𝓜𝓻. & 𝓜𝓻𝓼. 𝓢𝓶𝓲𝓽𝓱

𝓜𝓻. & 𝓜𝓻𝓼. 𝓢𝓶𝓲𝓽𝓱
𝓜𝓻. & 𝓜𝓻𝓼. 𝓢𝓶𝓲𝓽𝓱
𝓜𝓻. & 𝓜𝓻𝓼. 𝓢𝓶𝓲𝓽𝓱

𝓜𝓻. & 𝓜𝓻𝓼. 𝓢𝓶𝓲𝓽𝓱

Tangerine x Reader

You stand at the edge of the grand ballroom, surrounded by whispers and the soft clink of champagne flutes. The soft glow of chandeliers casts a warm light over the room, but all you can focus on is him. Dressed in a sharp tuxedo, his eyes glinting with mischief as he casually leans against the wall beside you. You’ve been pretending for hours — a perfectly crafted, flawless marriage in the eyes of everyone around you. But deep down, the tension has been building.

You smile up at him, the polite, charming grin that’s become second nature over the years. But you notice the way his gaze lingers on you, just a second too long. You feel the heat of his attention in the pit of your stomach.

As the music swells, he leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “I’m starting to wonder if they’re buying it,” he murmurs. “Are you?”

You chuckle, a soft sound that barely escapes your lips. “Of course they are. We’re the perfect couple,” you reply, the words dripping with sweetness, but your heart races. You can’t decide if it's the lie or the truth that excites you.

Then, without warning, his hand finds your back, pulling you just a little closer. The brush of his fingers against your skin sends a shiver down your spine. Before you can react, he tilts your chin up, his lips brushing against yours in a swift, confident kiss.

It’s not what you expect — not the sweet, gentle kiss of a happy couple. It’s urgent. It’s calculated. But it’s also electric. Every nerve in your body seems to hum in response as the crowd blurs around you. The world disappears, leaving only the two of you locked in this game of power, secrets, and undeniable chemistry.

He pulls away just enough to look you in the eyes, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “They’re definitely buying it,” he says softly, his voice a low rasp.

You swallow, still caught in the moment. “You know how to make a scene,” you reply, your voice thick with the tension he’s created. You’re not sure whether to be angry or thrilled — maybe it’s both.

He steps back, adjusting his suit as if nothing happened, and you follow his lead, pretending as if nothing at all has changed. But inside, something has shifted. The night is far from over, and you have a feeling the lines between reality and play are about to blur even more.

More Posts from Dreameyess11 and Others

4 months ago
𝓭𝓪𝓭𝓭𝔂'𝓼 𝓵𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵
𝓭𝓪𝓭𝓭𝔂'𝓼 𝓵𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵
𝓭𝓪𝓭𝓭𝔂'𝓼 𝓵𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵

𝓭𝓪𝓭𝓭𝔂'𝓼 𝓵𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵

Leon S Kennedy x Reader

The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts a golden hue over your bedroom, illuminating Leon’s tired but ever-gentle face. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching as you tuck your twin daughters into bed. Their little chests rise and fall in peaceful rhythm, the warmth of their innocence filling the room.

“You’re staring,” you whisper, a knowing smile tugging at your lips as you step toward him.

Leon chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can you blame me?” His voice is low, full of quiet admiration. “Seeing you with them… it reminds me how lucky I am.”

You shake your head with a laugh, but the way his blue eyes soften makes your heart clench. Even after all these years—after the missions, the nightmares, the scars—he still looks at you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

The two of you slip into the hallway, careful not to wake the girls. As soon as you close the door, Leon wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close. His scent fills your senses.

“Tough mission today?” you murmur against his chest, your fingers tracing small circles on his back.

He exhales heavily, his grip tightening around you. “Not as tough as coming home and seeing our girls growing up so fast.” There’s a wistfulness in his voice. “I swear, they were just babies yesterday.”

You pull back slightly, cupping his face in your hands. “They’re still our babies. And they always will be.”

His lips quirk into a half-smile before he presses a kiss to your forehead. “I know.” Then, his voice turns playful. “But what about you? Still my girl?”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth in your chest spreads. “Always.”

He grins before dipping his head, capturing your lips in a slow, lingering kiss. It’s not rushed, not desperate—it’s the kind of kiss that speaks of years of love, of promises kept, of battles fought side by side.

When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours. “I missed you today,” he murmurs, his thumb grazing your cheek.

You smile, pressing a kiss to his palm.

His expression grows serious, and you know what he’s thinking—that he fights so you and the girls never have to. That every time he walks out the door, he carries the fear of not coming back.

But tonight, he’s here. And that’s all that matters.

You take his hand and lead him toward your bedroom, ready to steal whatever moments of peace the night will allow. Because loving Leon Kennedy means loving a man who fights battles you’ll never see—but who will always, always come home to you.


Tags
2 months ago
Puppy
Puppy
Puppy

Puppy

James Potter x Reader

A soft knock at your dorm room door startles you from your book. It’s late, too late for most visitors—except for one. You already know who it is before you even swing the door open.

There he stands, James Potter, windswept hair even messier than usual, his glasses slightly askew, and his eyes alight with something mischievous. But it isn’t just James at your door. Cradled in his arms is a tiny, shivering ball of fur—a puppy, barely bigger than his Quidditch gloves.

“Alright, love, before you say anything—yes, I know I probably shouldn’t have picked him up. And yes, I might have ignored about a dozen rules to get him here. But look at this face,” James says, stepping forward into your room, holding up the pup as if presenting undeniable evidence. “He was all alone outside the castle, near the forest. Just sitting there, looking like his entire little world was crumbling.”

You don’t even try to fight the smile tugging at your lips. The puppy’s big, watery eyes blink up at you, and he lets out a tiny, pitiful whimper. You feel your heart melt instantly.

“Oh, James,” you whisper, reaching out to touch the soft fur on the puppy’s head. “You couldn’t just leave him out there?”

“Course not,” he says, grinning triumphantly as if he knew you’d say that. “Not when he reminds me of someone.”

You look up at him in confusion. “Who?”

James smirks, gently nudging your chin with his finger. “You, obviously. Same ridiculously adorable face. Same ability to make me fall for them at first sight.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you swat at his arm, though there’s no real force behind it. He just laughs, shifting the puppy in his arms before carefully placing him in yours. The little thing instantly nuzzles against your chest, letting out a soft sigh.

You glance down at him, your heart aching with affection. “We can’t keep him, you know.”

James tuts, shaking his head. “We kept Sirius, didn’t we?”

You burst out laughing. “That’s different! Sirius is a person.”

“Debatable,” James mutters under his breath before wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “C’mon, love. Just for tonight. We’ll figure something out in the morning.”

You know you should protest, insist that sneaking a puppy into the dorms is entirely reckless. But standing here, with James so close, the warmth of the tiny creature in your arms, and the soft look in his hazel eyes—you find that you don’t really care about the rules.

With a sigh, you lean into James and whisper, “Alright.”

James grins, pressing a quick, affectionate kiss to your temple. “Deal. And for the record, I’d rescue a thousand puppies if it meant seeing that look on your face again.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart is too full to argue. Wrapped up in James’s warmth and the quiet love of the tiny creature in your arms, you realize—this boy will never stop finding ways to make you fall for him.


Tags
4 months ago
𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡
𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡
𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡

𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡

Dean Winchester x Reader

You hear the telltale growl of the Impala before you see it, a sound as familiar as the smell of herbs in your little apothecary. Dean Winchester steps out first, as he always does, with Sam trailing behind him like the level-headed shadow he is.

"You called," Dean says, leaning against the doorframe of your shop, his green eyes scanning your face as if you’re already plotting something dangerous.

Which, of course, you are.

"Dean," you purr, letting his name roll off your tongue like silk. "I knew you'd come running. Did you miss me?"

He doesn’t rise to the bait—at least not immediately. Instead, he crosses his arms, feigning indifference, but the twitch of his lips betrays him.

Sam clears his throat. "There’s a case. People turning up dead with their hearts ripped out. Thought it might be… your kind of thing."

"My kind of thing?" You feign offense, pressing a hand to your chest. "Sam, you wound me. I’m a harmless witch."

"Yeah, harmless," Dean mutters under his breath, but there’s a ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth.

You step closer, the floorboards creaking under your boots. Dean doesn’t back away—he never does—but his shoulders stiffen slightly as you invade his space. You make sure to trail your fingers along his jacket sleeve, a casual, fleeting touch that you know will make him clench his jaw.

"Relax, Dean," you whisper, tilting your head up to look him in the eye. "I don’t bite… unless you ask nicely."

Sam groans. "Can we not? Please?"

You laugh, a low, melodic sound that fills the small shop. Dean glares at Sam, muttering something about "ruining the fun," before turning his attention back to you.

"So, what do you know about this heart-stealing monster?" he asks, his tone all business now.

You sigh, stepping away from him to rifle through a shelf of dusty books. "A creature that rips out hearts? Sounds like a revenant or a very angry ex-girlfriend."

Dean snorts. "Any way to narrow it down?"

You flip open a heavy tome, running your finger along the yellowed pages. "Maybe. But it’ll cost you."

Dean raises an eyebrow. "Cost me? What, you want cash? A favor? My firstborn?"

You close the book and give him a sly smile. "No, Dean. I want you to smile for me. A real one."

Sam makes an exasperated noise, but Dean just stares at you, his lips twitching. "That’s what you want?" he asks, his voice low.

"Mm-hmm," you hum, leaning against the counter. "That, and maybe dinner. You know, for research purposes."

Dean shakes his head, but there’s a softness in his eyes now, a hint of amusement mixed with something else—something he probably doesn’t want to admit.

"You’re impossible," he mutters.

"And yet, here you are," you counter, smirking.

He doesn’t argue because you’re right. Dean Winchester might be stubborn, but he’s drawn to you like a moth to a flame. And you? You’re more than happy to let him burn.


Tags
5 months ago
Irresistible
Irresistible
Irresistible

Irresistible

James Potter x Reader

You never meant to get caught up in James Potter’s chaos. He was charming, yes, but entirely too reckless for your tastes. Still, there’s something about him—maybe the way he struts into every room as if he owns it, or how he always manages to make you laugh even when you’re scowling at him.

Take this morning, for example. You’d just settled into the library, determined to finish your essay on the practical applications of nonverbal spells, when he appeared out of nowhere, flopping into the chair across from you.

“What are you doing here, Potter?” you asked without looking up, already dreading the inevitable distraction.

“Spending time with my favorite person, obviously,” he said, propping his chin on his hand and grinning like he’d been caught doing something wicked.

You snorted. “Right. Because that’s exactly what I need while trying to concentrate.”

“What can I say?” he said, leaning closer. “I’m charming and irresponsible.” He paused dramatically, then corrected himself with a cocky smirk. “I mean, irresistible.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you thought they might stick. “Keep telling yourself that.”

But James wasn’t deterred. If anything, he took your sarcasm as a challenge. Over the next week, he made it his personal mission to win you over, employing every ridiculous tactic he could think of.

One day, you found a bouquet of enchanted daisies on your desk in Charms, each flower whispering, “Go out with James Potter!” in singsong voices. You pretended not to hear them, but you caught yourself smiling anyway.

Another time, he orchestrated a scene in the Great Hall, standing on a bench and loudly declaring, “There’s only one person in this entire castle who can make my heart race faster than a Quidditch match, and they’re sitting right over there!”

You nearly choked on your pumpkin juice. “Merlin’s beard, Potter, sit down!” you hissed, your face burning as the entire table turned to look at you.

Still, you couldn’t help but notice the way his hazel eyes sparkled with mischief when he caught your gaze—or the way your heart skipped a beat when he grinned at you like that.

It wasn’t all grand gestures, though. Sometimes, James surprised you with quiet moments that felt... different. Like the time he found you sitting by the lake, lost in thought, and simply plopped down beside you without saying a word. He didn’t try to make you laugh or tease you into a reaction; he just sat there, letting the silence stretch comfortably between you.

“Why do you even bother?” you asked eventually, breaking the quiet.

“Bother with what?” he replied, tossing a pebble into the water.

“With me. You could have anyone you want, Potter. Why waste your time chasing someone who’s... not interested?”

James turned to you, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it. “Because you’re different. You don’t put up with my nonsense, and you make me want to be... better.”

For once, he didn’t seem like the cocky, overconfident boy you’d always pegged him as. Instead, he was just James—genuine and a little vulnerable.

And maybe that’s when it hit you: you didn’t dislike him as much as you pretended to.

The next day, when he approached you in the common room with that same incorrigible grin, you decided to throw him off.

“All right, Potter,” you said, crossing your arms. “One date. But if you embarrass me even once, it’ll be your last.”

His eyes widened in mock horror. “Me? Embarrass you? Never!”

“Don’t push your luck.”

He laughed, and the sound was warmer than the crackling fire behind you. “You won’t regret it,” he promised, offering you his hand.

And maybe, just maybe, you believed him.


Tags
2 weeks ago
𝒘𝒆'𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓
𝒘𝒆'𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓
𝒘𝒆'𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓

𝒘𝒆'𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓

The Marauders x Reader

You lie still, your body heavy beneath the weight of the blankets, but it’s the emotional weight pressing down on you that keeps you rooted to the bed. The room is dim, the soft light of the late afternoon sun barely cutting through the curtains. The world feels distant, muffled, like it’s all happening somewhere far away that you can’t reach.

You haven't felt like getting up for days. Your thoughts are tangled, and your heart seems too tired to care. It’s been a struggle, and every time you close your eyes, the darkness seems to take over just a little more.

But today... today something is different.

You hear the soft sound of footsteps approaching, followed by a familiar voice, the one that always manages to make you feel just a little less alone. It's Sirius, though his voice is quieter than usual. He knows you’ve been struggling, and he doesn’t want to push, not when you’re clearly hurting so much. “Hey, you still with us?” he asks gently, his head peeking around the doorframe. His messy hair falls in front of his eyes, and you can see the concern etched on his face, even in the dim light.

You don’t respond, not at first, but you don’t need to. He knows.

Behind him, James slips in, his usual exuberance toned down today, as if he too recognizes the weight that hangs in the air. His eyes are softer than usual as he sits at the edge of your bed, carefully, like he’s afraid the wrong move might break something in you. “We brought snacks,” he says lightly, as if the mention of food could somehow bridge the gap between where you are and where they want you to be. But you don’t react, not right away.

Sirius sits next to you on the other side, his presence warm and comforting. “It’s okay, you know,” he says quietly, and you can feel the sincerity in his words, like he’s trying to make sure you understand. “You don’t have to say anything. Just... just let us be here.”

You want to reach out, but your hands feel frozen, as though they might crumble if you try. But somehow, Remus is there too, sitting beside James, his calm voice breaking through the silence. “We’re not going anywhere. You don’t have to be alone with this.”

And just like that, the space around you feels a little less cold. The three of them settle in around you, not asking you to speak, not demanding anything from you, just offering themselves—offering their company, their support, their friendship.

You feel Sirius nudge you lightly, a playful smile in his voice. “So, what do you say, then? You up for a game of wizard’s chess? I promise I’ll let you win this time.”

James chuckles, rolling his eyes. “As if. We all know you’ll win anyway, Padfoot. You always do.”

“Not the point, Prongs,” Sirius teases, nudging you again. “It’s about the fun. Let’s just sit here for a while, yeah?”

You finally look up, meeting his eyes, and there’s no judgment there—only a quiet understanding. The same goes for James, who gently sets down the snacks, and Remus, whose presence alone seems to soothe the ache inside you.

You don’t have to say anything, not now. You know they’ll stay with you, no matter how long it takes for the fog to lift. There’s no rush. No pressure.

You feel a flicker of something—something warm, something that feels a little like hope.

Maybe it’ll take time to feel like yourself again. Maybe it’ll take time for the weight to lift. But you don’t have to carry it alone.

And that, in itself, is enough.


Tags
5 months ago
James
James
James

James

James Potter x Reader

You sit across the hall, your textbooks open but long forgotten. Your gaze drifts again, as it always does, to him. His dark, untidy hair catches the torchlight, and those round glasses of his reflect the golden glow of the Great Hall. James Potter. A name you’ve turned over and over in your head like a secret, a charm you’re too scared to cast out loud.

You’ve spent months like this, stealing glances when you’re sure he’s too busy laughing with Sirius, or gesturing wildly as he retells a Quidditch move to Peter. Sometimes he’s so absorbed in a conversation with Lily Evans you’re almost grateful, because it makes him easier to look at without fear of being caught. But today, something shifts.

It’s a Tuesday, and you’ve got Transfiguration next, but your head is too full of him to think about lessons. You risk another glance, just one more before you leave the hall, and your stomach drops.

James is looking right at you.

Your breath hitches. You freeze mid-motion, your hand gripping your goblet too tightly, and in that awful, wonderful moment, he smirks. It’s the kind of smirk that tilts at the corner of his mouth, mischievous and knowing. His hazel eyes glint with something you can’t name, and before you know it, he’s leaning toward you.

"Who are you?" he asks, his voice casual but somehow making your heart race like you’ve just fallen off your broomstick. "My name’s James."

It’s ridiculous—of course you know his name. Everyone knows his name. He’s James Potter, Quidditch star, Gryffindor hero, Marauder ringleader. But somehow, hearing him say it to you makes your cheeks burn. You stammer out your name, and he grins wider.

And that’s when it begins.

At first, it feels like magic, like something out of the books you’ve pored over in the library late at night. He talks to you in the hallways, waves when he sees you during meals. Once, he even steals your quill in class and pretends he doesn’t know what you’re talking about until you’re chasing him around the desks. For a brief, dazzling moment, it feels like all those hours you spent dreaming of him weren’t wasted.

But then you start to notice the jokes. The way he rolls his eyes when Sirius whispers something in his ear. How he doesn’t take anything seriously, least of all you. It’s all harmless fun to him, you realize, even as your heart twists itself into knots. He isn’t looking for the same kind of magic you are.

And yet, you can’t stop thinking about him. About his laugh, his messy hair, the way he says your name like it’s part of some elaborate prank he hasn’t explained yet. He’s a fool, you tell yourself. A foolish, arrogant, brilliant boy who doesn’t even know what he’s done to you.

You spend hours wondering how you let yourself fall for him, dreaming of what could have been. And yet, even as the weeks pass, you still feel the heat of those flames. James Potter. A name you’ll carry with you, even after he’s long forgotten yours.


Tags
3 months ago
𝓘 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓷𝓸 𝓬𝓪𝓻
𝓘 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓷𝓸 𝓬𝓪𝓻
𝓘 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓷𝓸 𝓬𝓪𝓻

𝓘 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓷𝓸 𝓬𝓪𝓻

Jensen Ackles x Reader

It’s late in the evening, the kind where the golden glow of the streetlights softens the edges of the world. You’ve just stepped out of the quaint café where you and Jensen had been tucked away for hours, sharing laughter, stolen kisses, and the kind of quiet moments that make your heart swell. The sky is painted in shades of indigo, and the air carries a slight chill.

As you dig through your bag, you remember.

“I have no car,” you mutter, your voice tinged with mild annoyance at yourself for forgetting. You glance at Jensen, expecting a teasing remark or a playful grin. But instead, he just looks at you, his green eyes warm under the streetlight.

“I’ll walk,” he says simply, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You blink, surprised. “Jensen, it’s at least a couple of miles. And it’s cold—”

He interrupts with a shrug, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets. “Then I’ll walk a couple of miles with you. No big deal.”

The sincerity in his tone silences any protests you might have had. He steps closer, the faint scent of his cologne enveloping you, and he tilts his head, a small, boyish smirk playing on his lips. “Besides, I like walking with you. It gives me more time to look at you.”

Your cheeks heat up at his words, and he chuckles, clearly pleased with himself. Without another word, he gently takes your hand, intertwining your fingers with his, and starts leading you down the sidewalk. The city feels quieter than usual, the occasional car passing by, its headlights streaking across your path.

As you walk, Jensen keeps the conversation light, asking about your day and making silly jokes that have you laughing so hard you almost forget the chill in the air. Every now and then, he gives your hand a small squeeze, as if to remind you that he’s there, and that he’d gladly walk a hundred miles just to be with you.

When you finally reach your apartment, your cheeks are flushed from both the cold and his constant teasing. You pause by the door, turning to look at him. “You didn’t have to walk all this way, you know.”

Jensen leans against the doorframe, his hands still in his pockets, and grins. “I know. But I wanted to.” He steps closer, his voice softening as he brushes a strand of hair from your face. “Besides, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Your heart does that familiar flutter, the one that only he can cause. Before you can overthink it, he closes the gap between you, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s warm and lingering, like the promise of something more.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and he whispers, “Next time, though, let’s take my car. My feet are killing me.”

You laugh, swatting his chest, and he grins like the mischievous troublemaker you’ve fallen for.


Tags
1 month ago
Wife
Wife
Wife

Wife

Tangerine x Reader

The first rays of sunlight stream through the delicate lace curtains, casting golden patterns across the soft white sheets. The warmth of the morning caresses your skin, but it is the gentle rise and fall of Tangerine’s breath beside you that truly warms you.

You turn your head slightly, and there he is—your husband. Your husband. The word still feels surreal, even after the vows, the dance, the laughter, and the quiet, stolen kisses beneath the stars last night. His dark lashes rest against his cheeks, his face peaceful in sleep, the softest trace of a smile curving his lips.

Tangerine shifts, the sheets rustling as he stirs. Then, with a sleepy groan, he blinks open his eyes—those stormy blue eyes that have always held you captive. When he sees you, his smile widens.

“Morning, love,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep, tinged with his ever-present British charm. His hand reaches for yours beneath the covers, fingers lacing together effortlessly, as if they were always meant to fit.

You can’t help but smile. “Morning, husband.”

His eyes darken slightly at the word, a mixture of awe and mischief flickering in them. “Say that again.”

You chuckle, but he’s already shifting closer, his arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you against him. His warmth is intoxicating, his scent filling your senses.

“Husband,” you whisper, and Tangerine groans playfully, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“Mm, I don’t think I’ll ever tire of hearing that,” he mumbles against your skin before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder. His lips trail upward, over your jaw, until they finally meet yours in a kiss that speaks of promises and forever.

You sigh into him, fingers threading through his tousled hair, your heart swelling as he deepens the kiss. It’s slow, unhurried, a taste of the eternity you now have together.

When he finally pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, his thumb tracing lazy circles over the back of your hand. “We have the whole day to ourselves,” he muses. “No schedules, no guests, no distractions.”

You hum in agreement, trailing a finger along his jawline. “What shall we do, then?”

Tangerine smirks, that boyish, heart-stealing grin you fell in love with. “Well, love, we could stay right here and continue this…” His lips brush yours again, teasingly. “Or we could make breakfast.”

You laugh, nudging him. “Are you bribing me with food?”

“Absolutely.” He grins. “A full English breakfast, just for my beautiful wife. What do you say?”

You pretend to consider, then with a dramatic sigh, you say, “Fine. But only if you wear an apron.”

Tangerine chuckles, shaking his head. “Married one day, and you’re already making demands.” He pauses, then leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “I suppose I’ll allow it.”

You giggle as he rolls out of bed, stretching before turning back to you, holding out a hand. “Come on, my love.”

My love. Your heart stutters at the sound of it.

You take his hand, letting him pull you up and into his arms once more. As you stand there, wrapped in the golden morning light, you realize—this is forever. And there’s no place you’d rather be.


Tags
4 months ago
Handsome
Handsome
Handsome

Handsome

Leon Kennedy x Reader

You watch as Leon steps out of the bathroom, towel in hand, wiping off the last traces of shaving cream from his face. He leans against the door frame casually, as if he hasn't noticed the way your eyes linger on him. But you know he has. There’s a quiet confidence about him, and right now, it’s impossible to look away.

His tousled hair still damp from the shower, a few droplets clinging to his strong jawline, and that faint stubble he always forgets to shave off completely—it all makes your heart skip a beat. Even the way he’s standing there, one arm across his body with the towel still in his hand, seems effortless, like a moment captured in time.

He looks at you, a small, knowing smirk tugging at his lips. "What?" he asks, his voice low, teasing. You can feel your cheeks flush, but you can’t help it. You know you’re staring, but you can't bring yourself to look away.

“Nothing,” you reply, trying to sound casual, but your voice betrays you. It’s softer than usual, a little breathless. "You just… you look really good."

Leon chuckles, setting the towel aside as he steps toward you, his eyes never leaving yours. He reaches out, his fingers brushing your cheek with a tenderness that makes your breath catch. “Is that so?” he murmurs, his voice a hushed whisper now.

You nod, still too entranced by him to say much else. His touch is gentle, yet there's a warmth in it that sends a rush of emotions through you. His hand slides down to your neck, cupping it softly as he pulls you a little closer. His gaze lowers to your lips, the moment thick with unspoken promise.

"You’re making it hard to concentrate," he whispers, his lips hovering just above yours.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. "You always make it hard," you say, your hands finding their way to the sides of his shirt, tugging him closer.

Leon’s smirk deepens, and he finally closes the distance, his lips brushing yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. It’s soft at first, just a gentle exploration, but you can feel the heat building between you both. His other hand slides around your waist, pulling you fully into him, as if there's no space between you that shouldn’t be filled with the warmth of his touch.

As the kiss deepens, time seems to slow, the world outside the room fading away until it’s just the two of you. You’re not sure how long you stay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, but it feels like nothing else matters in the world.

When you finally pull away, breathless, Leon’s forehead rests against yours, his thumb caressing your skin. "You’re everything to me," he whispers.


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5 months ago
I Can't Read Your Mind
I Can't Read Your Mind
I Can't Read Your Mind

I can't read your mind

Carlos Sainz x Reader

The low hum of the Madrid evening wraps around you like a gentle embrace, broken only by the murmur of distant voices and the occasional clink of glasses. You stand on the balcony of a sleek penthouse, your sequined gown catching the moonlight as if it were meant to. Tonight had been a triumph—the premiere of your latest film—but your thoughts are tangled, a script with too many subplots to follow.

Behind you, the sound of approaching footsteps pulls you from your reverie. You turn to see Carlos Sainz, his tailored suit catching the light as effortlessly as his smile catches your breath. His hands are tucked casually in his pockets, and his eyes, dark and mischievous, carry that infuriating glint that always seems to find your weak spot.

“You’ve been hiding out here,” he says, his voice teasing as he leans on the railing beside you.

“I needed air,” you reply, keeping your tone even, neutral.

This isn’t the first time you’ve crossed paths. For months, it’s been the same: fleeting encounters at festivals, galas, yacht parties in Monaco. There’s always been a pull between you, something unspoken but electric. Tonight, though, it feels like the air between you has shifted.

“You’re quiet,” he observes, tilting his head. “Not like you.”

You grip the railing, searching for the right words. “Do you ever feel like… you can’t figure someone out? Like no matter what they say, their actions keep contradicting their words?”

His brow lifts, intrigued. “Sometimes. But I usually don’t waste time trying to figure people out. They show you who they are, one way or another.”

You let out a soft laugh, tinged with frustration. “That’s easy for you to say. You live life in the fast lane. No time to overthink.”

“And you?” he counters, his voice dipping lower. “You’re always overthinking, aren’t you?"

The way he looks at you makes your heart skip. You glance away, but the weight of his gaze lingers. Finally, you admit what’s been gnawing at you.

“I just… I don’t get you, Carlos. One minute, you’re charming and attentive, and the next, you’re distant. You say you want to keep things casual, but then you look at me like this.”

He doesn’t respond right away, and the silence makes your pulse quicken. Then, he takes a step closer, his presence radiating warmth.

“I didn’t think someone like you would slow down for someone like me,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You blink, startled by his candor. “Why not?”

“You’re a star. Everyone wants a piece of you. I didn’t want to add to that. But now…” He pauses, his fingers brushing yours on the railing. “Now, I’m starting to think I’ve been wrong.”

Your breath catches. In his eyes, you see something raw, unguarded—a glimpse of the man behind the charm.

“Maybe I don’t want casual,” he continues, his voice softer now. “Maybe I’m just scared you don’t want anything more.”

The honesty in his words cracks something open in you. You’ve been holding back, too, afraid to show him just how much he’s gotten under your skin.

“I don’t need you to read my mind, Carlos,” you say, your hand turning to intertwine with his. “I just need you to be honest with me.”

His smile, the one that always weakens your knees, softens into something real. “That, I can do.”

The city lights shimmer below as he leans in, his lips brushing yours. The kiss is unhurried, sincere, and it drowns out the doubts that had clouded your mind. In that moment, the world falls away, leaving only the quiet truth of what you’ve both been searching for all along.


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