𝓘 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓷𝓸 𝓬𝓪𝓻

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.

Strangers

Charles Leclerc x Reader

You slide into the passenger seat of the car, the engine purring softly beneath you. It's Charles Leclerc driving, the familiar hum of the road filling the air as you both pull out of the parking lot, heading nowhere in particular. He’s smiling at you, that kind of grin that tells you he's thinking about something but isn't quite ready to say it yet.

The night is warm, the kind of night that feels like it could stretch on forever. You’re both in no rush, enjoying the space between words. Every now and then, your eyes meet and there’s a flicker, a spark that you can’t really explain, but it feels like something is about to happen.

You talk for hours. The conversation starts off light, about racing, about silly things. Then it shifts to deeper stuff, things you hadn’t expected to share with him, but it feels easy. Safe. The kind of vulnerability you rarely show anyone else, but with Charles, it’s like you’ve known him forever.

At some point, you’re leaning over the center console, his face so close to yours, and you can feel the tension in the air. It’s as if the world has slowed down, leaving just the two of you in this perfect moment. And then, without even thinking, your lips meet, gentle at first, then a little deeper, as though neither of you wants to break away. The kiss lingers, but it’s not rushed. It’s exactly how it should be—slow, and full of all the unspoken things you both feel but haven’t quite said out loud.

But then, just like that, everything changes. The next morning, the text you sent goes unanswered. Charles is distant, and you start to feel that strange emptiness that comes when someone you thought was close begins to slip away. You wait for a reply that never comes, wondering if that night, that kiss, was just a momentary lapse or if it meant something more.

Days pass, and there’s no word. The silence grows, stretching between you like an ocean you can't cross. It feels like you're drifting farther apart with each passing second. Soon, the connection that once felt so natural has vanished, and all that's left are the echoes of a time when you both could've been more. The words you shared, the laughter, the kiss—they seem like distant memories. You no longer know where he is, or if he even remembers the way your heart beat faster that night.

And then, one random day, it hits you. He’s gone. And just like that, you're strangers again, with nothing left but the ghost of something that could’ve been.

Masterlist

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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.

Love

Tangerine x Reader

You’re in the middle of the kitchen, fumbling with dinner, when Tangerine’s voice filters in from the hallway. That familiar lilt, soft and sure, with a teasing edge to it, instantly makes your heart flutter.

“You’ve been at this for hours, love,” he says, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed in mock sternness. The way his words roll off his tongue—"love" stretching like honey—sends a smile tugging at your lips.

“I’m trying to perfect your favorite dish,” you reply, stirring the pot with exaggerated concentration. You don’t even look at him, but you can hear the smirk in his voice when he steps closer.

“And burning it, are we?” he teases, placing his hands on your shoulders. His touch is warm, steady, and when he dips his head to whisper near your ear, you can feel the smile in his words. “Let me take over before you set the house on fire.”

You glance at him then, unable to resist, and there’s that face. Mischievous brown eyes and that lopsided grin you fell for years ago. It’s so unfair how he can disarm you without trying.

“You’re insufferable,” you say, but the affection is clear in your tone.

“And you adore me,” he counters smoothly, his accent making the words sound like a melody.

He nudges you aside with mock impatience, tying an apron around his waist. Watching him cook is its own kind of magic—the precise movements of his hands, the soft hum of a tune under his breath, and the occasional glance he throws your way to make sure you’re watching.

“You know,” he says after a while, his voice lower, “I only pretended to like this dish at first.”

You blink at him, feigning offense. “You what?”

“Oh, don’t get cross, darling,” he says quickly, his accent thickening as he turns to face you with an innocent shrug. “It grew on me. Like you.”

He’s grinning again, his dimples on full display, and you can’t help but laugh. He’s always had a way of weaving humor and tenderness together, leaving you wrapped up in both.

By the time dinner is ready, the kitchen smells heavenly, and he insists on setting the table, pulling out your chair like the gentleman he is.

As you sit across from him, the two of you laughing over nothing and everything, his hand reaches across to clasp yours.

“You know I love you, right?” he says, his tone soft, sincere. His accent gives the words a weight that feels ancient and timeless all at once.

“I do,” you reply, squeezing his hand. “But I love your accent more.”

He laughs, full and warm, and when he leans forward to kiss you, you think that no dish in the world, no matter how perfect, could compare to this.

To him.

dreamgirl

Alexei Vronsky x Reader

You had always known that love could be complicated, but nothing had prepared you for the whirlwind of emotions that Alexei Vronsky brought into your life. He was everything you had ever imagined in a partner — handsome, charming, and filled with a passion that both exhilarated and terrified you. You were engaged to him, but somehow, that commitment only made your feelings more tangled.

It was a quiet afternoon when you found yourself alone with him in the garden, the golden rays of the setting sun casting a soft glow over the petals of the flowers. Alexei stood beside you, his usual composed demeanor giving way to something more vulnerable, more real.

“Do you ever wonder if we’re meant for something more than this?” he asked, his voice soft, but laced with intensity. You looked at him, feeling the weight of his gaze on your face, his eyes filled with longing that you couldn’t deny.

You had always admired Alexei’s ability to mask his emotions, but in that moment, it was clear he was torn. Torn between the life you had been planning together, and the undeniable pull he felt for something else — someone else, perhaps. You didn’t need to ask. The tension between you both was enough.

“I don’t know, Alexei,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, as you gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face. “I thought I knew what we had, but sometimes, I wonder if we're just holding onto the idea of each other.”

His hand reached out, his fingers grazing yours. The simple touch sent a shiver down your spine. His face softened, as though he understood.

“Maybe we’re afraid to let go,” he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. “Afraid of what it means to love someone completely… to lose ourselves in them.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady the emotions that swirled within you. Everything was so uncertain, yet when you were with him, the world outside seemed to disappear.

“I don’t want to lose you, Alexei,” you said, your voice barely audible. “But what if we’re not the people we thought we were when we made these promises?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence enveloping you as he gently cupped your face with his hands. His thumb brushed over your lips, and for a moment, nothing else seemed to matter.

“We were always meant to be more than the promises we made,” he murmured, his lips grazing your forehead in a tender kiss. “You and I… we are meant to write our own story. A story that is not bound by expectations or duty, but by what we feel, here and now.”

His words sent your heart into a frenzy, but you knew deep down that this was the truth you had been avoiding. Your engagement with Alexei was built on expectations, on what others had hoped for you, not on the uncharted path of real, raw love that pulsed between you.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, you realized that you couldn’t keep pretending to be someone you weren’t. With Alexei, you were not bound by the future, but by the present — the shared moments of passion and vulnerability that connected you both in a way that was impossible to deny.

In that garden, with the world fading around you, you knew that your love story with Alexei Vronsky would never be simple, but it would always be yours. And no matter what the future held, you would always remember the day when you let go of the promises you thought you had to keep, and embraced the love that was waiting for you both.

Are we allies or enemies?

Paul Atreides x Reader

You stand across the grand, austere chamber of the Arrakis Palace, the heavy silence broken only by the faint sound of desert winds. You feel the weight of your Bene Gesserit training pressing against your every thought, a constant reminder that this union was never meant to be one of choice, but of necessity. Politics, power, survival—they had all converged into this moment, binding you to Paul Atreides.

His eyes, the piercing blue of spice saturation, meet yours. He is inscrutable, as always. You can sense the storms within him, as vast and unknowable as the sands of Arrakis. The Kwisatz Haderach. A man destined to transcend, to lead, to destroy. And you—trained for obedience, manipulation, and control—now stand as his equal in name, though neither of you believes it.

“Are we allies or enemies? ” His voice cuts through the stillness like the cry of a crysknife drawn from its sheath.

The question startles you. You’d expected another day of brittle silence, the uneasy truce that defines your every interaction. But Paul is not one to avoid confrontation.

You tilt your head slightly, a gesture of feigned curiosity masking the churn of your emotions. “That depends, doesn’t it? On whether you see me as a tool of the Sisterhood or as… something else.”

He steps closer, his expression unreadable. The weight of his presence is suffocating, a reminder of why he inspires both reverence and fear among his followers. “You were sent here to control me. To influence my choices. But here you are, bound to me. Tell me does that not make you my prisoner?”

His words strike a nerve, but you do not flinch. Your training does not allow it. Instead, you let your gaze harden. “A prisoner, perhaps. Or a key to your survival. The Bene Gesserit do not act without reason.”

“And what is your reason, now?” he presses.

You hesitate. You have spent so long guarding your thoughts, hiding your true self behind layers of calculated responses. But here, in this moment, with his intensity boring into you, the truth slips free.

“I don’t know.”

The admission feels like a crack in a dam, letting loose a torrent of emotions you’d sworn to suppress. You hate him for this—for unraveling you so easily. For making you feel.

Paul’s expression softens, just barely. “Neither do I,” he admits, his voice quieter now. “This… this was not my choice, either.”

The vulnerability in his words surprises you. For a moment, you see not the Emperor, not the god-like figure revered by the Fremen, but a man caught in the same web of fate as you.

“All is fair in love and war,” you murmur, the words bitter on your tongue.

Paul chuckles, a dry, mirthless sound. “And this is both, isn’t it?”

You nod, the truth of it hanging heavy between you. This marriage is a battlefield, each of you wielding words and glances as weapons. Yet, beneath the tension lies something else. A fragile, unspoken connection that neither of you dares to name.

“I can’t fight with you anymore,” you say, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

Paul studies you for a long moment, his gaze searching. Then, to your astonishment, he extends a hand. “Then don’t. Let us… find another way.”

You stare at his outstretched hand, your heart pounding in your chest. Trust does not come easily to a Bene Gesserit, and yet…

Slowly, you place your hand in his. His grip is firm, steady, and for the first time, you feel a glimmer of something that might one day grow into trust.

It will not be easy. The path ahead is fraught with danger, betrayal, and loss. But as you stand there, hand in hand with the man you once saw only as a rival, you dare to hope that perhaps, together, you can forge a different destiny.

One where love and war do not have to destroy you both...

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.”

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒘 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒔

Leon S Kennedy x Reader

The room is bathed in the soft glow of a bedside lamp. You and Leon lie side by side on the bed, the chaos of the world outside feeling a million miles away. His presence is warm, grounding, and undeniably comforting, his familiar scent mingling with the crisp cotton sheets. Married life with him, though filled with moments of danger and unpredictability, has also been punctuated by a quiet intimacy that feels wholly yours.

You shift slightly, turning onto your side to face him. Leon mirrors you, propping his head up with his hand, his ice-blue eyes crinkling in the corners as he gazes at you with a softness that makes your heart flutter, even after all these years.

“What are you looking at?” you tease, though there’s no edge to your voice.

He chuckles lowly, a sound that resonates deep in his chest. “You. Just you.”

His free hand reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His fingers linger, trailing lightly down your cheek, the curve of your jaw, before coming to rest at the base of your neck. The touch is tender, reverent, like he’s memorizing you all over again.

You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers with his for a moment before turning it over to inspect his palm. It’s calloused and strong, a testament to everything he’s been through. You trace the faint scar along the side of his thumb, your fingertips light against his skin.

“Where’d this one come from?” you ask softly.

Leon glances down at the mark, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Raccoon City,” he answers simply, though his tone carries a world of unspoken memories. “It’s nothing compared to some of the others.”

“Let me see,” you say, gently pulling his arm closer. You start inspecting his forearm, finding a small, faint mole near the crook of his elbow. “I didn’t know you had this.”

Leon chuckles again, his eyes following your fingers as they glide over his skin. “I’m full of surprises, huh?”

“Apparently.” You smile, leaning forward to press a kiss just above the spot. “My turn?”

He hums in agreement, rolling onto his back and pulling you closer. “Where should I start?” His hands find their way to your arms, his touch feather-light as he begins his own exploration.

The moment is filled with quiet laughter as he spots a small birthmark on your shoulder. “How long have you been hiding this from me?” he teases, his thumb brushing over it.

“Not hiding,” you reply with a grin. “You just never asked.”

Leon shakes his head, his smile widening. “I’m going to find every single one.”

His fingers move with a sense of wonder, like he’s unraveling a mystery, trailing along your arm, your collarbone, and down to your wrist. You mirror his actions, your fingertips tracing his shoulders, the dip of his clavicle, and the faint lines of old wounds.

It’s not just the physical closeness but the unspoken trust between you. Each scar, each mark, tells a story, and sharing them in this way feels like the most profound form of vulnerability.

The two of you fall into a peaceful silence, your fingers continuing their gentle exploration. Time seems to blur, and the world outside ceases to matter. All that exists is the warmth of his touch, the sound of his steady breathing, and the unshakable bond between you.

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.