dreameyess11

[dreameyess11]

𝓗𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓻𝔂 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓼.

Carlos Sainz x Reader

The room was alive with energy—flashes of cameras, murmured conversations, and the occasional burst of laughter from across the hall. You had known this would be part of it when Carlos asked you to come, but standing there now, tucked into a quiet corner, you felt out of place. The swirling attention, the prying eyes—it wasn’t your world.

Carlos, on the other hand, thrived in it. He stood just a few feet away, effortlessly charming the reporters who surrounded him. His dark hair was slightly tousled, his suit perfectly fitted, and that signature smirk of his appeared whenever he answered a question with his usual confidence. The cameras adored him, and he belonged in the spotlight.

But you—well, you weren’t so sure you did.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, keeping your gaze low as you pretended to scroll through your phone. The idea of being caught in the background of a photo, analyzed by strangers, made your stomach twist. You had come because Carlos had asked you to, and you would do anything for him, but this? This was overwhelming.

A familiar warmth brushed against your arm.

“There you are.” His voice was soft, meant only for you, but there was amusement in it.

You looked up to find Carlos standing before you, his dark eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name—affection, maybe, or pride. He had slipped away from the interview, not caring that the cameras were still pointed in his direction. His fingers found yours instinctively, lacing them together before he brought your hand up to his lips, pressing a slow kiss against your knuckles.

“Carlos,” you whispered, glancing around. People were watching.

“Hmm?” He tilted his head, completely unbothered, the corners of his lips quirking up. “What’s wrong?”

You swallowed. “Everyone is staring.”

“Good,” he murmured, his free hand settling against your waist as he tugged you just a little closer. “I want them to look. I want them to see how beautiful my girlfriend is.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Carlos had never been shy about his affection—especially not with you—but this was different. This was deliberate. A statement.

You felt the heat of the cameras shifting toward you, the murmurs growing louder, but all you could focus on was him. The way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the room. Like the chaos around you didn’t matter.

“Come back with me,” he urged, pressing another kiss to your temple. “You don’t have to say anything. Just stay by my side.”

You hesitated, but then his arms tightened around you, grounding you in a way nothing else could.

“Please,” he added, his voice dipping into something softer. “I want you there.”

And how could you say no to that?

So you let him lead you back into the light, your hand still in his, your heart pounding—but not from fear. No, this time, it was something else entirely.

[dreameyess11]

𝔂𝓸𝓾'𝓻𝓮 𝓶𝔂 𝓯𝓪𝓿𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓮.

Jensen Ackles x Reader

You wake up to the familiar scratch of Jensen’s beard against your cheek. It’s warm, it’s home—but damn if it isn’t annoying. You groan, shifting slightly, trying to escape it, but he only chuckles, the sound deep and lazy from sleep.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice husky as he presses a kiss to your jaw.

You sigh, torn between melting into him and shoving his scruffy face away. “Jensen,” you warn, pushing at his chest half-heartedly. “You know I hate the beard.”

He grins, all mischief and dimples, and nuzzles in closer just to mess with you. “Oh, I know.”

You groan dramatically, rolling onto your back, and he takes the opportunity to prop himself up on one elbow, hovering over you. His green eyes are still soft with sleep, his hair a mess, and damn it, if he isn’t the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

“You love me, though,” he teases.

“Unfortunately,” you deadpan, making him laugh.

It’s true, though. You love him. Every stubborn, ridiculous, scruffy-haired inch of him.

Jensen leans down again, brushing his lips over yours. You sigh into it, letting yourself get lost in the warmth of his mouth, the way he always kisses you like he’s memorizing the taste. It’s slow and deep, and you curl your fingers into his t-shirt, pulling him closer despite yourself.

Then the beard rubs against your skin again.

You let out a muffled groan of frustration and push at his face. “I swear to God, Ackles, I’m getting the clippers.”

He barks out a laugh, burying his face in your neck to keep kissing you there instead. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

He hums, unbothered, pressing another kiss to your collarbone. “Nah. You love kissing me too much.”

Damn him. He’s right.

But that doesn’t mean you won’t make him suffer a little first.

“You keep that thing, and I’m going on strike,” you threaten.

Jensen pulls back just enough to raise an eyebrow. “Strike?”

You nod, lifting your chin defiantly. “No kisses. None.”

His eyes widen slightly, and you can see him running through the consequences in his head. Jensen Ackles might be a stubborn man, but he’s also an absolute sucker for your kisses. It’s one of your greatest weapons.

For a moment, there’s a standoff. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he flops onto his back beside you, throwing an arm over his face.

“Fine,�� he grumbles. “I’ll shave.”

You grin victoriously, rolling over to drape yourself across his chest. “Good boy.”

He glares at you, but it doesn’t last long before you’re kissing him again, slow and deep, your fingers sliding into his messy hair. His hands settle at your waist, pulling you even closer.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he mutters against your lips.

You smile. “I know.”

[dreameyess11]

𝓐𝓻𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓻𝓾𝓷𝓴?

Leon S Kennedy x Reader

The cold pavement beneath you does nothing to sober you up, but you don’t care. The streetlights buzz overhead, casting a dim glow on the nearly empty street. You take another drag from your cigarette, letting the smoke curl between your fingers as you stare at your phone screen. The call has already ended, but the name still lingers there. Leon.

You hadn’t meant to call him. Well, maybe you had. After all, he’s the only one who would come. Even after the fight. Even after you stormed out, slamming the door behind you.

Your dress is twisted around your legs, one strap slipping dangerously off your shoulder. Your heels sit beside you, abandoned in the war against balance. Somewhere out there, lost to the night, is your purse—probably gone forever. But your phone? That, at least, you held onto. You were smart enough to do that much.

The sound of an engine cuts through the silence, tires rolling to a slow stop. You don’t even look up when you hear the car door open, the sound of boots against pavement approaching.

And then, there he is.

Leon sighs, the sound heavy, tired. “Jesus, sweetheart.”

You finally tilt your head up, blinking at him through a drunken haze. His face is set in that way it gets when he’s worried but trying to hide it—lips pressed together, jaw tight. His hands settle on his hips as he takes in the sight of you.

“I had it under control,” you mumble, bringing the cigarette back to your lips.

He exhales through his nose, then kneels in front of you. With one swift motion, he plucks the cigarette from your fingers and flicks it onto the asphalt. “Yeah? Looks like you had it real under control.”

You frown, watching as he grabs your heels in one hand before his other reaches for you. His fingers brush over your exposed knee, then move up, tugging your dress back into place. He does it gently, carefully, like it matters to him. Like you matter to him—even now, even after the argument.

“I didn’t want to go home,” you admit softly.

Leon sighs again, but this time it’s different. Less frustrated. More… resigned. He stands and holds a hand out to you. “C’mon,” he says, voice quieter now. “Let’s get you out of here.”

You hesitate for only a second before taking it. His grip is firm, steadying, pulling you up onto shaky legs. He doesn’t let go, even as you wobble against him, even as you nearly trip over your own feet.

Leon Kennedy—always catching you when you fall.

[dreameyess11]

𝓘 𝓱𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓷𝓸𝔀

Charles Leclerc x Reader

You never understood why people romanticized the snow. It was cold, it was wet, and worst of all—you always, always got sick. Yet, here you were, wrapped in layers upon layers of clothing, standing knee-deep in powdery white as Charles laughed beside you, his breath misting in the air.

“This was a terrible idea,” you grumble, tugging your scarf up higher.

Charles only grins, his green eyes twinkling with mischief. “Come on, mon amour, it’s our anniversary. You have to admit, it’s beautiful.”

You glance around. The mountains stretch endlessly, the world around you painted in a perfect, postcard-worthy white. The cabin behind you is warm and inviting, but Charles had convinced you to take a walk—"Just for a little while," he had said. And because you could never say no to him, you agreed.

“I can appreciate it from inside,” you reply, shivering.

Charles chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.” Then, before you can react, he crouches down, scooping up a handful of snow.

Your eyes widen in warning. “Charles, don’t you dare—”

Too late. The snowball lands on your coat with a soft thud, and Charles bursts into laughter.

“Oh, that’s it!” You scoop up your own handful and launch it at him, but he dodges effortlessly, his racing reflexes working against you even here.

You huff, crossing your arms, but the cold is already sinking into your bones. Charles notices immediately, his teasing expression softening. “Okay, okay, let’s go inside.” He steps closer, wrapping his arms around you, his warmth instantly comforting. His lips press against your forehead, and you sigh, leaning into him.

“I hate the snow,” you mumble against his chest.

“I know,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to your temple. “But I love you.”

[dreameyess11]

𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐧, 𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

Timothee Chalamet x Reader

The city hums around you, alive with neon and the distant sound of laughter spilling out of late-night cafés. The air is warm, thick with the scent of rain on pavement. You walk beside Timothée, your fingers brushing as you navigate the quiet streets together, the tension between you almost electric. It’s been weeks—months, even—of stolen glances, of hands hovering near but never quite touching. Of wanting, but waiting.

Tonight feels different.

You pause beneath the golden glow of a streetlamp, the flickering light making his curls look almost bronze. His green eyes flicker to your lips before darting away, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. His hands slip into the pockets of his coat, as if he’s trying to stop himself from reaching for you.

"God," he exhales, shaking his head slightly, "I really want to kiss you."

Your breath catches. The world around you shrinks until it's just him, just the way his lips part slightly, the way the corner of his mouth tilts into something shy yet completely certain.

You could tease him, ask him what’s stopping him. But instead, you just step closer, feeling the warmth radiating off his body, the scent of cedar and something unmistakably him. His breath hitches as his hands finally emerge from his pockets, ghosting over your waist like he’s asking for permission.

And then finally his lips find yours.

It’s soft at first, hesitant, but then he exhales against your mouth, a tiny sound escaping him that sends warmth flooding through your entire body. His hands tighten at your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens, slow and sweet, like he’s memorizing the moment.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath uneven. He smiles, and it's the kind of smile that feels like a promise.

"I should’ve done that sooner," he murmurs.

You laugh, breathless. "Yeah. You should have."

He grins, then kisses you again—because now that he’s started, he’s never letting go.

[dreameyess11]

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.

[dreameyess11]

𝓘 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓸𝓷𝓵𝔂 𝔂𝓸𝓾

Drew Starkey x Reader

You never thought you'd end up here—sitting across from Drew Starkey in a quiet corner of a dimly lit restaurant, your fingers tangled together on the table like neither of you could bear to let go. It started so simply. A chance meeting, a fleeting glance, a conversation that felt too easy, too right. And now, here you were, trying to ignore the way your heart pounded at the way he looked at you—like you were the only person in the world.

The night air is cool when you step outside, his jacket draped over your shoulders because he noticed you shivering before you even realized it yourself. The streets are almost empty, the city lights casting a warm glow on his face. He hasn’t let go of your hand, and when you slow your steps, he turns to face you fully.

"Talk to me," he says, voice softer than you've ever heard it.

You swallow, looking down at your shoes, because saying what you really want to say feels terrifying. Because Drew Starkey is the kind of guy people fall for—hard, fast, without a second thought. And you’re scared you already have.

"This… us… It’s a lot," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "And I don’t know if I can handle—"

"Please." His voice cracks, just a little, and when you look up, his blue eyes are shining in the dim light. "I really want this. And I’m so fucking serious about us." His fingers tighten around yours, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go. "I want you and only you."

Your breath catches in your throat because this is Drew—not just the actor, not just the man people see on screens and red carpets. This is the Drew who remembers how you take your coffee, who sends you songs that remind him of you, who looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

The weight of his words sinks in, wrapping around you like something safe, something real. And suddenly, the fear doesn’t feel as overwhelming. Because if there’s one thing you’re sure of, it’s that Drew Starkey has never been anything but honest with you.

So you take a deep breath, step forward, and whisper, "Okay."

And when he kisses you, slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your lips, you know—this was never something you had to be afraid of.

[dreameyess11]

hii‼️i love you work sooo much and how the songs are just so perfect for every thing you write😻 idk if you take requests but if you do, can you write smth inspired by i see the light from tangled with cs55🙏🏼 it could be that reader is introverted and doesn't always take risks or go out of here comfort zone and how he gets her out of her shell but also becomes her comfort zone, or how ever you think seems good🙏🏼💕

𝓣𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝔀𝓱𝓸 𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓼 𝓶𝔂 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵

Carlos Sainz x Reader

You never meant to be there. Not in the pit lane, not in the team garage, and definitely not pressed up against the fence watching sparks fly from the rear of an F1 car. You came to the race weekend because your friend had an extra ticket and you figured it was better than your usual Saturday — a quiet apartment, a half-finished book, maybe a cup of tea you forget to drink until it's cold.

You’re not the type for noise. Not the type for fast things, or crowds, or the adrenaline that seems to fuel people like him. Carlos Sainz. You only knew his name because your friend said it with a dreamy sigh on the flight. You’d nodded politely and Googled him in the hotel room just to keep up the conversation.

And yet, somehow, he notices you.

It’s a ridiculous story, the kind you’d never believe if someone else told it. You’re just standing there, watching the team pack up, when he walks over. You try not to stare. He’s still in his race suit, hair a little wild from the helmet, sweat at his temples. He smiles like you’re not just another face in the blur of fans and engineers.

“You don’t look like you belong here,” he says with an easy charm.

You look down at yourself, at your sensible shoes and your hands nervously twisting the strap of your bag. “I don’t,” you reply, more honestly than you mean to.

He laughs. “Then we have something in common. I’m not supposed to like quiet people. They say I talk too much.”

You expect him to move on, to laugh again and disappear into the crowd. But he doesn’t. He stays. He asks your name, and when you give it, he repeats it slowly, like he's making sure he gets it right. Like it matters.

It starts there — a few minutes, a joke, the strange magnetism of someone who belongs to a world you never considered stepping into. You meet again the next day. Then again. And then it’s coffee, and walking through cities you’ve never seen, and him letting you talk at your own pace, which is slow and careful, like the words might fall apart if you move too fast.

He’s patient. He’s bright in a way you aren’t used to. He makes jokes you don’t always understand, but he notices the way your eyes light up when he mentions something you do. He starts learning your rhythms. He teases, gently. Encourages, softly. You find yourself saying “yes” to things you usually decline. A boat ride. A dinner with too many people.

He pulls you out of yourself — not in a way that erases you, but in a way that stretches your boundaries without snapping them. He makes the world feel a little less sharp, a little less terrifying.

But something strange happens. He stops feeling like the push out of your comfort zone. He starts feeling like home.

His voice on the phone when he’s halfway around the world. The way he throws you a grin from the driver’s seat. The softness in his eyes when he knows you're about to withdraw, and the patience he shows when you do.

You used to think comfort meant hiding. Quiet. Predictability.

Now you know it can also mean someone who makes the noise bearable.

Someone who doesn't ask you to be loud, just to be you.

[dreameyess11]

𝓒𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓬𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓼

Carlos Sainz x Reader

You glance at Carlos from across the kitchen counter, a mischievous glint in your eyes. The two of you had decided to make pasta from scratch—something new, something fun—but so far, all you’ve managed to do is make a mess.

Carlos stands with his sleeves rolled up, his strong forearms dusted with flour. “Are you sure we’re doing this right?” he asks, tilting his head as he kneads the dough. His fingers press into it with practiced confidence, but you can’t help but focus on the way his lips curl into a playful smirk.

“Not at all,” you admit, laughing as you try to roll out your own dough. It sticks stubbornly to your hands, refusing to cooperate.

Carlos chuckles, stepping closer. “Let me help.” He moves behind you, guiding your hands with his own. His chest brushes against your back, warm and solid, and you can feel his breath against your neck. It’s almost unfair how easily he distracts you.

“Is this your plan all along?” you tease, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “To flirt your way out of actually making pasta?”

He grins, his fingers lacing over yours as he helps smooth out the dough. “Maybe,” he murmurs, his voice low and playful. “But I think it’s working.”

You try to roll your eyes, but it’s impossible when he’s looking at you like that—his brown eyes full of warmth, his lips just a breath away. Your heart stumbles over itself when he leans in, brushing his nose against your cheek.

“You’re still making a mess,” he murmurs against your skin.

You laugh, turning in his arms, pressing a bit of flour to the tip of his nose. He gasps in mock offense, but before he can retaliate, you catch his lips in a kiss—soft, slow, and utterly sweet.

For a moment, the pasta is forgotten, the flour-covered counter a distant concern. It’s just you and Carlos, the taste of laughter and love between you.

[dreameyess11]

𝓜𝔂 𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭 𝓰𝓮𝓽𝓼 𝓼𝓸 𝓭𝓮𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓭

Dave Lizewski x Reader

You hear the key turn in the lock just as you shift deeper into the couch, wrapped in a blanket you’ve been wearing like a second skin all day. The movie you’ve seen a hundred times drones on in the background, but your eyes flick to the doorway as Dave steps in, shaking off the cold.

“Hey,” he says softly, setting his backpack down. His voice carries no judgment, just the familiar warmth of someone who’s seen you at your worst and stayed anyway.

“Hey,” you mumble, pulling the blanket tighter.

Dave takes a quick glance around the apartment—empty takeout boxes on the coffee table, laundry still untouched in the basket, the curtains half-drawn, letting in only a sliver of the city lights. He doesn’t comment. Instead, he toes off his sneakers and crosses the room, collapsing onto the couch beside you with a sigh.

“Good movie?” he asks, even though he knows you’ve watched this one at least three times this week.

You shrug. “It’s fine.”

For a while, he doesn’t say anything. He just sits there, warm and solid, his arm draping over the back of the couch behind you.

After a moment, Dave shifts closer, nudging your shoulder with his. “You ate today?”

You hesitate, then shake your head.

With a sigh—not exasperated, just knowing—he presses a quick kiss to the top of your head before getting up. “Alright,” he says, stretching. “I’ll order something. And before you say no, you’re eating at least half. Deal?”

You don’t argue. It’s not like you have the energy to, anyway. Instead, you watch as he pulls out his phone, scrolling through options, mumbling under his breath about what you might actually eat.

You don’t know why he sticks around, why he keeps showing up when you can’t even bring yourself to do the simplest things. But then he catches your eye, offers you a lopsided grin, and it’s there—his quiet, unwavering patience.

[dreameyess11]

𝓔𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂𝓫𝓸𝓭𝔂 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓘'𝓶 𝓪 𝓰𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵, 𝓸𝓯𝓯𝓲𝓬𝓮𝓻

Leon Kennedy x Reader

The flashing red and blue lights make everything feel like a dream—one of those slow, dizzy ones where the world tilts under your feet. The pavement is too cold beneath you, the night air sharp against your bare arms, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not when he’s looking at you like that.

Leon S. Kennedy.

It’s almost unfair that someone so good-looking is also the one snapping the handcuffs around your wrists.

“You’re drunk,” he states, his voice annoyingly even.

You blink up at him through heavy lashes, lips curling into a slow, practiced smile. “Nooo,” you drawl, “I’m just…happy.”

He exhales sharply. Not quite a sigh, but close. He looks good like this, under the glow of the police cruiser’s lights, jaw tight, grip firm as he helps—no, drags—you to your feet.

“Come on.” His voice is firm, but there’s no real anger in it. “You’re going downtown.”

You let yourself lean into him, just a little, your head tilting as you peer up at him. “Do you have a girl, officer?” you purr, eyes flicking to his hands. “I don’t see a ring on your finger.”

Leon stills for a fraction of a second—so quick you almost miss it. But you don’t. You notice everything.

“That’s none of your business,” he replies, guiding you toward the car.

You press closer, the scent of his leather jacket filling your senses. “I’m a good girl, Officer Kennedy.” Your voice is syrupy sweet, laced with false innocence. “I wouldn’t do a thing like that.”

Leon huffs out a laugh, more exasperation than amusement, but you swear you see the corner of his lips twitch. “Yeah? A good girl wouldn’t be getting arrested right now.”

“Arrested?” You feign a gasp, placing a hand against your chest like he just accused you of something awful. “But I’m too pretty for jail.”

“Then maybe,” he says, finally pushing you into the backseat of the cruiser, “you should stop breaking the law.”

The door shuts, locking you in. The night is cold without him close, and you watch as he walks around to the front, slipping into the driver’s seat.

You smirk to yourself, resting your head against the seat.

This night just got way more interesting.

[dreameyess11]

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.

[dreameyess11]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐈 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔?

Charles Leclerc x Reader

The soft glow of streetlights bathed your quiet neighborhood in golden hues, the warmth of the evening air still lingering on your skin from the perfect date you had shared with him just hours ago. Charles had been nothing short of a dream—charming, kind, and effortlessly funny. Every moment spent with him felt like something out of a movie, yet you never expected the night to end like this.

As you stood by your bedroom window, lost in thought, your phone buzzed—a message from Charles.

"Look outside."

Heart racing, you pulled back the curtain, and there he was. Standing under the streetlamp, his signature tousled hair illuminated by the soft glow, Charles held a sign in his hands. Bold letters scrawled across it read:

"WHEN CAN I SEE YOU?"

A breathless laugh escaped your lips as warmth bloomed in your chest. His eyes met yours, hopeful, playful, and a little nervous. You could hardly believe it. He had just dropped you off, yet here he was again, standing outside your house like the hero of a romantic film.

You grabbed a notebook from your desk, scribbled down your response, and held it up against the window:

"RIGHT NOW?"

Charles' grin widened, dimples appearing as he nodded enthusiastically. He motioned for you to come down, and without a second thought, you slipped on your shoes, heart hammering with excitement.

The moment you stepped outside, he was there, hands in his pockets, looking at you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world. "I know I just saw you," he admitted, voice soft, "but I already missed you."

You laughed, shaking your head at his ridiculous yet undeniably sweet confession. "And now?" you teased.

He stepped closer, reaching for your hand, fingers grazing like electricity sparking between you. "Now, I never want to leave."

And just like that, the night that was supposed to end hours ago became a memory you’d cherish forever.

[dreameyess11]

𝓜𝓲𝓭𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓒𝓻𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼

James Potter x Reader

It was too late. James had been fast asleep, his dreams filled with the usual chaos of Quidditch matches and pranks, when a noise from the kitchen jolted him awake. He sat up, his messy hair even more untamed than usual, his heart pounding for reasons he couldn't quite place.

You weren't in bed.

Frowning, he pushed off the covers, feet hitting the cold floor as he grabbed his wand from the nightstand. The house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath his bare feet.

And then—another sound. A soft rustling, followed by the unmistakable scent of something sweet.

James paused in the doorway to the kitchen, taking in the scene before him. There you were, bathed in the moonlight spilling through the window, standing by the counter with a bowl of strawberries in your hands. Your oversized sweater—his sweater—hung loosely over your growing belly.

He leaned against the doorframe, a slow grin forming on his lips. "You know, love, if you were going to sneak out for a midnight feast, the least you could do is invite me."

You turned, eyes wide in the dim light, a strawberry halfway to your mouth. "James!" you gasped, nearly dropping the fruit. "You scared me."

He chuckled, padding over to you. His hands instinctively found your waist, fingers grazing the curve of your belly as he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Couldn't help it," he murmured. "Woke up and my wife was missing. Thought I was about to face some kind of home invasion. Turns out, it’s just my girl stealing fruit in the dead of night."

You huffed, popping the strawberry into your mouth. "The baby wanted them," you mumbled around the bite, cheeks warm as his eyes softened at your words.

His grin widened. "Oh, so that’s how it is? Blaming the cravings on the little one, are we?"

You rolled your eyes but didn't protest when he reached into the bowl, plucking a berry and holding it up to your lips. His gaze never left yours as you took a slow bite, his fingers brushing against your chin.

For a moment, everything was still. Just the two of you in the quiet of the night, the taste of strawberries lingering between kisses, and the steady rhythm of a new life growing between you.

James sighed contentedly, pressing his forehead against yours. "You know," he whispered, "I can't wait to meet them. But I think I love them already—because they’re a part of you."

Your heart swelled, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him into another kiss, slow and sweet.

"Well," you teased, brushing your nose against his, "if they take after you, we might be in trouble."

James laughed, wrapping his arms around you, warm and steady. "Oh, love," he murmured, voice thick with adoration. "We're already in trouble. But I wouldn't have it any other way."

[dreameyess11]

discussions

Anakin Skywalker x Reader

You stand in front of Anakin, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, your gaze burning through him with the weight of your anger. His reckless behavior—always pushing himself into danger, always taking risks as though his life means nothing—has been wearing on you for far too long. The way he smiled after every close call, as if his return was guaranteed. You can’t understand it, not when you love him so deeply, not when you can’t imagine a life without him.

"Anakin," you snap, your voice sharper than you intend, but it doesn’t matter. He needs to understand. "You think you’re invincible? That you can just waltz into danger every time, and I’ll stand here, waiting for you to come back like nothing happened?"

He looks at you, and you can feel it immediately—the shift in his eyes. There’s something about the way his gaze settles on you, not the anger, not the resistance, but the way he takes in your form as though he’s seeing you for the first time. For a moment, you falter, the words on your tongue hanging there, lost in the intensity of his stare.

You try to remain firm, to keep up your scolding, but his presence is like a force pulling you closer, a magnet that draws you in against your will. His eyes—the same intense blue that always makes your heart skip a beat—trace your every feature, lingering on your face, your lips, your eyes.

"You look… beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low, almost as if he's surprised by it. You feel a blush creep up your neck, though you try to fight it. The weight of his admiration is overwhelming, but it’s not enough to make you forget the anger that still lingers in your chest.

You shake your head, trying to regain control. "This isn’t about how I look, Anakin. This is about you putting yourself in danger, again. Do you not care what it does to me when you do that?"

He takes a step closer, his expression softening despite the intensity still in his eyes. You want to stay angry, to keep holding on to your frustration, but the way he looks at you, the tenderness in his gaze, makes it so much harder.

"I care," he says quietly, his voice full of sincerity. "More than anything." He reaches out to touch your face, and you don’t pull away. His hand is warm against your skin, and you feel the familiar surge of love for him, battling with the fear you’ve held inside.

"But I also know," he continues, his voice becoming more serious, "that I can’t live in fear. I have to do what I must do. And I don’t want you to fear losing me, not when I can feel how much you love me." He steps back slightly, giving you space, but his eyes never leave yours.

You stare at him, torn between wanting to shout, to demand he stop, and wanting to reach out to him and feel his embrace. His smile, soft and understanding, catches you off guard. It’s the look of a man who knows he’s wrong, but who also knows that, for all his faults, you’ll always be there for him.

"Promise me," you whisper, the words almost lost in the air. "Promise me you’ll stop putting yourself at risk like that."

Anakin’s gaze softens even more, the conflict in his eyes giving way to the deep love he carries for you. He leans in closer, his forehead resting against yours, and you close your eyes, breathing in the warmth of his presence. "I promise, love" he murmurs, the words sincere, yet you can feel the weight of everything he can’t say, of the duty that still calls to him, even as his heart is tethered to yours.

You let go of the anger, feeling only the peace that comes from being with him.

[dreameyess11]

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.

[dreameyess11]

𝓲𝓽'𝓼 𝓪 𝓫𝓪𝓭 𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓪, 𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽?

Jason Todd x Reader

You shouldn’t be here.

The thought circles in your mind like a vulture, picking at the remains of your good judgment. The alley smells like rain and regret, the city humming around you, but all you can focus on is the man leaning against his motorcycle, arms crossed, leather jacket snug around his broad shoulders.

Jason Todd.

He tilts his head, a smirk ghosting over his lips. You came.

Your throat tightens. Of course you did. It was reckless, stupid, maybe even dangerous. But the moment you saw his message flash across your phone—just a simple, Hey. Still up?—you knew you wouldn’t say no.

“You look good,” Jason says, voice low, rough. It scrapes against your ribs in a way that makes you ache.

“So do you,” you admit. Too good.

This is a bad idea. A horrible idea.

But then he steps closer, and his scent wraps around you, dragging you back into memories you swore you’d buried. Late-night rides, whispered confessions, the way he used to look at you like you were his entire world.

And the way he walked away.

“I shouldn’t have called,” he murmurs, gaze flickering down. “I just—” His fingers twitch at his sides like he wants to touch you, but doesn’t. “I missed you.”

Your breath catches. Damn him.

You could turn around right now. Walk away. Be smart. But then Jason lifts his eyes to yours, and you’re lost.

Because the truth is, you missed him too.