Masterlist

Sweet Creature

Anakin Skywalker x Reader

Your eyes narrowing as the weight of the argument settles heavily between you and Anakin. His words still echo in your mind, sharp and biting, even though you know deep down that neither of you can even remember what sparked this fight. It doesn’t matter anymore, not with the tension crackling in the air, thick enough to suffocate.

His hand clenches into a fist at his side, the familiar fire in his gaze flickering. You can tell he's trying to contain it, but it’s no use. He’s always been stubborn—you both are—but it’s in moments like this when it feels like that stubbornness might tear everything apart.

You shake your head, trying to push past the frustration. “This isn’t worth it, Anakin,” you say, your voice strained. You know it’s not about the small thing you argued over anymore. It’s everything else—the pressures he carries, the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders, the darkness that’s always threatening to swallow him whole. The argument was just the spark.

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, his eyes momentarily softening as he glances at you. You catch a glimpse of regret there, but it’s fleeting, quickly replaced by the stubborn pride that has always defined him.

"You don't understand," he mutters, the frustration in his tone palpable. "You never do. I'm trying, but there's only so much I can take."

You can see the battle inside him—his inner demons clashing with the person he wants to be. But the longer the silence stretches, the more it feels like you're two strangers in this room. You want to reach out, to pull him back, to remind him of the love that’s still there beneath the anger. But part of you wonders if it's too late for that.

With a heavy sigh, you take a step toward him. The space between you is so small, yet it feels vast. You could walk away, let the fight linger, but that would be giving up. And you’re not ready to give up on him, on this.

You take his hand gently, feeling the tension in his muscles, the unspoken words lingering in the space between your bodies. He doesn’t pull away. For a moment, you just stand there, the storm of emotions swirling around both of you. Then, softly, almost imperceptibly, his shoulders slump.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice low, cracking under the weight of the apology. "I don’t want to fight."

You squeeze his hand, offering a quiet smile. "Neither do I."

It’s not perfect. It never is with him, with both of you. You know you’ll work through it, just like you always have. Because you both understand something deeper than pride—love. Even when it’s hard, even when it feels like everything’s slipping away, it’s still there.

𝓘’𝓶 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝔂

Leon S Kennedy x Reader

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

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

Leon is frantic.

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

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

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

“The only closet in our room, babe.”

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

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

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

You smile at him. “It’s okay.”

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

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

“You can handle this, Leon.”

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

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

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

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

Like The Movies

James Potter x Reader

You never thought it would happen to you—that kind of love, the one you read about in old books or saw in movies. It’s a love you dream about, but never expect to find. Your friends have always thought you a bit of a hopeless romantic, someone who believes in fairytales despite how many times you've been let down. You'd been burned once, twice, too many times to count, and now, you just couldn't see how anything could live up to the dreamy ideas in your head.

But then James Potter came into your life.

It started small. A glance, a casual brush of his hand against yours in the crowded corridors of Hogwarts. You tried to ignore the flutter in your chest. No one had ever been good enough for you—no one had ever been what you imagined, no one had made your heart race the way you’d always hoped. But there was something about him. He was different.

James Potter had always been the joker, the one who was loud and reckless, always at the center of attention. But behind that mischievous grin and the jokes he cracked with Sirius and Remus, you began to notice another side. A gentler side. It wasn’t immediately obvious—he wasn't one to show vulnerability—but every now and then, you caught glimpses of a quieter James. It was those moments that caught your attention and made you question everything you thought you knew about love.

You had always imagined your romance like a scene straight out of a movie, a perfect fairytale. And yet, here you were, falling for someone who was far from perfect. He didn’t make grand declarations or sweep you off your feet in dramatic gestures. No, he was more subtle than that, more genuine. The first time it truly hit you was one rainy evening, your feet splashing through the puddles on the way back to Gryffindor Tower.

James was walking with you, of course, because that’s just what he did—never let anyone walk alone. The rain fell heavily around you both, soaking through your robes, but neither of you seemed to care. You both laughed at the ridiculousness of it, trying to dodge puddles, failing miserably.

And then, just like that, he took your hand. No words, just a simple act, one that sent a shock of warmth through you even as the rain soaked you both to the bone. The sound of the rain, the laughter you shared—it felt like the start of something real, something more than you had ever dared hope for.

Over the weeks that followed, the two of you shared more moments like that. The two of you would sneak into bars in Hogsmeade, escaping the confines of the castle, your laughter spilling into the air as the two of you hid in the corners. You'd stare up at the stars together, your heart beating wildly, your fingers brushing in a way that made you feel like you were dancing, even without music. He never once told you he loved you, but the way he looked at you, the way he’d quietly hold you when you were sad—those were the things that made you realize what you’d never allowed yourself to believe.

One evening, after a particularly heated game of Quidditch, you found yourself under a stormy sky with him. It was one of those nights where the clouds hung low and dark, threatening to spill over. But neither of you cared. As the rain began to fall, you both stood there, drenched, and, without a word, began to sway, holding onto each other like nothing else mattered. It was just the two of you—no audience, no expectations—just a quiet moment beneath the storm, as the world seemed to disappear around you.

Maybe you were just old-fashioned, you thought, believing in love like that. But in that moment, standing under the stormy sky with James, you felt like you were living out the kind of fairytale you'd always dreamed of.

You never thought you’d fall in love again, at least not in the way you had imagined. But here you were, holding James Potter, heart and soul entwined with his. Maybe, just maybe, this was the kind of love you’d always wanted.

And just when you thought you’d given up on love—just when you believed that no one could ever be good enough—you realized you were wrong. James Potter was exactly what you needed, the one who had always been there, in ways you hadn’t even noticed until now.

And in the end, maybe it was just that simple.

Maybe you'd finally found the love you'd been waiting for, after 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.”

LIKE FATHER, LIKE DAUGHTER

Anakin Skywalker x Reader

You stand in the center of the room, arms crossed, frustration simmering just beneath your skin. Leia, her little fists clenched at her sides, glares up at you with defiance sparking in her eyes. It’s been a long day, and you don’t have the patience for another one of her outbursts.

"Leia Skywalker," you say, voice firm. "How many times have I told you not to sneak out of the palace at night?"

"I wasn’t sneaking!" she fires back. "I just wanted to see the ships take off!"

Your jaw tightens. "That’s not the point, young lady. Do you have any idea how dangerous it is? What if something had happened to you? What if—"

And then it happens.

The way she tilts her chin up, the fire in her eyes, the sheer stubbornness in her expression—it stops you cold.

Because you’ve seen that exact look before.

On someone else.

You don’t even realize you’ve fallen silent until a voice—deep, familiar—breaks through.

"She was just curious, love" Anakin says. "She’s got a strong spirit, that’s all."

You turn, and there he is. Standing just beyond the doorway, arms folded, watching the scene unfold with that mix of misplaced amusement and ill-advised sympathy. You give him a sharp look, and he hesitates, as if just now realizing he’s stepped onto a battlefield.

"Oh, don’t even start," you warn, voice low. "This is your fault."

Anakin blinks. "My fault?"

"Yes!" You throw a hand toward Leia, who watches the exchange with interest, clearly sensing the shift in the storm. "Do you see that face? That’s your face! That stubborn, reckless, I’ll do what I want look—she gets that from you!"

Anakin has the audacity to look confused. "Well… I mean… maybe a little?"

"A little?" You raise an eyebrow. "Anakin Skywalker, this is exactly how you looked when you told Obi-Wan, ‘Don’t worry, Master, I got this’ right before crashing into a droid battalion!"

Leia snickers. Anakin shoots her a quick look, like they’re suddenly allies in this war. You can see the silent exchange—We’re in this together, kid.

"You are not bonding over this!" you snap, pointing at both of them. "You do not get to encourage her!"

"I wasn’t—"

"You were!"

"I just—"

"Anakin!"

He sighs, rubbing the back of his head, finally conceding defeat. "Okay, okay. Maybe she got the stubbornness from me. But you have to admit, she gets her sharp mind and leadership from you."

You press your lips together, torn between lingering frustration and the warmth of that compliment. Leia, ever the opportunist, sees the distraction and makes her move.

"So… am I still grounded?" she asks hopefully.

You and Anakin turn to her at the same time.

"Yes!" you say in unison.

Leia groans, and Anakin grins at you behind her back. You shake your head, exasperated, but as you meet his gaze—those same blue eyes staring at you with that familiar mix of mischief and devotion—you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips.

You’re outnumbered.

And Force help you, it’s only going to get worse from here.

Nightmares

Anakin Skywalker x Reader

You wake to the sound of soft, hurried footsteps padding across the polished floor, barely audible over the hum of Coruscant’s distant nightlife. The warm body beside you shifts—Anakin, his breathing even and steady, blissfully unaware of the disturbance. You smile faintly, brushing away a stray strand of his tousled hair before turning toward the door.

Two small figures appear in the doorway, outlined by the dim light from the hall. Luke and Leia, clutching their blankets, their wide eyes filled with fear. You’re on your feet in an instant, already kneeling to their level before they can say a word.

“Another nightmare?” you ask softly, stroking Leia’s dark curls as she nods, her lower lip trembling. Luke burrows into your side, his tiny hands gripping your nightclothes tightly. You exchange a glance with Anakin, who’s now awake and sitting up, concern etched across his face.

“Come here,” he says, his voice warm and soothing as he pats the space beside him on the large bed. “There’s plenty of room.”

Leia hesitates, her little brows furrowed, but Luke is already climbing up with your help, wriggling under the blankets. You scoop Leia into your arms, kissing her temple as you carry her to the bed. She sighs, her small frame relaxing against you.

The four of you settle in—a tangle of limbs and blankets, the children nestled between you and Anakin. Luke curls against his father, his small hands gripping Anakin’s tunic as though it’s the only anchor in his stormy dreams. Leia clings to you, her fingers twining with yours as you stroke her hair, whispering reassurances.

“They’re safe,” Anakin murmurs, his voice barely audible as he watches them with that soft, vulnerable look he reserves only for his family. “We won’t let anything harm them.”

Your eyes meet his, and for a moment, the galaxy shrinks to just this—your children’s quiet breathing, Anakin’s steady presence, and the love that binds you all together.

Leia stirs, her voice a sleepy murmur. “Daddy, can you tell us a story?”

You glance at Anakin, who raises a brow, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “I think your mother tells better stories than I do,” he says, his tone playful.

Rolling your eyes, you lean closer, your voice soft and soothing as you weave a tale. Anakin chimes in now and then, embellishing with dramatic flourishes that make the children giggle despite their exhaustion.

By the time your story ends, Luke and Leia are fast asleep, their nightmares forgotten. Anakin reaches out, his fingers brushing yours as he whispers, “You’re amazing, you know that?”

You smile, your heart full as you glance at your sleeping children. “It’s not just me,” you whisper back, your gaze meeting his. “It’s us.”

He leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, his warmth chasing away any lingering shadows. For tonight, the galaxy can wait. Here, in this moment, you have everything you need.

Love Grows

Laurie Laurence x Reader

You’re sitting cross-legged on the patchy grass outside the Marches’ house, a canvas propped up on your knees and a brush clutched in your fingers. The late afternoon sun catches the fiery strands of your untamed red hair, making them glow like embers. You’re trying to capture the scene in front of you—a mix of sun-dappled trees and the charming, worn shutters of the house but your mind keeps wandering.

And then, of course, he appears. Laurie Laurence. Teddy, as Jo calls him, but you prefer Laurie. There’s something about the way the name rolls off your tongue that feels like music.

“Painting again?” His voice is warm, teasing. You don’t look up immediately. Instead, you dip your brush into a streak of crimson and drag it across the canvas.

“Observant as ever,” you reply dryly, though you’re secretly glad he came. He always comes. There’s something magnetic about Laurie—the way his dark hair falls into his eyes, the way his laughter feels like a promise of mischief. You know he doesn’t belong to you, not really. He belongs to Jo, or maybe to the whole March family. But when he’s here, leaning lazily against the fence like he has all the time in the world for you, it’s easy to imagine otherwise.

“What are you working on today?” he asks, stepping closer. You can feel his shadow fall across your canvas.

You shrug, deliberately nonchalant.

Laurie chuckles, a low, rich sound that makes your heart skip. “You’re full of mysteries, you know. People talk about you, you know that? They say your hair’s wild, your clothes don’t match, and that you’re always mumbling about colors no one else can see. They think you’re crazy.” He says it lightly, but there’s something in his tone—a challenge, maybe.

You finally glance up, meeting his eyes. “And what do you think?” you ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it.

“I think,” Laurie says slowly, “that the world would be a much duller place without you.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavier than you expected. You feel heat rise to your cheeks, but before you can respond, Laurie drops to the ground beside you, long legs sprawled carelessly. He plucks a blade of grass and twirls it between his fingers. “Teach me,” he says suddenly.

You blink. “Teach you what?”

“To see the world the way you do.” He gestures vaguely at your painting. “To make it look so alive, so...wild. Like you.”

There’s a tenderness in his voice you’re not used to, and it disarms you. You hand him the brush before you can second-guess yourself. “Here. You try.”

Laurie takes the brush with a grin, but as he awkwardly drags it across the canvas, you can’t help but laugh. “You’re hopeless,” you tease.

“Hopelessly charmed, maybe,” he retorts, and the way he looks at you then, eyes soft and searching, makes your breath catch. You wonder if he knows what he’s doing to you, if he feels the same pull that you do.

For a moment, the world seems to shrink to just the two of you, the colors on your canvas forgotten. Laurie leans closer, so close you can see the tiny flecks of gold in his eyes. “You know,” he murmurs, “you’re kind of a mystery to me, too.”

And then, just as quickly as the moment came, it’s gone. Laurie leans back, grinning like the scoundrel he is, and hands you the brush. “You’re a better teacher than I am a student,” he says.

But his words linger, and as the sun sets and the colors deepen, you find yourself wondering if maybe, just maybe, you’re not such a mystery to him after all.

𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭?

Peter Parker x Reader

You lean against the rooftop, the city lights shimmering below like a thousand stars caught in the web of concrete. The wind ruffles your hair, but you're not bothered by it. Not when you're so focused on the one person who’s been messing with your mind lately—Spider-Man.

He's perched on the edge of the building, eyes scanning the streets below, looking for trouble. But the moment you step into his line of sight, everything shifts. He straightens up, his posture alert, but there's a flicker in his eyes, a challenge, maybe even a glint of something else. He knows who you are, and you know him. You've crossed paths more times than you'd care to admit—fighting, teasing, bickering.

And yet, there's always that tension. You can feel it in the air, like the charged buzz before a thunderstorm.

“So, what are we doing tonight, Webhead?” you call out, deliberately leaning closer as you speak, making sure he notices the sway of your voice. You see the way his jaw tightens, how his body stiffens, and it's almost enough to make you smirk. Almost.

“You know,” he says, voice low and steady, but you can catch the edge of something more, “I’m getting kind of tired of you showing up just to cause chaos.” He flips himself into a crouch, ready for anything.

“Cause chaos?” You raise an eyebrow, your lips curling into a playful smile. “I’m just here to have a little fun. You should try it sometime.” Your eyes meet his, and there's an almost teasing energy in your stare, the same electric current that always seems to pass between you two.

His eyes narrow. “Are you flirting with me or starting a fight?”

You let out a soft laugh, a laugh that dances between confidence and something far more dangerous. “Why not both?” You take a step closer, watching the way his breath catches. You know he’s trying to keep his cool, but the way his gaze flickers down to your lips gives him away. You’ve seen that look before. He’s not entirely immune.

There’s a beat of silence between you, the kind that teases at something deeper. Something almost… dangerous. You both know you're enemies. You've fought on opposite sides countless times. But there’s something about this game you play. It's like a constant tug-of-war between attraction and animosity.

Spider-Man lunges toward you with a speed you barely manage to sidestep. The playful tension slips into something more intense, more urgent. He spins around, keeping his distance, but you can feel his presence pressing in on you.

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t want that,” you tease, taking a slow step forward, daring him to make the next move.

His lips twitch, like he’s about to say something—maybe even flirt back—but then he stops himself. It’s almost as if he’s wrestling with his own reaction, weighing the consequences of letting this thing between you two slip into something more. Something… personal.

But then, in a flash of motion, he’s gone. No fight. No words. Just the whisper of his webbing as it disappears into the night.

You stand there for a moment, watching the empty space where he used to be. A soft laugh escapes your lips.

This isn’t over. You both know it.

And deep down, you both know it never will be.

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...

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.