𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒘 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒔

Puppy

James Potter x Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

are you still writing for harris dickinson? if yes could i request you do angst to fluff where reader is upset with him for something just to be petty and he reassures her?

𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓶𝓪𝓭 𝓪𝓽 𝓶𝓮

Harris Dickinson x Reader

You sit on the edge of the hotel bed, arms crossed, mood simmering with the kind of quiet drama only you can conjure. The room smells like sea air and his cologne — all warm citrus and something woodsy that annoyingly makes your heart soften, even now. Harris stands by the window, completely unaware he’s made you mad… or maybe he knows. That makes it worse.

“You didn’t even notice,” you mutter, eyes fixed on the hotel notepad, where you’ve doodled angry little stars.

He turns slowly, one brow lifting. “Didn’t notice what?”

You don’t answer. You shouldn’t have to. It was your new dress. The one you picked just because you thought he’d look at you like he did that night in Venice — the whole world narrowing to just you in a crowded piazza. Tonight, you got a distracted peck on the cheek and a comment about the weather.

“You’re being quiet,” he says, walking toward you, hands sliding into the pockets of his linen trousers. He looks annoyingly good. Summer suits him. “Too quiet. You mad at me?”

You shrug.

He crouches in front of you, resting his forearms on your knees, forcing your gaze to meet his. His eyes are soft. The kind that always make your stomach flip, no matter how much you want to hold your ground.

“I know that face,” he says, voice low and teasing. “That’s the ‘you messed up, and I’m gonna make you work for it’ face.”

You look away, lips threatening a smile you refuse to let free. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, now I have to worry,” he laughs gently, fingers tapping along your thigh. “C’mon, love. Tell me what I missed. I hate not knowing.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s stupid.”

“Probably,” he agrees, grinning, which earns him a light swat to the shoulder. “But I still want to know. You matter to me — even the silly stuff.”

You hesitate, then sigh. “You didn’t say anything about the dress.”

His expression changes — shifts from amused to sincere, instantly. “What?” His fingers tighten just a little. “You think I didn’t notice?”

You nod, cheeks hot now that the words are out.

“Babe,” he murmurs, standing up slowly, crowding your space just enough to make your breath catch. “You walked into that restaurant tonight and wrecked me. I’ve just been trying to act normal because I didn’t want to start something I couldn’t finish in public.”

You blink, thrown off by the heat in his voice. “That’s… dramatic.”

“I’m an actor,” he smirks, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “But I’m also just a man trying not to fall to his knees every time you look at me like that.”

He presses his forehead to yours, voice barely above a whisper. “You looked unreal, baby. You always do.”

You finally smile — just a little. He sees it and kisses it, soft and slow. And just like that, your petty storm dissolves in the warmth of him.

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.

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.

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.

Well, my boyfriend's in a band

Kyle Scheible x Reader

You sit on the edge of Kyle's bed, watching him tune his guitar. The soft, melodic hums fill the air, a rhythm that’s almost like a heartbeat. His room is cozy, dimly lit with a string of fairy lights that hang lazily around the walls, casting a warm glow. You can’t help but smile, knowing this moment is one you’ll want to keep with you forever.

He looks up, catching your gaze with a grin that makes your heart skip. “Ready to sing?” he asks, his voice warm and playful.

You nod, but your hands feel a little shaky. It's been like this every time, the anticipation and excitement mixing together. It’s not just about the music—it's about the connection you share, the way the world fades when you’re together, creating something only the two of you understand.

“Okay, here we go,” Kyle says, strumming a few chords. The melody is familiar, and you can already feel the words tugging at your chest.

He starts to sing, his voice smooth and confident, and it sends a shiver down your spine. You wait for your cue, the moment to join him. And then, when it comes, you begin to sing too. Your voices blend effortlessly, harmonizing as if you've been doing this for years, even though it’s only been a few months since you first picked up a microphone together.

His eyes never leave you as you sing. It's like he’s looking into your soul, finding every note, every word, and making it his own. The connection between you both is undeniable, stronger than any music, stronger than any stage. It's just the two of you, lost in the melody, lost in each other.

As the song reaches its climax, Kyle steps closer, his guitar resting against him as he takes your hand. The music fades into the background, and it's just his presence that fills the space, the way his fingers brush against yours, the way his eyes meet yours with an intensity that makes you forget everything else.

When the song ends, the room is filled with silence, but it’s comfortable, easy. Kyle’s thumb gently traces the back of your hand, his lips curving into a soft smile.

“That was perfect,” he murmurs, his voice low, as if it’s just for you.

You lean in, resting your forehead against his, feeling the warmth of his breath. "You're perfect."

And in that moment, with him in his room, his guitar by his side, and the world outside forgotten, you know you wouldn’t trade this feeling for anything.

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...

love, love, love

Carlos Sainz x Reader

The soft hum of your favorite song played in the background as you and Carlos sat cross-legged on the living room floor, surrounded by a sea of wedding magazines, swatches of fabric, and color samples. It was late evening, and the golden glow of candles you both lit gave the room a warm, almost magical, ambiance.

“Are you sure about this color?” Carlos asked, holding up a swatch of burgundy velvet between his fingers, his brow furrowed in concentration. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him taking the smallest details so seriously, his usual calm demeanor tinged with just a hint of nervous energy.

“It’s perfect,” you reassured him, scooting closer to examine the fabric. “It’ll look stunning with the ivory table settings.”

Carlos leaned back, running a hand through his chestnut hair. “I just want everything to be perfect for you.” His words were soft, sincere, and they made your heart swell.

“You mean us,” you corrected with a teasing smile, brushing his hand lightly. He caught your fingers mid-motion, lacing them with his.

“Right, us,” he said, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Although I think you’re doing most of the hard work here. I just follow orders.”

You laughed, nudging him gently. “Hardly! You’ve vetoed, what, three cake flavors already?”

“Okay, the pistachio one was just wrong,” he replied, laughing as well. His laughter echoed in the room, and you realized, not for the first time, how his joy had the power to lift the heaviest of days.

As the evening wore on, you both found yourselves lying on the plush rug, your head resting on his shoulder. He was scrolling through photos on his phone, showing you venue options while sneaking in snapshots of your happiest moments together—road trips, cozy mornings, stolen moments from race weekends.

“Do you remember this?” he asked, showing you a picture of the two of you on a small boat in the middle of Lake Como. The sun had set behind you, casting a fiery glow over the water.

“Of course,” you replied, tracing the screen with your finger. “You were steering us straight into another boat.”

Carlos chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Best near-crash of my life.”

You closed your eyes, letting his voice and the memory wash over you. “We’ve had so many beautiful moments together, haven’t we?”

“And we’re about to have the most beautiful one yet,” he whispered, his voice full of conviction. “When I see you walking down that aisle… that’s going to be a moment I’ll never forget.”

Your throat tightened, and you tilted your head up to meet his gaze. His brown eyes held a softness, a depth that made you feel like the luckiest person in the world.

“You’re going to cry, aren’t you?” you teased, your voice breaking the emotion with a lightness that had become second nature between you two.

“I’m not making any promises,” he replied, grinning. “But if I do, you can’t hold it against me. Deal?”

“Deal,” you murmured, leaning up to kiss him softly, your fingers brushing against his jawline. In that moment, surrounded by the chaos of wedding planning and the comfort of his arms, you realized you didn’t need perfection. You just needed him.

And that was the most beautiful detail of all.

𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐢 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

Carlos Sainz x Reader

The soft glow of sunset filters through the tall windows of the exclusive villa in Tuscany. You’re leaning against the balustrade of the terrace, overlooking the endless expanse of vineyards, the golden hour lighting your skin in a way that photographers always chase. Even here, you can’t escape being a model—your elegance radiates effortlessly.

Carlos Sainz appears, as he always does, with a charm that’s almost impossible to resist. You hear his footsteps before he speaks, the crunch of gravel and the faint rustle of his linen shirt in the breeze.

“You know,” he begins, standing just a little too close, his Spanish accent wrapping around the words like silk, “this view is beautiful. But you make it breathtaking.”

You roll your eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Do you rehearse these lines, Carlos? Or do they just come naturally?”

He grins, leaning casually against the railing beside you, his dark eyes glittering with playful determination. “Natural talent. Like driving. Or making you smile.”

You suppress a laugh, turning your attention back to the horizon. “I’m not that easy to impress.”

“And yet,” he says, leaning slightly closer, “you haven’t walked away.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, catching the faintest flicker of vulnerability behind his confident façade. There’s a sincerity in his gaze that makes your heart skip a beat, though you would never admit it.

“Carlos,” you sigh, “we’ve been through this. You’re charming, yes. Handsome, undeniably. But I don’t mix work with… whatever this is.”

“This?” He raises an eyebrow, gesturing between the two of you. “This is me trying to show you that I care. That I want to be more than just some guy you see at events or on TV.”

“And yet,” you counter, folding your arms, “you know my answer hasn’t changed.”

Carlos doesn’t falter. Instead, he steps closer, his tone softening. “You keep saying no, but I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention. I see the way you laugh at my jokes, even when you try to hide it. Tell me, why not give us a chance? Just one date. No cameras, no pressure.”

You hate that his words make your heart flutter. You hate that his persistence feels less like arrogance and more like genuine affection. But you also know how complicated your lives are—his constant travels, your demanding career.

“Carlos…” you start, but he interrupts, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t say no just because you’re scared it won’t work. Say no if you truly don’t feel anything for me. But if there’s even the smallest chance you do, let me prove to you that I’m worth the risk.”

For a moment, the world falls silent, save for the gentle rustle of the vines below and the steady rhythm of your own heartbeat. His eyes search yours, open and unguarded, waiting.

You exhale slowly, your resolve wavering. “One date,” you say finally, watching as his face lights up with a boyish grin. “Just one.”

“That’s all I need,” he replies, his confidence returning in full force. “I’ll make you fall in love with me, cariño. Just wait.”