard.
A scream tears from your throat. And suddenly Sam is beside you.
"Y/N!"
Your entire body convulses.
The pain spreads. Down your neck.
Across your shoulders. Through your ribs.
Every nerve feels like it's being ripped apart.
Something hot crawls beneath your skin.
You look down.
And your blood runs cold.
Golden cracks are spreading up your arms.
Thin lines glowing beneath your flesh.
Like sunlight trapped under your skin.
"What the hell—"Another scream cuts you off.
The motel room blurs.
Your vision doubles.
Triples.
The cuts on your back feel like they're splitting open.
Something pushes against them.
Something enormous.
Something trying to get out.
"Dean!" Sam shouts.
"DEAN!" He shouts again, and as if teleportation became a reality, the door slams open so hard it nearly flies off its hinges.
Dean storms inside.
"What happened?!"
Then he sees you.
And freezes.
For one horrible second nobody moves.
You lie crumpled on the floor.
Shaking.
Crying.
Barely conscious.
Smoke rises from your skin.
Actual smoke.
The air smells scorched.
Burn marks spread across your arms and neck. Your skin begins to melt off your bone and mold into lumps of molten lava. Almost as if your skin began to wrinkle like a pig in a fryer.
The carpet beneath you is blackening and rising with thick smoke.
Dean's face loses all color.
"Y/N."
You hear it.
The fear in his voice.
Real fear.
The kind he rarely lets anyone see.
The kind that instantly makes you feel six years old again.
"Dean..."
Your voice breaks.
Another wave of agony slams into you.
You scream.
Dean is beside you immediately.
One hand gripping your shoulder.
The other brushing your hair back from your face.
"Hey."
His voice shakes.
"Hey, hey, look at me."
You try.
You really do.
But everything hurts too much.
"Dean..."
"You're okay."
The lie is automatic.
You both know it.
Dean looks up at Sam.
"What happened?"
Sam looks sick.
Actually sick.
Like he might throw up.
"I gave her some."
Dean frowns.
"What?"
Sam swallows.
"Demon blood."
The room goes silent.
For a moment Dean simply stares.
Not understanding. Not processing. Then realization hits.
His eyes widen. "You did what?"
"I thought she was like me!"
Dean stands so fast the lamp rattles.
"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR DAMN MIND?!"
Another scream tears out of you.
Both brothers immediately snap their attention back.
Your body arches off the floor. The cuts on your back split wider. Blood soaks through your shirt. It was as if teeth with chomping away the flesh of your back and replacing the once smooth flesh with flakes of crisp bone.
Dean's heart nearly stops.
"Y/N!"
The motel lights begin flickering.
On.
Off.
On.
Off.
Off.
On.
Then every light explodes at once.
Glass rains from the ceiling. The television shorts out. The mirror shatters. The windows crack. A morning dove's cry could be heard within the blended screams.
And for one impossible second—the entire room fills with white light.
Blinding.
Beautiful.
Terrifying.
Dean throws an arm over his eyes.
Sam stumbles backward.
The walls shake.
The floor trembles.
And behind you—
For the briefest moment—
Something appears.
Massive.
Brilliant.
A silhouette made entirely of light.
Wings.
Huge marbled wings.
Stretching from one side of the room to the other.
Then they're gone.
Just like that.
The light disappears.
The shaking stops.
And you collapse.
Motionless.
Silence.
Nobody breathes.
Nobody moves.
Dean stares.
His mind refusing to process what just happened.
"Y/N?"
Nothing.
He reaches for your pulse.
His hand shakes.
"Come on."
Nothing.
Fear settles heavily in his chest.
Cold.
Sharp.
Familiar.
He remembers another hospital room.
Another impossible loss.
Another person he couldn't save.
"No."
His voice cracks.
"Come on, kid."
Still nothing.
The panic starts rising.
Fast.
Dangerously fast.
Because Y/N isn't supposed to be the one lying there.
She's supposed to be stubborn.
Annoying. Rolling her eyes. Arguing with him. For everything good in the world, she was supposed to be making fun of his haircuts and sideburns, not on the floor waiting for door dashed reaper.
Not—not this.
Never this.
⋆⊱༻𖥸༺⊰⋆
The familiar flutter of wings echoed through the motel room, but this time it didn't bring relief.
Dean spun around, ready to snap at Castiel for appearing unannounced as usual, but the words died in his throat the moment he saw the angel's face.
Something was wrong.
Terribly wrong.
Over the years Dean had seen Castiel experience just about every human emotion imaginable. He'd seen him furious enough to start wars, confused by humanity's simplest habits, determined enough to rebel against Heaven itself, and burdened by guilt so heavy it nearly destroyed him.
But fear?
Dean had never seen Castiel afraid.
Not once.
Yet that was exactly what he saw now.
The angel's eyes immediately found Y/N's unconscious form sprawled across the motel floor. His expression tightened as he took in the burns crawling across her skin, the blood staining her clothes, and the black feathers scattered around her like the aftermath of some impossible storm.
For a moment, Castiel simply stared.
Then the color drained from his face.
"What happened?" he asked quietly.
Dean pointed toward Sam.
Sam looked sick enough to collapse.
"I gave her demon blood."
The words hung in the air.
Castiel's gaze shifted to him so slowly that it made Dean's stomach twist.
"Why?"
Sam swallowed hard. "I thought she was infected too. I thought she was like me."
The silence that followed felt unbearable.
Castiel crossed the room and knelt beside Y/N. His hand hovered over one of the burn marks on her arm without quite touching it. The closer he got, the more troubled he seemed.
"You thought she was like you, Sam," he said.
It wasn't a question.
It sounded like an accusation.
Sam's shoulders sagged beneath the weight of it.
"Isn't she?"
For a moment Castiel said nothing.
His eyes closed briefly, and when they opened again there was something exhausted in them, as though he were carrying knowledge he had hoped never to share.
Dean immediately hated whatever answer was coming.
Finally, Castiel looked up.
"She was never infected."
Dean frowned.
"What?"
The angel's gaze returned to Y/N.
The hardness in his expression softened into something that looked dangerously close to grief.
"She was never carrying demon blood."
The room fell completely silent.
Sam stared.
Dean stared.
Neither of them understood.
Dean let out a frustrated laugh.
"What the hell does that mean?"
Castiel remained quiet for a moment before speaking.
"When Azazel fed Sam his blood as an infant, Heaven became aware of what he was doing."
Dean's stomach sank.
A cold feeling settled deep in his chest.
"...Go on."
For the first time, Castiel seemed reluctant.
"It means one twin was claimed by Hell."
Dean's jaw tightened.
His eyes immediately moved to Sam.
"And the other?"
Castiel looked down at Y/N once more.
The expression on his face made Dean wish he hadn't asked.
"The other was claimed by Heaven."
The words struck the room like a thunderclap.
For several seconds nobody spoke.
Dean's mind raced through months of memories.
The feathers.
The coughing fits.
The strange wounds on her back.
The flashes of red in her eyes.
The way she always looked exhausted.
The way she kept insisting something was wrong, then backing down saying it was nothing.
The way he'd brushed it aside because Sam's problems had seemed more urgent. I mean, his brother was drinking demon blood straight from the source.
One by one, every piece fell into place.
Not demon blood.
Grace.
Angel grace.
The realization made him feel physically ill.
His gaze dropped to his sister's unconscious form.
She looked so small lying there.
Fragile.
Human.
Yet apparently she had been carrying something impossible inside her for her entire life.
Dean remembered every time she had tried to get his attention.
Every complaint he hadn't listened to.
Every cough he'd ignored.
Every exhausted look he'd failed to notice.
While he'd been watching Sam spiral toward Hell, Y/N had been suffering right in front of him.
And he hadn't seen any of it.
Guilt settled heavily in his chest.
Because for weeks he'd convinced himself he was protecting his family.
But looking at Y/N now, broken and unconscious on the motel floor, all he could think was that he'd failed her.
He should have noticed. He should have listened.He should have been there.
And somehow, the look on Castiel's face told him that none of that was the worst part.
Whatever was happening to Y/N, whatever Heaven had hidden inside her all those years ago, it wasn't over.
In fact, Dean had the sinking feeling it was only just beginning.
★ Stars: Dean Winchester x GN!Reader x Castiel (romantic, former), Jack Kline x GN!Reader (platonic - parental)
★ Co-stars: Sam Winchester
★ Plot: You'll do whatever you have to to protect your son, even if it means leaving behind one of the two people in life who used to mean everything to you.
★ Run Time: 1k
★ Warnings: angsty angst angst angst, intense & protective anger, grief, betrayal, break-up, doing what's best for Jack even if it hurts everyone, Dean hate (I adore him but these couple of episodes made me hate him)
꧁ Read my rules and send a request! ꧂
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You stood in the bunker, back against the wall, cold seeping into your skin through your clothes. You just watched. Dean, screaming at Sam, telling him what monster Jack was, that he didn't deserve to be saved, that he was nothing.
You couldn't fucking take it anymore.
Before you knew it, the rage inside you boiled over. You didn't feel your feet moving until you were halfway across the room. One raise of your hands, one push, and you slammed Dean against a wall.
"What the fuck are you doing?!"
He didn't fight you, he never thought he'd have to, he didn't know how.
Before you could answer, before you could think about what you were doing, your palm stung. Dean looked at you in shock. Unless he was being controlled by some mystical, magical bullshit, you had never hit him before. Once he asked, after he was way out of line, why you didn't just deck him then and there. You told him it was because you never wanted him to feel anything but kindness from you. For you to be his refuge, the only person who would never hurt him.
He should've known you were lying.
Now, you looked at him and all there was inside you was anger. He used to be your calm and your love and the light in this fucked up world, half of it at least. But you just felt a twist in your heart now, one look at his fucking face made your fists clench.
"Stop it" Your voice wasn't anything it had been before.
You had been mad, furious. Never with him, but he'd seen it. The only time you ever scared him was when you were protecting someone you loved, and if he had a few braincells that weren't soaking in a big, wet heap of grief and guilt and hate, he'd see that that's what you were doing now to. Only, this was the first time you weren't protecting him.
"Look, I-"
"No" You shook your head "You've said enough. Listen for once"
You kept your forearm just under his throat, lower now, not pressing against his windpipe but close enough that you could cut off his air at any moment.
"That thing, is a scared, hurt little boy. He's lost his mother, his f-, his father. He's hurt people in a way he has no control over and he thinks one of the only people in this world who might ever give a damn about him hates him. And you threatened to kill him"
Sam's eyes flicked between you and Dean, panicked, not knowing whether to stop you or add fuel to the fire. Neither seemed to be the safest option right now. He was probably right.
"Y'know, it should be enough" You laughed, bitter and dead and wrong "It should be enough for you but it isn't. I love him because he is Castiel's son and that is enough"
You didn't know, but Jack heard you. He sat around the corner, hearing the filth Dean spewed, convincing himself that what he said was true, until you stopped him. You were sweet to him, maybe a little distant, it was to be expected, but sweet nonetheless. He never thought you might love him, or even really care about him, he was beginning to think it was impossible for anyone to love a creature as evil as himself. But somehow, you did. All because of his father. Your Angel.
"So you can hate him all you like, but the mirror is pretty fuckin' clearly showing your own reflection there Dean" You took a few steps back, all anger dropping from your bones, pure truth the only thing left, cold in your voice "But if you lay a hand on my son, I will end you. I promise you that, baby"
You spat out the last word, the last time you'd call him that, and walked off, rounding the corner without looking back.
Easily.
Sam was the one knocking on your door after. Three careful, frighteningly light raps.
"Hey, uhm" He took a step in, your back stayed turned to him "M-"
"I'm not apologising. I meant every word and the same goes for you"
"I know I just- Dean, he's-he's pretty messed up right now. With mom, with Cas, he just-"
"I lost him too, Sam. And if I see Lucifer, I will beat him and stab him and hurt him and burn him in every way imaginable until he kills me. But Jack is innocent"
"I know, I think that too, but-"
Sam stopped, seeing the open drawers of your dresser, the empty space next to Dean's shirts.
"You're not-"
"I am" You turned to face him, eyes red, cheeks dry now "I'm almost finished packing, then I'm taking Jack and we're leaving"
"You can't just-"
"Yeah, Sam, I can"
Dean paused just before your door, coming to fake whatever apology would land you back in his arms by midnight. You weren't dumb, but you loved him too much.
"Please, don't" Sam reached out, hand falling to your shoulder before you shook it off.
"This isn't my home anymore. I can't stay"
"Just give it some time. I-I know Dean can be- he just needs to adjust, cool off a little"
"And what if he doesn't? I lose a son and both of them? I can't do that, Sammy. Just can't"
You stepped past him, halfway to the door.
"If you walk away, you're gonna lose Dean for good"
"I lost him the moment Lucifer drove a blade through our lover's heart. He's gone, Sam. He's not coming back and I don't want to put myself and Jack through what's left, we deserve better. He does"
"Fine" Sam conceded, you could hear that little hint of betrayal in his tone "But you walk out that door, and you're not welcome back"
"Wasn't plannin' on making the round trip. Done it one too many times already"
Taglist for all of my Supernatural writing - 49 + more in reblogs!
I’m kinda curious, in the bugs episode in early season 1, when Dean told Sam that John went by Stanford whenever he could, I’m wondering if it was really Dean going by Stanford to check on Sam.
Genuinely I don’t see John doing that. Especially now that I’ve ventured further into the show; that’s just not at all John’s character. It’s more deans to have been the one doing it but telling Sam that it was John just to save his face.
pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x kook!sororitygirl! reader
rating explicit 18+
summary when rafe’s friends bet that he can’t charm you into sleeping with him, he can’t say no to the challenge. he has no idea that you decide to make a game out of his advances. you have a secret bet to win, too. and you’re determined to break his heart.
< prev
Your sorority house is bright, crowded, and covered in pink decorations. Once Rafe steps into the Valentine’s Day themed party, he realizes just how stupid it is to be here. But after a month of replaying that conversation in the parking lot, a month of silence between you since then, he couldn’t turn down the opportunity to see you again.
You had real feelings. You admitted to regretting hurting him. To liking him. It’s why he’s here, stubbornly hopeful that you’ll find that spark again, because what you two had after you gave up on your stupid bets was too good for him to forget about.
He moves deeper into the house with Mac and Cooper, scanning the crowds. A few nights ago, he’d had too much to drink, and he didn't tell them everything, nothing about your bet, but he did admit to them that he actually liked you.
It was awkward. Mac slapped his shoulder, told him he’d get over it. Cooper made a joke, teased that the whole point of the bet was to not catch feelings. It was the typical response he’s used to, being told to man up. All he had left to do was pretend it didn’t hurt.
They find a pocket of space and Rafe leans against his wall, trying to ground himself, when he sees you. You’re near the kitchen doorway, laughing with someone, unbothered and looking impossibly beautiful in a short white dress. His fingers curl against his palm.
Mac notices him zoning out. He follows Rafe’s eye line, then huffs a quiet laugh when he sees who Rafe’s staring at.
“Bro, there’s a million other girls,” Mac says. “At least fifty in this house. You gotta quit acting like she’s the only one.”
“She’s got you whipped,” Cooper adds, grinning.
Rafe ignores the pain in his stomach, the anger rushing into him, and just laughs it off, the way he’s supposed to, the way he’s expected to.
“Shut up, man,” Rafe scoffs. “I’m good.”
Mac shifts his weight, glancing between Rafe and you across the room.
“It’s really over over, huh?” Mac asks.
Rafe knows he’s asking if he should try again, if there’s something left to salvage. But they don’t know all of it. And then, he remembers Mac’s voice from the start of the bet. She hates you.
“You were right,” Rafe says, keeping his tone light. “She hates me. So, who you gonna strike out with tonight?”
Mac shoves him and Rafe laughs, relieved the attention is off of him, glad that he can still fake being okay when he needs to.
・・・・・
“I just heard some gossip about you,” Jada says quietly, approaching you as the crowd shifts around her.
Her words make your stomach tighten. It hits the same nerve Rafe pressed when he told you what people say about you, how you don’t have feelings.
“I don’t want to know,” you laugh, but it comes out thin.
“I was eavesdropping over there.”
She tilts her head toward the front of the house. You follow her gaze.
Rafe is leaning against the wall, standing with the same two guys he’d told you had bet him to sleep with you. You’ve felt his eyes on you all night. You’ve been drawn to him since the moment he walked in, but you’ve refused to give in. You’ve never had to have this much self-control over a guy before.
“His friend said he’s whipped for you,” Jada murmurs.
“Hm,” you say flatly.
It’s clear that Jada knows you’re only acting like you don’t care. After everything you told her, every late night where you sat on the edge of your bed, frustrated and hurt, asking her to physically take your phone away from you so you wouldn’t text Rafe, she can read you easily.
And funny enough, despite how messy the situation was, she roots for you two. She said that it was obvious something real had begun between you, that sometimes two wrongs do kind of make a right.
“And then that other guy was like, is it really over?” she continues. “And Rafe said it is because you hate him.”
You shrug, taking a sip of your drink.
“Do you?” she asks, her brows raised.
“He’s still hanging around the same guys who made a bet on me,” you reply.
“Don’t you still hang out with the friends who made the bet on him?” she asks.
“Can we not do this?” you laugh, used to her stubborn optimism.
Your eyes drift over to Rafe. You don’t hate him. You hate what you did to each other.
Admittedly, you were thinking about approaching him tonight. Even after everything, part of you still wants him anyway. At a safe distance.
Impulse has never been your strong suit, and when it comes to Rafe, it’s even worse.
・・・・・
As the night drags on, you eventually cross paths in the crowd. Rafe’s close enough that you can smell his cologne, close enough that you don’t want to pretend you don’t feel the pull.
Without thinking, in your tipsy state, you tug lightly at the sleeve of his dark blue t-shirt. He looks over, his expression losing its tension, and he leans down to hear you over the music and the crowd, dipping his head closer.
“You didn’t even try,” you say, looking up at him.
“Huh?” he murmurs, a tiny smirk pulling on his lips, heart pounding now that you’re talking to him.
You look stunning, but all he can think about is how much he prefers to see you like he did the night he came over, when you were barefaced and wearing nothing but a t-shirt. There’s something different about your beauty then, when you’re comfortable and unguarded.
“You didn’t even try,” you repeat, and gesture around at the pink, red, and white decorations scattered across the house. “There’s a theme.”
The tension between you is so thick and so familiar, the kind of heaviness that can only come from two people who admitted they had feelings for each other and then gave up anyway.
Rafe licks his lips, shaking his head just slightly, accepting the fact that even after a month of no contact, you pull him in effortlessly.
“You look…” he starts, voice low.
His gaze drifts over you slowly, and suddenly, it makes you feel exposed. He’s looking at you like he’s thinking about everything you admitted to, and it’s instinct to pull away when you feel this vulnerable.
“I know,” you say self-assuredly. Then, you pace past him, deeper into the crowd, slipping back into how it was before, when you kept him at arm’s length.
There’s a sharp twist in your chest as you walk away, because no matter how many hard feelings you still carry, the gravity between you and Rafe hasn’t gone anywhere.
You can feel it. You’re sure he can, too.
・・・・・
It’s a Friday in mid‑March, and the air is cooling, the tide rolling over the sand as the sun sets.
You and your friends spread your blankets out in a circle. You're glad you came home for Spring Break, even though you’ve spent the whole week noticing that Rafe hasn’t been around.
He must’ve gone far away. You shouldn’t care, shouldn’t wonder if he’s talking to someone else. You’ve never felt jealousy like this before, but that’s just more proof of how he’s completely changed things.
・・・・・
The beach is nearly full when Rafe gets there with his friends. He stands apart from them as they sit down, staring out at the water.
He almost didn’t answer when his mom called yesterday. He thought of what you’d told him, that someone who can leave their family doesn’t deserve a space in their life. But he picked up. And she told him she’ll come back to the island soon for his birthday. Just to see him and his sisters.
It’s been haunting him. And as if he doesn’t have enough on his mind, he hears you before he sees you, that genuine laugh of yours that used to love. He scans the crowd ahead until he finds you sitting with your friends.
It feels like it used to, back when you silently circled each other around Kildare, oblivious to how easy things would be if you just had a genuine conversation. If things were different, if you’d just started this organically, you’d learn just how much you have in common, how joking and talking together can last hours but feel like minutes.
He hates this. The one time he felt a girl could actually understand him, she was only with him to hurt him.
He wasn’t harsh enough with you for what you did to him, but he couldn’t let his temper snap the way it usually does.
Normally, he’d lose it, scream at someone for doing something like that to him, but he couldn’t bring himself to raise his voice at you. Because there’s something about you that softens him. And he hates how powerless he is to it.
・・・・・
As night falls, the tide keeps pushing everyone back, higher and higher up the beach. The sand is crowded now, bodies everywhere, music thumping.
You and Rafe end up shifting into the same open patch of sand. He’s sitting, but you’re standing, and he sees you rub your bare arms, the wind colder now that the sun is gone.
He hasn’t spoken to you since Valentine’s Day. You told him this was over before that, and he decided that if you wanted him, you’d come to him like you did at that party. He swore he wouldn’t go out on a limb again. But then he sees you cold, and he can’t pretend he doesn’t care.
Everyone around both of you is talking and laughing. No one is looking. And he lets himself listen to his instinct, once again losing control when it comes to you.
Rafe stands up and steps toward you. His button-up is loose over his t-shirt, and he pulls it off.
You finally see him standing beside you, towering over you. He holds the overshirt out, his hand brushing your arm.
With everyone drunk and distracted, it feels like the whole party disappears, like it’s just you two, the tide pushing you into the same space. Like this, like you and him, are inevitable.
“Here,” he murmurs.
The reflex to protect yourself and shut him out crashes into you. You almost say you don’t need it, but the feeling of looking in those blue eyes again cracks you open. It’s something you’ve been starving for.
“Returning the favor?” you say softly, reminding him of the night you offered your sweater to clean him up after that fight.
A small smirk tugs at Rafe’s lips, like he’s reminiscing about it too, about everything that came before. The expression fades as quickly as it came.
You take his shirt, and even though it’s thin, when you pull it over your arms, it offers you a familiar warmth.
“You wanna…?” Rafe murmurs, nodding behind you, toward the dunes. You nod at the invitation to find privacy and slip away with him, the cool night air carrying the salty smell of the ocean, your shoes sinking into the sand.
・・・・・
Seconds later, you settle in the cool sand, sitting side-by-side, half-hidden by the dunes.
The distant party thunders ahead. Rafe notices how good it feels to see his shirt on you, to know you’re more comfortable now. He always liked this feeling, of taking care of someone. He’s spent most of his life feeling replaceable. This gives him value.
“How are you?” he asks.
“It’s been a quiet week,” you say. He can’t tell if that’s good or bad. “You?”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Where’d you go for the break?”
“No where. Just stayed at school.”
“Oh.” You’d been so sure he’d escaped somewhere far away. “Makes sense, I guess.”
Rafe just looks at you, waiting for you to continue. And for a second it’s like you forget that you have so much history between you. His eyes look so soft, his lips so inviting. But you don’t give in. You can’t.
“I mean, you do kind of hate it here, don’t you?” you add.
He rubs his hand over his mouth, gaze turning towards the dark water. Being home always drags him back into the parts of himself he’d rather outrun, to the memory of his mother leaving, and the fact she’ll be here again in a couple of weeks.
“What?” you say when he doesn’t answer.
Rafe doesn’t see why he’d open up to you when you rarely open up back. Sitting here with you feels good in the moment, but you’ll just walk away again, and he’ll be left with nothing but a hollow feeling.
He’s not even sure why he pulled you away. Except he is. It’s because you’re a habit he can’t break.
He exhales, eyes flicking to his shirt on you.
“You look better in it than I do,” he murmurs, changing the subject.
“Does that mean I can keep it?”
“You want to?”
It’s a simple question, but it’s not at the same time. You know he’s asking about whether you want to keep a reminder of him. And you don’t know how to answer that without giving yourself away.
“If I look good in it, then yes,” you say, trying to play it off.
Rafe breathes a half-hearted chuckle, his expression dimming with disappointment. You hate that it gets under your skin. So, you swallow hard, and let yourself be honest.
“Hey, I… I don’t hate you,” you say. “I heard that you think that. But it’s not true.”
Rafe’s jaw tightens. He wants to ask where you heard, then decides against it. It doesn’t matter. He misses you, and it’s good to hear you don’t hate him, but it hurts just as bad to know you could never love him, either.
He only nods and doesn’t meet your eyes. The ache in your chest deepens. Even though what he did hurt you, you think you hurt him more.
You wonder if he still wants something real with you. After what you did, maybe he doesn’t. But either way, you know you can’t give him that.
Your father leaving ripped something out of you. It left you trapped, gave you a fear of being seen for who you are and of being abandoned for it. You wish you could fix it, but what if you can’t, and what if Rafe ends up being the one who pays for it?
You exhale, and you reach for the only escape you know. Distraction.
“When are people going to realize we don’t need three different songs playing at the same time?” you say, shaking your head as the music overlaps at the party ahead.
Silhouettes move in clusters in the sand under the night sky. It’s a representation of exactly what your life here has always been: surrounded by other Kooks who have nothing to do but party.
Rafe can’t help but smirk when he recognizes that annoyed look on your face, the adorable way your eyes narrow.
He wants to say how pretty you are, but he wouldn’t be able to take the rejection, so he says, “You sure you’re not the one who hates it here?”
You catch yourself scowling and laugh. And Rafe revels in it. He should be used to it, being the exception for the girl who’s known as cold, for making her laugh when she usually only offers glares, but it still feels so good. It always will.
As you continue to talk and make jokes, it starts to feel like the dynamic you once had. It’s an easy back‑and‑forth that you only get with him.
Eventually, you realize you’ve been gone far too long. Your friends will wonder where you disappeared to, but most of all, you can’t let yourself get too comfortable here.
You pull off the overshirt and hand it back to Rafe. It felt so good, letting him take care of you, being so close to him again, but it’ll all just make you want him more, miss him more. And you can’t want him, because you’ve spent years building walls you don’t know how to take down.
It feels cruel to let him believe in something you’re still afraid of. The guilt settles in your chest. He deserves more than your uncertainty.
“I should get back,” you say. “My friends are gonna start worrying.”
Rafe takes the shirt, fingers brushing yours, watching you stand and dust sand off your shorts.
“What’d you tell them?” he murmurs.
You meet his eyes in the dark, and you realize he’s asking what you told them about your bet. About his. It used to annoy you, the way he’d pry, but now you can see he’s just trying to understand you.
“That I didn’t go through with it,” you admit, gazing at him as he sits under the moonlight, the wind stirring his hair, brushing it across his forehead. “That things just… fizzled out.”
You pause and look away, still not used to this kind of vulnerability. But there’s something too special between you to let him believe a lie, to let him think you’re as emotionless as pretend you are.
“I didn’t want to admit that I got hurt,” you say, voice thinning out.
That’s when Rafe gets that it’s not just him you keep at a distance. It’s everyone.
He watches you leave, the sound of the waves filling the silence you left behind.
・・・・・
It’s the first weekend of April, only an hour into the frat party, and you’re already exhausted. Studying for finals has taken a toll on you. You don’t want to ruin your friends’ fun, so you let them know you’re going home and rush away before they can protest.
The main reason you came was because you knew Rafe would probably be here. It’s his frat’s party, after all. You can admit you miss him. He gives you a feeling nobody ever has.
But you haven’t seen him. And maybe that’s for the best.
You slip out the front door, the same doorstep where he spilled his drink on you that night in October. The memory flashes through your mind, how angry you were, especially once he asked if you were always so sensitive. It’s ironic, because he’s the one who’s shown just how deeply he can feel.
You recognize his baseball hat first. Rafe’s sitting on the top step of the porch, broad back to the door, elbows on his knees, a beer bottle dangling from one hand.
Now that you see him, you tell yourself you should just walk past him. Mostly because you know his birthday was a few days ago. It came up in one of your many conversations a while back, and you haven’t forgotten the date.
You almost want to avoid him, because you feel bad for not sending him a happy birthday text. But it felt too weird and sentimental and vulnerable to do it.
As you stare at him now, though, feeling just how much your chest warms simply from being a few feet away from him, you don’t think you can ignore what’s been tugging at you any longer.
Before Rafe, you were used to living with an emptiness inside of you. It was tolerable, but impossible to escape. And then this temperamental, funny, frustrating, complex man made you actually want to put your guard down. He’s shown you what life can look like when you let someone in, even just a little.
Giving into this feeling goes against every instinct you have, but standing here now, you know you’d rather feel something, even if it’s pain, than nothing at all.
Rafe feels the step shift beside him, and he turns his head right away, and when he sees you sit next to him, it’s like his heart stops.
You look so pretty. It's insane how it’s been weeks and he can’t stop thinking about you. He keeps telling himself to move on from the girl who told him whatever this is was over, but something's clearly wrong with him.
He first sat here with a hollow feeling in his chest, but it’s gone now that you’re here.
“Is this a new habit?” you ask over the sound of the muffled bass, over the groups of students chattering as they walk down the street.
Rafe looks at you, the planes of his face sharp in the porch light.
“Bailing on parties to just… sit somewhere?” you add.
His dimples flash as he huffs a quiet laugh.
“What, you keepin’ tabs on me?” he teases.
“It’s hard not to when you’re out here looking so lonely," you play along.
It stings him a little to hear that, but it also makes him feel kind of wanted that you noticed.
“I’m good,” Rafe says, because admitting the truth is admitting that he wants you, and the last time he did that, you told him you don’t want him back.
You interlace your fingers in your lap, steadying yourself, deciding to finally say it out loud, to show him you care.
“How was your birthday?” you ask.
Rafe’s head lifts. He wasn’t expecting you to remember. What happened that day has been sitting heavy on him, mostly because he let himself hope it would be different this time. He feels stupid for it.
He looks at you, at the way you’re actually listening, and he answers honestly because if anyone would understand this kind of disappointment, it’s you.
“My mom was supposed to visit,” he says.
A pang sinks into your heart. Clearly, she didn’t show up.
“Why didn’t she?” you ask.
He shrugs.
“Said she couldn’t make the timing work.”
He hates that he’s still hurting over this. He should be used to people not showing up for him by now. And it’s fucking with him how before his mom hung up to tell him she wasn’t coming, she told him she missed him. If she really did, then where the hell was she?
But he keeps that part to himself. Because he remembers that night in the poolhouse, how coldly you asked if he expected you to feel sorry for him, and even though you’re looking at him with so much compassion right now, your eyes softened, he can’t say it.
You nod slowly, feeling the sadness he’s trying to swallow like it’s your own. You realize you’d take your dad’s silence over the kind of hope his mom gives him any day. At least you know not to expect anything.
“That’s a bad excuse,” you reply.
Rafe shakes his head, rubs his thumb over his knee.
“I shouldn’t give a shit,” he says with a humorless laugh, then takes a swig of his beer.
Your lips twist. You’ve spent so long hiding from feelings, but now, you can understand that bravery isn’t shutting emotions out. It’s letting them in. He’s shown you that.
“Caring isn’t a bad thing,” you say quietly.
Rafe’s eyes harden a little. You’re being kind, but only from a distance, because you’re always at a distance, and knowing that leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
“It is to you,” he replies, his temper slipping through.
You inhale and look away. His truthful words dig into your heart.
For a second, Rafe thinks you’re going to leave. The thought is bittersweet, because he loves how it feels to be near you, but he knows the ache that will come later, just like the one you left after you walked away from him on the beach.
“Because I’m…” you begin, forcing a weak smile. “I’m messed up.”
It’s the closest you’ve come to admitting it, that you’re so emotionally shut out because you’re convinced something is broken inside of you.
“So what?” he responds. “So am I.”
You like that he doesn’t try to prove you wrong. He’s seen the ugly parts of you, and he knows better than to pretend they aren’t there. It’s something you appreciate about him. There’s no sugarcoating.
“You have it in you to still try to trust people,” you say, meeting his gaze. “I don’t.”
His eyes search yours, and it’s almost unbearable how exposed and bare you feel right now.
“Why not?” he scoffs, sharp, like he still believes this is fixable. Like you’re fixable.
“Why do you want to know so bad?” you reply with the same tone.
“Why don’t you let me?”
“Because I think you think you like me,” you say. “But if you really got to know me…”
You swallow down the threat of tears. The painfully honest words feel wrong in your mouth and every instinct tells you to leave, but Rafe is your weakness. You’ve accepted that now.
He squints in disbelief. He never imagined that what held you back wasn’t him, but you. The realization hits hard, that maybe it was never his fault for not getting through, but yours for never letting him. And that’s crazy. Can’t you see how happy he is when he’s with you?
He remembers you telling him it was when he came to your room after that phone call with your mom that you chose to let the bet go. From that moment on, whatever was between you wasn’t an act.
“You forgot about it after that day in your room, yeah?” he asks, brows furrowing.
The memory turns in your mind. He didn’t say the word bet, and you’re thankful for it. Hearing it now would hurt too much.
You nod, remembering that cloudy Sunday morning, remembering staring at him as he sat on your bed and making the decision that you weren’t going to try to break his heart anymore.
“You weren’t faking anything after that,” he mutters, eyes locked on you. “I know you weren’t. I did know you. I do. And I still…”
He huffs, looking down at his beer, jaw tightening. You watch his hard profile, your pulse pounding in your ears.
“You still…?” you breathe.
“You already know,” he says, resigned.
And you do. He still wants you.
And that’s all you needed to hear.
Something breaks open inside of you, every remaining bit of control you had shattering and falling away. You lean in and guide him closer, your fingers brushing over his jaw. He doesn’t fight it, his head turning towards yours beneath your touch, letting you press an impulsive kiss to his lips.
Rafe kisses you back, hard, his beer bottle landing on the concrete with a dull thump, his hands finding your face, feeling himself grimace with relief, with pain. Your mouth is soft on his, your skin warm, the sounds of your breath so utterly perfect. Everything about you is so damn perfect.
You pull back, gazing at him, your hands slowly dragging down to his shoulders.
This all started with a ridiculous bet that was never supposed to mean anything. But why should that matter now? You’re always looking for excuses, always finding reasons to run. And that makes you just like your father, just like everyone who’s ever walked away. Selfish, hurting someone who doesn’t deserve it.
You take a breath, realizing how many times Rafe’s been the one to open up first, to tell the truth, to risk something. Even after everything, he still wants you. And you still want him.
You don’t want to live in the past anymore, expecting pain and abandonment. You need to take a risk. And he’s worth it.
“I’ve spent my whole life trying not to care,” you tell him, his hands still cradling your face, steadying you. “It’s always been so much easier to pretend I don’t feel anything. And it got to a point where I really didn’t. But then, I met you.”
Rafe takes you in, takes in how even the small things about you undo him. His pulse is thundering, hope blooming as you speak.
“I hate how this started and how we lied to each other,” you say, “but I’m still glad it happened.”
He sees your lip tremble and his hands shift to take yours, resting on your lap. He’s used to you looking confident and unbothered and untouchable, but now, he sees total uncertainty.
“I want to be with you,” you confess. “I don’t know how to do this, but I… want to try. Do you?”
For a second, Rafe can’t breathe. Hearing you say those words makes the ache that’s lived in him for so long soften.
And for the first time, he feels wanted, chosen, and it’s by a girl who sees him in ways no one else ever has. He always thought he was too soft, pretending he didn’t care just like you always did, but you saw it all, every part of him, and you still want him anyway. You still want to take this risk, even though you’re terrified.
And this is something he’s been waiting his whole life to feel. For once, he doesn’t have to be tough or loud or anything forced.
He leans in. This kiss is different. It feels like both of you let go of the tension that’s been holding you apart as your lips meet. It’s slow, gentle, like you’ve reached the end of a race and both made it.
You pull away, eyes meeting his, your thumb tracing the edge of his hand. You can feel the pulse in his wrist. It’s going just as fast as yours.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, and it makes you laugh, because the way he just kissed you was more than enough of a confirmation that he wants this, too.
You share a smile. This still feels scary, but you’ve spent so long bracing for disappointment, and now, you know this is the start of something you can have hope in.
・・・・・
The early evening sunlight filters through your bedroom window as you get ready for Rafe’s house party.
Ivy’s sprawled across your bed, scrolling on her phone, already ready, while Alayna touches up her makeup at your vanity. You’re standing at your closet when your phone loudly buzzes on your dresser.
You cross the room to check who texted you.
You almost here? so boring without you.
You grin at Rafe’s message before you can stop yourself.
“I wonder who that is,” Ivy teases.
You look over at your friends, caught smiling, and roll your eyes.
“Whatever happened to I’m not interested?” Alayna adds, an obvious callback to what you said months ago, when you’d sworn Rafe wasn’t your type.
“Enough,” you laugh, waving them away. You’ve gotten used to their teasing. It’s all still new to you, liking a guy this much, and being committed to him.
After that night on the porch, you and Rafe have been inseparable. You stayed out there talking for so long that your sorority sisters eventually left the party and walked right past you. Once Jada saw you, she had a big smile on her face when she said, “Thought you were going home?”
Later on, you told her, and eventually Ivy and Alayna, all about how this thing with Rafe turned into something you never saw coming.
Now that you’ve finished the school year and reached summer, you’re back in Kildare, but it feels like you returned as a different person.
・・・・・
Rafe’s out back, leaning against the railing, the breeze lacing through his hair. His home’s main-floor deck faces the beach, and he’s laughing with his buddies, but his eyes keep flicking toward his house. You’d texted that you were on your way a few minutes ago, and he’s been distracted since.
His friends knew better than to give him shit when he told them he’s with you. He could tell they were surprised, but smart enough not to say much about him being with the girl with your reputation.
He spots you the second you step out onto the deck through the open doors with your friends, and your eyes find his.
Rafe closes the distance between you. He knows not to be too touchy in front of people. In the month you’ve been his girlfriend, he’s seen the way affection in public makes you stiffen. So, all he does is pull you into a quick, easy hug, then he steps back again.
“Hey,” he says, voice low. The warm smile you give him makes his chest tighten.
“Just steal her already,” Ivy sighs.
You chuckle at your friend’s comment. They’ve all gotten used to it, the way you and Rafe tend to disappear at these gatherings, and eventually come back again. There’s no bitterness behind it. They like seeing you happy.
You gesture towards the house and tell him, “Are you not going to offer me a drink?”
“So demanding,” Rafe teases, but his gaze is full of affection. You chuckle and as you walk in with him, his hand brushes yours.
・・・・・
Like always, time with Rafe slips away. The minutes blur in the packed house as you lean against a wall together, tucked away in your own private world.
As you talk, your eyes drift up the wall along the staircase. Family photos are in neat square frames, representing his and his sisters’ lives growing up here. You’ve been in Rafe’s home before for parties, but never got close enough to study the photos. You never cared to.
Now you do. Now you want to know everything about him.
In one of your late night conversations, he’d told you about his dad, about how he never felt good enough for the man. And even though Rafe is so much bigger and taller and stronger than you, you’ve developed a fierce protectiveness over him. It’s like you wish you could save him from every time he was told he was too sensitive.
The protectiveness flares when someone drunkenly bumps into him, hard enough that if Rafe’s drink was still full, it would’ve spilled.
“Watch where you’re going,” you snap before Rafe can even react.
“Sorry,” the guy responds, hands up in the air as he stumbles away.
Rafe looks down at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He kind of loves seeing you mad. It’s a reminder that you don’t let anyone get away with anything, that you’re sharp with every other guy, but not him. Most of the time.
“You’re not going to kick him out for that?” you half-joke.
“You looked like you were about to take him,” he says.
“I probably could,” you reply, eyes following the guy as he disappears into the crowd. When you look up at Rafe again, you notice that intense look of his, the one that looks like he’s trying to figure you out, the one you’ve grown to love.
“What is it now?” you sigh playfully, used to his staring.
Rafe licks his lips and looks down. He’d kiss you right now if he could, but the last time he tried that in public, he felt you tense up.
It’s hard not to take it personally. But he knows there’s more to it, because there’s always been so much more to you than you let on.
“Too many people around for me to kiss you, huh?” he says, because like always, he can’t stop himself from saying what’s on his mind to you.
You still, then shake your head with a sympathetic smile. He nods like he understands, but you can see the hurt anyway.
Sometimes, it scares you. Rafe eases into affection, while your instinct is to guard yourself. It’s not natural for you to be openly affectionate. You’ve spent years being the girl no one can get close to because softness is something you never want people to see in you.
“It’s just not my thing,” you explain.
“I get it,” he says, eyes dropping to your empty cup. “You want another?”
You appreciate him trying to play it off. That’s one of the things you like about Rafe, that even with all his intensity, he’s never been forceful with you. He can be overwhelming. Everyone knows that about him. But he gives you space.
You gaze up at him as he towers over you, waiting for your answer, your heart knocking against your ribs, the crowd’s noise thudding around you. You do want him to kiss you. Just not here.
“Actually, let’s go upstairs,” you say. “I want to see your room.”
Rafe’s expression softens, and when he leads you up the stairs, you slip your hand into his. It catches him off guard, especially after you’d just pulled back from affection, but mostly, it just fills him with a warmth nobody else can give him.
・・・・・
Rafe’s bedroom at home is like what you saw in his dorm room. It’s lived in, but neat.
Your breath steadies after the long walk upstairs as he shuts the door behind you. Through the cracked open window, you can hear the slow, rhythmic hush of waves rolling in and pulling back again.
You turn to face him, standing in the middle of his room, watching him as he steps towards you.
“It’s just new to me,” you murmur as he stops inches away from you, the mix of cologne and detergent and beer drifting off of him. “Being a girlfriend.”
Rafe sees that concerned look on your face. You used to be impossible to read, but now he can really see you and he’s grateful for it.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he says with a teasing lilt. “You’re doin’ great.”
You nudge his shoulder and he chuckles, pulling even closer to press a kiss on your lips. He pulls back an inch, his gaze searching yours.
“I can tell you want me to be more…” you begin, then shrug. “I wish I could kiss you in front of people without feeling awkward about it. It’s just hard being so… open.”
Rafe’s forehead creases. He likes these moments, the ones where you share a piece of yourself.
“I don’t need that,” he tells you, voice low.
“You want it, though,” you reply.
His gaze softens, the tension in his jaw easing as he brings his hands up to cradle your face.
“I already got what I want right here,” he rasps.
Your heart twists in the gentlest way. It’s still unfamiliar having someone treat you with such tenderness, reassuring you.
It’s why you haven’t gone past kissing since that night on the porch, when you decided to try for a relationship. The thought of sex with him, with someone you really care about, with someone who could break your heart, has been intimidating.
But as you stand here, held by him, heat curling in your stomach, there’s nothing else you’d rather do.
Rafe’s knees weaken a bit when you cup the back of his neck to pull him closer for another kiss. The second he tastes your tongue, his muscles tense with arousal, with desire, with a heat he’s never felt with anyone else.
His blood burns when your hands move lower, your fingertips dipping below the hem of his t-shirt, your warm palms dragging up his stomach. You start to push up the fabric, and he does the rest, tugging the shirt off, guiding you backwards the second it hits the floor.
You meet eyes when you pull back and reach his bed, gazes locked as you shift to lie down on your back. Rafe’s stare is heavy, lustful, but most of all, there’s a desire in it that almost overwhelms you. He wants you so badly.
He’s already drunk off pleasure when he watches you start to pull off your top. He takes the cue to help you, tossing it away, lowering onto the bed.
Your bodies press together, skin on skin, heat on heat, kissing again, deeper and harder. He’s been waiting for this for so long, giving you the distance you needed, and now, the elation of feeling you pull him in with such impatient desire consumes him.
Your hands trail down his firm back as you shift to spread your legs, giving him the access to grind against you. You breathe into each other’s mouths once you feel each other, his hardness, your warmth.
He moves to his knees to give himself space to pull down your skirt. You tilt up your hips so he can slip it down your legs, leaving you in your bra and panties. He pulls off his pants, eager to put his weight on you again.
Rafe’s lips are on your neck once he’s down to his boxers, mouth hot and wet and sucking, as you lace your fingers through his hair, tightening your legs around him.
You writhe against him when he peels off your bra, his mouth dropping to your breasts, kissing and teasing, leaving your chest wet from his tongue, leaving you feeling utterly worshipped.
You push down the band of his boxers, but you can’t reach low enough to pull them down.
“Off,” you whisper impatiently. Rafe smirks against your skin, then nods.
Finally, you see all of him when he peels the boxers off, your breath quickening. His eyes are on yours as he shifts to open his nightstand, the wrapper of the condom crinkling. With only your panties left between you, he presses his fingers to your heat as he hovers over you, nose nudging yours.
“You want it?” he rasps, needing to hear you say it.
“Yes,” you breathe, back arching. He rubs circles, teasing you, before he finally pulls down your panties.
He takes a few seconds to just stare at you, absorbing every beautiful part of you, before he holds himself at his base to pull the condom on. He shifts to lie over you again, propped up on his knees, kissing you softly.
This is how it should be. How it should always be. Wrapped up in Rafe, enveloped in sheets that smell like him, listening to his breath and yours. Nothing has ever felt so right before.
Rafe is slow when he enters, stretching you out with hard, but mindblowing pressure, guiding himself in until he’s completely inside you.
He stays like this for a moment, because he can’t remember if he’s ever felt this complete before. He loves you, he’s known that for a while now, and feeling you so tight and hot around him, like you were made for him and he was made for you, makes him certain if he wasn’t already that anything in this world, anyone in this world, is nothing compared to you.
He pulls his hips back slowly, starts to drive in and out, earning your soft moans and the feeling of your nails digging into his back. You wrap your legs around him, hooking your ankles, feeling him hit that spot over and over and over again, the bed creaking, your groans interlacing.
You hold each other like you might lose each other, but within this moment, you’re not worried about that, about not being enough, about being left behind. Because this is unlike anything you’ve felt before. This isn’t just physical, and you know that for sure when Rafe pulls back to look at you with pure adoration.
Your gazes are locked, and they stay that way until you both reach your climax, consumed by euphoria, by happiness, by peace.
・・・・・
You don’t bother getting dressed. You slip under Rafe’s sheets. He returns from his ensuite wearing his boxers, and he smiles when his eyes land on you.
His skin is still flushed as he settles next to you under the sheets, resting his head on the same pillow. You lie on your sides, facing each other, a shared blissful daze heavy in your gazes.
And you get it. Doing this with emotion attached is different. It’s better. Even with the vulnerability that comes with it. You’ve never been the type to cuddle, but the mere thought of not having Rafe like this pains you.
You reach forward to rest your palm on his cheek, to rub your thumb over his skin, and he can’t help but close his eyes. You might not always be affectionate, but when you are, it’s like a drug.
“Kind of sucks that I’ve been missing out on that for so long,” you murmur.
Rafe’s lips stretch into a grin, dimples dipping into his cheeks.
You realize that you’d once said that as a part of the bet, lied to him about wishing you’d spoken sooner. At that point, you didn’t think you could ever like him for real. Now, you’re falling.
“Only kind of?” he says, lids slowly lifting. He shifts closer to you, his arm on your waist.
“I’m trying to keep you humble,” you reply playfully.
“Well, stop,” he says.
“Fine,” you laugh. “I’ve really been missing out. It actually pisses me off.”
Rafe’s chuckle warms you from the inside out. His fingers trace up your spine, then he splays his hand over your back and pulls you in even tighter, until you can’t possibly get any closer together.
“Me, too,” he tells you. “Thanks for giving me a shot.”
You tuck your head under his neck, cheek against his shoulder.
“Thanks for wanting one,” you respond quietly.
He can’t fathom you thinking he wouldn’t want you. But he knows now how hard it is for you to accept someone choosing you. Someone staying. And he gets it because he’s lived in that same place for a long time, too.
Rafe kisses the top of your head, and then, his words slip out.
“I love you.”
You shift to lift your head and look at him, your heart skipping. And you realize right now, fully and entirely, you trust him. You trust that he means that. That he’ll stay. That even though he has all the power to break you, he won’t.
“I love you, too,” you tell him. It’s crazy how easy it is for you to say.
Rafe kisses you again and you feel so free, as if all the ways you used to guard yourself to have control actually controlled you, and they’re gone now.
You’ve never been so happy that both of you decided to accept a silly bet, because ultimately, thankfully, this is where it led you.
