Monaco
Charles Leclerc x Reader
You can feel the weight of the past as you stand in the shadows of Mónaco. The salty air brushes your skin, mixing with the distant hum of the city’s nightlife, but none of that matters. Your eyes are only on one thing: the memory of him.
It’s been months maybe even years and yet the streets of this city hold him like an echo. You know that your plan was never meant to be forever. You were never meant to stay. It was always supposed to be fleeting, the way the summer nights come and go. You, Charles, and the promise of something more... something that could have been, but was never destined to last.
You remember how he used to take your hand as the sun set over the harbor, his face a mask of calm beneath the weight of the world. There were moments when you thought he could escape the fame, the pressure, and just be yours. But reality was always waiting, hovering like the darkness over the circuit at night, just as unpredictable as the next race. The promise of forever slipped through your fingers like sand, and suddenly, there was nothing but the silence between you.
You know it’s too late to go back. To reimagine what could have been. But part of you still holds on to the idea of him of the way his smile could light up even the darkest corners of your mind. The way he kissed you under the lights of the casino, telling you that everything would be okay, even if you both knew better.
You never spoke of a second chance. You didn’t need to. It was clear that the world around you his world was too big, too overwhelming for the two of you. The distance between you grew, just like the races that he kept winning, while you stayed on the sidelines. But there’s a part of you, the part that still lingers in the back of your mind, wondering what if.
What if there was another chance? What if this city, with its grand, timeless streets, could bring you both back together? You laugh softly at the thought. The answer is clear, even if it hurts. You were never meant to stay in each other's lives. But the memories of what happened here under the shadow of the circuit, in the quiet moments when you were alone together will never leave you.
Dean Winchester x Reader
You stand in the shadows of the bunker’s library, watching him. Dean Winchester. Warrior, hunter, protector of humanity, and—though he’d never admit it—someone you care about far more than you should. You shouldn’t feel this way, not about a mortal. Not about him. But here you are, an angel of the Lord, too beautiful for human eyes, too divine for mortal comprehension, and utterly captivated by a man who is as broken as he is resilient.
Dean doesn’t see you yet. His attention is on the open journal in front of him, brows furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line as he studies the lore. His fingers absently drum on the tabletop, and you know from the rhythm that he’s frustrated. He always does this when he’s stuck, as if the answer will reveal itself if he just focuses hard enough.
“You gonna stand there all night?” he asks suddenly, his voice gruff but tinged with amusement. He doesn’t look up, but you know he’s smirking. He always knows when you’re near, like he’s attuned to your presence in a way even you can’t explain.
“I thought you were too busy to notice,” you reply, stepping out of the shadows. Your voice is soft, melodic, almost too much for mortal ears, but Dean doesn’t flinch. He never does. You’re beginning to think he’s immune to your celestial nature—or maybe he’s just too stubborn to be affected.
He looks up then, his green eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, you wonder if he can see you as you truly are. You’re careful to mask your full form, to dull the radiance of your being so you don’t overwhelm him, but Dean has always had a way of looking past the surface.
“You’re hard to miss,” he says, his tone light but his gaze piercing. “What’s up, angel? Got some divine wisdom to drop on me, or are you here to remind me how screwed we are?”
“I thought you might need help,” you say, moving closer. You sit across from him, your presence casting a faint glow over the table. The journal’s pages seem dull in comparison, their ink pale shadows against your light.
Dean leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Help, huh? What kind of help are we talking? Smite a demon? Heal a wound? Or maybe just sit here and look pretty while I do all the work?”
His teasing makes your heart ache in a way you don’t quite understand. He uses humor as a shield, a way to deflect from the weight he carries, but you can see the cracks beneath the surface. You want to reach across the table, to touch his hand and let him feel the peace you could offer, but you know he’d pull away. Dean Winchester doesn’t believe he deserves peace.
“You underestimate me,” you say instead, a small smile playing on your lips. “I’m not just here to look pretty.”
“Oh, trust me, I know,” he says, his eyes flicking to yours. “You’re not exactly the kind of angel they talk about in Sunday school, are you?”
“No,” you admit, leaning forward slightly. “I’m not.”
There’s a beat of silence, heavy but not uncomfortable. Dean’s gaze softens, and for a moment, you think he might say something. Something real. But then he shakes his head, breaking the spell.
“Well, if you’re here to help, you can start by explaining why none of this lore makes any damn sense,” he says, gesturing to the journal. “Sam’s out chasing leads, and I’m stuck here trying to figure out how to kill something that’s apparently unkillable.”
You glance at the journal, the symbols and text instantly clear to you. You could solve this in seconds, but you hesitate. You know Dean needs more than answers. He needs to feel like he’s in control, like he’s not just a pawn in some divine game.
So instead of giving him the solution, you say, “Maybe you’re looking at it the wrong way. What if the key isn’t in the lore, but in what it’s protecting?”
Dean raises an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. “Protecting, huh? Alright, angel, I’ll bite. What are we looking for?”
You smile, a real smile this time, and lean back in your chair. “Let’s figure it out together.”
are you still writing for harris dickinson? if yes could i request you do angst to fluff where reader is upset with him for something just to be petty and he reassures her?
Harris Dickinson x Reader
You sit on the edge of the hotel bed, arms crossed, mood simmering with the kind of quiet drama only you can conjure. The room smells like sea air and his cologne — all warm citrus and something woodsy that annoyingly makes your heart soften, even now. Harris stands by the window, completely unaware he’s made you mad… or maybe he knows. That makes it worse.
“You didn’t even notice,” you mutter, eyes fixed on the hotel notepad, where you’ve doodled angry little stars.
He turns slowly, one brow lifting. “Didn’t notice what?”
You don’t answer. You shouldn’t have to. It was your new dress. The one you picked just because you thought he’d look at you like he did that night in Venice — the whole world narrowing to just you in a crowded piazza. Tonight, you got a distracted peck on the cheek and a comment about the weather.
“You’re being quiet,” he says, walking toward you, hands sliding into the pockets of his linen trousers. He looks annoyingly good. Summer suits him. “Too quiet. You mad at me?”
You shrug.
He crouches in front of you, resting his forearms on your knees, forcing your gaze to meet his. His eyes are soft. The kind that always make your stomach flip, no matter how much you want to hold your ground.
“I know that face,” he says, voice low and teasing. “That’s the ‘you messed up, and I’m gonna make you work for it’ face.”
You look away, lips threatening a smile you refuse to let free. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“Oh, now I have to worry,” he laughs gently, fingers tapping along your thigh. “C’mon, love. Tell me what I missed. I hate not knowing.”
You roll your eyes. “It’s stupid.”
“Probably,” he agrees, grinning, which earns him a light swat to the shoulder. “But I still want to know. You matter to me — even the silly stuff.”
You hesitate, then sigh. “You didn’t say anything about the dress.”
His expression changes — shifts from amused to sincere, instantly. “What?” His fingers tighten just a little. “You think I didn’t notice?”
You nod, cheeks hot now that the words are out.
“Babe,” he murmurs, standing up slowly, crowding your space just enough to make your breath catch. “You walked into that restaurant tonight and wrecked me. I’ve just been trying to act normal because I didn’t want to start something I couldn’t finish in public.”
You blink, thrown off by the heat in his voice. “That’s… dramatic.”
“I’m an actor,” he smirks, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “But I’m also just a man trying not to fall to his knees every time you look at me like that.”
He presses his forehead to yours, voice barely above a whisper. “You looked unreal, baby. You always do.”
You finally smile — just a little. He sees it and kisses it, soft and slow. And just like that, your petty storm dissolves in the warmth of him.
Anakin Skywalker x Reader
You stand in the center of the room, arms crossed, frustration simmering just beneath your skin. Leia, her little fists clenched at her sides, glares up at you with defiance sparking in her eyes. It’s been a long day, and you don’t have the patience for another one of her outbursts.
"Leia Skywalker," you say, voice firm. "How many times have I told you not to sneak out of the palace at night?"
"I wasn’t sneaking!" she fires back. "I just wanted to see the ships take off!"
Your jaw tightens. "That’s not the point, young lady. Do you have any idea how dangerous it is? What if something had happened to you? What if—"
And then it happens.
The way she tilts her chin up, the fire in her eyes, the sheer stubbornness in her expression—it stops you cold.
Because you’ve seen that exact look before.
On someone else.
You don’t even realize you’ve fallen silent until a voice—deep, familiar—breaks through.
"She was just curious, love" Anakin says. "She’s got a strong spirit, that’s all."
You turn, and there he is. Standing just beyond the doorway, arms folded, watching the scene unfold with that mix of misplaced amusement and ill-advised sympathy. You give him a sharp look, and he hesitates, as if just now realizing he’s stepped onto a battlefield.
"Oh, don’t even start," you warn, voice low. "This is your fault."
Anakin blinks. "My fault?"
"Yes!" You throw a hand toward Leia, who watches the exchange with interest, clearly sensing the shift in the storm. "Do you see that face? That’s your face! That stubborn, reckless, I’ll do what I want look—she gets that from you!"
Anakin has the audacity to look confused. "Well… I mean… maybe a little?"
"A little?" You raise an eyebrow. "Anakin Skywalker, this is exactly how you looked when you told Obi-Wan, ‘Don’t worry, Master, I got this’ right before crashing into a droid battalion!"
Leia snickers. Anakin shoots her a quick look, like they’re suddenly allies in this war. You can see the silent exchange—We’re in this together, kid.
"You are not bonding over this!" you snap, pointing at both of them. "You do not get to encourage her!"
"I wasn’t—"
"You were!"
"I just—"
"Anakin!"
He sighs, rubbing the back of his head, finally conceding defeat. "Okay, okay. Maybe she got the stubbornness from me. But you have to admit, she gets her sharp mind and leadership from you."
You press your lips together, torn between lingering frustration and the warmth of that compliment. Leia, ever the opportunist, sees the distraction and makes her move.
"So… am I still grounded?" she asks hopefully.
You and Anakin turn to her at the same time.
"Yes!" you say in unison.
Leia groans, and Anakin grins at you behind her back. You shake your head, exasperated, but as you meet his gaze—those same blue eyes staring at you with that familiar mix of mischief and devotion—you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips.
You’re outnumbered.
And Force help you, it’s only going to get worse from here.
Carlos Sainz x Reader
The city lights flicker like distant stars, casting a golden glow over the quiet streets as you walk beside Carlos, your heels dangling from your fingers. The night air is crisp, cool against your skin, a welcome contrast to the warmth radiating from him. Your arm is looped through his, your body leaning into his side for balance—not just from the cocktails still buzzing in your veins, but from the sheer exhaustion of dancing, laughing, living in the moment.
Carlos glances down at you, his lips curving into a small, amused smile. “You okay, princesa?” His voice is soft, edged with that familiar Spanish lilt that makes your heart skip a beat.
You hum in response, tilting your head to look up at him. “Mhm. Just tired,” you admit, your cheek resting briefly against his shoulder. “And maybe a little tipsy.”
He chuckles, the sound deep and rich, sending a shiver down your spine. “I can tell,” he teases, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. “But I think you just wanted an excuse to hold onto me.”
Rolling your eyes, you nudge him playfully. “As if I need an excuse,” you murmur, feeling bold under the haze of the night.
The streets are nearly empty, the world around you quiet except for the occasional distant honk of a car or the rhythmic click of a streetlamp buzzing above. It feels like you and him exist in a little pocket of time, away from everything—away from the noise, the cameras, the chaos of the world he belongs to.
“You didn’t have to walk me back,” you say after a beat, though secretly, you’re glad he insisted.
Carlos exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “Of course, I did. Can’t let you wander around barefoot in the middle of the night. What kind of gentleman would that make me?”
You laugh, squeezing his arm. “A very bad one,” you tease, earning a smirk from him.
You reach the entrance of the hotel, the grand glass doors reflecting the two of you standing close, wrapped up in something unspoken. You should let go, step back, but neither of you do. His hand lingers near your wrist, his thumb grazing your skin in lazy circles, sending a rush of warmth through you.
“Did you have fun tonight?” he asks, his voice quieter now, more intimate.
You nod, searching his eyes—deep brown, warm like melted chocolate, laced with something unreadable. “Yeah,” you say softly. “Did you?”
Carlos doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he lifts a hand, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch featherlight, his fingers lingering just a second too long. Your breath catches, heart hammering against your ribs.
“Yeah,” he murmurs finally, his gaze never leaving yours. “I did.”
The space between you seems to shrink, electricity crackling in the air. Your fingers tighten around his arm, your body instinctively swaying closer.
“Carlos…” you whisper, unsure of what you’re asking, what you’re wanting—until his hand cradles the side of your face, his thumb tracing over your cheekbone.
“What?” he breathes, voice hushed, his forehead nearly resting against yours.
The night stands still, the city quiet, the only sound the shared breaths between you.
Masterlist
JAMES POTTER
James
Irresistible
Like The Movies
Dance with me
Kisses
Puppy
Midnight Craving
REGULUS BLACK
Dear Heart, why him
So This Is Love (request)
For you, i'd steal the stars
CARLOS SAINZ
I can't read your mind
You smiled; i fell in love
maybe i just wanna be yours
...and oh, she's so pretty!
Love, love, love
First time parents
There is gentleness about him.
Cooking class
To the one who understands my soul (request)
CHARLES LECLERC
Monaco
Strangers
Wrong Date
Now he's thinkin' 'bout me every night
She's a romantic
When can i see you?
I hate the snow
Sleeping Beauty
EGGSY UNWIN
Have you ever fall in love?
TANGERINE
Cold cold man
You know i love a london boy
Love
Mr & Mrs Smith
Wife
DAVE LIZEWSKI
Oh my God! I still love you
My girlfriend gets so depressed
ALEXEI VRONSKY
Lazy morning
I just wanted to kiss you
dreamgirl
LAURIE LAURENCE
Love Grows
KYLE SCHEIBLE
Well, my boyfriend's in a band
TIMOTHEE CHALAMET
Valentine
Are they… together? (request)
I love him
Romantic Lover
a lovely night
Damn, I really want to kiss you.
DREW STARKEY
Midnight
I want you and only you
NICHOLAS CHAVEZ
wrong person right time
HARRIS DICKINSON
pretty girl
You mad at me? (request)
JENSEN ACKLES
I have no car
you're my favorite
Stranger
DEAN WINCHESTER
Sweet witch
She's from heaven
JOHN WICK
I love you, and it's killing me
DANTE SPARDA
THE DEVIL
blah, blah, blah....shut up
sweetheart
LEON KENNEDY
I can do it myself
daddy's little girl
Religion's in your lips
you drew stars around my scars
Handsome
Everybody knows that i'm a good girl, officer
Skin care
I’m not ready
Are you drunk?
ANAKIN SKYWALKER
Good father
Nightmares
Sweet Creature
LIKE FATHER, LIKE DAUGHTER
discussions
You can't catch me now
Date
Fatherhood
PAUL ATREIDES
Are we allies or enemies?
PIETRO MAXIMOFF
Boyfriend
SERGEI KRAVINOFF
You're too sweet for me
BUCKY BARNES
PETER PARKER
Are you flirting or starting a fight?
i'm in love with an idiot
Miss Stark
I change my hair every week
MILES MORALES
Something about you
DICK GRAYSON
i like pizza
JASON TODD
And she feels like home
it's a bad idea, right?
MARAUDERS
We'll be friends forever
Messy
Dante Sparda x Reader
The Devil May Cry office is exactly as you expected it to be—chaotic and reeking of stale pizza. You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, as Dante flips lazily through a magazine, his boots propped up on the desk. He doesn't even glance your way, though you know he senses you. He always does.
"Well, if it isn't my favorite troublemaker," you drawl, your voice dripping with mock sweetness.
He looks up, finally, one eyebrow quirking at your entrance. "Didn't realize demons had favorites," he replies, his tone dry. "Thought you guys were more into, y'know, chaos and destruction."
You stride into the room, letting your heels click dramatically against the floor. "Oh, come on, Dante. You’re different." You lean on his desk, close enough to invade his personal space but far enough to keep him guessing. "You’ve got that rugged charm. That devil-may-care attitude. It’s almost like you’re trying to impress me."
He smirks, leaning back further in his chair. "Rugged charm, huh? And here I thought you were just here to cause me more problems."
He doesn’t flinch, which is one of the reasons you like coming here. Most humans would’ve run screaming by now—or tried to kill you. Dante, though, treats you like an annoying stray cat that keeps showing up at his door.
"So," you continue, circling the desk and trailing your nails lightly along its edge, "what’s on the agenda today? Slaying? Exorcisms? More of that broody self-reflection you do when you think no one’s looking?"
His chair creaks as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Y'know, for someone who’s technically my enemy, you spend a lot of time hanging around here. What's the angle, sweetheart?"
You tilt your head, feigning innocence. "Can’t a girl just enjoy good company? Besides,"—you perch on the edge of his desk, close enough that your knees brush his—"you’re the most fun I’ve had in centuries. The way you swing that sword around... it’s almost poetic."
His eyes narrow, but the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth betrays him. "You’re a real piece of work, you know that?"
"And yet, here I am," you reply smoothly, brushing an imaginary speck of dust off your shoulder. "Admit it, Dante. You’d miss me if I stopped coming around."
"Miss you?" He snorts, standing up and towering over you in that annoyingly effortless way he does. "The day I miss you is the day hell freezes over."
You stand too, refusing to be outdone, and trail a finger along the front of his jacket. "Careful, Sparda. If you keep lying to yourself, you might start believing it."
For a moment, the tension crackles between you like electricity, his blue eyes boring into yours. Then, he steps back, grabbing his sword from where it rests against the wall. "Tell you what," he says, slinging it over his shoulder. "Why don’t you tag along on my next job? You keep talking big about how much fun I am—let’s see if you can keep up."
Your grin widens. "Oh, Dante. I thought you’d never ask."
He rolls his eyes but doesn’t hide the smirk playing at his lips. "Just don’t get in my way."
"And miss a chance to watch you work? Never."
As he strides toward the door, you fall in step beside him, already plotting your next move. You’ll flirt, you’ll tease, and maybe—just maybe—you’ll get under his skin just enough to make him wonder if you’re more than just a nuisance.
Because deep down, you know he enjoys the game as much as you do.
James
James Potter x Reader
You sit across the hall, your textbooks open but long forgotten. Your gaze drifts again, as it always does, to him. His dark, untidy hair catches the torchlight, and those round glasses of his reflect the golden glow of the Great Hall. James Potter. A name you’ve turned over and over in your head like a secret, a charm you’re too scared to cast out loud.
You’ve spent months like this, stealing glances when you’re sure he’s too busy laughing with Sirius, or gesturing wildly as he retells a Quidditch move to Peter. Sometimes he’s so absorbed in a conversation with Lily Evans you’re almost grateful, because it makes him easier to look at without fear of being caught. But today, something shifts.
It’s a Tuesday, and you’ve got Transfiguration next, but your head is too full of him to think about lessons. You risk another glance, just one more before you leave the hall, and your stomach drops.
James is looking right at you.
Your breath hitches. You freeze mid-motion, your hand gripping your goblet too tightly, and in that awful, wonderful moment, he smirks. It’s the kind of smirk that tilts at the corner of his mouth, mischievous and knowing. His hazel eyes glint with something you can’t name, and before you know it, he’s leaning toward you.
"Who are you?" he asks, his voice casual but somehow making your heart race like you’ve just fallen off your broomstick. "My name’s James."
It’s ridiculous—of course you know his name. Everyone knows his name. He’s James Potter, Quidditch star, Gryffindor hero, Marauder ringleader. But somehow, hearing him say it to you makes your cheeks burn. You stammer out your name, and he grins wider.
And that’s when it begins.
At first, it feels like magic, like something out of the books you’ve pored over in the library late at night. He talks to you in the hallways, waves when he sees you during meals. Once, he even steals your quill in class and pretends he doesn’t know what you’re talking about until you’re chasing him around the desks. For a brief, dazzling moment, it feels like all those hours you spent dreaming of him weren’t wasted.
But then you start to notice the jokes. The way he rolls his eyes when Sirius whispers something in his ear. How he doesn’t take anything seriously, least of all you. It’s all harmless fun to him, you realize, even as your heart twists itself into knots. He isn’t looking for the same kind of magic you are.
And yet, you can’t stop thinking about him. About his laugh, his messy hair, the way he says your name like it’s part of some elaborate prank he hasn’t explained yet. He’s a fool, you tell yourself. A foolish, arrogant, brilliant boy who doesn’t even know what he’s done to you.
You spend hours wondering how you let yourself fall for him, dreaming of what could have been. And yet, even as the weeks pass, you still feel the heat of those flames. James Potter. A name you’ll carry with you, even after he’s long forgotten yours.
...and oh, she's so pretty!
Carlos Sainz x Reader
It’s a quiet evening, and you’re sitting in a cozy café, the sound of soft chatter surrounding you. The rain taps gently against the windows, and the dim lights create a warm, intimate atmosphere. Across from you, Carlos Sainz sits, his usual calm demeanor tinged with concern as he watches you. He notices the slight frown on your face, the way your arms are crossed in a subtle gesture of frustration. You’ve been in a bad mood for the past few minutes—something small, insignificant, really. But to you, in this moment, it feels bigger.
Carlos doesn’t understand exactly why you’re upset. He’s tried to ask, but you’ve brushed it off with a soft sigh, claiming it’s nothing. He can’t help but notice how beautiful you look, though. Even now, with a cloud hanging over your mood, he’s captivated by the way your hair falls over your shoulders, the sparkle in your eyes, and the way your lips pout when you’re deep in thought.
You catch him looking at you, and despite your irritation, you feel your heart flutter just a little. It’s as if, no matter what’s bothering you, Carlos has a way of making everything seem just a bit brighter. He leans forward, his voice gentle but full of warmth.
“You know,” he says softly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “you’re still pretty, even when you’re mad.”
You blink, surprised by his words, but something about them makes the frustration melt away just a little. You meet his gaze, his eyes full of affection and understanding, and you realize—maybe it’s not the small thing that’s bothering you at all, but the way you’ve let it build up in your mind. His calmness, his presence, it has a way of grounding you.
“Carlos…” you start, unsure how to explain why you were upset. But he reaches across the table, his hand brushing against yours, as if reassuring you that whatever it is, it doesn’t matter to him. What matters is that you’re there, together, in this moment.
The corners of your lips turn upward, and you shake your head. “I don’t even know why I’m in such a bad mood. It’s nothing important.”
Carlos chuckles softly, squeezing your hand lightly. “I know. But you don’t have to be perfect, you know? You don’t have to have it all together. I think you’re pretty just the way you are.”
And there it is again—the way he makes everything feel lighter, as if your bad mood doesn’t stand a chance against the warmth of his words. You smile, a little embarrassed now, but grateful too.
With Carlos, there’s no need for explanations, no pressure to fix anything. He simply accepts you, bad moods and all. You realize that maybe it’s the small things—the way he sees you, the way he makes you feel—that matter the most.
Leon S Kennedy x Reader
The room is bathed in the soft glow of a bedside lamp. You and Leon lie side by side on the bed, the chaos of the world outside feeling a million miles away. His presence is warm, grounding, and undeniably comforting, his familiar scent mingling with the crisp cotton sheets. Married life with him, though filled with moments of danger and unpredictability, has also been punctuated by a quiet intimacy that feels wholly yours.
You shift slightly, turning onto your side to face him. Leon mirrors you, propping his head up with his hand, his ice-blue eyes crinkling in the corners as he gazes at you with a softness that makes your heart flutter, even after all these years.
“What are you looking at?” you tease, though there’s no edge to your voice.
He chuckles lowly, a sound that resonates deep in his chest. “You. Just you.”
His free hand reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His fingers linger, trailing lightly down your cheek, the curve of your jaw, before coming to rest at the base of your neck. The touch is tender, reverent, like he’s memorizing you all over again.
You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers with his for a moment before turning it over to inspect his palm. It’s calloused and strong, a testament to everything he’s been through. You trace the faint scar along the side of his thumb, your fingertips light against his skin.
“Where’d this one come from?” you ask softly.
Leon glances down at the mark, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Raccoon City,” he answers simply, though his tone carries a world of unspoken memories. “It’s nothing compared to some of the others.”
“Let me see,” you say, gently pulling his arm closer. You start inspecting his forearm, finding a small, faint mole near the crook of his elbow. “I didn’t know you had this.”
Leon chuckles again, his eyes following your fingers as they glide over his skin. “I’m full of surprises, huh?”
“Apparently.” You smile, leaning forward to press a kiss just above the spot. “My turn?”
He hums in agreement, rolling onto his back and pulling you closer. “Where should I start?” His hands find their way to your arms, his touch feather-light as he begins his own exploration.
The moment is filled with quiet laughter as he spots a small birthmark on your shoulder. “How long have you been hiding this from me?” he teases, his thumb brushing over it.
“Not hiding,” you reply with a grin. “You just never asked.”
Leon shakes his head, his smile widening. “I’m going to find every single one.”
His fingers move with a sense of wonder, like he’s unraveling a mystery, trailing along your arm, your collarbone, and down to your wrist. You mirror his actions, your fingertips tracing his shoulders, the dip of his clavicle, and the faint lines of old wounds.
It’s not just the physical closeness but the unspoken trust between you. Each scar, each mark, tells a story, and sharing them in this way feels like the most profound form of vulnerability.
The two of you fall into a peaceful silence, your fingers continuing their gentle exploration. Time seems to blur, and the world outside ceases to matter. All that exists is the warmth of his touch, the sound of his steady breathing, and the unshakable bond between you.
Carlos Sainz x Reader
The soft glow of sunset filters through the tall windows of the exclusive villa in Tuscany. You’re leaning against the balustrade of the terrace, overlooking the endless expanse of vineyards, the golden hour lighting your skin in a way that photographers always chase. Even here, you can’t escape being a model—your elegance radiates effortlessly.
Carlos Sainz appears, as he always does, with a charm that’s almost impossible to resist. You hear his footsteps before he speaks, the crunch of gravel and the faint rustle of his linen shirt in the breeze.
“You know,” he begins, standing just a little too close, his Spanish accent wrapping around the words like silk, “this view is beautiful. But you make it breathtaking.”
You roll your eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Do you rehearse these lines, Carlos? Or do they just come naturally?”
He grins, leaning casually against the railing beside you, his dark eyes glittering with playful determination. “Natural talent. Like driving. Or making you smile.”
You suppress a laugh, turning your attention back to the horizon. “I’m not that easy to impress.”
“And yet,” he says, leaning slightly closer, “you haven’t walked away.”
You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, catching the faintest flicker of vulnerability behind his confident façade. There’s a sincerity in his gaze that makes your heart skip a beat, though you would never admit it.
“Carlos,” you sigh, “we’ve been through this. You’re charming, yes. Handsome, undeniably. But I don’t mix work with… whatever this is.”
“This?” He raises an eyebrow, gesturing between the two of you. “This is me trying to show you that I care. That I want to be more than just some guy you see at events or on TV.”
“And yet,” you counter, folding your arms, “you know my answer hasn’t changed.”
Carlos doesn’t falter. Instead, he steps closer, his tone softening. “You keep saying no, but I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention. I see the way you laugh at my jokes, even when you try to hide it. Tell me, why not give us a chance? Just one date. No cameras, no pressure.”
You hate that his words make your heart flutter. You hate that his persistence feels less like arrogance and more like genuine affection. But you also know how complicated your lives are—his constant travels, your demanding career.
“Carlos…” you start, but he interrupts, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Don’t say no just because you’re scared it won’t work. Say no if you truly don’t feel anything for me. But if there’s even the smallest chance you do, let me prove to you that I’m worth the risk.”
For a moment, the world falls silent, save for the gentle rustle of the vines below and the steady rhythm of your own heartbeat. His eyes search yours, open and unguarded, waiting.
You exhale slowly, your resolve wavering. “One date,” you say finally, watching as his face lights up with a boyish grin. “Just one.”
“That’s all I need,” he replies, his confidence returning in full force. “I’ll make you fall in love with me, cariño. Just wait.”