The Air At Bobby’s Smelled Like Summer—smoke From The Grill, A Little Motor Oil, And Something Sweet

Why are all the Rafe and Sofia scenes giving wattpad 💀

→ Midnight Cravings.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Wife!reader.

Summary: Dean Winchester is a good husband and an awesome dad.

Rating: Fluff.

Warnings/Tags: Domestic fluff, breeding kink, implied smut...

Word Count: 1.3k

The baby monitor crackles softly. Then, a tiny, restless whimper fills the quiet room.

Your eyes crack open, a sigh escaping your lips.

Dean stirs, sighing as he rubs a hand over his face. “Your kid’s up,” he mutters, voice thick with sleep.

You hum, already half-awake. “Our kid,” you correct, but there’s no fight in it. Just fondness.

Dean groans but pushes himself up, swinging his legs over the bed. “Yeah, yeah.” He scratches his stomach as he stumbles toward the door, his movements slow but sure, muscle memory at this point.

You watch as he disappears down the hall, the sound of the nursery door creaking open. A moment later, through the baby monitor, you hear his low, gravelly voice.

"Alright, little man, what’s the deal? Bad dream? Hungry? Dirty diaper?"

A soft coo. A hiccupy sniffle. Dean sighs.

"Yeah, I get it, bud. Whole damn world's a lot to take in." The floor creaks as he moves, likely rocking the baby in his arms. Then, quieter, gentler—"S’okay, Daddy’s gotcha."

Your heart squeezes. Dean has always been a daddy material, in your opinion, like he's been made to be one. It's a delight to watch him do his dad stuff.

Dean sniffs the baby's butt to check if the little one has a surprise for him. Dean raises his brows and flips his lip as he only smells clean baby scent.

“Are you hungry or just cranky, hmh?” Dean holds your son in his hands, facing him.

Your baby babbles at Dean, tugging at his face. “Da-da!”

Dean’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins, brushing his thumb across the baby's cheek. “Yeah, that’s me,” he murmurs. “Da-da.” His voice is soft, almost reverent.

Your baby babbles again, hands reaching up to pat Dean’s scruffy jaw. Dean chuckles, adjusting the baby in his arms. “You're trouble, you know that?" He presses a kiss to the baby’s forehead. "Just like your mom.”

The baby coos in response, curling his tiny hand around Dean’s finger. Dean’s breath hitches, his smile faltering for half a second before he leans back in the rocking chair and starts swaying.

“You don’t know how lucky you are, kid,” he whispers. “Having her.” His gaze turns distant for a second, dark lashes brushing his cheeks. “You’re gonna grow up good. Better than me. Promise you that.”

Then, Dean, standing in the dimly lit nursery and cradling the baby against his chest, he rocks side to side. The baby’s tiny fingers curl into Dean’s shirt, his wide green eyes—Dean’s eyes—blinking sleepily up at him. Dean hums softly, low and rough. It’s not really a lullaby—more like the gravelly hum of a Metallica song toned down to something soft enough for a baby’s ears.

A sleepy sigh from the baby is the only answer Dean gets, but it’s enough. After a few more minutes of quiet rocking, the baby’s eyes flutter shut. Dean watches him for a moment longer before the baby shifts, letting out a soft, unhappy whimper.

“You fightin’ sleep, huh?” Dean mutters, rubbing the baby’s back. “Can’t blame ya. The world’s a pretty scary place, kid. But you don’t gotta worry about that yet.” His hand cups the back of the baby’s head. “Not while I’m around.”

The baby whines, a soft noise of discomfort, his mouth opening and closing like he’s searching for something.

Dean frowns. “What’s wrong, bud?” He presses his palm to the baby’s back, rubbing small, soothing circles. The baby squirms, fussing harder.

“Ah, hell,” Dean sighs. “Alright, I know what you need.”

He stands, cradling the baby carefully against his chest, and pads down the hall toward your room. The floor creaks beneath his bare feet as he pushes the door open with his shoulder.

You’re already awake, propped up on your elbows. Your hair’s a little messy, your eyes hazy with sleep, but you smile the second you see them. “Hey.”

Dean crosses the room, lowering onto the edge of the bed. “Think he’s hungry.” He gives you a tired smile. “Mind givin’ him a top-up?”

You smile, reaching out to take the baby from him. “Come here, sweetheart.”

Dean hands him over, watching as the baby instantly calms down in your arms. You adjust your shirt, helping him latch on with practiced ease. The baby makes a soft, content noise, his tiny fingers curling against your skin.

Dean’s eyes soften. His hand brushes your hair back from your face as you nurse. “You’re a sight, you know that?”

You huff a quiet laugh. Yeah, messy hair, and leaking tits are a sight. “Stop.”

“Not kiddin’.” His hand rests on your thigh, thumb brushing over your skin. His gaze drops to the baby, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Looks like he’s got my appetite.”

You roll your eyes. “Dean.”

“What?” His hand slides higher, warm and steady. “Just sayin’.”

Once the baby finishes, you gently settle him against your shoulder, rubbing his back until he lets out a tiny burp. His eyes are already drifting shut.

Dean stands, taking the baby from you with a gentleness that always makes your heart clench. He kisses the baby’s head before going back to the baby's room and cautiously settling him in his bassinet.

“You’re good at this,” you whisper when he's back to your room.

Dean’s gaze lingers on the sleeping baby for a moment on the monitor screen, his jaw tightening slightly before he crawls back into bed beside you.

You smile as he pulls you close, his arm wrapping snugly around your waist. His lips trail a line of kisses on your neck. You can feel the urge, the need in them. Same goes to his hands as they roam your body gently.

“Dean,” you murmur with a giggle.

“Mm?”

“Are you knocking me up again?”

Dean’s mouth curves into a wicked smirk against your neck. “Maybe.”

“Dean—”

“What?” His lips ghost along your collarbone. “He sleeps through the night now. We’ve got time.”

You laugh softly, but the sound is lost as his mouth finds yours again, slow and deep and hungry. His hand slides beneath the blanket, and you shiver.

“Dean—”

“Shh.” His mouth brushes your ear, his voice low and dangerous in the dark. “Daddy’s gotcha.”

Dean’s lips trail lazily down your neck, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. His hand slides beneath the blanket, skimming over your hip, his touch firm but careful. You feel the low hum of his breath against your skin as he presses a lingering kiss beneath your ear.

You huff a laugh, your hand coming up to tangle in his hair. “You’re impossible.”

“You love it.”

You don’t deny it. You can’t, not when his mouth moves back to yours, deep and slow, and his hand slips beneath the thin fabric of your underwear. His touch is rough from years of hunting, but he’s careful with you—always so careful.

A sleepy whimper from the monitor cuts through the haze.

Dean groans, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

You laugh softly, brushing your hand through his hair. “Guess he’s not ready to share.”

Dean sighs and pushes himself up, dragging a hand down his face. “Yeah, yeah. I’m comin’, kid.” He presses a quick kiss to your lips before getting up.

You watch him disappear down the hall again, the monitor crackling to life. Dean’s voice is low and soothing.

“Alright, little man. What’s wrong this time?”

A soft sniffle.

“Just need your old man, huh?”

You smile, leaning back against the pillows as Dean hums softly through the monitor. It’s not long before the sound fades, and Dean returns, settling back into bed beside you with a tired sigh.

“False alarm,” he mutters, tugging you against his side. His arm curls around your waist, warm and steady. “Now, where were we?”

You laugh, tucking your head against his chest. “You were telling me how much you love knocking me up.”

Dean grins, pressing his lips to your hair. “Still true.”

His hand slides beneath the blanket again, fingers trailing low over your belly. “We’ve got time,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep and something deeper. “Plenty of time.”

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COMING HOME. †

꒰ . ⋮ minors do not interact .ᐟ ֹ ꒱

༝༚༝༚ synopsis. after two excruciating weeks apart, dean finally comes home. the kids are asleep, and he's desperate to make up for lost time.

ⓘ warning(s). smut | rough sex | mild dominance | biting & marking | bed-breaking sex (literally) | post-hunt reunion | explicit language.

༝༚༝༚ word count. 1.3K

༝༚༝༚ kari notes. the people wanted this, so the people are gonna get it <3 + i actually HATE the way this came out, but fuck it we ball 👁️👁️

you hear the impala roar into the driveway before you see it, the familiar rumble sending a rush of warmth through your chest. two weeks. fourteen long, exhausting days of managing four kids alone, of missing him with a sharp, constant ache that settled deep in your bones.

you've learned to deal with dean's absences over the years, but somehow it never gets easier. especially now, with three daughters—ages eight, five, and three—and a mischievous eight-month-old son who has his daddy's green eyes and stubborn streak.

you're halfway through cleaning up the dinner table, your youngest balanced snugly on your hip, drooling adorably on your shirt, when the front door swings open. dean steps inside, dirt-stained jeans hugging his hips, his faded flannel hanging open over a worn black t-shirt. the sight of him sends your pulse into overdrive.

"hey, sweetheart," dean drawls gently, dropping his duffel by the door. he looks tired—lines etched deeper around his eyes, scruff thicker than usual—but god, he's gorgeous. your heart flips as he steps closer, his eyes softening when your baby boy reaches tiny arms out toward his dad, babbling excitedly.

"hey, buddy," dean murmurs, scooping his son effortlessly into his arms. your heart aches, watching the way dean's face lights up, exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the presence of his child. his lips brush the baby's soft forehead, lingering there as if soaking up every ounce of comfort and affection he can.

"missed you," you whisper, stepping close enough to lean against his chest, breathing in his familiar scent of leather, gunpowder, and something uniquely dean winchester. his free arm wraps tight around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

"missed you too, baby," he whispers hoarsely, his lips pressing softly to your temple. the brush of his stubble sends shivers down your spine, and your fingers fist gently into the fabric of his shirt. "you holdin' up okay?"

you nod against him, savoring the warmth of his strong frame, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. "better now."

the sound of tiny footsteps breaks the moment, and your three daughters come racing into the kitchen screaming excitedly. dean's eyes crinkle at the corners, his mouth breaking into a wide, genuine smile as they swarm him, hugging his legs, giggling when he ruffles their hair, calling each one by their special nickname.

it's pure chaos, loud and messy and beautiful. you step back a little, watching him interact with your children—your chest tightening with an overwhelming surge of love.

the evening passes in a blur of baths and stories and bedtime cuddles. dean insists on handling bedtime, savoring every moment he's missed over the past two weeks.

you watch him from the doorway as he kisses tiny foreheads, tucks blankets gently around tiny shoulders, whispering softly until eyelids flutter closed. your heart swells as you see him in his element, and it makes you fall impossibly more in love with him.

when the last bedroom door finally clicks shut, he turns to you, eyes dark and heavy with a different kind of exhaustion—the kind that only you can soothe. the tension that's been simmering between you since the moment he walked through the door ignites instantly, crackling in the air between you like electricity.

without a word, dean crosses the hallway, his fingers tangling into your hair as he pulls you in, mouth crashing against yours hungrily. your back hits your bedroom door with a soft thud, his broad frame crowding you against it as his tongue sweeps into your mouth, claiming you roughly, possessively. the kiss is messy, desperate—his teeth catching your lower lip, tugging just enough to make you gasp.

"goddamn, baby," he growls against your mouth, voice thick and gravelly with need. "been goin' fuckin' crazy without you."

your hands slip beneath his shirt, nails scraping lightly over his strong stomach, tracing the familiar curves of muscle and softness. he groans into your mouth, pressing his hips into yours, letting you feel exactly how much he's missed you. your breath hitches as you grind against him, desperate for friction, desperate to feel him fill you again.

"need you," you whisper breathlessly, your lips trailing along his jaw, tasting the salt of his skin. "now."

he doesn't hesitate, pulling you away from the door long enough to shove it open. the second it clicks shut behind you, his hands are everywhere, stripping clothes away roughly, impatiently. your shirt lands somewhere across the room, jeans and underwear quickly following.

you fumble with his flannel, tugging it off his broad muscular shoulders, your fingers trembling slightly as you push his jeans down his hips, freeing his hard length.

he backs you toward the bed, lips never leaving yours, and you're both naked before your knees hit the mattress. he lays you down roughly, climbing over you, his mouth blazing a trail down your neck, across your chest, tongue swirling around your nipples, biting gently until you're arching into him, moaning his name.

"dean," you gasp when his teeth scrape over your sensitive skin, sending pleasure pulsing through your veins. "please, baby—"

he doesn't make you wait, pushing your thighs apart with strong hands, sinking into you in one swift thrust. you both groan simultaneously, overwhelmed by the tight heat, the perfect friction. he sets a brutal pace immediately, hips snapping hard against yours, driving you higher, faster, closer to the edge you've been craving.

"fuck, sweetheart," he grunts, his voice raw, desperate, as he pounds into you. "missed this pussy—missed you—so goddamn much."

you dig your heels into his lower back, urging him deeper, harder, your nails leaving red marks down his back as you cling to him. the bed creaks dangerously beneath you, but neither of you cares. you're too lost in the feeling, in each other, in the messy, desperate heat of making up for lost time.

he sits up suddenly, pulling you with him, never slipping out of you. he spins you around until you're on your knees, gripping the wooden headboard tightly, his strong chest pressed hot against your back. he pounds into you from behind, teeth sinking gently into your shoulder, your neck, marking you as his. you push back against him, matching each thrust, feeling your orgasm building quickly, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it snaps.

"oh fuck, dean—" your voice breaks, your body shaking violently beneath him, pleasure washing over you in wave after wave. he growls your name, hips stuttering, his thrusts becoming erratic as your walls squeeze around him, pulling him over the edge with you.

his hand slams down on the headboard as he comes hard, hips jerking, cock pulsing deep inside you. there's a loud crack, wood splintering beneath his grip, but he hardly seems to notice, too caught up in the intensity of his orgasm.

you collapse onto the mattress together, breathing heavily, limbs tangled, hearts pounding in sync. dean's hand slides gently along your back, tracing soft circles over the bite marks he's left behind, soothing your skin as you both slowly come down from your high.

"think you just broke our bed," you tease softly, nuzzling into his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

he chuckles, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "worth it."

you laugh quietly, your fingers trailing lazily along his chest. "missed you so much, de."

his arms tighten around you, pulling you impossibly closer. "i ain't goin' anywhere, baby," he whispers, voice thick and sincere. "promise."

and for the first time in weeks, you finally feel complete again—safe and loved and exactly where you're meant to be.

@ deansbeer is tagging you .ᐟ @titsout4jackles @daylighted @soldiersgirl @bluemerakis @jensenacklesballsack @h8aaz @bluestrd @ultravi0lence14 @blue-d @stereotypicalbarbie @funkycoloured @fuckedupfate @deanswidow @beausling @bejeweledinterludes @blossomingorchids @tinas111 @0ccvltism @bittersweetfig @deanswifeyy @dollyfiles @cupidzbunny @tallandcunt @kamisobsessed @pieandflannel @faiszt @apocalyqsc @coquitokisses @americanvenom13 @rubyvhs @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @mahi-wayy @maddie0101 ╱ wanna follow the chaos? join my taglist <3

꒰ lick it up, fucking eat. ᮫ ⭒

married!ellie x interior designer! reader Summary: Ellie hires you to bring her shitty wife’s so-called "dream home" to life, but you end up fufilling something else.

The house was silent, save for the low hum of the air conditioning, which flowed through the sprawling, half-renovated living room. You stood in front of a swatch of paint samples, holding each one up to the fading light from the bay window. The sun dipped low, casting golden fingers across the unfinished floorboards, hinting at what the space might look like when it was finally complete. Ellie watched you from across the room, leaning casually against the doorframe with her arms crossed, her gaze drifting between you and the wall.

“That one,” she muttered, jerking her chin toward the beige sample you held. Her voice was laced with something close to disdain. “She thinks it’s ‘elegant.’ "

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at the shade—a flat, muted tone that felt as lifeless as the drywall it would cover. "Well," you replied, “if she wants ‘elegant,’ I’m sure we can do more than beige."

Ellie’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, a glint of something both dark and playful in them. She pushed off the wall, coming a little closer, her boots scuffing against the rough wood. "Exactly what I was thinking," she murmured, her gaze lingering on you a second too long before shifting to the wall.

You let out a quiet breath, suddenly very aware of the way her presence filled the room, heavy and warm, with a pull that seemed to demand attention. Her sleeves were pushed up, revealing her tattooed forearm—faintly smudged paint stains and a few scratches etched across her knuckles. Her messy hair fell into her eyes, and she brushed it away, glancing down at the floorboards as if they might give her the answers she was looking for.

“So… if it were completely up to you,” she continued, her voice softer now, “what would you do with the place?”

You felt a small jolt of excitement, surprised that she cared enough to ask your opinion. You took a slow breath, letting yourself look around the room with fresh eyes. "Something warm, to make the room feel alive. Maybe custom furniture, something that doesn’t look like it’s from a catalog."

She nodded slowly, her gaze following yours as you spoke, but there was something deeper, something unspoken in the way she looked at you. Like this wasn’t about the walls or the furniture.

"We could go for that," she said, and her voice dropped, quiet, the weight of her words sinking into the empty space between you. "Anything that makes this place feel less… hers."

Your heart fluttered at the faint edge of bitterness in her voice, the quiet rebellion hiding beneath her sarcasm. She was closer now, close enough that you could feel her warmth radiating toward you in the cooling room, close enough that you could see every detail of her: the subtle flecks of green in her eyes, the faint line of a scar near her temple.

You reached out, brushing your fingers over a scratch on the windowsill. "This place could be incredible. It just needs to feel lived in, loved.”

Ellie swallowed, her eyes following your hand. “Can you fullfill that?,” she murmured, and there was a softness in her voice now, something that made your stomach flip.

Your breath caught, pulse quickening as you felt the subtle shift in the air between you. The moment held a thread of tension, tight and fragile, like something waiting to be snapped. You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’d love to show you. Just need a little… freedom with the choices.”

Ellie’s smirk returned, faint but laced with something deeper, "Freedom, huh?" She stepped back, giving you a lingering once-over before nodding, her voice a low murmur. "Yeah… I think we can work something out."

She pulled her gaze away reluctantly, as if forcing herself to break the spell, and you felt the strange tug of her absence, the fading warmth of her presence as she retreated toward the hallway. "Just… no beige," she added, her back already turned, her voice drifting down the hall like an invitation. 

You stood there, the glow of the setting sun washing over you, you realized you felt a thrill. 

The days passed in a blur of decisions, late-night calls with suppliers, and a dozen small, carefully calculated adjustments to make the space feel warmer, more vibrant—despite the rigid input from Ellie’s wife. You’d spent the afternoon with her, going over fixture placements and fabric swatches. She was precise, clinical, every suggestion an opportunity to correct, to refine, to turn down anything that dared to stand out.

Ellie’s wife stood in the middle of the room, studying the sofa with a critical eye. She let out a sigh, her fingers skimming over the velvet, dismissing it as though it were somehow beneath her. “I thought I made it clear I wanted something more sophisticated. This feels… almost flashy.” Her gaze landed on you, thinly veiled irritation simmering beneath her smile.

You opened your mouth to explain the intention behind the choice when the front door opened. Ellie walked in, still in her work clothes, a slight weariness to her step. Her gaze moved from you to her wife.

Ellie’s wife immediately turned to her, her posture stiffening. “There you are. I was just telling our designer here that this,” she gestured to the room around her with an air of distaste, “is not what we discussed.”

Ellie’s face tightened, a frustrated, almost exasperated look clouding her eyes. “ A little color wouldn’t kill you.”

“Yes, but I expected you’d listen to what I actually wanted.” She crossed her arms, her gaze pointed. “This was supposed to be tasteful, Ellie. Not… whatever this is.”

Ellie let out a dry laugh, brushing past her, stepping closer to you as she took in the room. “And by ‘tasteful,’ you mean dull walls and soulless furniture. Right?” 

Her wife’s eyes flashed, and she folded her arms tighter. “It’s not my fault you don’t understand the concept of refinement.”

Ellie’s jaw clenched, her hand flexing at her side. “God, do you even hear yourself? It’s a fucking home, not a damn workplace. Just—" she glanced over at you, her face softening briefly as if realizing you were caught in the middle. "Never mind.”

You held your breath, feeling the tension swell, a raw kind of frustration radiating between them. But Ellie’s wife was relentless, her voice sharp and dismissive. “Oh, here we go again. You act like I’m asking for something ridiculous. Just admit it—you’re the one who’s never satisfied. You’re the one who thinks everything has to be some big, meaningful statement. Not everything’s about you, Ellie!”

Ellie’s face flushed, her eyes flashing with something dangerously close to anger. She opened her mouth, then closed it, a defeated breath slipping past her lips as she seemed to reconsider. She cast one last glance at you, and you felt that familiar pull between you—a silent, unspoken understanding—and then, with a shake of her head, Ellie stormed off, her shoes echoing down the hallway until the door slammed behind her.

Silence swallowed the room, leaving you and her wife alone once more. 

“See what I have to deal with?” she muttered, shaking her head. "She gets these weird ideas about what’s ‘creative’ or ‘cool’ and just… doesn’t listen to reason. She doesn’t even understand what it takes to make a space look sophisticated. Her taste—it’s like a teenager trying to decorate a dorm room."

You felt your grip tighten on the sample book, but you forced yourself to stay professional. “Well, Ellie did mention she wanted something with a bit more character.”

Her wife snorted, crossing her arms with an exasperated sigh. “Exactly. Character. She’s so out of touch with what a home needs to feel welcoming. She can’t just accept that maybe—just maybe—she doesn’t know better than me.”

She flipped past a deep, velvety forest green swatch Ellie had specifically loved. “This green? I mean, it’s hideous. Who even wants a dark color like that in their home? It’s depressing.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, looking at the swatch she’d just discarded. “It could add some depth to the space. Sometimes dark colors bring a warmth that—”

Her wife gave you a sharp look, like you’d crossed some invisible line. She forced a tight smile. “Trust me,” she said, voice dripping with condescension, “there’s nothing to ‘deepen’ here. I know what I want, and I don’t need Ellie’s… outlandish tastes cluttering up my vision.”

The house had transformed into a hive of activity, buzzing with the sounds of hammers, paint rollers, and snippets of conversation as workers bustled around. Every corner of the room felt alive with movement, a stark contrast to the emptiness you’d felt days prior. Furniture was being hauled in, drapes were hung, and the walls were beginning to take on their new colors. Yet despite the flurry of activity, your attention was divided, searching the room more often than not for a familiar face.

And then, as if on cue, Ellie appeared.

She wove through the workers, carrying a crumpled paper bag in one hand and balancing two cups of coffee in the other. She wore a smile, her messy hair peeking out from under a faded baseball cap, a glimmer of excitement lighting up her face as she caught your eye. She slipped between a worker with a paint can and another adjusting a lamp, until finally, she stopped in front of you. 

Ellie held up the bag with a faint smile. “Thought you could use a break,” she said, nudging the bag into your hands. “There’s a place around the corner that makes delicious pastries.”

Surprised and a little touched, you opened the bag, the warm, sweet scent wafting out immediately. “Thank you.”

The noise of the workers faded into a distant hum, becoming a mere backdrop to the moment as you took a bite of the pastry. The warm sweetness melted on your tongue, rich and comforting, drawing a soft sigh from your lips. But in your enjoyment, you didn’t notice the crumb that fell, catching just at the corner of your lips. 

Ellie did, though.

In the midst of all the clamor—the sharp buzz of saws cutting through wood, the metallic clinking of hammers striking nails, and the sound of her wife’s sharp voice scolding a worker about the paint application—Ellie stepped closer, her expression suddenly serious.

Her fingers were careful, warm, and impossibly soft as they brushed the crumb from your lips. You felt her fingertip linger there, feather-light, barely skimming your skin, but enough to make your breath catch.

Her gaze held yours, deep green eyes flickering with an unreadable emotion that pulled you in. Ellie’s fingers felt electric against your skin, her knuckles resting against your cheek, the warmth radiating from her touch contrasting with the cool air of the room. Ellie’s eyes dropped for just a heartbeat, shifting from your gaze to your mouth, where her thumb hovered near your lip. You could feel your heart racing, each beat echoing in your ears as she lingered just a moment longer than necessary.

You could hear her breath hitch slightly as her fingers finally pulled away, leaving your skin cold in their absence.

“Fuck” she murmured, voice low and just a little hoarse. Her gaze drifted to your lips one last time, almost on purpose, before she forced her eyes to focus anywhere but on you. 

You remember when the affair began.

It was a cold winter, the kind that seeped into your bones, making everything feel heavy and muffled. Snow blanketed the world outside, a serene white glow through the window. 

Ellie was pressed against you, her body radiating heat as she leaned in closer, her face achingly near yours. You could feel the warmth of her breath mingling with the cool air between you. Her hands flexed around your hips, desperate to grip them, to anchor herself to you. 

There was a desperation.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” She pleaded, her voice strained,  a wish that perhaps if you rejected her, if you spoke the words she needed to hear, the desires swirling for you would vanish. 

But as she leaned in closer, her lips brushing against yours in a feather-light touch, the world around you blurred.  A shiver raced down your spine, igniting something deep within you—a spark that flared into a flame, daring you to give in. 

“I need you,” Ellie breathed, the urgency in her voice sending warmth pooling in your stomach. Her words ghosted over your skin, leaving a trail of heat that made it impossible to think straight. “I need to feel you, to taste you. Please, let me have you…” 

You could see it in her eyes—the hunger, the need. 

Your lips touched Ellie’s, slowly, tentatively at first. You hesitated for a moment, searching her eyes for any sign of hesitation, any hint that this was a mistake. But all you found was a dark hunger reflected in her gaze, a need that mirrored your own. The soft sound of falling snow outside barely registered as you leaned in closer, feeling the warmth of her body.

Ellie’s lips then pressed against yours, slow and soft, “Oh, fuck.” she gasped, her breath warm against your mouth. 

It was all you needed. 

You kissed her again, this time deeper and more sensual, losing yourself in the taste of her. Every brush of your lips was a question, every stroke of your tongue an answer. Savoring the way her tongue stroked against yours with caresses that left you breathless.

“God, you taste amazing,” she murmured against your lips. The way she spoke made you feel seen, desired, as if every part of you was exactly what she craved.

“Ellie…” you breathed, her name slipped from your lips so easily. 

Ellie’s kisses grew more urgent, each one a desperate plea for more as her hands gripped your hips with bruising force, anchoring you against the wall. Her lips trailed down your neck, gasping as her teeth grazed over your skin.  And then, without warning, she sucked hard, her mouth forming a seal against your neck. 

“Oh fuck..” you breathed, your voice aching to be more than a whisper. 

Ellie was already lost in her own world, her focus entirely on you, on the way your body responded to her touch.

"Shhh, we need to be quiet," she whispered, her voice low with need, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, pupils dilated with lust, a fiery spark that made your stomach knot.

Her hands wandered down your body, fingers tracing the contours of your ass, kneading the soft flesh as she pulled you closer, digging into your skin and leaving dents where her grip tightened.

"God, I can’t get enough of you." she breathed, her hands slipping to unbutton your jeans. Her fingers teased the waistband of your panties, dipping just beneath the fabric to caress your folds, igniting a heat through you. She kissed and nipped at your neck, her tongue flicking out to taste your sweat-slicked skin.

Her hand slid further into your panties, her fingers parting your slick folds to stroke your sensitive clit. You gasped, your mouth agape as she circled the swollen nub with a feather-light touch. Her other hand slid up your body, cupping your tit and kneading the soft mound. Her fingers found your hardened nipple, pinching and rolling the sensitive bud between her thumb and index finger.

"Oh fuck.." you hiccuped, “please.." 

Leaning down, ellie’s hot breath hovered over your sensitive skin before she took your nipple into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it. She moaned against your nipple, her tongue flicking against the hardened bud as she sucked hard, her teeth grazing your skin, making you gasp.

"Ellie," you begged, your voice strained with need. "I need more.”

Her eyes darkened with lust as she gazed at you, turned on by your desperate pleas. "Beg for it," she groaned, her voice low. Ellie's fingers stroked your slick folds, teasing your entrance but not yet delving inside. She circled your clit with light touches, making you buck your hips, seeking more friction.

“Please," you moaned. "Please, fuck me."

Apparently she didn’t need much convincing.

With an urgency, Ellie plunged two fingers knuckle-deep into your soaking cunt, curling them upward to stroke that sensitive spot inside you. The lewd sound of your juices squelching filled the air as she pumped her fingers in and out, stroking your inner walls with each thrust, her thumb rubbing soft circles around your aching clit.

"Atta girl.." Ellie groaned, her voice thick with desire. "Ride my fucking fingers."

"fuuck, right there," you moaned, your eyes rolling back in pleasure. 

You reached down to slide your hand to unbutton ellie’s jeans. Her belt clinking as her hips bucked forward. Your fingers crept beneath the waistband of her boxers, feeling the slick flesh of her dripping hole.

"Fuuck me," Ellie moaned, grinding her hips against your hand, spreading her thighs wider to give you more access to her aching cunt. Her movements were desperate, urging you to rub her swollen clit, the sensitive nub pulsing beneath your touch.

"Yes, fuck, just like that," she groaned, her perky tits bouncing slightly with each thrust. Her head rolling back in pleasure, eyes fluttering shut as she lost herself.

"Yes, just like that," You moaned, ellie’s fingers pumping faster in and out of your dripping cunt. She could feel your slick coating her fingers, your juices dripping down her wrist. Your hips jerked erratically, your stomach beginning to knot. With a sharp cry, you came, your pussy spasming around her fingers as you rode out your orgasm.

"That's it, cum for me," she moaned, rubbing your clit faster to prolong your pleasure. "Come all over my fucking fingers." Your body shuddered, your walls clenching around her as you milked her fingers for all they were worth. She could feel your juices gushing out, coating her hand and dripping onto the floor. Your moans filled the room, echoing obscenely off the walls.

Ellie slowly withdrew her fingers, feeling your walls clench around her as she pulled them out. Your juices coated her hand, glistening in the low light of the room.

She grabbed your shoulders, pushing you down to your knees. She hooked her thumbs in her waistband, shimmying her boxers down her thighs before stepping out of them. Ellie's pussy was glistening, she parted her folds to reveal her throbbing clit. She straddled your face, her dripping cunt hovering just above your mouth

“Fuck I -" Ellie moaned, grinding her hips down to press her pussy against your lips. “Fucking taste me.” Ellie's juices coated your mouth as you flicked your tongue out, lathering it along her slick folds before delving inside her dripping hole. Ellie's poor thighs trembled, her hands gripping your hair as she rode your face frantically, bringing her fingers to her lips, sucking your slick off of them with a low moan.

“You’re so fucking good," She groaned, her juices coating your mouth, dripping down your chin.

"That's it, right there," Ellie panted, her thighs trembling around your head. "Fuck, your tongue feels so good." Her hands gripped your hair, pulling you closer as she rutted against your mouth. 

"That's it, fuck, I'm gonna cum-," Ellie moaned, her hips jerking erratically. You plunged two fingers deep into Ellie's soaked cunt, her walls clenching around quickly, her juices gushing out. You sucked ellie's clit faster, feeling it twitch beneath your tounge as she came. 

“What the fuck!?” ellie’s wife excalimed. 

She had walked in, her eyes widening in shock as she took in the scene before her. 

Ellie was still straddling your face, her dripping pussy pressed against your mouth. The obsecene sounds of slurping and moaning filled the room, leaving no doubt as to what had been happening. 

You remember when the affair began. 

You remember when the affair ended.

cuteee

Stormy Weather in The Lanes - Vander X Reader

It's been a long week, and you and Vander are finally able to have some alone time, that is until it starts to thunderstorm...

SFW: this boutta be fluffier than that your softest throw blanket you bring out for the holidays

CW: ok, maybe a little pain (storm triggering PTSD)

A/N: i did some digging and Zaun DOES have access to the sky i believe, it's just that the gas and fog covers it the deeper you go down (at least that's what the league website implies)

Work, bartending, caring for the kids, and keeping the fragile peace of the Lanes. That's almost all you see him do. However, this is what you signed up for when you decided to pursue none other than the Hound of the Underworld himself. Although, this doesn't change the fact that you wished for more time just for the two of you, so tonight was especially special, since you actually had him to yourself, almost like the old days, when there wasn't so much conflict, when the two of you were able to stay out all night, like the night you both watched the Undercity lights from the roof.

The night he promised you he would always keep you safe and sealed that promise with a kiss.

You find your thought lingering wistfully in the past when you hear the door open. "This week has been far too long'", Vander sighs as he removes his jacket. You rise from the chair you were seated at and greet him at the door. "At least it's over", You reply, taking his jacket. "For now," he replies. "Until tomorrow."

"So let tomorrow's problems be for tomorrow," You stated. You take his hand and yours and place a gentle kiss upon it.

A smile creeps across his face at this gesture, and his hand slips from yours to caress your face.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" He says as you watch him. "Far too long", you reply, as you close the distance between the two of you until your lips touch. As you kiss him, you feel his arms wrap you in a tight embrace.

Oh, how you've missed this.

"The kids are all alseep", You whisper into his ear

"Now that's what I like to hear," he says with a smile.

You lead him by the hand to the bedroom, and soon enough, the both of you are wrapped in each others arms under the sheets. You feel his hand rub your back as you rest in his arms, which makes you hold him tighter to you. His arms were the safest place in the world, that was something you never let him forget.

The two of you basked in each other's company, reveling in every minute you could, when you both saw a flash of light, followed by a loud peal of thunder.

"Terrific," Vander sighs, his free hand rubbing his face in frustration.

You lift your head up. "What's wrong?"

"Well," He replies, "we're about to have company..."

"How so?" You tilt your head slightly, confused.

"Give it a minute."

No sooner then a minute after he told you, you hear a small knock at the bedroom door.

The door creaks open, and you turn around from Vander's arms to see a nervous Powder, standing by the doorway.

"Can-can I stay with you guys? Um-the outside is...a little scary-"

Before she could finish her sentence, another flash of lightning flickers through the room, causing Powder to flinch, rush over, and jump into the bed, quickly covering her ears before the rolling thunder cracked afterward.

"Whoa, whoa, easy there! It's ok, it's ok," Vander consoles the shaking child, who was now clinging to his shirt.

"Poor girl," you thought as you watched Vander calm Powder's nerves. "Her and her sister have gone through so much."

"I know it sounds all big and scary, kid," Vander continues, "But it's all bark, it won't hurt you."

The nervousness in Powder's eyes slowly began to fade as she listened to Vander's words. "Could...could I still stay here?" She requests. She then turned her gaze to you with pleading eyes. "Please?"

Vander's subtly looked towards you, wondering your response, studying your reaction. He knew his response would always be yes, but he wasn't sure if you felt the same. After all, you've barely seen him in weeks.

You look down at Powder and smile. "Of course you can, my little Blueberry," You say, pinching her cheek playfully. "As long as you aren't bothered by that one's snoring!"

"What do you mean I snore??" Vander retorts while Powder giggles at the two of you.

"Quite loudly, I might add," You continue, then proceed to poorly imitate your partner snoring to Powder's amusement.

"Ha ha, very funny," Vander shakes his head, yet he help but to chuckle as he lies back down.

You hold Powder close to you as the rain starts to pour, humming to keep her distracted from the storm. To your relief, she begins to drift off to sleep once again.

"I'm starting to think you're her favorite," Vander whispers, watching the two of you. More thunder rolls, and you feels Powder's arms tighten around you. "It's ok, sweetie, no storm's gonna get you while we're here."

As Powder drifts off to sleep, you notice Vander looking over at the door. Before you ask him why, you start to hear the sound hushed arguing outside the door.

"Are you gonna knock or what?"

"Why do I have to be the one who knocks? You're the one who's scared, you knock!"

"N-no, I'm not!"

"Mylo it's obvious-"

"Shut up, Vi! And besides why are you two here as well if you aren't so scared?"

"I-I'm just checking to see where Powder is..."

"I just wanted a drink of water..."

You and Vander stifle laughter while you listen to the three kids bicker outside of the door.

Another flash of lightning followed by a loud clap of thunder fills the air.

Suddenly, the door flings open, and Mylo and Vi rush into the room, leaving Claggor at the door holding a small flashlight.

"Sorry," Claggor said. "They both got scared of the storm-"

"Claggor!" Mylo hissed.

"That's not true!" Vi retorts. "I-I just wanted to check where Powder wa-"

A flash of lightning cuts her sentence off and causes Mylo to flinch, but no thunder was heard.

There was silence for a moment as the rain pattered on the roof.

"I told you guys," Claggor broke the silence. "Not scary at all. Could someone help me with the water hose at the ba-?"

Before the poor boy could finish his question, there was a thunder peal so tremendous it was as though it shook the building.

That was the last staw for Mylo and Vi, who were now huddled in the bed, Vi shielding her sister, who was woken up by the commotion.

"Enforcers!" Mylo whimpered, tears forming in his eyes. "They're using the storm as cover!"

"Easy there, kiddo," Vander hums. "You're safe. It was just noise.

"But how can you be sure -"

"Hey now, it's ok," Vander interjected, gently pulling a now sniffing Mylo into his arms. " You're safe. I mean it. I'd never let that happen to any of you. Not again. Never again."

You shift over the two girls so that your arms can hold both of them. "We won't let that happen to any of you," you said.

Vander takes a moment to calm down Mylo, then leaves to help Claggor get some water. While the two of them leave, you hear Claggor ask Vander, "Do you think I could stay with you guys as well?"

You smile as you hear Vander reply, "Sure you can, kid," with a chuckle.

Hiiii!! Could you do a relationship with Lee byung hun but their keeping it private like she never post a picture of his face. But there’s rumours of them together until a paparazzi release a picture of them together and outed them?

being in a secret relationship with lee byung-hun

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yourusername

liked by yourbestfriendsuser and others

yourusername airplane mode🫡

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ynfan girlie what is this?!?

ynsworld UR DATING!?

user01 this is so unexpected

yourfriendsuser I love how everyone is panicking

liked by author

user55 who is thattt

randomuser not surprised ur dating tbh…just jealous

yourusername

liked by yourbestfriendsuser and others

yourusername skiing adventure ⛷️

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ynsfannn girl if you don’t tell us who that man is…

user34 @/ynsfannn I’m dying to know who it is

user24 guys that’s me in the picture don’t be jealous

ynfanaccount @/user24 um I think ur mistaken because that actually me

user04 when are u going to tell us who he iss

user78 show his faceeeee

userr96 I just know he’s hot

yourusername

liked by yourfriendsuser and others

yourusername is it always so satisfying to post your boyfriend?

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user96 haha let me kms

user76 I can’t do this anymore

ynfan1 JUST TELL US

user85 how come no one has found him yet?

ynfan8 @/user85 they must hide their relationship really well

ynfanpage @/ynfan8 not so well. Look at @/ynupdates last post

ynupdates

liked by ynfanpage and others

ynupdates just out! @/yourusername seen with actor, lee byung-hun on Friday night. They were seeing holding hands and kissing on numerous occasions.

photo taken by fan

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leebyunghunswife NOOOO

user75 @/leebyunghunswife the loss of the century

user23 STOP

user45 the most unexpected duo tbh

byunghunswifey what would they even talk about…

user07 why do I kinda like them together ?🌝

ynfan damn she bagged an actor

byunghun0712

liked by yourusername and others

byunghun0712 the love of my life

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user24 fuck

emee.09 siri play the other woman by lana del rey

renata_10 forget him i want her

sophieee65 she's so prettyyy i want to to kms

user078 I HATE MY LIFE

user43 well what am i suppose to do now

randomuser53 just kill me already

yourusername

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yourusername since the secret is out now

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user070 lucky bitch

user45 you guys make such a perfect couple

byunghunsgirl well at least ur pretty ig

byunghunswifey @/byunghunsgirl i think that makes it worse

user55 wow im so happy for u😟

user975 I don’t know if I want you or ur boyfriend

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a/n: I love making these

about me!

abby. 8teen. she/her. latina/québécoise. media student.

NAVIGATION: masterlist ⋆ wattpad

BACKUP BLOG: @hollywoodmaneaters

requests!

i am always open for requests but just know that I have a tight school schedule. therefore, I might not always answer them fast enough. you can request whoever you like!!

I usually write reader as a female but you can always request for reader to be male or nonbinary!

side note!

english is not my first language. therefore I ask of you to be kind and if you see any mistakes let me know!

maybe.. just an idea.. will beeman with a young wife 🥺

WILL BEEMAN X YOUNG!WIFE

WARNING: at a certain point there is sexual content

A/N: hii, baby, i love the request, Will is a underrated character, i love him so much. I didn't know if you want headcanon or a fic, so, i wrote this, hope you enjoyed ;)

REQUESTS ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED!!

• You met at a city hall charity gala. Will, as a famous and influential businessman in the city, was invited to lend his support. The moment he first laid eyes on you, the words disappeared from his mouth. He tightened his grip on his champagne glass, his gaze fixed on you as the mayor proudly announced you as the newest prosecutor.  • Will wasted no time seeking you out to congratulate you. During your conversation, he discovered that you had just graduated from college and carried the fiery ambition of someone eager to change the world. You wanted to fight for those who couldn't afford legal representation and free the wrongly accused. Your unwavering sense of justice fascinated him. Perhaps your methods differed, but your goals aligned: ridding the city of criminals. • Will was nothing if not persistent. As the gala wound down, he insisted on driving you home. You could hardly refuse his charm. He made a point of walking you to your door, ensuring you got inside safely—though not before securing your number. • It didn’t take long for things to escalate. Dinners at high-end restaurants, strolls through art exhibitions, Will showing up at your office under the pretense of business at city hall. The chemistry was undeniable. • After just a month of dating, Will proposed. He was already in his 40s and saw no reason to delay happiness. His proposal was romantic yet intimate—an evening at his family's country house, dinner under the stars, and a simple, heartfelt question. You didn’t hesitate to say yes. • Being Will’s youngest wife was no easy task. Whispers followed you—claims that you had seduced him for power or were only in it for the wealth. But, honestly? Who cared? Your husband was incredibly attractive, and you were undeniably in love. • Navigating his family dynamics was another challenge. Surprisingly, you and his ex, Laura, got along well, and Danny was a kind, respectful child. Will deeply appreciated how you made an effort to be present for family moments. You even took Danny to pick out a Father’s Day gift, something that made Will’s heart swell with gratitude. • Will had a possessive streak. He made it clear that you were his, and he wasn’t one to tolerate wandering eyes. Whenever you were out together, his hands were on you—an arm around your waist, a protective hand on your back, fingers laced through yours. His presence was a constant reminder that you belonged to him. • At one of his infamous barbecues with friends, Will didn’t bother with subtlety. He pulled you onto his lap, one arm draped over your exposed thighs, his fingers idly tracing patterns on your skin. A silent declaration to everyone present. • Will wore his wedding ring with pride, almost smug about the fact that you were his wife. Sometimes, he’d call you ‘wife’ or ‘wifey’ just to hear the word roll off his tongue, the sound of it sending a thrill through him. Knowing you were his? That was intoxicating. • Despite his possessive nature, Will also had a softer side reserved just for you. He loved coming home to you, seeing you curled up on the couch, greeting him with a warm smile. Those quiet moments, when it was just the two of you, made everything else fade away. • Will had a habit of spoiling you, even if you protested. Jewelry, designer clothes, weekend getaways—he never let an opportunity pass to remind you that you were cherished. But the best gifts? The ones where he simply held you close, whispering that he’d never let you go. • The age gap never bothered him, but he took it upon himself to make sure you always felt respected and heard in their relationship. He valued your opinions, your ambitions, and took pride in the fire that made you who you were. Because, in the end, you weren’t just his wife—you were his equal.

SPICY HEADCANONS (+18)

• Will Beeman radiated a commanding presence, both in and out the bedroom. He was a man who craved control, and he wielded it with the same unyielding determination he brought to his work. In bed, he liked to be the one setting the pace, dictating the rhythm of your pleasure with each powerful thrust of his hips. His large hands would grip your waist, guiding you, positioning you exactly how he wanted you, as he drove into you with deep, relentless strokes.  He would loom over you, his muscular frame shadowing your smaller one, his eyes, those piercing blue eyes, would bore into yours, watching your every reaction, reveling in the way your face flushed and your lips parted under his onslaught. You were his to claim, his to conquer, and he took great pleasure in reducing you to a writhing, mewling mess beneath him.

• After a long, frustrating day at the office, when the stress and tension had built to a fever pitch, there was nothing better than the release of straddling his hips, sinking down on his thick, hard cock as you both sought solace in each other's bodies. You would ride him with wild abandon, your hips undulating sensually, your breasts bouncing as you chased your pleasure. Will's hands would grip your ass, helping to lift you, to pull you down, driving you to take him even deeper. In those moments, the rest of the world fell away, your worries and concerns dissolve like mist beneath the scorching heat of your joining. All that mattered was the slide of your bodies, the slap of skin on skin, and the building pressure coiling tighter and tighter in your core.

• It was a thrill to sneak up on him in his office, to find him hunched over his desk, his brow furrowed in concentration as he grappled with the intricacies of his latest paper. You would slip in on silent feet, your heart already racing with anticipation as you slid your hands over his broad shoulders, feeling the tension coiled in his muscles. With deft fingers, you would undo his belt, unzip his slacks, before freeing his already hardening cock from the confines of his boxers. The thick shaft would pulse in your hand, growing even harder as you wrapped your lips around the swollen head, your tongue swirling teasingly.  Will bit down hard on his cheek, stifling the moan that threatened to escape from his throat as you took more of him into the wet heat of your mouth. He could barely concentrate on the meeting, his fingers would tighten their grip in your hair, gripping the strands almost painfully as he fought to maintain his composure on the call.  You could hear the slight hitch in his breathing, the tightness in his voice as he continued to negotiate the sale of a property, when you took him deep, your nose pressing against his pelvis, your throat squeezing deliciously around his length as you swallowed around him.It was a dangerous game you played—pushing him to the brink of ecstasy while he struggled to maintain the facade of the cool, collected Wall Street broker. But you knew him, knew the effect you had on him, and you reveled in it.

• Will was a man who lived for the chase, the tease, the build-up of tension before the explosive release. And he could tell by the way your blouse fluttered at your neck, the quickening of your breath as you suckled him, that you were just as pent up, just as desperate for the relief only he could provide. He would make you wait, make you beg, before he'd flip you onto the desk, sweep the papers to the floor, and take you right there amidst the chaos of his workday. He'd fuck you hard and fast, pounding into your needy cunt with a wild abandon, determined to make you scream his name loud enough for the whole office to hear. Only then would he allow his own release, his hot seed spurting deep inside you, claiming you, marking you as his. And as you both caught your breath in the aftermath, he'd press his mouth to your neck, your collarbone, your chest, leaving a trail of dark hickeys and bite marks, a temporary tattoo of your passion. 

• As the weather grew warmer and the days longer, you found yourself reaching for lighter, more revealing clothing. The crisp, summery dresses and flimsy blouses that bared your shoulders and hugged your curves in all the right places. And with each outfit,Will had to adapt, to find new territory on which to stake his claim. He began to leave his mark in the secret places, the hidden valleys and curves of your body that hungered for his touch.  No longer content to simply lavish attention on the column of your throat and the swell of your breasts, he started to venture lower, to trail his lips and teeth along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. The first time he did it, you were caught off guard, a surprised gasp escaping your lips as you felt the sharp nip of his teeth sink into the tender flesh.  It was a thrilling sensation, the mix of pleasure and pain that raced through your nerves like lightning, making you shudder and Will seemed to take your reaction as encouragement, and he doubled his efforts, determined to map out every inch of the creamy skin he'd revealed. 

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

FIRST

synopsis: after filming begins, sparks fly between you and your co-star Hayden.

words:  2.6k

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

a/n: hello there, since I’m on vacation, I wasn’t at home, and typing on my phone was a struggle (lol). Anyway, I really hope you enjoy this chapter—it’s been SO fun and cute to write 🥹💕! I’m excited to keep exploring this idea and seeing where it goes! ✍️🌟

Feel free to like, reblog, and share your thoughts—I’d LOVE to hear them! 🫶✨ Kisses! 😘💌

🌸 Special shoutout to @notantou and @barnes70stark—I hope you both enjoy this chapter! (I hope this is how you tag someone lol) 💖 

CHAPTER 2: FILMING

Filming had started in earnest, and each day on set seemed better than the last. Since Padmé and Anakin were a couple, it meant you and Hayden shared countless scenes together, naturally growing closer with every take. It became an inside joke among the crew—wherever one of you was, the other wasn’t far behind. If someone needed to find Hayden, they’d look for you first, and vice versa.

One of your earliest scenes together was Anakin’s reunion with Padmé after ten years apart. Hayden had this way of channeling Anakin’s mix of boyish awe and simmering intensity, and every time he looked at you as Anakin, it felt like the air between you shifted. His gaze was so earnest, so full of wonder, that it made your own smiles feel impossibly real. It was as though the world around you blurred, leaving only the two of you in focus.

A few weeks later, the production moved to Italy to film the Naboo sequences. The trip itself felt like an adventure, from the chaotic energy of boarding the plane with the entire cast to long days filming in stunning locations. On the flight, you’d been seated between Hayden and Ewan. Somewhere over the Atlantic, your head had found its way onto Hayden’s shoulder, and you slept soundly until Ewan woke you, teasing gently that you needed to eat to stay healthy.

Now, you stood by the edge of a lake that looked almost too beautiful to be real. The breeze rustled through the trees, and the sunlight danced on the water, creating a golden glow over the landscape. You adjusted the gradient dress that hugged your frame, its soft colors perfectly complementing the serene backdrop. Hayden, standing beside you as Anakin, leaned closer with a playful smile.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear, “the lake is beautiful… but not as beautiful as you.”

You glanced at him, trying to suppress the warmth rising in your cheeks as the director called for everyone to take their places.

The scene began, and as Anakin and Padmé, you slipped seamlessly into character.

“I don’t like sand,” Hayden began, his voice tinged with frustration and yearning. “It’s coarse and rough and irritating… and it gets everywhere.”

His knuckles brushed against the bare skin of your back, sending a shiver up your spine. You inhaled sharply, your lips parting as you tried to keep your focus. His hand lingered just a moment longer, and his eyes locked onto yours. “Not like here,” he continued, his tone softening, “here everything is soft… and smooth.”

The air between you grew heavy as his hand dropped, and he leaned in closer. Your heartbeat quickened, echoing in your ears as his ocean-blue eyes gazed into yours, filled with unspoken emotion. You could barely breathe, barely think, as your faces drew nearer.

Then his lips met yours.

The kiss was soft but electric, like the first spark of a fire. His lips were warm and insistent, moving against yours with a passion that felt as natural as breathing. You responded instinctively, your hand brushing against his jaw as you deepened the kiss. Time seemed to stretch, each moment suspended in something impossibly sweet and intimate.

When you finally pulled away, your heart was racing. It took every ounce of effort to steady yourself and remember Padmé’s next line.

“We can’t do this,” you murmured, your voice trembling slightly as you stepped back, mirroring Padmé’s internal struggle. “It’s just not possible.”

Hayden’s expression was unreadable, his blue eyes darkened with something that felt like both longing and heartbreak. Whether it was the mark of his incredible talent or something unspoken lingering between you, you couldn’t quite tell.

But as he spoke his next line, his voice heavy with emotion, you couldn’t ignore the way it mirrored the weight in your own chest:

“Anything’s possible, Padmé. Please, listen.”

Even after the cameras stopped rolling, the feeling of his lips on yours lingered, the line between acting and reality blurring more with each passing day.

Outside the set, you and Hayden always seemed to find reasons to spend time together. Nearly every evening after filming, the two of you would set off to explore Italy’s winding streets, discover cozy cafés, or try food recommended by the crew. Sometimes, Ewan would tag along, joking that he was there to keep an eye on you.

“It’s my job, after all,” he’d say with an exaggerated sigh. “Make sure you don’t end up with any broken bones—or worse, broken hearts.”

You’d always laugh, tossing your head back before linking your arm through his and dragging him down the cobblestone streets, his mock protests drowned out by your giggles. Hayden would walk beside you, hands tucked in his pockets, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he watched the playful dynamic between you and Ewan.

But tonight was different. Ewan had stayed behind, citing an early morning call for a particularly tricky scene. That left just you and Hayden, wandering through the warm Italian evening. The soft glow of lanterns lit your path, and the distant hum of a mandolin floated through the night air.

Your hand found its way to Hayden’s as you strolled, your fingers intertwining naturally. His thumb brushed lightly against your palm—a quiet, comforting gesture that felt more intimate than either of you was ready to admit.

“So, what’s on tonight’s menu?” you asked as you approached a small, tucked-away trattoria. Its rustic charm beckoned with candlelit tables and the scent of garlic and fresh herbs wafting through the air.

Hayden opened the door for you, letting you step inside first before pulling out a chair at one of the corner tables. “Let’s see…” he said as he scanned the menu, his brow furrowed in thought. “We had pizza yesterday, so maybe Risotto alla Milanese? That sounds good.”

You nodded, your gaze flicking up to meet his. “It does, but I’m thinking the tortellini. That way, we can share and try both.”

“Perfect,” he agreed, his lips curving into that easy smile you were starting to associate with comfort and warmth.

When the waiter arrived, you placed your orders and asked for his wine recommendation. The moment he mentioned the perfect pairing, you hesitated, glancing at Hayden.

His blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he raised a brow. “A glass of wine with dinner? I think we can handle that.”

You laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Right. Nothing wrong with drinking with a friend,” you replied, the words tasting both true and untrue at the same time.

The waiter brought over the wine, pouring two glasses before leaving you to your quiet corner of the restaurant. The candlelight flickered between you, casting soft shadows across Hayden’s face.

“So,” he began, swirling the wine in his glass thoughtfully, “what’s been your favorite part of Italy so far? Aside from the food, obviously.”

You smiled, leaning your chin on your hand as you considered his question. “Honestly? This. These little moments.”

His eyes softened, his expression almost unreadable as he leaned forward slightly. “What do you mean?”

You gestured vaguely to the restaurant, the warm atmosphere, and then to him. “Just… being here. With you. Wandering through the streets, talking about nothing and everything. It’s easy, you know? Like I can just… be myself.”

For a moment, the air between you grew heavier, but not in a way that felt uncomfortable. It was a warmth, an unspoken understanding passing between you, like you were both teetering on the edge of something neither of you could quite name.

“Well,” Hayden said after a pause, his voice quieter now, “I think that’s my favorite part too.”

Your eyes met, and for a moment, the conversation faded, replaced by the silent exchange of emotions that felt too big for words. The waiter interrupted with your food, breaking the spell, but the warmth lingered, settling in your chest as the night went on.

And as you shared bites of risotto and tortellini, trading easy smiles and inside jokes, you couldn’t help but think that there was nothing ordinary about this friendship—nothing ordinary about the way Hayden made you feel.

“I’m not ready to go back to the hotel yet,” you admitted softly, letting out a contented sigh as you stepped out of the restaurant. Hayden had insisted on paying tonight—it was his turn, after all. Last night, you had covered dinner despite his protests, and you’d made a habit of alternating ever since. When Ewan joined, of course, the unspoken rule was that he would pay, joking that his longer career meant he had “the Jedi Master’s wallet.”

Hayden turned to you with a warm smile, his hand gently reaching for yours to help you down the step at the entrance. His touch lingered, sending a flicker of warmth up your arm. “Good,” he said, amusement lacing his voice. “Because our night isn’t over yet.”

You raised a brow, intrigued. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a surprise,” he teased, guiding you across the quiet street. His hand stayed wrapped around yours, a protective yet casual gesture that felt almost too natural.

“I’m not a big fan of surprises,” you pouted playfully, watching his grin widen.

“You’ll like this one,” he promised, his voice confident but soft, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles as if to reassure you.

Before you could reply, a cyclist suddenly whizzed by on the sidewalk. Hayden reacted instantly, pulling you out of harm’s way. Your body collided with his chest, his hands steadying you with a firm grip on your waist.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The world seemed to narrow to just the two of you, the faint sounds of the city fading into the background. You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, his ocean-blue eyes filled with something unspoken. Desire, friendship, fear—it was all there, tangled in the quiet tension between you.

“Surprise,” Hayden said gently, his voice breaking the spell. He turned your chin with a light touch, drawing your attention to the small, charming gelato shop across the street.

“I love ice cream,” you exclaimed, your face lighting up with excitement. Before he could respond, you grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the shop.

The gelato parlor was quaint, its white-and-blue décor evoking a cozy, nostalgic charm. The furniture was simple but inviting, and the sweet scent of waffle cones and fresh cream filled the air. After ordering two cones—yours pistachio and his hazelnut—you found a table outside beneath a string of twinkling lights hanging from the lamppost.

The street was quiet, the soft glow of the lights casting a dreamy warmth over the scene. It felt like a moment pulled straight from a romance film, and for a second, you wondered if Hayden saw it too.

You ate in comfortable silence at first, the occasional hum of approval escaping your lips as you savored the gelato. Hayden watched you, his smile small but genuine, as if he found your enjoyment more entertaining than his own.

Then, as you took a bite, a small smear of ice cream ended up on the corner of your lips. Before you could reach for a napkin, Hayden leaned forward.

“Hold still,” he murmured, his thumb brushing gently over the spot, wiping it away.

Your breath caught at the intimate gesture, your heart thudding in your chest as his touch lingered for just a moment too long. When he brought his thumb to his mouth and sucked the melted gelato off, your cheeks flushed with heat.

The air between you shifted, charged with something unspoken yet impossible to ignore. Your gaze met his for a heartbeat, your pulse quickening at the intensity in his eyes. There was a softness there, a quiet longing that mirrored the ache you were trying so hard to suppress.

You quickly looked away, focusing on your ice cream, though your thoughts refused to settle. Hayden didn’t press you, but you could feel his gaze lingering, as if he was waiting for you to say something, to break the tension that seemed to stretch endlessly between you.

“This is… really good gelato,” you said finally, your voice a little higher than usual, though you refused to meet his eyes.

“Yeah,” Hayden replied, his voice soft and laced with amusement. “It is.”

And yet, neither of you was talking about the gelato anymore.

“I think we should go back,” you suggested timidly, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you. “We start recording early tomorrow.”

Hayden didn’t reply right away. His eyes lingered on you, the soft glow of the streetlights catching the flecks of blue in them. For a moment, you felt completely exposed, as though he could see past every word you didn’t say. The moment stretched until he finally nodded, scratching the back of his neck with a boyish smile.

“Sure, sure,” he said lightly, though his voice carried a hint of something unspoken. “Let me walk you home, signora.” His playful tone made you laugh, even as your heart gave an unexpected flutter. He knew perfectly well that you were both staying at the same hotel.

“Thank you, sir,” you replied with a mock curtsey, slipping your arm through his as the two of you began strolling back.

The walk was quiet but easy, your steps falling in sync as you navigated the cobblestone streets. The cool night air brushed against your skin, and the distant sounds of the city faded into a comfortable hum.

Hayden glanced at you as you walked, his expression softening. “You know,” he began, his voice low, almost hesitant, “tonight was nice. Just us. No cameras, no scripts… just you and me.”

You turned to him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. “It was,” you agreed, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’m glad we did this.”

His hand brushed against yours, and for a moment, you thought he might take it. But he didn’t. Instead, his fingers lingered near yours, close enough to feel their warmth, but not quite touching.

As the hotel came into view, you slowed your steps, reluctant for the night to end. When you reached the entrance, Hayden held the door open for you, bowing slightly in exaggerated chivalry.

“Signora,” he teased, though the smile on his face didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Thank you, sir,” you replied, your voice softer now.

The elevator ride up was quiet, the kind of silence that wasn’t awkward but charged with something neither of you dared to name. When you reached your floor, you hesitated for a moment outside your room, turning back to him.

“Goodnight, Hayden,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Goodnight,” he replied, his gaze lingering on you for just a heartbeat longer than necessary. Then, with a small, almost reluctant smile, he added, “Sleep well.”

You nodded, stepping into your room and closing the door behind you. Leaning back against it, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your heart still racing from the quiet intimacy of the evening.

On the other side of the door, Hayden stood for a moment, his hand still resting on the wall where he’d leaned during your goodbye. He exhaled softly, shaking his head at himself before turning to head to his room.

Neither of you could quite put words to the connection growing between you. But as the night faded into memory, one thing was certain—this was far more than just friendship.

YELLOWJACKETS 203. Digestif / 301. It Girl / 303. Thems The Brakes / 310. Full Circle