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dreammfyre · 1 year ago

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the heir's favorite ⋆ jacaerys velaryon

SUMMARY. You are the first daughter of the marriage between your mother Rhaenyra Targaryen and your father Daemon Targaryen. Always the most rebellious and difficult of all, temperamental, impulsive. However, weak before the temptation to possess your older brother, the crown prince Jacaerys Velaryon, a knight par excellence, the opposite of you. But no one in Dragonstone imagined that you shared much more than dragon's blood.

WARNINGS. +18 Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!oc. Targaryen incest (brother and sister). Jacaerys aggressive and dominant. Smut. Based on the second season of House Of the Dragon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE. This was a suggestion left anonymously in the messages, so I invite you to leave yours. Thanks for reading.

The empty room is so quiet that you could feel your thoughts could be heard over the place. The full moon illuminated the dark sky, standing out against the stars that night where everyone are resting in their chambers, but you were unable to lie in your bed, much less fall asleep without having nightmares. The Stone Table is where everyone met daily to discuss strategies for the war that was being unleashed in Westeros, but now that empty place feels strange, so much silence and loneliness. The extinguished embers did not illuminate the tabletop, you touched the stone expecting to burn, however, it was totally cold.

"Who's there?" A familiar voice entered the place. You turned immediately finding prince Jacaerys, your older brother and heir to your mother's throne. "Sister? It's very late."

"I know and you should be resting." You replied walking towards him.

"Yeah. But it's a bit complex lately." He took the liberty of joking, in response you smiled without much encouragement. "May I know what are doing here?"

"Not much. Seems you're not the only one who doesn't get any rest." Lifted your shoulders in a casually mood. "Any news on your rounds?"

Jace shook his head in disappointment, pacing around the table resting his hands on the handle of the sword without taking eyes off you, analyzing your presence carefully, as if silently judging you. You rested your hands on the stone of the table relaxing your body on your arms, but your head couldn't stop scheming hundreds of thoughts and bloody imaginary scenarios regarding the war.

"Cole's army is getting bigger and we don't have a damn clue about anything." Said with a tense jaw. "And about my father..." you sighed deeply without looking your brother in the face "no words from him for days."

"That's not your fault." The prince tried to make you feel better with repeated kind words, but your guilt was growing and the anguish of the approaching war wouldn't leave you alone. "Daemon is not the priority for the moment."

"That idiot should be here, on the island, with his queen and childrens." Visenya whispered angrily. Then you looked up resolute in your decision. "I'll go see him tomorrow."

That didn't sit well for your older brother.

"Don't talk nonsense, Visenya." Jacaerys scoffed. "Can't go to Harrenhal alone, it's too dangerous and we don't know if the way is clear for us.”

"You think I'll arrive by land alongside Daemon's imaginary army?" You sneered in the same condescending voice, a brazen gesture that made Jacaerys' blood boil. "I will ride Vermithor's back at dawn and arrive before the sun peaks. I will return the same day with news before the queen."

"That's a lousy idea!" Your brother exclaimed angrily. Grabbing your arm with brute force, forcing to look him. "How can you even just think of traveling alone to lands we don't know if they are enemies or allies?"

"We need to move fast before they come for us, brother." You squirmed under his grip feeling his fingers bury into your pale skin. "Do you intend to wait for my father to return?" You managed to break free from his grip with difficulty, Jacaerys ran a hand through his wavy hair desperate not to talk sense into his sister. "Because you may take a seat, I will not be accompanying you."

"Damn it, Visenya. Please understand the magnitude of your stupidity." He begged, chasing from side to side. Your brother knew how impulsive you are, and how hard it’s to get an idea out of your head, no matter if it was good or bad and in this case it was a rather dangerous one. "What happens if you cross paths with Vhagar in the skies?" The prince raised his voice to you demanding and imperative trying to intimidate, anyone passing nearby could overhear the discussion. Turned your back to him, you didn't want to look in the face out of embarrassment because deep down you knew his words were true. "You have any business there!"

"I have no business here either!" Exclaimed with same intensity. You were temperamental by nature and now are blowing off steam. "I'm tired of staying cooped up on the island, waiting for others to figure things out! I'm a dragon rider constrained by these walls."

Your brother understood that feeling better than anyone, he grabbed you by both cheeks, covering your face with his firm hands.

"I know how you feel, Visenya. Believe me, but walking out at the first impulse is not the solution, okay?" You put your hands over his, looking at him intently. Really want to nod for answer him, but were mesmerized in his nearness and his breath hitting your face. "Stay here, with us." He watched carefully without letting go, losing himself in the sense of his pleas to look very closely, you were so beautiful in any light no matter how dim, a Targaryen through and through with bright, intense violet eyes of long white hair like your parents. Jacaerys couldn't help but stare at you, the half-open lips tempting to taste you, trying not to lose what little composure he had left. "With me."

Visenya possessed the ethereal beauty of her mother and the complex character of her father, Daemon Targaryen. Under your little ethics and impulsiveness did not think if it was a coherent idea and you threw yourself to kiss the thick lips of your brother who reciprocated instantly, none of them reasoned, they only moved to the rhythm of the kiss where their moist lips brushed anxiously. Your brother's hand on your waist took you by surprise, more so when he pressed you against his body bumping you against his chest and cornering you against the table.

"Go to sleep, sister." Jace scolded making an attempt to stop kissing you, but you kept reaching for him. "This isn't a good place."

With a little smile you ignored knowing the only way to stop the situation was for you to go to your quarters and you didn't feel like leaving. You grabbed Jace’s hair tangling your fingers in the chestnut curls, Jacaerys strength intimidated, but it wasn't enough for hold you.

"Don't go to Harrenhal." He pleaded leaving wet kisses on your neck, tracing a wet path over your skin taking the opportunity to inhaling your sweet scent. "Do it and I promise warm your bed every night."

Felt a shiver run down your back at his offering, Jacaerys kept leaving kisses until he reached your collarbones uncovered by the neckline of your dress. His lips made your heart beat faster, grabbed him by the face stopping him.

"Would you do that for me?" Asked with dangerous innocence, watching his glossy swollen lips.

"Really doubt it?" he answered against your ear, then brushed his nose against yours slowly, you left a short kiss on his lips almost by instinct, so tender and unexpected that you heard a laugh come out of the prince.

"Maybe." You whispered touching his chest, playing with the textures of the fabrics, his agitated breathing gave him away, having you so fucking close is a personal challenge. It was a lie, you weren't going to think about it, you just wanted to give him what he needed to hear to stay with you.

Jacaerys' big hands began to take hold of your body squeezing you tightly making you gasp, then you lifted your chin giving him access to the neck, kisses there unsettled you in a special way and only your brother knew it, listening closely to his breathing and feeling the warmth of his breath was much better. Everything about him you liked, and you were missing him all nights. The pressure and uncertainty of the war had taken your head elsewhere, you had abandoned each other for valid reasons, but at that second just wanted to give yourself to Jacaerys one more time.

You stood on your tiptoes to gain a little more height reaching for his ear, your brother tensed at the delicate touch of your hot tongue against his lobe, licked delicately knowing that it turned him on, he confessed it to you one night and you never forgot it. A deep moan of satisfaction came from his throat, then carefully, you lowered one of your hands straight down to his pants, positioning yourself over his hard member that was pressing against the fabric.

"This is not the best moment." Begged the prince resting his forehead on your shoulder. "We are in a sacred place, you know?"

You cared little for his insistence or decency when only wanted to shout his name, though you knew Jacaerys was asking you to stop for the sake of not failing in duty, not because the desire wasn't there. No one understood the reason why Rhaenyra did not cancel the stupid engagement between lady Baela and the right Jacaerys, no one could deny that they could become blameless kings for the history of Westeros, but there would never be the tension and burning desire throbbing as when the fire was unleashed between you. That first time with a taste of sin, you begging him not to stop, that it was going to become a one-time secret that his parents would never find out, a secret they couldn't help but repeat between your sheets and his, in the hallways and the library.

Desperate for more your brother lifted the skirt of your dress with your help by grabbing your leg and pulling it up to his waist. The mere contact made you moan from the pleasure, clamped your mouth shut to keep from making noise, you were too sensitive and needy and Jacaerys liked to have you under his control. You were always sarcastic, upset and nasty, just like your dragon, but Jacaerys Velaryon knew how to control you.

"What are you going to do if someone finds us?" You asked with bated breath. Deep down it was important to keep the secret guarded to keep it. Jacaerys' fingers stroking between your legs making moan, clinging to the heir's neck and leaning against the table. "What are they going to say when they find out the crown prince fucking his sister."

His fingers slowly moved up and down, playing with your slimy wetness in his fingers. The mischievous grin on the chestnut's face only reflected the satisfaction of having managed to have you like this, so submissive.

"Does it scare you?" he whispered against your moaning lips. With his other hand he gripped the back of your neck tightly, so you wouldn't move. "They're going to find out you're my spoiled sister." Two of his long fingers began to search for the perfect place to insert themselves into you. You stirred under his grip settling in for him, your desperate breathing needing him to finish his work, but he seemed very calm provoking you with his words. "Do you know what they'll call you?" he bit your lip, pulling it towards him. "The heir's whore." His fingers slipped inside you so easily, sliding into your wet insides gushing moans from your chest as you felt him move in and out of you. Jacaerys took your leg his free hand clutching his fingers to your thigh preventing you from closing before him.

At the first loud moan you covered your mouth immediately knowing you were attracting attention, the sensation between your legs was stronger. You squeezed your brother's shoulder getting used to the movement of his fingers inside you.

"Don't yell." He ordered uncompromisingly. He had to kiss you to shut you up, which served you a few short minutes. You were losing your mind, your legs wanted to close but Jace put his foot down to stop that from happening.

"Jacaerys." His name on your lips excited him more than anything else, for it was the tone of desperation that mirrored your desire. To know that he controlled you and you were under his dominion with how arrogant you were, that no knight owned you, that everyone desired you for being Rhaenyra's spoiled daughter, but you were his, no matter an arranged marriage or duty was enough. "Mmh." You ran your hand over your face, desperate to keep silent fighting against your body that was beginning to tremble as his fingers went faster.

But for an ego like Prince Jacaerys Velaryon's it wasn't enough. Listening to you enjoy yourself on the Stone Table where every day they met to discuss war strategies was the most satisfying image to his eyes and he was not going to be able to forget it. The way you moved, dragon-like, the sweetest and most desperate noises came from you, none of the whores he had been with compared to the delicacy of a pureblood Targaryen. A unique and unrepeatable privilege.

When your breathing became erratic and the murmurs incomprehensible swearing you were going to reach that peak, Jacaerys came to a screeching halt chastising you. You opened your eyes in disappointment and fury, your heart leaping out of your chest and your legs damp and trembling.

"Be a good sister," he stroked your cheek with the gentleness you deserve to be treated with. You were trying to listen to him but you were so upset you just wanted to insult him for doing that to you. "Turn around."

Your hair stood up at his tone of voice demanding and conciliatory at the same time. As obedient as ever, just for him, you turned your back to him as the prince busied himself with pulling down his pants that were pressing against the erection he was trying to contain. Your heart wouldn't stop pounding, you could still feel his long fingers inside you and the wait, however minimal, was becoming eternal and torturous. You looked sideways at the entrances of the place without finding anyone, but the truth is that you didn't care if at that moment the queen arrived and found them like that, the euphoria and adrenaline was taking over your body and your reason, the overflowing desire had taken your actions. You felt Jace's hands sneaking up your skirt, careful where to touch, looking for just the right position to enter. He stood behind you, your dress pulled up over your back, the mere touch made you moan. You were so wet it was slipping from your entrance.

"Don't say anything." He told you and you nodded, you were capable of begging if necessary, though deep down you knew he enjoyed it making you obey. "Tell me if you want me to stop."

You closed your eyes as you felt Jacaerys slowly push behind you. You took a breath and tried to relax, you both moaned slowly, the prince tensed his jaw and clenched his teeth to keep from making noise, he stayed still for a few seconds searching for your hips digging his fingers into your skin trapping you in that position, moving you back and forth to better thrust. The rubbing of his member on your walls felt warm and wet, an invasion of your body, you were so used to his size that the sensation became familiar, literally. Some of the pieces of stone you unintentionally threw away, that was going to be a problem for later, because now the noise of their bodies colliding was beginning to consume you. The control he had over you didn't bother you, he gripped you tightly taking over everything. Her hips moved with yours instinctively in a delicious back and forth.

"Like this." You gasped with closed eyes and a satisfied expression. You reached for his hand under your dress and clung to him as tightly as Jace clung to you.

His length pumped in and out of you at a rapid pace, but this time, Jacaerys made sure each thrust was deep by ramming his pelvis into your buttocks.

"What a pleasure to meet again, don't you think?" his question was punctuated by your same panting without stopping moving. You weren't able to answer, your high-pitched moans were getting louder and louder, putting both of you at risk. On the other hand, he was breathing heavily. You had to cover your mouth with your hand, biting your palm to stifle your own moans of pleasure at having him inside you.

You started to stir but you were trapped in his hands, he knew you well enough to know what to do, you turned to look at him finding the heir ramming you with force and speed, his hair fell in curls that moved to the rhythm of his rhythm, when their gazes met for a second he stared at you, your face sweating, your eyes bright with a frown of supplication and red cheeks were enough to have no mercy. Your entrance was tightening at the same time you couldn't breathe, that feeling of a wave invading your insides begging for more desperate to reach orgasm. Jacaerys took your with one hand your waist and with the other your hip, encasing his fingers preventing you from escaping, you were in this together and you had to finish it.

You moved your arm and disarranged the pieces on the board. Now you could hear your brother moaning, cursing you for being his undoing and the greatest of his sins, making you his own feeling the power to mark you and deflower you breaking any tradition that governs the Targaryen nobility. It felt so good that you could confess your love to him just so he wouldn't stop. Luckily for both of you, he didn't stop, the rapid movements and the pressure forming in your lower stomach was getting out of control, the noise intensifying from the collision of your bodies and your knees seemed to lose any kind of strength to hold you up, luckily the table was there to support your body, plus your brother who wasn't going to let you fall. Until you couldn't manage to resist anymore, your orgasm came first like a shiver throughout your body, you closed your eyes tightly and watching you exclaim his name in screams of pleasure ended the infinite torture of the heir that took a few seconds to wait.

"Shit." Your voice hopefully came out of your dry mouth. You had your chest against the weight crushing your breasts, one of your hands intertwined with your brother's who was rebounding behind you.

You both took a second to take a breath and assimilate what you had just done, you had promised not to fall into carnal sin again and that's why the last time was several months ago. You leaned on the table with both hands coming back into yourself with your chest heaving, your brother's hands were still in the same place but he was no longer squeezing you with the same possessive intensity. Your hair was falling on both sides, tousled from the movement and your legs were begging you for a rest.

Jacaerys caught his breath, but his heart had not calmed down at all. His body was still experiencing those chills and that unique tension, he took a step backwards out of your body to get dressed. You immediately felt the fluid trickle down the inside of your thighs, dripping slowly down your hot skin.

"Are you okay?" Jace asked pulling up his pants, his movements a little uncontrolled as the adrenaline was still pumping. You nodded fixing your wrinkled dress. It wasn't the first time it had happened, you both knew what it was, that meant you would have to have tea the next morning.

"Looks like I'll be staying."

Your older brother smiled, fixed his hair pulling it back and moving closer to kiss you again, this time slower and softer, trapping your lips with his so slowly that you relaxed. You took his face kissing him again, his scent, his warmth, his bearing that forced you to lift your chin to reach your mouth, the softness of his lips, it was the most comforting sensation you knew.

"Go rest." He whispered without opening his eyes. Tidying your hair behind your ear.

"Okay." You replied in the same tone, so obedient and submissive before him, kissing for the last time his mouth following your movement. "Good night"

Leaving him was complicated, but you were satisfied with the encounter. As you walked you felt the burning between your legs, a reminder that was to last a couple of days that he had made you his once more, that was the greatest secret they kept hidden, they had forgotten for a moment the war between families, the political problems, duty and order.

Jacaerys Velaryon watched you go, silently picking up the sword he had dropped to the ground. That simple symbol that he was capable of abandoning his duty as prince for you, he staked his honor and his word for taking you. He stayed a while longer tidying up the mess they had created, arranging the pieces of stone in the place that corresponded according to the figure, picking up from the floor some that fell without realizing it. It was he who always assumed the role of responsibility for cleaning up the mess and pretending nothing had happened. How was he going to show up tomorrow at this very spot knowing he had relations with Visenya, the spoiled and arrogant princess, right there?

He only hoped Daemon Targaryen would never discover that his daughter was the heir's favorite if he wished to one day ascend the throne.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ MASTERLIST

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neellscapsule · 2 days ago

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a son's love

summary | being bruce wayne's fiancée isn't easy, especially when he's been with hundreds of women before you. the good thing is you have your son with you, and he won't let anyone walk all over you.

pairing | bruce wayne x kent!reader. platonic dick grayson x kent!reader

warnings / tags | fluffy, reader tries her best. bit of angst. protective dick grayson agenda

word count | 5.1k

authors note | hi there!! english is not my first languaje so there might be some mistakes, or not, it can depend :)

this is part of the kent!batmom!reader series. this can be read as part 5. you'll the other parts on the masterlist.

taglist | @maolen @joonunivrs @c4ssi4-luv @fanfics4ever @inejskywalker @radenxd @resting-confused-face @fionnalopez @stargirl9911 @idek101-01 @shqyou @mei-simp @serendippindots @sirlovel @aixaingela @pjmgojo @antixsocialx2 @nisarelle @realiliumfr @gojoswaterbottle @connnn @jjoppees

THE DRIVE WAS SUPPOSED TO TAKE JUST OVER TWO HOURS.

“Two hours, twelve minutes if we’re lucky,” you’d said confidently that morning, balancing your travel mug of coffee in one hand and double-checking the last of Dick’s overnight bag with the other. Bruce had given you a look over the top of his own mug—black, no sugar, no soul.

“This is Gotham,” he replied. “We’re never lucky.”

And he was right. The drive stretched past three hours thanks to construction on the interstate, a four-car pileup near the city limits, and the classic Gotham exodus that happened every Friday when people remembered the rest of the state was quieter, cleaner, and didn’t smell like concrete and stress.

But you didn’t mind. Not really.

Bruce drove. One hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on the gearshift. Aviators on. Hair slightly ruffled from the wind when he’d checked the tires that morning. Dick sat in the backseat, legs crossed under him, surrounded by snacks and his favorite blue hoodie zipped halfway up. You rode shotgun, one knee tucked under you, elbow out the open window, and your hand in the wind.

The car smelled like leather and your favorite lavender-scented travel wipes. Summer was in full swing now, which meant sunlight poured across Bruce’s arm, and the sky outside was that clear, humming sort of blue that Smallville did better than anywhere else.

It had been just over a month since Dick moved in. A few months more since the press release about the engagement hit the Gotham Gazette like a slap to the face. The article had used the words “bewildering” and “suspiciously convenient” in the same sentence. And that was one of the nicer ones.

You were born and raised in Smallville. Gossip there was practically currency. You learned early that it wasn’t about stopping the talk—it was about not letting it decide how you walked through town. In Gotham, it was louder. Glossier. Paparazzi, editorials, entire segments of talk shows dedicated to who wore what ring and whether or not you were pregnant. But it didn’t get under your skin.

Bruce had handled it exactly the way you expected: with the emotional range of a damp napkin and the subtlety of a live grenade.

“They’re saying it’s fake,” he’d told you one night, pacing your shared walk-in closet while you were still in a towel post-shower. “They think you bribed me. That you are a gold digger.”

He had said it as if it was the biggest offense of his life. You’d blinked at him, toweling your hair.

“They also think we got secretly married last month and that I’m already pregnant with twins. And that I’m secretly a soy sent to take all the billionaires down.”

That one got an actual sound from him. Somewhere between a scoff and a strangled laugh.

You’d shrugged. “People talk, Bruce. Small town, big city, it doesn’t matter. Back in Smallville they thought Clark was a government clone for three years because he grew six inches over a summer and got good at baseball. People just... need something to say.”

“I hate it,” he’d murmured, dropping onto the edge of the bed beside you.

You’d reached out and threaded your fingers through his. “I don’t. Because I know it’s not true.”

But the talking wore at him in ways it didn’t wear at you. And that was how you found yourself here—on the open road with the windows down, a smiling eight-year-old in the back seat, and your fiancé muttering about tractors under his breath while trying not to let the GPS recalculate a fifth time.

“You okay back there, bug?” you asked, craning your head toward the back seat.

Dick grinned up at you from where he was cradling his tablet. “Yeah! This is fun!”

“Still think so after three hours in traffic?” Bruce asked, glancing at him in the rearview mirror.

“I’ve been on longer trips,” Dick replied with a shrug. “Circus trains. Sometimes for days.”

That sobered Bruce a bit. Your fingers found his on the console between you and gave them a quiet squeeze.

Things had settled since Dick came come. The good kind of settled. Mornings were softer now, fuller. You’d wake up beside Bruce—something that still made your heart flutter in a completely unfair way—kiss his shoulder, brush your teeth while he stood behind you half-asleep, his hand on your waist like a paperweight keeping you tethered to the moment. Alfred made breakfast with quiet efficiency. You packed Dick’s lunch and walked him to the car like a suburban sitcom. He complained about math homework, asked if he could start karate (“we’ll talk about it”), and still hadn’t lost the habit of sleeping with one foot sticking out of the comforter.

“Well, this train stops soon,” you said, voice light again. “You’re going to love the farm. It’s huge.”

“Yeah?” Dick leaned forward a bit. “Like, how huge?”

You smiled. “Like, ‘can’t-see-the-end-of-it-even-on-your-bike’ huge. My parents run everything. Dairy cows, chickens, goats, sheep. A few horses. And acres and acres of crops.”

His eyes widened. “Real cows?”

You turned in your seat fully now, facing him. “Oh, yeah. Big ones. Brown ones, black-and-white ones. One with a weird splotch shaped like Florida on her side. And they moo at the sunrise like clockwork.”

“Can I pet them?”

“If you want.”

“Do they bite?”

“Only if you get between them and food.”

“That’s... fair.”

“They’re friendly,” you said with a shrug. “They’re like large dogs that smell like hay and don’t know how to be quiet.”

Dick laughed. “I’ve only seen cows in books. And elephants in real life.”

You smiled gently at that. “Yeah? Ever fed a goat?”

“Not unless you count the time a clown goat stole my hat.”

You blinked. “. . . A clown goat?”

“Circus stuff,” Dick said vaguely. “You wouldn’t get it.”

You turned to Bruce. “Did you get that?”

“Nope.”

“Me neither.”

You caught Dick smiling in the rearview mirror again.

“Are there really pigs?” he asked, leaning forward between the front seats, seatbelt cutting diagonally across his little chest.

“There are pigs,” you confirmed with a grin. “Loud ones. One of them’s named Sugarfoot. She’ll be your best friend if you bring her scraps.”

“Scraps?”

“Like leftover food. She’ll eat anything but especially likes peach peels and toast crusts.”

He gawked. “What about... circus peanuts?”

Bruce’s brow furrowed from behind the wheel. “What are circus peanuts?”

“They’re gross,” you said flatly. “Don’t feed anything those.”

Dick giggled and leaned back again, kicking his feet lightly. “What about the horses?”

“Three,” you nodded. “Two workhorses and one very old, very cranky pony. Her name’s Miss Patty. She’s missing a tooth and absolutely will bite you if you try to pet her before she’s ready.”

“That’s awesome,” Dick whispered reverently, like a kid being told he was about to meet a dragon.

You smiled, curling one leg beneath you in the passenger seat. “We got the nicest sheep as well. His name is Buttons.”

Bruce’s voice was amused. “You’re making these names up.”

“Swear I’m not,” you said, holding up a hand. “Buttons has been around since I was in middle school. He likes music. Especially banjo. My dad says he’s the reincarnation of an old musician.”

“That explains so much about your family,” Bruce muttered.

“You love my family.”

He glanced over at you, lips quirking. “I do.”

You pecked a kiss on his lips, giggling softly at the yuck sound that came out of Dick’s mouth.

“But for real,” you said, resting your chin on the back of the seat now, “the farm is something else. My mom makes fresh cinnamon rolls every morning. Dad insists on teaching people how to ride horses, even if they say no. And Clark will probably show up before dinner even though I told him not to.”

“You think he’ll bring Lois?” Bruce asked.

“God, I hope so. He’s less weird when she’s around.”

“Clark’s weird?” Dick asked, surprised.

You shrugged. “Farm weird. You’ll see.”

Bruce turned off the main highway and onto a long, winding road that started to look more and more like Kansas the deeper you went. The trees shifted. The air changed. That thick Gotham tension peeled off your shoulders slowly, like a winter coat you didn’t need anymore.

“Was it boring?”

“Sometimes. But mostly it was simple. Peaceful.”

“What did you do?”

“Well... I helped with the animals, especially in the mornings. Fed the chickens, gathered eggs, milked the cows when I was old enough.”

Dick looked scandalized. “You milked cows?! With your hands?!”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “You drink milk every day.”

“That’s different! That’s bottle milk. This is cow milk!”

“Same milk, baby,” you mumbled, grinning. “But it’s not so bad. You’ll see.”

“Do you have a tractor?”

“Of course.”

“Can I drive it?”

“No.”

Dick pouted.

Eventually, the city gave way to rolling green. The horizon stopped being broken by towers and started bending into soft hills and pastures. You felt your heart shift in your chest, like it always did. It wasn’t homesickness. Not exactly. It was more like the ache of something familiar, calling softly from the bones.

You turned your head slightly, watching the familiar mailbox come into view. KENT, it read in bold white letters. Weathered but proud. And just beyond it, the long dirt road that led to the farmhouse—a two-story white structure with a wraparound porch and a rocking chair that hadn’t stopped creaking in twenty years. A barn just beyond. Sheds and silos and tractors and fencing. And wide, wide skies above it all.

“There it is,” you said.

Bruce slowed the car as he turned up the long path, tires crunching against the gravel. Dick pressed his face to the window.

“Whoa,” he breathed.

You smiled.

“Welcome to the middle of nowhere, baby bird. See those fields?” you pointed. “My old man plants corn there. Over there’s wheat. And the far side? Pumpkins, watermelons, whatever’s in season.”

“There’s so much space.“

“I told you.”

Your ma was already outside. She waved wildly, apron fluttering behind her, and your dad stood beside her, one hand raised in that steady, solid Kent way.

Bruce parked the car. Before he could even put it in park, Dick was unbuckled and scrambling out of the back seat, eyes wide.

“This is like five circuses!” he shouted.

You opened the door and stepped out, your feet crunching into gravel. “Don’t cry, don’t cry,” you muttered to yourself. “You can cry later.”

Dick made a noise that sounded like joy and disbelief all in one. He pointed at a chicken. “It’s real!“

“Yes,” you said. “And she doesn’t like being chased, so be gentle.”

Bruce chuckled.

Your mom reached you first and wrapped you in a tight hug, murmuring something about your hair being longer than last time. Then she pulled back and cupped your face, eyes glassy.

“You look happy,” she whispered.

“I am,” you said.

And then Dick stepped forward, backpack slung over one shoulder, eyes wide and uncertain.

You turned and gestured. “Mama, Dad—this is Dick.”

Your mother’s face softened immediately. She crouched a little and smiled.

“Well, aren’t you just handsome as all get out,” she said warmly. “We’ve heard so much about you, sweetheart.”

Dick blinked. “You have?”

“Of course,” crouched down in front of him, sticking out a hand. “You’re all she talks about.”

You blushed lightly. “Lies.”

“True lies.”

Dick looked at the hand. Then at you. Then shook it, awkward but firm. “Thanks for letting me come.”

“Come?” your mom laughed gently. “This is your home too, honey.”

Dick blinked. He didn’t say anything.

But he didn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.

The next few hours passed in a blur of warm air, fresh lemonade, and laughter. Dick met every animal. He held a baby goat like it was made of glass. He shrieked when a pig sniffed his leg. He got pecked by a chicken once and then demanded a rematch.

Now the golden sky outside was dimming into dusk, the air carrying that peaceful hum only Smallville evenings could offer—the buzzing of insects, the slow rustle of wheat fields, a distant owl, and the occasional stubborn squeal from Sugarfoot the pig. She hadn’t stopped begging since Dick gave her a crust from his sandwich.

You were at the sink helping with dishes when the familiar whoosh of displaced air passed through the open window over the stove.

You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. But you did turn around to open the door.

“About time!” you called, grinning.

“We had to stop for pie!” Lois shouted back, sliding off Clark’s back like a practiced gymnast. “Clark heard about a new bakery halfway between here and Metropolis and wouldn’t shut up about it!”

“I brought two kinds,” Clark offered, sheepish but proud.

You hugged him first—tight, firm, grounding. His arms came around you like always, anchoring you to the world.

“Took you long enough. Ma’s been asking about you since breakfast.”

“I brought her Lois. That should buy me a couple forgiveness points,” he replied, kissing the top of your head.

Lois got you next, rolling her eyes. She always smelled like expensive lipstick and newsroom ink. Her hugs were fierce. Comforting. “What he means is, I had to remind him it was tonight and that showing up in his suit would probably give the local mailman another heart attack.”

You laughed, hugging her back as tight as you could. “God, I missed you.”

“Missed you more.”

Dick was on the floor at the edge of the kitchen, playing with the old box of mismatched toy soldiers and tiny animal figurines your dad had kept since your childhood. He froze when he looked up.

He lit up like the sun, then turned and ran straight at Clark with his arms open.

“Uncle Clark!” he shouted.

Clark looked stunned for all of a second before catching him, arms easily wrapping around the boy, spinning him once like a leaf.

“Hey, buddy,” he said, laughing. “You’ve grown at least two inches since I saw you!”

“I’ve been drinking milk,” Dick explained seriously. “And I do jumping jacks.”

Then, he kissed Lois’s cheek and smiled proudly when she ruffled his hair and told him he would be as tall as Clark in any moment. He watched them go, and finally landed his eyes on you.

You watched the moment land. The way his eyes narrowed. How his brows furrowed. He leaned in close and whispered, “I have to tell you something, but you need to promise that you won’t say anything.”

You pushed your fingers to your mouth, closing an imaginary zipper.

“Uncle Clark is Superman.”

You coughed gently, biting back a smile. “Is he now?”

“I can tell,” he whispered quickly. “He landed like whoosh, and he’s huge, and his hair does the same thing, and—he’s totally Superman. I have been keeping the secret because I think he doesn’t want any of us to know.”

“Well,” you said softly, kneeling beside him, “that sounds like a pretty big secret to keep, huh?”

Dick nodded gravely, like a knight being sworn into sacred service.

You gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Then I guess it’s lucky it was you who found out.”

Dinner was loud. Warm.

Your mom cried once—not dramatically, just a soft wipe of the corner of her eye when Clark passed her the potatoes and said it was good to be home. Your dad kept pouring lemonade, Bruce buttered every roll within arm’s reach, Lois recounted a dramatic story about a senator’s toupee, and Dick sat between Clark and you, asking questions between every bite of sweet corn and meatloaf your ma had been slipping into his plate.

Clark answered every single one with patience, wit, and affection. He always had been the best at that. The best at listening like a child’s voice was the most important sound in the world.

Bruce stayed quieter. Not silent—just watchful. He always did that when he felt like the odd man out. You bumped his knee under the table when he got too still. He nudged you back, then took your hand and played with your ring under the table while Dick explained to Clark the entire backstory of a tv show he had been watching lately.

Later, after dishes were stacked and your parents had excused themselves to bed—your mom insisting you didn’t have to clean up, and your dad offering Clark a jar of pickles “for the trip back”—the house settled into that soft nighttime rhythm you hadn’t felt in years.

The windows were open. The breeze cool. Fireflies blinked lazily across the yard.

Bruce had gone out back to check the barn doors, quietly making sure everything was locked and squared away for the night. Lois sat with Dick at the dining table, a worn deck of cards between them as she taught him how to play gin rummy, her voice low and conspiratorial.

You stood at the sink, rinsing out the last pie plate, when Clark appeared beside you, rolling up his sleeves.

“I was wondering when you were going to come help,” you teased.

“I had to wait until the real work was done,” he replied, nudging your hip with his.

You bumped him back.

Together, the two of you worked in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Clark scrubbed. You rinsed. A few crickets chirped. A dog barked in the distance.

“You’re really happy,” Clark said eventually, his voice soft.

You glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at you—just scrubbing gently at a stubborn pie crust.

“I am,” you replied. “It feels... real. It’s good. Hard sometimes. But it’s good.”

He nodded. “I can see that.”

You dried your hands slowly, glancing toward the table where Dick was now dramatically laying down his cards and grinning at Lois like he’d conquered Rome.

“He’s amazing,” you whispered. “He’s so smart. So sweet. And God, Clark, he’s been through so much. And he still smiles like that.”

“You’re good for him.”

“So is Bruce.”

Clark chuckled. “I never thought I’d say that. But yeah. He is.”

You leaned your head against your brother’s shoulder for a moment, letting the comfort of shared history settle around you.

“And that kid loves you.”

You looked to the side, where Dick was showing Lois a card and laughing too loud.

“Yeah,” you said. “I love him too.”

He kissed the top of your head. “You’re doing amazing.”

You leaned into him. “Thanks, Clark.”

Outside, the porch creaked quietly—Bruce returning. You met him at the door, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, moonlight painting silver along his jaw.

“All clear?” you asked.

“Miss Patty stared at me like I owed her something,” he muttered. “Otherwise, yeah.”

You stepped closer and wrapped your arms around his waist. “She thinks you’re competition.”

Bruce kissed the top of your head. “Not anymore. I know better than to cross her.”

You leaned back enough to look up at him. The soft porch light caught the shadows under his eyes.

“You okay?” you asked.

He hesitated. “I thought coming here would help me get . . my mind off the headlines but . . .”

“I know.”

You didn’t need to ask what kind. It was always the same. Headlines with too many adjectives. Panel shows questioning your motives. Online threads tracking the price of your dress from the engagement party you didn’t even know someone photographed.

“I’m used to it,” you whispered.

“You shouldn’t have to be.”

You tilted your face to look up at him, your fingers sliding beneath his sweater, brushing against his shirt.

“I grew up in Smallville,” you said softly. “The mailman knew when I had a crush in fourth grade because I started checking the mailbox three times a day. There isn’t a rumor I haven’t heard. This is just... louder.”

His jaw tightened. “You deserve peace.”

“I have it,” you said. “Right here.”

He looked down at you then, eyes dark in the evening light, and kissed you—soft, slow, like it was the first time. Like he wanted to memorize your mouth. You sank into it, arms curling around his neck, your body finding his like it always did.

When you pulled back, you whispered, “You’re not alone, Bruce.”

“I know,” he said, kissing your forehead. “I still don’t know how I got this lucky.”

You kissed him then. Gentle. Lingering. His hand settled on your waist, anchoring himself to you like he always did when the world tilted too far.

Lois’s voice called from the dining room, “He beat me again! What kind of child prodigy are you raising?!”

Dick laughed. Loud. Carefree. Happy.

And later, when the house finally fell quiet, the dishes done, the windows closed, the fireflies fading, and Bruce locked the last door—Dick found his way into your old room, clutching his pillow and blinking sleepily.

“Can I sleep with you?” he asked.

You were already brushing your teeth in the little bathroom. Bruce nodded without hesitation.

That night, like he did sometimes in Gotham, Dick curled up between you both—tiny limbs sprawled out, the safest place in the world sealed between two steady heartbeats, mouth half-open in sleep. Your hand brushed gently through his dark hair.

Bruce reached over Dick’s shoulder and caught your fingers.

“Goodnight,” you whispered.

“Goodnight,” he murmured, lips brushing your knuckles.

Dick sighed in his sleep and reached for your arm, pulling it around his chest. You fell asleep with your son tucked in your arms, the man you loved at your side, and the world outside silent for once.

And somewhere beyond the quiet, the wind whispered through the wheat fields, soft and low and sweet.

You were home.

The soft click-clack of your keyboard was the only sound in the office, apart from the muted hum of the coffee machine down the hall. It was late morning, and the light streaming through your windows painted gold streaks across your desk. Your day had started like any other—Bruce in early meetings, Alfred sending an affectionate reminder about your vitamins via text, and Dick at school with his lunchbox packed neatly by your hands.

You were mid-email when your personal phone rang.

Which was strange. No one ever called your personal line during business hours—everyone knew you were Bruce Wayne’s secretary, and your work phone was practically glued to your hip. The personal number was only for family. For emergencies. For home.

Your hand paused over the keyboard as you glanced down, heart already climbing. You didn’t recognize the number, but something inside your chest twisted—tight and immediate.

You answered quickly. “Hello?”

A pause. Then:

“Miss Kent?”

The voice was smooth, professional, and unfamiliar.

“Yes,” you said, already straightening. “Speaking. Who is this?”

“This is Principal Langley from Gotham’s Private Elementary. I’m calling about Richard.”

Your stomach dropped.

You stood up, eyes locking on your office door like you could somehow see through it, as if your sudden anxiety might pull him into the room. “Is he okay?”

“He’s physically fine,” she said gently, and the pause that followed was the kind you’d learned to dread as a Kent—too long, too careful. “But he’s... He won’t stop crying, and we haven’t been able to get him to calm down. We thought it best to call you directly. It might be best if he went home for the day.”

You didn’t ask any more questions.

You just grabbed your coat, pressed the intercom button to inform that you were stepping out, and left. You didn’t bother calling Bruce. He was in the middle of a presentation with WayneTech’s board. He’d find out later. Right now, this was yours to handle.

Wayne Enterprises was exactly twenty-one minutes from Dick’s school if you took the express lane, which you did, and which only shaved it down to fifteen. Still, every second burned. You barely registered the passing streets or the honks or the occasional curious driver doing a double-take at the sight of Bruce Wayne’s secretary barreling through Gotham traffic like her heart was in her throat.

Because it was.

The front office staff was polite—too polite, too composed for what your bones already knew. You could hear it the moment you stepped in. Not the sound itself—Dick was quiet now—but the absence of noise, like every child in the front building had learned silence by association.

When they led you to the principal’s office, you saw him.

Hunched in a chair too big for him, feet not touching the floor, his backpack clutched in his lap like a lifeline. His face was blotchy. Red. Tear tracks down both cheeks. His eyes were glassy and exhausted. He looked up the second you stepped in, and the way he stood nearly knocked the air from your lungs.

“Sweetheart,” you breathed.

He didn’t say anything. Just ran to you.

You crouched to catch him, arms wrapping tight, your whole body curling around his.

“Oh, baby,” you breathed, holding the back of his head. “I’m here. I’m here.”

He didn’t talk. Just sobbed into your shoulder, shaking like he’d been holding it in too long. You rocked him gently, hand stroking down his back, murmuring soft comforts against his hair.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered. “You’re okay now. I’m here.”

It took time. You didn’t rush it.

Eventually, the sobs became sniffles, then long, shaky breaths.

You thanked the principal quietly, took his hand, and led him out. He held your palm like he never wanted to let go.

Outside, on the front steps, you knelt beside him, brushing the damp hair back from his forehead. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head.

“That’s okay,” you said gently. “You can talk when you’re ready. Or not at all. I’m just glad you called me.”

He nodded, still sniffling. “I didn’t mean to cry so much.”

“You can cry as much as you want, bug. That’s allowed. You don’t have to be brave all the time.”

“I wanted to be good,” he whispered. “I didn’t want you and Bruce to send me back.”

Your heart shattered so quickly it left splinters.

“Oh, Dick,” you breathed, pulling him back into your arms. “We would never. Never, never. You’re ours. You hear me?”

He nodded, pressing his face into your collar.

You took him to work.

There was no way you were leaving him alone, and Bruce—currently locked in a board meeting on the twentieth floor—had made it explicitly clear that your judgment was the final one when it came to Dick.

So, that afternoon, Wayne Enterprises had its first unofficial “Take Your Child to Work” day.

You tucked him into your office, laid a soft throw blanket on the carpet, and gave him your emergency sketchpad—the one you kept in your desk for stress-doodling during long calls.

He flopped down stomach-first, crayons splayed around him, drawing with fierce focus. His face was still swollen. His eyes tired. But he looked calm now. Grounded.

Safe.

You worked quietly, pausing every few minutes to peek at him—still there, still okay. He showed you a picture he drew of Buttons. You promised to hang it on your office wall.

Everything was steady. Everything was soft.

Until the shouting started.

It wasn’t loud, exactly—but the tone pierced through your focus like a knife. You frowned, looked up, and heard it again—a sharp, irritated woman’s voice cutting through the hallway like she owned the floor.

“...I don’t care what Eloise said—he’ll see me!”

You stood, pushed open your office door, and stopped.

Security was gathered in front of the elevators. Eloise, the sweet lower-floor receptionist who adored you, stood awkwardly between two suited guards, trying to reason with someone neither of them could seem to wrangle.

A woman. Tall, stunning, tan, and furious.

You knew her. Of course you did.

Carla Vrenzi.

One of Bruce’s old companions. A supermodel with a temper, a flair for melodrama, and an ego that could crack titanium. You’d taken her call many months ago—her voice shrill and furious through the speaker, hurling curses because Bruce hadn’t called her back. You remembered the way she spat his name. The way she hung up on you.

And now she was here.

Your heart dipped.

She spotted you almost instantly.

“Oh,” she sneered. “You.”

Eloise turned, clearly panicked. “Miss Kent, we were trying to escort her down—”

“Don’t bother,” the woman snapped. “Miss ‘Personal Assistant,’ huh? Is this where Bruce keeps you now? Like a little lapdog? Is that why you spread your legs—because you were tired of faxing his schedules?!”

You stiffened, spine going taut.

Eloise looked horrified. “Ma’am, please—”

“You’re nothing!” Carla screamed. “A secretary! A poor little hayseed pretending she’s a Wayne! I’ve worn shoes more expensive than you!”

“Miss Kent,” Eloise repeated urgently. “Please go back into your office.”

Her face twisted. “You think that ring makes you anything? You’re a novelty act. A toy. Do you know how many of us there’ve been? How many women he’s tossed aside like—”

“Stop it,” you said quietly.

She didn’t. She took a step closer. “You t6think you matter? A farmer’s daughter with a clipboard and good hair? You’ll be gone in a year. Maybe less. You’ll wake up one morning in that big house, and he’ll be gone. And you’ll still be nothing.”

The floor felt like it had dropped from beneath you.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t flinch. But you felt your stomach twist, a cold coil of shame and doubt rising.

And then—

“HEY!”

Dick’s voice cracked like lightning.

He stood in your doorway, small but unshaking, fists clenched at his sides, nose wrinkled in absolute fury.

“Don’t talk to my mom like that!”

The hallway fell dead silent.

Carla turned, startled.

“I don’t care who you are!” he shouted, stepping in front of you with a look on his face that was half fury, half fire. “You don’t talk to her like that!”

The woman blinked. “Excuse me—”

“She’s amazing!” he yelled. “She’s kind and smart and funny and she makes the best waffles ever and Bruce loves her a lot! And I love her!”

“Kid—”

“And you’re mean!” he yelled, cheeks flushing, eyes brimming but not crying. “You’re mean and stupid and nobody wants you here!”

The whole hallway went silent.

You didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to. Because your eight-year-old son had already said everything.

Carla opened her mouth again—but the security guard beside her had had enough. “Ma’am, you need to leave the premises. Now.”

She huffed, sputtered, still fuming. But she turned.

Dick didn’t move until the elevator doors closed behind her.

Silence lingered.

And then Dick turned back to you, his chest rising and falling fast. His mouth opened like he wanted to apologize, perhaps for screaming, but you pulled him into your arms before he could say anything.

Tight. Fierce. Real.

He clung to you like he had at the school—only this time, he wasn’t broken. He was angry. Protective.

Yours.

You buried your face in his hair, tears welling in your eyes. “You called me your mom.”

His arms tightened. “I meant it.”

You swallowed hard. “You’ve never said that before.”

“I didn’t know if I could.”

You pulled back, just enough to look him in the face.

His cheeks were blotchy again. But this time, it wasn’t from sadness. It was from fire. From love.

“You can,” you whispered. “You can call me anything, bug. Anything you want. But that was the nicest you could have called me. Made me the proudest woman on Gotham. On Earth!.”

He smiled through the tears. “I think I liked calling you mom as well.”

You laughed and cried. You kissed his forehead as the hall slowly resumed normalcy, your coworkers sneaking glances, eyes wide and glassy.

But it didn’t matter.

Because in that moment—in that warm, golden, real moment—you were exactly who you wanted to be. Not Bruce’s fiancée. Not the secretary. Not the girl from the farm.

You were Dick Grayson’s mom. And that meant everything.

#bruce wayne x reader #batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #batmom reader #kent!batmom!reader #batboys x reader #bruce wayne x you #platonic dick grayson x reader #platonic clark kent x reader #superfam x reader

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synvil · 8 months ago

Text

can’t swim // rafe cameron

a / n : rafe cameron thoughts. btw this was actually an anonymous ask i sent to a writer, i don’t know if she’ll write it but im sure if she does, it’ll turn out amazing. @rafeysbunny i’m 🧋 anon, hehe.

fun fact, i cannot swim.

synopsis : in which, rafe overhears that you can’t swim and during a party out on the docks, some of the kooks push you into the ocean to loosen you up.

warnings : reader can’t swim. kelce being an ass, peer pressure, etc.

“are you serious, [Name]?”

The raised tone of her voice causes you to shush her as you tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear and purse your lips faintly. “Not so loud, sare..” You let out a small breath and frown, leaning back against the headboard of her bed.

Sarah nods in understanding, lowering her tone as she sighs softly and crosses her legs on the bed in front of you. “That’s crazy- i mean, everyone here in Outer Banks are either surfers or decent swimmers.”

“Except me..” You trail off, shutting your eyes as you bring your hands up to your face. “It’s pretty humiliating, you know.. Seeing everyone in their swimsuits and able to swim in the ocean or go surfing, without the fear of drowning.”

“Wow, no wonder you wouldn’t ever go into the pool or go swimming with us during the boat parties on the dock..”

Unbeknownst to you two, Sarah’s door was open and a passing Rafe Cameron was on his way downstairs when he overhears your conversation.

“It’s not like I haven’t tried, but each time, I feel my body sinking and it terrifies me. Plus, y’know, with the whole nearly drowning as a kid trauma and shit.” you force a laugh while Sarah shares a bittersweet smile.

“It’s alright, stay by me tonight and I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

“Thanks, Sarah, I appreciate it.. and you can’t tell anyone either, okay, especially not Rafe.” You warn pleadingly and she chuckles and nods. “wait, why specifically him?”

You feel your cheeks warm at her question as you turn away. “Your brother just seems like the type to make fun of me for it, and besides, it’s just embarrassing to have a guy i think is hot, to know that about me.”

Sarah scrunches her nose and shudders. “I think your crush on my brother is more embarrassing than you being unable to swim.” she teases and you playfully push her away from you as she breaks into a laugh.

Rafe peeks into the room and thinks for a moment as his eyes examine and take in your form. He has already known long ago of your developed crush on him, and to say he has a mutual infatuation with you may be an understatement.

Every time you come over, Rafe finds every excuse to be in the house, sometimes even in the same room, just to get a look at you.

The way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you feel shy, the way your eyes light up when you laugh, everything entices him, intrigues him. You were just so perfect.

Rafe quickly pulls away when he hears movement and leans against the wall beside the doorframe for a moment.

Despite being a little surprised at the newfound information, it brought a little smile to his face. You can’t swim? How cute.

“Come on, we should get ready for Topper’s party tonight.” Sarah says and you sigh softly, but get up anyways with her as she heads over to her closet. “It’ll be fun, come on.”

Rafe lingers for a second longer as he imagines what you’ll be wearing before taking his leave downstairs.

It’s around ten at night when the two of you arrive at the docks, the night sky surrounding the area with only the lights of Topper’s large boat illuminating the place.

“I don’t know, maybe i shouldn’t be here..” You go to turn around but Sarah stops you, pulling you to her side. “Come on, it’ll be okay, i promise. Besides, you look super cute, so flaunt it, okay?” She winks and you huff a breath before following after her.

The closer you get, the louder the partygoers become and the music blasting is enough to stimulate the senses.

Once you get on board, Sarah is engulfed by her friends, while you remain on the sideline with a weak smile and awkwardly hugging your arms. Despite being a kook, you weren’t among the popular ones but that wasn’t enough to get you on their bad side at least.

You rub your arms, the thin fabric of your cardigan doing nothing but add to Sarah’s fashion sense of your outfit tonight. In her baby blue, cropped cardigan, a matching spaghetti strapped solid colored tank and dark washed, high waisted denim shorts.

You help yourself to the bar, grabbing a red solo cup and letting the bartender fill the plastic cup with some beer before bringing it to your lips, hoping it would do some good to alleviate some anxiety, while you keep an eye on Sarah from nearby, who’s talking with her friends.

The scene brings a smile to your lips when you recall her saying she would keep an eye on you earlier in the day but you were happy to see her enjoy herself.

However, you didn’t get to enjoy much time alone as Topper and his friends make his way over to you.

“Hey, [Name]. All alone again?” Kelce smirks and you merely offer a small smile in return. “Not much of a party kinda girl.. but it’s nice.” you mention the last part to Topper who dismisses you, understanding you meant no offense.

“Where’s Sarah?” Topper asks, looking around the area and you gesture over a little ways nearby.

“She’s talking with some friends.” You reply, tapping my fingers against my cup as you shift your footing, feeling the anxiety come back, causing you to take another sip of your drink.

You let your eyes wander around the group, briefly catching Rafe’s, who let his eyes trail up and down your form for a moment, taking in your appearance. The way the baby blue color popped against your skin, the way your hair was styled for tonight’s party. Even the way you shyly held your cup to your chest, fingers still tapping against the sides.

Feeling your cheeks warm from Rafe’s intense gaze, you turn away and look back to Kelce.

Kelce and some of the other guys step closer and you give a small smile to them. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Come on, [Name]. We notice you always come to these parties but you don’t do anything,” Kelce mentions and you force a chuckle. “I’m an observer.” but some of the other guys don’t take that answer. “All we’re saying is, you should loosen up a little. Come on, some of the girls are taking dives off the tail, you should join.”

Your eyes widen slightly and you wave off the idea. “No, i think im good tonight, im actually pretty tired..” You say and Kelce scoffs lightly as his hand goes down to grab your wrist. “Don’t be a buzzkill, [Name], the water will wake you right up.”

“Kelce, i’m not really in the mood to-“ Rafe places a hand on Kelce’s shoulder, stopping him. “Let go, dude, let’s just leave her alone.” But Kelce doesn’t listen as he drags you along to where the other girls are, and the commotion causes all the partygoers to look over, Sarah looking your way.

Your eyes meet Rafe’s and he notices a look of fear and anxiety in them as Kelce brings you over and you try to pull away, the other guys surrounding you all, cheering Kelce and You.

“Yeah!”

“Come on, loosen up, girly.”

“Kelce, I really don’t—“ Despite your futile attempts, Kelce just takes the cup from your hands while Sarah pushes her way through the crowd. “Hey, Kelce, leave her alone!”

Rafe purses his lips and pulls Kelce away. “Hey, seriously, that’s enough.” He warns, pushing Kelce back, who just furrows his brows and scoffs. “What the hell? Why are you getting in the way, man?”

Sarah manages to get to your side, standing over you protectively. But the other girls now get in the way.

“Come on, Sarah, let [Name] do it.”

“it’s not scary.”

You shake your head again, as the girls pull Sarah away, leaving you alone with the kook surrounding you.

Rafe is pushing Kelce away, who’s confused and pushing Rafe back in retaliation. Meanwhile this leaves the other Kooks to act freely and the guys seem to share the same idea and go over to your body.

“Hey, hold on—“

But it’s too late, as the guys pick you up with ease and toss you overboard, a wave of laughter and cheers erupting from them.

“[Name]!” Sarah shouts from the girls hold and Rafe widens his eyes as he whirls around at the sound of your scream and a splash from the impact.

“Shit-“ Rafe curses as he roughly shoves Kelce into Topper as he rips off his shirt before taking a leap off the deck and into the water with you.

You flail, panic surging into you as you begin to hyperventilate. “S-Sa-Sarah—!”

“What the hell?!” Kelce scoffs with furrowed brows while Sarah feels tears brimming her eyes. “[Name] can’t swim!” she cries out as she rips away from the girls and shoves two of the guys out of her way before leaning over the railing. “[Name]!”

Topper’s, Kelce’s and the other kooks’ eyes widen in shock at the revelation. “What?”

They all rush over the rail to peer into the ocean as Rafe is diving under to find you.

Rafe manages to find your sinking body, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you up to the surface, your body already unconscious due to the lack of air and your panic flailing.

“[Name], [Name], are you okay?” He gasps as he reaches the surface and uses a hand to caress your cheek while the other props you up under your back. “No, no, come on, [Name], wake up.”

Sarah rushes around down the boat and on the boardwalk and leans down. “Rafe, Rafe! Come on, bring her over here!”

Rafe clenches his jaw when you still don’t respond and swims his way over towards Sarah as quickly as he can, panting before lifting your body up, Sarah doing her best to help you onto the wooden docks, laying you flat on your back.

“[Name], please! please wake up!” Sarah cries as she jostles you, Rafe climbing onto the dock next to her and looking down at you. She begins doing chest compressions, tears streaming down her cheeks faster. By this time, everyone on the boat is out on the boardwalk surrounding you body on the ground.

Rafe stands up straight, his clothes soaking and dripping but he doesn’t pay it any mind as he tries to catch his breath, staring down at his sister trying to wake you.

He contemplated for just a minuscule of a second, about beating the shit out of Kelce, but he prioritized your wellbeing first.

“Rafe- she’s not waking up.”

Sarah inhales sharply, trying not to think the worst and her older brother kneels down, pinching your nose closed before bringing his lips down to yours.

The kooks are whispering amongst each other, surprised by Rafe’s sudden leadership actions.

Rafe pulls away, continuing Sarah’s chest compressions before going back to pressing his lips against yours, providing CPR.

Please, not like this. wake up, wake up for me, [Name].

Suddenly a choked noise erupts from your lips as you turn to your side and spew out bits of water. Your throat becomes sore as you cough roughly.

Sarah immediately breaks into a smile, a gasp of relief coming from her and Rafe pulls back, a sigh coming from him. “H-Hey, take it easy, you’re alright..”

You look around, feeling dizzy and nauseous as you spit up the last of the water you nearly drowned in, as Sarah pulls you to her chest, engulfing you in a tight hug. “[Name], i’m so glad you’re okay!”

Meanwhile, Rafe stands upright, looking up at the sky, trying to relax his rapidly beating heart, as he takes slow steps to turn around.

“H-Hey, look, I didn’t know-“

Kelce, already knowing what was coming, raises his hands in defense as he backs up.

However, Rafe doesn’t hesitate his fist swinging into Kelce’s cheek, succeeding in knocking him down. “You son of a bitch!”

Rafe clenches his jaw tight as he looks to the other kooks. “Party is fucking over, get the fuck away!”

Topper tries to talk some sense into Rafe but Rafe shoves him. “You hear me? I said get away! go fucking home, now!”

Everyone is stunned into silence as they share looks, before quickly scrambling away and off the dock, not wanting to argue with the Kook King.

Sarah sniffles as she pulls away and looks up at Rafe, who kneels down and tucks an arm under your legs and the other under your back, before lifting you up carefully, bridal style.

“R-Rafe?…” Your hoarse voice calls out, hands pressed to his firm chest but Rafe hushes you. “Shh.. it’s alright, just get some rest.. you’ll be fine.”

Sarah watches her brother carry you towards his truck, wiping her tears as she follows after them, exhaling gently.

Tears brim your eyes as your chest swells with warmth, despite your freezing body.

You stare up at Rafe weakly, feeling your chest grow weak as your eyes flutter close and you press your head into his chest more. “Thank you.. Rafe.. You saved me..”

Rafe’s hold on you tightens, securing you in his arms.

“..I’m so glad you’re okay… i’m so sorry..”

a/n: welp, this could’ve been sooo much better but i rushed this at work hehe. outerbanks is playing on the tv at work so i thought id get a little smth out :3 this is sooo bad though 😭

not proofread or edited. i’ll go back and edit some other time.

synvil™️.

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