antheyaaa

[antheyaaa]

Can you do tom x reader where they are costars and grow a romance and everyone sees it except for them and it’s a friends to lovers thing

"Winter and Waves"

Tom Taylor x reader

When the casting for the second season of House of the Dragon was announced, it was all anyone could talk about. Tom Taylor, cast as Cregan Stark—the quiet, noble Lord of Winterfell—was the name trending for days. And when they revealed you as a Velaryon princess, daughter of Driftmark and niece to royalty, fans immediately began theorizing. Stark and Velaryon. Ice and sea. Distant kingdoms, destined to meet.

On set, Tom was everything his character was meant to be: calm, focused, grounded. He took his role seriously, often retreating to quiet corners with his script, headphones in, studying. You, on the other hand, were warm where he was cool, stormy when he was still. You’d glide onto set in costume like a wave crashing into a glacier, all silver curls, sharp wit, and a laugh that echoed through the studio.

From the beginning, there was something different. The first read-through, the entire cast noticed how easily your lines flowed into his. Your characters’ tension, written into the script as political rivalry, felt charged with something more.

Tom noticed it too—he just didn’t realize why it felt so natural.

“You two have an energy,” Emma D’Arcy said one afternoon, eyeing you both over their coffee cup.

Tom blinked. “Do we?”

Harry Collett rolled his eyes. “Oh come on. You look at her like she’s the last sunrise you’ll ever see in Winterfell.”

Tom had just shrugged, chuckling. “She’s great. We’re just friends.”

But it wasn’t just that. He noticed things. The way your eyes lit up when you talked about the sea. The way you tapped your fingers to a rhythm no one else could hear. The way you always brought him tea before rehearsals, and the way you remembered his favorite biscuits after just one offhand comment.

He noticed. He just didn’t let himself question why.

Because it was easier to call it friendship.

It was easier to pretend he wasn’t completely captivated.

Then came the scene.

Episode seven. A confrontation between your characters. A quiet moment in the godswood, snow falling softly. You were supposed to argue, your characters toeing the line between distrust and desire. But when the camera rolled, something shifted.

He looked at you—really looked at you—and for a moment, forgot where the script ended and real life began.

When the director called, “Cut!” there was a beat of silence. No one moved.

Tom’s heart was racing.

You smiled, softly. “What?”

He blinked. “Nothing. Just... that was intense.”

You tilted your head. “Felt real, didn’t it?”

He laughed, awkward. “Yeah.”

Afterwards, the cast wouldn’t stop teasing. Harry sent him a meme of a cartoon dragon holding up a sign that said “Just admit you’re in love already.” Emma kept raising their eyebrows every time you walked into the room together.

Tom still brushed it off.

Until one night, after a long shoot in the mountains, you both stayed back to watch the dailies. You were wrapped in his cloak—he hadn’t even hesitated to offer it—and he was sitting beside you, watching your scene on the monitor. And for the first time, he allowed himself to really see it. The way he looked at you in the footage. Like your character held his entire world in her hands.

He looked at you beside him.

You were leaning against his shoulder, half-asleep, smiling faintly.

And it hit him.

He was in love.

Not just with your character. Not with the story.

With you.

The girl who mocked his serious face. Who brought warmth to every cold set. Who believed in him on days when he doubted himself. You weren’t just his scene partner. You were the one person who made him feel like more than the brooding northerner everyone expected him to be.

“Y/N,” he said quietly.

You hummed, sleepy. “Hmm?”

“I think I’ve been an idiot.”

You opened one eye. “Just now realizing that?”

He laughed. “I mean... about us.”

You sat up slowly. “Tom...”

“I think I’ve been in love with you for a while. I just didn’t want to ruin what we had.”

You reached for his hand. “Then maybe we build something new. Together.”

When he kissed you, it was soft and certain, like snow melting under sunlight. No scripts. No audience. Just two hearts finally catching up to what everyone else had seen all along.

And from that day on, the winter never felt quite as cold.

I am very glad that someone likes my work about the tome. You are the first person who asked me about writing something for him. I hope you like it and remember requests and messages are always welcome

[antheyaaa]

guys anon is back!!

i LIIIIVE for metalhead reader x cal 🙏🙏 you wrote that so amazingly

can we gettttt cal who’s lowkey obsessed with readers style? and that’s what makes him start dressing the way he does?

"Paint It Black (and Silver)"

Calvin Gabriel x reader

Cal never thought much about fashion. For him, clothes were purely functional—a hoodie thrown over a t-shirt, jeans that didn't rip at the knees, and some well-worn sneakers. He liked simplicity, predictability. That is, until you walked into his life like a storm wearing combat boots.

The first time he saw you, you were leaning against the brick wall behind the school gym, music blasting from your earbuds loud enough that he could recognize the scream of guitars even from a distance. You wore a leather jacket that looked like it had been through war—patched, painted, and pinned within an inch of its life. Your fingers were adorned with chunky silver rings, and your boots? They looked like they could kick through concrete. You were intimidating and captivating all at once.

And Cal was fascinated.

He started finding excuses to sit closer to you in class. You always smelled faintly like smoke and incense, and the black eyeliner around your eyes was never quite symmetrical—something he weirdly found endearing. You doodled band logos in the margins of your notebook and hummed riffs while solving equations. You were a walking paradox: intense, yet soft when you smiled at him.

One afternoon, you caught him staring at the Iron Maiden patch on your sleeve. Instead of getting annoyed, you smirked and said, "You listen to them?"

"Uh... not really," he admitted. "But... I might. If you recommend something."

That simple exchange snowballed into shared playlists, burned CDs, and late-night texts discussing music, style, and everything in between. He started listening to your favorite bands on loop, memorizing lyrics he didn’t yet fully understand. And slowly, imperceptibly, he began to change.

The first time he wore a black band tee—one you'd given him after teasing him for owning nothing but plain clothes—you whistled low and said, "Damn, Cal. You're starting to look like trouble."

He laughed but blushed, clutching his backpack strap. "Good kind of trouble, I hope."

You nodded. "The best kind."

Weeks passed, and his style evolved. He started wearing rings, painting his nails (poorly at first, until you showed him the trick), and even tried eyeliner one night before a party. When you saw him there, standing by the drink table in a black denim jacket with a Slayer patch stitched on the back, your heart did a weird somersault.

"You did this for me?" you asked, tugging at the sleeve.

He shrugged, cheeks pink. "I guess I just like your style. Makes me feel... like I can be more than just 'safe Cal.'"

You took his hand, fingers tracing the silver ring on his thumb.

"You never needed the look, Cal. But damn, you make it work."

You kissed him that night, with the music thundering in the background, and his hand curled around your waist. He tasted like nervous energy and mint gum, and you knew right then: this boy didn’t just fall for you. He fell into your world, and he was making it his own.

Hey, I'm sorry I wasn't there and I was behind with your requests but I was sick and literally had no strength for anything. I'm still sick but I feel better now so I'll be posting everything I can now. I don't know much about this style but I hope that's what you wanted and that you'll like it💞

With love-Antheya

[antheyaaa]

I'M SO SORRY FOR FLOODING U WITH REQUESTS OMG 😓😓 but I was hoping what if we got cal comforting reader after an episode?? like the episode was so bad reader was contemplating.. yk.. I'M SORRY IF IT MAKES U UNCOMFY TAKE HOWEVER MUCH TIME U NEED

"The Night It Broke"

Calvin Gabriel x Reader

It started quietly.

Not like a storm. Not with warning signs. Just… a dull ache, somewhere deep inside. The kind of ache you couldn’t point to, couldn’t explain. And over the last few days — or maybe weeks, it all blurred — that ache had grown louder. Heavier. Like weights were being silently added to your chest every hour, and eventually, you just forgot how to breathe without hurting.

At first, you tried to ignore it.

Wake up. Smile. Pretend. Function.

Text your friends back. Go to class. Do the work. Nod. Laugh. Lie.

“I’m fine.”

Every time those words left your lips, it felt like swallowing glass.

By the time you got home that evening, the noise in your head had taken over.

You dropped your bag by your bedroom door and sat on the floor — just for a second, you told yourself. Just to breathe. But the seconds stretched, turning into minutes, then hours. You hadn’t turned the light on. You hadn’t moved. You weren’t even sure when the tears started. They weren’t loud. They didn’t even feel like crying. They just… leaked out. Quiet and constant.

There was no reason, not one you could explain. No tragedy. No dramatic story. Just a feeling — like your chest was caving in from the inside.

And what scared you most was how normal everything looked from the outside.

No one knew.

You’d gotten good at pretending.

Your phone was still in your hand. You didn’t remember picking it up. The screen had dimmed long ago, but a notification glowed softly:

CALVIN

>“Hey. Are you okay? I don’t know why, but I just… I got a weird feeling.”

“You haven’t said anything since this morning.”

“Just tell me you’re alright?”

Your thumb hovered over the screen.

What were you supposed to say?

No, I’m not okay. I haven’t been for a while. I can’t breathe and I feel like nothing matters and I don’t even know why because nothing’s wrong but everything hurts.

No one wanted to hear that. Right?

But this was Calvin.

And somehow, that made it worse. Because he would care. He would worry.

He would come.

And you didn’t want to be a burden.

Your fingers trembled as you typed two words.

>“Not really.”

Three dots popped up almost instantly. Then nothing.

Then five minutes of silence.

Then the sound of a car outside.

You didn’t have time to react before your phone buzzed again.

> “I’m outside.”

You hesitated.

Your legs felt numb from sitting too long, but something made you move. You didn’t bother to check the mirror. You didn’t even grab shoes. You just opened the front door and stepped into the night.

There he was. Hoodie. Soft curls messy from running a hand through them too many times. Worry etched deep in his face even in the soft yellow of the streetlight.

“Jesus, Y/N,” he said, stepping closer. “You didn’t answer. I got scared.”

And then you broke.

No warning. No build-up. Just a quiet sound escaping your throat as your face crumpled and your body shook. And Calvin didn’t wait — he just pulled you into his arms, wrapping you so tightly it felt like he was holding your soul together.

You didn’t have to say anything.

He knew.

He held you there on the porch, arms around you like armor, letting your weight lean fully against him. Letting you shake. Letting you fall apart.

Eventually, he whispered, “Come with me. Please. Just for tonight.”

You nodded.

---

He didn’t ask questions in the car.

He just turned the music low and drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting gently on your leg — not possessive, not demanding. Just there. Just real.

His room was warm and familiar. The kind of place where silence didn’t feel threatening.

He tossed you one of his hoodies and said, “You don’t have to talk. You don’t even have to stay awake. Just be here.”

And you were.

You curled up on his bed, facing the wall. He laid behind you, not touching you at first — just giving you space to breathe. The air between you was filled with everything you didn’t know how to say.

But eventually, your voice cracked out:

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He was quiet for a second.

Then, “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

You shook your head, frustrated tears spilling again. “I feel empty. Numb. Or too full. I can’t tell. Everything’s too much. And I hate that I can’t just be normal.”

He exhaled, soft and pained. “You’re not broken, Y/N. You’re hurting. That’s not the same.”

You stared at the wall, breathing in unevenly. “I didn’t want to tell anyone. I thought maybe it would just… pass.”

“Did it?”

You shook your head.

“I thought about texting you,” you whispered. “So many times. But I didn’t want to be—”

“A burden?” he said, softly. “Yeah. I know. But listen to me — and I need you to really hear this, okay?” His hand found yours beneath the blanket, lacing your fingers slowly. “You are not too much. You are not a weight I have to carry. You are someone I care about. Deeply. And I want to be here. When it’s light. When it’s dark. When you don’t know which one it is.”

You felt the air leave your lungs in a shaky rush.

Calvin shifted closer, pressing his forehead to the back of your neck. “You don’t have to fight this alone. Not tonight. Not ever again.”

The tears came back, but softer this time. Quiet. Cleansing.

You turned toward him slowly, burying your face into his chest. He held you again, strong and steady, like nothing could reach you here.

And in that small, sacred space between heartbeat and breath, you let yourself believe him.

You weren’t fixed. But you were seen.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the beginning of healing.

I've been gone for a while but I'm back with new things to read. My Shayla, you never ever bother me, I'll always find time for you and your ideas.Spam my inbox if you want and I will happily write everything for you@joc3lynx 💞. In my opinion it is important to show, talk and write about such things and behaviors so that people know that they are not alone and can rely on someone or identify with someone.

With love-Antheya

[antheyaaa]

REQUESTING AGAIN!!😼😼 well what if reader and their mom got into an argument and it got so bad that reader ran to cals house crying on him idk I was tweaking out a few mins ago bc of my mom💔💔

"In the Dark of 2AM"

Calvin Gabriel x reader

You ran out without shoes.

Just socks, your hoodie, and a heart beating too fast to care.

The front door slammed behind you, echoing down the street. You didn’t even register the sting of cold concrete under your feet, or the fact that you’d forgotten your phone. All you knew was that you had to get away. Fast.

You didn’t even know where you were going — not consciously, anyway. Your feet did. They carried you across familiar roads, past sleeping houses and flickering porch lights, until you reached the one place that still felt safe.

Cal’s house.

You stood there, frozen on his front step, tears mixing with the mist in the air. You didn’t knock. Couldn’t. All you could do was stare at the door like it might open on its own.

It didn’t.

But luck — or love — was on your side. A light flicked on. Moments later, the door cracked open.

He stood there, bleary-eyed in flannel pajama pants and a sleepy voice that dissolved the second he saw you.

“Y/N? What the—?”

Before he could finish the sentence, you broke.

You lunged forward, fists clutching the front of his shirt, and sobbed like your ribs were splintering from the inside out. Calvin caught you instantly, one arm around your back, the other cradling your head against his chest.

“Shh… I got you. I got you,” he whispered, not caring that you were shaking against him, soaking his shirt with tears. “You’re okay. You’re safe now.”

He brought you inside, locking the door behind him with one arm still around you. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t need to.

He gave you one of his hoodies — your favorite, the one that always smelled like him — and sat with you on the edge of his bed. His hand found yours.

After a long silence, you finally choked out the words.

“It got bad this time. I don’t even know why… she just snapped. And I snapped back. And suddenly we were screaming and I…” Your voice cracked. “I didn’t want to be in that house anymore. I couldn’t.”

Cal’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t interrupt. He just listened, his thumb stroking slow circles on your hand.

“I tried to stay calm. But she just knows how to say the exact thing that breaks me.”

“You didn’t deserve that,” he said, his voice low but certain. “No one gets to treat you like that. Not even her.”

You leaned into him again, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. “It feels like I’m always the problem. Like no matter what I do, it’s not enough.”

“Don’t.” He pulled back to look at you. “Don’t believe that for a second. You are more than enough. You are kind and fierce and real, and if she can’t see that, then she’s wrong. Not you.”

You tried to respond, but the tears came again — slower this time. Quieter. And this time, Calvin didn’t just hold you.

He kissed your forehead.

Soft. Unspoken. Deep.

The kind of kiss that wasn’t about romance or confession. Just comfort. Just understanding.

“You’re staying here tonight,” he said, no room for argument. “You’ll sleep, I’ll be right here, and tomorrow we’ll talk about what you need. Not what anyone else expects.”

And for the first time in days, maybe weeks, you felt like you could breathe.

With Cal beside you, the dark didn’t feel so scary. The pain didn’t feel permanent. And your heart… it felt just a little bit whole again.

I often argue with my dad, so I know very well how it is. There is always blame, insults towards me, punishments of various kinds.This is probably the only thing I've written that I identify with the most. I've never run away from home myself, not like the reader. I have my own version of Calvin, which is my best friend.I always write to her and call her when I argue with my dad, she knows everything about me and my entire relationship with my dad, she was there when I cried more than once.I will always be grateful to her for what she does for me. I wish everyone could find their own Calvin. We may not know each other but if someone needs to talk I can always help.

With love-Antheya

[antheyaaa]

Hey I was wondering if you write smut for cal

Hey, in one of my previous posts I wrote that I'm not writing this because I simply don't know how to do it. It's not that I feel uncomfortable or anything, because I don't, but I don't know how to write it. For now I'm getting used to writing and learning to write normal things, not 18+, but I hope that in the future I will be able to write it and then I will be happy to write something for you. Sorry for disappointing you.

With love-Antheya

[antheyaaa]

haiaiai

idk if this is a req i hope it is bc im using a chromebook since my phone broke, ANYWAYS

what if cal and andre were in like a garage band? and reader loves their music and is a big fan and specifically has a crush on cal and meets him at a meet n greet?? then you can decide what goes on from there SRRY IF IT SOUNDS LIKE BS i was listening to music in school and thought of the idea

"Strings Attached"

Calvin Gabriel x reader

You had been counting down the days.

There was something about Cal and Andre’s music that latched onto your soul. It wasn’t polished, not like the chart-topping artists out there—but that was the point. It was raw, honest, like late-night confessions whispered into the dark. It felt real.

Their garage band, Midnight Vinyl, had exploded online a few months ago, mostly thanks to a few viral TikToks and some word-of-mouth magic. Their songs were rough around the edges—distorted guitars, basement-level acoustics, and lyrics that sounded like torn-out pages from someone’s diary. From “Smoke-Stained Summer” to “Talk Me Down”, you knew every line. Every chord. And most of all—you knew you had a crush. A real, hopeless, heartsick crush on Cal.

His voice was low and a little rasped, like he’d stayed up too many nights writing lyrics instead of sleeping. His lyrics hit like a punch to the chest. And he always looked so casual and cool in the videos—hoodie slipping off one shoulder, hair a mess, eyes half-lidded with that sleepy kind of intensity that made your stomach twist.

And today… you were going to meet him.

You stood in line outside the tiny local record store they were hosting the meet & greet at, sneakers tapping anxiously against the sidewalk. You clutched the band’s limited edition cassette in your hands—a retro release Cal had joked about doing “just for the aesthetic.” Your palms were sweating.

Inside, the store was dim and smelled like incense and old vinyl. Posters of underground bands lined the walls, and somewhere in the back, you could hear Andre laughing. You saw them then—Andre, grinning as always, and Cal, sitting at a little folding table, marker in hand. Your heart nearly stopped.

“Next,” someone called. Your legs moved without permission.

When you got to the table, Cal looked up, and for a moment, everything stopped.

He blinked. Smiled—soft, kind of tired, but real.

“Hey,” he said, voice lower than you expected. “You brought the tape. Damn, respect.”

You felt your cheeks flush. “Yeah. I… kind of love your music.”

He tilted his head. “Kind of?”

You laughed nervously. “Okay. A lot. Like… maybe an embarrassing amount.”

Andre leaned over. “That’s the best kind of fan. The embarrassing ones.”

You smiled, looking back at Cal. “Your lyrics… they feel personal. Like they get it. Like you get it.”

Something shifted in his expression. Just slightly.

He took the tape from your hand and scribbled his name on it, then paused. “What’s your name?”

You told him, and he wrote it above his signature with a little star next to it.

There was a small beat of silence. And then, almost shyly, he said, “Hey, uh… we’re grabbing pizza after this. Just me and Dre and a few people. You should come.”

Your brain short-circuited. “Wait, seriously?”

He gave a little shrug, but there was a tiny, mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “You seem cool. And you actually listen. That’s rare.”

Andre elbowed him. “Just admit you think she’s cute, dude.”

“Shut up,” Cal muttered, but he was definitely blushing.

You laughed, heart fluttering so hard it felt like your ribs might crack open.

“Alright,” you said, smiling wide. “I’m in.”

Cal looked up at you like he was memorizing your face. “Cool. It’s a date, then.”

And maybe it was. Maybe it was the start of something. Something messy and loud and beautiful, like their music. Like you always imagined.

First of all I hope your phone is ok and that it will be fixed or you will get a new one😭Secondly, I love your idea and I hope that this is what you wanted and that you will like it. I have no idea what BS means so please tell me 😭😭My Pinterest doesn't seem to want to work and I still can't upload photos because of it 😞😓@joc3lynx

With love-Antheya

[antheyaaa]

hi! i really like your writing and i was wondering if you could write something (for cal) on the 4th of july? like maybe where reader has been friends with cal and andre since they were kids and idk just them hanging out on 4th of july? thank youu 😇

"Fireworks & Old Feelings"

Calvin Gabriel x reader

The 4th of July always smelled like smoke, sunscreen, and sticky soda.

Ever since you were kids, you, Cal, and Andre had made it a tradition to hang out together on Independence Day. Back then, it was sparklers and fireflies in your backyard. Now it was late-night fireworks on the roof of Andre’s garage, with stolen beers and an old Bluetooth speaker that barely held a charge.

Some things had changed—you were all older now, a little more worn-in by the world. Cal’s hair had grown longer, and he always wore that beat-up denim jacket with the patches. Andre was taller, louder, still the one who kept the group laughing. And you… well, you weren’t the awkward kid who was too scared to hold a sparkler anymore.

But one thing hadn’t changed: every time you looked at Cal, your chest tightened.

You didn’t know when it started, really. Maybe it was the summer he played you a song he’d written, eyes never quite meeting yours. Or the night he let you fall asleep on his shoulder during a movie, and didn’t move until the credits finished rolling. It had always been there—soft and quiet and a little bittersweet. A maybe. A what if.

Tonight, the three of you had set up camp on Andre’s garage roof, surrounded by mismatched lawn chairs, snacks, and half-drunk bottles of soda. The fireworks would start in less than an hour, and the sky was already shifting to that deep, dusky blue.

Andre was halfway through telling a story about some guy from work setting off fireworks indoors (“Don’t ever trust a dude named Kyle with pyrotechnics, I swear—”) when you felt Cal’s gaze on you.

You turned, meeting his eyes. He looked… thoughtful. Like he wanted to say something, but didn’t know how.

“You good?” you asked softly, nudging him with your knee.

He nodded, but didn’t look away. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

“Dangerous,” you teased.

He smiled faintly, then leaned back on his elbows, looking up at the sky. “Do you ever think about how long we’ve known each other?”

“All the time.”

“I mean, like… we were what, eight? When we first hung out?”

“Seven,” you corrected. “You had that awful haircut and thought Capri Sun was gourmet.”

He chuckled. “Still do.”

There was a pause. The kind that settled in comfortably between people who didn’t need to fill the silence. But then he spoke again, quieter this time.

“I’ve been thinking about something else, too.”

You tilted your head. “What?”

Cal sat up, resting his arms on his knees, suddenly serious in a way that made your heart skip.

“I think I like you,” he said, not meeting your eyes. “And I don’t know if that’s going to ruin everything, or fix something I didn’t realize was broken.”

The world seemed to still around you. Distantly, you could hear the crack of an early firework, but your mind was blank except for him—his voice, his words, his fear.

You leaned in, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

He looked up at you, eyes hopeful. Nervous.

“You’ve just been kind of slow,” you added with a smile.

And then—so simple, so easy—you reached for his hand. He took it like he’d been waiting his whole life to do it.

From behind you, Andre groaned dramatically. “Finally. Jesus. I was starting to think I’d have to push you two off this roof just to get some progress.”

You and Cal burst out laughing, and for the first time all night, everything felt like fireworks.

Even before they lit up the sky.

Hey, I've been away for a while and I'm terribly sorry for that. In my country this holiday is not celebrated so I didn't really know how to write it here but I tried my best and I hope you like it.My Pinterest is still not working and I don't have any pictures, as soon as it works I will post pictures as always. Remember, I always welcome messages and requests ✌️

With love-Antheya

[antheyaaa]

hello! could you write a cal fic where he and reader go to prom together? or maybe set in the limo scene and reader kinda defends cal (ik that technically the kids weren’t bullying him or anything, but subtly, yk?) anyways thank you in advance!!

“Prom Night & Polite Comebacks”

Calvin Gabriel x reader

Prom.

Reader never really cared for the idea of it—sweaty dance floors, bad DJ remixes, and people pretending this one night meant something. But when Cal awkwardly walked up to her locker, clutching a folded piece of notebook paper like it was a lifeline, something changed.

“Hey,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I, uh... If you don’t have a date for prom, maybe we could... go together?”

Reader blinked, then smiled slowly. “Sure. But only if you promise not to let me trip over my dress.”

He looked like he might pass out from relief.

---

The limo was a tight squeeze. Eight seniors, crammed in together, radiating excitement and perfume. Cal sat beside Reader, his posture tense, hands locked between his knees. She could feel the nerves radiating off him like static.

“Dude, what’s with the suit?” someone from across the seat asked, half-laughing. “That vintage?”

Cal opened his mouth, but no words came.

Reader leaned in, smiling sweetly. “It’s thrifted. You know, from that store you walked by because you were too scared of the mannequins.”

A few people chuckled. The guy shrugged and turned back to his phone. Cal glanced at her, gratitude in his eyes.

“You didn’t have to,” he mumbled.

“I know,” she replied. “But I wanted to.”

By the time they reached the venue, the tension in his shoulders had eased slightly. The hall was decked out in twinkling fairy lights, the walls draped in gold and navy streamers. Reader took his hand—hesitating only a second—and pulled him toward the dance floor.

“We don’t have to dance,” Cal said.

“We don’t,” she replied. “But I want to.”

They swayed awkwardly at first, both a little off-beat, a little shy. But as the night wore on, something shifted. They talked, laughed, shared inside jokes and sips of punch. Cal relaxed around her in a way Reader rarely saw from him in public.

Later, outside, when the crowd had thinned and the music became just background noise, he turned to her and said, “Tonight didn’t suck.”

Reader smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. “That’s practically a love confession from you.”

He laughed. It was soft, but real.

“I’m glad you came with me,” he added.

“I’m glad you asked.”

They sat on the curb for a while, letting the night breathe around them. And in that quiet, Reader realized prom had turned out to be a little magical after all—not because of the decorations or the DJ, but because of a shy boy in a thrifted suit who finally smiled like he meant it.

I had a little trouble writing this since I'm not watching the movie but I hope I managed to write it well and that you enjoy it🤞😞.When my Pinterest is fixed, I will put the photos at the top as usual☺️

With love-Antheya

[antheyaaa]

hey guys anon here 😏😏

ive got a BEAUTIFUL idea

we all know cal couldn’t play sitar for shit SOOOO maybe could we perhaps get a metalhead reader who plays guitar (literally me) teaching cal to play cuz errrr our boy needs some help 😛

perhaps maybe perchance maybe hopefully 🫶

“Power Chords and Awkward Crushes”

Calvin Gabriel x reader

Reader was in the garage, amp humming low and the sharp buzz of distortion echoing against the concrete walls. Her fingers flew over the strings, lost in a solo she’d been tweaking for weeks.

Then came the knock.

She opened the side door, half-expecting her brother or maybe a delivery. Instead, it was Cal.

Holding... a sitar?

“I think it’s cursed,” he said, deadpan. “Or maybe I am.”

Reader blinked. “Okay, come in before the neighbors start asking questions.”

He stepped inside, looking wildly out of place among the posters of Slayer, Iron Maiden, and a heavily stickered Stratocaster on the wall.

“So. You want to learn guitar?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Music class disaster,” he admitted. “Mr. Langley said I should ‘pick an instrument I can bond with emotionally.’ Which, apparently, is not the sitar.”

Reader snorted. “Fair. Alright, hand that antique over. You’re touching my guitar today.”

She handed him her old Ibanez. He looked terrified.

“It won’t bite,” she teased. “But your fingers might after an hour.”

They started with the basics—holding it properly, strumming, the ever-frustrating E minor chord. He fumbled through it all, frustration mounting quickly.

“I suck,” he muttered.

“You’re learning,” Reader replied, nudging his shoulder. “Even Kirk Hammett had to start somewhere.”

The next day, he was back. And the day after. For two weeks straight, Cal showed up—sometimes with snacks, always with determination. His fingers grew calluses. His rhythm improved. He learned how to laugh when he messed up.

And Reader? She looked forward to those lessons more than she’d admit.

One afternoon, she found him trying to learn the intro to Metallica’s “Nothing Else Matters” without her help. It was clumsy, a little off-key—but sincere.

“You’re cheating on my lessons?” she teased.

Cal flushed. “I wanted to impress you.”

Reader blinked. “Wait... why?”

He looked down at the fretboard. “Because I like you.”

Silence.

Then she laughed softly and walked over. “Well... in that case, I should probably tell you—your technique is awful, but your taste is solid.”

She leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. Cal went scarlet.

“But you’re improving,” she added. “And I kinda like you too, awkward riffs and all.”

The lesson that day turned into a jam session. Two messy solos, three bad jokes, and one shared playlist later, they sat in the garage, watching the sky turn pink outside.

Cal strummed a quiet chord and said, “So... is this a date?”

Reader smiled, bumping his knee. “Only if you play me something next time.”

His grin was wide and uncertain, but full of promise.

“Deal.”

Hey, my girls😙, I'm sorry I'm only just posting now, but something broke on my Tumblr and I couldn't post anything, and now Pinterest is also doesn't work, so there are no pictures as they are always at the beginning😔.I hope it will work for me in some time and I will post some photos😊.I have a lot of catching up to do because of all this and I'll be posting them now so you can look forward to 4 new Calvin fics😝✌️.

With love-Antheya

[antheyaaa]

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON S3 IS NOW IN PRODUCTION‼️‼️

[antheyaaa]

hello! i’m a new reader and i just wanted to let you know that you’re seriously a great writer and thanks for writing for such a niche fandom lol

Thank you so much, it means a lot to me as someone who has never been much into writing and English is not my first language so I always wonder if I wrote everything without mistakes and such. I started writing for my friend who watched the movie and now has a crush on Andre so I started writing about him especially for her. I never expected my work to stand out and that people would want me to write something, so I am incredibly grateful for all the likes, reblogs, comments and requests.

You are all amazing💞

With love and Kisses -Antheya

[antheyaaa]

GUESS WHO HAS AN IDEAAA!! So what if cal and reader were friends right? and then suddenly reader just pushes cal away while also bottling up their emotions, then out of nowhere they just blow up on cal and have a complete breakdown and u can decide from there!

"Cracks in the Glass"

Calvin Gabriel x reader

Cal had always been there. That was the problem.

He was there when you needed him, when you didn’t, when you swore you were fine but your hands were shaking too much to hold your phone steady. He showed up with snacks when you forgot to eat, pulled you into stupid conversations when you got too quiet, let you sit in silence when words were too much.

And you hated it.

Not him. Never him. But the way he saw through you, the way he never let you spiral alone. The way it made you feel like maybe—just maybe—you didn’t have to do everything on your own.

It was too much. It wasn’t enough.

And so, one day, you pushed him away.

It started small. Ignored texts. Missed calls. Excuses that even you didn’t believe. I’m busy. I’m tired. Maybe later.

Cal being Cal, he didn’t push at first. He just let you be. But then the messages became less patient. Are you okay? Did I do something? Talk to me.

You told yourself you were doing the right thing. If you pushed him away first, if you made the choice, then it wouldn’t hurt later when he got tired of you. When he realized how exhausting it was to be around you.

But then he showed up.

A knock on your door. Firm, steady. You froze, heart pounding.

“I know you’re in there.” His voice, calm but unyielding. “Can we talk?”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t move. If you ignored him, he’d leave.

The knock came again. A pause. Then—

“Okay, I’m coming in.”

You barely had time to react before the door swung open, and there he was.

Concern in his eyes. Brow furrowed.

"Cal, seriously—"

“Seriously what?” He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “You’ve been avoiding me for a week. What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on.” The words came too fast, too sharp.

Cal’s expression didn’t change. "You really expect me to believe that?"

You laughed, humorless. "I don’t care what you believe, Cal. Just drop it."

But he didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

He took another step forward. “Come on, don’t do this. I know you. I see you, and you’re not okay.”

The words hit like a punch to the chest.

"I said drop it!"

And suddenly, all the frustration, all the exhaustion, everything you had buried came spilling out.

"You always do this, Cal! You push and push like you have some right to know everything, like I owe you my feelings just because you’re here!”

Cal’s eyes widened slightly, but he stayed quiet. Letting you speak.

And you hated that.

"Maybe I don’t want to talk. Maybe I don’t want to be fixed or helped or whatever it is you think you’re doing! Maybe I just want to be left the hell alone!"

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Then—

“I never said you owed me anything,” he said, voice careful. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t need you to save me, Cal.”

"I know." His voice softened. "But do you even hear yourself? You keep everything locked up so tight, and then you explode, and I just—I don’t know how to help if you won’t let me.”

Your throat tightened. You turned away, blinking hard against the burning in your eyes.

"...I don’t know how to let you.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, quietly, Cal stepped closer. His warmth was a presence at your back.

“You don’t have to have the answers right now,” he murmured. “But I’m not going anywhere. No matter how hard you try to push me away.”

A shaky breath left you.

And when he reached out, wrapping an arm around you, pulling you into his chest—you let him.

It wasn’t a solution. It wasn’t a cure.

But it was something.

Hey, I haven't been here for a while and I'm terribly sorry about that😓. I hope you like it @joc3lynx💞. By the way, if anyone cares,Today I was rollerblading with my best friend and we were going downhill, I couldn't brake and I literally fell on my face so much that I scraped the skin on my face from the stone road.I'm never going out rollerblading again in my life🤕

With love-Antheya

[antheyaaa]

GUYS I NEED YOUR HELP

My real name is Zofia but my nickname is Zosia and I need you to help me come up with some cool names for tiktok or Instagram, I have no idea for any of them, that's why I'm writing here. Please, come up with some funny ones and stuff like that, you know

[antheyaaa]

haaaiii!! requesting again LMAO but anyways can I get a call fic with a reader who has nightmares quite often of an incident that occurred in their past? so they just go to call for comfort and ask to cuddle maybe? (So sorry if ur too busy for this!! I've just been having frequent nightmares and stuff)

"Through the Dark"

Calvin Gabriel x reader

The nightmare ripped you from sleep like a sharp breath of cold air. Your chest felt tight, your heartbeat hammering against your ribs as you sat up, gasping, the shadows in your room stretching too long, too dark. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. But your body hadn’t caught up to that fact yet.

For a long moment, you just sat there, trembling, rubbing your hands over your arms like you could shake off the lingering dread. You had gotten used to this—waking up in a cold sweat, struggling to breathe, unable to stop your mind from replaying the past over and over again. But knowing it was normal didn’t make it any easier.

You reached for your phone without thinking, barely registering what you were doing before you tapped on Calvin’s contact. Your fingers hovered over the screen for a second. It was late. Too late. He was probably asleep, or—

Your phone buzzed.

He picked up.

“…You good?” His voice was rough with sleep, but there was no irritation in it. Just groggy concern.

You swallowed hard. “I—I didn’t mean to wake you, I just—”

“Bad dream?” he guessed.

You nodded before realizing he couldn’t see you. “Yeah.”

There was a pause, then the rustling of fabric. You pictured him sitting up, running a hand through his hair, already pulling on a hoodie even though you hadn’t asked.

“Come over,” he said simply.

You hesitated. “Cal, it’s—”

“Don’t care. Just get here.”

The call ended before you could argue.

—

The walk to his house was short, but it still felt like a lifetime before you were knocking lightly on his window, the way you always did when it was late and you didn’t want to wake anyone else.

A second later, it slid open, and there he was—Calvin Gabriel, hoodie half-zipped, hair a mess, squinting at you like you were an idiot for even hesitating to come over.

“Took you long enough,” he muttered, stepping aside so you could climb in.

The second your feet hit the floor, his arms were around you.

It wasn’t the first time he had hugged you, but something about this felt different. He was warm—solid in a way that made it easier to breathe. His hands pressed firmly against your back, grounding you as you finally let yourself relax, sinking into him.

“You’re okay,” he murmured against your hair, his voice softer now. “You’re safe.”

You weren’t sure how long you stood there like that, but eventually, Calvin pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes flickered over your face, like he was checking for any signs that you might disappear if he let go.

“Can I—” You hesitated. “Can I stay?”

He snorted. “Obviously.”

He didn’t even bother arguing about space when you climbed into his bed, just rolled his eyes before lying down next to you, lifting an arm in silent invitation. You tucked yourself into his side, your head resting against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

His fingers traced slow, absentminded circles against your back, his other hand coming up to rest lightly against the nape of your neck.

“…Better?” he murmured.

You nodded, your body finally starting to relax for the first time all night.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Better.”

Cal hummed, his breathing slowing, already half-asleep again. But even as he drifted off, his grip on you never loosened.

And for the first time in a long time, the nightmares didn’t follow.

Hiii girlll, I'm never busy for you and your ideas. I hope you like it and that's what you wanted. I got my period and because of my horrible painful cramps I didn't go to school, if I didn't have requests for what to write, I'd be bored to death😩

With love-Antheya

[antheyaaa]

hello there! i really like your writing style and everything you write in general💕💕💕 can u please write a make out session with cal with or without nsfw however you’d like! i hope this request isn’t uncomfortable for u 💕 luv u

"Close Enough to Breathe"

Calvin Gabriel x reader

The night settled over the city, casting long shadows across Calvin’s room. The two of you had been here for hours, the silence between you comfortable, filled with the occasional sound of shuffling limbs and quiet conversation. His room was dimly lit, just the faint glow from his desk lamp casting a soft light over his sharp features.

You were both sprawled across his bed, limbs tangled together in a way that felt natural now. Calvin wasn’t one for unnecessary words, and he sure as hell wasn’t someone who threw affection around carelessly. But when he did touch you, it was always with intention.

Like now—his fingers traced absent, mindless patterns on your wrist, his touch feather-light but steady. You felt it with every slow, rhythmic brush of his thumb, the warmth of his palm against your skin.

"You’re quiet," you murmured, turning your head slightly to look at him.

Calvin smirked, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling. "So are you."

You rolled your eyes, but the teasing edge in his voice made your stomach flip. It was always like this with him—so casual on the surface, but just beneath it, there was something else. Something you could never quite name.

He turned to face you then, propping himself up on his elbow. His sharp eyes scanned your face, lingering on your lips for just a second too long. The air between you shifted, something heavier settling in the space where his usual cocky remarks should have been.

His forehead brushed against yours, the movement so small, so uncharacteristically gentle, that your breath caught.

"Can I kiss you?"

The question was quiet, barely more than a breath. It sent a shiver down your spine—not because it was unexpected, but because it was him. Because Calvin Gabriel, who never asked for anything, who always acted first and dealt with the consequences later, was asking now.

You nodded, lips parting slightly, and that was all he needed.

The first touch of his lips against yours was soft. Almost hesitant, like he was giving you an out. But when you didn’t pull away—when your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him just a little closer—he melted into you.

His hand came up to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he deepened the kiss. Slow. Steady. Like he had all the time in the world. There was no urgency, no rush. Just the quiet, deliberate way he kissed you, like he was trying to memorize how you felt, how you breathed against him.

The world outside blurred into nothing.

Your heart pounded when he shifted, pressing you further into the mattress, his body hovering just over yours. His fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head just right as he kissed you deeper, a little more desperate now. Like he couldn’t get enough.

And maybe he couldn’t.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, both of you catching your breath. His lips were still so close, his breath warm against your skin.

"You good?" he murmured, voice lower than before, rougher.

You nodded, feeling lightheaded in the best possible way. "You good?"

His smirk was softer this time, almost fond. "Yeah."

He leaned back in, kissing you again—slower, deeper. This time, neither of you were in a hurry to stop.

Hey, I haven't been here for a while and I'm glad I have something to write. I'm still getting used to writing and for now I'd rather not write anything related to nsfw.It's not that I feel uncomfortable or anything, but I have no idea how to write things like that, maybe I will try it sometime in the future, but I can't promise that I will.

With love-Antheya

[antheyaaa]

haayayyy OKOK SO I HAVE AN IDEA what if the reader was an artist and before they date cal or before they get to know cal they always drew him in their sketchbook since they had a crush on him and when they got to date/ got to know him he found their sketchbook?? (I'm heavily projecting bc I love drawing my crushes)

"Drawn to You"

Calvin Gabriel x reader

Your sketchbook had always been your safe space.

Page after page, you filled it with little pieces of your world—quick doodles of passing strangers, detailed portraits of people you admired, messy scribbles of fleeting emotions. But lately, one face had dominated your pages. Sharp eyes, furrowed brows, a hint of a smirk that never quite reached his eyes. Calvin Gabriel.

It had started before you even really knew him. Before you were dating, before you even had an excuse to talk to him, you had been captivated. Something about the way he carried himself, always half in the shadows, always looking like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, made your fingers itch to capture it.

And so, you had.

Over and over again.

And now, months into your relationship, your sketchbook was still full of him. The only difference was that now you had real moments to go along with the drawings—the way his hand lingered on yours when he thought no one was looking, the way he let out a soft huff of laughter when you said something dumb, the rare, almost shy smile that made your heart squeeze painfully in your chest.

You never really thought about what would happen if he saw them.

Until now.

—

You had been in a rush that morning, stuffing your books into your bag with all the grace of a sleep-deprived zombie. In your hurry, you hadn’t even noticed that your sketchbook—your very private, very incriminating sketchbook—had fallen out onto Calvin’s bed.

So, of course, when you returned to his place after school, you found him sitting on the edge of his bed, flipping through the pages like it was the most casual thing in the world.

Your heart stopped.

“Calvin—!”

His head snapped up at your panicked voice, eyes widening slightly. Then, as if realizing he had been caught red-handed, he smirked—smirked.

“So,” he drawled, holding up the open sketchbook, “wanna tell me why I’m basically the star of this?”

You felt heat crawl up your neck, a mortified mix of panic and sheer regret. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Oh, yeah?” He flipped to another page, tilting his head as he examined one of the more detailed sketches—one where you had actually taken your time, shading in the way his hoodie bunched around his shoulders, the way his hair fell messily over his forehead.

“I—” you started, but your words died in your throat because he wasn’t mocking you. His expression had shifted, the teasing smirk still lingering, but softer now. More thoughtful.

“This one’s really good,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “I look kinda cool here.”

“You are cool,” you mumbled, arms crossing over your chest.

Calvin snorted. “Yeah, okay.”

You huffed, moving forward to snatch the sketchbook from his hands, but he was faster, leaning back just enough to keep it out of reach.

“Not so fast,” he said, flipping another page. His eyes scanned the drawings, his smirk fading into something more unreadable. “So… you’ve been drawing me for a while, huh?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Calvin—”

“I mean, like… a while.” He tapped a sketch near the front of the book—one from before you had even spoken to him. “This one looks old.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, your stomach twisting. “Yeah. So what?”

Calvin didn’t answer right away. Instead, he closed the sketchbook, resting his hands over it as he looked at you—really looked at you.

“You had a crush on me,” he said. Not a question. A statement.

You groaned again. “Shut up.”

He grinned, leaning forward slightly. “You totally did.”

“Calvin—”

“Like, before we even started talking?” His eyebrows lifted, a mix of surprise and something else—something warmer.

You sighed, dropping your hands. “Yeah, okay? I had a crush on you. And I guess drawing you was my way of dealing with it.”

Calvin was quiet for a second, fingers tapping idly against the cover of the sketchbook. Then, slowly, he turned it around and pushed it toward you.

“You should keep drawing me,” he said, voice softer now. “I mean, if you want.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “You… don’t think it’s weird?”

He shrugged, leaning back on his hands. “Nah. Kinda like the idea of being in your head that much.” He shot you a lopsided smirk. “Plus, you make me look good.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched despite yourself. “Cocky much?”

Calvin smirked. “You like me anyway.”

You huffed, shaking your head as you hugged the sketchbook to your chest. He wasn’t wrong.

And as he reached for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours with that quiet, effortless ease of his, you thought—maybe you’d draw him again tonight.

Hey, I had a hard week so I could only post it now,I don't know about you, but it's almost midnight where I'm posting this, so I can honestly say I've had a long and hard week. Remember, I'm happy to accept messages and requests. @joc3lynx I hope you like it, I won't lie, sometimes I also draw my crushes🫢.

With love-Antheya

[antheyaaa]

What about a fic where reader is dating cal Gabriel and it’s fluffy with him changing his mind about zero day

"A Different Ending"

Calvin Gabriel x reader

The world always seemed a little quieter when it was just the two of you.

Calvin had never been one for big, dramatic displays of affection. He wasn’t the type to flood your messages with hearts or say sweet things just for the sake of it. But he had his ways—the way his fingers would brush against yours before he grabbed your hand, the way he always seemed to stand a little closer when you were walking together, like some unconscious part of him wanted to keep you near.

Tonight, the two of you were lying on the hood of his car, parked in the empty lot behind an old gas station. The sky stretched above you, dark and endless, with only a handful of stars managing to peek through the glow of the city lights. A quiet song played from the car speakers, something low and slow, filling the spaces between your breaths.

Calvin was silent, staring up at the sky with his arms crossed behind his head. He looked almost peaceful like this—almost. But you knew him well enough to recognize the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly.

Something was on his mind.

You turned your head toward him, watching as the faint light from the streetlamp traced the sharp lines of his face. “You’ve been quiet tonight.”

Calvin let out a short breath through his nose. “I’m always quiet.”

You nudged his arm lightly. “You know what I mean.”

He was quiet for a beat, then shifted his gaze toward you. His dark eyes held something heavy, something unspoken. “I’ve been thinking.”

You waited. Calvin never just said things—he always tested the waters first, like he was afraid of how deep they really were.

“About what?” you asked gently.

Another pause. Then, finally—

“Zero Day.”

Your breath caught.

He never talked about it with you. Not really. It had always been this thing lingering in the background, a dark cloud that he never fully let you see. You knew pieces, hints, enough to understand that it wasn’t just some abstract thought to him—it was real. A plan. A decision he had made a long time ago.

And yet…

“You’re still thinking about it?” you asked, voice softer now.

Calvin exhaled, running a hand down his face before letting his arm fall back onto the car hood. “Yeah. But not in the same way.”

You frowned slightly, shifting so you could face him more fully. “What do you mean?”

He was staring at the sky again, but his expression had shifted—less guarded, more raw.

“For the longest time, I thought it was the only way,” he admitted. “The only thing that made sense. It wasn’t about making some big statement or wanting people to care—it was just… inevitable.” He let out a humorless laugh. “Or at least, that’s what I told myself.”

You stayed quiet, your fingers itching to reach for his, but you didn’t want to interrupt.

“But then…” He swallowed, finally turning his head to look at you. “You happened.”

Your chest tightened.

Calvin gave you a lopsided, almost tired smirk. “You’re so fucking stubborn, you know that?”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s your big realization?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Kind of.” His expression sobered again. “You weren’t supposed to matter. No one was. But you did. And now I can’t stop thinking about what happens after.”

“After?” you echoed.

He nodded, his fingers idly picking at a loose thread on his hoodie. “Yeah. Before, I didn’t care what came next. If there even was a next. But now, every time I try to picture it… all I can think about is you.” His voice dropped slightly, more hesitant. “And I don’t want to lose that.”

Your breath hitched.

It wasn’t an outright confession. Not in the traditional, grand romantic way. But coming from Calvin, it was everything.

Slowly, you reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. His grip was firm—warm, solid. Real.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” you whispered.

Calvin looked at your joined hands for a long moment before exhaling deeply, like he’d been holding in a breath for years. “I know.”

And for the first time, you believed he really did.

I had a little problem because I didn't know how to write it but I hope you like it, I tried my best 🙏🙂‍↕️

With love-Antheya