𝐎𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐆𝐨𝐝! 𝐈 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

𝓘 𝓬𝓪𝓷 𝓭𝓸 𝓲𝓽 𝓶𝔂𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯

Leon S Kennedy x Reader

You stand in the middle of the cozy kitchen, apron tied clumsily around your waist, hands fumbling with the cutting board. The recipe you found online seemed simple enough, but as you glance back and forth between the instructions and the ingredients sprawled out on the counter, doubt starts to creep in.

Leon leans casually against the doorway, his signature smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His presence alone is enough to distract you, but he doesn’t say anything—just watches you struggle with the knife as you attempt to chop an onion.

“I can do it myself,” you say, without looking up.

“I know you can,” he replies, his voice calm and full of warmth. “But let me.”

You glance over your shoulder, catching the soft glint of amusement in his blue eyes. He’s already pushing off the doorframe and rolling up his sleeves. His movements are so natural, so unassuming, and you’re left staring as he gently takes the knife from your hand.

“You don’t trust me?” you tease, stepping aside to let him take over.

“Of course I do,” he says, picking up the onion you’d abandoned. “I just trust me more with sharp objects.”

You laugh at that, and the sound seems to light up the room, even in the dim glow of the kitchen. Leon glances at you briefly, and for a moment, there’s something in his expression—something unspoken yet so profoundly tender.

As he starts to chop the onion with precision, you can’t help but admire the way his hands move, confident and skilled. His hair falls slightly into his face, and you resist the urge to brush it back.

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

He pauses, his knife hovering above the cutting board. Turning to you, he leans in just enough that the warmth of his proximity makes your heart race.

“You’ve been doing everything all day,” he says softly, his voice steady but gentle. “Let me take care of you for once.”

There’s a sincerity in his words that leaves you momentarily speechless. He’s always been like this—selfless, always putting others first. You reach up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, trying to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks.

“Fine,” you concede, folding your arms. “But don’t think this means you’re getting out of dishes.”

He chuckles, the sound low and rich, and the way he looks at you in that moment—like you’re the only thing that matters—makes your chest tighten.

“Deal,” he says, going back to the onion.

You lean against the counter, watching him work, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself relax. The room smells of fresh ingredients and something else entirely—comfort, safety, and a quiet kind of love.

And as Leon finishes chopping and moves on to help with the rest of the meal, you realize that moments like this—simple, quiet, and shared—might just be your favorite kind of adventure with him.

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.

𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Warning: Mentions of Narcolepsy

The warm water wraps around you like a cocoon, the steam curling into the air as you lean back against the edge of the tub. It’s been a long day, and the soft scent of lavender is supposed to help you relax. Your eyes flutter shut for just a moment—just a moment, you think—but you know better.

Before you can react, the familiar weight of exhaustion tugs at you, pulling you under like an unseen tide.

But before you sink too far, strong arms are already there. Charles.

"Hey, chérie," his voice is soft, laced with concern as he pulls you upright. His arms are warm, steady, the kind of safety you don’t even have to think about. "I’ve got you."

You blink up at him, dazed. He’s crouched beside the tub, sleeves of his hoodie damp, his curls a little disheveled like he ran the moment he realized you’d been in here too long.

"I—" Your voice is barely a whisper. "Did I...?"

"You were falling asleep," he confirms, brushing wet strands of hair away from your face. "I was in the other room, but I had a feeling."

Of course he did. He always does.

You swallow, guilt settling in. "I didn’t mean to..."

"Shhh." He shakes his head, offering you that small, understanding smile that always makes your heart ache in the best way. "You don’t have to apologize."

With careful hands, he reaches for a towel, wrapping it around you before lifting you effortlessly from the water. The air is cooler against your skin, but he holds you close, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead.

"You scared me a little," he admits, voice barely above a whisper. "But you’re okay. That’s all that matters."

You curl into his chest, breathing in the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the softness of his hoodie. "Thank you for always catching me."

His grip tightens, his lips brushing against your temple. "Always, mon amour."

And in his arms, you know—you will always be safe.

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.

𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐢 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

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.”

Good father

Anakin Skywalker x Reader

Anakin Skywalker stood by the window, looking out into the starry expanse of space. The distant stars twinkled like tiny pinpoints of hope. But in his heart, a storm raged. His past was a web of regret, pain, and loss, but now the future loomed before him with hope. Two little lives. Two precious twins. Luke and Leia.

The faint sound of their soft cries drifted in from the other room. Anakin closed his eyes for a moment, taking in the sound with a tenderness that surprised even him. He wasn't used to that kind of love, the pure, unwavering devotion a father felt for his children. His thoughts drifted back to the first time he'd held them in his arms, their tiny faces wrinkled in confusion and wonder. They were perfect, a reflection of his redemption, and yet he felt unworthy of them.

As the days passed, Anakin found himself struggling with the idea of fatherhood. His life as a Jedi had never prepared him for this—he had been trained to fight, to serve, to protect, but never to care. Yet there he was, standing on the threshold of a new beginning, wanting to be the best father he could be.

He heard footsteps behind him. A soft, warm presence enveloped him like a comforting blanket. Anakin turned to find her standing there—his wife, his mate, his love. The woman who had helped him find the light again.

You smiled, your eyes filled with quiet strength. “They’re hungry,” you said softly.

Anakin nodded, but there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “I want to help… but I’m not sure how.”

You walked to his side, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “You’re already doing that,” you assured him. “Just by being here, by wanting to be involved, you’re already showing them how much you care about them.”

He smiled, grateful for your words, though doubts still lingered in his heart. They had always shared a deep connection, one that had been forged in both passion and struggle. But now they were parents, and there was no guide to tell him what to do. He could feel the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, but there was something else, too, something more powerful than the fear that had once controlled him. It was love.

As they entered the nursery, Anakin took a deep breath, his fingers brushing against the soft fabric of his son’s blanket. Luke’s small hand curled around his finger, and the world seemed to slow down, leaving only the warmth of that small hand. Leia, wrapped up next to her brother, looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” Anakin admitted quietly, his voice filled with vulnerability. “But I want to try. I want to be a good father to them.”

You stepped closer and rested a hand on his shoulder. “You already are. They will grow up knowing your love, your strength, and your heart. That is all they need.”

Anakin nodded, feeling the weight of your words settle in his chest. It wasn’t about being perfect, it was about being there, showing up every day, even when doubts clouded his mind. He had once feared his own ability to love, thinking it was a weakness that would destroy him. But now, with Luke and Leia in his arms, he realized it was his greatest strength.

The sound of the twins’ cries soon filled the room again, and Anakin smiled softly, his heart filling with tenderness. He was no longer the young Jedi who had once struggled to control his emotions. He had learned that love, in its purest form, was not something to be feared, it was something to be embraced.

Together, they cared for their children that night, and in every tender touch and every glance shared between them, Anakin knew that this was where he belonged. He was no longer alone. And for the first time in his life, he understood what it meant to truly be a father.

...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.

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.

𝓜𝓲𝓭𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓒𝓻𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼

James Potter x Reader

It was too late. James had been fast asleep, his dreams filled with the usual chaos of Quidditch matches and pranks, when a noise from the kitchen jolted him awake. He sat up, his messy hair even more untamed than usual, his heart pounding for reasons he couldn't quite place.

You weren't in bed.

Frowning, he pushed off the covers, feet hitting the cold floor as he grabbed his wand from the nightstand. The house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath his bare feet.

And then—another sound. A soft rustling, followed by the unmistakable scent of something sweet.

James paused in the doorway to the kitchen, taking in the scene before him. There you were, bathed in the moonlight spilling through the window, standing by the counter with a bowl of strawberries in your hands. Your oversized sweater—his sweater—hung loosely over your growing belly.

He leaned against the doorframe, a slow grin forming on his lips. "You know, love, if you were going to sneak out for a midnight feast, the least you could do is invite me."

You turned, eyes wide in the dim light, a strawberry halfway to your mouth. "James!" you gasped, nearly dropping the fruit. "You scared me."

He chuckled, padding over to you. His hands instinctively found your waist, fingers grazing the curve of your belly as he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Couldn't help it," he murmured. "Woke up and my wife was missing. Thought I was about to face some kind of home invasion. Turns out, it’s just my girl stealing fruit in the dead of night."

You huffed, popping the strawberry into your mouth. "The baby wanted them," you mumbled around the bite, cheeks warm as his eyes softened at your words.

His grin widened. "Oh, so that’s how it is? Blaming the cravings on the little one, are we?"

You rolled your eyes but didn't protest when he reached into the bowl, plucking a berry and holding it up to your lips. His gaze never left yours as you took a slow bite, his fingers brushing against your chin.

For a moment, everything was still. Just the two of you in the quiet of the night, the taste of strawberries lingering between kisses, and the steady rhythm of a new life growing between you.

James sighed contentedly, pressing his forehead against yours. "You know," he whispered, "I can't wait to meet them. But I think I love them already—because they’re a part of you."

Your heart swelled, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him into another kiss, slow and sweet.

"Well," you teased, brushing your nose against his, "if they take after you, we might be in trouble."

James laughed, wrapping his arms around you, warm and steady. "Oh, love," he murmured, voice thick with adoration. "We're already in trouble. But I wouldn't have it any other way."

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.