𝓘 𝓱𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓷𝓸𝔀

Cold cold man

Tangerine x Reader

You’ve always known Tangerine was different. The first time you met him, his eyes bore into you with an intensity that felt like it could shatter glass. He had a way of making silence heavy, a tangible thing that pressed against your chest. Yet, even then, you felt something beneath his cold demeanor—a flicker of warmth that refused to burn brightly but never quite went out.

Tangerine isn’t like other people, not the kind who showers you with flowery words or makes grand gestures. Instead, his love is quiet, hidden in the spaces between his sharp edges. It’s there in the way he listens, the way he notices things most wouldn’t—like how you always fidget with your ring when you’re nervous or how you hum to yourself when you think no one’s watching. He never says anything about it, never makes a point of it, but he remembers.

You wish, sometimes, that he could be easier, softer. You wish he’d hold your hand in public or tell you how beautiful you look without needing to be prompted. But that’s not Tangerine. His compliments, when they come, are rare and understated.

“Nice dress,” he’ll mutter, barely looking at you. But you know it’s his way of saying you’re breathtaking.

His coldness isn’t cruelty—it’s just who he is. And you’ve learned to read between the lines. You’ve learned to see the way his hand brushes yours, just slightly, when you walk side by side. How he’ll stand a little closer to you when the room feels too big, too loud. How, in the middle of the night, when he thinks you’re asleep, his fingers will trace patterns on your arm, feather-light and reverent.

One evening, you’re sitting on the couch together, the TV playing some show neither of you is really watching. He’s quiet, as always, his expression unreadable. But then, out of nowhere, he speaks.

“I’m not good at this,” he says, voice low and rough.

“At what?” you ask, turning to him.

“This,” he gestures vaguely between you two. “Us. Love. I’m not good at showing it.”

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his tone. “You don’t have to be perfect at it, Tan. I don’t need big gestures or constant reminders. I just need you.”

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and for a moment, you swear you see something crack in him. “I know I’m a cold man,” he says softly. “But you make me want to be better. Even if I’m slow, even if I don’t always say the right things. I want to try. For you.”

It’s the most he’s ever said about his feelings, and it takes your breath away. You reach out, placing your hand over his. His fingers are stiff at first, hesitant, but then they relax, curling around yours.

“I don’t need you to be anything but yourself,” you whisper. “That’s enough for me.”

And for the first time, Tangerine smiles—not a big smile, but a small, genuine curve of his lips that feels like sunlight breaking through the clouds. It’s fleeting, but it’s there, and it’s for you.

You realize that Tangerine’s love may not be easy or loud, but it’s real. It’s in every quiet gesture, every small act of care, every unspoken word. And for you, that’s more than enough.

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.

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.

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.

And she feels like home

Jason Todd x Reader

It’s nearing midnight when the rhythmic tapping on the window pulls you from the quiet comfort of your book. You freeze, your heart skipping a beat. That sound is familiar. Rising from the couch, you pad softly to the window. Pulling back the curtain, your heart sinks.

There he is—Jason Todd—leaning against the window frame, a silhouette of leather and exhaustion. His helmet dangles loosely from one hand, the other clutching his side. Blood trickles from a cut above his brow, streaking his face.

“Jason!” you gasp, hurriedly unlocking the window and helping him inside.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he rasps, his voice strained but laced with the wry humor you know so well. “Miss me?”

Your worry turns into a flurry of activity. You guide him to the couch, muttering something about stubborn vigilantes. He winces as he settles down, his usual confident demeanor dimmed by pain.

“What happened?” you demand, kneeling before him to inspect the damage.

“Bad night,” he mutters. “Some gang thought they could take me out. Clearly, they didn’t succeed.” His smirk is fleeting as he winces again.

“Jason, you can’t keep doing this to yourself.” Your voice cracks, tears threatening to spill. “You scare me every time you show up like this.”

He reaches out, cupping your cheek with a gloved hand. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, the apology in his eyes far deeper than the words. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I just… I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Your chest tightens. You can’t stay mad, not when he looks at you like that. Gently, you remove his gloves and begin cleaning his wounds. His shoulders relax under your touch, tension melting away as you care for him.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this alone,” you say softly, wrapping a bandage around his arm. “You can lean on me, Jason. Always.”

For a moment, he says nothing. Then he reaches out, pulling you into his lap with surprising strength.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers, his forehead resting against yours.

“Maybe not,” you tease, your lips quirking into a small smile. “But you’re stuck with me anyway.”

He chuckles, the sound low and rough but filled with warmth. His arms tighten around you, and you feel his breath against your skin.

“Thank you,” he says after a long pause, his voice barely audible.

“For what?”

“For being here. For being you.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence, the only sound your steady breathing as you hold each other. In that moment, nothing else matters—just the quiet promise of your love and the hope that, no matter what, you’ll face the chaos of his world together.

Wife

Tangerine x Reader

The first rays of sunlight stream through the delicate lace curtains, casting golden patterns across the soft white sheets. The warmth of the morning caresses your skin, but it is the gentle rise and fall of Tangerine’s breath beside you that truly warms you.

You turn your head slightly, and there he is—your husband. Your husband. The word still feels surreal, even after the vows, the dance, the laughter, and the quiet, stolen kisses beneath the stars last night. His dark lashes rest against his cheeks, his face peaceful in sleep, the softest trace of a smile curving his lips.

Tangerine shifts, the sheets rustling as he stirs. Then, with a sleepy groan, he blinks open his eyes—those stormy blue eyes that have always held you captive. When he sees you, his smile widens.

“Morning, love,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep, tinged with his ever-present British charm. His hand reaches for yours beneath the covers, fingers lacing together effortlessly, as if they were always meant to fit.

You can’t help but smile. “Morning, husband.”

His eyes darken slightly at the word, a mixture of awe and mischief flickering in them. “Say that again.”

You chuckle, but he’s already shifting closer, his arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you against him. His warmth is intoxicating, his scent filling your senses.

“Husband,” you whisper, and Tangerine groans playfully, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“Mm, I don’t think I’ll ever tire of hearing that,” he mumbles against your skin before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder. His lips trail upward, over your jaw, until they finally meet yours in a kiss that speaks of promises and forever.

You sigh into him, fingers threading through his tousled hair, your heart swelling as he deepens the kiss. It’s slow, unhurried, a taste of the eternity you now have together.

When he finally pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, his thumb tracing lazy circles over the back of your hand. “We have the whole day to ourselves,” he muses. “No schedules, no guests, no distractions.”

You hum in agreement, trailing a finger along his jawline. “What shall we do, then?”

Tangerine smirks, that boyish, heart-stealing grin you fell in love with. “Well, love, we could stay right here and continue this…” His lips brush yours again, teasingly. “Or we could make breakfast.”

You laugh, nudging him. “Are you bribing me with food?”

“Absolutely.” He grins. “A full English breakfast, just for my beautiful wife. What do you say?”

You pretend to consider, then with a dramatic sigh, you say, “Fine. But only if you wear an apron.”

Tangerine chuckles, shaking his head. “Married one day, and you’re already making demands.” He pauses, then leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “I suppose I’ll allow it.”

You giggle as he rolls out of bed, stretching before turning back to you, holding out a hand. “Come on, my love.”

My love. Your heart stutters at the sound of it.

You take his hand, letting him pull you up and into his arms once more. As you stand there, wrapped in the golden morning light, you realize—this is forever. And there’s no place you’d rather be.

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.

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

Carlos Sainz x Reader

It’s a quiet evening, and you’re sitting in a cozy café, the sound of soft chatter surrounding you. The rain taps gently against the windows, and the dim lights create a warm, intimate atmosphere. Across from you, Carlos Sainz sits, his usual calm demeanor tinged with concern as he watches you. He notices the slight frown on your face, the way your arms are crossed in a subtle gesture of frustration. You’ve been in a bad mood for the past few minutes—something small, insignificant, really. But to you, in this moment, it feels bigger.

Carlos doesn’t understand exactly why you’re upset. He’s tried to ask, but you’ve brushed it off with a soft sigh, claiming it’s nothing. He can’t help but notice how beautiful you look, though. Even now, with a cloud hanging over your mood, he’s captivated by the way your hair falls over your shoulders, the sparkle in your eyes, and the way your lips pout when you’re deep in thought.

You catch him looking at you, and despite your irritation, you feel your heart flutter just a little. It’s as if, no matter what’s bothering you, Carlos has a way of making everything seem just a bit brighter. He leans forward, his voice gentle but full of warmth.

“You know,” he says softly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “you’re still pretty, even when you’re mad.”

You blink, surprised by his words, but something about them makes the frustration melt away just a little. You meet his gaze, his eyes full of affection and understanding, and you realize—maybe it’s not the small thing that’s bothering you at all, but the way you’ve let it build up in your mind. His calmness, his presence, it has a way of grounding you.

“Carlos…” you start, unsure how to explain why you were upset. But he reaches across the table, his hand brushing against yours, as if reassuring you that whatever it is, it doesn’t matter to him. What matters is that you’re there, together, in this moment.

The corners of your lips turn upward, and you shake your head. “I don’t even know why I’m in such a bad mood. It’s nothing important.”

Carlos chuckles softly, squeezing your hand lightly. “I know. But you don’t have to be perfect, you know? You don’t have to have it all together. I think you’re pretty just the way you are.”

And there it is again—the way he makes everything feel lighter, as if your bad mood doesn’t stand a chance against the warmth of his words. You smile, a little embarrassed now, but grateful too.

With Carlos, there’s no need for explanations, no pressure to fix anything. He simply accepts you, bad moods and all. You realize that maybe it’s the small things—the way he sees you, the way he makes you feel—that matter the most.

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.

Handsome

Leon Kennedy x Reader

You watch as Leon steps out of the bathroom, towel in hand, wiping off the last traces of shaving cream from his face. He leans against the door frame casually, as if he hasn't noticed the way your eyes linger on him. But you know he has. There’s a quiet confidence about him, and right now, it’s impossible to look away.

His tousled hair still damp from the shower, a few droplets clinging to his strong jawline, and that faint stubble he always forgets to shave off completely—it all makes your heart skip a beat. Even the way he’s standing there, one arm across his body with the towel still in his hand, seems effortless, like a moment captured in time.

He looks at you, a small, knowing smirk tugging at his lips. "What?" he asks, his voice low, teasing. You can feel your cheeks flush, but you can’t help it. You know you’re staring, but you can't bring yourself to look away.

“Nothing,” you reply, trying to sound casual, but your voice betrays you. It’s softer than usual, a little breathless. "You just… you look really good."

Leon chuckles, setting the towel aside as he steps toward you, his eyes never leaving yours. He reaches out, his fingers brushing your cheek with a tenderness that makes your breath catch. “Is that so?” he murmurs, his voice a hushed whisper now.

You nod, still too entranced by him to say much else. His touch is gentle, yet there's a warmth in it that sends a rush of emotions through you. His hand slides down to your neck, cupping it softly as he pulls you a little closer. His gaze lowers to your lips, the moment thick with unspoken promise.

"You’re making it hard to concentrate," he whispers, his lips hovering just above yours.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. "You always make it hard," you say, your hands finding their way to the sides of his shirt, tugging him closer.

Leon’s smirk deepens, and he finally closes the distance, his lips brushing yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. It’s soft at first, just a gentle exploration, but you can feel the heat building between you both. His other hand slides around your waist, pulling you fully into him, as if there's no space between you that shouldn’t be filled with the warmth of his touch.

As the kiss deepens, time seems to slow, the world outside the room fading away until it’s just the two of you. You’re not sure how long you stay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, but it feels like nothing else matters in the world.

When you finally pull away, breathless, Leon’s forehead rests against yours, his thumb caressing your skin. "You’re everything to me," he whispers.