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

DREW MY LOVE 😍

73 Questions with Vogue || Drew Starkey x actress!reader

Summary: just you participating in 73 Questions with Vogue and it goes viral!!!

Warnings: fluff!!!

Word count: 1,935

A/n: It's been so long since I've written a Drew fic!!!!!!! Also I got inspired by my previous acc's fic so if it seems familiar to some of you who followed me from there, don't come at me, I loved the idea too much lol. CAN SOMEONE PLS SEND ME REQUESTS FOR DREW FICS???

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

"Hello!" You greet the interviewer with a bright smile, swinging open the door to reveal him and his camera. "Hi, Y/n! Mind if we come in and ask you 73 questions?" he asks, his tone friendly and warm. "Yeah, of course! Come on in," you say, stepping aside and holding the door wide open, gesturing for them to enter as the camera pans through the foyer of your house. The space is beautifully designed, with soft lighting that gives it a cozy, inviting atmosphere.

"Wow, what a gorgeous house you have," the interviewer remarks, his voice filled with genuine awe as his eyes take in the sophisticated yet comfortable décor. "Thank you!" you respond, the compliment warming you as you flash a radiant smile. "Is this your favourite house?" The interviewer asks, already settling into the rhythm of the questions as you lead them down the hallway and into the open-plan living area.

"Yes, it definitely is. It's in my home city, and Charleston means so much to me, just like this house does," you say, your eyes lighting up as you gesture around. The view of the beach through the large windows makes the space feel even more special. "I love the view," the interviewer comments, looking out at the sunset that bathes the room in warm golden light. "The sunset looks amazing from here."

"It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?" you say with a soft chuckle. "I love spending time in this room specifically. It feels like a little sanctuary." You both share a laugh, enjoying the peaceful moment. "What's your morning routine like?" The interviewer asks as the camera follows you through the coastal-themed living room toward the kitchen. You pause for a moment, thinking about your answer.

"I haven't had much of a routine the past few months because of work, but currently, I wake up to a strong cup of coffee and a walk through downtown," you share with a soft smile. "It’s become a little ritual to clear my mind before everything gets too busy." As you stroll through the warm, inviting spaces of your home, the camera captures the personal touches that reflect your personality—a mix of elegance and laid-back comfort.

A question about your career comes next, and you happily share some behind-the-scenes anecdotes from your latest film. "This," you begin, the affection in your tone unmistakable, "is a magnet Sydney gave me when we wrapped filming Immaculate earlier this year." You glance at the picture, a grin spreading across your face. "It’s a photo of the two of us in our nun costumes... let’s just say, not doing very nun-like things." You laugh, the absurdity of the memory still fresh, and hold the magnet up for the camera to focus.

The image shows the two of you mid-laughter, each holding a cigarette with exaggerated defiance, your habits slightly askew, as though caught mid-rebellion. "What's the best compliment you've received?" the interviewer asks, a hint of curiosity in their voice. You pause, your expression thoughtful. "Oh, that's a tough one," you say, your lips curling into a playful smile.

"I think the best compliment I’ve ever gotten was when someone said, 'You're like Meryl Streep… but, you know, with fewer Oscars.’" You chuckle, shaking your head in amusement. "It was the kind of backhanded compliment that made me laugh for days." The interviewer laughs along with you. "That’s a good one," he says, clearly entertained. As you make your way towards the outside deck, the interviewer continues with another question. "Texting, calling, or FaceTiming?"

You grin as you lean casually against the railing, looking out at the beach below. "Oh, definitely FaceTiming," you say with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "I’m terrible at replying to text messages. I’d much rather see people's live reactions, y’know?" A more personal question comes next, and you smile thoughtfully as the interviewer asks, “How do you handle the pressures of fame?”

You nod, taking a moment before responding. "I lean on my family and friends—they keep me grounded. And I remind myself that pressure is a privilege. It means people care about what I do, and that means a lot." Your voice softens as you speak, the sincerity of your words clear as you step into your home office, showcasing the awards and accolades lining the shelves. The conversation turns to your personal life, and a warm, affectionate smile spreads across your face.

"Congratulations on reaching your two-year anniversary with Drew!" The interviewer says with a grin, and you beam in response. "Thank you!" you reply, your eyes sparkling as you think of him. "Drew is incredible. He’s my biggest supporter, my partner in everything, and honestly, just my favourite person. It’s been such a special journey since starting my career, and I’m so grateful to have him by my side."

"What's the key to a successful relationship?" He asks. You pause as you walk through the hallway, your gaze softening as you think. "I think it’s communication and a lot of patience. No relationship is perfect, but being able to talk things through and genuinely listen to each other makes all the difference." You smile, adding, "Oh, and laughter—if you can laugh together, you can get through just about anything."

The sound of the front door creaking open interrupts the moment, and a familiar voice rings out, instantly making your face light up. "Oh, there’s Drew right now!" you say, smiling brightly as you move toward the foyer. The camera follows you, capturing the scene as Drew enters, with Nellie, your cocker spaniel, bounding beside him. "Hey, baby," He greets you as he slips off his sunglasses, pulling you close for a tender kiss

When he pulls back, his eyes widen slightly as he spots the camera. "Oh, 73 Questions with Vogue?" he asks, a playful grin tugging at his lips. You giggle, nodding your head. "I forgot you were doing that today," he chuckles. “Go ahead, continue your interview," he adds with a fond look before walking off with Nellie. As the camera returns to you, you make your way toward the stairs, glancing over your shoulder to find Drew already on the floor, happily playing with Nellie.

A soft giggle escapes your lips, captured by the camera momentarily fixated on the fleeting connection. "What's something people don’t know about you?" the interviewer asks, pulling you back into the conversation. You pause, thinking for a second. "I’m actually allergic to most flowers," you reveal with a sheepish laugh. "Really? I wouldn’t have known," the interviewer responds, clearly surprised. "Oh, absolutely! When we film Outer Banks, they have to shoot around the flowers, or I'd be a sneezing mess," you confess, casually walking backward while maintaining a steady gaze with the camera.

The tour continues through luxurious walk-in closet, filled with designer attire. “What’s your pet peeve?” You laugh, shaking your head in mock exasperation. "Oh, definitely when people chew loudly. It’s like nails on a chalkboard for me. Chase is notorious for doing it on purpose, so I avoid him during my lunch breaks," you add, giggling at the memory. "Where was the best vacation you’ve been taken to?" the interviewer inquires as you step into your shared bedroom with Drew, the ocean stretching out just outside the windows.

"I think I’d have to say Vienna with Drew for my birthday," you say, smiling over your shoulder as you look out at the view. “A song you replay often?” "Hm, I think Charlie, Last Name Wilson," you say with a grin, rifling through the records. "It never gets old, and it’s super catchy." You smile as you pick it out. "Most of you guys would know that this song is also Drew and Austin’s favourite, so we always play it on set," you chuckle. "Does the rest of the Outer Banks cast like it too?" the interviewer asks, laughing along. "They don’t have much choice," you joke with a grin.

"Is there anything from any set that you've taken home with you?" The interviewer asks eagerly. “Oh, I love this question!" you exclaim, opening a drawer to reveal a variety of souvenirs. "This is the bag my character 'Whiskey' from Glass Onion owned," you say, showing off the brown frill bag. "And here’s a pack of Italian cigarettes from Immaculate, they’re just props, by the way," you add with a wink.

You pull out a cowboy hat. "This one’s from Tom on the set of Billy the Kid," you explain. "And this," you say with a smile, holding up a ring on a necklace. "This is Rafe's ring, the one he gave my character." "What a beautiful photo of the two of you," the interviewer notes, pointing to the large black-and-white photo of you and Drew at a Vogue photoshoot above your bed.

"It is! That day was actually so special for us. We both got the call saying we’d been cast in our respective roles that we’d been auditioning for," you explain, your face lighting up with nostalgia. The interviewer then asks about Drew’s upcoming movie. "Speaking of which, Drew’s film Queer is coming out very soon. Are you excited to watch it on the big screen?" "Yes, of course!" you say, your voice full of pride.

"I was so incredibly proud of him when he got the role. He was definitely excited too, especially since it’s, you know, the Luca Guadagnino." You chuckle. "I got the privilege to actually be on set for a bit, and it was amazing. Plus, I got to catch up with Daniel," you mention. "It was really nice to see him again." You smile, the pride evident in your expression as you talk about Drew's accomplishments.

The conversation is interrupted by a gentle knock at the door, and both you and the interviewer turn your attention toward it. Drew’s head peeks around the corner, his grin lighting up the frame as the camera zooms in on him. "I made some iced teas—yours is half and half," he says casually, stepping into the room with a tray holding two glasses. You can’t help but beam as he hands you your drink. "Aww, thanks, babe," you say gratefully, your fingers brushing his for a brief moment as you take the glass.

Drew hands the other glass to the interviewer, who looks pleasantly surprised. "Wow, thank you, Drew!" he says with a wide smile. "Of course," Drew replies warmly before glancing at you. "Let me know if you need anything else," he says, shooting you a quick wink before stepping out of the room. The camera lingers on him for a beat as he walks away, capturing his effortless charm.

You take a sip of the iced tea, the cool, refreshing taste spreading through you as you let out a content sigh. "Is this something you drink often?" the interviewer asks, clearly curious. You nod enthusiastically. "Oh, absolutely. I like mine half and half, and I drink it like 24/7," you say with a chuckle, the glass still in your hand. The interviewer grins before asking a more personal question. "I can tell Drew is very thoughtful. What’s your favourite trait of his?"

You laugh softly, caught off guard by the difficult question. "You can’t make me choose—I love everything about him!" you say with a playful grin, your tone light but sincere. The interviewer chuckles along with you, clearly charmed by your response. "Okay, okay, fair enough. But if you had to pick just one thing that comes to mind?"

You pause for a moment, your expression softening as you think. "Hmmm," you hum, swirling your iced tea absentmindedly. "I love the little things he does," you begin, your voice warm with affection. "Like how he always remembers my coffee order or when he leaves me little notes when I’m on set. It’s those small, thoughtful moments that really mean the most to me."

The camera captures your tender smile, and the interviewer smiles himself, visibly touched by your response. "That’s so sweet," he says, his tone genuine. "It really is," you smile, a soft, almost bashful grin spreading across your face. "He’s the best boyfriend I could have ever asked for," you say, your tone filled with warmth and sincerity.

The interviewer watches you with an amused smile, clearly endeared by the dreamy, almost schoolgirl-like look on your face as you think about Drew.

~

The Vogue 73 Questions interview quickly becomes an internet sensation, captivating fans. It was everywhere. Clips of your candid answers and sweet, unscripted moments—especially the one where Drew casually walked in with iced tea—became the ultimate proof of why you were Hollywood’s darling. Within hours of its release, the hashtag #73QuestionsWithY/n trends worldwide.

The comments section was flooded with fans losing their minds over the glimpse into your life. "Can we talk about how Drew KNOWS her iced tea order by heart? If this isn’t relationship goals, I don’t know what is." "Y/n casually being gorgeous, funny, and real in her Charleston dream home? I’m in love." "The way Drew looked at her when he walked in… I CAN’T. He’s so whipped, and I’m here for it."

Memes circulate, celebrating your witty remarks and playful demeanor, while your thoughtful insights and open vulnerability spark heartfelt discussions. The part where Drew sneaks into the interview with iced tea becomes a fan-favourite, with many dubbing it "the cutest boyfriend moment of the year."

“I love how real she is,” one fan tweeted, accompanied by screenshots of your answer about Drew’s little notes and coffee orders. Another post with a screenshot of you laughing at Drew’s confused “Oh, Vogue’s here” reaction read, “You can just tell they’re best friends. I want a love like this.”

The media couldn’t get enough, either. Everyone from gossip sites to prestigious magazines weighed in on how you’d managed to blend the glamour of your career with the warmth of your personality. The buzz reignites interest in your past projects and elevates anticipation for your upcoming ones. Your social media following soars as fans, old and new, praise your ability to remain grounded despite your success.

Meanwhile, Drew’s small but sweet cameo sparks renewed admiration for your relationship, with countless threads and videos dedicated to celebrating your bond. “Y/n and Drew are proof that true love exists,” one viral tweet declares, garnering thousands of likes and retweets. Another fan edits together a montage of your cutest moments from the interview, set to a romantic song, which quickly racks up millions of views.

Drew couldn’t stop teasing you about how viral the iced tea moment had become. “You’re lucky I didn’t walk in shirtless,” he joked one night as you scrolled through TikTok, finding yet another edit of you two. “Please,” you said, giggling, your hand affectionately stroking Nellie, “half the internet would’ve fainted.” “Half?” He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “I think you’re underestimating me, babe.”

Feeding my delusions 💋

Dating Hayden Christensen headcanons x NotFamous!Reader. | Fluff, slight nsfw topics since this would be a relationship with an older man.

°°°

˙ . ꒷ ˙— Naturally so, the age gap made him hesitate at first, his mind was plagued with self doubt. 'She's so young', 'she could be my daughter, even if she's already an adult', 'people might think I'm taking advantage— would I be taking advantage? I don't want to do that,' 'would I want my kid to date someone my age when she's older? Absolutely not.' '...It's just lunch, what's the worst that can happen?'

In the end, there was something about you that he couldn't shake off, eventually leading to him asking for your number when he knew your shift was about to end- very awkwardly, might I add. No, fame did not make him a smooth talker. At all. And he was busy hoping you wouldn't find him creepy for asking you out! But you didn't, you said yes. A little too quick.

˙ . ꒷ ˙— First date would be something low-key, especially now that he's back in the public eye. He knows he has to be careful, so he'd be mindful of that. He's a classy gentleman, no quickies in the bathroom as fun that may be that's for when you're already an established couple. If not a simple lunch, dinner at a nice restaurant. I do think he'd first take you out for lunch, though. Dinner is too serious and despite being 43, he probably doesn't want to make himself look and sound much more boring and older than he already is. Besides, lunch is quicker, if you wished to run away, you could. Dinner would be a guaranteed second date.

˙ . ꒷ ˙— I don't believe he'd take you out with the sole purpose of sleeping together, he's at an age where you're either living the bachelor life or settling down. He's got a kid, any hookups he might have are super low-key and most likely with coworkers. With you it would be different, when the time is right. Best believe he won't be taking you to a motel. He's doing this the right way and he's a patient fella. Now, this man screams vanilla, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with this! I mean think about it, having your handsome man who tends to hold some pretty intense eye contact, during missionary, holding your gaze, whispering sweet nothings... Heaven. Besides, there's plenty of time to grow bolder together, sexually speaking. You're younger than him, you will, without a doubt, wake a monster in him. Embrace it.

˙ . ꒷ ˙— He doesn't talk much, it's just who he is. We've seen how awkward he is during interviews, I'm pretty sure his co-workers have confirmed that he isn't a yapper. Especially when he's drained for the day, he'd sit down next to you and quietly read while you're scrolling on your phone on a lazy day. I believe he'd be a great listener instead! Everything you say? He's committing to memory.

˙ . ꒷ ˙— Each time you went to his home you'd take notice of subtle changes that made it obvious he truly listened to you. Suddenly your favorite snacks are stacked up in his pantry. The blinds will be in your favorite color. Little stuff that shouldn't really matter that much, but they do.

˙ . ꒷ ˙— He's so fatherly that it isn't all that surprising how gladly he'll detangle and braid your hair for you after a long day. He'll be so focused, too! With his bottom lip or his tongue slightly sticking out a bit. Cute!

˙ . ꒷ ˙— He is experienced, and by that I don't necessarily mean in bed. He's used to being in long-term relationships, so he'll have a better understanding about how this dynamic would work. He knows which are his faults and he'd work on bettering himself. Despite popular belief, the fact that he's older doesn't make a relationship with him any simpler, he's only human. But Hayden is more than willing to navigate this with you.

˙ . ꒷ ˙— As an established relationship, dates would be thoughtful but not necessarily extravagant all the time. Dinners, Lana Del Rey concerts, hockey games, picnics, trips to the beach, coffee dates, making DIYs on a lazy Saturday, shopping, etc..

˙ . ꒷ ˙— You make him feel young again, but there are times where he's reminded of his age, maybe because you playfully called him an old man, or perhaps you used modern slang that he can't understand. Both of you are always learning from each other, it can be amusing and sometimes irritating.

˙ . ꒷ ˙— He's not active on social media, but you will show him TikToks, maybe some of the fanfics you read before dating him. Hayden would in return show you some old, not so funny memes or photos that he might find by chance. Bless his heart, he's trying to be relatable here!

˙ . ꒷ ˙— He will spoil you. Spoil you. And spoil you. Not only is he a gentleman, I feel like his fatherly ways would reflect on you too. He's a family oriented man, and you're one of the most important women of his life. He will buy you anything you want, especially if he knows it has something to do with your hobbies.

˙ . ꒷ ˙— Normally, Hayden isn't immature or prone to jealousy, but soon enough he'll learn that he's growing a little too possessive of you. He's not one to snap at people or paparazzi, but he'll be glaring in every single photo taken without permission when he's out with you. The pictures will also show him very quickly hiding you behind him.

˙ . ꒷ ˙— If you're pregnant, he will be so protective of you. You want to go down some stairs? He'll grab your hand and your waist. Oh we're going shopping? Sure, but take 10 minutes to sit down and rest, every two to three stores. You're craving a smoothie? He already has his wallet out, but don't order anything too sugary because he wants you healthy! Your feet hurt? Shoes off, he's giving you a massage!

˙ . ꒷ ˙— And since we're in the topic of pregnancy, I do believe this man would be almost illogically feral for you and your changing body. It's biology, baby! Pure instinct. Suddenly he's not so vanilla anymore.

˙ . ꒷ ˙— Cuddling.

˙ . ꒷ ˙— More cuddling.

˙ . ꒷ ˙— Even more cuddling, have you seen him? Duh. I'd cuddle with him.

˙ . ꒷ ˙— Be ready for the holidays, he celebrates them all! Be prepared to match ugly Christmas sweaters, and take cheesy family portraits.

˙ . ꒷ ˙— But most importantly, prepare yourself for being... loved. This man will be your home. Your safe space. He's the type of man you only find once, so hold him tight and never let go.

bookworm

-> rafe x bookworm!reader

The bell above the bookstore door jingled sharply, and you looked up just in time to see a tall, very damp stranger step inside, shaking the rain from his jacket.

He looked out of place: broad-shouldered and golden-haired, like he belonged on a yacht instead of standing in the doorway of your tiny shop, dripping onto the hardwood floor.

You arched a brow. “You’re getting water on my first editions.”

The guy, Rafe Cameron, you recognized now, glanced down at the puddle forming around his expensive-looking sneakers. “Shit—uh, my bad.” He took a dramatic step to the side, as if that somehow fixed it, then ran a hand through his rain-soaked hair. “I, uh, wasn’t planning on coming in. Just—y’know. Rain.”

You resisted the urge to smile. “Yes, I do know rain.”

Rafe exhaled, half-laughing, like he wasn’t used to people talking to him like this. He glanced around, taking in the towering bookshelves, the warm glow of the reading lamps. “So… what kinda place is this? Coffee shop? Library?”

“Bookstore.”

“Right. That’s what I meant.”

You leaned your elbows on the counter, tilting your head. “Not much of a reader, are you?”

“Uh—” He looked vaguely offended. “I mean, I’ve read, like… some books.”

“Name one.”

His jaw tightened. “Do magazines count?”

You laughed and Rafe looked half annoyed, half intrigued. “Not unless they have plotlines and character development.”

He hesitated, shifting his weight like he was debating whether to leave or stay. Then, as if making a split-second decision, he cleared his throat. “Alright. Sell me a book, then.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “What, right now?”

“Yeah.” He crossed his arms. “Something I’d like.”

You eyed him, taking in the expensive watch, the cocky smirk he was trying to suppress, the slight impatience in the way he tapped his fingers against his bicep. Then, without a word, you turned, plucked a book from the shelf, and set it down in front of him.

Rafe squinted at the cover. The Great Gatsby.

He snorted. “You picked this ‘cause I’m rich, didn’t you?”

You just smiled, chin propped in your palm. “I picked it because it’s about a man who has everything… except the one thing he really wants.”

That shut him up.

For the first time since he walked in, Rafe didn’t have a witty retort. Instead, he just looked at you like he wasn’t sure what to make of you. Then, after a moment, he picked up the book, flipping it over in his hands.

“Alright,” he said, voice softer than before. “Guess I’ll give it a shot.”

And just like that, a golden-haired, rain-drenched Kook walked into your quiet little world, and, much to your surprise, didn’t seem in any hurry to leave.

...

The next time Rafe Cameron strolled into your bookstore, the weather was perfectly dry. No convenient rainstorm forcing him inside. Which meant he was here on purpose.

You glanced up from your desk, hiding a smile as he beelined straight for the shelves, hands in his pockets, exuding casual confidence... except for the way his eyes flicked toward you every few seconds, like he was making sure you noticed him.

He stopped in front of the classics section, squinting at the titles, then, rather dramatically, pulled out the thickest book he could find.

“War and Peace,” you read off the spine, eyebrows raising.

Rafe nodded, flipping it open like he knew exactly what he was doing. “Yep. I’m thinking… light weekend read.”

You leaned on the counter, amusement bubbling in your chest. “You do know that book is, like, twelve hundred pages, right?”

Rafe smirked. “Yeah. I like a challenge.”

You folded your arms. “Do you even know what it’s about?”

He hesitated for just a second, just long enough for you to tell he absolutely did not, before shrugging. “War. And… peace.”

You bit back a laugh. “Brilliant deduction, Tolstoy.”

He made a face. “Okay, whatever, maybe I just like big books. What, I’m supposed to pick some tiny little paperback?”

“Size isn’t everything, Rafe.”

His bit back a grin like he was fighting off some very Rafe-like response to that statement. Instead, he cleared his throat and flipped to a random page. “I’ll prove it,” he declared. “I’ll read the whole thing.”

You tilted your head, amused. “All of War and Peace?”

“All of War and Peace.” He looked very proud of himself, like he’d just announced he was climbing Mount Everest. “And then I’ll come back and tell you all about it.”

You rested your chin in your palm, eyes twinkling. “I’m holding you to that.”

“Good.” Rafe closed the book with a satisfying thud and tucked it under his arm like a trophy. He turned to leave but then, almost as an afterthought, glanced back at you, smirking.

“Bet you’ll be impressed when I finish.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “I’ll be shocked if you finish.”

Rafe just gave you a wink, pushing out the door, head held high like he’d just won something.

You bit your lip, watching him go.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

...

“You have a predilection for making a mess,” you mused, watching as Rafe leaned back in his chair at the counter, arms crossed, an empty coffee cup in front of him: his third of the morning.

Rafe blinked. “A what?”

“A predilection.”

He squinted at you. “Is that, like… a disease?”

You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh. “No, it means you have a habit of doing something. A preference.”

“Oh.” Rafe nodded, like he totally got it. He absolutely did not get it.

Moments like these happened all the time. You’d say something, something perfectly normal, in your opinion, and he’d look at you like you were speaking ancient Latin.

Last week, you told him his posture was lackadaisical, and he spent the next three hours trying to pronounce it. Yesterday, you mentioned that his tendency to linger in your store was beguiling, and he just stared at you for a solid five seconds before muttering, “Yeah, well, you’re beguiling too.”

But today? Today was different. Today, Rafe had come prepared.

“I actually knew that,” he lied, shifting in his seat. “I, uh… I absconded that word earlier.”

You blinked. “You what?”

“Absconded,” he repeated, looking oddly proud of himself.

You bit your lip, trying so, so hard not to laugh. “Do you mean absorbed?”

Rafe’s smirk faltered. “…Yeah, that one.”

You let out a giggle, and Rafe groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “I knew I was gonna mess that up.”

“No, no,” you teased, leaning forward on your elbows. “Please, continue. What else have you absconded (definition: leave hurriedly and secretly, typically to avoid detection of or arrest for an unlawful action such as theft) lately?”

He shot you a look, then, without missing a beat, grabbed his empty coffee cup and stood. “I’m absconding out of here.”

You let out a full laugh, and he grinned as he turned toward the door.

Before he left, though, he paused, glancing back at you with that cocky, boyish smirk.

“By the way, I predilect you.”

You shook your head, utterly endeared. “That’s not... never mind.”

Rafe just winked. “Knew it.”

A/N: mindless self indulgence

Hii idk if you take Jensen ackles request but I was wondering if u could make one of him and actress!reader. Like they meet during the 1st season during the episode wendigo. Basically how Jared and Gen.

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ take one, forever,

summary. jensen, jared, and you. the stars of the tvshow supernatural. and damn, there's a lot of chemistry.

pairing. jensen ackles x actress!reader genre. fluff ; slice of life au

wordcount. 527

notes / warnings. loved loved this request! thank you so much sweets 🩷

The first time you meet Jensen Ackles, it’s freezing.

You're deep in the Vancouver woods, shooting Wendigo, bundled up in layers that do nothing against the biting cold. Your breath puffs out in white clouds as you hug yourself, shifting from foot to foot to stay warm.

Then, from behind you—

"You’re gonna shiver yourself right off this set if you keep that up."

You turn, and there he is.

Jensen Ackles.

Even under the layers of flannel and the worn-in leather jacket, he looks insanely good. Sharp green eyes, that easy, lazy smirk—like the cold doesn’t affect him at all. Like he’s made for this.

"You’re not cold?" you ask, incredulous.

He shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee. “Nah. Texas blood.”

You roll your eyes. “Right. Meanwhile, I’m over here turning into a human popsicle.”

Jensen grins, and without hesitation, he shrugs off his jacket, stepping closer to drape it over your shoulders. “Here. Don’t tell wardrobe.”

You blink up at him, surprised. The jacket is warm—smells like leather and a hint of aftershave.

"Jensen, I can’t take—"

"Sure, you can." He winks. “Can’t have my co-star turning blue before we even hit episode two.”

You should’ve known, right then and there, that you were in trouble.

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹

The thing about Jensen is—he’s stupidly easy to like.

It starts small.

The inside jokes between takes. The way he always, always makes sure you’re okay after a long day. How he learns your coffee order by week two and starts showing up with an extra cup, just for you.

And then, one day, Jared figures it out before you even do.

“You guys are so obvious.”

You nearly drop your script. “What?”

Jared smirks, stretching out on one of the director’s chairs. “You and Jensen. The thing.”

“There is no thing.”

Jared gives you the most Jared look ever. “Right. So you just happen to be wearing his jacket again?”

Your face heats. “It’s cold—”

“And the way he looks at you? I mean, come on.”

You roll your eyes, but later, when you catch Jensen watching you from across set—his gaze lingering, thoughtful, warm—you wonder if maybe Jared has a point.

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹

It happens in the quiet, in-between moments.

A late night on set, waiting out a rain delay, just the two of you huddled under the same coat, talking about everything and nothing.

A wrap party, where he pulls you onto the dance floor, spinning you like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

A Tuesday afternoon, where he catches you laughing at something stupid Jared said and mutters, God, you’re something else, like he didn’t even mean to say it out loud.

And then—

"You wanna grab dinner sometime?"

You look up, heart stuttering. "Like… cast dinner?"

Jensen shakes his head, smirking just a little. “Nah. Just us.”

You swallow, pulse skipping. “Like a date?”

He shrugs, but there’s something softer in his gaze. “Yeah. If you want it to be.”

You do. God, you do.

"Yeah," you breathe. "I’d like that."

And when he grins, dimples deep and ridiculously charming, you think—

Maybe this is the start of something big.

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Bunny (P4)

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reader

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

a/n: I'm not gonna lie I've never been on a golf course so this might be really inaccurate. however #justiceformygirly/n

warnings: mentions of drinking, rude comments, aggressive behaviour, black mailing.

(P1) (P2) (P3) (P4)

The sun was beating down on the manicured greens of Figure Eight’s most exclusive country club as Y/N crouched by her cart, restocking the mini freezer with ice. The scent of freshly cut grass lingered in the air, mixing with the distant sound of polite laughter and the occasional crack of a golf club hitting a ball. She exhaled sharply, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead as she shoved a bottle into place. Working the beverage cart wasn’t the worst job in the world- decent tips, the occasional rich old man slipping her an extra twenty just to call him sir, and best of all, no uniform beyond the white polo and tennis skirt. But the heat, the mind-numbing small talk, the entitled customers was already testing her patience.

With a huff, she straightened and glanced out over the course. A group of men stood a little ways off near the ninth hole, laughing too loudly. She didn’t even need to get closer to know who was there- she could feel him before she even saw him.

Rafe fucking Cameron.

She rolled her eyes and turned back to the cart, shoving a few more bottles onto the shelves with unnecessary force. Of course he was here. He was always here, like a shadow dressed in designer. And judging by the obnoxious laughter echoing across the course, he wasn't planning on leaving anytime soon. Y/N had spent the past week trying to avoid him, especially after what happened at the club- but clearly, the universe had other plans. And sure enough, as she climbed onto the cart, ready to make her rounds, a sharp whistle cut through the air, snapping her attention toward the very last person she wanted to talk to. Rafe stood a few feet away, golf club resting against his shoulder, that same smug grin tugging at his lips. His eyes flickered over her, slow and deliberate, before he tipped his head toward the cart.

"You gonna do your job, or just sit there like a stuck up bitch?"

Her grip tightened around the steering wheel, teeth grinding together. A few of the other guys chuckled, amused at her expense, and she forced a slow exhale before putting on her best fake smile.

"What can I get you, gentlemen?"

She asked sweetly, voice laced with poison. Rafe exchanged a look with Topper who was already stepping closer, resting his forearm on the top of the cart like he belonged there. "Let’s see…" He dragged the words out, acting as if he were actually thinking about it.

"How about a Johnnie Walker Blue? Neat."

Y/N fought the urge to scoff. Of course he’d order the most expensive whiskey they had. "Sure thing," she chirped, already scheming.

"And for the rest of you?"

The other guys rattled off their orders—beers, vodka sodas, a gin and tonic. She nodded along, pretending to be the perfect accommodating employee, but Y/N barely spared Rafe a glance before turning to the rest of them.

"And you?"

She asks, voice clipped as she looked towards the brunette. Rafe glances down at the selection of bottles lined up on her cart, dragging out the moment. "Hmmm." Her fingers tighten around the bottle as she makes one of the other guys drinks. "Sure, go ahead. Take your time," she says flatly, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. A slow grin spreads across his face at her impatience.

"I’ll have a Bloody Mary."

"A Bloody Mary?"

She scoffs before she can stop herself, staring at him. He speaks, tone nonchalant, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"Yeah"

She exhales through her nose, shaking her head, "You don’t even drink shit like that-"

"-Is there a problem?"

Her jaw clenches. Of course, this is exactly why he ordered it- because its the most complicated drink on the menu to make. He knows she’s going to put in the effort for a drink he won’t even finish. He’s just doing it to get under her skin. And the worst part?

It’s working.

Y/N turned away from him, yanking a cup off the shelf with more force than necessary. The ice clattered loudly as she scooped it in, the sound grating against her nerves as she reached for the vodka. The other drinks were easy- simple pours, barely requiring her attention- but this dumbass Bloody Mary… She grabbed the tomato juice with a scowl, biting back the urge to roll her eyes. The thick liquid sloshed into the glass, the deep red already annoying her before she even had to reach for the Worcestershire sauce. A few dashes, a heavy pour of vodka again, a squeeze of lemon she nearly crushed in her frustration at the never ending ingredients.  Behind her, she could feel Rafe’s eyes burning into her back, could practically hear the smirk in his voice when he said,

“You’re taking your time Maybank.”

Her grip on the drink tightened, and she soon found a slow smirk creeping onto her lips as her fingers curled around the Tabasco.

One, two, three, four, five, six—

She lost count of the number of shakes she gave it, but the deep red liquid swirled ominously in the glass, promising nothing but regret. A quick stir, a squeeze of lemon once more, and she shoved the celery stalk inside, pushing it down so hard that the juice nearly sloshed over the rim. Turning back, she plastered on her sweetest smile and placed the drink down in front of him with a little too much enthusiasm.

“Your drink”

She said brightly, tilting her head as she batted her lashes at him. Rafe eyed her, then the Bloody Mary, before lifting it lazily to his lips. He took a long, slow sip; the burn of all that extra Tabasco, the overwhelming taste of tomato and spice hitting his tongue like a slap, but there’s no way in hell he’d give her the satisfaction of a reaction- instead letting the awful taste settle, all while maintaining eye contact with her. His jaw flexed slightly, the faintest twitch of his lip as he smacked his lips, 

“Mmm- Perfect.”

She’s fuming. She knows it tastes like absolute shit, knows it should have him coughing or gagging, but instead, he’s sitting there acting like he just ordered the best damn drink of his life. He lifts the glass toward her, a smug glint in his eyes as he adds, 

“You should try it”

She glares up at him, fingers tight around the cold cup as he presses it into her hand. He’s close- too close- his broad frame looming over her, one hand braced against the top of the cart as he watches her with that insufferable smirk. He murmurs, voice low and taunting.

“Drink it”

Y/N hesitates for half a second, but she refuses to let him win. So, she lifts the glass to her lips and takes a sip- too big of a sip. The spice immediately scorches her tongue, searing all the way down her throat. She barely suppresses a cough, blinking rapidly as her eyes well up, the heat hitting her like a slap. Rafe tilts his head, watching every flicker of discomfort with smug amusement.

“Aww—what?” His voice is mocking, dripping with fake sympathy as he leans in just a little more.

“You don’t like it?”

She swallows thickly, willing herself not to react as she forces the glass back into his chest, her jaw clenched so tight it aches,

“Go fuck yourself Cameron.”

And now he’s looking down at her, eyes flickering over her face, dark with something unreadable as his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“Such a naughty mouth Y/N.”

She doesn't to look away, refuses to give him the satisfaction of seeing her falter. Her jaw tightens, other hand curling into fists at her sides, but she holds his gaze, a silent challenge burning between them. Then he moves, reaching for the cup, fingers brushing against hers as he takes it back—too fast, too careless- and the red liquid sloshes over the rim, splattering against her white polo and tennis skirt.

She sucks in a sharp breath, eyes snapping downward as the cold, sticky drink seeps into the fabric, staining it instantly. A drop lands on his own polo, but he doesn’t seem to care- doesn’t even glance at it. Her gaze flicks back up, burning with rage, but he’s already watching her, already grinning, amused by the whole thing. His voice is anything but apologetic.

“Oops.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake—”

She mutters, stepping back instinctively, eyes darting down to the spreading stain. Rafe, meanwhile, just watches her, amusement flickering in his gaze as he sets the now almost-empty cup back on the cart. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip, slow and deliberate, before he tuts. “Look at that,” he muses, eyes dragging over her ruined uniform.

“Messy, messy.”

“You’re such a dick.”

She clenches her jaw, nostrils flaring as she glares up at him. Rafe just smirks at her stubbornness, gaze flickering between her eyes before dropping, taking his time to lazily drink in the sight of her, now disheveled and stained because of him. Then, he exhales sharply, like he’s made some kind of decision. “Well,” he drawls,

“you should probably go clean that up- wouldn’t want to look unprofessional.”

God, he was insufferable.

Y/N's eyes narrow as she dabs at the stain on her polo with a tissue, but it’s no use. The red liquid has already seeped deep into the fabric, leaving a glaring mark. She sighs in frustration, bending over to wipe the mess off her shoes, her white skirt riding up her thighs. She can feel a set of eyes on her, Topper and Kelce standing a few feet away, their gazes lingering and she rolls her eyes, already irritated. But the way they’re elbowing each other and snickering only makes her more uncomfortable.

Before she can fully straighten up, she feels a sudden, sharp slap against her ass. Y/N jumps, her body stiffening as a rush of heat floods her face. Her head whips around, her eyes flashing with fury.

"What's wrong with you?!" 

She snaps, her voice sharp as she scoffs, brushing it off as best she can, but her face is red with embarrassment and fury. Rafe's staring at Kelce now, his gaze practically burning through him. Kelce’s smugness falters for a second, the cocky grin fading slightly as he tries to meet Rafe’s eyes, but he can feel the threat hanging in the air. Without a word, Y/N steps over to the cart, her fingers already reaching for the wheel. Yet as she goes to grab it, she hears Rafe’s voice, low and commanding.

"Hey—hey!"

He grabs the wheel himself, his grip tight and unforgiving. Y/N looks up at him, confused and a little frustrated. He demands, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Where are you going?"

"Really? I'm covered in tomato juice, Rafe," she snaps, voice dripping with sarcasm. "What do you think I’m doing? Going back to get changed."

Rafe narrows his eyes, still looking at her with that dead, intense glare, and it’s almost like he’s seeing right through her. "Well, you got your shitty drink on me," he says, his voice dripping with irritation.

"Excuse me, I did that?"

Y/N blinks, incredulous. Her eyes flicker down to the tiny splodge of red on his polo, her expression shifting into an exaggerated roll of her eyes as she looks back up at him. Rafe’s jaw tightens, but his gaze doesn’t falter as he stands there, silently assessing her, his posture rigid with tension.

"Yeah, well," he mutters, clearly not done with the situation, "drive me back. I need to change."

Y/N glares at him, shaking her head. "What? No."

She can't even protest any further as Rafe steps around her, sliding into the cart, and sitting down beside her with that infuriatingly casual air, like he’s the one in control. His leg bumps hers as he settles, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as if the whole thing is just a game. Y/N glares at him as he casually sits down beside her in the cart, crossing his arms and leaning back like he’s completely at ease.

"Uh- get out?"

She says, her voice sharp with frustration. Rafe doesn’t even flinch, just looks over at her with a lazy smirk.

"Get out"

"I hope that’s not how you talk to all your customers, Maybank."

“Are you fucking serious right now?”

Y/N’s eyes widen in disbelief, she’s seething, the smell of the tomato juice stain on her uniform only adding to the frustration. Her hand clenches around the wheel as she tries to keep her composure, but it’s hard when Rafe is sitting there, acting like he owns the place.

"Better get going, or that stain will stick”

He adds casually, the smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth. Y/N’s jaw clenches, and she takes a deep breath, trying to suppress the urge to snap back at him. But with the tension thick in the air, there’s no ignoring him. She huffs, gripping the wheel even tighter. “Fine,” she mutters under her breath, eyes flicking to him before she starts the cart and drives off, the sound of the engine almost masking the anger simmering between them.

Rafe leans back, perfectly comfortable in his spot, not a care in the world, while Y/N fights the urge to punch him in his stupid fucking face. Her eyes stay on the road, trying to ignore the irritating presence next to her, but she knows this is far from over. The cart bumps along the grass of the golf course, the soft hum of the engine doing nothing to ease the tightness in the air. Y/N’s hands are tight around the wheel, her grip rigid as she focuses on driving, trying to ignore the heat from Rafe’s presence beside her. Her body’s tense, her muscles stiff under the weight of his gaze.

Rafe, on the other hand, seems perfectly relaxed, like he’s completely comfortable with the silence stretching between them. But he’s not looking at the horizon or the passing course; no, his eyes are on her. Slowly, they drift over her face, studying her every feature with an intensity that makes her skin crawl. Then, his gaze lowers, tracing down her body with lazy attention, stopping at her thighs—bare beneath the drink-stained skirt. Y/N’s pulse picks up, and she doesn't even process it, but she feels Rafe’s hand is on her thigh, resting just above her knee.

The touch is so casual, but it makes her freeze. Her body stiffens in shock, and her eyes snap to his, wide and full of surprise.

"Rafe—"

"Shhh, relax"

He murmurs, his voice low and slow, the words cutting through the tension like a hot knife. His fingers rub gently up and down her thigh, almost as though a sweet gesture, but the touch feels possessive, like he’s marking her without saying it aloud.

"What- What the fuck are you doing?"

She asks, her voice betraying a hint of uncertainty, and every part of her wants to pull away. He squeezes her thigh lightly, almost teasingly, and his gaze doesn’t leave her as he speaks.

“Well I pay for your services, don’t I?”

His words are heavy with meaning, his tone casual, but there’s an edge to it that makes her stomach flip. Y/N scoffs, a mix of disbelief and anger rising inside her.

“Yeah, wrong club”

She bites back, trying to push him off, but the way his hand stays there, the way his fingers grip her just a little too firmly, a little too high, keeping her in place.

Her heart races, the air around them charged, and it’s clear that neither of them is backing down. Y/N’s pulse thunders in her ears, and her breath catches in her throat. Rafe’s hand is still on her thigh, just a little too far up, the warmth of his fingers on her bare thigh making her feel exposed. She grips the wheel tighter, her knuckles going white, the engine’s soft hum doing nothing to drown out the sound of her rapid heartbeat. The cart lurches over a bump, and it snaps her attention back to the road, but Rafe’s hand doesn’t move—his fingers squeezing once more. She feels a rush of heat, but the anger bubbles just as fast, rising in her chest.

"Get your hand off me"

She says through gritted teeth, her voice more forceful this time. She forces her gaze ahead, trying not to look at him, trying not to react to how his hand is still there, how it’s still so present. But Rafe just smirks, leaning in closer, his breath ghosting over her ear as he whispers,

“Make me.”

His voice is laced with a challenge, with something dark that makes her skin prickle, makes her feel like she’s walking a dangerous line between hatred and something else. Something she’s not ready to confront.

Her jaw clenches, and for a split second, she contemplates slapping his hand away. But then she feels it—the sudden weight of his gaze as it shifts to her lips, lingering for a heartbeat too long. The chemistry between them, that dangerous spark, shifts just a little. She knows he’s pushing her, testing her limits. But there's also this magnetism pulling her toward him, something about the way he’s looking at her drives her crazy.

"Cut it out Cameron"

She warns, voice barely above a whisper, but it’s a warning that means nothing when Rafe just chuckles and moves his hand upward almost hitting the edge of her panties.

Then, without warning, she jerks the wheel to the side, sending the cart veering slightly off course toward the edge of the course.

It’s a quick move, almost out of desperation, as if she’s trying to shake off the way he’s affecting her. The cart jerks again, and Rafe has to steady himself hand letting go of her thigh to hold onto the dashboard.

"You really want to play that game, huh?"

He muttered, eyes narrowed. Y/N doesn’t know what she’s doing, but all she can think of is how badly she wants him out of her space, out of her head. She doesn’t care about the stain on her skirt anymore; she’s thinking about the best way to get a thousand miles away from him.

The cart bumps back onto the paved path leading to the club, and she slows it as they approach the building, her fingers twitching on the wheel, still burning from the heat of the moment. Rafe leans back against the seat, but there’s still that smug look in his eyes, that feeling of control he loves so much. He glances at her, as she gets out the cart, he slips out after her taking in her expression, the way she refuses to meet his gaze, and then says,

“I need a change of shirt.”

“Okay”

She replies flatly, her tone as cold as she can make it. Y/N doesn’t even flinch, still focused on the path ahead. Rafe steps closer, closing the space between them with slow, deliberate movements, he leans down slightly, his voice low and insistent.

“So... get me a shirt.”

“I don’t see how you're my problem”

She shoots back, her voice dripping with sarcasm, finally looking up at him, her arms crossing over her chest. Rafe doesn’t step back, doesn’t even give her a second to breathe before he takes another step forward, crowding her space.

“Well, I am, so fucking find me a change of top”

He demands, his tone sharp, full of that same cocky authority. Y/N’s lips curl into a sarcastic smile even though she’s seething inside. She rolls her eyes, turning her head away just enough to make it clear how little she cares.

“Sure Mr. Cameron, let me get that for you”

She mocks, voice dripping with fake sweetness. He can't even say anything else because she turns on her heel and strides toward the club, walking away with that same attitude as she leaves him standing there with his challenge unanswered.

Yet as she's walking away, she feels the sharp tug on her arm, her body jerking back as Rafe’s fingers wrap around her bicep, pulling her toward him. She turns, ready to snap at him again, but before she can open her mouth he scolds,

“Don’t walk away from me.”

His voice is low, almost a growl, and there’s something dark and angry simmering under the words. Y/N’s eyes flash, but she stands her ground, lifting her chin as she spits back, her annoyance clear.

“Or what?”

Rafe’s jaw tightens, a vein at his temple throbbing with the effort to keep his temper in check. He doesn’t want to be this pissed off, but the way she’s treating him- like she doesn’t give a shit about him- it drives him mad. It’s like a challenge, and he’s not backing down from it, even though he knows he’s been just as bad. His voice comes out seething,

“Or I’ll complain to your manager.”

At that, something shifts in Y/N’s expression- her eyes narrow, defiance flickering for just a second. She can’t afford to lose her job, not like this.

Not over him.

She snatches her arm back, her frustration visible, and for a brief second, the fight in her dies down. She exhales, the anger draining from her posture as she steps back, eyes flicking toward the staff quarters.

“C’mon”

She mutters under her breath, quieter now, and there's a weariness in her voice that wasn’t there before. She’s not giving him the satisfaction of being totally submissive, but her tone has changed—it's more resigned than anything.

Rafe watches her for a beat, still standing a little too close, but this time, he doesn’t say anything. His eyes follow her as she walks through the club, her movements brisk as she heads toward the staff quarters. There’s a flicker of surprise in his chest, and for a moment, he considers backing off, letting her go, but something about how she’s reacting entices him So, he follows her.

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

Y/N walks briskly through the club, the sound of her shoes clicking against the polished floors echoing in the quiet hall. Rafe follows closely behind, his presence heavy in the air as they make their way toward the staff quarters. She doesn't glance back at him, but she can feel the heat of his gaze boring into her.

They pass a few of the staff lockers, the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights above the only sound as they walk down the narrow aisle of the staff area. Y/N moves with purpose, each step holding no sign of the unease she’s feeling on the inside. She turns the corner at the end of the hall, and they reach the large lost and found. It’s a mess- shirts, jackets, random pieces of clothing, and forgotten items strewn across the bins, piles of things that have clearly been left behind by members and staff who aren’t quite as neat as they should be. There’s no order, no system, just a jumble of lost things waiting to be reclaimed. She gestures to it, voice laced with that same sarcasm she’s always got, but with an edge of frustration creeping in.

“There.”

She motions to a polo shirt thrown over a pile of forgotten jackets. Rafe takes a step forward, his eyes scanning the pile. He doesn’t miss a beat, his gaze flicking back to her for a moment, sizing her up. There’s something about the way she’s handling this, the way she’s pretending to be completely unaffected, that gets under his skin. He doesn’t like it- not because she’s hiding something, but because it’s like she’s challenging him to break her composure. He grabs the shirt off the top of the pile, holding it out in front of him like he’s completely entitled to it. The material is rough, not the kind of quality he’s used to, and he sneers at it for a moment.

“This is what you got for me?” he mutters, voice dripping with mock disbelief, “I didn’t realise I was getting leftovers.”

“Not my fault you spilled tomato juice on yourself.”

Y/N crosses her arms, her body language unreadable as she leans against the nearby counter. She rolls her eyes, eyes flicking over his shoulder for a moment, clearly unimpressed by his dramatics. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches her with that cold smirk, but then his hand reaches out, his fingers brushing against the fabric of the shirt with exaggerated slowness.

“I thought you were supposed to take care of me- Y/N”

He says, voice low and purposeful, the undercurrent of something more in his tone now. Y/N shoots him a quick look, her eyes narrowed, frustration simmering. She stands up straighter, ready to walk off, but she’s not backing down.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am serious.”

He steps closer, his face unreadable, but there's something about his presence, the way he stands there so close, that makes her freeze for just a moment. Rafe's gaze unwavering as he watches her, looking for any crack in her cool exterior. Y/N’s pulse quickens, but she’s not going to let him see that. She stands her ground, even though every instinct is telling her to get away from him. He tilts his head slightly, his voice low and deliberate.

“You really don’t care, do you?”

“About what, exactly?”

Y/N arches an eyebrow, her lips curling into a sarcastic smile. Rafe takes a slow step forward, the proximity between them shrinking. He’s invading her space, pushing against her comfort zone, but she’s still not backing down, she won't appear weak- she's not weak.

“About making sure I’m... taken care of”

He says, his words hanging heavy in the air. She exhales sharply, rolling her eyes again and shes surprise they've not fallen out of their sockets yet.

“I’m not your fucking personal assistant, Rafe.”

“-but you sure as hell act like it”

There's a flicker of amusement in his eyes, like he enjoys seeing her fight back, his hand's still gripping the shirt, his fingers brushing against her arm lightly as if testing her reaction. Y/N’s breath catches, but she doesn’t flinch. Instead, she meets his eyes, the defiance still strong in her stance. She leans in just a fraction,

“And what? You think that means you can boss me around?”

Without warning, Rafe moves, stepping into her space so suddenly that she has no choice but to press her back against the lockers, the cold metal digging into her skin. His large frame looms over her, his hand bracing against the locker next to her head. He’s so close, she can feel his breath against her cheek. For a second, she freezes, eyes wide as she realises just how trapped she is- physically and mentally. She looks up at him and his eyes are already fixed on her, his expression unreadable, almost cold.

“Maybe I do”

He says, his voice now barely a whisper, but it feels like it’s cutting straight through her. There’s something in his eyes- something dark, predatory, like he’s daring her to make a move. Her chest tightens. She hates that this proximity makes her heart race, but she refuses to let him know that. She’s not going to let him see that he’s rattling her.

“And if I don’t want to be bossed around?”

She challenges, her voice shaky, but she’s still holding her ground. Rafe’s gaze flickers for a moment, then he moves even closer, his knee brushing lightly against her thigh as he adjusts his position. Her breath catches again, her body tensing instinctively, but he’s not done yet. His voice drops even lower as he leans in, his words like a private threat just for her.

“You’ll learn to deal with it, Maybank.”

She almost flinches at how intimate it sounds- like there’s more than just the words hanging between them. It makes her nauseous- she’s so close to him now, she can’t tell where he ends and she begins.

Then, suddenly, her phone buzzes in her pocket, breaking the tension like a gunshot.

She takes the opportunity to glance down, breaking eye contact with him just for a moment. It’s a message from her manager. She sighs, her shoulders sagging as the reality of her situation starts to settle back in. This isn’t a game. She can’t afford to get caught up in whatever power struggle Rafe’s trying to pull. Without looking back at him, she pushes her self away from the lockers speaking out sharply.

“You’ve got your shirt. Now get out.”

Rafe doesn’t move right away. He stands there, staring at her, his expression unreadable. For a moment, Y/N thinks she’s won their little silent quarrel, but something about the way he looks at her- dark, calculating- tells her she hasn’t. Finally, he steps back, his gaze lingering on her like he’s trying to figure her out. His voice, when it comes, is dripping with something both mocking and serious.

“You might want to work on your customer service skills, Maybank.”

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

Y/N steps out of the club, exhaustion settling into her bones after a grueling double shift. The cool night air hits her like a breath of fresh air, and she sighs, stretching her arms overhead. She’s almost to the parking lot when she hears a familiar voice calling her name.

"Hey, Y/N!"

Sofia's voice is warm, and Y/N turns to see her friend walking towards her with a bright smile. They meet halfway, and she smiles, grateful for the distraction. Sofia pulls her into a hug, the kind of hug that only close friends give.

"Hey, Sof," Y/N says, her voice a little tired but genuine, "how’ve you been?"

"Good, just the usual stuff but you look like you could use a nap," Sofia jokes, pulling back to get a better look at Y/N, her eyes narrowing playfully.

"Double shift today?"

"Yeah, you know, Can’t resist the overtime."

Y/N chuckles lightly, shrugging. Sofia grins but then her expression softens.

"I saw you with Rafe earlier…"

"Oh, uh, yeah. He's just being a bitch as usual..."

Y/N's heart skips a beat, and she immediately tries to brush it off, her gaze flicking away. She trails off, not wanting to get into it. It’s not like she owes Sofia an explanation, but it feels weird to talk about Rafe. She adds quickly, forcing a smile.

"It’s nothing"

"You sure?’"

Sofia tilts her head with a small smile but she can sense the shift in Y/N’s mood. Y/N exhales sharply, trying to hide the heat creeping up her neck. "It’s really not a big deal," she says, voice a little too sharp.

"Just a… a thing. Nothing worth getting into."

Sofia watches her for a moment, her eyes searching Y/N's face. "Alright," she says, though the tone in her voice suggests she’s not entirely convinced, "But just so you know, people talk. I’m not saying you need to explain yourself, but one of the girls said you went to the locker rooms and I know that doesn't mean—"

Y/N cuts her off with a soft but firm laugh. "Sof, it’s really nothing. He’s Rafe Cameron, I don't want anything to do with him, relax. Anyways- I’m not going to waste my time worrying about whatever it is other people gossip about."

Sofia doesn't push further, but her concern lingers in her eyes. "Okay, okay," she relents, nodding.

"You're not mad right?"

"What!? No- of course I'm not. Don’t worry."

Y/N gives her a half-smile, trying to look confident. The two share a brief, comfortable silence before Sofia raises an eyebrow.

"You heading home now? Need a ride?"

Y/N shakes her head, glancing back at the club, "No I'm good I drove- besides I know when I get back I’m crashing tonight for sure, so I doubt I could keep up any good convos right now."

Sofia smiles knowingly, "Alright, well, if you need anything, you know where to find me."

“I know- I love you get home safe.”

“I love you too! Text me when you're back”

Y/N waves at the girl, and the two of them part ways, Sofia heading off into the night while Y/N walks toward her car, a heavy feeling settling in her chest. Her mind drifts back to the Chinese leftovers sitting in the fridge at home, wondering if JJ got to them before she had a chance. As she gets closer to her car, her pace slows, and she sees a figure leaning against it.

Her heart skips a beat, and instinctively, she hesitates.

It’s late.

She’s alone.

She knows better than to approach someone like that without caution. She stays still for a moment, the feeling of being vulnerable creeping over her, before she takes a few steps forward, straining her eyes to make out the person.

Then she sees it’s him.

Her stomach drops, and she mutters under her breath, "What the-?" She’s always been a decent person, always tried to do the right thing. But then there’s Rafe- always showing up at the most inconvenient times. "Seriously?" she says, her voice low, laced with frustration as she walks around to the opposite side of the car.

"What do you want?"

She shoves her bag in the backseat, the motion sharp, as her thoughts race. She can feel his presence by the driver's side, looming, as if he’s waiting for something. He’s standing there, leaning casually, but she can tell he’s not entirely sober- his eyes are blown, his posture sloppy, like he's a little drunk and definitely high. She rounds the back of the car and stops just short of him, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. Rafe doesn’t move, his eyes locked on her with that same unreadable expression.

"Why the hell are you here?"

She mutters, now visibly annoyed, but not completely surprised. Was his tormenting the morning not enough for him? Of course, he’d show up when she’s least expecting it, and definitely when she least wants him around. Rafe steps closer, his presence overpowering the air between them. His eyes are half-lidded, and his stance is far too relaxed for the late hour and the situation they’re in. He tilts his head as he studies her, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "So," he starts, voice low and a little too smooth for Y/N's liking,

"You headed to the club tonight? Gonna work that shift of yours... ?"

His words are dripping with something- teasing, playful, but also a little too sharp, like he knows exactly how to push her buttons. She steps back instinctively, glaring at him, but he doesn’t give her any space. He steps forward again, this time almost closing the gap completely. She pushes his chest, trying to push him away.

"Get your fucking act together, Rafe. I don’t have time for this shit."

Her voice is tight, forced out through gritted teeth. But he’s not having it. Instead, he steps in even closer, his hand brushing her arm, an unspoken challenge in his touch. The air between them is thick with tension, and she can feel it creeping under her skin. He’s toying with her. Again. “Come on, Y/N,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand reaches up to rest lightly on her waist, and he gives her a slight, mocking smile.

“Don’t make things complicated”

“Get off me, Rafe”

She snaps, shoving his hand away harder, but he’s not backing off. Before she can react, he steps around her, his movement quick and decisive. With one smooth motion, he flips them around, so now she’s trapped- her back against the cold metal of her car, his body closing the space between them. Her breath hitches at the sudden shift, and she looks up at him, eyes wide with a mix of anger and disbelief.

“Where r'you going?”

He mumbles, his voice low and threatening, but there’s something in it that sounds almost possessive, like he’s done playing games. Y/N’s heart is racing, but she doesn’t show it. She tries to push him off again, her hands firmly against his chest, but his body is solid, unmoving. She glares up at him, her chest heaving with each breath, but he’s not giving her an inch.

“You’re fucking insane”

She spits, her voice barely audible, but laced with venom. Rafe’s hand slides down to her waist, his grip firm but possessive, as he leans in closer, closing the distance between them. The proximity is overwhelming, his body heat radiating off him. His other hand rests casually on his hip, his gaze dark as he looks down at her, an almost predatory gleam in his eyes.

“Come on, Y/N,” he murmurs, voice thick with an almost smug satisfaction. “Come home with me- be my little dancer." His words are dripping with insinuation, the suggestion hanging heavy in the air, thick with promise and something darker beneath the surface.

“I’ll pay you well... you won’t regret it.”

Y/N freezes for a moment, shock and outrage flickering across her face. Her hands which were instinctively pressing against his chest, trying to keep some distance between them, faltered slightly. Is that really what he thought of her? The audacity of what he just said is enough to make her blood boil, the anger rising up in her chest like fire.

Her hand swings up and cracks across his cheek.

The sound of the slap echoes in the night air, sharp and satisfying. Rafe stumbles back in surprise, his eyes widening in disbelief, his drunken haze momentarily shaken. Y/N, her breath coming in short, angry gasps, doesn’t give him a chance to react. She yanks open the car door, the movement quick and jerky as she turns on her heel to face him one last time.

“I’m not a fucking prostitute”

She spits out, her voice low and venomous, the words sharp as daggers. She slams the door behind her with a force that makes the whole car shudder, her heart racing in her chest, the adrenaline coursing through her. The silence that follows is deafening, and all she can hear is the ringing in her ears.

Rafe stands there for a moment, he’s drunk, but even through the haze of alcohol, something in his chest tightens as he watches as she drives off, the sting of her slap still lingering on his skin.

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꒰ 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.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ fire and air,

summary. you've got castiel under some kind of spell. and it's freaky!

pairing. castiel x demon!reader genre. fluff

wordcount. 529

Castiel shouldn’t be here.

Shouldn’t be standing in the dim glow of a rundown motel room, watching the way your black eyes flash before fading back to their human hue. Shouldn’t be memorizing the curve of your smirk, the way it tilts like you know a secret he’ll never understand.

And yet—he can’t leave.

“You know,” you hum, tilting your head, “I can hear your thoughts when you look at me like that.”

Castiel stiffens. “That’s not possible.”

You grin. “No, but I wish it was. Bet they’re all righteous and tortured.” You step closer, slow, like you’re testing him, seeing how far you can push before he pulls away. He never does. “You’ve got it bad, angel.”

His jaw clenches. “You are a demon.”

“Mmm.” You press a finger to your lips, feigning deep thought. “And yet, you’re still here.”

The room feels smaller. He can hear the motel sign buzzing outside, the hum of a television through the thin walls. But none of it matters—not when you’re this close, the scent of smoke and something sweet curling around him like temptation itself.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Castiel admits, voice low, strained.

Your smile softens, just a little. “I don’t want anything.” You reach up, fingers ghosting along the lapel of his trench coat. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

He swallows. He should smite you. He should walk away. He should do a thousand things that don’t involve watching your lips part like you’re waiting for him to make a move.

Instead, he stays.

And he falls.

The first time he kisses you, it’s after a fight that wasn’t even yours to begin with.

You hadn’t planned on getting involved—whatever demon had pissed off the Winchester brothers wasn’t your problem. But then you saw one of Hell’s lapdogs get the jump on Castiel, a blade pressed too close to his throat, and something in you snapped.

So you killed it.

Messily.

Now, blood stains your collar, some of it yours, most of it not. Your lip is split, and there’s a bruise forming high on your cheekbone, but you’re grinning like you just won the damn lottery. “That was fun,” you breathe, licking blood from your teeth.

Castiel should be disgusted.

He isn’t.

“You’re reckless,” he murmurs.

You shrug. “And you’re obsessed with fixing things that can’t be fixed.”

He doesn’t realize he’s moved until his hands are cupping your face, his thumbs skimming over the bruises. A flicker of grace would heal them, erase every mark, but you grab his wrists, shaking your head.

“I like them,” you whisper. “Proof that I made it through.”

Castiel’s resolve crumbles. He kisses you before he can think better of it, before he can remind himself of what you are, what he is, what this will cost him.

Your lips are warm, chapped, and tasting of copper and sin. You make a sound against his mouth—something soft and surprised before you melt into him, pressing closer, fingers threading into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp.

And Castiel—who has fought wars and killed gods and carried the weight of Heaven itself—lets himself fall a little deeper.

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𝐃𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐃 𝐌𝐂𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 ┆ not so hidden 𖢖

reader catching david being violent with someone ᬬ david’s other side isn’t as hidden as he thinks ᬬ

you steps slowed when you hear the whimpering. then your brow furrows when you hear the voice. david’s voice. he sounds angry? and why is there someone pleading with david not to hurt them?

you round the corner, coming to a halt at the sight in front of you. david, with his back turned to you, one fist holding a guy a few inches off of the ground by his shirt. the other first, posed in the air, angling to hit the guy.

“you know what’ll happen if you touch her again, right? do i need to remind you? is that bruise not enough, you want more?” david sounded manically. . joyous as he said the words. almost like he said them with a smile on his face that you couldn’t see.

the guy shook his head quickly, his head slightly moving to the side as david’s fist inched closer. “i don’t need your filthy hands touching my girl and tainting her. i oughta cut them off right here,” david lowered his fist to reach into his back pocket.

you quickly called out his name before he could reveal what he was reaching for. both of the boys turned to you. one, relieved to see you, the other, stumped.

david quickly let go of the boy’s shirt, taking a step back like he wasn’t just about to. . severely hurt the guy. he quickly moved his hand from his pocket, tossing an innocent smile your way. “hey, baby. i was just on my way to get you. this guy here,” david gestured to the trembling boy, “looked lost. was just trying to help him out.”

you couldn’t believe the lie that steered so far from what you just witnessed. david furrowed a brow, chest heaving from the anger he felt towards the guy and now seeing you, not sure how much you saw and how you’ll react. “why aren’t you still at school? were you walking home? why would you do that, i said i was getting you. just, just come back to my car. let’s get out of here.” david gestured his head towards where his car was parked.

you slowly shook your head, taking a step back. “i’ll walk. it’s fine.” you spun on your heels, deciding to take a different route. a route then didn’t involve david trying to stop you.

“no. .” you heard from behind you before your arm was snatched back, david pulling you toward him. “no, i’ll drive you. i don’t like you walking, it’s weird people out here. just get in the car.”

you turned your head towards david, movement behind him catching your eye. you looked over his shoulder to see the guy david was threatening, putting a phone up to his ear, nodding at you.

you swallowed, nervously looking back to david. “he’s calling the cops.” you whispered. david scrunched his face, looking back to the guy and letting go of you to rush over to him. you took that moment to run off.

david turned in time to see you fleeing the scene. he huffed out a breath, turning to the guy. he silently grabbed the phone, throwing it to the ground, and crushing it. “she just needs some time to herself. it’s fine. i’m not pressuring her. nothing is wrong.” he told the guy, or more so himself, then got into his car.

he drove to his place, actually giving you some time to yourself. after spending some time worrying his head about you, he decided to call. when you didn’t answer, he tried again. then again. were you ignoring him? david was quick to leave out again, driving to your place.

once he pulled up, he grabbed the spare key he had made from underneath the plant that sat outside of your front door. letting himself in, he wandered around looking for you.

spotting you in your room, david was methodical to sneak up behind you, grabbing you in a hold that you couldn’t escape from. you yelped out, david shushing you. “it’s just me. it’s just me. you weren’t responding to me and i got worried.” david spun you around in his arms. you peered up at him, not knowing what to say. first, he threatens a guy for touching you, which you don’t really remember, then gets into your house when the door was locked.

“i just. . i felt like walking. and you looked busy. .” you tried to explain. david smiled down at you. he shrugged. “wasn’t busy. i told you, he was lost. and i offered to drive you, you know i wasn’t busy. why’d you really walk off? why’d you ignore my calls? i told you what happened, why are you acting scared of me?” david rambled on, getting more aggressive after each sentence.

“david, i think you know why. .” you tried to slip from his arms. he was quick to tighten his grip though, pulling a confused face. “no, i don’t. i think you’re confused. you think you saw something that you didn’t. it’s fine. you know i wouldn’t hurt anyone. and i definitely wouldn’t hurt you. i just have to let people know sometimes. . that you’re off limits. i have to gently remind them, it’s nothing wrong with that.” david smiled softly again.

you nodded along, too scared to disagree or continue to try to make your point. you leaned forward into david for a hug, him immediately embracing you and sighing out at the touch of you. while he was distracted, you quickly reached into his back pocket, pulling out whatever he was reaching for earlier. when your hand returned with a switchblade in it, you simply gasped as you stared at it.

david was quick to snatch it back. “don’t touch that. you’ll hurt yourself.” he placed it back in his pocket.

with his arms free from around you, you took multiple steps back. “david, you were going to. . cut him? stab him? you threatened him with a knife.” your voice raised.

david shook his head at you, coming closer to kneel in front of you, grasping your arms and peering up at you. “i told you, i have to remind people. this guy just had to be reminded. . differently. he wasn’t listening. you understand that, right? you understand i can’t let people hurt you. you want to be with me, right? you want me to keep you safe? that’s how i do it. you can’t be mad at me for that. you can’t ignore me for that.” david sneered.

you slowly nodded as david rose to his full height. “yeah? you believe me? you done thinking those crazy thoughs?” he chuckled.

“yeah. . yeah, i’m sorry.” you whispered. what could you even say? he was proving to be a caring, protective boyfriend. why wouldn’t you appreciate him?

david smirked at you. “it’s alright, don’t apologize. just don’t ignore me again, okay?” the light smirk fell from his face. “i mean it, don’t do that to me again.”

it started with a moronic tattoo. a dumb, drunk decision at eighteen, giggling with your college roommates over a blurry photo of soldier boy, choosing the shield because his face felt like too much commitment. a tramp stamp—because that was the joke, right? but the ink settled under your skin, the joke fading with the years, leaving only the truth behind. you didn’t just admire him. you craved him. you wanted to be part of him, wrapped up in the legend, in the impossible strength and swagger of him. it wasn’t just lust—it was devotion, something deeper, something undeniable, almost like you worshipped the ground he walked on.

didn’t matter that he was long gone, a relic of another time, a myth wrapped in propaganda. he was the ideal. brute strength, rough hands, a smirk that cut through the bullshit. they didn’t make men like him anymore, hadn’t for decades, and the world was worse off for it.

so when butcher dragged you into his orbit, you couldn’t quite process it. soldier boy, real, breathing, alive in a way that shouldn’t have been possible. older, sure, but still built like a fucking tank, the weight of him pressing into every room he entered. you were supposed to keep an eye on him, make sure he didn’t burn down the safe house or wander off on some murder spree. glorified babysitting, really. but you couldn’t stop staring.

he noticed. of course he did. soldier boy wasn’t the kind of man to miss shit like that. his gaze raked over you every time you walked in, sharp eyes catching the way your breath hitched, the way your hands trembled when you handed him a beer. you tried to play it cool, but how were you supposed to stay casual when your childhood obsession was sprawled across a ratty motel couch, sweat-slick from sparring, dog tags glinting against his bare chest?

“what’s your deal, sweetheart?” he asked one night, voice rough from whiskey and disuse. “you look at me like you’ve seen a fucking ghost.”

“maybe i have,” the words slipped out before you could think better of them.

he leaned forward, smirking like he already knew everything you weren’t saying. “nah—it’s something else, ain’t it?”

you swallowed hard, pulse hammering in your throat. you could lie. you should lie. but then hughie, the clumsy bastard, fumbled something behind you, and you bent down without thinking, too careless.

soldier boy saw it immediately.

"fuck," he muttered, low and rough.

you froze, heat crawling up your neck as realization sank in. you straightened too fast, nearly stumbling, and when you turned, soldier boy was still staring. not at your face, not at anything above your waist.

his tongue dragged over his bottom lip, slow, contemplative, eyes dark as he took in the ink, the placement, the fucking meaning of it. something in his expression shifted—like a predator sighting something that belonged to him.

"holy fuck," he muttered, voice thick, heavy.

his hand twitched, like he was holding himself back, but then he didn’t. rough fingers brushed your lower back, thumb skating dangerously close to where the ink disappeared beneath your waistband. he traced it, slow and deliberate, watching the way you shivered at his touch.

"this real?" his voice was a rasp, pure gravel and whiskey. "or is this some slutty way of asking me to fuck you"

he laughed, a deep, satisfied rumble, and fuck, you felt that sound everywhere. “that’s some serious dedication.”

“i was young and stupid.”

he hummed, not buying it for a second. “nah. you don’t get something like this unless you mean it.”

he was right, and you hated how much you loved that he knew it. he stayed close, hand warm against your lower back, thumb pressing just above the ink like he was marking you all over again. your whole body locked up, heat pooling low in your core.

“fuck,” he muttered, voice gone rough. “you gonna give me a real welcome back then, or just stand there lookin’ pretty?”

you didn’t hesitate. you turned, grabbed the front of his jacket, and pulled him in. his mouth met yours in a clash of teeth and whiskey, a kiss that wasn’t soft or sweet—was never going to be, not with him. he tasted like violence, like a man who took what he wanted, and God, you wanted to be taken.

his hands were everywhere, mapping out your body with the surety of someone who’d done this a thousand times before. he shoved you onto the bed, covering you with his weight, and when he ground against you, the sound you let out was fucking obscene.

“that’s my girl,” he muttered, teeth grazing your throat, his smirk carved into your skin. “knew you’d be a goddamn dream.”

and when he finally got inside you, stretching you open like he was meant to be there, you thought maybe that dumb, drunk eighteen-year-old version of yourself had been right all along.

tags: @soldiersgirl @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @cherrygirlfriend @figthoughts @sunsbaby @ambiguous-avery @bocadelinfierno @sunnyteume @bejeweledinterludes @k-slla @lunaleah @pieandflannel

title: tramp stamp

Heyy I don’t know if you’ve seen the picture/ video of Hayden going to Lana del Rey’s concert in 2015 i think? anyways maybe u could write Hayden x singer!reader inspired by the pic/ video ??

btw I love everything u write!!!

🎀HAYDEN X SINGER!READER🎀

a/n: hello there, I loved your idea, I went to search for the video on TikTok, and I couldn't wait to write it. I hope you like it, I made this short one, but who knows, we can think of some more derivatives of this one. Anyway, tell me if I managed to live up to your request, kisses ❤️💋

Dating someone in the public eye had its perks. You both understood the pressures of fame—the constant scrutiny, the relentless cameras, and the weight of having your personal life dissected by strangers. There was comfort in that shared understanding, a silent solidarity in knowing you were navigating the chaos together. But it also meant double the attention. Twice as many fans, twice as many rumors, and an endless stream of paparazzi vying to capture the most intimate moments of your lives.

Hayden had accepted this reality when he fell for you, the rising star whose voice had taken the music world by storm. Your songs, brimming with raw emotion and a touch of playful wit, had earned you legions of fans. Your charisma had done the rest, including stealing his heart.

For nearly a year, the two of you had managed to keep your relationship under wraps. It wasn’t easy, but you both valued privacy. Dates were spent in small-town bistros, far from prying eyes, or at home, where the two of you could cook together, though it often turned into playful distractions—flour smeared across cheeks, kisses stolen over simmering pots. Those moments were yours alone, untouched by the outside world.

But tonight was different. Tonight was monumental. Your latest album had shattered records, catapulting you to new heights, and now you were about to perform in a sold-out stadium. It was a dream you’d once thought impossible, and Hayden wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

He arrived dressed in his usual understated style: dark jeans, a flannel under a hoodie, and his signature black cap. Just before stepping out of the car, he sent you a selfie—a candid, slightly awkward shot with half his face and the street in the background.

"I’ve arrived. Can’t wait to see you kill it tonight. Love you."

Your reply came almost instantly: "Can’t wait to see you either. You’re my lucky charm. 💕"

Hayden smiled as he pocketed his phone, bracing himself for what was to come. The moment he stepped out of the car, the night exploded into chaos. Camera flashes lit up the darkness like fireworks, and the air buzzed with the excited hum of voices.

“Hayden! Over here!” “Are you here for the show?” “Is it true you’re dating her?”

He kept his head down, offering a polite smile as he navigated the frenzy. Fans screamed his name, some reaching out with phones in hand, desperate for a photo. The paparazzi surged forward, shouting questions, their cameras clicking incessantly.

He maintained his calm, his focus unwavering. This was for you. The headlines that would follow, the speculation, the invasion of privacy—it was all worth it if it meant being there for you on one of the biggest nights of your life.

Once inside, the chaos faded, replaced by the electrifying anticipation of the crowd. A staff member guided him to his seat—discreetly positioned but with a perfect view of the stage. As he settled in, he looked around, taking in the sheer magnitude of the venue. Thousands of people, all here for you. His chest swelled with pride.

The lights dimmed, and the crowd erupted into cheers. He leaned forward, his heart pounding as your silhouette appeared on stage. As the first notes of your song filled the stadium, Hayden’s gaze softened. You were mesmerizing, a force of nature. And as the spotlight illuminated your face, your eyes found his, even in the sea of faces.

For a moment, it felt like it was just the two of you in the room, and he smiled, mouthing the words you’d said so many times before: "I’m so proud of you."

The show seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, a whirlwind of lights, music, and energy. They say time flies when you’re doing what you love, and tonight was no exception. On stage, you were radiant—your angelic yet powerful voice soaring effortlessly, captivating the sea of fans before you. Hayden sat among them, his heart swelling with pride, humming along to your songs with a broad smile.

Though his attempts at photography were endearingly clumsy, he snapped away, zooming in too much or catching blurry moments as he tried to capture the magic of seeing you perform live. But no photo could truly do justice to how extraordinary you were, how you commanded the stage with such ease, weaving your melodies with playful banter that had the crowd hanging on your every word.

You sang with all your heart, pouring yourself into every lyric, especially the love songs you’d written for Hayden. Each note carried a piece of your soul, and as you scanned the audience, your eyes found him. He stood out to you instantly—his dark jeans and hoodie barely masking the warmth in his gaze. The moment your eyes met, your smile grew so wide that for a split second, you faltered, almost missing the note. But you recovered quickly, your heart racing as he grinned back at you, mouthing the words he knew by heart.

Hayden had memorized every line of those love songs. They were pieces of you, little treasures you’d shared with him, and hearing you sing them live, with a smile meant just for him, made his love for you overflow. He clapped, cheered, and joined the crowd in their roars of appreciation, though his excitement was entirely for you.

When the final notes of your encore faded and the lights dimmed, Hayden couldn’t wait to see you. His pulse quickened as he made his way backstage, navigating the bustling crew with a polite nod here and there until he reached your dressing room. He paused at the door, smoothing down his hoodie and trying to calm his racing heart before he knocked lightly.

“Come in,” your voice called, slightly hoarse from the performance but filled with the same warmth that always drew him in.

As Hayden stepped inside, his breath hitched at the sight of you. You were glowing, still wrapped in the adrenaline of the show, your makeup slightly smudged and hair a little tousled, but to him, you had never looked more beautiful.

You turned to him, and before he could say a word, you crossed the room and wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. The familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the faint traces of the stage lights and crowd. “You were incredible,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he held you tightly. “I’ve never been so proud of you.”

You looked up at him, your eyes glistening with happy tears. “You really think so?”

“Think so?” he repeated, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I know so. You were amazing out there. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

His words sent a wave of warmth through you, and you leaned up to kiss him, soft and lingering. “I could feel you there the whole time,” you admitted. “Every time I sang those songs, I looked for you.”

“And I was right there,” he said, his voice low and full of love. “Every word, every note—it was perfect. You’re perfect.”

You laughed softly, resting your forehead against his. “I couldn’t have done this without you, you know. You’re my everything, Hayden.”

He tightened his hold on you, pressing a kiss to your hair. “And you’re mine. Always.”

For a moment, the noise and chaos of the world outside disappeared, leaving just the two of you in the quiet intimacy of the dressing room. In his arms, you felt safe, cherished, and deeply loved—and Hayden felt exactly the same way.

PLUS: MEDIA REACTION

@StarBuzzDaily: A rare sighting! Hayden Christensen was seen in the crowd at last night’s sold-out concert of pop sensation Y/N. The actor looked relaxed and happy, even taking photos and singing along. Could there be more to this appearance than meets the eye? Fans are speculating! 👀🎤 #HaydenChristensen #YourNameConcert

COMMENTS:

@anakinqueen33: Wait... WHY was he there? 👀 Do they know each other??

@melodyLover07: Omg, imagine if he’s just a fan like us. Plot twist: Hayden is in his Y/N stan era! 😂

@skywalker4Life: No way this is random... do we think they’re dating???

@galaxyVibes88: He was literally smiling during her love songs. Like, SMILING. Something is up!! 🧐💖

@haydenwifeyy: Okay but Hayden Christensen at a pop concert? Either he’s a secret fan or there’s tea brewing 🍵.

@lanafan: him going to her concert makes him 100x hotter🔥🔥

@harmonicHearts: If they’re not dating, I’m shipping it now. Look at him supporting her!! 🥺❤️.

@rexlovers: Guys, what if he’s in her next music video? Manifesting that collab!! 🎥🎶.