Nightmares

𝐎𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐆𝐨𝐝! 𝐈 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

Dave Lizewski x Reader

You’ve known Dave Lizewski since you were kids, your childhood filled with random conversations, shared secrets, and playground adventures. He was always the awkward, goofy guy with a heart of gold, never really standing out but always managing to make you laugh. The two of you went your separate ways as you got older, but somehow, you always ended up in the same classes, walking the same halls. It was almost like fate had a funny way of pulling you back together.

Now, here you are, teenagers, both of you in the same high school, sitting next to each other in History class. And yet, nothing feels the same. Dave has changed. You’ve noticed it before—the way he’s grown into his body, how he’s stopped wearing those ridiculous superhero T-shirts that used to make you laugh, but still, you’ve always seen him the same way. You’ve always known him as Dave, the boy who couldn’t seem to look at you without turning red.

But lately, something’s different. You’ve started catching him looking at you—really looking at you. Not just glancing over your shoulder or sneaking a glance when he thinks you're not paying attention, but staring at you, his expression softer, almost like he’s seeing you for the first time. It makes your heart skip a beat every time, and you’re sure he’s noticed.

Today, during lunch, you’re sitting in the cafeteria, your tray in front of you, half-eaten. You’re talking to your friends, but your eyes keep straying to the table where Dave is sitting with his usual group. You can feel his eyes on you again, a familiar warmth creeping up your neck, making you look over to find him already glancing in your direction. His face is flushed, as if he’s embarrassed to have been caught, but there’s a flicker of something deeper in his eyes. You almost don’t want to look away because you feel it, too—the pull.

You decide to take the plunge and stand up, walking over to his table, your heart racing in your chest. His friends all wave and greet you, but you can’t focus on them. Dave is sitting there, his hand resting awkwardly on his tray, as though he doesn’t quite know what to do with it. You meet his eyes, and for a moment, neither of you speak.

“Hey, Dave,” you say, breaking the silence with a smile. His gaze softens immediately, and he sits up straighter, like he’s been waiting for you to come over for ages.

“Hey, you...” he replies, his voice just a little shaky. There’s a small pause before he adds, “You look… really nice today.”

You can’t help but smile at the sincerity in his words, the way he blushes immediately afterward. It’s the same old Dave, the one who’s always been awkward, but now there’s something new between you. Something unspoken. You shift on your feet, unsure of what to say next, and then you hear him mutter, almost to himself, “I… I’ve liked you for a long time.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“Really?” You can’t help but let the words slip out, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, his eyes meeting yours again. “Yeah, since we were little. But I was always too afraid to say anything.”

A soft laugh escapes you, not mocking, but warm and knowing. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because you were always so out of my league,” he admits, a sheepish grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “I figured you’d never look at me the same way.”

You can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face. “You’re an idiot,” you tell him gently, feeling a rush of affection toward him. “You’ve always been my friend, Dave. I think… I think I’ve always liked you, too.”

His eyes widen, the surprise written clearly on his face. It’s like the world has just tilted on its axis for him. His hand twitches, like he wants to reach out to you but doesn’t know how to.

“Well, I guess I’m just an idiot who got lucky then,” he says with a grin, that familiar warmth returning to his cheeks.

“Yeah,” you say softly, your heart racing. “I guess so.”

You sit down next to him, the world seeming to melt away as you both fall into easy conversation, like no time has passed. But now, there’s something new between you, something you can’t ignore. The spark that was always there is finally being acknowledged, and you both know it’s only the beginning of something much bigger.

And as the lunch bell rings, signaling the end of another school day, you find yourself feeling lighter, your heart warmer than it’s ever been. This, whatever this is between you and Dave, feels like it’s meant to be.

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

Wife

Tangerine x Reader

The first rays of sunlight stream through the delicate lace curtains, casting golden patterns across the soft white sheets. The warmth of the morning caresses your skin, but it is the gentle rise and fall of Tangerine’s breath beside you that truly warms you.

You turn your head slightly, and there he is—your husband. Your husband. The word still feels surreal, even after the vows, the dance, the laughter, and the quiet, stolen kisses beneath the stars last night. His dark lashes rest against his cheeks, his face peaceful in sleep, the softest trace of a smile curving his lips.

Tangerine shifts, the sheets rustling as he stirs. Then, with a sleepy groan, he blinks open his eyes—those stormy blue eyes that have always held you captive. When he sees you, his smile widens.

“Morning, love,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep, tinged with his ever-present British charm. His hand reaches for yours beneath the covers, fingers lacing together effortlessly, as if they were always meant to fit.

You can’t help but smile. “Morning, husband.”

His eyes darken slightly at the word, a mixture of awe and mischief flickering in them. “Say that again.”

You chuckle, but he’s already shifting closer, his arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you against him. His warmth is intoxicating, his scent filling your senses.

“Husband,” you whisper, and Tangerine groans playfully, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“Mm, I don’t think I’ll ever tire of hearing that,” he mumbles against your skin before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder. His lips trail upward, over your jaw, until they finally meet yours in a kiss that speaks of promises and forever.

You sigh into him, fingers threading through his tousled hair, your heart swelling as he deepens the kiss. It’s slow, unhurried, a taste of the eternity you now have together.

When he finally pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, his thumb tracing lazy circles over the back of your hand. “We have the whole day to ourselves,” he muses. “No schedules, no guests, no distractions.”

You hum in agreement, trailing a finger along his jawline. “What shall we do, then?”

Tangerine smirks, that boyish, heart-stealing grin you fell in love with. “Well, love, we could stay right here and continue this…” His lips brush yours again, teasingly. “Or we could make breakfast.”

You laugh, nudging him. “Are you bribing me with food?”

“Absolutely.” He grins. “A full English breakfast, just for my beautiful wife. What do you say?”

You pretend to consider, then with a dramatic sigh, you say, “Fine. But only if you wear an apron.”

Tangerine chuckles, shaking his head. “Married one day, and you’re already making demands.” He pauses, then leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “I suppose I’ll allow it.”

You giggle as he rolls out of bed, stretching before turning back to you, holding out a hand. “Come on, my love.”

My love. Your heart stutters at the sound of it.

You take his hand, letting him pull you up and into his arms once more. As you stand there, wrapped in the golden morning light, you realize—this is forever. And there’s no place you’d rather be.

𝐋𝐚𝐳𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

Alexei Vronsky x Reader

The first rays of dawn creep through the gossamer curtains, casting soft golden light across the room. You awaken to the quiet rustle of movement nearby, your heart quickening before your eyes even open. The subtle aroma of fresh coffee mingles with the faint scent of cedar and citrus—his scent, distinctly Alexei.

When you finally open your eyes, he is there by the window, his silhouette framed by the early morning glow. Alexei Vronsky, ever the picture of effortless elegance, is dressed in a loose white shirt, the first few buttons undone, and dark trousers that cling perfectly to his lean form. His dark hair is tousled, his face turned toward the pale morning sky. For a moment, he seems lost in thought, as if he’s carrying the weight of the world.

“Good morning,” you murmur, your voice still thick with sleep.

His head turns at the sound, and when his eyes meet yours, they soften instantly, a rare and fleeting vulnerability in their depths. He crosses the room in long strides, the faintest smile playing on his lips. The smile is just for you—it always is.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed. His fingers brush a strand of hair from your face, lingering against your cheek. “But the light...it was too perfect not to watch.”

You prop yourself up on one elbow, letting the sheet slip from your shoulder. “And you didn’t think to share it with me?”

“I wanted to preserve the peace,” he replies, though there’s a playful glint in his eyes now. His hand trails down your arm, tracing idle patterns against your skin. “But I’m glad you’re awake. The morning is always better with you.”

You laugh softly, the sound seeming to warm him. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, before finding your lips. The kiss is unhurried, tender, as though he has all the time in the world for you—and only you.

“Shall we take our coffee outside?” he murmurs against your lips, his breath warm and intimate. “The garden is beautiful this time of day.”

“Only if you promise to keep me warm,” you tease, though you already know he will.

His eyes darken slightly, filled with something deeper than just affection. “Always,” he vows.

And with that, Alexei rises, holding out his hand to you. The morning stretches ahead, full of promises whispered in golden light and moments shared in quiet intimacy.

𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓰𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓪𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓱𝓲𝓶

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.

Love

Tangerine x Reader

You’re in the middle of the kitchen, fumbling with dinner, when Tangerine’s voice filters in from the hallway. That familiar lilt, soft and sure, with a teasing edge to it, instantly makes your heart flutter.

“You’ve been at this for hours, love,” he says, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed in mock sternness. The way his words roll off his tongue—"love" stretching like honey—sends a smile tugging at your lips.

“I’m trying to perfect your favorite dish,” you reply, stirring the pot with exaggerated concentration. You don’t even look at him, but you can hear the smirk in his voice when he steps closer.

“And burning it, are we?” he teases, placing his hands on your shoulders. His touch is warm, steady, and when he dips his head to whisper near your ear, you can feel the smile in his words. “Let me take over before you set the house on fire.”

You glance at him then, unable to resist, and there’s that face. Mischievous brown eyes and that lopsided grin you fell for years ago. It’s so unfair how he can disarm you without trying.

“You’re insufferable,” you say, but the affection is clear in your tone.

“And you adore me,” he counters smoothly, his accent making the words sound like a melody.

He nudges you aside with mock impatience, tying an apron around his waist. Watching him cook is its own kind of magic—the precise movements of his hands, the soft hum of a tune under his breath, and the occasional glance he throws your way to make sure you’re watching.

“You know,” he says after a while, his voice lower, “I only pretended to like this dish at first.”

You blink at him, feigning offense. “You what?”

“Oh, don’t get cross, darling,” he says quickly, his accent thickening as he turns to face you with an innocent shrug. “It grew on me. Like you.”

He’s grinning again, his dimples on full display, and you can’t help but laugh. He’s always had a way of weaving humor and tenderness together, leaving you wrapped up in both.

By the time dinner is ready, the kitchen smells heavenly, and he insists on setting the table, pulling out your chair like the gentleman he is.

As you sit across from him, the two of you laughing over nothing and everything, his hand reaches across to clasp yours.

“You know I love you, right?” he says, his tone soft, sincere. His accent gives the words a weight that feels ancient and timeless all at once.

“I do,” you reply, squeezing his hand. “But I love your accent more.”

He laughs, full and warm, and when he leans forward to kiss you, you think that no dish in the world, no matter how perfect, could compare to this.

To him.

𝓢𝓱𝓮'𝓼 𝓪 𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓬

Charles Leclerc x Reader

The warm breeze gently tousling your hair as you look out over the twinkling city lights. It's a calm evening, the kind that holds a certain magic, the kind where anything seems possible. You've had a long day, but something about tonight feels different, as if the universe is aligning just for you.

Suddenly, you hear the soft strum of a guitar. You turn, and there, standing in the dim light of the courtyard below, is Charles Leclerc. His face is partially hidden by the shadows, but his intense gaze locks with yours. His lips curl into a knowing smile as he continues to play, his fingers moving with ease over the strings.

“¿What are you doing here?” you ask, your voice trembling slightly with surprise and curiosity.

He steps closer, the sound of his guitar filling the air as he sings in a soft, melodic tone.

His voice is warm and rich, the words flowing like a river, effortlessly bridging the gap between your hearts. It's not just a song, it's a serenade, something deeply personal, meant only for you.

You feel a flutter in your chest, a blend of emotions you can’t quite place. But as Charles continues to sing, you realize it's a feeling you've been longing for—romance, connection, tenderness, all wrapped up in this unexpected moment.

When he finishes the song, there's a quiet pause. He looks at you, waiting, perhaps for a sign, for the acknowledgment of his heartfelt gesture. You walk towards him, your heart racing, as you reach the balcony edge.

“I didn’t know you could sing like that,” you whisper, your voice softer now, almost lost in the night air.

Charles chuckles, a sound that feels like the perfect harmony to his song. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me,” he says, his eyes dancing with mischief.

You smile back at him, feeling an undeniable pull towards him. You step down the stairs and cross the courtyard to meet him. The space between you closes, and as you finally stand face to face, he looks at you with such intensity, it’s almost as if he’s memorizing every detail.

“You’re incredible,” you say, your heart beating faster than ever.

He reaches out, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face, and for a moment, everything falls away—the world, the noise, the distance. It’s just the two of you, surrounded by the quiet of the night.

“I know,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm. “But I would be nothing without you.”

It feels like everything aligns perfectly. The stars, the music, the warmth of the night, and the spark between you two. It’s not just a serenade. It’s a promise, a moment in time that will never be forgotten.

As he gently pulls you into his arms, you close your eyes and let yourself sink into the rhythm of the night, of the love blooming around you.

Boyfriend

Pietro Maximoff x Reader

You’re leaning against the bar, nursing a glass of something far too sweet, trying to blend into the crowd that pulses around you. The bass of the music vibrates through your chest, but it’s not the rhythm making your pulse race. It’s him. Pietro Maximoff.

He’s across the room, laughing, tossing his silver hair back as if the spotlight should follow him. It always does, in a way. There’s something magnetic about him, something that pulls you in even when you tell yourself you’ve had enough of his games.

You’ve told yourself a thousand times that this isn’t anything. Just two people who can’t seem to stay away from each other. He’s not your boyfriend. You’re not his girlfriend. And yet, the way his eyes keep darting to you, sharp and possessive, says otherwise.

You don’t want to admit that it bothers you, but it does. The girl he’s talking to is tall, leaning in too close, her hand brushing his arm. You watch as his grin falters for a fraction of a second, his gaze finding yours.

And just like that, he’s gone. A blur of silver and blue as he darts through the crowd, leaving the girl startled and blinking at the empty space he’s left behind.

“Jealous?” he says, suddenly at your side, the teasing lilt in his voice making your stomach flip.

“Of what?” you ask, turning your head away from him, pretending not to care.

He leans in, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your ear. “You tell me.”

You hate that he’s right. That you do care. That the idea of him with anyone else makes something twist in your chest. But you’re not going to give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Maximoff,” you say, setting your glass down with a little more force than necessary.

He laughs, low and rich, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “Right. Because you were just standing there, staring at me for no reason.”

Your jaw tightens. “Maybe I was staring at her.”

He blinks, caught off guard for a split second, before the smirk returns. “Sure, detka. Keep telling yourself that.”

You roll your eyes, but he’s too close now, his hand brushing against yours, and suddenly the room feels too small, the music too loud.

“You don’t want me to see anyone else,” he says, softer this time, the teasing gone from his voice. “And I don’t want you to see anyone either. So why are we pretending?”

Your heart skips a beat, and you hate how easily he does this to you—how easily he gets under your skin, how easily he makes you want things you swore you didn’t need.

“Because it’s complicated,” you say, your voice barely audible over the music.

“Doesn’t have to be,” he says, and then his hand is on your cheek, tilting your face toward him.

You could pull away. You should pull away. But instead, you let him close the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a way that’s both familiar and electric.

And for the first time, you wonder if maybe he’s right. Maybe it doesn’t have to be complicated at all.

𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆

Nicholas Chavez x Reader

You hadn’t expected to see him again.

It was one of those evenings where the city hummed with the noise of too many conversations and the clinking of glasses. The gallery was crowded, the air thick with pretension and the faint smell of paint, but you’d come because your friend needed support for her exhibit. You hadn’t expected him to walk through the door, but there he was. Nicholas Chavez, in all his maddening glory, wearing that lopsided smirk that you hated so much.

Or maybe you hated how it still made your heart race.

“Hey, stranger,” he said, his voice low and casual as he approached you. Too casual, considering how you’d left things.

You glanced up from your drink, letting your gaze rest on him for only a second before looking away. “Nicholas,” you said flatly. No smile, no warmth.

The last time you’d seen him had been months ago. That so-called “adventure,” as he had so flippantly called it later. For you, it had been chaos—intense, thrilling, and ultimately devastating. You’d fallen for his charm, his wit, the way he seemed to turn every moment into a movie scene. He had swept you up into a whirlwind of late nights and stolen glances, leaving you breathless and raw.

And then he’d left.

No explanation, no warning—just gone. A cryptic text weeks later had offered little closure: It was fun while it lasted, huh?

You’d hated him ever since.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, keeping your tone sharp.

“Supporting the arts,” he said, feigning innocence. He picked up a wine glass from a passing tray and leaned against the wall, as if the room existed solely for his benefit. “And maybe hoping to run into someone.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

He chuckled softly, the sound like a dagger to your chest. “Come on, don’t be like that. You can’t tell me you didn’t miss me. Even a little?”

You wanted to tell him exactly how much you hadn’t missed him. How his absence had been like a relief, a weight lifted. But the words stuck in your throat because, if you were honest, there had been moments—late at night, when the city was quiet and your thoughts ran wild—when you’d wondered if he’d think of you. If he’d regret leaving.

And now, here he was, with that infuriating smile and those dark eyes that saw through you too easily.

“I didn’t,” you lied.

He tilted his head, studying you. “Liar.”

You stepped closer, your voice low and cutting. “Do you know how much I hate you, Nicholas?”

He didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. Instead, he leaned in, so close you could smell the faint trace of his cologne. “If that’s true,” he murmured, “then why are you still standing here?”

Your breath caught, your heart betraying you with its rapid beat. You wanted to slap him, to walk away and never look back. But part of you stayed rooted, drawn to him in ways you couldn’t explain or justify.

“I don’t owe you anything,” you said finally, stepping back. “Not my time, not my attention, not even my anger.”

He looked at you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across his face. Then he nodded, the smirk fading. “Fair enough.”

And just like that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, your chest tight and your mind reeling.

You hated him.

You hated that part of you still didn’t want him to leave.

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.