Aubrey vibes

[aubreyvibes]

Title: The Call He Almost Ignored

Character: dean Winchester

Dean Winchester had ignored seventeen phone calls that day.

Most of them were from unknown numbers, two were from Sam, and one was from someone he definitely owed money to. At this point, ignoring calls was basically a life skill.

So when his phone started vibrating again while he was driving down an empty road at midnight, he almost ignored that one too.

Almost.

“Yeah?” he answered, one hand still on the steering wheel.

There was silence for a second.

Then your voice. “You actually picked up.”

Dean frowned slightly. “Should I not have?”

“You usually don’t.”

“That depends who’s calling.”

A quiet laugh came through the phone, but it sounded tired. Too tired.

Dean noticed immediately.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“Why?”

“Because you sound weird.”

“I always sound weird.”

“Not like this.”

Silence again.

Dean hated silence on phone calls. In his experience, silence usually meant bad news, terrible decisions, or both.

Finally, you sighed. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, that’s not convincing at all.”

He heard movement on the other end, then the sound of wind.

“You outside?” he asked.

“Maybe.”

Dean’s grip tightened slightly on the wheel. “It’s midnight.”

“Wow. Good job telling time, Winchester.”

Normally, he would’ve laughed at that. Instead, he reached for the radio and turned the music down completely.

“Send me your location.”

“What? No.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“And you’re avoiding the question.”

Another pause.

Then your voice came quieter this time. “I didn’t call so you could come rescue me.”

Dean exhaled slowly. “Good. Because I’m already on my way.”

“You don’t even know where I am.”

“You called me.” He shrugged slightly, even though you couldn’t see it. “Means it matters.”

For the first time since answering, you didn’t respond immediately.

And somehow, that worried him more.

Dean Winchester spent most of his life pretending nothing got to him. Jokes, sarcasm, dumb comments—he could hide behind all of it easily. But there were moments when the act slipped, usually around people he actually cared about.

This was one of those moments.

“You really don’t have to do this,” you said quietly.

“Yeah,” Dean replied, eyes fixed on the dark road ahead. “I know.”

But he kept driving anyway.

[aubreyvibes]

Title: The Ones Who Don’t Speak First

Character: Spencer Reid

Spencer Reid wasn’t good with people.

He knew it, everyone around him knew it, and honestly, he never tried to hide it. He understood patterns, behavior, statistics, the way the human mind worked under pressure—but real conversations, small talk, unspoken expectations? That part never came easily.

That’s why he usually stayed quiet when new people joined the team.

Except this time, he didn’t.

You had joined the Behavioral Analysis Unit recently, officially transferred in after working field cases in another department. People had been polite, professional, slightly distant. That was normal.

But Reid had noticed something different about you almost immediately.

It wasn’t anything obvious. Not confidence, not arrogance, not even skill—though you clearly had that. It was the way you listened. Not just hearing people, but actually processing them. Like you were always a few seconds behind the conversation because you were thinking about what was really being said.

Reid understood that.

He just didn’t expect to recognize it in someone else.

The first real conversation happened by accident.

You were standing in the bullpen late one evening, flipping through a case file while everyone else had already left. Reid had stayed behind too, sitting at his desk with a stack of reports he wasn’t actually reading.

“You’re still here,” you said without looking up.

He blinked, slightly startled. “Oh—yes. I mean, I often stay late. It helps me… focus.”

“That sounds like an excuse to avoid going home.”

He hesitated. “It’s partially accurate.”

That made you look up at him for the first time properly.

Reid didn’t usually hold eye contact for long, but this time he did.

“You do that a lot?” you asked.

“Do what?”

“Over-explain.”

He paused, then gave a small, uncertain shrug. “It’s usually better than saying the wrong thing.”

You nodded slowly, like that made sense to you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The office felt quieter than usual, even though it wasn’t.

“You’re good at profiling,” Reid added suddenly, almost like he couldn’t stop himself from saying it.

You raised an eyebrow. “That was fast.”

“I read your transfer file.”

“Of course you did.”

There was no judgment in your voice. Just observation. That was new for him. Most people either found him intimidating or strange. You didn’t seem to do either.

Instead, you just sat down on the edge of the desk across from him.

“Let me guess,” you said. “You’re one of those people who thinks too much and says too little.”

Reid looked slightly caught off guard. “That’s… surprisingly accurate.”

“Not surprising,” you replied. “You just said it without saying it.”

That almost made him smile.

After that night, things didn’t change dramatically. There was no sudden friendship, no instant trust, no cinematic shift. It was slower than that.

But Reid started noticing you more often.

The way you always read between lines in meetings. The way you never interrupted him when he spoke quickly, like you were actually keeping up instead of pretending. The way you didn’t treat his pauses like something uncomfortable that needed to be filled.

And you noticed him too.

Not the genius part. Not the reputation. Not the statistics people whispered about when they thought he couldn’t hear.

You noticed the silence he kept on purpose.

One evening after a case briefing, the others left early. The bullpen emptied again, just like before. Reid stayed seated, staring at a file he wasn’t reading.

You didn’t leave either.

“You always do that,” you said after a while.

He looked up. “Do what?”

“Stay behind when everyone else leaves.”

Reid hesitated. “It’s quieter.”

“That’s not the real reason.”

He didn’t respond right away. That alone told you you were right.

Finally, he spoke. “It’s easier to think when there’s less… noise.”

You nodded, like you understood more than he expected you to.

Then you surprised him by pulling up a chair next to his desk.

“Then think out loud,” you said simply.

Reid froze slightly. “I’m not sure that would be… coherent.”

“Try.”

There was a long pause.

Then, slowly, he started talking. Not about the case. Not about work. Just fragments of thoughts, half-formed ideas, things he usually kept locked away because they didn’t fit into conversation.

And you listened.

Without interrupting. Without rushing him. Without making him feel like he needed to be less than what he was.

For the first time, Reid didn’t feel like he had to translate himself.

He just spoke.

And when he finally stopped, unsure of how long it had been, you didn’t look surprised.

“You think too much,” you said quietly.

He gave a small, uncertain nod. “I know.”

A pause.

Then you added, “But you don’t say it enough.”

That stuck with him longer than anything else.

Because Spencer Reid had spent his whole life believing that silence was safer than misunderstanding.

But maybe, just maybe—

There was someone who actually understood the silence too.

[aubreyvibes]

Title: He Noticed First

Character: Peter Parker

Peter Parker noticed things before anyone else did. It wasn’t just because of his powers—it was just who he was. Small details, quiet changes, the way someone’s mood shifted without them saying a word. He saw it all, even when he pretended not to.

That’s how he noticed you.

At first, it was nothing. You were just another person in the room, another face in the middle of everything going on. But then he started picking up on little things. The way you stayed quiet when everyone else laughed. The way you looked like you wanted to say something, but didn’t.

It bothered him more than it should have.

“Hey,” Peter said one day, suddenly standing next to you. “You’re, uh… really quiet.”

You glanced at him. “That’s a problem?”

“No—no, I just—” he stumbled over his words, already regretting how that sounded. “I mean, not a problem. Just… noticeable.”

You almost smiled at that.

“Most people don’t notice,” you said.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged awkwardly, “I’m not most people.”

There was a short silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Peter shifted slightly, trying to act normal, even though he clearly wasn’t.

“You don’t have to stay quiet, you know,” he added. “Like… if you want to say something.”

“And if I don’t?”

He nodded quickly. “That’s fine too. I just thought—” he stopped himself, then laughed nervously. “Okay, I didn’t really think this through.”

This time, you did smile.

And that was enough to make him relax a little.

Peter Parker wasn’t smooth. He wasn’t confident. Half the time, he didn’t even know what he was saying.

But he meant it.

And somehow, that mattered more.

Because out of everyone—

He was the one who noticed first.

[aubreyvibes]

Title: The Night He Didn’t Walk Away

Character: Gojo Satoru

Gojo Satoru was known for leaving. He never stayed longer than necessary, never got attached, and never looked back once a mission was over. That was just how he was—the strongest, the untouchable, the one who didn’t need anyone. So when the mission ended that night and the others disappeared one by one, no one questioned it. No one except you.

You were still standing near the broken building, your arm slightly shaking from the aftermath of the fight. It wasn’t a serious injury, but it was enough to slow you down. You expected Gojo to be gone already, to vanish like he always did without a word. But when you turned around, he was still there, leaning casually against the wall as if he had all the time in the world.

“You’re still here?” you asked, confused.

He tilted his head slightly, his blindfold hiding his eyes but not the faint smirk on his lips. “That’s funny. I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“You usually leave,” you said, watching him carefully. “You don’t wait around.”

He shrugged, pushing himself off the wall and taking a few slow steps closer. “Maybe I felt like doing something different today.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

“People change.”

You almost laughed at that, but something in his tone stopped you. It wasn’t his usual teasing voice. It was quieter, more real, like he wasn’t trying to impress anyone for once.

“Your arm,” he said suddenly. “It’s worse than you’re pretending.”

“It’s fine,” you replied quickly.

“It’s not.”

Before you could argue, he reached out and gently took your wrist. The movement was so unexpected that you froze. Gojo wasn’t someone who did things like this—he didn’t check on people, didn’t stay close, didn’t make things personal. And yet here he was, holding your wrist carefully, like it actually mattered.

“You should be more careful,” he muttered.

“You’re one to talk.”

A small smile returned to his face, but it wasn’t as careless as before. “Yeah, well… I’m not the one who almost got crushed.”

You pulled your hand back slowly, the moment lingering longer than it should have. “So what now? You going to stand here all night?”

He looked at you for a second, then glanced at the ruined street around you. “I could.”

“That would be a first.”

“Maybe I like firsts.”

You shook your head, turning away, but you couldn’t ignore the strange feeling settling in your chest. Gojo Satoru didn’t stay. He didn’t wait. He didn’t care.

And yet, that night, he didn’t walk away.

And somehow, that meant more than anything he could have said.

[aubreyvibes]

Title: Surviving Winter — Character: Jon Snow

You had never imagined that crossing the Wall would feel this cold, the wind biting through every layer of clothing you had, chilling you to the bone, and that you would end up relying on someone like Jon Snow to keep you alive. He was already ahead, moving steadily through the snow, cloak wrapped tightly around his shoulders, eyes scanning the horizon with that serious intensity that made it impossible not to trust him. You struggled to keep up, boots sinking into the deep drifts, hands numb despite gloves, and every step felt heavier than the last. Jon glanced back briefly, expression unreadable, and said quietly, “Stay close. Don’t wander off.” You nodded, heart pounding from the cold and the fear of the unknown. Hours passed as you both trudged through the harsh wilderness, silence stretching between you except for the occasional warning call when a crack in the ice or distant howl reminded you that this place was dangerous. At one point, you slipped on an icy patch, nearly falling, and Jon was there instantly, hand gripping yours, steadying you, eyes meeting yours for the briefest moment. “Careful,” he said simply, and somehow that single word made your chest tighten with relief. You realized that surviving here wasn’t about strength or skill alone—it was about the person beside you, the one who understood the dangers and kept moving forward anyway. As night fell, the wind grew fiercer, and snowflakes whipped across your face, Jon led you to a small cave hidden in the cliffs. He started a fire quickly, his movements precise, never wasting time, and gestured for you to sit. The warmth was minimal, but it was enough. You sat, exhausted, watching him quietly as he tended the fire, and for the first time since you had arrived, you allowed yourself to relax, if only slightly. He glanced at you again, that serious look softening for a heartbeat. “We’ll get through this,” he said. You nodded, words failing you, but knowing instinctively that with Jon Snow beside you, facing the cold and the unknown wasn’t as terrifying as it could have been. And in the flickering light of the fire, you understood that survival wasn’t just about enduring the elements—it was about trusting the person standing next to you, watching the shadows, and never letting you fall.

[aubreyvibes]

Loki Laufeyson — You Were Never Meant to Kneel

You never planned on meeting Loki in a throne room.

You planned on surviving.

The palace was too quiet, the kind of quiet that meant everyone else was already dead or running. Your boots echoed against black stone as you moved forward, every step feeling louder than the last. You didn’t belong here—you knew that—but fate had a habit of dragging you into places you never asked for.

And then you saw him.

Loki sat on the throne like it was an extension of his spine, green and gold armor catching the low light. One leg rested casually over the other, fingers draped along the armrest as if this wasn’t the center of a conquered realm. As if power didn’t weigh anything at all.

His eyes found you immediately.

“Well,” he drawled, lips curling into something between a smile and a threat, “this is unexpected.”

You didn’t bow.

That was your first mistake—or maybe your bravest decision.

“I’m not here for you,” you said, forcing your voice steady. “I just need safe passage.”

Loki tilted his head, studying you like a puzzle missing a piece. “No one comes here by accident,” he replied. “Least of all someone who refuses to kneel.”

You shrugged, heart hammering. “Bad knees.”

For a moment, something unreadable crossed his face. Then he laughed—soft, sharp, dangerous.

He descended the steps slowly, circling you like a predator who hadn’t decided whether you were prey or entertainment. You could feel the power rolling off him, ancient and volatile, pressing against your skin.

“You’re afraid,” he said quietly.

“Yes,” you answered. “But I’m still standing.”

That made him stop.

Up close, Loki was less polished than the stories suggested. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, tension coiled tight beneath his composed posture. A god playing king, carrying too many expectations and too much fury.

“You should run,” he said. “Before I decide you’re useful.”

You met his gaze. “You already have.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and electric.

Instead of striking you down, Loki turned away. “You’ll stay,” he said, as if it were inevitable. “At least for now.”

And just like that, your life shifted.

Days passed—maybe weeks. Time blurred in a palace where the sun never seemed to move. You learned when to speak and when to stay quiet, when Loki wanted an audience and when he wanted to be alone but refused to admit it.

You saw the cracks no one else dared acknowledge.

The way his hands clenched when courtiers whispered behind his back. The way his voice sharpened when someone mentioned Thor. The way he looked almost… relieved when you argued with him instead of fearing him.

“You don’t treat me like a god,” he said once, irritation threaded with something else.

“You don’t act like one,” you replied.

He stared at you for a long moment, then said, “Careful.”

But he never punished you.

One night, you found him standing on a balcony, staring out at a sky that wasn’t his own. The wind tugged at his hair, his armor discarded like it was too heavy to wear alone.

“They will never love me,” he said, not looking at you.

You stepped beside him. “Maybe because you keep ruling like you expect them to hate you.”

He scoffed. “And what would you suggest?”

“Stop pretending power is the only thing that keeps you standing.”

He turned then, eyes sharp. Vulnerable. Furious.

“You think I don’t know what I am?” he snapped. “A mistake. A shadow.”

You didn’t flinch.

“I think you’re tired,” you said. “And no one ever let you be anything else.”

The words landed harder than any blade.

For the first time, Loki didn’t have a clever reply.

When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. “If you stay,” he said, “you will be choosing chaos.”

You looked at him, really looked—at the god who wanted to be seen without being owned.

“I’ve lived in chaos before,” you answered. “At least this time, I’m choosing it.”

Something shifted between you then. Not trust. Not love.

Understanding.

And in a palace built on fear and lies, that was the most dangerous thing of all.

[aubreyvibes]

Title: Night Shift Confessions

Character: Peter Parker (Spider-man)

The city was alive in a way it only could be at night. Neon signs flickered on empty streets, and the hum of distant traffic mixed with the occasional siren. You had been walking home from your late shift at the diner, shoulders hunched against the chill, when you felt it—a presence, light but deliberate, landing silently on the rooftop above you.

“Y’know,” a voice said, teasing and familiar, “you shouldn’t be out here alone.”

You looked up and froze. Peter Parker, hood up and backpack slung across his shoulder, was perched on the edge of the roof like he belonged there more than the street did. “Peter?” you asked, unsure whether relief or irritation came first. “What are you—”

“Patrolling,” he interrupted with a sheepish grin, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “And okay, mostly worried about you. Don’t tell anyone.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “You always worry too much.”

He shrugged, swinging a leg over the edge and landing lightly on the sidewalk. “It’s kind of my thing. Comes with the whole superhero gig.”

You shook your head, amused and exasperated. “I’d like to see how you explain that to your boss at the Daily Bugle.”

“Don’t give me ideas,” he said, laughing. Then, quieter, “Look… I just wanted to make sure you got home safe. And… maybe talk.”

You tilted your head, sensing the weight behind the words. The night air suddenly felt heavier, charged with something neither of you had named yet. “Talk about what?”

He hesitated, fingers curling and uncurling at his sides. “I dunno. Everything? Nothing? I just… I don’t know how to do this without sounding ridiculous.”

“You mean… feelings?” you asked, heart thudding.

Peter’s cheeks flushed, and he scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah. That.”

A laugh escaped you, soft, nervous. “You mean, the guy who swings from buildings and fights crime, the guy who saves the city, wants to… tell me he likes me?”

“Exactly that guy,” he said, earnest, vulnerability cutting through the usual sarcasm. “I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time. And it’s stupid and complicated, and I’m scared, but I can’t not say it anymore.”

The world seemed to pause around you. Rain had started, light at first, then steady, soaking your hair and clothes, but neither of you cared. You stepped closer, closing the gap that had always felt impossible.

“Peter,” you whispered, “I like you too. I have, for months. I just… didn’t think you’d feel the same.”

Relief and disbelief flickered across his face, and then that smile—the one that made your chest ache—spread slowly, lighting up his entire being. “You’re kidding.”

“Not a word,” you replied, laughing.

For a moment, you just stood there, rain pouring around you, holding hands, hearts pounding in sync. Then, hesitantly, your foreheads met, and the first kiss was soft, awkward, but perfect in its own way. Peter’s hand cupped your cheek, fingers trembling slightly, and the world narrowed to just the two of you under the rain-soaked city lights.

When you finally pulled back, he laughed—a little nervous, a little elated. “So… now what?”

You smiled, brushing water from your face. “Now? We figure it out. Together.”

And as the rain continued to fall, wrapping the two of you in its quiet chaos, you realized that the city hadn’t just been alive tonight—it had been waiting for this moment all along.

[aubreyvibes]

“Shadows Between Us” – Loki (Marvel)

The palace was quiet at night. Most people found comfort in that silence, but for Loki it was different. Silence was not a balm for him—it was a reminder. A reminder of shadows that stretched long and sharp, of the crown that would never sit upon his brow, of a brother whose light seemed to burn brighter no matter how hard Loki reached for his own.

That’s where you found him. Alone in the library, a book resting unread in his hands, the candlelight throwing uneven flickers across his face. His posture was elegant as always, but there was no mistaking the slump of his shoulders, the way his gaze wasn’t truly fixed on anything at all.

"You keep odd hours," you said softly, stepping into the room.

He didn’t look at you. Not yet. "I could say the same of you."

You crossed the floor slowly, your footsteps muffled against the rugs, and stopped just a few feet away. For a moment you considered leaving him to his thoughts—because Loki was not a man who offered his vulnerability easily. But something in the curve of his jaw, in the stillness of his hands, told you that tonight he didn’t want to be alone.

"The others are asleep," you said. "I thought you might be too."

Finally, his eyes slid toward you. Green, sharp, assessing. But underneath the sharpness was exhaustion. "Sleep and I are not well acquainted," he said, voice quiet.

You eased down into the chair opposite his, watching him carefully. "Because of dreams?"

A bitter smile tugged at his mouth. "Because of reality."

The words hung heavy between you, and for a long moment he said nothing more. You could have filled the silence with empty comfort, but you knew him well enough to understand that wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t need pity. He needed truth.

"You think you’re destined to be alone," you said at last.

His gaze sharpened again, as though you’d struck a nerve. "Destined? No. Condemned, perhaps. There’s a difference." He set the book aside and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "People do not choose me. Not really. They tolerate me until they can’t, and then they leave. It is a pattern I’ve long since memorized."

You let his words sink into you, the weight of them pressing down, and then reached across the table. Slowly, deliberately, you laid your hand over his. His skin was cool, his fingers tense under your touch, but he didn’t pull away.

"Maybe you’re wrong," you said softly. "Maybe someone can choose you—and stay."

For the first time, he faltered. His lips parted as though he meant to speak, but no words came. His hand twitched beneath yours, and then, almost tentatively, his fingers curled around yours.

"You don’t know what you’re saying," he whispered, and there was a tremor in his voice that hadn’t been there before. "You don’t know what it means to stand beside me."

You leaned forward, meeting his gaze with steady resolve. "Then show me. Let me decide if I can bear it."

The silence stretched again, thick and fragile, but this time it wasn’t empty. It was alive, humming with something sharp and aching. And when his grip finally tightened around your hand, you knew it wasn’t just mischief or charm or masks anymore. For once, Loki had let someone in.

And for once, he allowed himself to believe that maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t destined to stand in the shadows forever.

[aubreyvibes]

“The Man Who Stayed” – Steve Rogers (Captain America, MCU)

They called him unshakable. The perfect soldier. A man carved out of loyalty and sacrifice. But what they never told you—what no book or film or whispered tale could capture—was how heavy that crown truly was.

Steve Rogers carried the weight of the world like it was stitched into his bones. He bore the losses, the wars, the people he couldn’t save. His smile—the one the world knew—was strong and steady. But when it was just the two of you, behind closed doors, you saw the cracks.

The way his shoulders sagged when the shield was set aside. The way his voice softened, like he was afraid the world might shatter if he spoke too loud. The way his hands, calloused from battles no one should have survived, trembled just slightly when they found yours.

One night, long after the city had fallen quiet, you found him standing by the window. The moonlight cut across his profile, painting him in silver. He didn’t turn when you came closer.

"I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing anymore," he confessed, voice barely a whisper. "Every choice feels like it costs more than it gives."

You reached for him, sliding your hand against his. His fingers curled around yours instinctively, desperate for the anchor.

"Steve," you said gently, "you don’t have to be right all the time. You just have to be human. And that’s enough."

For a moment, he was quiet. Then he turned to you, and in his eyes—those tired, brilliant eyes—you saw something flicker. Relief. Gratitude. Maybe even hope.

He wasn’t just a symbol. He wasn’t just Captain America. He was a man who had lost, who had loved, who had bled, and still—still—chose to stay.

And in the stillness of that night, as his arms wrapped around you and his forehead rested against yours, you realized something the world never could:

Steve Rogers didn’t need to save everyone. He only needed to let himself be saved too.

[aubreyvibes]

“A Mind Like Fire” – Spencer Reid (Criminal Minds)

It was strange, how the world quieted when you were alone with him.

Spencer Reid was not built for noise—not the thunder of gunfire, not the chaos of sirens, not even the laughter that rang too sharply in crowded rooms. He was a man of paper and ink, of facts and fragments stitched together in ways that most people would never understand. To the world, his brilliance was dazzling. To you, it was something softer. Something fragile.

You saw it in the way his hands hovered over files long after everyone else had gone home, his eyes tracing patterns that only he could see. You saw it in the way he fiddled with his scarf when he was nervous, in the way he chewed his lip raw when he thought no one was looking. And you saw it most of all when he let his gaze linger on you—not with boldness, but with the shy, cautious wonder of someone who had learned long ago that not everything precious was meant to be his.

One night, after another endless case had closed, he walked you back to your hotel room. The corridor was silent, save for the hum of dim lights and the soft scuff of his shoes against the carpet. He didn’t speak at first, just kept glancing at you from the corner of his eye, as though gathering the courage for words he wasn’t sure he could say.

Finally, at your door, he stopped. His voice was quiet when it came, uncertain but steady.

"Do you ever think about how… improbable things are? How two people can exist in the same place, at the same time, against all odds?"

You smiled, tilting your head. “Are you trying to tell me this is fate?”

A faint blush crept into his cheeks. He pushed his hair back, shifting his weight nervously.

"Not fate," he murmured, eyes meeting yours, soft and unguarded. "But maybe… something worth not letting go of."

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t awkward. It was charged, like the air before a storm—filled with something unspoken, something fragile and fierce all at once.

And when his hand brushed yours, tentative and trembling, you didn’t pull away. You laced your fingers with his instead, grounding him, anchoring him.

For all his knowledge, for all the brilliance that made him extraordinary, Spencer Reid had never quite believed he deserved to be loved. But in that moment—standing there with you—he let himself hope.

And hope, for a man who lived in the dark so often, was the rarest miracle of all.

[aubreyvibes]

“To Dance with Dragons” – Daemon Targaryen x Reader

The court said you were foolish for standing too close to Daemon Targaryen.

The Rogue Prince, they called him. A man whose loyalty bent like a sword in the forge, whose smile cut deeper than steel.

And yet, when his violet eyes found yours across the hall, the world itself seemed to hold its breath.

Daemon did not ask before he claimed—never had, never would. His hand found yours as though it had always belonged there, pulling you into the shadows of torchlight. His voice, low and sharp, curled around your ear.

"They look at me and see a villain," he murmured, lips brushing your skin. "But you… you look at me as if I am something worth saving. Tell me, do you not fear being burned?"

You should have. Gods, you should have. But the truth was in the way your heart raced—not with dread, but with hunger.

"If I burn," you whispered back, "then let it be in your fire."

And Daemon smiled then, not the cruel grin he wore in battle, not the smirk that unsettled lords and knights. This smile was softer, though no less dangerous. A promise. A warning.

Loving him would never mean safety. Loving him was choosing to walk the knife’s edge, knowing the fall could destroy you.

But to be loved by Daemon Targaryen?

That was to dance with a dragon—and win.

[aubreyvibes]

“Touchdown”

(Poe Dameron x Reader — reunion after a long mission)

The Resistance base never felt colder than when Poe was off-world.

You told yourself it was just in your head. The heating still worked, people still buzzed around hangars and control rooms, BB-8 still rolled around chirping. But without him, it was like your whole rhythm went silent.

He was gone longer this time. Weeks. A mission that spiraled, radio silence, and too many sleepless nights staring at the stars, praying to whoever was listening that he was still under the same sky.

And then — the call.

A landing.

His ship.

You didn’t run to the hangar — you flew. Boots barely touching the metal floors, heart slamming against your ribs like it was ready to launch into hyperspace without you.

He stepped off his X-Wing covered in dirt, cuts, and exhaustion, but that smile—that Poe Dameron smile—lit up his face the second he saw you.

You didn't wait.

You launched yourself into his arms, nearly knocking him over. His laughter rumbled in your ear as his arms tightened around you, one hand cradling the back of your head like he was afraid you'd vanish if he let go.

“I missed you,” you breathed against his shoulder, words breaking.

He kissed your temple, your cheek, anywhere his lips could reach without letting you go. “You have no idea.”

BB-8 chirped loudly in protest, spinning excitedly near your feet. Poe chuckled and leaned back just enough to look into your eyes.

“I’m home,” he said.

And you believed it — because his arms felt like home, no matter what star system you were under.

[aubreyvibes]

"The Last Laugh"

(Fred Weasley x Reader)

You'd always thought Fred had a way of turning even the darkest moments into something lighter. His jokes, his laughter, and those cheeky grins made the world seem a little less heavy, even in the midst of war. But now, standing in the middle of the Burrow with the faint smell of smoke lingering in the air, you weren't so sure anymore.

It was the aftermath of a battle, another one that had cost too much, and you could feel the weight of the day pressing down on you. Fred stood beside you, his usual grin nowhere to be found, replaced by something that looked almost tired.

“You alright?” you asked, your voice soft, though you knew he was never one to open up easily.

Fred glanced at you, his eyes still holding that playful twinkle despite the exhaustion written on his face. "I’ve seen worse," he said with a shrug, though you both knew he was lying. He'd seen too much. You both had.

But when he smiled, even just a little, you felt your heart ease. It was something he did without thinking, like a reflex, just to make the people around him feel better. But you saw through it. You knew Fred better than anyone, and you could see the cracks.

“I know,” you said quietly. “But you don’t have to pretend with me, you know?”

Fred paused, his eyes meeting yours for a moment, as if he was weighing something inside himself. Then, without a word, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. The simple gesture surprised you, and for a moment, you forgot about the weight of the world on your shoulders.

“I’ll be fine,” he muttered, pulling away but not entirely. “It’s just... a lot sometimes.”

You nodded, stepping closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. You could feel the tension in his body, the unease that he carried with him wherever he went. He was trying to hold it all together, like always, but even the strongest need someone to lean on.

"Fred," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "You don't have to carry all of this alone."

For a moment, he didn’t respond. Instead, he just held you tighter, his cheek resting against your hair. The two of you stood there for a while, the chaos of the world outside momentarily forgotten. It was just you and him, finding comfort in the stillness.

“I know,” he said after a while, his voice rough. “But it’s hard. I’ve always felt like I had to be the strong one. The one who keeps everyone laughing, keeps everyone going.”

“You don’t have to be that for me,” you replied softly. “You can just be Fred. That’s enough.”

He pulled back just slightly, his eyes meeting yours again, this time more earnest. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, you know that?”

A soft smile tugged at your lips. “Well, you don’t have to figure that out, do you?”

Fred chuckled, the sound low and genuine this time. “Guess not.”

For the first time that evening, his smile reached his eyes, and you knew — despite the chaos and the war, despite the things they had lost — you and Fred had something real, something that couldn’t be destroyed by anyone or anything.

You would make it through this, together.

[aubreyvibes]

"Behind Closed Doors"

(James Aubrey x Reader)

The building was silent, and you hated it. You preferred the noise of the world — the bustle of traffic, people talking, the usual chaos of your daily life. But tonight, the quiet was suffocating, especially with the investigation hanging over your head.

It had started as a regular case, but now? Now, it felt personal. You’d been following a trail of disappearances, and you were certain you were getting too close to something dark. The missing persons were connected, and they all had ties to someone you knew, someone you never thought would be involved in something like this.

You stopped in front of a door at the end of the hallway, the dim light from above casting long shadows on the floor. Aubrey’s voice had been echoing in your mind for the past few hours, telling you to be careful.

“Don’t get in too deep,” he’d said. “This could be bigger than you think.”

But you weren’t going to back down now. Not when you were so close. You’d come this far, and there was no turning back.

You pushed the door open, stepping into the dark room. Your eyes immediately landed on the person you hadn’t been expecting to see here: James Aubrey, leaning against a table, his posture casual but his expression serious.

“Aubrey,” you said quietly, your voice almost lost in the quiet of the room.

He didn’t move for a moment, but you could feel the tension radiating from him. The usual confidence you’d seen in him was gone, replaced by something darker.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice low but steady.

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, you walked past him, your eyes scanning the room. The file on the table caught your attention. You could feel the weight of it, the knowledge hidden inside. The truth that had been just out of reach.

“I don’t have time for warnings, Aubrey,” you finally replied. “I need answers. And I think you know where to find them.”

He pushed off from the table, moving closer. “This isn’t just about finding answers, is it? It’s about something more. What are you really looking for?”

Your heart pounded. He was right. You weren’t just trying to solve a case. You were trying to make sense of everything you’d been through, everything you thought you knew.

You paused, locking eyes with him. “The person behind this... It’s someone I’ve trusted. Someone I thought I knew.”

Aubrey’s expression shifted, his face hardening as he processed what you were saying. “Who?”

“I can’t say yet,” you muttered, your voice barely a whisper. “But I’m not wrong. I’ve seen the signs.”

Aubrey didn’t press further, but his silence spoke volumes. He didn’t need to hear the name. He knew what it meant to trust someone and find out they weren’t who you thought they were.

You reached for the file, hands trembling slightly as you opened it. The names inside — they were familiar, far too familiar. People you knew, people you thought were innocent. But the connections ran deeper than you expected.

Aubrey stepped up beside you, leaning in to glance at the file. “This doesn’t make sense,” he muttered. “Why would they be involved?”

You couldn’t answer. You were too deep in your own thoughts, your mind racing through possibilities. But one thing was clear: someone you knew had orchestrated all of this.

You slammed the file shut, a knot forming in your stomach. “I can’t go back now. I’ve come too far.”

Aubrey placed a hand on your shoulder, his grip firm but not overbearing. “I’m not going to let you go through this alone.”

You looked at him, unsure of how to respond. You’d always kept things to yourself, shutting people out when you thought you could handle it. But with Aubrey standing there, his unwavering support made something shift inside you. Maybe you weren’t as alone as you thought.

“What happens now?” you asked, voice quiet.

“Now?” Aubrey’s eyes darkened as he stepped back. “Now we find out the truth, no matter where it leads. But you’re not doing it alone, okay?”

You nodded, though the uncertainty still lingered. You didn’t know where this path would take you, but with Aubrey by your side, you weren’t as afraid of what was to come.

[aubreyvibes]

"No Rest for the Hunter"

(Dean Winchester x Reader)

You hadn’t meant to end up on a hunt with Dean Winchester. It just… happened.

You were tracking a string of disappearances through some nowhere-town in Indiana when Dean’s black Impala rolled up beside you like fate had a flair for drama.

“You look like you know what you’re doing,” he said, leaning out the window. “Or like you’re about to get yourself killed.”

“Guess I’ll find out,” you replied, not breaking stride.

That earned a short chuckle. Minutes later, you were both in a dusty diner booth, poring over maps and local news like you’d done it together for years.

The hunt wasn’t easy. Whatever creature it was had been smart, careful. You followed broken clues through dark woods, abandoned houses, and late-night library visits. Dean fought with grit — sharp eyes, sharper instincts. But underneath the bravado, you saw it: the weariness. The way he rubbed his hands after loading a gun. The silence that crept in whenever the talk stopped.

One night, back at the motel, he tossed you a beer and said, “You ever get tired of it?”

You looked at him. “Tired of saving people?”

He paused. “Tired of losing them.”

The silence hung like fog. You thought about everyone you’d lost — names you didn’t say anymore. Faces you could barely remember.

“Yeah,” you finally said. “But that doesn’t mean we stop.”

Dean stared at the wall for a second before nodding slowly. “Guess not.”

The next morning, you cornered the thing — a skinwalker — and put it down with a single shot. Clean, fast. Dean didn’t say much after. Just gave you a look — something between respect and understanding.

When it was time to part ways, he leaned against the Impala and handed you a small charm.

“For protection,” he said simply.

You stared at it. “You don’t even believe in this stuff.”

Dean smirked. “Yeah, well. I believe in you a little more than I do in charms.”

Then he got in the car, started the engine, and was gone.

[aubreyvibes]

"The Trickster’s Gamble"

(Loki x Reader)

The castle was quiet, too quiet. The low hum of Asgard's eternal machinery reverberated through the halls, but something was amiss. You could feel it in the air, thick with a sense of foreboding. And there, in the distance, was Loki — standing near the throne room, staring out into the vastness of Asgard.

You weren’t sure if it was a trick or if he was genuinely contemplating something serious, but there was no doubt in your mind: Loki was always scheming. Even now, in the middle of a supposed peace time, you knew his mind was working a mile a minute.

You approached cautiously, not wanting to alert him to your presence too soon. But he seemed to sense you, turning just as you stepped into the hallway. His eyes gleamed with that familiar mischief, and his lips curled upward into a half-smirk.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the ever-curious [Y/N],” he said, his voice smooth like velvet.

“What’s going on, Loki?” you asked, crossing your arms, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze. “Something feels off.”

Loki studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, in a move that was as fast as it was calculated, he appeared before you, his steps so light they seemed almost unreal. “You’re always so perceptive,” he said, his words wrapped in something darker now. “You’re right. There’s something afoot. And I plan to fix it.”

You raised an eyebrow, not entirely trusting his words. “Fix it? Since when do you fix things?”

He chuckled darkly, a sound that sent a chill down your spine. “Since it suits my needs. You see, not everything in Asgard is what it seems. Someone has been playing a dangerous game, and they’ve underestimated my ability to play it better.”

The words hung in the air for a moment before you finally spoke. “You’re up to something. And I’m not sure I want to be a part of it.”

Loki’s expression softened, though only for a split second. It was fleeting, but it was there — the faintest glimpse of the brother you had come to understand beneath the layers of deceit. “Trust me, [Y/N]. This isn’t about you. This is about keeping Asgard safe. And sometimes, that means doing things that others would never dare.”

Before you could respond, a sharp noise broke the tension between you. Footsteps echoed in the distance, drawing both your attention. Loki’s face shifted instantly, his features sharp and calculating again. “They’ve found us.”

Without another word, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you down a side corridor, moving with uncanny speed. You didn’t ask questions. Not when Loki was involved. His plans had always been unpredictable, but he had a certain brilliance in the way he handled danger.

The enemy was closing in fast. You could hear the clash of armor and weapons ahead. Loki’s magic sparked to life as he opened a portal with a swift motion, and you were through it before you could even process what was happening.

You landed hard on the other side, tumbling into a stone floor that scraped at your skin. Quickly recovering, you stood and faced Loki, who was already surveying the new surroundings.

“We’re in the Shadow Realm,” you noted, your voice low.

Loki glanced at you, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “And we’re not alone.”

Suddenly, a group of shadowy figures emerged from the darkness, their eyes glowing with malice. It wasn’t just the enemy you had to worry about — it was the treacherous magic that flowed through this place, making every step uncertain.

Loki drew his dagger, the blade shimmering with dark energy. “Stay close. And keep up.”

The battle erupted in an instant. You fought alongside Loki, your movements sharp and precise as you took on the shadowy assailants. Loki was everywhere at once, his magic and wit slicing through enemies with brutal efficiency. It was like watching a master at work — every move calculated, every strike devastating.

But despite his power, you could see the strain in his eyes, the effort it took to keep control in such a place. This was his domain — the realm of shadows where even he had to tread carefully.

As the last of the shadows fell, you breathed a sigh of relief, your body bruised but not broken. Loki stood near the edge of the battlefield, his gaze intense, as though he were weighing something in his mind.

“You’re good in a fight,” he said, his voice lacking the usual sarcasm. “For someone who isn’t usually involved in these sorts of things.”

You shot him a wry smile. “I’m not just someone who stays out of trouble, Loki. I know how to handle myself.”

He chuckled, but it was a quieter sound this time. “I know. And that’s why I brought you here.”

Before you could respond, the portal back to Asgard opened, and Loki gestured for you to follow him. “Time to go,” he said. “The game is far from over.”

As you stepped through the portal, back into the familiar halls of Asgard, you realized one thing: there was no escaping Loki’s plans, no matter how much you tried to distance yourself. You were a part of it now, whether you liked it or not. And somehow, in this twisted web of deception and danger, you weren’t sure if you’d ever truly want out.

[aubreyvibes]

"The Mind of a Detective"

(Sherlock Holmes x Reader)

The room was filled with an eerie stillness, only interrupted by the occasional sound of Sherlock pacing across the floor. His steps were deliberate, fast, yet without the usual urgency he displayed during a case. He was lost in thought again — his mind working at a pace that most couldn't even begin to comprehend. It wasn’t unusual, but tonight, the atmosphere felt heavier. Something was off.

You sat across from him, quietly observing. His dark curls fell messily into his eyes, and his hands, always restless, rubbed against his chin in thought. You were used to his eccentricities, his unpredictability. But this case had started to feel different. The pieces were there, scattered in plain sight, but they didn’t seem to fit together the way they should.

Sherlock's eyes flicked toward you, but you saw no sign of recognition. It was as if you were just another piece of the puzzle in his mind — another variable to be considered.

"You’re quiet tonight," you said, breaking the silence. "Don’t tell me you're stuck."

His gaze sharpened, and his lips curled slightly. “Stuck? Please. I never get stuck." He leaned closer, his piercing eyes never leaving yours. “I’m merely waiting for the final piece to fall into place. It’s just... eluding me.”

You leaned back, feeling a quiet frustration building. "You’ve been saying that for hours. Do you ever stop thinking?"

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned back to the crime board pinned up against the wall, filled with sketches and photos. It was a complicated case. A murder in the heart of London, no clear suspects, and far too many pieces that didn’t make sense.

The killer had been careful. Too careful. All the clues pointed in different directions, each one a dead end. It was frustrating, and it was starting to feel like the criminal was deliberately keeping you both in the dark.

“Sherlock,” you spoke again, this time more forcefully. “This doesn’t feel right. We’ve been chasing shadows. I don’t like this.”

For the first time in hours, Sherlock’s eyes flickered with something other than pure concentration. A hint of curiosity, maybe even annoyance. “What do you mean, ‘don’t like it’?”

“I mean,” you began slowly, choosing your words carefully, “we’re being led in circles. There’s a pattern here, but it’s too perfect. Too orchestrated. Like someone is keeping us on a leash and pulling us wherever they want.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything for a moment, but you could tell he was processing your words, weighing them against his own theories. The silence between you both stretched, thickening as the tension in the room grew.

Finally, he turned to face you fully, his intense gaze locking onto yours. “And do you think I’m incapable of solving this? Do you think I’m missing something?” His voice wasn’t harsh, but there was an undercurrent of something sharper there — frustration, maybe. Or something deeper.

You met his gaze, not flinching. “No. I think you’re too close to it. I think you’re so consumed by the game, you’re overlooking the obvious.”

Sherlock studied you for a long moment, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was about to make some scathing remark. Instead, he sighed and walked over to the board, running his fingers over the photos, his expression unreadable. “You’re wrong,” he muttered. “The answer is in the details. It always is.”

You didn’t argue. Not right away. You’d seen Sherlock solve crimes before — sometimes in ways that made your head spin. His mind was like a machine, turning pieces of evidence over and over until everything clicked into place. But tonight? Tonight, there was a coldness to him, a frustration that he couldn’t shake off. He wasn’t just solving the case; he was obsessed with it. The adrenaline was starting to cloud his judgment.

“I’m going to bed,” you said, standing up. “You should too. You’re not going to figure it out while you’re pacing like this.”

Sherlock shot you a quick glance, clearly not thrilled by the idea of stopping. “Sleep is for the weak, Y/N. If you’d like to waste your time with it, go ahead.”

“Fine. I’ll be the weak one, then.” You turned to leave, but something in his posture stopped you. His shoulders were tense, his hands clenched at his sides, but there was something more there — a flicker of frustration.

You hesitated. “Sherlock...”

“Don’t worry about me,” he interrupted, but the edge to his voice was softer now. Almost resigned. “I don’t need rest. I need a breakthrough.”

You didn’t believe him. Not really. You had seen Sherlock in his worst moments, when exhaustion and obsession took over. But you didn’t press him. Instead, you left him to his thoughts, slipping out of the room with a quiet sigh.

It wasn’t until hours later that you heard it — a loud crash from the next room. You rushed to the door, throwing it open to find Sherlock standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by torn papers and a broken mug. His breathing was ragged, and his eyes looked like they were on the verge of snapping.

“What happened?” you asked, approaching him carefully.

For a moment, Sherlock didn’t respond. He simply stared at the wreckage in front of him. Then, with a sharp breath, he stepped forward and picked up a piece of paper, his hands trembling just slightly.

“It’s all there,” he said, his voice hoarse, as though he had just pulled himself from a fog. “The answer was there all along.”

You watched as he pieced the clues together in his mind, his eyes lighting up with that familiar intensity. There was no more frustration now, just pure focus. Sherlock’s mind had clicked back into place, and the puzzle was finally solved.

It wasn’t magic. It was Sherlock. His mind worked at a level that few could follow. But tonight, for a moment, it had been you who had brought him back from the edge.

Sherlock glanced at you, his eyes sharp but softer than before. “You were right,” he said, almost grudgingly. “I was too close. I should have listened.”

You gave him a small smile, relieved to see him back to his usual self. “You’re welcome. Now, get some sleep, Sherlock. You’ve earned it.”

He didn’t say anything else, but you knew he would — in his own way, when the case was wrapped up and the danger had passed. Until then, though, there was only silence.

And for once, you both didn’t mind it.