𝓘 𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾

𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞

James Potter x Reader

The music fills the room, a soft melody swirling through the air, its notes light and playful. You’re lost in the comfort of the quiet evening, the warmth of the fire flickering on the hearth casting a golden glow over the room. James, casually leaning against the armrest of the couch, lifts his head, eyes meeting yours across the room. There's a mischievous smile tugging at his lips, something you know all too well.

Without saying a word, he stands up, his movements graceful as he closes the space between you. His hand reaches out, fingers warm, and your heart skips as he gently takes yours. You can feel his touch—the familiar softness, the strength beneath.

“Dance with me,” he says, his voice a quiet invitation, pulling you from your thoughts. There's no hesitation in his tone, only a quiet certainty, as if he knows you can’t resist.

You glance up at him, eyes softening. The music continues, the beat slow and steady, and you let him lead you into his arms. His hands find their place at your waist, while you place yours against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The world outside the room seems to disappear. It’s just the two of you, moving together, swaying in time with the song.

James pulls you in closer, his touch tender as you rest your head against his shoulder. The air is thick with unspoken words, with all the affection he has for you, and you can feel it in every movement, in every gentle step.

For a moment, the whole world stops spinning. The only thing that matters is the way your bodies fit together perfectly, the way the music seems to slow, allowing you to savor this moment forever.

He pulls away just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze filled with something deeper. “You’ve always been my favorite dance partner,” he says, his voice full of affection and a hint of playful arrogance.

You smile softly, a feeling of contentment washing over you as you press closer, letting the warmth of his presence fill you. Just the two of you, dancing, lost in each other’s company, under the quiet spell of the music.

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 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.

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."

𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞

Sergei Kravinoff x Reader

You're alone in the backyard of your house, surrounded by the scent of the flowers you've so carefully tended. The night breeze caresses your cheeks, but there's something else in the air: a presence. You sense it even before you hear it.

"You're too trusting for your own good, you know that?" Sergei Kravinoff says, his voice deep and drawling, emerging from the shadows like a predator on the prowl.

You turn to him, but you don't back away. Despite what you know of his reputation, you can't fear him. There's something in his gaze, in those hunter eyes, that reveals a vulnerability he'd never admit out loud.

"You shouldn't come close like that, Sergei. You might scare someone." Your voice is soft, almost joking, but he feels it like a blow to the chest. You're not scared. You never are with him, even though he knows you should be.

He takes a step forward, the moonlight illuminating his imposing figure. The muscles in his body seem tense, as if he is holding something back: an instinct, a desire.

“Not you,” he answers, crossing his arms, trying to appear indifferent. But his tone betrays him. He can’t understand how someone like you can speak so calmly, so sweetly, to a man like him.

You bend down to pick up a flower that has fallen to the ground, a white daisy, simple but beautiful. You hold it between your fingers as you smile.

“Do you want to stay a while? I could make you some tea.”

Kravinoff blinks, bewildered. Tea? No one offers him something so simple, so human. But you… you just want to share a quiet moment with him.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks, moving even closer. His voice is a whisper now, and his gaze locks with yours as if he wants to unravel the mystery of your kindness.

You look up at him, holding the daisy in your hand. There is no doubt in your eyes, no judgment, just a warmth he doesn’t think he deserves.

“Because I believe that, behind all that strength, you deserve rest, too.”

Your words completely disarm him. Sergei Kravinoff, the great hunter, the man who has faced the fiercest beasts, feels caught up in something he’s never experienced: your tenderness.

He reaches out a hand to you, hesitating for a moment, before taking the flower you offer. His fingers are large and rough, but they hold the daisy with surprising care.

“You are too sweet for this world,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Too sweet for me.”

You laugh softly, a sound he knows he will remember for the rest of his life.

“Maybe,” you admit, “but I like that you’re here.”

For the first time in years, Sergei Kravinoff allows himself to let his guard down. He sits with you in the moonlight, holding that tiny flower like it’s the most valuable treasure in the world, and even though he doesn’t say it out loud, he knows he’s hopelessly lost… and he doesn’t care.

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.

Boyfriend

Pietro Maximoff x Reader

You’re leaning against the bar, nursing a glass of something far too sweet, trying to blend into the crowd that pulses around you. The bass of the music vibrates through your chest, but it’s not the rhythm making your pulse race. It’s him. Pietro Maximoff.

He’s across the room, laughing, tossing his silver hair back as if the spotlight should follow him. It always does, in a way. There’s something magnetic about him, something that pulls you in even when you tell yourself you’ve had enough of his games.

You’ve told yourself a thousand times that this isn’t anything. Just two people who can’t seem to stay away from each other. He’s not your boyfriend. You’re not his girlfriend. And yet, the way his eyes keep darting to you, sharp and possessive, says otherwise.

You don’t want to admit that it bothers you, but it does. The girl he’s talking to is tall, leaning in too close, her hand brushing his arm. You watch as his grin falters for a fraction of a second, his gaze finding yours.

And just like that, he’s gone. A blur of silver and blue as he darts through the crowd, leaving the girl startled and blinking at the empty space he’s left behind.

“Jealous?” he says, suddenly at your side, the teasing lilt in his voice making your stomach flip.

“Of what?” you ask, turning your head away from him, pretending not to care.

He leans in, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your ear. “You tell me.”

You hate that he’s right. That you do care. That the idea of him with anyone else makes something twist in your chest. But you’re not going to give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Maximoff,” you say, setting your glass down with a little more force than necessary.

He laughs, low and rich, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “Right. Because you were just standing there, staring at me for no reason.”

Your jaw tightens. “Maybe I was staring at her.”

He blinks, caught off guard for a split second, before the smirk returns. “Sure, detka. Keep telling yourself that.”

You roll your eyes, but he’s too close now, his hand brushing against yours, and suddenly the room feels too small, the music too loud.

“You don’t want me to see anyone else,” he says, softer this time, the teasing gone from his voice. “And I don’t want you to see anyone either. So why are we pretending?”

Your heart skips a beat, and you hate how easily he does this to you—how easily he gets under your skin, how easily he makes you want things you swore you didn’t need.

“Because it’s complicated,” you say, your voice barely audible over the music.

“Doesn’t have to be,” he says, and then his hand is on your cheek, tilting your face toward him.

You could pull away. You should pull away. But instead, you let him close the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a way that’s both familiar and electric.

And for the first time, you wonder if maybe he’s right. Maybe it doesn’t have to be complicated at all.

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

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.

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.