𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒅; 𝑰 𝒇𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆

pretty girl

Harris Dickinson x Reader

The night air is crisp, carrying the scent of the sea as you stand on the balcony, the city lights flickering like stars in the distance. You shiver slightly, but before you can retreat inside, strong arms wrap around you from behind. Harris Dickinson pulls you close, his breath warm against your neck as he murmurs, “Cold, love?”

You nod, leaning into his embrace, the steady rise and fall of his chest grounding you. He turns you in his arms, his blue eyes searching yours, filled with something tender, something unspoken. His fingers brush a stray lock of hair from your face before he tilts your chin up.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, almost like he’s in awe. And then he kisses you—softly at first, like he’s savoring the moment, like he’s memorizing the taste of your lips. His hands cradle your face, thumbs brushing against your cheekbones, as if you’re something delicate, something precious.

When he finally pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, his voice a gentle murmur. “My pretty girl.” The words send a shiver down your spine, not from the cold but from the way he says them—possessive yet reverent, as if you are his favorite thing in the world.

You smile, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw before curling into the fabric of his sweater.

The night stretches before you, filled with possibilities, with whispered promises and stolen kisses. And in this moment, wrapped in his arms, nothing else matters but the way he holds you—like you are the only thing he ever wants to hold.

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.

𝓢𝓸 𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓘𝓼 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮

Regulus Black x Reader

part one

The next few weeks blur together in a haze of unexpected encounters and stolen glances. You try to avoid him, you really do. You bury yourself in your studies, keep your distance in the hallways, and tell yourself that your feelings are just a passing phase. After all, what could ever come of a connection with someone like Regulus Black?

But despite your best efforts, he seems to be everywhere. In the library, glancing at you over the top of his book, as if the act is so casual yet deliberate. In the corridors, catching your eye when you least expect it. At dinner, sitting two tables away, his gaze always finding yours in the sea of students, as if there's an unspoken thread between you that neither of you can sever.

It’s after one particularly grueling day when you find yourself alone in the common room, nursing a headache. Your fingers fumble with your textbook as you struggle to focus. You barely notice when the door creaks open, until his voice breaks through the silence.

“You look like you could use some help.”

You don’t need to look up to know who it is. The cool, confident tone, the faint edge of something deeper beneath it, belongs to no one else but him.

You keep your eyes fixed on your notes, hoping the annoyance will return—anything to push away the strange fluttering in your chest. “I’m fine.”

“I’m not here to help with your homework,” he says, his voice softer now. “I’m here to get you to stop looking like you want to pull your hair out.”

You finally glance up, meeting his eyes. His face is less guarded, his expression unreadable, but there’s something there—something almost vulnerable. He steps closer, his footsteps quiet on the stone floor, until he’s sitting beside you, his presence an undeniable weight.

“Why?” you ask before you can stop yourself. The word hangs between you, heavy with meaning. Why does he care? Why is he still here, when every instinct tells you he should be long gone?

Regulus leans back against the arm of the couch, studying you for a long moment. His gaze softens, the usual cool mask slipping just slightly.

“I don’t know,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “But maybe that’s what’s so bloody frustrating.”

The words cut through the tension, leaving you breathless. He doesn’t look like he’s joking—he’s serious. And you wonder, just for a moment, if he’s as caught up in this strange, unspoken pull between you as you are.

You want to say something—anything—to break the tension, but your mind goes blank. All the words you’ve prepared fall away, leaving nothing but the beat of your heart echoing between you.

“I should go,” he says suddenly, standing up before you have a chance to respond. His back is to you, but you can feel the distance between you growing.

Before he disappears out the door, you manage to find your voice. “Regulus, wait.”

He freezes, his back stiffening, but he doesn’t turn around. You don’t know why you’re doing this, but the words spill out anyway.

“Are you always this complicated, or is this just… us?”

For a long moment, you think he won’t answer, but then his shoulders drop slightly, and when he speaks again, there’s a softness to his voice that surprises you.

“I think we’re both a little complicated, don’t you?”

And with that, he walks out, leaving you with more questions than answers.

You’re not sure how much longer you can keep pretending that this isn’t more than just a passing curiosity, but you know one thing for certain: things between you and Regulus Black are no longer simple. And despite everything inside you telling you to back off, part of you can’t help but want to see where this tangled mess of emotions leads.

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.

Masterlist

JAMES POTTER

James

Irresistible

Like The Movies

Dance with me

Kisses

Puppy

Midnight Craving

REGULUS BLACK

Dear Heart, why him

So This Is Love (request)

For you, i'd steal the stars

CARLOS SAINZ

I can't read your mind

You smiled; i fell in love

maybe i just wanna be yours

...and oh, she's so pretty!

Love, love, love

First time parents

There is gentleness about him.

Cooking class

To the one who understands my soul (request)

CHARLES LECLERC

Monaco

Strangers

Wrong Date

Now he's thinkin' 'bout me every night

She's a romantic

When can i see you?

I hate the snow

Sleeping Beauty

EGGSY UNWIN

Have you ever fall in love?

TANGERINE

Cold cold man

You know i love a london boy

Love

Mr & Mrs Smith

Wife

DAVE LIZEWSKI

Oh my God! I still love you

My girlfriend gets so depressed

ALEXEI VRONSKY

Lazy morning

I just wanted to kiss you

dreamgirl

LAURIE LAURENCE

Love Grows

KYLE SCHEIBLE

Well, my boyfriend's in a band

TIMOTHEE CHALAMET

Valentine

Are they… together? (request)

I love him

Romantic Lover

a lovely night

Damn, I really want to kiss you.

DREW STARKEY

Midnight

I want you and only you

NICHOLAS CHAVEZ

wrong person right time

HARRIS DICKINSON

pretty girl

You mad at me? (request)

JENSEN ACKLES

I have no car

you're my favorite

Stranger

DEAN WINCHESTER

Sweet witch

She's from heaven

JOHN WICK

I love you, and it's killing me

DANTE SPARDA

THE DEVIL

blah, blah, blah....shut up

sweetheart

LEON KENNEDY

I can do it myself

daddy's little girl

Religion's in your lips

you drew stars around my scars

Handsome

Everybody knows that i'm a good girl, officer

Skin care

I’m not ready

Are you drunk?

ANAKIN SKYWALKER

Good father

Nightmares

Sweet Creature

LIKE FATHER, LIKE DAUGHTER

discussions

You can't catch me now

Date

Fatherhood

PAUL ATREIDES

Are we allies or enemies?

PIETRO MAXIMOFF

Boyfriend

SERGEI KRAVINOFF

You're too sweet for me

BUCKY BARNES

PETER PARKER

Are you flirting or starting a fight?

i'm in love with an idiot

Miss Stark

I change my hair every week

MILES MORALES

Something about you

DICK GRAYSON

i like pizza

JASON TODD

And she feels like home

it's a bad idea, right?

MARAUDERS

We'll be friends forever

Messy

𝓘’𝓶 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝔂

Leon S Kennedy x Reader

The first contraction hits, and you know. It’s time.

You sit on the edge of the bed, one hand cradling your belly, breathing through the pressure. The dim glow of the bedside lamp casts a golden hue over the room, peaceful and warm. But across the hall, chaos unfolds.

Leon is frantic.

You hear him rifling through drawers, muttering under his breath as he darts from room to room. “Where’s the bag? The one we packed? Damn it—where did I put the—" A thump follows as something falls over, probably a chair.

You exhale, amused. “Leon, it’s in the closet.”

He appears in the doorway, eyes wild, hair even messier than usual. “Which closet?”

“The only closet in our room, babe.”

He spins around and yanks the door open, fumbling for the hospital bag. You can hear the zipper struggling against his urgency, the sound of baby clothes rustling as he checks for everything twice—maybe three times.

Another contraction builds, but you stay calm, hands resting on your belly. “Leon.”

“Yeah?” He looks up, halfway through stuffing an extra set of onesies into the bag.

You smile at him. “It’s okay.”

His shoulders drop slightly, but his jaw remains tight. You know he’s not just worried about the logistics—he’s scared. Scared for you, for the baby, for everything that could go wrong. You reach for him, and he’s at your side instantly, kneeling in front of you, hands gripping yours.

“I’m not ready,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper.

“You can handle this, Leon.”

He lets out a shaky chuckle, but his blue eyes are searching yours, full of emotion. “This is different. This is you. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

You brush a hand through his hair, smoothing away his worry for just a moment. “We’re going to be okay.”

He nods, squeezing your hands. The panic eases, if only slightly, as he helps you to your feet. The bag is ready, the car is waiting, and the night ahead is unpredictable. But one thing is certain—Leon is here, holding your hand, ready to face it all with you.

Because for all the horrors he’s fought, nothing matters more than this moment. Than you. Than the life you’re about to bring into the world together.

𝓘 𝓬𝓪𝓷 𝓭𝓸 𝓲𝓽 𝓶𝔂𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯

Leon S Kennedy x Reader

You stand in the middle of the cozy kitchen, apron tied clumsily around your waist, hands fumbling with the cutting board. The recipe you found online seemed simple enough, but as you glance back and forth between the instructions and the ingredients sprawled out on the counter, doubt starts to creep in.

Leon leans casually against the doorway, his signature smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His presence alone is enough to distract you, but he doesn’t say anything—just watches you struggle with the knife as you attempt to chop an onion.

“I can do it myself,” you say, without looking up.

“I know you can,” he replies, his voice calm and full of warmth. “But let me.”

You glance over your shoulder, catching the soft glint of amusement in his blue eyes. He’s already pushing off the doorframe and rolling up his sleeves. His movements are so natural, so unassuming, and you’re left staring as he gently takes the knife from your hand.

“You don’t trust me?” you tease, stepping aside to let him take over.

“Of course I do,” he says, picking up the onion you’d abandoned. “I just trust me more with sharp objects.”

You laugh at that, and the sound seems to light up the room, even in the dim glow of the kitchen. Leon glances at you briefly, and for a moment, there’s something in his expression—something unspoken yet so profoundly tender.

As he starts to chop the onion with precision, you can’t help but admire the way his hands move, confident and skilled. His hair falls slightly into his face, and you resist the urge to brush it back.

“You don’t have to do this,” you murmur.

He pauses, his knife hovering above the cutting board. Turning to you, he leans in just enough that the warmth of his proximity makes your heart race.

“You’ve been doing everything all day,” he says softly, his voice steady but gentle. “Let me take care of you for once.”

There’s a sincerity in his words that leaves you momentarily speechless. He’s always been like this—selfless, always putting others first. You reach up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, trying to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks.

“Fine,” you concede, folding your arms. “But don’t think this means you’re getting out of dishes.”

He chuckles, the sound low and rich, and the way he looks at you in that moment—like you’re the only thing that matters—makes your chest tighten.

“Deal,” he says, going back to the onion.

You lean against the counter, watching him work, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself relax. The room smells of fresh ingredients and something else entirely—comfort, safety, and a quiet kind of love.

And as Leon finishes chopping and moves on to help with the rest of the meal, you realize that moments like this—simple, quiet, and shared—might just be your favorite kind of adventure with him.

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.”

First time parents

Carlos Sainz x Reader

The glow of the morning sun filters through the nursery curtains, casting a golden hue over the room. You stir awake, feeling the weight of exhaustion mixed with an overwhelming sense of joy. Beside you, Carlos shifts, rubbing his eyes as he hears the faint whimpering of your newborn.

"I'll get her," he murmurs, voice husky with sleep.

You watch as he moves with surprising gentleness, scooping your daughter into his arms. His hair is tousled, his T-shirt slightly wrinkled from the restless night before, but there's a softness in his gaze that makes your heart clench. He walks back to the bed, cradling the tiny bundle between you.

"She has your nose," he teases, brushing a finger over her delicate features.

"And your stubbornness," you counter, remembering the way she refused to sleep unless she was held—much like her father, who couldn't stand being still for too long.

Carlos chuckles, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead before placing another on your daughter's tiny hand. "We're in trouble, aren’t we?"

You sigh, resting your head against his shoulder. "Completely."

The past few weeks have been a whirlwind—late-night feedings, endless diaper changes, moments of pure bliss mixed with sheer exhaustion. Yet, through it all, Carlos has been your rock. Despite his intense schedule, the races, and the media appearances, he’s always here, always present.

Last night, when the baby wouldn’t stop crying, he had walked around the house for hours, humming softly in Spanish until she finally fell asleep. You had stood by the doorway, watching the man who commands speed and precision on the track move so patiently, so lovingly, as if time had slowed just for the two of them.

"Do you ever miss the quiet?" you ask now, watching as your daughter grips his finger in her tiny fist.

Carlos shakes his head, smiling. "Not for a second. This—" He gestures between the three of you. "This is the best race of my life."

Tears prick your eyes, and he notices, tilting your chin up with a teasing smirk. "Are we getting emotional?"

You laugh, swatting his arm, but he only pulls you closer, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that speaks of every late-night whisper, every shared dream, every moment of love that led you here.

Parenthood is messy, unpredictable, and utterly exhausting. But with Carlos by your side, it’s also the most beautiful adventure of all.

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.