𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

I can't read your mind

Carlos Sainz x Reader

The low hum of the Madrid evening wraps around you like a gentle embrace, broken only by the murmur of distant voices and the occasional clink of glasses. You stand on the balcony of a sleek penthouse, your sequined gown catching the moonlight as if it were meant to. Tonight had been a triumph—the premiere of your latest film—but your thoughts are tangled, a script with too many subplots to follow.

Behind you, the sound of approaching footsteps pulls you from your reverie. You turn to see Carlos Sainz, his tailored suit catching the light as effortlessly as his smile catches your breath. His hands are tucked casually in his pockets, and his eyes, dark and mischievous, carry that infuriating glint that always seems to find your weak spot.

“You’ve been hiding out here,” he says, his voice teasing as he leans on the railing beside you.

“I needed air,” you reply, keeping your tone even, neutral.

This isn’t the first time you’ve crossed paths. For months, it’s been the same: fleeting encounters at festivals, galas, yacht parties in Monaco. There’s always been a pull between you, something unspoken but electric. Tonight, though, it feels like the air between you has shifted.

“You’re quiet,” he observes, tilting his head. “Not like you.”

You grip the railing, searching for the right words. “Do you ever feel like… you can’t figure someone out? Like no matter what they say, their actions keep contradicting their words?”

His brow lifts, intrigued. “Sometimes. But I usually don’t waste time trying to figure people out. They show you who they are, one way or another.”

You let out a soft laugh, tinged with frustration. “That’s easy for you to say. You live life in the fast lane. No time to overthink.”

“And you?” he counters, his voice dipping lower. “You’re always overthinking, aren’t you?"

The way he looks at you makes your heart skip. You glance away, but the weight of his gaze lingers. Finally, you admit what’s been gnawing at you.

“I just… I don’t get you, Carlos. One minute, you’re charming and attentive, and the next, you’re distant. You say you want to keep things casual, but then you look at me like this.”

He doesn’t respond right away, and the silence makes your pulse quicken. Then, he takes a step closer, his presence radiating warmth.

“I didn’t think someone like you would slow down for someone like me,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You blink, startled by his candor. “Why not?”

“You’re a star. Everyone wants a piece of you. I didn’t want to add to that. But now…” He pauses, his fingers brushing yours on the railing. “Now, I’m starting to think I’ve been wrong.”

Your breath catches. In his eyes, you see something raw, unguarded—a glimpse of the man behind the charm.

“Maybe I don’t want casual,” he continues, his voice softer now. “Maybe I’m just scared you don’t want anything more.”

The honesty in his words cracks something open in you. You’ve been holding back, too, afraid to show him just how much he’s gotten under your skin.

“I don’t need you to read my mind, Carlos,” you say, your hand turning to intertwine with his. “I just need you to be honest with me.”

His smile, the one that always weakens your knees, softens into something real. “That, I can do.”

The city lights shimmer below as he leans in, his lips brushing yours. The kiss is unhurried, sincere, and it drowns out the doubts that had clouded your mind. In that moment, the world falls away, leaving only the quiet truth of what you’ve both been searching for all along.

i'm in love with an idiot

Peter Parker x Reader

You’ve been through a lot as Spider-woman—villains, heartbreak, and the constant balancing act of being a hero. But this? This is a new one. One minute you were swinging through your city, hot on the trail of a rogue scientist tinkering with dimensional technology, and the next, a kaleidoscope of colors swirled around you. When the dizzying vortex spat you out, the New York skyline looked just familiar enough to make you think you were still home—until you saw him.

Peter Parker. Spider-Man.

You’ve heard of him in passing through multiverse murmurs, but standing face-to-face with him? You hadn’t expected that. Not today.

“You’re… me?” he asks, his voice laced with incredulity but carrying a lightness that makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, this strange twist of fate won’t be so bad.

“No,” you correct him with a wry smile. “I’m better.”

The two of you bond quicker than you expected, drawn together by shared experiences that no one else could fully understand. Swinging side-by-side through the city, you find yourself surprised by how easily he makes you laugh—his dry humor, his dorky jokes, the way he apologizes to pigeons when he narrowly avoids colliding with them mid-swing.

But it’s not just the humor that gets to you. It’s his heart.

One evening, as the sun dips below the skyline, the two of you perch on the edge of a skyscraper, sharing takeout Chinese food straight out of the cartons. Peter listens intently as you talk about your universe—the sacrifices you’ve made, the people you’ve lost.

“You carry so much,” he says softly, his brown eyes locking onto yours. “But you don’t have to carry it alone. Not here, not with me.”

His words linger in the air between you, heavy with something unspoken. You want to say something back, something meaningful, but the way he’s looking at you makes your breath catch in your throat.

Before you can think better of it, you lean closer. So does he.

The kiss is tentative at first, his lips brushing yours as if asking permission. But when you deepen it, his hand comes up to cradle your face, and it feels like the world itself pauses for just a moment. You’re no longer Spider-woman from another universe, no longer a stranger in his world. You’re just… you. And he’s Peter.

When you finally pull back, the city stretches out below you, its lights twinkling like a thousand tiny stars. Peter grins, his usual confidence returning.

“Well,” he says, his tone teasing, “I guess interdimensional travel isn’t all bad.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Not bad at all.”

As the night stretches on, you know this can’t last forever. Eventually, you’ll have to find a way back to your universe. But for now, with Peter by your side, the weight of your world feels just a little lighter.

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒅; 𝑰 𝒇𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆

Carlos Sainz x Reader

You’re sitting across from him at a quaint café, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the soft chatter of nearby tables. The light catches in your eyes as you lean forward, animatedly sharing a story about your latest adventure. Carlos chuckles at your enthusiasm, but it’s the way you tug your sleeve up absentmindedly to adjust your watch that catches his attention. It’s such a small, inconsequential motion, but for some reason, it makes his heart skip.

It’s not the first time this has happened. He remembers the time you helped him organize his chaos of a travel bag before a race. You didn’t complain, didn’t even ask—just smiled and dove in, folding shirts and tucking socks into corners as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He’d stood there, arms crossed, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched you. It wasn’t about the bag. It was the way you hummed softly while you worked, the way you made even the mundane feel special.

And then there was that night at the paddock. He’d invited you to join his team for dinner after a particularly grueling day. You’d laughed with them like you’d known them forever, making jokes, listening intently, drawing everyone in with your warmth. It was the way you casually asked him if he’d gotten enough rest, your tone soft but firm, your concern genuine.

Carlos didn’t understand it at first. He chalked it up to admiration, respect, appreciation for someone who felt like a constant in his otherwise hectic, unpredictable life. But then there were the little things, the moments he couldn’t ignore. Like the time you’d fallen asleep in the passenger seat during a late-night drive, your head resting against the window, lips slightly parted. He’d turned the music down instinctively, not wanting to disturb you, and caught himself stealing glances at how peaceful you looked.

Or the way you laughed—not the polite, reserved laugh you gave strangers, but the full-bodied, uninhibited laugh that made your eyes crinkle and your head tilt back. He realized he wanted to be the reason for that laugh as often as possible.

It hits him one evening when you’re both walking through a park, your hands stuffed in your pockets to keep warm. You pause mid-sentence to crouch down and pet a stray dog that’s approached you. Carlos watches as your face lights up, your voice soft as you speak to the animal. The way you care, the way you notice the small things—it’s like you see the world differently, and he realizes he doesn’t want to see it without you.

“Do you always stop for every dog you meet?” he teases, his voice light, though his chest feels heavy with the weight of unspoken words.

You glance up at him, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Only the ones that look like they need a little extra love,” you reply.

And that’s when it clicks for him. The little things—the small, seemingly insignificant details that make you who you are—they aren’t so little after all. They’re everything. And as you stand, brushing off your jeans and meeting his gaze, Carlos knows. He’s in love with you.

love, love, love

Carlos Sainz x Reader

The soft hum of your favorite song played in the background as you and Carlos sat cross-legged on the living room floor, surrounded by a sea of wedding magazines, swatches of fabric, and color samples. It was late evening, and the golden glow of candles you both lit gave the room a warm, almost magical, ambiance.

“Are you sure about this color?” Carlos asked, holding up a swatch of burgundy velvet between his fingers, his brow furrowed in concentration. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him taking the smallest details so seriously, his usual calm demeanor tinged with just a hint of nervous energy.

“It’s perfect,” you reassured him, scooting closer to examine the fabric. “It’ll look stunning with the ivory table settings.”

Carlos leaned back, running a hand through his chestnut hair. “I just want everything to be perfect for you.” His words were soft, sincere, and they made your heart swell.

“You mean us,” you corrected with a teasing smile, brushing his hand lightly. He caught your fingers mid-motion, lacing them with his.

“Right, us,” he said, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Although I think you’re doing most of the hard work here. I just follow orders.”

You laughed, nudging him gently. “Hardly! You’ve vetoed, what, three cake flavors already?”

“Okay, the pistachio one was just wrong,” he replied, laughing as well. His laughter echoed in the room, and you realized, not for the first time, how his joy had the power to lift the heaviest of days.

As the evening wore on, you both found yourselves lying on the plush rug, your head resting on his shoulder. He was scrolling through photos on his phone, showing you venue options while sneaking in snapshots of your happiest moments together—road trips, cozy mornings, stolen moments from race weekends.

“Do you remember this?” he asked, showing you a picture of the two of you on a small boat in the middle of Lake Como. The sun had set behind you, casting a fiery glow over the water.

“Of course,” you replied, tracing the screen with your finger. “You were steering us straight into another boat.”

Carlos chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Best near-crash of my life.”

You closed your eyes, letting his voice and the memory wash over you. “We’ve had so many beautiful moments together, haven’t we?”

“And we’re about to have the most beautiful one yet,” he whispered, his voice full of conviction. “When I see you walking down that aisle… that’s going to be a moment I’ll never forget.”

Your throat tightened, and you tilted your head up to meet his gaze. His brown eyes held a softness, a depth that made you feel like the luckiest person in the world.

“You’re going to cry, aren’t you?” you teased, your voice breaking the emotion with a lightness that had become second nature between you two.

“I’m not making any promises,” he replied, grinning. “But if I do, you can’t hold it against me. Deal?”

“Deal,” you murmured, leaning up to kiss him softly, your fingers brushing against his jawline. In that moment, surrounded by the chaos of wedding planning and the comfort of his arms, you realized you didn’t need perfection. You just needed him.

And that was the most beautiful detail of all.

𝓘 𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾

Alexei Vronsky x Reader

He is impossibly handsome, with that devil-may-care glint in his eye and an arrogance born of privilege. You can feel his presence in the room even when you're not looking at him, a magnetic pull you stubbornly resist.

He speaks to you with an intimacy that feels intrusive, as though you’ve already surrendered something precious to him.

"Once I told you I’ve kissed a thousand women," he says one day, his voice low and almost conspiratorial, as though confessing something vital.

"I remember," you reply, half-turning away from him, pretending the sunlight glinting off the crystal glass in your hand is more interesting than the man beside you.

"It was a lie," he admits, his lips curling in that maddening smile you loathe to love.

"I know," you say, not giving him the satisfaction of your surprise.

He leans closer, his presence looming, warm, and insistent. "I’ve only kissed two or three hundred.”

“Now, how many men have you kissed?" he asks, the question hanging in the air between you, charged and sharp.

"Very few," you answer, meeting his gaze, daring him to question your honesty.

He laughs softly, a sound that seems to vibrate through your entire being. "But you offered me a kiss. Why?"

You lower your eyes, suddenly feeling foolish, like a girl caught scribbling love notes in the margins of her books. "Such a foolish reason, I’m afraid," you murmur. "I just wanted to kiss you."

"And would you kiss me now?" His voice drops to a whisper, and for a moment, the world narrows to the space between you.

You lift your chin, gathering every ounce of pride and defiance. "No."

He laughs again, a rich, delighted sound, as though your rejection only fuels his determination. "Ah, but you will," he says, with that maddening certainty of his.

You shake your head, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

Wrong Date

Charles Leclerc x Reader

You sigh, adjusting the hem of your dress as you step into the dimly lit, extravagant restaurant. The chandeliers overhead sparkle like tiny galaxies, a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside you. This was a mistake. You didn’t even want to be here, but your friends had practically shoved you into a taxi, insisting that “love comes when you least expect it.”

So here you are, waiting for some guy named Marc—or was it Alan? Honestly, you barely remembered.

The host leads you to a table near the window, where a man is already seated, scrolling through his phone. His light brown hair is slightly tousled, and when he looks up, his green eyes catch the candlelight. He’s handsome—annoyingly so.

“You’re early,” you say, trying to hide your nerves.

He blinks at you, clearly caught off guard. Then, after a beat, he smiles. “I guess I am.”

His accent is smooth, French… no, something else? You don’t dwell on it. You just want to get this evening over with.

“So,” you begin, forcing a polite smile, “what do you do?”

He tilts his head, amused. “You really don’t know?”

You frown. “Should I?”

For a second, he just stares at you, then laughs—a warm, genuine sound that surprises you. “I suppose not. I’m Charles. And you?”

You tell him your name, and he repeats it, letting it roll off his tongue. You don’t want to admit that it sounds nice when he says it.

The conversation is awkward at first. He seems charming, but you feel like you have nothing in common. He talks about traveling, fast cars, and competition. You’re more into books, museums, and quiet evenings.

“I don’t get the appeal of racing,” you confess, sipping your wine. “Driving in circles for hours? Sounds exhausting.”

He nearly chokes on his drink, eyes wide with disbelief. “You’ve never watched Formula 1?”

You shake your head. “Not interested.”

For some reason, that makes him grin. “You might be the first person I’ve met who says that.”

“Glad to be unique,” you say dryly.

But then something shifts. Maybe it’s the way he listens when you talk about your favorite authors, or the way his eyes light up when he describes the thrill of racing. You start teasing him about his job, and he teases you right back, challenging your every assumption. Before you know it, you’re both laughing, the initial awkwardness melting away.

The waiter arrives with dessert, and that’s when your phone buzzes. A message from your friend: “Where are you? Marc says he’s been waiting for 30 minutes!”

Your breath catches. You look at Charles, then at the text.

He raises an eyebrow. “What?”

You hesitate before showing him the message. He reads it, and instead of looking offended, he bursts into laughter.

“Wrong date?” he guesses.

“Wrong date,” you confirm, covering your face in embarrassment.

For a second, there’s silence. Then he leans forward, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Well,” he says, “if it makes you feel better… I’m really glad you sat at the wrong table.”

And somehow, you realize—you are too.

blah, blah, blah....shut up

Dante Sparda x Reader

You step into the dimly lit cathedral, boots clicking against the cracked stone floor. Shadows stretch long and jagged across the decrepit walls, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through shattered stained glass windows. You know he's here. You always do. The air carries that familiar charge—like lightning waiting to strike.

And then, he speaks.

"Well, if it isn’t my favorite thorn in the side. Couldn’t stay away, could you?"

The voice, smooth as silk and sharp as a blade, comes from the darkness above. Dante Sparda. That smirk of his practically audible even before you see his face.

You tilt your head slightly, fingers tightening around your weapon. "You’re the one who makes this whole 'hero of humanity' thing a lot more interesting. Couldn't resist the urge to see me again?"

A slow clap echoes through the cathedral as he steps out of the shadows. That cocky strut of his, the way his crimson coat flares behind him—it’s maddening how he makes the line between charm and arrogance blur. His silver hair glints in the pale light, and his mismatched eyes, one blue and one crimson, are locked on you.

"You’ve got a way with words," he drawls, stopping a few feet from you, Rebellion slung lazily over his shoulder. "Too bad I’ll have to cut this poetry slam short."

You roll your eyes, though your lips twitch in a smirk of their own. "Big talk from someone who’s never managed to land a killing blow."

He chuckles at that, low and rich, the sound curling around you like smoke. "You’d miss me too much if I did." He leans forward just slightly, tilting his head. "Tell me, sweetheart, what keeps bringing you back? The thrill? The chase? Or…" He flashes you a grin sharp enough to cut glass. "Is it me?"

Your stomach twists, and not in the way you’d like to admit. His arrogance is insufferable, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t light a fire under your skin. Still, you’re not about to give him the satisfaction.

"You’re delusional," you retort, stepping closer, daring him to close the gap. "But if you must know, I like keeping my enemies alive. Makes the victories more satisfying."

He hums thoughtfully, his gaze sweeping over you, unabashed and brazen. "Oh, I bet you do."

You scoff, but there’s heat rising to your cheeks, and you hate how he notices. He always does. His grin only widens, and for a brief moment, you wonder if he’s teasing you just to throw you off your game—or if he really means it. Either way, it works.

"You done yet?" you snap, raising your weapon, the blade gleaming as it catches the faint light. "Or are you just stalling because you know you’re going to lose?"

Dante’s eyes light up with that familiar spark of reckless excitement, and he lifts Rebellion, pointing it lazily at you. "Oh, I’m just getting started, babe."

And then he’s on you, a whirlwind of steel and smirks, the clash of your blades ringing out through the cathedral. He fights like he talks—bold, unpredictable, and maddeningly confident. Every strike you throw is met with a counter, every feint answered with a cocky remark that makes you want to punch that smirk off his face.

But there’s something about the way he moves, the way he watches you, that keeps you from hating him entirely. His eyes burn with more than just battle lust; they hold something else, something you can’t quite put into words. And damn it, you’re starting to think he knows it too.

He locks your blade with his, faces inches apart, his breath warm against your skin. "Admit it," he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. "You’re having fun."

You glare at him, trying to ignore the way your heart skips a beat. "Shut up."

He laughs, leaning in just a fraction closer. "You’ll miss me when I’m gone."

You don’t answer. Not with words, anyway. Instead, you shove him back with a growl, your blade flashing as you press the attack. His grin only widens, and for a fleeting moment, you think you see a flicker of something genuine behind his cocky facade.

Like The Movies

James Potter x Reader

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

But then James Potter came into your life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Handsome

Leon Kennedy x Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

dreamgirl

Alexei Vronsky x Reader

You had always known that love could be complicated, but nothing had prepared you for the whirlwind of emotions that Alexei Vronsky brought into your life. He was everything you had ever imagined in a partner — handsome, charming, and filled with a passion that both exhilarated and terrified you. You were engaged to him, but somehow, that commitment only made your feelings more tangled.

It was a quiet afternoon when you found yourself alone with him in the garden, the golden rays of the setting sun casting a soft glow over the petals of the flowers. Alexei stood beside you, his usual composed demeanor giving way to something more vulnerable, more real.

“Do you ever wonder if we’re meant for something more than this?” he asked, his voice soft, but laced with intensity. You looked at him, feeling the weight of his gaze on your face, his eyes filled with longing that you couldn’t deny.

You had always admired Alexei’s ability to mask his emotions, but in that moment, it was clear he was torn. Torn between the life you had been planning together, and the undeniable pull he felt for something else — someone else, perhaps. You didn’t need to ask. The tension between you both was enough.

“I don’t know, Alexei,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, as you gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face. “I thought I knew what we had, but sometimes, I wonder if we're just holding onto the idea of each other.”

His hand reached out, his fingers grazing yours. The simple touch sent a shiver down your spine. His face softened, as though he understood.

“Maybe we’re afraid to let go,” he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. “Afraid of what it means to love someone completely… to lose ourselves in them.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady the emotions that swirled within you. Everything was so uncertain, yet when you were with him, the world outside seemed to disappear.

“I don’t want to lose you, Alexei,” you said, your voice barely audible. “But what if we’re not the people we thought we were when we made these promises?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence enveloping you as he gently cupped your face with his hands. His thumb brushed over your lips, and for a moment, nothing else seemed to matter.

“We were always meant to be more than the promises we made,” he murmured, his lips grazing your forehead in a tender kiss. “You and I… we are meant to write our own story. A story that is not bound by expectations or duty, but by what we feel, here and now.”

His words sent your heart into a frenzy, but you knew deep down that this was the truth you had been avoiding. Your engagement with Alexei was built on expectations, on what others had hoped for you, not on the uncharted path of real, raw love that pulsed between you.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, you realized that you couldn’t keep pretending to be someone you weren’t. With Alexei, you were not bound by the future, but by the present — the shared moments of passion and vulnerability that connected you both in a way that was impossible to deny.

In that garden, with the world fading around you, you knew that your love story with Alexei Vronsky would never be simple, but it would always be yours. And no matter what the future held, you would always remember the day when you let go of the promises you thought you had to keep, and embraced the love that was waiting for you both.