#finding certainty in uncertainty

[sunni-stuff]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 This is part 4 Part 5

His question hit like a punch, and the pressure of it lingered in the air, heavy and suffocating. Armed Forces Day? Three years ago? A sharp jolt of recognition hit you, though the details of that night remained fuzzy. The memories were there, but they felt distant—like something you hadn't allowed yourself to fully remember after becoming a mother. 

You steadied yourself, trying to mask the unease rising in your chest. “What are you talking about?” you tried to sound steady but the tightening grip on your purse betrayed the rush of nerves running through you.

Simon shifted, his broad frame nearly eclipsing the dim light of the bar. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he seemed to wrestle in his own head, as though each word carried a burden too heavy to bear. “There was a night,” he began, his tone low and rough, every syllable deliberate. “Here. Three years ago. You were here. So was I.”

Your heart skipped, a wave of realization hitting with an almost physical force. The hazy recollections of that night flooded back, slowly accumulating together—laughter, drinks, an unexpected connection. Something that hadn’t felt planned but had burned far too bright to ignore.

The knot in your stomach twisted painfully, every part of you urging you to push it away, but the truth had already begun to sink in. “You’re…” The words stalled in your throat, heavy and lodged, the sentence unfinished as the reality stung like an accusation between you.

Simon exhaled sharply, part sigh, part laugh—but there was no humor in it. His gaze locked onto yours with unsettling intensity, and for a moment, it felt like he was waiting for you to break. “Yeah,” he replied simply, the word thick with certainty. “And she’s mine, isn’t she?”

A cold shiver ran down your spine, your body instinctively stiffening. The truth strung in the silence between you both, too glaring to avoid. Heart racing, every sense screamed to deny it, to distance yourself from this conversation before it spiraled out of control. But anything that could be said felt wrong, heavy on your tongue as you forced them out: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Simon’s eyes held yours, filled with something you hadn’t seen before—a desperation that cut through his usually composed demeanor. “Please,” he urged, the plea more potent. “Just tell me.”

How could this be happening? How could something so raw, so unspoken, suddenly spill into the air between the two of you? The weight of the moment anchored you, and for a moment, you couldn’t find a way to move past it. 

“She is,” you muttered at last, the confession slipping out like an unwanted secret. Fingers clenched tightly against the table’s edge, grounding yourself against the suffocating reality pressing in. “I never thought… never thought you'd come back into the picture.”

A brief silence stretched out before you spoke again, everything tumbling out in a rush. "I didn’t even know your name. All I recall was you kept making me." The admission hung in the air, lighter than it was, an attempt to lighten everything you didn’t want to say. 

The memory refused to stay buried. His face from that night, the intensity of his stare under the bar’s muted glow, how his presence seemed magnetic and overwhelming all at once—it all surfaced, unbidden. The connection had been undeniable, but that was your secret to carry. He didn’t need to know the details you still clung to.. 

“I don’t even know how it happened,” The sentence barely made it past your lips. “We used protection.” Doubt crept into your mind, unraveling the careful narrative you’d built for yourself. Did we? The past, fogged by alcohol and blurred moments, refused to come into focus.

Simon blinked, the blankness in his expression giving way to confusion, then disbelief. “Did we?” he asked with an edge of uncertainty. He was searching for answers neither of you seemed able to provide. Silence filled the space between you, heavy with unspoken questions.

"That parts a bit fuzzy," you admitted quietly, thoughts drifting away, the edges of the remembrance blurring with every passing second. “And clearly we didn't given our current situation.” 

Meeting his gaze, you knew this was the man from that fortunate night. Only different. More mature as if life hadn’t been kind to him. “All I know is… I woke up, and it was just me.” The recollection hung heavier than expected, twisting in your chest. "I never imagined I’d run into you again."

A heavy silence settled between the two of you, the gravity of everything left unsaid pressing down on the air. Neither of you knew how to move forward, or even if moving forward was possible.

“I knew she was mine,” Simon muttered, his hand clenching into a fist at his side. He looked like he was trying to hold something back, fighting against his own emotions threatening to break free.

You blinked in disbelief, the reality of his revelation settling in like ice in your veins. “You saw her?” The shock was evident. The idea that he had been so close—watching, perhaps even knowing—yet remained silent was almost too much to process.

Simon nodded, his gaze never meeting yours as he began. “Last month. When you were leaving the café with her. Johnny stopped you, and I was there.” He hesitated, swallowing hard as if the bulk of it all was pressing on him. “Johnny and the lads, they were the first to say they saw a little girl with my face. I was skeptical at first But then… then I saw the two of you together. And I saw it. Saw me in her. I had no idea she was even a possibility. Or that you were, for that matter."

Your breath hitched, a sharp sting rising in your chest. The anger that had been simmering beneath the surface, the hurt, and the confusion all collided in one sudden wave. “Why didn’t you say anything?” The question shot out before you could stop it, the accusation sharp and loaded with all the frustration. He had been so close. Watching. Why didn’t he speak up?

Simon paused, his gaze dropping to his hands, fingers flexing as if he were trying to grasp for something he couldn’t hold. The silence stretched long between you, the tension palpable, as if the room itself was holding its breath. He wanted to say something, anything, but nothing came. 

“I…” He started, staring at his hands as though they might hold the answer. “I’m not good with things like this, love.” He rubbed the back of his neck, having a hard time fully expressing how he felt but this moment needed authenticity. “I needed time to figure out if I could step into a life that was already doing fine without me. I was afraid of complicating things, of ruining something that was just fine without me."

You didn’t expect what he said to hit you so hard. The impact of his confession—that he had stayed away because he wasn’t sure if he was fit to be a part of your life, Adira’s life—settled deep within you, heavier than you could have imagined. You’d been fine, hadn’t you? Raising Adira, carving out a life on your own. But there's always been that lingering voice in the back of your mind, that small, quiet thought of “what if?” What if things had been different? What if he had been there from the start? Maybe you wouldn’t have had to quit those overpriced mommy-and-me classes because of those judgmental women who gossiped behind your back. Maybe things would’ve been easier.

“I wasn’t about to just waltz in, love,” Simon’s voice softened, more vulnerable now, like he was carefully weighing his thoughts. “I needed to know if you’d even want me here. You and her…” His gaze darkened for a moment, his voice trailing off as though unable to bear too much out in the open. “I wasn’t sure if I was the right person to step into something already so… perfect.”

In those words, there was something you hadn’t expected to hear from him: honesty. He was afraid. Afraid of being the one to ruin what you had built. Afraid of not being enough for you or for Adira.

“I guess I understand,” you said quietly. "I just wish you showed up sooner."

Simon didn’t answer right away. Something within him flickered with guilt, and for a moment, you both stood there in silence. He glanced down at his hands, fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out, but wasn’t sure if he had the right to.

"Can I meet her?" Simon asked nervously, a grown man fidgeting in his seat, the weight of his request sinking in.

"Now?" You chuckled, trying to brighten the moment. "It's late. I'm sure she's already asleep."

Simon’s gaze flickered with hesitation, but the desire was clear. He was barely holding it together, as if afraid that the chance to meet his daughter would slip away if he didn’t ask now. 

"I understand," he mumbles after a pause, almost to himself, but there was a longing there you couldn’t ignore. "I just…I need to see her. To know her. Even if just for a moment."

The magnitude of the situation pressed down on you again, this wasn’t something you had expected when you woke up this morning. You had no clue what to do with all of this, with him, with Adira’s future—your future. But still, you could hear his sincerity.

"Tomorrow," You decided. "We can meet up tomorrow, but it has to be on her terms. She's not exactly the warmest with new people."

Simon nodded, his expression a mix of relief and determination. "I can wait."

You gave him a small smile, a silent acknowledgment of the moment. There was still so much to figure out, but at least now, for the first time, there was a possibility. A chance to rebuild what had been lost. "Bring toys," you suggested sincerely, thinking about what would make her happy. "She likes trains. Doesn’t need to be anything cartoon-ish, just a proper train."

Simon blinked, a touch of confusion in his gaze. "She doesn't like dolls? Like most girls?" His tone had a hint of disbelief, as though he couldn’t quite picture a little girl who wasn’t into the typical, pink frilly things.

The thought of dolls made your stomach tighten, and you shook your head vehemently, as if to expel the very idea. "God, no," you replied, unease creeping into the conversation. "Please, don’t bring dolls. That’s the last thing I want." You shuddered as you spoke, recalling all the unnerving memories. "She gets all Sid from Toy Story with them."

Simon’s brow furrowed even deeper, clearly unsure. "What does that mean?"

You visibly grimaced, the image flashing vividly in your mind. "It means I wake up to doll heads scattered all over the place," you say, your voice low and serious. "And it's... creepy. Like she's planning something with them. It’s like waking up in a horror movie."

Simon chuckled at first, but as he saw the unflinching seriousness in your expression, his laughter quickly turned uncertain. His grin faded, and the unease that filled his eyes told you that he was realizing this wasn’t some joke. "You’re messing with me, right?"

Your stare at him, completely deadpan. "I wish I was."

For a moment, Simon just stared, taking in your unwavering expression. His lips parted, a nervous laugh escaping him as he absorbed warning. "Alright," he said slowly, now understanding your cautious warning. "No dolls. Trains. Got it."

You gave a relieved sigh, feeling the baggage lift off your shoulders. The tension hadn’t fully gone, but for now, at least the toy issue was settled. There were plenty of bigger things to confront later, but this? This was a small victory.

This one is a little shorter than the rest, simply because I want the meet up chapter to be really long for yall! :3

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[swordgrace]

❝ 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐰. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: wedded to cregan stark, a man you’ve never met , in an arrangement of convenience, you come to learn that even a wolf’s stoicism is rather deceiving.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: cregan stark x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.1K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), arranged marriage, reader & cregan are strangers, virgin!cregan and virgin!reader, cregan is really sweet in this, mutual loss of virginity, talk of insecurities relating to appearance, heavy kissing, size kink / size difference, brief handjob & fingering (fem!rec), groping, unprotected p in v sex, descriptions of cum, creampie, obligatory stark breeding kink, missionary position, soft ending + aftercare.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this was so so so fun to write, it’s a different take on cregan from how I usually write him as experienced, and lowkey loved this! I really hope that you all love this as much as I loved writing it! thank you for any support, much love! 🫶

DUTY — THE BANE OF LOVE, THE FOUNDATION OF ALL HONORABLE MEN, THE SPINE OF THE REALM; A SACRIFICE. A NECESSARY SACRIFICE, THE PLEDGE OF A MAN GROWN, OF A FLEDGLING LORD NOW COMING INTO HIS OWN POWER AND CERTAINTY.

Cregan Stark, the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, was to be wed beneath the Weirwood Tree, boughs of an ancient crimson serving as the canopy to his newly-forged union with you.

A man of nine-and-ten, it was expected of him — unions with advantageous houses, married to a woman in exchange for something he did not have. It was not in his nature to be fraught with nerves in the face of uncertainty; as he grew into his role as Lord, so too did his confidence grow.

Not only was the growing wolf deemed a strong man, he was adept with a longsword and a proficient fighter. Cregan had excelled at his duties as Lord of Winterfell — however, marriage is where he assumed he’d falter.

Inevitably, he knew that he would find himself in this predicament, sworn to marry a suitable prospect from a noble house. His advisors had arranged a rather promising match to a maiden of House Connington, an exceedingly wealthy name, well-known in the Stormlands.

Northern alliances were already strong, built upon blood, steel, and an unyielding winter — it would be useful to have an ally further South.

He did not know what you looked like; your temperament, moral character, or if you would even find him favorable. It was not often that Cregan allowed himself to be plagued by lingering insecurities, but they seemed to weigh heavy within his mind.

Fortunately, such sentiments were shared by you, unbeknownst to him.

Griffin’s Roost was all you’d known, a lifetime spent in the Stormlands until you had reached maturity, now pledged to the Warden of the North. It pained you to leave what life you knew before, surrounded by family and the comforts of home.

The North was often regarded as a harsh and unyielding environment, with bitter, stinging winds and snowfalls that could bury men alive beneath their might. Ice-laden gales sang from beyond the Wall, bringing with it their callousness, whispers from savage lands.

Accustomed to the temperate forests and raging deluges of the Stormlands, the North’s biting chill would take plenty of adaptation on your end. The host of House Connington had arrived in all of their glory and bravado, bearing the twin griffin sigil, white upon crimson, crimson upon white.

From what little you gleaned of Cregan Stark, he was already a talented fighter, as thick as the trunk of an elder pine, and somewhat rugged around the edges. Roughness did not trouble you as it had other women — perhaps, it would give him character.

Part of you counted yourself fortunate to marry someone close to you in age, only one nameday your senior — plenty of women did not have such luck. Even then, you were frightened and nervous, hoping to make a lasting impression upon your new husband.

Much to your dismay, everyone seemed so eager to marry you off — to seal whatever pact had been struck, for you to begin your new life here, in the North. You hoped that you would find new companionship and comfort in your new home, but you neglected to get your hopes up.

The Old Gods were prevalent in Northern culture — the Faith of the Seven was nearly nonexistent here, a practice that your family had staunchly followed since your infancy. There were plenty of adjustments you would need to make in order to assimilate.

Sequestered within the guest chambers of your Northern host, handmaidens whose faces were unfamiliar to you helped dress you in your wedding gowns. It was a sentimental piece, handcrafted by your Mother before you departed from the Roost, a gown of crimson and silver.

Northern ceremonies were said to be much shorter, a tryst of few words outside of sacred vows. Your cloak hung heavy upon your shoulders, velvet encased by a line of fur, bearing the sigil of your House.

A lengthy, tarnished mirror sat before you, crystalline enough for you to admire your appearance, tresses pinned in intricate braids, visage dabbled with little cosmetics. You were to be given away by your uncle, journeying in the stead of your ailing father, Gods bless him.

With no facet of your appearance misplaced, you were prepared to make the journey to the Godswood, with your uncle upon your arm. As you stepped through ancient stone and over frozen ground, your heart hammered beneath your breast, like the beating of a bird's wings.

Anxiousness gnawed away at your fragile bones throughout your trek, mind continuing to race with a great many thoughts. What if he thought you ugly, or boorish? What if he was unkind or uncouth? What if the consummation was not satisfactory enough?

These were all feckless inquiries, born of your own insecurities and desire to make your new husband happy, make the most of your new life. Despite the biting chill that clung to your visage, perspiration slicked your palms, teeth absentmindedly gnashing against the inside of your cheek.

The dusky skies were blanketed by a penumbra of endless stars, as if the celestials themselves had gathered to witness your sacred union. Wisps of gray clouds scattered overhead, but soon dissipated in the wake of the moon’s glow.

Silvery rays touched a light snowfall, now muddled with hints of broken earth. There was no deluge to cast doubt upon your wedding — it was all endlessly clear, and the ice ceaselessly continued to stab at your exposed flesh.

The Godswood lay silent, surrounded by only a handful of Lord Stark’s closest advisors and kin, braziers lighting the way forward. Your grip upon your uncle’s arm became ironclad, as if you were attempting to hold on with every shred of strength in your bones.

Beneath vermillion leaves and pale bark, stood Lord Cregan Stark, with eyes as gray as winter’s shadow, chestnut tresses halfway pulled into a bun, the rest slicked with oils. He was nearly twice your size, frame clad in the taupe pelt of a wolf, countenance indiscernible from afar.

He was handsome, thank the Seven; and the closer you stepped, the more you realized that he possessed the same nervousness as you. One wouldn’t expect a man of his caliber to show it, but he did, the sentiment reaching his gaze.

As you reached the end, given to Cregan by your uncle, your stomach tumbled with butterflies, blood singed with anxiety. Cregan’s nervousness was far more subdued, though it lingered even still, especially as his large hand closed around yours.

Much to your surprise, the embrace of your Lord-husband was disarmingly gentle, coarse leather folding over your delicate palm. Storm-laden hues briefly fluttered toward you, as if searching for any scrap of discomfort caused by his own hand.

Vows were exchanged between strangers — and soon, in hours, you would not be so strange anymore.

“Will you take this man?”

It was your uncle’s voice, as spoken in Northern customs to give you away. He seemed uncertain as his inquiry filled the space around you, and yet you answered with a startling clarity.

“I take this man.”

In this close proximity, it allowed Cregan ample time to absorb you; a comely, beautiful stranger, soon to be the new Lady of Winterfell. It was your very presence that intimidated even the likes of him, enchanted by your delicate voice and beguiling appearance, features akin to the very image of perfection.

Admittedly, you stole every wisp of air from his burning lungs, something that he would not dare confess to — not here, at least. Fortunately, you did not seem terrified; nervous, perhaps, but that was to be expected.

Kneeling before the shadow of the Weirwood, Cregan uttered a brief prayer — he did not expect you to do the same. These traditions were likely a stark contrast to your own, something that perplexed him to no end.

In the recesses of your mind, you wondered what his heart was like — his interests, passions, the essence of his character. He seemed stalwart and rugged, as you’d been told, but he did not seem cruel nor callous, much to your relief.

He stood, unclasping your maiden’s cloak from your shoulders, presenting you with one crafted of elk’s hide and the tawny, dappled coat of a doe. It bore the sigil of House Stark, a direwolf embroidered onto thicker material, now swaddling your form in all of its warmth.

With your former House now by the wayside, the wedding feast was set to begin.

“My Lady,” As his husky, Northern timbre spilled forth from his mouth, hand outstretched, you took it, allowing him to guide you to your feet. Those onlookers who surrounded you in the Godswood looked on with subtle admiration for their young Lord. “It is tradition that I carry you to the feast.”

Cregan would not dare abandon the formalities of his countrymen, knowing full well that many eyes were upon him to uphold tradition. He sensed your twinge of hesitation, followed by a wave of embarrassment, however, you did not recoil from his gallant advances.

Knowing that he had an appearance to maintain, you nodded, both smitten and shy as thick, leather-clad arms hooked beneath your legs and back. It was effortless, the way he had hoisted you into his grasp, carrying you close to his chest as he began to make his way from the Godswood.

“I apologize if this is not comfortable, my Lady,” Even he found some wry amusement in this, all in a valiant attempt to ease the tension between you. “Once we arrive in the Great Hall, I shall put you down.” He assured, though your expression said otherwise.

“I insist upon you carrying me throughout the evening,” A playful lilt clung to your tone, and it seemed to ease Cregan’s nerves — at least you had a sense of humor about you. “I jest, my Lord. I must admit that I am a stranger to journeying through snow and ice.”

A brief huff escaped him, and the idle conversation slowly dissolved the foreign barrier between the both of you. Truthfully, he did not want his marriage to you to be distant, or icy. Northern superstitions dictated that snow during a wedding meant a cold union — fortunately, the skies were clear.

“You will grow accustomed to it soon enough.” Solemn, the young Lord ascended stone steps, making his way into the courtyard. The Great Hall would be full of people, most of them his own kin and denizens, as well as your host from the Stormlands.

A bout of silence occupied the space between you, your form lodged firmly against his chest, laden with muscle beneath his leather garb. Admittedly, you found a sliver of comfort within his hold, one that screamed with protection and a sense of security. It made you feel less unnerved.

In such close proximity, Cregan caught a gust of your scent; saccharine, bringing with it the warmth of the South, a touch of rainfall from the Stormlands. You did not seem perturbed by him carrying you — you fit within the crook of his arms rather perfectly.

Snow crunched beneath his boots, stricken with an ethereal glow from the face of the moon, glistening down to light your path. Smitten, your gaze briefly darted to admire his countenance — youthful yet worn, the bridge of his nose slightly crooked, a faint scar upon his chin.

Wisps of warmth emerged from between your lips, acclimating to the chill as best as you could. As you neared Winterfell’s Great Hall, rancor and excitement spilled from inside, orange light pooling from beneath the doors.

Cregan ascended another flight of stone steps, seemingly unbothered by cradling you, and once you reached the end, he gently deposited you onto solid ground. “Here we are.” Offering you his arm, you took it, led into the warmth of the castle’s archaic interior.

Met with the gleeful cheers of those in attendance, your host and his own, you narrowly avoided being pelted with flying deluges of ale. It was a merry hall, filled with immeasurable joyousness and laughter, which eased your anxiousness quite a bit.

Sentiments might shift once many of them sobered up, you imagined, but for now, you were delighted to enjoy your wedding feast. Your staunch husband led you through the commotion and gathering crowds with ease until you reached your table.

Situated at the helm of the hall, he politely moved your chair for you, allowing you to be seated before himself as he took his place by your side. A scarlet flush clung to his features, wisps of chestnut strands framing his strong visage.

The feast held in honor of your blossoming union was one of merriment, the mood lighthearted and blissful. You sat beside your husband, stomach pulled taut, a coil of nerves. Everyone seemed foreign to you, unfamiliar faces with their northern attitudes and thinly-veiled curiosity.

Following the exchange of toasts and presentation of foodstuffs, you became lost within contemplation, dreading the bedding ceremony that was sure to follow. You hoped that, if you closed your eyes, it would simply pass you by.

Cregan’s gaze remained transfixed upon you whenever you weren’t looking, blissfully oblivious to your husband’s ogling. He found you to be perfectly beautiful in all senses of the word — vexing, truly. Even he was not immune to the heated, carnal thoughts drifting within his mind.

Though, he was a touch nervous — unexpectedly so.

Carnal escapades were often packed into the richly-woven tales of his fellow advisors and compatriots, and it all seemed self-centered when they spoke of consummation. Cregan worried that he would fumble over himself, not know where to put his hands, let alone touch you.

As you prodded your fork into the seared haunch of meat, you happened to steal a glance at Cregan, and to your surprise, he’d already been staring at you. Warmth permeated your features, lashes fluttering as you cleared your throat.

Caught, he decided to be forthcoming in the matter. “Forgive me for staring, my Lady — you are rather beautiful,” He spoke plainly, blunt as he ensured you let his words sink in. Flattered, your lips quirked into a jubilant smile. “Is it all to your liking?”

A buzz of exhilaration bubbled within your belly, prompting you to sit a little straighter. “You flatter me, my Lord,” As you began to chew, a myriad of spices and flavors invaded your maw, sitting heavy upon your tongue. “It is — I must thank you for your hospitality.”

“This is your home now, as it is mine. You are deserving of such cordiality,” Cregan’s timbre had dissolved into a pleasant rumble, the cadence of it scratching at the back of your mind. You quite enjoyed his gruff nature, more than most. “I wish for you to be happy.”

The softness of his words made your stomach lurch with butterflies, lips parting in mild surprise. Admittedly, you had grown accustomed to the husbands commonplace within your life — they rarely took interest in their wives, especially with regard to their happiness.

“I … You have my gratitude, my Lord. I wish for you to be happy, in-turn,” Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, you continued. “I know that we are somewhat foreign to one another, but I do not prefer it to stay that way.” You confessed.

Perplexed, Cregan’s brow furrowed momentarily, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Even for his youth, he was a stoic man — he had endured plenty, hardening him to the outside world. However, he found it within himself to treat you gently, perhaps surrender a sliver of gentleness to you.

“I would not prefer it, either,” Cregan replied, an amiable shimmer dancing within his wintry-gray hues. Delighted, you reached for his hand, much larger than your own, his skin calloused. He allowed you to hold it, reveling in your velveteen flesh. “Perhaps, we can tour the Wolfswood on the morrow — how are your riding skills?”

Perhaps it was the twinge of wine invading your bloodstream, but your thoughts had strayed on the side of perversion. A brief hitch formed within your throat before you hummed. “They are better than some,” You mused. “I’ve a great passion for horses, and for the outdoors.”

Making note of your interests, he knew precisely what to give you, a forlorn warmth stirring within his chest. Whatever impact you had on him, it was beginning to take some effect, reducing him to naught but boyish nerves.

Admittedly, Cregan hadn’t expected you to be this lively and jubilant — he expected terror and indifference, but this was a welcome change. It dissolved some of his initial reservations, but it was still too early to make any hasty judgments.

It had melted the ice somewhat, conversing about menial topics, allowing himself to grow accustomed to your presence. It would take plenty of work — fortitude, determination, kindness. Cregan did not want to sow any discord in your budding union.

“Tell me of Griffin’s Roost,” Cregan murmured, intrigued by your place of birth. The castle itself was said to be humble yet resolute, using the surrounding countryside to its advantage. “I’ve heard it sits upon some crag.”

A comely smile fluttered across your features, grasp beginning to loosen upon his hand. Returning to your hearty meal, you chewed, throat bubbling with a gentle hum. “It overlooks Cape Wrath, surrounded by red stone cliffsides — the view from the East Tower is wonderful.”

With a low grunt, your Lord-husband proved most attentive, posture beginning to slump into some relaxation within his seat. “Should my duties not become insurmountable, perhaps we could visit in a few moons time.”

Despite his desire to heed to the North, to remain planted, safeguard his lands, Cregan understood the importance of home. He did not want you to completely abandon your roots in exchange for Northern traditions.

Touched by such a proposition, you nodded in agreement, thankful that he’d suggested it. It meant more to you than he might’ve realized. “I would deeply appreciate such a journey, my Lord. I am certainly looking forward to learning of your home and its people.”

Loyalty seemed a core value amongst Northerners, their bond ironclad, a pact of ice. Such devotion amongst kin was comforting to witness, a web that you desired to be part of, with time. Duties of a lady were not lost upon you, but anxiousness stirred whenever you contemplated the future.

The Lady of Winterfell — the title itself was daunting, something you never imagined for yourself, foreign upon your tongue. The weight of it was a crushing one, but you hoped to soar beneath the pressure, impress both the people and your Lord-husband.

The sincerity of your answer had certainly beguiled Cregan, whose hardened visage seemed to soften. Admiration glittered within glacial hues as he attempted to clean his plate.

Before he could properly pose another inquiry into your morality and history, he noticed the flock of men and women beginning to swarm the terrace’s base. The bedding ceremony — he’d nearly forgotten about it, lost within the pleasantries he exchanged with you.

The thought of some drunken bannerman laying his hands upon you seemed to incite a flicker of fury within his chest; he feared breaking a nose at his own wedding. Even through the growing commotion, Cregan had made a rather hasty and disrespectful move.

“Come.” Low and brazen, his large hand gingerly closed around your elbow. To your startlement, your gaze flickered in the direction of the merry masses, continuing to clash their steins together, the rancor merely increasing.

Perplexed, you slyly crept from your chair, following Cregan into a rather slim corridor that stretched behind your seat. A glacial chill permeated ancient stone, and your brow remained furrowed with confusion.

“Won’t this upset your subjects?” Despite the innocuous nature of your inquiry, you were eternally grateful to avoid a bedding ceremony altogether. It felt wicked and crass, too irreverent as a precursor to consummation.

“Perhaps, but I wish to spare you such humiliation,” He sighed, guiding you onward until the two of you stood within an empty stairwell, torchlight encapsulating the walls. “That is worth their momentary disappointment.”

This was one tradition that he could live without, much to the chagrin of his advisors and the numerous wedding patrons. Admittedly, it was the thought of putting up some performance whilst strangers gathered outside of his door, all to see if he’d put a babe in you.

The more he thought of consummation, the more wracked with nerves he became, a festering anxiety gnawing away at his hardened bones. His chest heaved with a heavier exhale — at least this way, he would be afforded some privacy, away from any potential embarrassment.

Here, sequestered within the hush of the corridor, Cregan fully admired you, bathed in the glow of flickering firelight, wedding dress spiraling against the ground. Even still, you held his arm, delicate fingers folded atop his leather vambrace, absorbing his heat in the face of winter’s breath.

“I do not wish to make a foul impression upon your people with this,” Concerned that it would tarnish your image, Cregan dismissed your worries with a mere grunt. “Even if I truly do appreciate your kindness and understanding in the matter.”

“If this tarnishes your reputation, I will deal with it myself,” Stoic assurances were uttered from his lips, Northern timbre deliciously husky, like the tremble of thunder. “Come, before we are apprehended.” A twinge of humor sank into his stalwart tone.

Ascending spiraling steps that led to his lordly chambers, some nervousness had been alleviated by his grand gesture. Having beared witness to your own kin’s bedding ceremony, you did not wish such shame and discomfort upon anyone else.

Silence had blanketed the both of you, two anxious youth, navigating your newfound marriage. Butterflies danced within the pit of your stomach, as if reminding you of what was to come. Fortunately, it wouldn’t be in the company of others — only his, and that was intimidating enough.

As you approached a wide, mahogany door, wrought with careworn iron, Cregan gave it a brusque shove, the hinges groaning in protest. A wave of warmth greeted you, hearth simmering with a cluster of waning embers, nearly reduced to mere wisps of smoke.

His chambers were rather sizeable, a footlocker at the foot of his bed, draped in the impressive hide of a bear. Pelts adorned the feathered mattress in patchwork patterns of taupe, fawn-brown, and black. Before the hearth, a direwolf hide served as a rug above the cold stone.

Its appeal was rustic, rugged — it certainly followed the Northern motif. Even then, you found it pleasing and cozy, warm enough to shield you from the bitter brunt of a glacial tempest. Stepping inside, he closed the door behind you both, moving to rekindle the flames.

Stirring the dried twigs atop hunks of log, your Lord-husband quietly resigned himself to his menial task, brows furrowing together in concentration. It gave you a moment to steel yourself, awkwardly shifting to admire the humble fixtures of his bedchambers.

Part of you pondered what your own quarters might look like — lined in furs, bearing no trace of your own home. It was commonplace for noble marriages to remain in separate chambers, even if the thought happened to irk you.

As the hearth began to roar to life once more, bringing with it a wave of warmth, you shivered even still, likely out of anxiousness. Nerves seemed to bundle within your belly, a tight coil that had been pulled as tight as a bowstring, threatening to snap at any moment.

Admittedly, Cregan had needed a distraction — the reality of what was to come had dawned on him, and he feared making a fool of himself. Standing upright once more, he happened to catch a glimpse of your doe-eyed countenance, just as disquieted; outwardly so.

“Should — Shall I remove this?”

In accompaniment to your sudden inquiry, your digits had clumsily found the clasps of your bridegroom’s cloak, along the collar of your wedding gown. Numerous tales of consummation often held a similar pattern — remove your clothing, let him climb atop you, and put a babe in you.

Cregan’s jaw tightened, storm-laden hues swirling with a palpable trepidation. For a man so stalwart and intimidating, his own vulnerability was laid bare for you to witness, gaze averting your own as he collected his thoughts.

It had become painfully obvious that neither of you were well-equipped to deal with the pang of awkwardness that had settled in. His hand clenched into a fist, attempting to relieve a sliver of bodily tension as he cleared his throat.

His stoic silence had only furthered your unease, as if you’d behaved in a manner most untoward. A lump formed within your throat, with Cregan seemingly gathering his composure as he stepped closer, gait measured and purposeful.

Sword-hewn palms gently grasped your upper arms, brushing over the delicate silks of your gown. A brief shudder passed through you, heat warming your features as his proximity from you had all but dissipated. His stature had become glaringly apparent, looming well above you.

Thumbs gently traced circles into your clothed flesh, the gesture disarmingly tender as he cleared his throat with a low hum. “I do not wish for any of this to be uncomfortable, and yet,” Cregan hesitated, a flicker of worry passing through him. “This is all unfamiliar.” He confessed.

Sharing in his sentiments, you began to relax beneath his comforting embrace, hands twisting themselves together. “I … It is just as unfamiliar for me as it is for you. I do not know where to begin.” You murmured, chewing at the inside of your cheek.

The first song of fervor sang within his blood, running hot with a spark of carnality. Despite his lack of knowing, it was instinct that drove him now as he attempted to discern where to begin with you. Gray hues fluttered toward your lips, visage warming with a flush of scarlet.

“I suppose the only way forward is to learn together.” Cregan proposed, his brows knitting together as he allowed himself to absorb your appearance. A slight lump began to coagulate within his throat, prompting him to hastily swallow it down for the sake of his nerves.

With a brief nod, you let yourself abandon this fear that had gripped you so tightly, knowing that he was a stranger to the act, just as you were. A tenuous silence filled in the crevices, invading the slight space between you both.

This was your duty — it was best to honor it.

Strong, calloused hands sluggishly slid down the length of your arms until he found your hands, delicate and velvety within his hold. His thumb traced over your knuckles, reveling in the sensation of your flesh against his, as downy as feathers, as soft as a wolf’s pelt.

Bending to reach you, Cregan stooped, looming closer, mead-tinged breath fanning across your visage. The rough pillars of his lips hovered above yours, gaze one of admiration as he allowed himself to absorb your beauty, akin to a kiss of summertime.

Wisps of chestnut framed his hardened countenance, which seemed to soften in your presence, losing its stony exterior. A brief hitch formed within your throat, accompanied by a slight noise of exhilaration as his mouth ghosted over yours in a fleeting kiss.

It was agonizingly slow, intended to be exploratory, test the waters. He did not think it as strange as he thought it’d be, the action initially stiff and rigid, attempting to grow accustomed to you.

A volatile churning of heat swirled within your belly, nerves set ablaze by mere friction of mouths. It was exhilarating yet frightening, knowing that this was merely the beginning of it all. Nevertheless, you let yourself relax as much as you could, a sharp inhale puncturing your lungs as he let the kiss linger.

Withdrawing after a few moments, you stared at Cregan, counting yourself deeply fortunate that he wasn’t uncouth nor cruel. He did not seem after his own self-gratification, hands untangling themselves from yours as he cleared his throat.

“Not so terrifying.” Nothing more than a mere lull, your voice was saccharine, endlessly tender as you spoke with a touch of assurance. The stiffness between you both seemed to gradually melt away, and you hoped it would diminish entirely.

A threadbare smile crossed Cregan’s countenance, a fleeting gesture that made your bones sing. One palm moved to cup your cheek, his stare incendiary as he studied you, committing every detail to memory. You were nothing short of mesmerizing, a beauty only sung about in ancient hymns.

“May I?” He gestured to your cloak, the swaddling fabric proving more of a hindrance. As you nodded, the young Lord calmly stepped around you, coming to stand behind you, now eclipsed within the might of his silhouette. Rough digits found their way to the clasps, unfastening the garment altogether.

Cregan draped your cloak over the foot of the bed, gaze exposed to a rather intricate line of ties that held your wedding gown together. He dared not touch them yet, chest nearly brushing against your spine as he bent to press a kiss against your shoulder.

It was so simple, so innocuous — and yet the gesture made you ache with desire’s heavy sting, unfurling within your heart. A soft gasp tore past your parted lips, craving his embrace as you would a gust of crisp air or the glittering rays of a warm sunshine.

The hollow between your throat and shoulder had tempted him, bare flesh ripe for the grace of his mouth. Wordlessly, he continued upon his own whims, planting a string of reverent kisses there, prickling when he heard the sweetness of your moan.

The noise did not seem anguished, and instead, one someone would make when satisfied. “You are beautiful.” Cregan’s Northern baritone had rattled your bones, set you aflame, all of you — the tension had climbed to a searing broil. Absentmindedly, you began to lean backwards into his embrace.

Desire seemed so foreign to you, a concept that transcended comprehension. Yet, as your new Lord-husband began to dote upon you, you felt it twist within your heart, unfurling from within.

He did not know where to put his hands, what to do with them — instead, they remained firmly by his sides, stationary until he asked for your consent. With a final kiss, he lifted his head, chest blossoming with tendrils of warmth as he looked to the laces of your gown.

Gooseflesh raked over your spine, prickling with a sharp jab of exhilaration as it warmed your insides. Similar to Cregan, your hands remained twisted together, anxiously plucking at the front of your wedding gown, nails picking at a swath of velvet.

“Does my Lady give me permission to remove her gown?”

Cregan swallowed his nerves, attempting to suppress any unease, letting it simmer down within his stomach. He had not seen a woman bare before — he’d imagined it on occasion, through heated dreams of a spirited youth, but you were flesh and blood made reality.

A twinge of hesitation clung to his Northern timbre, hands momentarily clenching together as he patiently awaited your consent. The silence lasted longer than he expected, and he wondered if he had brought about some discomfort.

Truthfully, it was your insecurities that began to fester like some creeping plague, a clutch of poison ivy coming to cling to your heart. “What if you do not find me favorable?” As your inquiry floated into the open air, you knew you had made a grave error in vocalizing it.

Through furrowed brows, Cregan’s nervousness had melded into bewilderment, and he seemed to freeze behind you. “Why would you think that?” His question, though sharp, lacked any lilt of malice or callousness. Instead, he was perplexed why he would find you anything other than beautiful.

“I … I do not know,” Twisting your fingers together, your confession seemed to weigh upon your shoulders, more than you revealed. “I often worried that my appearance might become a detriment, or worse, something boorish.”

Cregan’s chest stirred with a low rumble, contemplative of your words. He thought little of his own physicality, a youthful man built of stony muscle and fortitude, a hardened warrior. However, he imagined how it might be different for you.

He would be the envy of all men with you by his side; men that he hoped to ward away from you. Im truth, if it weren’t for his desire to seem stoic in the face of disquiet, he would’ve fallen to his knees at the sight of you beneath the Weirwood Tree.

“Boorish,” Cregan repeated, voice a sonorous hum as he stepped around you, facing you once more. His hands found yours, satin flesh and delicate, your grasp oozing with tenderness. “When I saw you beneath the Weirwood, my heart fell still for the very first time.” He murmured.

A hitch formed within your throat, coupled with a startled gasp of surprise, his words moving you in a way you didn’t think possible. “My Lord …” As your heart began to gallop like hoofbeats beneath your breast, he stepped closer, chest brushing against yours.

“Cregan,” His gentle correction had warmed your features, voice scratching the deeper parts of your very being. One hand relocated, roughened palm shifting to gingerly cup your jaw, thumb stroking over the silky skin there. “You are beautiful — you needn’t worry.” He reassured you.

Mesmerized by him, you rocked up upon your toes, mouth seeking his own as your lips collided in a seamless fervor. The kiss was far more passionate than the first, though still echoed with inexperience, ministrations somewhat erratic.

Flustered and charmed, your hands decided to abandon their position, finding the wide expanse of his leather-clad chest. Beneath your palms, it was all staunch muscle, hardened like that of indomitable stone, shielded by the rough veil of his tunic and cloak.

Returning your kiss, Cregan exhaled, the noise steady and resolute, hand shifting to perch atop the small of your back. Silken laces teasingly danced over his fingertips, as if attempting to rouse him to action — still, he did not bend to baser instincts.

Failing to part, the kiss continued, mouths beginning to find something of a rhythm, however unsteady it might’ve been. A surge of heat washed over you, the first wave of desire — at least, that’s what you assumed it was.

Cregan held you close, cradling you to his chest, grasp inherently protective and laced with gentleness. It was only when you drew away that he allowed it to slack, his features blanketed with a faint flush of scarlet, wintry-gray hues fluttering over your countenance.

“You may remove it.” The softness of your murmur was unmistakable, a sweet lull that had sunk its talons into the far recesses of his mind. Slowly, you turned, allowing him unobstructed access to the plane of tethered silk that clung to you.

With a brief exhale, Cregan steeled himself, ogling the back of your head — your tresses were braided and styled so intricately, the scent of a regal perfume wafting from you. Calloused digits found the column of laces along your spine, giving the very first a tug, making his way upwards.

The moment itself stewed with a searing tension, his body nearly snug against yours, the fabric beginning to loosen upon your body. Crimson and silvery silks gave way to the simple shift beneath, as pure as a newborn snowfall, its material tantalizingly sheer.

A stirring formed within his chest, exposed to your near-naked frame as you calmly stepped from your wedding gown. With respect to your garment, Cregan gathered it within his arms, placing it aside atop the footlocker.

As you turned to face him once more, instilled with a flicker of newfound confidence, you swore you heard his breath become heavy. The pliant peaks of your breasts prodded beneath the fabric, tresses spilling across your collarbone.

Nearly translucent, your shift left little to the imagination, material clinging to your form, as if tempting Cregan with what lay beneath. In a wordless rapture, he admired you — your beauty, the sparkling gleam within your eyes.

It was then that your attention had shifted to evening the score, gaze flickering toward the mantle of furs that still sat upon his shoulders, the studded leather jerkin. “I wish to see you, too.” Your confession was devastatingly tender, enough to make Cregan become a touch smitten.

“As you wish.” Cregan rumbled, lacking any qualms in regards to his own physicality. He was impressive for a man his age — nine-and-ten, and bigger than most. He watched as you quietly reached for the clasps of his cloak, easing it from him to join your wedding gown.

The assistance you provided in removing his own garb had made his heart fester with want, the proximity between bodies now incredibly thin. As your slender fingers went about unfastening the buckles of his vambraces, he gazed at you, as if you were the sun itself.

There was nothing boorish about you — the very air you exhaled was tinged with sweetness, air that he coveted. If Cregan did not know any better, he would believe you to be the goddess of beauty, made flesh incarnate before his very eyes. You drew him in so completely, making him burn.

As his vambraces joined the growing heap of clothing, both your attention and his had turned to his tabard and coarse tunic beneath. Leather slipped into your palms and his, fiddling with straps and buckles as he maneuvered it over his head.

His musculature was rather impressive, almost intimidating — Cregan took great care of himself, training daily and without rest. The dark, slate-hues tunic that clung to him came off next, as he pulled it over his chestnut mane until it fluttered atop the pile of garments.

Molten heat swirled within your belly as you marveled at the sight of him, statuesque and handsome, built to withstand even the hardiest of winters. You were nervous to touch him, just as he was with you — the hesitation was palpable, lingering between bodies.

The both of you stood with trembling hands and tremulous eyes, mere wisps apart, attempting to navigate through the first inklings of desire. To his surprise, it was you who had made the first move, hand slowly crossing the distance until it fell atop his chest.

A shudder gripped him, slithering along his spine, your embrace so very warm, a lick of fire piercing through his glacial gale of ice. “Is this alright?” You inquired, noting his nod of approval as he openly invited you to continue, pressing closer.

“May I?” Cregan returned the favor as his palms snaked toward the swell of your hips, and once you vocalized your consent, he let them sink into your pliant flesh. Despite the obstruction of fabric, he kneaded you even still, hands smoothing over your sides.

With a dip of his head, his lips danced over yours, a ghost of hot breath fanning over your features. He quietly awaited your consent, allowing you to bridge the gap, lips molding themselves to one another. The kiss made him dizzy, feeling your hands glide to perch atop his collarbone.

The hot, youthful surge of carnality came crashing down upon him like that of a tidal wave shattering upon the rocks. Cregan fought against his own instincts, what he’d been told to do, maintaining all sense of gallantry for your comfort.

This softness that he shared with you — it felt special, sacred; it was something that he envisioned himself growing accustomed to, with time. He felt you shiver within his grasp as his palm gently caressed along your spine, feeling your curves through your thin shift.

Each kiss seemed to sink into a gradual sense of comfort, shedding the initial awkwardness that had lingered at the start. Gods, you enjoyed his mouth quite a bit — more than what was deemed appropriate.

“You are wonderfully handsome,” As you murmured your praises against his lips, Cregan let the warmth of your words wrap around him. He became entangled in you, his mouth suddenly veering off-course, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Oh.”

A bewildered gasp tore past your mouth as he began to litter your throat in kisses, grunting when he felt your hand reach for the nape of his neck. This newfound sensation, however foreign, felt incredible to you — you wanted more.

Caging you in against his musculature, you felt the heat that wafted from him, as hot-blooded as the roar of the hearth. Arousal began to coalesce between your thighs, a pooling nectar that made you shift together.

His name emerged as a wanton whine from beneath your breath, enough to send a surge of desire throughout his bones, as sharp as a blade’s edge. Cregan’s jaw tensed, feeling his cock begin to twitch within his leather trousers.

Steady hands worshiped your body with reverent touches, fisting at the fabric that clung to you with a twinge of desperation. The young wolf continued to kiss his way across your neck until he found your collar, visage pressed into the soft canvas of your flesh.

“C—Cregan,” An unchaste moan floated from betwixt your lips, a song of mounting pleasure as he showered your skin in kisses. Gripping the chestnut tresses at his nape, your other palm slid around his torso, splayed atop his spine. “By the Seven.” You exhaled desire; exhilarated.

Biting back a threadbare smirk, his ministrations were ceaseless, wanting you to know just how flawless he found you, how beguiling. Muscles flexed around you, as if shielding you from the rest of the world, keeping you close to him.

Whatever chill had gripped his heart had all been melted away — fear of duty, fear of marriage, fear of sacrifice; it had all dissipated in your wake, leaving naught but ash.

Perhaps it was simply too early to feel such things, the imperviousness of youth, but for now, he cared very little for it. If Cregan was certain of one thing, it was that he wanted you, wanted your heart, to be your shield, a steady hand.

As he pressed a lingering kiss just above your sternum, a shiver passed through you, the shuffling of fabric becoming audible. He hadn’t fully realized that your hands had recoiled, now gathering against your ruffled shift. A flicker of surprise settled into his features, intermingled with a peculiar thrill.

Silence settled between, taut with want, the budding ecstasy of a new and promiscuous experience. Swallowing the slight lump that had coagulated within his throat, Cregan observed in hushed gaiety as you shakily fumbled to remove your shift.

Translucent material soared effortlessly over your flesh, pooling in a silvery heap at your feet. Tendrils of heat licked over your flesh, emanating from the hearth as your body revealed itself to your Lord-husband.

He seemed more a doe now than a wolf, visibly mesmerized by the sight of you, painfully beautiful, and he felt rather unworthy of it all. His heart galloped beneath his chest, storm-laden hues ogling every inch of you.

Standing rigidly still, more akin to a statue, you felt your words turn to ash upon your tongue, melting beneath Cregan’s incendiary stare. It was easy to discern the vermillion flush that had gripped his features, which happened to make you so very warm, hands awkwardly dangling at your sides.

“It feels untoward to touch you like this,” Cregan confessed, hardened countenance beginning to soften. “As if I might tarnish your perfection.”

The fondness laced throughout his cadence only stoked the volatile flame within your belly, thighs absentmindedly shifting together. A smitten smile permeated your features, eyelashes fluttering in rapid succession as you shyly reached for his hand.

“There is nothing to tarnish,” Gently, you set his large hand atop your hip, able to hear the sharp inhale of glee from the young wolf. “I — I want you, Cregan. I want you to touch me.” Tapering off into a hoarse utterance, you looked to him with pleading eyes; it was so easy for him to submit.

Steeling himself, Cregan allowed his confidence to flourish, then and there. You wanted him, craved his embrace — there was nothing to fear, no reason to believe that he’d disappoint you. Bending to kiss you, he let his digits flex over your flesh, as downy as a bed of feathers.

No satin or silk compared to that of you, perfection incarnate, living and breathing within his grasp. Permitting the kiss to linger, deepen, he only withdrew to ask a very important question. “Where, wife?” Such an innocent word threaded with a blistering desire — your knees shook.

A hitch formed within your throat, and Cregan was desperate to please you, even if it did not outwardly display itself. Excitable, you reached for his other hand, fingers barely able to encircle his wrist, guiding it towards the oozing heat between your legs.

Through furrowed brows and bated breath, he exhaled when his calloused digits met the damp heat of your nethers, jaw beginning to pull taut. The sensation was a foreign one, and he coaxed you closer, muscled arm keeping you aloft as his thigh gently pushed your legs apart.

He watched you closely, to see what you enjoyed and what you disliked, digits beginning to push past your petals. Met with the rushing warmth of your arousal, Cregan touched you with exploratory caresses, fingers gently gliding over your cunt.

Eliciting a moan from your mouth, he let his lips dip to your throat once more, sluggishly allowing his digits to slide along your slit. You gripped his biceps, anchoring yourself there as he warmed you in ways you didn’t think possible, head clouded by the haze of desire.

His lips returned to the bend of your shoulder, the velvety hollow between that and your throat. A string of kisses manifested there, digits continuing to caress over your slit. This rhythm was agonizing, your body screaming with ecstasy.

As his digits brushed over the pearl of your cunt, you immediately tensed, gripping him like a vice as you released a shaky sigh. “There.” You encouraged, feeling his mouth begin to still, focused upon his new charge.

Quietly, Cregan looked to you, hues a glacial storm, glittering with affection as he circled back to your clit, fingers brushing over the bundle of nerves once more. The way your hips had jolted forward, nails digging crescents into his biceps — he reveled in your reaction.

Acting upon instinct, your hand had dropped, traveling to the laces of his trousers, earning you an exhilarated look. He did not protest in the slightest, hand stilling enough as you began to sheepishly tug at the leather ties, a shiver icing your spine.

“To bed.” He uttered, preferring if you were comfortable and situated for all of this, and you nodded in agreement. Even as you shyly crept toward his bed, you didn’t want to stop your previous ministrations.

Slipping onto the impressive expanse of furs, you sank into pelts of bears and wolves alike, gaze expectantly finding his own as he paused, finishing with his breeches. Sluggishly, he stepped from his clothing, which had all felt rather cumbersome, restrictive.

The sudden flurry of nervousness flooded your countenance when you saw all of him; butterflies erupted within your belly, gooseflesh crawling over your frame. There was nothing small about him, from his indomitable stature and bulk of muscle to his cock, now fully erect.

Choking at the sight, you began to wonder how it would all fit, how it worked — though, you trusted in him, trusted that he would be gentle. It was to be expected — a man of his impenetrable stature likely had the assets to accompany it.

As Cregan joined you, the frame of the bed rustling in protest to the newfound weight, you swallowed the growing lump within your throat. His bulky physique had swallowed you whole as he moved to lay over you, blanketing you in his warmth.

It was his turn to become shy, chewing at the inside of his cheek as he deliberated on what to do next, palms firmly planting themselves on either side of your head. His cock twitched at the sight of you, beautiful beyond compare, resting beneath him with a sense of uncertainty.

Able to hold himself aloft well enough with one forearm, the other returned to previous ministrations, fingers finding the warm slick between your legs. He inhaled at the sensation, brows creased in concentration.

As your visage blossomed with an obvious delight, you wanted to even the score, reaching for his cock as it prodded against your belly. He grit his teeth together when you first touched him, initially shy as could be, nearly hiding behind your lashes.

The softness of your delicate digits wrapping around the girth of his cock made him swear beneath his breath, forehead resting against yours. In a pleasurable tandem, you exchanged caresses, his fingers languidly circling around your clit, burly physique spreading your legs apart.

Gazes met, a fire ignited — he was quiet, but the rapture within his eyes was unmistakable. Lips clamored for one another, a hushed moan floating from your mouth, hand continuing to stroke in rhythmic motions along his length.

The weight of disappointing you had withered away entirely, leaving only a sense of newfound devotion, desiring to please you in the way that you deserved. Cregan’s chest reverberated with a low grunt as the pad of your thumb circled over the swollen head of his cock, eliciting a sonorous groan from him.

He feared that if he carried on, he might not have been able to hold himself together. As his mouth claimed yours once more, the kiss disarmingly tender, infused with passion, he felt your body arch into the friction of his hand.

Waning embers pooled over your flesh, turning it to some incandescent shade, captivating him completely. The heat from the hearth mattered little to you, replaced by the comforting warmth of your new husband, whose body bent to you just as yours did him.

“I will be gentle, I swear this to you.” Cregan swore, tone resolute and laced with want, baritone rattling your insides with a flush of bliss. His cock pulsed within your palm, and he nearly bit at your lip, resisting the wolfish urge to do so.

Between sweeter kisses, he let his fingers toy with the pearl of your cunt a moment longer, wanting to bring you such bliss before the act itself. Nervousness continued to swirl within him, a fear of hurting you still lingering as he planted a kiss to your brow.

“I need you,” You hadn’t expected the words to float so effortlessly from your lips, and yet, it felt right to say it. Cregan’s countenance bristled with yearning, carnal fantasies taking root as he imagined filling you with a babe. “Cregan, please.”

Smitten and endlessly flustered, you nearly shrank beneath the intensity of his gray-hued stare, throat bobbing as he swallowed. His roughened palm stroked along your thigh, and he knew where to insert himself, but what came after?

It was easy to envision you swollen with his child, his new Lady of Winterfell, carrying his heirs, a maiden worthy of his worship. Cregan settled between your legs, adjusting his position, the head of his cock brushing against your slick petals.

A sharp gasp punctured your lungs, hands holding onto his biceps. Both his virtue and yours dangled by a mere thread, tantalizing as he angled himself to the best of his ability, reeling at the sensation of your legs squeezing at his hips.

“Are you certain?” Despite the breathy cadence of his inquiry, he wanted you to be well-prepared before he continued. Fingers twisted into the thick furs beside your head, forehead ghosting above yours, wisps of chestnut framing his countenance.

With a nod, you prepared yourself for what would likely be discomfort, hopeful that it would devolve into bliss after some time. “Yes.” You sighed, gaze innocuous, completely and utterly charmed by his gallantry as he eased his hips forward.

Cregan carefully watched your face, searching for signs of discomfort as his cock began to push into your tight cunt, which clenched around him already. A low cry of pain tore past your lips, attempting to suppress it for his sake — he was so very well-endowed.

“We do not have to continue.” His response was instantaneous and apologetic, brows furrowed together as his hips stilled, and you shook your head. Cregan deliberated, wrestling with himself as you encouraged him through wanton moans, knees squeezing at his waist.

“N—No,” Whilst your protest seemed weak, you meant it entirely. The stretch was certainly discomforting, but it wasn’t agonizing — you hoped to grow accustomed to it. “I wish to continue — please, Cregan.” Your pleas to keep going were reluctantly answered.

Admittedly, he felt overwhelmed by you — the tightness, the sensation of your cunt around his cock, the feeling of your body nestled against his own. He exhaled, hot breath fanning over your countenance, his expression just as doelike as your own.

Your neediness made his blood run hot, and he nodded, sluggishly resuming his pace. He continued to tilt his hips forward, cock feeding into you, inch by inch. Cregan felt the desperate bite of your nails clutching into muscle, leaving behind angry crescents.

A trembling breath escaped him, muscles flexing around you, caging you in against him. His stalwart nature had crumbled completely, lips gently pressing against your jaw in an attempt to soothe you, hips slotting forward until he had sheathed himself within you.

He did not move, allowing you time to adjust, content to lay there and pepper your flesh in plentiful kisses. One hand clamored to the nape of his neck, fisting at his chestnut tresses as you eased out a shaky exhale.

“Are you alright, wife?” Gods, the title — it made your belly churn with liquid heat, coalescing as arousal, heavy between your thighs. If it weren’t for Cregan’s reassurance and caution, this might’ve been rather distasteful.

Fortunately, he was perfect in all ways imaginable, crooked bridge of his nose inhaling a gust of your saccharine scent. You made sure to nod, his stillness becoming more of a hindrance than assistance. “Mm,” You moaned. “I am.”

The more time he gave you to grow accustomed to his girth, the more relaxed you became, no longer coiled like some furled lioness. As you let yourself become light, floating, the sensation gradually became pleasurable for you.

Cregan’s lips twitched into a threadbare smile; you took him so well, enough that it made his heart swell with ardor. Coaxing him in for a kiss, your lips met with a startling fervor, and he began to move, hips sluggishly rolling forward, ensuring that he was exceedingly gentle.

His cock filled you completely, a stretch that would take you more than just one night to adjust to. Your maidenhead was gone, your cunt tight around his length, pulling him in again and again. He took care of you, soothingly caressing your thigh as he held it within one palm.

Gods help him — he began to understand why so many men had talked of this carnal bliss, and it only made him ache for you all the more. Sharp grunts accentuated each of his thrusts, ensuring that his pace was careful, letting the pleasure build.

Cregan’s breathing became heavier, somewhat labored as he consummated your union. Each roll of his hips held meaning, beyond the creation of an heir. It was tenuous with newfound feelings, a burning sentiment he felt for you, ardor that had grown into a fire.

It was you that had reached for his hand, fingers interlocking above your head, pressed into the downy pillows there. It filled you with molten heat, slick cunt aiding in his ministrations, hips urging into yours with a simmering friction.

His name fell from your lips like some sacred prayer, whispered into the heat between bodies, distance nonexistent. The pliant peaks of your breasts had brushed against his muscled chest, your other hand gripping his bicep like a vice.

It was driving him mad, the way your cunt constricted around his cock, the way in which your back arched from the furs, chest brushing against his. Cregan grunted, jaw set and brows furrowed in concentration as he kneaded into your thigh, something to alleviate his tension.

He was so burly, a thick wall of impenetrable muscle that seemed to envelop you entirely, shield you from everything else, from all harm. It made you feel protected, comfortable — as if you had nothing to fear.

Strands of chestnut stuck to his temples, flesh glittering with perspiration from the exertion of lovemaking, coupled with the heat of your chambers. Clinging to him like a drowning woman, you savored the slow, sharp snaps of his hips, urging into you.

Cregan’s cock throbbed within you as he sought to spill his seed, face against yours, lips occasionally connecting in a series of passionate kisses. Everything felt incredible, in ways that you couldn’t comprehend — it was ecstasy, it was pure bliss.

The pinnacle of your pleasure was dancing upon the precipice, feeling his thrusts become a touch invigorated. Even still, he never once devolved to roughness, never strayed from his sluggish pace, made to feel all of you.

Wanton moans and low, thunderous groans echoed between you, inhabiting the warmth that crackled there, foreheads nestled together. Perspiration licked across your frame, permeating against your spine as your legs squeezed him like a vice.

As you called his name, Cregan grunted, the sound sudden and intense, attempting to restrain himself for just a moment long — and he was exceedingly unlucky. His hips urged forward once more, cock pulsing with an incessant ache as he spilled himself inside of you.

There was certainly intent behind it, filling your womb with his seed, desiring to see you round, lovely and full. Even if it did not take, he suspected that the opportunities would present themselves in the future. A shudder passed through his spine, feeling your cunt clench around him.

It was your release that followed suit, a white-hot tidal wave of ecstasy that made you see stars, moaning against his mouth as he cradled you close. Your interlocked fingers had tightened, bodies still craving one another, insurmountable heat making you delirious.

Seed oozed from your cunt, a sticky smattering that painted both your womb and inner thighs, your own nectar intermingled. Cregan heaved an exhale, letting his brow press snug to yours, mouth connecting in a tender kiss.

As his gaze found yours, you felt your features simmer with warmth, breath beginning to still as you regained your composure. The moment had stretched for an eternity, content to bask within his presence, lips curling into a demure smile.

The young wolf was wholly enamored, furrowed brows beginning to slack as he turned, bringing you with him. As he laid down, he let you rest atop him, bodies molding together as if they were two puzzle pieces, intended to fit.

Cregan himself seemed caught in the afterglow, dazzled by you, by all of this — unexpectedly so. A thick, muscled arm wrapped around you, palm splayed across the small of your back as he felt you shift, head nestled atop his chest.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He uttered, his worry thinly-veiled as he cradled you close, concerned that he’d caused you harm. “I apologize if I did — I did not realize …” Cregan trailed off, features painted with a scarlet pallor.

Admittedly, you would be sore — with your maidenhead surrendered, the ache between your legs was both pleasant and painful. “You did not,” You assured, letting out an awkward clearing of your throat. “Do you wish for me to go to my own chambers, now?”

Bewildered, Cregan’s head perked up just enough, head canting to one side. “Why would I have you leave?” He questioned, noticing the way you became embarrassed, as if you had said something completely foul.

“My own mother never shared chambers with my father,” You prompted, flustered as Cregan shook his head, bringing you closer, as if that were even a possibility. Already flush together, flesh to flesh, heart to heart, there was not a sliver of space to be found. “I only thought …”

“I understand,” His Northern timbre was soothing, reassuring as he caressed along your spine, pressing a chaste kiss to your crown. “I would prefer it if you stayed here — though, should you tire of me, I will accommodate you.” Cregan rumbled, nearly smirking at your fit of giggles.

“I do not think I will tire of you — not anytime soon, as it stands.” You mused, and that seemed to amuse your Lord-husband, who let out a brief huff as he soon swaddled you both within the furs.

No longer did you fear the Northern chill.

[theskywithin]

Love Edition: The Love Your Sun Sign Wants Vs. The Love Your Moon Sign Needs

There’s the love you chase, the love that ignites something familiar within you, the love you want. And then there’s the love that unsettles you, the one you secretly need, the love that holds a mirror to your soul and dares you to receive it.

Your Sun sign reveals the love you desire, the one you crave like a habit. Your Moon sign uncovers the love that scares you, the one that could truly set you free.

Find your truth below.

Aries Sun: You want a love that strikes like lightning, that roars like a war drum, that meets you in battle with fire in its veins. A love that is fearless, reckless, a storm that never stills. You crave someone who chooses you with the force of an unshaken belief—who runs toward you, never away.

Aries Moon: You need a love that doesn't demand a fight to feel real. A love that holds you even when you are still, when you are silent, when you are unguarded. You need someone who doesn’t conquer you, but softens you, teaching you that love is not a war—it is the quiet after the storm.

Taurus Sun: You want a love that is steady as the earth beneath you, unshaken by time, untouched by uncertainty. A love that lingers in the scent of skin, the weight of a familiar touch, the promise of a thousand tomorrows. You crave a love that never leaves, that stays wrapped around you like warmth you can always return to.

Taurus Moon: You need a love that is not afraid of change. A love that whispers, "trust the unknown," that teaches you that permanence is an illusion and the only certainty is the present moment. You need someone who shows you that love is not possession, it is a river that never stops moving, and sometimes, to love fully, you must let go.

Gemini Sun: You want a love that dances in words, that spills across pages, that never stops shifting, growing, becoming something new. A love that keeps you guessing, keeps you chasing, keeps your mind alight with questions yet to be answered. You crave a love that feels like a conversation that never ends.

Gemini Moon: You need a love that does not need words to be felt. A love that stays in the silences, in the spaces between sentences, in the depths you often avoid. You need someone who does not ask you to explain yourself, but simply understands, someone who sees beyond your laughter, into the quiet parts of you that have never been held.

Cancer Sun: You want a love that feels like shelter, like coming home to open arms, like hands that memorize the shape of you. A love that lingers in old songs, in whispered confessions, in promises that taste like forever. You crave a love that wraps around you and never lets go.

Cancer Moon: You need a love that does not cage you inside of it. A love that does not promise forever but shows up in every moment. You need someone who does not complete you, but reminds you that you were never incomplete to begin with.

Leo Sun: You want a love that shines, one that makes you feel seen, adored, worshipped in the softest way. A love that celebrates you, that sets fire to the world just to warm your hands. You crave someone who loves you loudly, who never makes you question your worth.

Leo Moon: You need a love that stays even when the applause fades. A love that sees you in the quiet, in the shadows, in the moments where you do not feel like a sun but simply a flickering flame. You need someone who loves you not for how brightly you shine, but for who you are when no one is looking.

Virgo Sun: You want a love that is careful, intentional, built brick by brick with steady hands. A love that makes sense, that does not falter, that feels like something you can trust with your whole being. You crave a love that is earned, that is proven in the smallest, quietest ways.

Virgo Moon: You need a love that is messy, that is unplanned, that does not follow a blueprint. A love that teaches you that perfection is an illusion, that love is not something to be fixed, but something to be felt. You need someone who holds you even when you don’t have it all figured out.

Libra Sun: You want a love that is beautiful, effortless, untouched by conflict. A love that feels like poetry, that exists in balance, in harmony, in gentle whispers and soft hands. You crave a love that feels like a fairytale written just for you.

Libra Moon: You need a love that does not fear the truth. A love that is not always soft, but always real. You need someone who does not just love the polished version of you, but embraces the mess, the contradictions, the raw and unfiltered you.

Scorpio Sun: You want a love that consumes, that pulls you under, that binds two souls together in something darker, deeper, unbreakable. A love that is written in fate, in blood, in the stars. You crave a love that leaves a mark on your soul.

Scorpio Moon: You need a love that is light. A love that does not demand suffering to be real. You need someone who teaches you that love does not have to hurt to be profound. You need someone who stays, not because they are bound to you, but because they choose you every single day.

Sagittarius Sun: You want a love that feels like the open sky, limitless and wild, where no heart is tethered, and no dream is too far. A love that moves like wind through your fingertips, light enough to never weigh you down, yet strong enough to set your soul on fire. You crave someone who understands that love is an adventure, a journey, not a destination to settle in. Someone who runs beside you, never in front, never behind.

Sagittarius Moon: You need a love that stays when the world stops spinning. A love that does not feel like an escape, but a home you never want to leave. You need someone who shows you that love is not a road to be traveled, it is a place where you can rest. Someone who does not chase you, but waits, knowing you will always find your way back when love is steady enough to be trusted.

Capricorn Sun: You want a love that is not reckless, but intentional. One that is slow-burning, resilient, something that feels like destiny rather than chance. You crave someone who understands that love is not just words whispered in the dark, but actions repeated in the daylight. Someone who stays not because they have to, but because they have chosen you, over and over again.

Capricorn Moon: You need a love that is effortless, given freely, without conditions. You need someone who does not love you for your strength, but for your softness, the part of you the world rarely sees. Someone who reminds you that love is not something you must build with your bare hands, it is something you are already worthy of, without having to earn it.

Aquarius Sun: You want a love that feels like a secret universe, untouched by expectations, where two souls can exist in their own orbit. You crave someone who understands that love is not meant to be caged, that connection does not need labels to be real. A love that feels like discovery, like endless conversation, like a masterpiece only the two of you can understand.

Aquarius Moon: You need a love that does not just admire you from a distance, but steps closer, close enough to touch, close enough to stay. You need someone who reminds you that love is not just an idea, not just a philosophy, it is something you can hold in your hands. Someone who teaches you that real intimacy does not take away your freedom, it deepens it.

Pisces Sun: You want a love that feels like magic, like something written in the stars long before you arrived. A love that dissolves the boundaries between reality and dream, one that makes the ordinary world feel a little softer, a little more poetic. You crave someone who understands your longing for something deeper, something divine. A love that is not just felt but transcended, that lingers in every song, every sunset, every quiet moment when the world feels too heavy and you just need a hand to hold in the dark.

Pisces Moon: You need a love that is real. A love that does not disappear with the morning light, that does not fade when fantasy is no longer enough. You need someone who loves you with their feet on the ground, not just their head in the clouds. Someone who teaches you that love is not found in escaping the world, but in learning to stay within it. A love that does not just exist in your heart, but in the spaces where life is raw, imperfect, and beautifully real.

[twilightau]

LOVE VIRUS; L.DH

synopsis — after a fateful encounter with a mysterious resident, you decide to follow his example and became a nurse, just to get the chance to see him again. romance, fate-like moments, you expected a lot from your first meeting after many years... just to find out he is the most insufferable jerk!

genres — first love au, co-workers-to-lovers, doctor au

pairing — lee donghyuck x fem!reader

warnings — language, mentions of death, incorrect medical descriptions, accidentally attempted suicide, sharp objects, medical setting

word count — 7,6k

[ ♡ previous part. ] — [ ♡ next part. ]

Nobody liked the ending of things. Everyone liked beginning something believing or hoping it would help them reach a specific place. Still, that certainty stops once you get the spot you only dreamt about.

Endings were never your think. Everyone liked beginnings, it meant starting on a dream, creating hope, believing in a certain goal. But it all halts it's fairytale-like meaning when you don't know what to begin with.

High school ended in less than eight days, and you were wasting time with your girlfriends in the streets of Seoul, none of you with any ambitions for the future. All you could think of was which bars to sneak into and how to convince a tired convenience store employee on midnight duty to give you a pack of cigarettes for cheaper.

Uncertainty scared you, but it was so damn frustrating to find a career path that suited you. You weren’t the smartest in class, you hated numbers, you were far from the most athletic, and frankly speaking, you hated studying in general. No one was going to accept a student with a bad rep anyway, even though most of the bad doings were done by your friends, you were just merely a bystander.

But what will you become if you cannot find the right path in time?

These wandering thoughts and ‘what ifs' were eating away at your sanity. Your drunk friend waved at you, signing you to another night of drinking all your insecurities away. You smiled at her, about to join the group when you heard a loud clatter behind you. A small elder who was collecting cartons onto his little cart fell to the ground, his frame getting smaller with each bathed breath you took. 

You didn't know how you crossed the road in seconds. Your heart was still racing while you asked the elder if he was alright. You could still hear the ringing in your ear while you told him to follow your breathing pattern. He tried to grasp for something inside the cart, you leaped forward to find his bag hanging on the handle of the cart. But it was too late, the man was already out cold on the ground.

If what you felt before was anxiety, you are now in full worry. “Sir, can you hear me? Please answer me if you can?” You heard his breathing but it started to sound more labored by the second. You searched his bag for any indication but found two unfamiliar types of medicine. You were not a pre-med student and stood frozen at the realization that you did not know how to help this elder.

“Someone help! This man collapsed on the ground!” You yelled into the empty streets of Seoul at twilight. Everyone was busy zombie-ing themselves to a restaurant or club to relieve stress, the working class could not afford to save another person but themselves. You kept shouting for help, feeling the man’s pulse weakening. The sight was making your heartache.

“Are you alright?” You heard from your left, you nodded before taking the outstretched hand without looking, pulling the person down with you to observe the elder. He didn’t seem to mind, immediately getting to work. “Okay, what happened?” You told him how you found him and how long you have stayed and watched his condition.

The stranger starts looking around, grabbing the elder’s bag and rummaging through his things as if looking for specific items. It is the first time you look at the stranger, and you realize it is a handsome stranger. 

The points of his curly brown hair are slightly darker, soaked in sweat as if he came running. His nose had a soft round tip and his lips were upturned, a wide cupid’s bow engraved in his upper lip. You almost start counting the moles on his face before you realize what he might be looking for.

“A-are you looking for these?” Your outstretched hands contain the two unknown tubes of medicine. The stranger looks relieved and nods. He opens the cap and you realize it is a needle instead of a pod of pills. He stabs it into the leg of the elder with a force that shocks you, but his smile reassures you ever so slightly.

“Can you call an ambulance? The number is on that utility pole, I think–” He looks at the medication bottle for a second, “Mister Hwang is going to be just fine, don’t worry.” You nod, but your hands still tremble, the adrenaline leaving your body. The stranger holds you still, “You did well. Mister Hwang is going to be okay thanks to you.” He gave you a warm smile and patted your head encouragingly. 

When the ambulance arrived, the stranger took over the situation entirely. “Hello, my name is Lee Donghyuck. Please go to Neo-Seoul Medical Center, I’m a 2nd-year resident there.” The paramedic nodded and Haechan hopped onto the vehicle behind the stretcher. You watched as the back doors closed and the car drove away, the whole scene leaving you in awe.

The words he had spoken to you were still replaying in your mind, slowly woven into your heart like a design into a sweater that cannot be removed. For the first time in your life, you did not screw something up, you helped save a human and you succeeded. Haechan and the ambulance were long gone by now, but it was almost like the trail it left behind was highlighted in gold; you had found your career path in life thanks to him.

♡

Neo-Seoul Medical Center was one of the most prestigious university hospitals in all of South Korea. Standing in front of a hospital to start your career was unimaginable for you five years ago. And if it depended on your GPA back then, you’d have never been able to start a medical career at all. It helped that you had good study buddies who helped you with the selection exams as well as teachers who truly saw your good qualities behind all the natural clumsiness you radiated.

You smiled at the building once more before Chenle called your name, telling you to hurry up before you got late for your introduction week. He was one of the few close friends you made during nursing school. He was similar in the way he always went beyond for the people he cared for, but unlike you, he doesn’t always act on his emotions.

Your introduction group consists of two other rookie nurses: Ningning and Sion. You weren’t familiar with the two, but it wasn’t unknown that Yizhou was the top student during your years in nursing school. 

The receptionist pointed your group towards the eleventh floor where a head nurse would appoint you each to a department.

Once the elevator door opened, you were met by an administrative nurse who told you to wait a bit. The LED screen above the reception showed that there were several surgeries being performed right now. Your eyes widened at a familiar name between them.

Lead surgeon – Lee Donghyuck – General Surgery  00:02:10:37

He has not left this hospital despite all these years. A small smile creeps up your face. Ever since you decided to study nursing, you had secretly wondered if you’d ever get to work with him. The image of the two of you rushing to help patients always helped you ground yourself while preparing for another practical exam. 

A familiar mop of dark brown curls passed your daydreaming state and you were quick to react. His scent, his hair, his soft features, and his moles; it was just like you remember. You start to realize that he hasn’t moved, your hands unbeknownst to you holding onto the sleeve of his dark blue scrubs. He looks at you with confusion, about to speak but you beat him to it, almost in a hurry to tell him everything you wanted to him all these years before you lose your courage.

“Dr. Donghyuck, I– I’m so glad to see you again. Thanks to your help, I was able to see the path before me and worked hard for the past 5 years to get here. I am so happy to be able to enter the same hospital as you and look up to you as–” He holds up a hand, making you stop mid-sentence. He raises a brow and makes a clicking sound with his tongue. 

“Listen, I don’t have time for this right now.” He looks at your badge and then your fellow rookie nurses behind you. “You are the new rookie?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes before continuing, “Okay. Listen up, you guys, too. Do not ask stupid questions that you could have studied beforehand, do not waste doctor’s time, and –,” he looked straight at you, “Do not talk to me unless necessary. I’ve got better things to do.” You let go of his sleeve, your cheeks heating up with embarrassment and anger. Who the hell does this jerk think he is?

“Seems the rookies have met our fellow Donghyuck” A female voice states, you look to your left to find a woman in purple scrubs next to your group. “Hello rookies, my name is Karina Yu. I’m the head nurse of the emergency department and your temporary mentor while you do the rotations. Now get out your little notepads, write down everything I’m telling you, and make sure to ask if something is unclear. The emergency department isn’t a place that goes slow and steady, if you notice something you must be fast on your feet and react quickly. Understood?”

“Yes ma’am!”

“Nurse Karina is fine, by the way.” She smiled kindly before it dropped and she started to walk and talk like it was a military drill. 

♡

“Okay, this is our weekly schedule board. We have it digitally but since the emergency department is about always being on the move, it would be too troublesome to have someone look it up every seven minutes. I added some ID pictures so you guys can easily distinguish which surgeon and doctor is who.

This is Lee Mark, he is a cardiac surgeon who often handles emergency cases since he just recently switched to CS from GS. The cardiology department is on the eighth floor, but you will find him in the doctor’s room of our department more often. If you have any questions, go to him and he will answer them in detail for you.

This fellow is Lee Donghyuck, he is from general surgery and the main surgeon you will work with here. Liu Yangyang is also a fellow GS specialist and the other surgeon you will meet the most often. Both the general surgery specialists are quite strict and meticulous in their work and it shows in the way that they will hold you accountable for any mistake you make. Remember, this is not nursing school anymore, you passed your exam: now it is real.

“Yes, earlier you mentioned we will start rotations in the ER. Do all four of us start in the ER?” You ask, trying not to get too embarrassed by your little stutter.

“No, from the spreadsheet I received only nurse Yizhou and Y/N will start in the ER. Nurse Chenle will assist Dr. Lee Mark in cardiology and Nurse Sion will join neurology and assist Dr. Qian Kun until the further rotation. The four of you will rotate around cardiology, neurology, and emergency as you have chosen these preferences. Of course, if in any case, those three departments end up not befitting your best qualities, you can apply for any of the other departments you want to try out. After your introductory period, you can decide which department you want to join.” The four of you nod at Karina’s words. 

“The surgeons in our team seem to be young, do we not have any senior doctors in our team on site?” Ningning asks. Unlike the way you asked your question, Yizhou remains cool and focused, her hands writing down everything she hears while her eyes are trained on everything Karina points out.

“Good question, we do have young surgeons because they are exceptionally good and adaptive to the always-changing situations in the ER. Do not let their age fool you, Mark has already finished his fellowship and is only a humble step away from his next promotion. Haechan and Yangyang are both in their last stretches as well and have gained enough trust from the Chief of General Surgery dr. Kim Doyoung to work independently on ER cases while our emergency surgeon Dr. Lee Taeyong is on leave.”

♡

The soft melody of a random R&B song plays in the living room while you clean the fog of your mirror. You look at your tired reflection, but muster up the energy to smile back at yourself. As much as today went by fairly peacefully, you can’t shake off the unfortunate encounter with Dr. Donghyuck. Was five years enough time to change an entire personality, or did your young and naive self paint him in a light he was never meant to be seen in?

“Y/N, where did you put the remote? I swear you never place it back at our designated spot!” Winter complains, already in the doorway of your shared bathroom to give you an earful about designated spots for shared items. But every word she planned to say dies down when she sees your face.

“Y/N? Is something wrong? Didn’t your first day go well?” She takes your hand and leads you to the couch, two cups of warm tea already on the coffee table. “What happened?” She asks after you haven’t answered her first question.

“It’s nothing. Just some nerves” You try to shrug it off, but your roommate keeps staring at you with suspicion. 

“Babe, as a third-year nurse, I have already honed the ability to sense lies whenever I ask my patients about medication. I don’t want to play nurse when I’m at home as well. So spill, what is upsetting little spring sunshine?” You crack a small smile at the nickname; your overexcitement on the first day of moving in made the apartment owner laugh, she said a little spring sunshine will move in with the resident winter princess. Since then, Winter and you have started to call each other those nicknames to become more comfortable with each other as roommates and friends. 

“Remember why I joined nursing school in the first place?” You asked, looking down at your takeout and poking in it with your fork. “Yeah, you fell in love with a resident and wanted to become a nurse so you could work beside him,” Winter answered breezily, slurping a long strand of noodle loudly as she looked for you to continue. 

“Don’t make it sound like I’m doing all this over a crush! I truly got inspired to get into this work field!”

“Was anything I said false though?” You didn’t answer. “Point proven.”

"Anyway!" You try to continue the subject so the two of you won’t go down that tangent. “I met him today and he became a completely different person. I’m not saying I expected him to be 100% the same, but it is kind of sad that I couldn’t find traces of the guy who inspired me in him anymore.” Winter hums, putting the plastic fork to her lips.

“Hold up, you met him today? If you were in intro group four…and you start rotation in the ER…” Minjeong taps the crease between her brows, trying to piece the strings of information together. After a few moments of silence, she gasps at the realization.

“Your first love is Lee Donghyuck isn’t it?” You nod, the burdened expression on your roommate’s face unsettles you. “You look at me like I made a big mistake, is he in a relationship or something?”

“No,” You felt relieved for some stupid reason. “But Donghyuck isn’t exactly the type of guy I imagined you being into. I thought you meant Mark Lee when you first talked about your crush.”

“What’s wrong with Donghyuck?”

“I want to say it’s a rumor, but I saw it firsthand once with a rookie nurse a few years ago. A nurse quit after just a week because Donghyuck gave him a hard time. Be perfect or he will lecture you until you’re about to hand in your resignation letter.” You pale at your roommate’s words, deeply regretting every course of action you took today, including entering the hospital. “But I’m sure it’s just a facade, so don’t lose hope yet!” She tries to cheer you up, but it is already too late. You have dug your own grave.

♡

As if the gods wanted to mess with you for a bit, you were assigned to assist Donghyuck’s patients. To say your first week went bad was an understatement. Karina was right when she said Donghyuck has a low tolerance for questions he gets annoyed at anything relatively quickly.

On your second day shadowing him, you noticed that he had long legs. Legs that do not wait for you and your cart to keep up. He gave you a side-eye when you eventually arrived at the right room, you also got lost because he didn’t wait up.

(“If this were an emergency alarm, the patient might have already died. Keep your head in the game, dreamer.” He mockingly taps his writing clipboard against your cart before turning around and smiling brightly at his patients. You feel like you were fuming from the ears at his act.)

On your fourth day in, you discovered a little hiding area where you could take a break without Donghyuck throwing mean remarks at you. You figured, if he can’t find you, he can’t talk bad about you.

The little box of cookies you found in a drawer was already half gone once you heard two people enter the room, a small curtain separating you from them. 

“Dude, I think that Nurse Y/N might have a crush on you!” Dr. Liu said with excitement. It has been a while since romance blossomed for his friend and the littlest indication that it might happen again made him happy. 

Donghyuck raised his brow, “Who?”, and Yangyang’s smile drowned away. He doesn’t even know your name? “Nurse Y/N, she is – dude?" Donghyuck shakes his head. “For real? The nurse who has been assisting you for the past four days?” 

“Oh, the dreamer. I doubt she’d have a crush on me.” Maybe it was because you couldn’t see his face, but your delusion might have caught a bit of a somber tone in his voice.

“Besides, the chances of something happening between me and her is 0.00001%. Any other rookie might even be better than her.” Lee Donghyuck has proven once again that he is hard to empathize with.

(“Have you seen my chocobi cookies, by the way? I was planning on eating them but I couldn’t find them in my snack drawer.”)

You finished his nasty cookies with no regrets. 

Your fifth day came around and you were doing your rounds without Donghyuck, the doctor was yet to return from a four-hour surgery and thus you ended up doing the rounds with Mark. 

Although Mark was a bit too much of a talker, it was a nice change of pace compared to the GS specialist who criticized your every move. 

“You just have to look through the words,” Mark said after he finally made you share your worries with him. The two of you already arrived at the third room for the current check-up round.

“I’d rather not look straight into his eyes. If looks could kill, I wouldn’t have made it past day one, dr. Lee” You slide open the door and greet the patients warmly. In the room were four patients from a traffic accident that happened on your second day. Because it happened late at night, Mark was already scheduled for a long surgery for pediatrics, causing Donghyuck to do back-to-back surgeries on these four patients. 

Minnie, a high school girl, greeted the two of you with a timid smile, her eyes lingered longer on Mark before meeting yours again.

“Dr. Donghyuck is currently occupied, so Dr. Lee Mark over here is guiding me today.” You explained to the girl, the feeling that she might have a crush on Donghyuck was unbelievable but also kind of cute.

“She has been waiting to thank him since yesterday evening.” Riku, a college student, commented, earning a glare from the girl which caused him to laugh. You hum while prepping Mrs. Choi for a blood sample. After you finish filling two small tubes for the tests, she signals you to come closer.

“Dr. Donghyuck allowed her boyfriend to visit her yesterday, even though visiting hours were already over. The academy hours these days cause students to finish their studies at late hours.” You look back at Minnie, noticing a singular rose in a tiny vase next to a small teddy bear on her nightstand. The scene reminds you of a sweet youth drama.

“How is your appetite, Mrs. Choi? I noticed you didn’t eat much the last few days, if you want, I can alternate a few things on your menu plan to help get your appetite back?” The older woman softly shakes her head. “No need, the doctor gave me some stomach medicine yesterday. I feel much better now.”

Although you added a small comment about Mrs. Choi’s appetite into your nurse log before you clocked out for the evening, you didn’t expect Donghyuck to take the note as seriously as he did. Writing up medicine for patients always required a lot more paperwork, and your seniors in nursing always recommended trying to minimize the prescriptions doctors had to make. 

“I’m glad it is working out, Mrs. Choi. Let me know if you need me to adjust anything, alright?” The lady smiled before turning to Mark. “The other doctor and nurse Y/N make such an interesting duo, don’t you think? They remind me of my first love.” You were already halfway through the room to check on the last patient, the comment made you stop in your tracks a second too long. Mark laughs, “What was your first love like Mrs. Choi? I wonder how Donghyuck and Y/N compare to it.”

You try to focus on the teenager’s stats, Jisoo is also seemingly intrigued by what Mrs. Choi has to say about her first love and late husband.

“We were like opposites. Chan was always driven by his ambitions, he never knew when to stop and enjoy the slow and steadiness of the world. After we met, he used to tell me how I re-taught him how to live life.” Mrs. Choi’s gaze was fixed on the window, but you knew that she was also holding back tears, it was evident in the way she spoke about her late husband. 

You finish up Jisoo’s check-up before returning to Mrs. Choi’s bedside, squatting down and giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “He sounds like a love worth spending a lifetime with, Mrs. Choi.” Her gaze turns to you and you can see the glossiness of her eyes. “Thank you.” She whispers before lying down again, Mark and you bid the other patients goodbye before leaving the room.

“You handled that situation well, nurse Y/N,” Mark says after a beat of silence. You give him a sad smile, “She lost so much in the past few days, dr. Lee. If I can lighten that pain for even a moment, I will.”

“You live up to that speech dr. Nakamoto gave on your second day, huh?” You smile, thinking back at the random visit of the pediatrician. He was looking for a specific person (you later figured that person to be Mark) but got thrust into giving the rookie nurses a motivational speech by nurse Jaemin.

(“I don’t think I’m in any position to give a speech, dr. Na.” Yuta eyed the nurses with an awkward laugh, making Jaemin, the ER doctor, challenge him further. “These nurses will rotate into your department soon, anyway. Besides, I doubt you’d come all the way down from the tenth floor to disturb us in our busiest hours, right Dr. Nakamoto?”)

Doctors treat illnesses, nurses heal patients.

Although he probably said those words without much thought behind them, you found new meaning behind those words. Sure, ever since working with Donghyuck, many of your rather superficial motivations disappeared into thin air. But Dr. Nakamoto’s words were a good reminder that Donghyuck wasn’t your only reason. 

It’s patients like Mrs. Choi, those who don’t only suffer bodily injury or illness, but also have a wound to the heart that needs healing. The surgical scars will eventually fade, but without genuine and continued support and care, a patient might carry painful memories for a long time. To you, soothing their hearts for even a moment was a reward worthy of suffering through the nursing program, and even Dr. Donghyuck’s never-ending remarks.

♡

The taste of Winter’s cooking was one you could never quite get enough of, the girl was always in her element in the kitchen and it was evident in her food. Tonight you were also accompanied by Karina. Although you already knew Winter had invited a friend over, it didn’t quite dawn upon you that the nurse friend she mentioned from time to time was going to be the head nurse of your department. The awkwardness from your greetings earlier still lingers ever so slightly in the back of your head, but you try to pay it no mind. It did help that none of you talked about work, rather giggling away with every sip of wine as you talked about your college adventures.

“You know, I think you will do well in the ER, Y/N. If you can handle someone as cold as Donghyuck, I don’t doubt that even the most enraged Karen will get to you.” Karina says in between hiccups. Winter is already leaning on her arm, slowly drifting off with occasional mumbles while Karina keeps rambling on about random thoughts she has. 

You weren’t a heavy drinker, but luckily Winter had opted for wine (the two women had already finished a few shots of soju before you came home) which you were able to handle.

“I think Donghyuck truly has a stick up his ass like he knows the ER is heavily understaffed and yet he is driving any nurse he sees away.” Karina huffs, another large gulp of red wine. 

“It’s one thing to feel entitled because you’re a good doctor, but it’s another to assume every nurse to be at that level from the start, right Y/N?” You try to pry the wine glass away from her hands, but she downs the entire glass before you can.

“Karina, are you going to be okay?” You watch as she stands up and points her finger at the decorative succulent on your dining table. “This plant is dying, it’s withering away.” It was a fake plant.

“I will call a cab for you, Karina. Where do you live?” The woman seems to acknowledge the time and her condition, already stumbling into your hallway to grab her shoes. You follow behind her with her belongings. She laughs a little too loud at your questions and points upstairs. “I’m alright, Y/N. I’m your upstairs neighbor!” She chirps happily as she spreads her arms in the air before blacking out. Great.

The trip is anything but easy: the elevator decides to take everyone else to their respective floors before arriving at the sixth floor, and of course, Karina keeps wiggling in your hold while the other residents keep side-eyeing you in your pajamas.

Since she didn’t quite tell you which unit she lived in, you had to walk past each front door like a creep with Karina’s arms nearly killing your neck. None of the unit numbers 601-604 had her surname on it. You were praying that you didn’t have to go all the way down the hall to unit 610 before you finally read her name underneath unit number 605, right next to Lee Donghyuck’s name. 

You froze, trying to process what this meant, but Karina had already woken up and was loudly banging on the front door of unit 605. You were torn between leaving her here, but she didn’t quite look sober enough to stand steadily.

The door opens after a few loud bangs from Karina, an annoyed – nothing new there – Donghyuck opens the door. His hair was damp and he was wearing grey sweats and a black shirt, a towel around his neck, and black-framed glasses adorning his face – definitely new. It takes everything in you to not admit he looks like a cute nerd in those glasses.

He was about to hurl a mean comment. At this point, you are pro at recognizing this. Donghyuck stops when his eyes settle on you. He raises a brow, and you only reply to his wordless questions with a sheepish smile.

“Your girlfriend had dinner over at our place, sorry. I put some hangover medicine in the pocket of her jacket for her to take in the morning. See you tomorrow, Dr. Lee!” And you ran away, accidentally pushing Karina into Donghyuck’s arms, but you weren’t going to stay there a second longer than needed.

Even though you thought you were pretty sure that you didn’t like Donghyuck anymore, the new information that he lived upstairs with his girlfriend still left a bitter taste in your mouth. 

♡

You were transferring your notes into the nurse logs when Karina entered your little cubicle. “Hey Y/N, are you busy?” You shake your head, moving to the side so the head nurse can comfortably stand in your little workspace.

“Normally I wouldn’t talk about personal affairs during working hours, but I wanted to apologize for my behavior yesterday. I was upset at my boyfriend and when Winter said the two of you were going to stay at home and just casually drink, I couldn’t help but ask to join. I needed some company for a bit.” She starts to explain, and you start to notice that drunk Karina and sober Karina aren’t much different. 

The scary image of head nurse Karina fades away as you watch her ramble, animatedly making her points with her facial expressions and hands. You smile at the sight, realizing the subtle cuteness of Karina’s true character. “It’s okay, nurse Karina. We all have ups and downs in relationships.” Karina shyly nods, “I also have a little request to make.” You let her continue. 

“Please don’t tell our colleagues about Donghyuck and I living together, it’s embarrassing.” Although you were confused as to why it would be embarrassing, you promised her you wouldn’t tell a soul. She gives you a grateful smile before her pager goes off. Before you turn back fully to focus on your logs again, Karina calls your name. “You can just call me Karina when we are alone. I think we are way past the formalities after what happened.” 

Karina disappears behind the doors and your polite smile falters slightly. You wonder why Winter and Mark didn’t warn you about the relationship between Karina and Donghyuck, feeling stupid that you were so open about your admiration for the man in front of people who knew he was already off the market. 

It wasn’t like you were full-on pursuing him, but it does hurt to know that his type and you were so far off, evidently marking that 0.00001% to be true. Karina was extremely pretty, smart, and good at her job. Sure, she was a rambler and loud drunk, but she easily carried herself in confidence.

A soft cough pulls you back from your thoughts. Donghyuck leans against the wall, handing you his clipboard. “I saw you were filling out the logs, can you upload this chart to Riku’s profile?” You wordlessly take the papers and start typing, expecting him to leave after he says what he needs, but you don’t hear any footsteps. Before you can ask, he starts speaking again. 

“She’s my cousin.” His words were rushed and Maeda Riku’s chart had already taken most of your attention, making the only sound coming out of your mouth a confused ‘huh?’.

“Karina, she is my cousin. I’m not dating anyone. That’s what I wanted to tell you yesterday before you ran off.” If someone told you you would see an awkward Donghyuck less than two weeks into the job, you wouldn’t believe them. The man had a sharp tongue and – just like his cousin – carried himself with certainty, attitude, and incredible skills that steadily established his dominance in the department. But for some unknown reason, he was avoiding eye contact and fumbling with something in his pockets in front of you. 

“Oh.” 

“I gave her the hangover cure, it helped.” He added after way too many seconds, still fumbling with his white coat pocket. You give him a weak smile, not knowing how to act in this strange situation. The air was not tense like it usually was, but it was far from comfortable.

“I got you the same one.” His hands were too fast, but the bottle on your desk and his empty pockets prove that he had been fumbling with the hangover medicine all this time. 

“Thank you…” The act of kindness (?) made you speechless. 

“You were reaching for your head a few times while doing rounds. It’s disturbing my work and the patients. If you can’t handle alcohol, don’t drink.” And the Lee Donghyuck you knew has ruined the moment again.

“I don’t think I deserve scolding when your cousin ended up like that.” Your remark earned a half-hearted scoff from him. You hated the way your heart started beating like your younger self again.

“Just drink it and get ready to join me for your OR testing.” 

♡

The biting winter air felt like tiny pricks against your exposed skin, but you remained seated on the cold wooden bench while hugging your bottle of water tightly. Your OR testing didn’t go wrong, but it didn’t go smoothly either. 

It wasn’t necessarily what Donghyuck said, but it was the way that he said those words to you in a room filled with your peers and other colleagues. He was complaining about how handling different tools wasn’t just about speed, but also about precision, how you were too hasty and could cause dangerous accidents. How he wouldn’t tolerate it if it were to happen in his OR and how you weren’t going in there anywhere soon.

It hurts that just when you finished painting him as an awful person, he started to make you doubt him again, causing his words to twist as painfully as they were the first few days as his assisting nurse. 

You weren’t a big fan of crying, it felt like losing control over your feelings, but you couldn’t help it when you’re so deep into your self-pity party. 

“Nurse Y/N?” The voice of an uncertain Minnie makes you look up, staring into the eyes of an equally teary-eyed teenage girl. You try to wipe away your tears in a hurry to attend to the girl, but she just hands you a handkerchief with a sympathetic smile.

“You know, crying does make everything a bit better, don’t you think?” She asks through a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. You breathe in some more air, feeling better despite being spotted by one of your patients. The two of you don’t say much at first, sitting in a comfortable silence while staring at the few white dots in your pitch-black sky. 

“Boys are stupid.” She suddenly says, catching you off guard. 

“Why would you say that?” 

“They just are, I think girls cry more often because of them than any other reason.” She explains nonchalantly, making you grin at your words.

“Can’t disagree on that.” You mumble.

After a while, you returned inside to finish one last welfare round before switching out with the night shift nurses. You greet Karina as you pass the nurse station, she holds you back by your arm. “I had a word with Donghyuck about what happened during testing, are you alright?” Admittedly, you were still a bit mad at his choice of actions, but you couldn’t blame him for correcting you on something you did wrong. 

“I will get over it, but thank you for looking out for me.” You grabbed your necessities and walked through the dimmed hospital corridors, making your way quietly through the resting areas of your patients. Most were already asleep, some mumbled soft words while you gently checked their stats and some even bid you a good night before turning around to sleep. 

Once you made your way into room 4, you expected Minnie to have returned when you opened your curtain, but her bed was still empty. You frown, remembering how she mentioned how cold it was and that she should quickly return and sleep the night away. 

After a few confused moments at her bedside, you notice the small but important details surrounding her little sleeping space. 

The rose she received days ago bore no petals and the little teddy bear was stuffed inside the small trash can. The conversation from before replays in your mind, and you take out the handkerchief she had handed you. 

You recognize the handkerchief was part of a goodie bag for a small promotion the hospital held once in a while. The words 2023 on the embroidery make you speed walk towards the storage room where older items were kept for PR. 

The storage room wasn’t a huge mess, but it was evident that someone had roughly opened the stored tissue papers and used a few. Your heart ached, thinking how the young girl must have cried in here, feeling lonely and betrayed.

Without thinking, you put out your pager and send out a notification for a missing patient, running towards the terrace where you last saw her. You kept calling her name, heart hammering in your chest as different thoughts spun in your mind. 

Different nurses and medical staff on the floor start spreading and calling out for Minnie, everyone equally worried for the young teenage girl.

You end up on the eighth floor, briefly informing Mark before rushing off into another hallway, feeling more and more anxious with each passing second. You hear a click from nearby and rush towards the sounds, opening the door to a balcony wordlessly as you freeze, Minnie’s hands on the railing and a devastating look in her eyes.

“Minnie–”

"Don't!" Her voice shakes as she puts one leg over the railing. “I don’t want to hear about how young I am, how much life I have to live. What is the use if no one will love me?”

“Why would no one love you?” You ask softly, still stuck in place, afraid that one wrong move will make her do something irreversible. 

“Because I’m permanently broken. Because I have a scar that will never heal. Because I will have to return to the hospital every few years.” Minnie wasn’t directly looking at you, she was staring down the levels, the tears in her eyes dropping down eight floors.

“But it will heal, Minnie. Both your scar and your life.” You carefully take a step, noticing how she doesn’t flinch at your movement. “Right now, you are in a very tough battle, wanting to look the prettiest for a boy you like, don’t you?” She is quiet.

“And having him see you in a hospital gown, having him not see the best version of you, it hurts, doesn’t it?” She closes her eyes, whispering a small and shaky ‘yes’, but you heard her.

“I used to think like that, too. I used to think that once I meet the love of my life, I have to be perfect already so that he will fall in love with me.” Minnie doesn’t react, even though you are certain she knows you’re closing your distance slowly.

“But I found out, quite recently, that I don’t want to be perfect to be loved. I want him to see me at my weakest, and see how I fight my way through my weaknesses. Don’t you want to show him that you are a fighter, too?” Minnie looks up at you, although she doesn’t say it, her eyes tell you everything you need to know.

“Thank you, Minnie. Give me your hand and I’ll help you down slowly, is that alright?” She nods, giving you a hand before turning around. The action makes her foot slip and she slides off the railing with a scream. You lunge forward, holding her hands as tight as you can. 

“It’s okay, trust me, I will not let go.” You grunt, trying your best to lift her, but she is too heavy for you to pull up alone. “Somebody, help!” You shout out in between reassuring words for Minnie. You feel her trying to climb up, causing her grip on yours to loosen. You shout for help again, begging the skies to help this little girl. You were fighting a rough battle with exhaustion, using every fiber in your being to keep the hold on the girl’s hands. 

You start to lose grip, you shout out for help one more time before you feel a warm body against you, arms surrounding yours and holding onto Minnie’s forearms.

“I got you” Donghyuck speaks to you softly before raising his voice for Minnie to hear. “Minnie, I will count to three, and Nurse Y/N, and I will pull you up. I need you to use your legs to climb up, okay? Everything is alright. We got you.”

You finally look at him and he nods counting to three before you gather all your remaining strength to lift Minnie. The three of you land on the ground of the balcony, most of the landing softened by Donghyuck embracing you both. 

Minnie holds onto you tightly, crying into your chest as she keeps mumbling apologies. You close your eyes to keep your tears in, soothing the girl with strokes through her hair. “Everything will be fine from now on, Minnie. You are a fighter, remember? You will show everyone that you are a fighter, okay?” Donghyuck stands up, typing on his pager before the medical staff comes through the door with a wheelchair, taking the shocked teenager from your arms. 

You are still shaken from everything that happened in the past 10 minutes, your legs and arms have completely given up after all the adrenaline wore out. Donghyuck wordlessly helps you on your feet. “Let’s go, my shift ended as well. I’m taking us home.” His voice was soft again, just like when he told you that he got you in your most fearful moment. 

He tugs you forward, but you don’t budge causing him to shoot you a questioning expression. “I can’t walk anymore.”

You didn’t have any ulterior motives when you said those words, but getting a piggyback home from Donghyuck did feel nice.

It still felt odd, you were sure a week ago that you hated his guts, but now and then, he made your heart flutter like five years ago. The thoughts confused you, making you unsure about how you should act around the man. Avoiding him wasn’t an option for now, although you knew your rotation in the emergency department was coming to an end soon. 

“You have potential.” He suddenly speaks as your apartment complex comes into sight. “You aren’t as fast as Nurse Ningning or as knowledgeable as Nurse Chenle, but you notice the small things about patients.”

“I doubt small things matter as much as accuracy and knowledge in this work field, Dr. Lee.” You mumble into his shoulder.

“You might think so, but I know for a fact that if you didn’t notice those things, we might have lost a lovely person today.” It was hard to find the right words to say, so you stayed quiet and let him continue.

“Your attentiveness saved a life, Y/N. Don’t ever think any less of yourself as a nurse.” Normally, you’d assume he is saying this to mock you, but even without seeing his face, you know he said those words sincerely. 

“Thank you for finding me, Dr. Lee.” You say after he steps out of the elevator on the fifth floor. “It’s hard to miss you when you still shout like an endangered teen girl.” Your heart skips a beat.

“So you remember me?” You don’t know why you’re holding your breath, but you are.

“I didn’t at first, but after all the hints and pieces I got from why you joined the nursing program, together with what happened today, I just followed the string of information and realized that young girl was you.”

He has stopped in front of your apartment and you try to hurry off his back before your roommate sees you, but he doesn’t let you go as smoothly as you thought. Your roommate seemed to have sensed you because the door swung open. Winter looks at you, your arms around his neck, and then Donghyuck himself. Before she can open her mouth to say anything, you rip yourself from Donghyuck’s hold – ignoring the immediate absence of his warmth – and wave him goodbye, slamming the door in his face and shushing Winter.

“Girl, you act fast.” Minjeong throws you a smug grin. 

“Please don’t even start, Winter” Unfortunately for you, her grin only widens.

The two of you continue to argue, unbeknownst to you, Donghyuck was still outside, listening to your little arguments with a chuckle. He stops himself from mumbling how amusing your reaction was, the word ‘cute’ almost escaping his lips. His footsteps start echoing again after your voices fade away, heading home in high need of some back pain-relieving patches.

any like, reblog, comment and feedback is appreciated! if you'd like to be on the taglist of this fic, let me know through an ask or comment on this work ♡

[harrysfolklore]

i don't like red - lh44

summary: alana hamilton is excited to see her dad racing again. however, she’s not a big fan of his new team’s color wc: 1.3k

read the bestest fist :)

folkie radio: F1 IS BACK BABYYYYY, honestly i love writing dad!lewis and this idea popped in my heard a while ago and i just had to write it ! hope you like this, we all need some comfort about that race

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

Alana Hamilton is a clever child, with a growing interest in the world her father is part of. At just five years old, she knows with unwavering certainty that her daddy is the best driver in the world. His number is 44, a fact she proudly recites to anyone who'll listen, and he drives a sleek black and teal car that matches his racing suit.

For Alana, race weekends are magical. They mean hanging out with her beloved uncles Toto and Bono, watching Georgie drive alongside her daddy, and sometimes playing with her little friend Jack.

The paddock has become a second home, its sights, sounds, and faces as familiar to her as her own bedroom. So when the first race of the 2025 season arrives and you lead her towards a different part of the paddock than she's used to, confusion clouds her bright eyes.

The sea of red before her is a stark contrast to the silver and teal she expects, and Alana's little hand tightens in yours as she looks up at you, confusion clear on her face.

"Mommy, where are we going?" Alana asks, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "Daddy's garage is the other way." She points towards the familiar Mercedes area, her brow furrowed in confusion.

You squeeze her hand gently, trying to find the right words to explain. "Remember how we talked about Daddy driving for a new team this year? We're going to his new garage."

As you finally approach the Ferrari garage, Alana is even more confused when she fails to spot any familiar faces, "Mommy where is Uncle Toto and Uncle Bono? And Georgie? Is Carmen here? I want her to paint my nails like last time."

Before you can reply to Alana's barrage of questions, a familiar voice calls out, "There's my little champion!"

Alana's head whips around, her face lighting up as she spots Lewis. "Daddy!" she exclaims, breaking free from your hand and running towards him. Lewis scoops her up, planting a kiss on her cheek.

Alana giggles, but then pulled back, her tiny hands on either side of Lewis's face as she examines him seriously. "Daddy, why are you wearing red? Did you spill pasta sauce on your racing pajamas?"

Lewis chuckles, exchanging an amused glance with you. "No, sweetheart. Remember how we talked about Daddy driving for a new team? This is my new team's color."

"But I like the silver car," Alana's lower lip transforms into a pout. "Can't you paint this one silver?"

"I'm afraid not, princess," Lewis says gently. "But you know what? Red is a very fast color. And look," he points to his race suit, "my number 44 is still here. Some things don't change."

"But I don't like red," Alana insists, "I like silver."

Lewis put Alana down, crouching down at her level, "I know it's a big change, sweetheart," Lewis says softly. "But sometimes change can be exciting. Want to see the new car? It might be even faster than the old one."

Before Alana can respond, Charles Leclerc approaches, a warm smile on his face. He crouches down next to Lewis, bringing himself to Alana's eye level.

"Hello there!" Charles says cheerfully. "You must be Alana. I'm Charles, your dad's new teammate. It's so nice to finally meet you!"

Alana regards Charles with curiosity, but there's still confusion in her eyes. She looks back at Lewis, then to Charles, and then around the garage again.

"Do you know where Georgie is?" she asks Charles, her voice small but determined. "My daddy always drives with Georgie."

Charles' smile softens with understanding. "George is still with the other team, Alana. But I'm here to be your dad's new teammate. Maybe we could be friends too?"

Alana doesn't respond immediately, her gaze drifting back to the unfamiliar red surroundings. "I don't like red," she repeats, more to herself than anyone else.

Sensing the need for a distraction, Charles' face lights up with an idea. "Hey Alana, would you like to meet my dog, Leo? He's here in the garage and loves making new friends."

At the mention of a dog, Alana's eyes widen with interest. "A doggy? Here?"

"Yes! He's very friendly. Would you like to play with him?" he asks, "My girlfriend Alex is here as well, and I bet she'd love to meet you. She said your dress is so pretty."

Alana's interest seems piqued by this,"Really? She likes my dress?"

Charles nods enthusiastically. "Oh yes, she thinks it's beautiful. She'd like to be your friend too. What do you say?"

Alana looks up at you and Lewis, seeking permission. You nod encouragingly, relief washing over you at seeing a spark of happiness in her eyes.

"Go ahead, sweetheart," you say. "Just remember to be gentle with Leo, okay?"

As Charles leads Alana to meet his dog, you feel Lewis' arm slip around your waist. You lean into him, both watching as Alana's giggles begin to fill the air.

"That was... more dramatic than I expected," Lewis murmurs, his voice a mix of relief and lingering concern.

You turn to face him, reaching up to straighten the collar of his race suit. "She's just used to everyone at Mercedes," you reassure him. "She knows them since she was born, it's a big switch but she'll adapt."

Lewis smiles, his eyes softening as he watches Alana play with the dog. "You're right," he kisses your temple softly. "She's smart, just like her mom."

"And stubborn, just like her dad."

Your moment is interrupted by the sound of Alana's delighted laughter. You both turn to see her on the ground, giggling as Leo licks her face. Charles and Alexandra kneeling beside her and engaging with her.

A few minutes later, Alana runs back to you and Lewis, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Mommy, Daddy! I love Leo, he's so fluffy! And Charles is funny, he does silly faces. And Alexandra's dress is so pretty, it has flowers all over it!"

You can't help but smile at her enthusiasm. "That sounds wonderful, sweetheart."

"They're my new friends!" she pauses, her expression becoming slightly more serious. "But can I still say hi to Uncle Toto and Uncle Bono and Georgie later? I miss them."

Lewis smiles at her fondly, touched by the way the team that was a huge part of his life, was a huge part of his little girl's too.

Lewis kneels down, pulling Alana into a hug. "Of course you can, princess. They're still our friends, even if we're on different teams now. And guess what? You'll make even more new friends here too."

"Okay, Daddy," Alana nods, her smile returning. "I don't like red, but I like your new friends."

The adults laugh, making Alana giggle too. Through the day, Alana's initial hesitation about the new team begins to fade as she spends more time in the Ferrari garage. She becomes fascinated by the bustling activity and the shiny red cars. Lewis takes her on a tour, explaining the different parts of the car and introducing her to the mechanics and engineers.

Alana is fascinated to see her dad race again, her eyes wide as she sees the red car fly in the circuit, even when she insists that she doesn't quite like the red.

After the race, you and Lewis hold each of Alana's hands as you walk through the paddock, you spot Toto, Bono, and George near the Mercedes garage and Alana's eyes light up, she tugs on Lewis' hand.

"Daddy, look! It's Uncle Toto and Uncle Bono and Georgie! Can we say hi? Please, please, please?"

Lewis chuckles and nods, leading her over to his former team members. They greet each other warmly, with Alana receiving plenty of hugs and hair ruffles.

"Well, well," Toto says with a grin, crouching down to Alana's level. "If it isn't our favorite Hamilton!"

Alana giggles, but then her face turns serious. "Uncle Toto, I have a very important question."

"Oh? And what's that, sweetheart?"

Alana leans in close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Do you think we can paint Daddy's new car silver when no one's looking? I don't like red."

[fear-less]

harry + first time for both of them + set during dh 1 when ron leaves (in this scenario hermione goes with him) + they have kinda experimented before but this is their actual first time

tysm ❤️❤️

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 Your fingers in my hair

pairing: harry potter x f!reader

➥ In which, you and harry are left alone, stressed but glad to still have each other.

warnings: smut, first time, dom!harry, pretend the tent is big and not tiny…lol, y/n used once, pet name (baby), unprotected sex

1.3k words

divider creds: i-mmaculatus & dollywons

The night was unnervingly still, the kind of silence that amplified every crackle of the campfire and the faint whisper of the wind threading through the trees. Harry sat alone outside the tent, his eyes fixed on the flickering flames. He tried to push away thoughts of Ron’s sudden departure and Hermione’s decision to follow him.

He wasn’t sure what to feel. Betrayed? Hurt? Maybe relieved? The tangle of emotions knotted in his chest, making it impossible to settle on any one.

The soft sound of a zipper being pulled back snapped him from his thoughts. He turned to see you stepping out of the tent, your hair tousled from sleep, eyes still heavy with exhaustion. You wrapped your arms around yourself against the night’s chill, pulling your coat tighter as you stepped into the cool air.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked gently, your voice a comforting murmur in the silence.

Harry shook his head. “Too much on my mind.”

You nodded, then sat down beside him. Your shoulder brushed his lightly as you settled into the space between him and the fire. For a while, you sat in quiet companionship, the flames casting shifting shadows around you. Finally, it was you who broke the stillness.

“Ron and Hermione... they’ll come back, you know.” The words came out softly, but there was an underlying doubt that couldn’t be hidden.

Harry didn’t respond right away, his eyes locked on the fire as it danced between you. "I don't know," he said finally, his voice low. "And even if they do… things won’t be the same."

Your hand hesitated for a moment before it reached out to rest on his. There was warmth in your touch, steady and unwavering. Harry didn’t pull away, but he didn’t know how to respond either. The truth was, for so long, he’d been wrapped up in the fight against Voldemort, in the weight of their mission, that he hadn’t allowed himself to think about what he wanted. Not about this. Not about you.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice barely carrying through the cold air. "I—"

Before he could finish, you leaned in. The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, but there was an intensity to it, an unspoken understanding that Harry’s heart stuttered at the touch of your lips. It wasn’t the first time you’d kissed, but it felt like it was—different, more real, more... inevitable. When you pulled away, your eyes searched his, asking for something he wasn’t sure how to put into words.

But Harry nodded, the unspoken weight between you two finally breaking through. Everything had been building toward this moment—the stolen glances, the unacknowledged longing, the shared silence in the face of everything falling apart.

Your movements were slow, tentative at first, as if unsure whether the fragile spell between you could withstand more. But the hesitation quickly gave way to something deeper, more certain. Your hands slipped beneath his shirt, your touch sending a warmth spreading through his chest, and Harry’s breath caught. His hands found their way to your waist, trembling slightly as he pulled you closer, feeling the urgency of a connection that couldn’t be ignored any longer.

"Are you sure?" he murmured, his voice rough with a mixture of uncertainty and longing.

You smiled softly, your eyes glistening with tenderness, with something stronger. "I’m sure."

Harry, his heart racing and now with your certainty, didn’t waste a moment. Without hesitation, he closed the distance between you, his lips finding yours once more. This time, there was no uncertainty—only a quiet urgency.

You guys had never gone too far, only ever making out and subtle grinding on each other. Harry was determined to change that. So to no surprise, with trembling hands, Harry pulled off your jacket. Minutes later, both yours and his shirts were discarded in the dim glow of the campfire, forgotten on the ground.

He took a moment to look at you, you weren't wearing a bra so your full chest was on display. You were beautiful—breathtaking. Your body, your eyes, your smile. All of you. His heart raced again, though this time it was for a different reason. You, too, had been watching him, your eyes tracing the lines of his chest and the muscles beneath his skin. The intensity of your gaze was enough to make him forget everything except the way you made him feel.

Before he knew it, he was guiding you gently down to the couch, lowering you with a tenderness that contrasted the urgency of his actions. He hovered above you, eyes locking with yours, both of you breathing heavily. 

“Please,” you said breathlessly. 

Harry wastes no time in taking off your pants, now leaving you in just your underwear. 

“Fuck baby, you’re soaked, all for me, yeah?” 

You nodded, too hazy in the head to form any words. Harry Now catching onto your neediness, he wastes no time in taking off his boxers and your panties. The only pieces of clothing that were separating you from one another were now  gone. 

He looks down at you, his gaze intense, a silent question hanging in the air as his eyes search yours for any sign of hesitation. The warmth between you both thickens, and you lock eyes, your heart racing. With a breath that feels too heavy to release, you nod, your body tingling with anticipation and desire, impatience igniting the air around you.

So with no warning, his cock was pressed against your slit and slowly went deep inside you. You cried out in pain and pleasure as he was still against you.

"Shhh, I’m right here," he whispered, his voice low and soothing. "I won’t move until you’re ready, got it?" He leaned down, his lips gently kissing away the small tears that had escaped down your cheeks, his touch tender, grounding you in the moment.

You were a mess beneath him, struggling to take him fully but to Harry, he felt like he was on top of the world–like nothing else could compare. Harry dreamed about him wanting to desperately fill you up and he reckons he's damn near doing that.You grasp onto his back, your fingers digging into his skin, nails pressing deeply into his flesh, a mix of urgency and need coursing through you. He couldn’t help but move forward slightly into you from the sensation, a sharp intake of breath escaping him as the intensity of your touch sent a rush of heat through his body. The connection between you deepened, both of you caught in the rawness of the moment. You let out a soft moan, instinctively tightening around him, the sensation causing him to groan deeply, his lips brushing against your neck as he succumbed to the overwhelming wave of pleasure.

“Harry, you can move now,” you breathed out.You didn’t have to ask him twice; his hips surged forward with a sudden urgency, a raw intensity in his movement that even took him by surprise, the heat between you both building with every passing second.  His hands gripped your waist hard, unknowingly leaving marks that would darken into bruises by morning. You barely noticed in the moment—distracted by the way his breath quickened against your neck, the urgency of his touch, as if every second mattered. 

“Fuck you feel so good around me, youre sucking me in so deep.” He said through a whimper. His words made you clench hard around him, making him let out another moan.

His fingers drew closer down and found their way to your clit. Your moans filled his ears like music, each sound more desperate than the last. It was as though he was the only one who could make you feel this way, pulling you deeper into something neither of you had fully prepared for.  Begging for a release that you were desperately in need of.

"Harry, I-I’m so close..." The words escaped you in a breathless gasp, your face instinctively finding its way to his shoulder as you cried out, trembling with the anticipation of release.

“Does my baby want to come for me? Have you been a good girl? Should I allow you to?” His voice dropped even lower, dripping with a mix of authority and indulgence, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Please… I need it. I can’t take it anymore,” you cried out, your voice trembling with the urgency of your need. Every inch of you burned, desperate for release.

“Shit, cum on my cock, baby.” Harry spoke, his voice full of intensity, but softer now, as if the moment demanded it. His fingers now circling faster around your clit, you could feel yourself on the edge, so close to that sweet release, every nerve in your body on fire with anticipation. WWith one final, powerful snap of his hips, you lost all control, your body trembling as you came undone around his cock. 

When he felt you coming undone, he nearly lost it, your moans, the way you clenched onto him. 

“Holy shit, baby,” he cursed, his thrusts now becoming sloppy, he was nearing his release while you whined, still high off your release. 

“Fuck, take it, take my cum, fuck!” He shot load after load of his hot cum deep into you. Groaning and whimpering like a mad man as he reached his much needed climax. 

As if he couldn't take his weight any longer, he laid on top of you, your fingers subconsciously finding their way to his hair while he wrapped his arms around your waist. 

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[multific]

The Gladiator’s Empress

Lucius Verus x Reader

Summary: He choose you, and you had no other choice.

Lucius’s rise from a skilled gladiator to Emperor was a tale told across the Empire. 

A story of determination and skill. 

You first saw him in the Colosseum, his fierce presence captivating the crowd, though it wasn’t the adoration of the masses he desired, it was you.

He became obsessed, his eyes finding you in the sea of faces each time he fought. 

After a while, he didn't even have to look.

You had a specific place where you liked to sit.

Though you didn’t know it at the time, Lucius’s victories weren’t merely for glory or freedom.

They were for you. 

When he became Emperor, his first rule was one that surprised you, he wished to marry you.

Fear filled your heart when you heard the news. 

Lucius was known for his ruthlessness in battle, his unyielding will, and his obsession with victory. 

You imagined a cold, authoritative man who would force you into a loveless marriage, one where you would be nothing more than a trophy.

A nice piece by his side.

Your parents were thrilled by the chance, a union with the Emperor would elevate your family beyond anything they had dreamed. 

But you, with uncertainty in your heart, didn’t share their enthusiasm.

The day you were summoned to the palace, you braced yourself for an encounter with a tyrant. 

Instead, you found Lucius waiting for you in a beautiful garden, surrounded by blooming flowers. 

He rose from his seat when you arrived, his expression softening at the sight of you.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he said, his voice gentle, surprising you. “I have no intention of hurting you. I only wish for you to give me a chance.”

His words were unexpected, and you found yourself speechless. 

He wasn’t what you had imagined. His eyes were intense and yet they held a warmth you hadn’t expected.

“Why me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lucius smiled faintly, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“Because from the moment I saw you, I knew there could be no one else. You made me want more than battles and blood. You made me dream of a life beyond the Colosseum.”

His honesty surprised you, but your fear didn’t vanish overnight. 

Still, you agreed to get to know him before making any final decision.

"I wish to get to know you first. If you truly care about me as you claim, you would understand."

"I greatly appreciate the chance, My Lady." 

In the weeks that followed, Lucius showed you a side of him that the world rarely saw. 

He was patient, never demanding more than you were willing to give. He walked with you through the palace gardens, listened to your thoughts, and even laughed at your sharp wit.

One evening, as the sun set behind the palace walls, you found yourself alone with him in the grand hall. The flickering light of the torches cast a warm shine over the room.

“I was wrong about you,” you admitted, breaking the silence. “I thought you were ruthless and cold. But you’re not.”

"I’ve fought many battles, but winning your heart has been the greatest challenge of all.”

A smile played on your lips, and for the first time, you didn’t feel fear when you looked at him, you felt something far deeper.

The night he proposed again, it wasn’t as an Emperor demanding a bride but as a man asking the woman he loved to spend her life with him.

“Will you marry me?” he asked, holding out a simple ring, his voice trembling slightly. “Not because I’m Emperor, but because I love you.”

“Yes, Lucius. I will marry you.”

The wedding was a grand affair, but despite the grandness, all you could focus on was Lucius’ unwavering stare and the love shining in his eyes. 

He had proven you wrong in every way, turning fear into love, doubt into certainty.

As his wife and Empress, you stood beside him, not as an unwilling partner but as someone who had fallen deeply in love. 

And in his arms, you found the warmth and safety you had never expected, but always longed for.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[divinesangel]

— why people are jealous of you [detailed]

pm me for an affordable, in-depth personal reading! — 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞!

— 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟏

people see you and they don’t always understand. they are jealous of you, not because of what you have, but because of how you carry yourself. there’s a quiet strength in the way you move, in how you know what you want, how you’ve always been so sure, so grounded. you’ve always known what you want, clear and unwavering, standing firm in your choices. there’s a steadiness in you, a calm certainty that others struggle to find in themselves.

it unnerves them, because where they doubt, you are grounded. when they question, you are sure. you seem so complete, like you’ve mapped out your life and found your way, while they’re still wandering. and instead of looking inside themselves, they project their envy onto you, as if your certainty reflects their own uncertainty. they feel the pull of you—how others are drawn to you without even trying. they see the way you move through the world, pulling people in without effort, and it stirs something in them. envy. insecurity. they can’t quite explain it, but they feel it.

there’s something in your warmth, hidden at first beneath that cool surface. when people first meet you, they might mistake you for someone cold, distant. but as time passes, and you let your guard down just a little, they see what others have already seen—that warmth, that care that runs deep in you. it’s rare, the way you care so deeply, so genuinely. and that, too, makes them jealous. you are genuine in a way that’s hard to find, and that makes you stand out even more. the ones who already feel insecure around you, they feel this too, and it only fuels their envy. they see you as someone who can draw opportunities toward you without trying, someone who doesn’t need to push so hard. you just are. you follow your instincts, and things seem to fall into place. it’s like they’re in competition with you, even though you’ve never played that game.

they think things come easy for you, that you don’t have to try as hard, but they don’t see the work behind the ease, the quiet effort. they battle within themselves. part of them knows you’re not their enemy, that you’ve worked for everything, and that maybe, you’re even on their side, trying to help. but the other part, the envious part, pulls them back, makes them feel small in comparison to you. they know, deep down, that you’re going to succeed, and it terrifies them. that you are destined for something bigger. and while they fight their own feelings, they can’t help but see you as someone complete, someone who has figured it all out. they feel the weight of their own uncertainty when they look at you, because you remind them of what they’re still searching for. and it’s not your fault, but it makes them feel like they’re not enough. in their eyes, you’re already living the life they wish they could have, and that’s what tears them apart. but it’s their own doubts they’re really wrestling with, not you. you’re just the mirror they don’t want to look into.

— 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟐

many people feel it, the quiet envy, watching the way you’ve come to treat yourself, like someone worth tending to, someone who knows their worth. you’ve been through it—transformations that have left you raw, broken open. maybe you come from a troubled past, maybe it was love or friendships that drained you, left you wrecked and empty. but you took that wreckage and rebuilt. you changed, over and over, until you became someone new. and it shows now, that transformation, it rises to the surface like light breaking through.

they see it, that shift, and there’s jealousy in how you've moved through things they can't fathom. they wonder how you’ve managed to endure so much and still come out strong, still doing well. they watch, but they don’t understand it—how you’re always changing, always moving forward. it’s like change is part of your blood now. when life turns, when things don’t go your way, you shift. you redirect yourself, finding the better path. and this ability of yours bothers them. they feel stuck, caught in places you’ve long outgrown. the distance between you widens, and they feel the emptiness in themselves more deeply because of it. they watch you keep moving, eyes always on the horizon, while they hesitate, afraid of what lies beyond their small view.

despite your past, despite the weight of what you’ve been through, you still hold hope for what’s to come. your vision, who you want to be, who you’ll allow into your life, it’s all clear now. instead of breaking, you’ve taken your wounds and made them into armor. you wear your scars with strength, but still so soft, never pretending to be more than you are. you are honest about your journey, open about what it’s taken to get here.

and this is what unsettles them. they can’t face their own cracks, their own unhealed wounds. they watch from a distance, filled with a passive longing, a quiet bitterness. your heart is full, and they see that. they see how you’re not afraid of the unknown, how you’re building a life that reflects what you want, even if it’s still in pieces. and they can’t grasp how you find contentment in the progress, how you’ve taken nothing and built it into something beautiful. you’re getting what you wished for, piece by piece, and that stirs something in them, something they can’t quite name. they want that strength, that quiet power, but they haven’t healed enough to claim it for themselves. so they watch, unsettled, as you thrive.

— 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟑

there's a sense of peace in your life that unsettles others, a peace that runs deeper than happiness. it's not just contentment, it's a kind of emotional depth they can’t touch, can’t understand. you’ve built something solid—your own home, your own space, a belonging so sure of itself, it shakes them. while they skim the surface, jumping from moment to moment, you’re grounded. you know how to build connections that last, that matter. it’s that steadiness, that contentment, that upsets them the most. you don’t boast about it, don’t need to. but they see it. they see you living in a place they can’t reach, and it leaves them feeling empty, like something inside them is missing.

sometimes, this feels less like a general crowd and more like one person, someone who feels unsettled just by how you move through the world. you have this way about you, this ability to create connections and tend to them, to take care of the people who choose you. and when a friendship goes wrong, when something turns nasty, it’s not your fault. you know how to hold onto people, how to keep that peace around you. so when things fall apart, it’s not a reflection of you. they see your calm, your balance, the way you move forward without rushing, without crumbling, and it makes them uneasy.

you’ve found a middle ground, where you can grow and stay strong, without falling apart. and that community you’ve built, the people around you—it’s strong. or maybe you just know how to get along with everyone. there’s something approachable in you, something that draws people in, makes them want to know you. but that can make others jealous. it’s a double-edged sword, meeting so many people and letting them in. but you see through it all. you don’t let your emotions cloud your judgment, and you’re not cold either. you have a clarity, a way of seeing people and situations for what they are.

you’ve learned to protect yourself, to keep out those who don’t belong. you know your worth, your value. you’ve built this, and you protect it fiercely. you only want healthy, nurturing relationships, and you’re careful about who you let in. that makes people uneasy, too. you don’t let strange energies into your space, because you’ve worked hard to protect your peace. in the past, there were friendships that hurt, that didn’t understand you, that crossed your boundaries. but now, you guard yourself, and not everyone can handle that. they can’t handle how sure you are, how much you’ve grown, how much you’ve learned to care for yourself. you’ve come a long way, and not everyone can keep up.

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 !

hi! it's daphne here.

i'm currently offering personal readings for €7 and soulmate readings for €14 so don't hesitate to send me a private message if you're interested!

thank you for being here!

[jellybonbons]

Playground Love

ೀ older!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

Tags: hurt/comfort, age gap (unspecified but reader is an adult), a lot of self doubt, talks about mommy and daddy issues, pet names (angel, princess, sweetheart).

W/C: 1.0k

A/N: studying? who is that? Anyways, this was supposed to be a cute ‘sitting on his lap would fix me’ but I got hit by existential crisis at 2am so angst.

"Wow, dating an older guy? That's so sophisticated!"

“Are you sure about this? Don’t you think there’s a reason why no one his age is dating him?”

"You get to date someone older? That's not fair! All I get are immature guys my age."

"Darling, I know you're an adult now, but dating someone significantly older... it just worries me. Are you sure you're on the same page?"

I love him.

At every reaction, you find yourself repeating the same phrase in your mind. It was a simple truth that anchored you amidst the swirl of opinions and doubts. Every concern, every envy—you faced them all with the same unwavering declaration.

But do you really love him?

The question lingered like a shadow, casting doubt on the certainty you had clung to so desperately. You couldn't shake the nagging feeling that perhaps you were merely caught up in the allure of dating someone older, mistaking infatuation for love. Or was it that you longed for attention from an older guy who could fill the void your absent father left?

You craved the paternal presence you had been denied, and in him, you found echoes of the guidance and affection you had longed for. 

"Dating someone older? Isn't that a bit... strange?"

"Why? Age is just a number, right?"

"Yeah, but... do you really think you're at the same stage in life?"

Oh, how naively optimistic you were. 

Perhaps you have been too quick to dismiss your loved one’s concerns, too eager to embrace the illusion of love in the arms of someone—his arms—who offered the fleeting promise of stability and security. 

“But he makes me feel loved and safe,”

“Does he?”

Was your love truly built to withstand the test of time, or was it merely a fleeting illusion, destined to crumble beneath the weight of your differences?

“Darling, can we talk for a moment?”

“Sure, Ma. What’s on your mind?”

"Well, I couldn't help but notice... you seem quite taken with this new guy you're seeing."

"Oh, you mean Leon? Yeah, we've been spending some time together."

"He's... older, isn't he?"

"Um, yeah, he is."

"I see... darling, I just want to make sure you're being careful. Dating someone older can bring its own set of challenges."

"I know, Ma. But he's different. He understands me in a way no one else does."

"I'm sure he does, dear…but promise me you'll take things slow and really get to know him before things get too serious."

"I promise, Mama.”

You've broken many promises with your mama, but why did this one hurt? Is it because you partially blame her for shaping you the way you are? Is it because she married your father? Maybe she would have lived a happier life if it weren't for him, if only.

But you thanked her, both her and him, for the lesson learned, for the wisdom imparted, for the love that had always been there, and for helping you recognise the kind of partner to avoid. 

You stood before the polished wooden door of Leon’s home office, your hand hovering in uncertainty over the ornate doorknob. Each second felt like an eternity as you battled with the torrent of doubts and fears that raged within you. 

You needed him, wanted him to hold you, and tell you that everything would be fine.

But what if he couldn’t understand your doubts? What if your confession shattered the fragile illusion of your love?

With a steady breath, you pushed aside your apprehensions and grasped the doorknob, steeling yourself for the conversation that lay ahead.

“What’s up, sweetheart?” His voice, gruff yet soft and reassuring, always managed to send shivers down your spine, freezing you in place. You couldn’t find the words to speak, and your throat suddenly dried.

Sensing your hesitation, he beckoned you closer with a gentle smile. You could see the experiences he went through, the complexities of adulthood etched into the lines that creased his weathered face.

“Come here, angel. Sit on my lap while I work.”

You obeyed, crossing the threshold into his office, your feet padding on the wooden floor as you made your way to him. Settling onto his lap, your linen dress pooled around you, the fabric soft against your skin. His arms encircled your waist, pulling you close, his rough touch sent warmth flooding through your veins.

You inhaled his scent, a mixture of citrus and wood, with a hint of something familiar: whisky. You thought he quit. Ready to question him, you opened your mouth, but he stopped you before you could question him.

“Don’t worry your pretty head, princess. I only drank a glass, I promised. I’m just a bit stressed.” 

“Mm, okay,” you replied, pushing aside your concerns for the moment as you melted into the warmth of his embrace.

You found solace in the familiar embrace of Leon's arms, the weight of your doubts momentarily forgotten as you leaned into his chest, burying your face against him. A few of his buttons were undone, allowing the soft hairs on his chest to brush against your face. 

"Is everything alright, angel?" Leon's voice, soft and concerned, pulled you back to the present moment.

"Yeah, everything's fine. I just want to stay like this, with you," you murmured, the words slipping out before you could second-guess yourself.

His arms tightened around you, drawing you closer, as if he could sense the hesitation in your voice. "Me too, princess. Me too," his stubble pricked your forehead as he murmured against them.

Oh, how weak you were. His voice and touch alone melted you into a puddle, and all your problems seemed to vanish in his embrace. Your mama wouldn’t be happy with how you turned out; she wished that you would never let a man make you weak like she was.

Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself to sink deeper into his embrace, letting go of the weight of your doubts and worries. In this moment, all that mattered was the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against yours.

Perhaps one day, when the time was right, you would find the courage to open up to him about your inner struggles. Until then, you cherished this moment, clawing in the warmth of his love.

Pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, Leon whispered softly, "I love you, angel.”

“I love you, too, Leon, always,” you replied. The words were a vow of unwavering devotion and love…was it really?

All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does, and that is his.       

- Oscar Wilde

[shiftingfawnnn]

The Difference Between Wanting to Shift and Expecting to Shift

When you first begin your shifting journey, it’s easy to feel like you’re wanting to shift—hoping, wishing, and longing for it to happen. This is a common starting point for many people, but it’s important to recognize the subtle but powerful difference between wanting and expecting to shift.

Wanting to shift comes from a place of longing. It’s rooted in desire, and while this is a natural feeling, it’s often tied to a sense of uncertainty or lack. When you want to shift, you’re focused on what you don’t have yet. You may think, “I wish I could shift,” or “I hope it happens for me.” This kind of energy often creates resistance because it reflects a feeling that shifting is something outside your control—something that you’re constantly reaching for, but may never fully grasp. The act of wanting can leave you feeling like it’s not fully attainable, and doubts can creep in, making the process feel more difficult.

On the other hand, expecting to shift is a whole different mindset. When you expect to shift, there’s no more longing, no more hopefulness. Instead, you hold a quiet certainty that shifting is a natural process that will happen when the time is right. Expectation removes the pressure because it’s not about if—it’s about when. You know that with practice, consistency, and the right mindset, shifting is an inevitable result.

Expectation shifts your approach completely. You stop waiting for shifting to “work,” and you begin acting as if it’s already part of who you are. The more you expect it, the more it becomes a natural extension of yourself. Your mind starts to align with this belief, and as a result, the doubts that once seemed so loud begin to fade into the background. Instead of being attached to the outcome, you trust the process and simply enjoy the journey, knowing it’s only a matter of time.

This shift from wanting to expecting also has an impact on how you prepare for shifting. With the mindset of expectation, you practice with confidence, knowing that your efforts will pay off. You begin to trust that you are capable and worthy of shifting, and that your reality is malleable. When you approach shifting with expectation, the entire experience transforms from a chase for something unattainable to a natural flow of something you already have the ability to do.

So, the next time you find yourself feeling frustrated or doubtful about your progress, take a step back and ask yourself: Am I waiting for shifting to happen, or do I expect it to happen? Shift your mindset from wanting to expecting, and watch how the process begins to unfold with ease.

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Can you do a gardner reader/gp Donna where the gardner was quietly given the cadou, but no one but Mother Miranda knows? Gardner is soft spoken and Donna and reader slowly fall in love...maybe some angst from Donna being scared to lose the gardner but finding out they have forever? If you could have smut (maybe the gardner has a breeding kink), too?

Yesss!!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!! :))))

Forever

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem, gardener! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut, (Minors DNI), breeding kink, angst, fluff, Donna being Donna

Word count: 8,432

Summary: Your life was getting weird...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!!

Living in that village was already synonymous with mystery and disorientation, but it was nothing compared to waking up every morning in a different place. Of course, it wasn't always like that.

You were a normal girl, with a sad and boring life, like everyone who lived in that place. You had a home, a family, the certainty that Mother Miranda and the Black Gods protected you… You couldn't really complain, but deep down you wanted to.

You weren't hungry, nor cold. You weren't even called by the lady of the castle to serve her as a maid, something quite common for young girls like you. You thought that maybe you wouldn't suffer the same fate as your friends, that life had something better in store for you.

Deep down, you weren't wrong.

But when you thought you would dedicate yourself to taking care of a small garden, that you would no longer have any worries other than worshipping the Gods and protecting the crops from frost, something happened.

Even if you tried to look back and retrace each of the steps you took that day, all you could see was the darkness. The first thing your memory recalled when you woke up were those gray eyes, that blonde hair, that woman, Mother Miranda.

According to the priestess, you had an accident, and, of course, the Black Gods had protected you. Although you didn’t doubt her word, although you didn’t distrust the person who protected the village, there was something that didn’t fit in that story.

You weren’t the most faithful villager, and that is why you decided not to question that “divine intervention” and to just thank the bird-woman.

Apparently, your innate ability with plants piqued the blonde lady's curiosity, and after vaguely explaining how she had saved your life, she offered you a job. Distrustful, you listened patiently to what your new role would be, one that you knew you couldn’t escape.

Mother Miranda said that it would be a complete shame if your talent was wasted on simple vegetables, that you deserved something more than that. For that reason, and with you unable to hold her gaze, she indicated that you were destined to serve one of the Lords.

It was something that was always within your possible futures, but perhaps in a different way. You wouldn’t be a maid, or an experiment, you would be a gardener. But not just any gardener; you would be, from that day on, the gardener of House Beneviento.

Naturally, you knew the inhabitant of those grounds, the youngest and most mysterious Lord: the solitary ventriloquist, Donna Beneviento.

She was no different from her siblings. The rumors about the lady in black weren’t foreign to your ears. No one knew her well, but everyone feared her. She was a strange, sick and dangerous woman.

The power to revive your deepest fears, to manipulate your mind like the strings of a puppet kept that mansion as a place of no return, as the last thing anyone stupid enough to enter there would see.

You were terrified of working for her, taking care of the plants that made her power terrifying, but… how could you refuse a request from Mother Miranda?

You soon moved to the house of the one who took your place years ago, the mysterious family gardener, who suddenly disappeared. The uncertainty killed you every day you spent there, but it didn't take long for you to get used to it.

Your new mistress didn't usually come near. Yes, sometimes her black figure walked around the grounds as if she were a ghost, next to the Angie doll. She didn't look at you; you doubted if the lady was even aware of your existence.

It wasn't long before you started to be curious, to wonder what kind of woman was hiding under that black veil.

Little by little that gloomy walk came closer, and the lady in black recognized your work, something strange; you doubted she knew you existed. But contrary to what you might think, the woman did know Mother Miranda's command, that you were her new gardener.

A couple of whispers with a hoarse and melodic voice, slight nods and hidden glances… they were the symptoms that indicated that Donna Beneviento was watching you.

The monster the villagers spoke of faded away with each encounter, and curiosity slowly began to replace fear. Yes, she seemed like a strange, sick woman, and her Angie doll scolded you for being a nuisance, but for some reason, you began to want to see her walking near you, a compliment from the lips you couldn't see, a word with that attractive accent.

Perhaps the desire to get closer to that woman increased due to the loneliness of the place, the feeling of isolation you experienced in that cabin. The days passed slowly without her heels sinking into the snow, without her black presence contrasting with the pure white of the landscape.

Surely you were delirious, or maybe was the lack of sleep that made you imagine longer conversations, maybe having tea with her, making her laugh, making the anguish you saw in her way of moving, of acting, disappear. You were attracted to Donna, and you couldn't deny it, but unfortunately, you weren't the most outgoing girl in the village, and new worries clouded those absurd fantasies.

The days were quiet, the nights were restless, black, a blinding darkness permeated your dreams and the warmth of the fireplace began to disappear. When you woke up, when you opened your eyes, the surroundings were different every day. You could be in the snow, leaning on a railing, on the bridge, near the house...

You had never been a sleepwalker, or so you thought, but waking up every day in a different place, feeling black smoke clouding any memory of the night, made you believe that perhaps your nights were much more interesting than they seemed.

For that reason, you started a diary a long time ago in which you noted the place where you woke up and how you felt. You needed an answer, you needed to find a pattern to that strange behavior, but you never got what you were looking for, just more uncertainty and a irrational fear of falling asleep.

Luckily, that day you woke up in your bed, a rarity that you thought you would take advantage of, perhaps to try to focus on the lady in black, on your discovery of that mysterious woman you worked for.

“It seems that the cold hasn’t caused much damage...” you murmured while pruning some bushes, checking the color, the condition of the plants. “Good, good...”

Your eyes danced unintentionally towards the paths, towards the place where the lady used to appear and a strange smile formed on your face, imagining her slow walking, the lavender perfume she left behind as she passed by you.

“Uh-oh, I think you're going crazy, (Y/N),” you said to yourself, shaking your head and turning your back on the path, taking the lady out of your thoughts.

As if something, or someone, had read your silent request, footsteps in the snow made you freeze and turn your head slowly, unable to stop smiling. Indeed, your silent prayers had been heard, and the dark figure of Donna Beneviento appeared on the path, approaching with her doll.

“Oh, my lady,” you whispered, not being able (you had never been) to raise the volume of your voice.

Despite that, the lady seemed to hear you and turned her head towards you, stopping dead in her tracks.

“Good morning, silly gardener!” the shrill voice of the Angie doll penetrated your ears, making you put on an unpleasant face, but without losing your elegant smile.

“Miss Angie,” you said elegantly, with a submissive whisper. “My lady…”

“What are you doing, silly?” the puppet asked, while its owner put it on the ground, nodding discreetly at your greeting. “You're hurting the plants, huh?”

“No,” you said amused, with an evident blush on your cheeks. “Of course I’m not, Miss Angie, I'm pruning this bush.”

“Sure, sure,” the doll answered while your gaze shifted to the lady in black, who stood with her hands placed elegantly in front of her body. “Hey, hey, the other day I saw in a book that gardeners like you know how to shape these bushes.”

“Really?” you asked shyly, looking down when something told you that the lady was looking at you, even if you couldn't see it. “Well, I don't think I could shape this one, it's too small.”

“Nonsense, it's perfect, just look at me,” Angie said, pointing at herself and eclipsing your daily observation of the lady. “I'm not very big either. Listen, silly, I want you to shape that bush, like me.”

“Don't pay attention to her,” Lady Beneviento's hoarse voice interrupted that strange request as her veil danced while shaking her head.

“Y-Yes, of course, my lady, I…” you stammered, cursing your shy personality under your breath. “W-Well, I wouldn't mind trying and…”

“Yes, and let it be life-size!” the doll exclaimed, comically waving her arms.

“Angie, lasciala estare,” the lady reprimanded the doll, making her return to her side with a gesture of her hand amid sinister laughter. “There's no need to boost her ego, don't you think?”

“Um, well, I guess you're right or, well, I don't know, I…” you stammered, unable to react to a conversation outside of the daily greeting. “Whatever you say, my lady,” you finally said, bowing slightly.

The lady nodded slowly, but didn’t move from her spot; she seemed to be waiting for something that you didn’t understand… Perhaps a conversation with someone who wasn’t made of porcelain?

“Um… um…” you continued to stammer, looking away from her, looking for a place to focus on that wasn't her addictive figure. “I hope you had a good night, my lady.”

“Mm,” she murmured in response, tilting her head as she slowly approached you, filling your senses with lavender.

“Glad to hear it,” you whispered almost without a voice as you felt her black dress brush against your work clothes, as you could see her pale hand, which reached out towards the bush. “Yes, well, I can't do miracles in this cold and…”

“Mm,” the lady murmured again, playing with a leaf in her fingers.

“Is there something wrong, my lady?” you asked nervously as you saw how she observed your work, as you could see part of her hidden face, a pale, young face.

“No,” she answered dryly, getting up again, but staying very close to you. “But you shouldn't be so busy with these bushes, the flowers are my priority.”

“Oh, I know, I'm sorry, I…” you quickly apologized, putting your hands together and taking advantage of the moment to get away from her intimidating presence.

“I haven't asked you to apologize,” she whispered in a stern tone, without looking at you.

“No, but…” you said confused, starting to notice the sweat on your hands.

“Then shut up,” Beneviento ordered you coldly, making you back away further.

“Yes, I…” you said trembling, regretting saying those words again. “I mean, okay.”

“Okay,” the woman repeated, maintaining a stoic pose again.

“Okay,” you repeated stupidly, making the red of your cheeks contrast even more with the snow. “Um…”

“What are you two playing?” Angie asked, interrupting that absurd conversation. “Are you stupid?”

“Angie,” the lady growled, with a tone that indicated a certain nervousness. The question was… was she really nervous? Why?

“Making a fool of myself… is my specialty,” you whispered embarrassed, turning your back to the lady and shaking your head.

“You aren’t making a fool of yourself, (Y/N),” the lady in black said, making your blood run cold. “You're natural, I like it.”

“Do you like me? I mean, do you like it?” you asked timidly, letting your mind get ahead of your reasoning. “I mean, I like you too and… Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't say anything.”

“Sei divertente,” the woman murmured, followed by something very similar to a laugh that came out of her veil. You were sure that you wouldn't forget that laugh, nor that strange conversation.

“I hope that's not a bad thing,�� you said blushing, playing with the clippers, but unable to look at the lady.

“No,” she answered dryly, shaking her head, finally walking away from you while gesturing to her doll.

“Okay, I... thank you,” you said confused, bowing as she walked away from you elegantly, carrying Angie in her arms. “Thank you, Donna...”

For a moment you stood enthralled, watching as the black figure slowly moved away, sighing because you knew that the attraction you felt for her was much more than simple curiosity.

Anyone with eyes, or ears could tell the chemistry between you, but it was something you tried to ignore.

Her body was perfect, her words were beautiful like a soothing lullaby, but… Donna Beneviento wasn't one of the girls from the village, who you had some kind of relationships with, she was much more; she was a Lord.

With all the sleepwalking and strange things happening to you, you barely had time to process an internal truth that was running through your heart. You couldn't deny it, but you didn't want to see it: you were madly in love with her.

But love, or what you believed was some kind of platonic feeling, wasn't made for you, not with her, at least. Anyway, if you wanted to stay with her, your job as a gardener was your priority.

“You clumsy fool,” you lamented, ignoring the bush and approaching a corner of yellow flowers, the ones you knew you had to be careful with. “What are you thinking? It's impossible, (Y/N), you don't even know her, you don't even…. Oh, damn!” you screamed as you felt a thorn sticking into your skin, expelling drops of warm blood towards the white snow.

You already had enough distractions and worries, you couldn't think about what you felt for the lady, or you would do yourself much more harm than a simple prick.

“Okay, great, you're great,” you said, sighing and looking away from your wound. “Okay, strange woman, get out of my thoughts,” you added, gesturing comically.

Before you could think about what had happened, an unpleasant feeling took over. It wasn’t just a feeling, but a strange chill on the back of your neck, an uneasiness in your stomach, the unmistakable symptoms that told you that something, or someone, was watching you.

Instinctively you turned around looking for those stalking eyes you thought were watching. A black raven, which flew away at the sight of you, was your only answer. You were so busy thinking about Lady Beneviento that you almost forgot the void in your past, that darkness in your memory, all the strange things that happened to you.

But, between thinking about Donna, fantasizing about what it would be like to really meet her, seeing what her face was like, and trying to get answers about everything that was happening to you… Well, thinking about the lady was much better.

Unfortunately, she didn’t appear on the paths again, and the rest of the day passed with a disturbing calm. The silence of the plants was overwhelming, and your thoughts echoed in your head much louder than usual.

At night, as you got into bed, you wished you would wake up like that morning while you were rehearsing conversations with the lady in black, something that wouldn't make you look stupid, as you almost always did when you spoke to her.

But the work was exhausting, and sleep overcame you before you could imagine, once again, what her smile would be like.

The images in your dreams were quite confusing, but recurring: crows, laughter, darkness, and Donna, always Donna. The feeling that someone was chasing you forced you to move away from her black veil before lifting it, and anguish and confusion always prevailed over your dream wishes.

But the dreams barely lasted. The nightmares weren’t with your eyes closed, but upon awakening. The warmth of your body was a good sign. Something was covering you as your eyes tried with great effort to open. Your head was spinning, like a night out with your friends, but without the taste of alcohol on your lips.

At least it seemed like you had woken up in your bed, right?

Your vision was clearing as your back began to not recognize your old mattress, indicating to you that maybe, just maybe, that wasn't your bed.

Wood, humidity, paint... all those new smells began to run through your nose as your eyes focused on your surroundings. You weren't at home.

When you sat up, the blanket covering you slid down your body and panic began to make your heart beat too fast. That dark wood, the timid light, that table, those chairs... you knew where you were: in the Beneviento Manor.

You had only been in that house twice, but it was enough to remember it, to recognize the dampness of the walls, the timid sound of the waterfall coming through the window. But that wasn't the worst of it.

When your brain fully woke up, it detected something, a presence that climbed onto the couch and almost gave you a heart attack.

“Hey, silly! It's time to wake up!” Angie sang in a squeaky voice, making you jump exaggeratedly.

“Shit, shit!” you screamed, nervously kicking until, with a thud, you fell off the couch. “Ouch! Ouch…”

Trying to regain your composure, you got up from the floor, your nerves on edge and starting to feel the cold seeping through your pajamas. The worst of all was that you had overlooked the figure sitting in front of you, watching you in silence: Donna.

“Oh, my lady!” you exclaimed with an apologetic gesture, watching as her veil moved to follow you with her gaze. “What…? I-I don't understand… what am I doing here?” you asked confused and scared.

“What am I doing here? What am I doing here?” Angie mocked, repeating your words while the ventriloquist remained silent. “You're stupid!”

“Um, -I-I don't know what's going on, I… my head,” you complained, letting yourself fall on the couch and burying your face in your hands.

“Last night you seemed to know it,” the lady in black murmured, finally getting up from the chair, maintaining an authoritative posture.

“What? I don't… I don't remember anything, I went to sleep and…” you murmured, trying, with all your effort, to remember.

“Allow me to correct you,” the lady said, crossing her arms and getting a little closer. “Last night you came to my house, rambling about some crows that were chasing you,” she explained, leaving you completely pale.

“Me? But, but…” you stammered, shaking your head, your whole body shaking. “No, that…”

“Are you calling me a liar, giardiniera?” she asked in a demanding tone, getting even closer.

“What? No, no, I… I have no idea what you're talking about, my lady,” you explained with fear taking over your words. “I don't remember anything, I…”

“My lady? How bold, am I your lady now?” Donna asked, with a mocking voice and a marked accent. She seemed nervous too. “Last night I was just Donna.”

“I'm sorry, my lady, but, but... I don't understand anything,” you whispered, curling up on the couch, with your knees pulled up to your chest.

“You don’t understand anything,” she replied, with her fists clenched on either side of her hips. “What kind of game are you trying to play with me, gardener? What are you trying to do?”

“I-I don't know what you’re talking about... I don't, I don't know, I...” you stammered, with tears beginning to form in your eyes, feeling more and more helpless. “I don't know what happened to me.”

“Hey!” the doll shrieked, watching you. “Hey, Donna! I think she's telling the truth.”

“Mm?”

The situation was too tense. Your best weapon at that moment, the only one you had, was the truth.

“I… it's just…” you began, trying hard not to tremble too much, not to make the blush on your cheeks too evident. “I-it's been happening to me for a while now.”

“Mm,” the lady murmured, making a patient gesture with her head, indicating for you to continue.

“S-Sometimes, at night… I don't know, I do things… I wake up in strange places, outside of my bed and… I-I don't know… I think, I think I'm sleepwalking,” you said nervously, looking anywhere but at the woman in black. “But I don't remember anything of what happened and…”

“You don't remember anything,” Donna repeated with a slightly calmer voice.

“Nothing,” you confirmed with a sigh.

“Niente”

“N-niente,” you stammered.

“Mm, how curious,” she finally said, sitting down again in front of you. “I was hoping you would remember what you told me before you fainted in my arms.”

Your eyes flew open and your heart stopped. You were unable to move a single muscle and the exit was too far away. You had no escape, and above all, you had no idea what she was referring to.

“Did I faint?” you asked in a small voice, making the doll laugh in amusement. “I don’t…”

“You don’t remember,” Donna finished the sentence for you, shaking her head.

You just nodded, preparing yourself for the worst.

“B-But I surely didn't mean it, I was just dreaming and… if I said something wrong, I beg you to forgive me and…” you said fearfully, kneeling submissively on the floor and bowing your head while you joined your hands.

“Yes, it would surely be a lie,” the lady in black sighed with a sad tone, bringing you a steaming cup. “Get up, gardener.”

“Y-yes,” you sobbed timidly, obeying your mistress's orders.

“Here, it's tea, it will calm the cold,” she offered, to which you, reluctant, took the cup from her hands.

“T-Thank you… I promise it won't happen again,” you apologized, unable to look at her black veil, at the place where her gaze was, one that you only knew from an old portrait on the stairs.

“Mm,” she murmured, before standing up with a brusque gesture and gesturing to her doll. “Angie.”

“You are stupid,” the puppet growled at you before leaving slowly.

Doubt was killing you, not knowing was consuming you, what could you have said to Lady Beneviento? Was your job in danger? Maybe that tea was the last of your life? You wanted to know, you needed to know.

“Excuse me, my lady, wait, please,” you said, leaving the cup on the table and standing up, playing with your hands.

The lady's steps slowly stopped, and the veil on her face danced towards you again.

“Finish the tea and get out of my house,” she ordered you sternly, not letting you speak.

“Yes, but… I-I would like…” you said without thinking, getting closer to the black figure, trembling with fear. “I would like to know what I told you, my lady.”

“Mm,” Donna murmured in response, sighing slowly. “You only told lies, (Y/N).”

“I don't understand,” you denied more confused. “What kind of lies?”

“You said that I was beautiful,” she finally whispered, looking away from you with her invisible gaze.

Your blood froze again.

“W-What? Did I say that?” you asked without believing it. You would never say something like that, even if you thought about it, even if every day you hoped to see her heels in the snow, the black against the white, the lavender around you. “Oh, I-I…”

“Taci,” your lady scolded you. “This is the last time your stupid dreams interrupt my tranquility with absurd lies, is that clear?”

“B-But,” you stammered. “My lady, I…”

“Hey, you forgot about dinner,” Angie added, comically tugging at her owner's dress.

“Oh, certo,” Donna sighed, a mocking air in her words. “You also invited me to dinner. Do you find it funny?”

“What? Me?” you asked confused, pointing at yourself.

“Basta, get out before I regret leaving you alive. No one laughs at me, do you hear me? No one!” the lady interrupted, kicking the wooden floor. “I should punish you for this, but Mother Miranda sent you to my care so I'll be merciful, for once. But I don't do favors twice, (Y/N), so…”

“Actually…” you started, trying to save that horrible situation. “It would be an honor to have dinner with you, my lady.”

“Mm, you're so stupid,” Donna laughed, crossing her arms while Angie watched the conversation closely. “Don't make me angry, stupid gardener, get out before I…”

“Yes, I… I'm sorry, my lady, it won't happen again, my lady,” you apologized, walking towards the door, trying to escape as quickly as possible.

It could have been the most awkward moment of your life, but something inside you made you stop with your hand on the door, looking at the ravages of your sleepwalking as an opportunity, not as a mistake.

That little spark of daring was totally unknown to you. You would never have considered continuing to pull the string of her patience. Something was definitely wrong with you.

The stoic look of that portrait penetrated your mind, forcing you to make the most absurd move of your life.

“My lady,” you said with a weak voice, but strangely comfortable and soft. “I truly think you’re beautiful.”

“Mm?” she murmured, bewildered, shaking her head. “Don't you get tired of pissing me off?”

“I... well, I may not remember anything of what happened last night but... I would like to have dinner with you, if you want,” you asked with a strange confidence, with a knot in your stomach.

“You keep insisting, stupida...” the lady hissed, calming down instantly. “Va bene, at 8... and don't you dare to be late. If it's a trick, (Y/N), you'll pay the consequences, now go away.”

You nodded and obeyed. A date with Donna Beneviento? You had dreamed about it so many times that it seemed impossible.

It wasn't a memorable dinner, it was just awkward, strange. The lady in black definitely didn't believe that you made the effort to have dinner with her of your own free will, and even for you it was hard to believe that you were having dinner with her. Confidence was something completely unknown to you, to your shy and gentle character.

It could be something isolated, a test of loyalty or trust in your lady, but Donna insisted. That situation was repeated for the rest of the week.

Laughter, absurd conversations about your life in the village... Little by little, having dinner with Donna became routine, the term "my lady" disappeared, and the love that grew inside you was increasingly bigger, more evident.

The chemistry between you was clearly shown after several days. The lady in black wasn't completely sure that your smiles were sincere, but, like you, and that side of your personality that you had just discovered, she simply let herself go.

The rumors about Beneviento slowly dissipated with each of her shy laughs, her soft and flattering words. She was sick, yes, the blessing of the Gods wasn’t favorable to her, or so she told you, but she was far, too far from being the monster everyone was talking about.

“Aren't you cold? Waking up in the middle of the forest doesn't seem healthy,”-she asked one of those nights of endless chatter, looking at you curiously.

“The truth is that the answer will seem strange to you but...” you said, taking a sip of your glass of wine. “I feel the cold, but it doesn't seem to affect me.”

“Mm,” Donna murmured in response, slightly moving her veil to eat. “I'm surprised you haven't caught a cold.”

You laughed, shaking your head and looking away from the little you could see of her face, from the internal reconstruction your head made of what was undoubtedly a terribly beautiful woman.

“This may seem almost impossible to you, but I haven't gotten sick in a long time,” you explained, frowning, remembering all the strange things that happened while you were falling more and more in love with Donna.

“You could say you're lucky, (Y/N), and so are my flowers,” the lady answered, nodding elegantly. “I don't think I could, I mean, they couldn't live without your care.”

The blush returned to your cheeks, but melancholy took over you.

“I don't think I could live without you either, I mean, without these delicious dinners and... Wow, I... I should stop drinking, I'm just talking nonsense,” you said nervously, noticing the heat of embarrassment on your skin.

“You always say nonsense, like that I'm beautiful,” she murmured, shaking her head again and sighing.

“It's not nonsense,” you answered with a mischievous smile, encouraged by the wine. “I wish I had the courage to tell you when I was awake.”

“Do you always say things like that when you're asleep? The people around you should feel lucky,” Donna commented, playing with her fork, but listening attentively.

“Actually... I haven't always been a sleepwalker,” you said, ignoring that veiled compliment. “Something happened to me a while ago, something that... I still can't explain... there's a fog in my memories, and I can't stop thinking maybe everything that happens to me happens because of that and... well, it doesn't matter.”

“You're right, it doesn't matter,” she said, with a serious tone, getting up from her chair and approaching you again. “Thanks to that, you're with me.”

“I l-like being with you, Donna,” you stammered, taking the hand she offered you, gently getting up until you were at her height.

“You like being with me,” she repeated laughing, bringing her hands close to your face, caressing it erratically. “I like being with you.”

“Great, I guess, I…” you stammered, feeling terribly nervous, noticing on your skin, in your heart, the anticipation of an impossible kiss.

Before you could do anything, her hands moved away from your skin, going straight to the fabric that covered her face, finally revealing to you the beauty you dreamed of.

“Surely you are regretting it now,” the lady sighed, looking down while you, open-mouthed, studied her features.

She was… she was really beautiful. Her black hair, tied in a messy bun, framed her pale skin harmoniously. A horrible scar hid her right eye, being the reason why she always wore the veil. Nonsense, her beauty was so overwhelming that you almost fainted when you saw it with your own eyes.

“Yes, it's true,” you sighed, looking at her lips, gently grabbing her waist, which trembled at your touch. “I regret not telling you before.”

Her eye opened wide and a slight smile appeared on her lips, which were quickly kidnapped by yours in a passionate, wild kiss.

Her hands grabbed the back of your neck, pulling your body closer to hers in a frenetic dance, full of gasps, without words, just kisses, only the moisture of her lips on yours resonating in the old walls.

Passion took over the room, and your bodies, refusing to separate, roamed it erratically, looking for some safe place to rest, to merge. Unfortunately, just when your hands began to roam freely, Donna stopped, pulling away among gasps.

“No, wait…” she sighed, blinking nervously. “Y-You better go, (Y/N).”

“Have I done something wrong?” you asked scared. “Am I going too fast?”

“No, no, io…” she stammered, shaking her head and grabbing your hands, looking at you with sadness, a strange sadness. “Will you come to dinner with me tomorrow?”

“What?” you asked frowning, laughing nervously. “Um… yes, of course but… I-I don't know, don't you want me to stay with you? We were having a good time, right?”

“Yes,” she answered quickly, squeezing your hands in hers. “Yes, but… but… I prefer you to go, (Y/N).”

“Oh,” you sighed disappointed. “Of course, I… I didn't want to make you uncomfortable, I just…”

“I know, I…” she stammered, while the Angie doll, always watching, shook her head, surely rejecting the lady's behavior. “B-But flowers don't take care of themselves. I-I mean, you're still my gardener and…”

“Flowers,” you said with a bit of resentment, searching for an answer for that sudden change in behavior, one that, of course, you weren't able to find. “S-So… see you tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Donna whispered when you let her hands go, running away before you took one more step. “Un attimo…”

After that whisper, your lips were blessed with one last kiss, a quick one, but just as passionate.

Her attitude was truly confusing, and you didn't know what to think, but you did know what to feel. She felt the same as you, and you couldn't blame her for being scared, or for feeling insecure. The best thing would be, as always, to let yourself go.

Of course, it wasn't your last kiss, nor your last dinner. Every night, the same situation was repeated: a delicious dinner, with her beauty already on display, caresses, glances, insatiable kisses that Donna always interrupted and above all, rejection.

Rejection of something more, of spending the night with her, of talking about what you were exactly, what you were to her. Your little nocturnal problem continued to haunt you, but it was no longer a problem.

Donna was the only thing that worried you. You were worried about the love you felt for her, not knowing what prevented her from declaring herself to you, what prevented her from asking you to be with her not only at night, but all day.

You couldn't complain, but as time went by, the situation became more and more uncomfortable.

You insisted on loving her, she rejected you. It could be because of the changes the Gods made to her body, but you knew there was something much deeper that prevented her from giving herself to you completely, something you began to write down in your old diary, forgetting about the strange places you used to wake up in.

“(Y/N)…” the lady protested when your kisses began to descend down her neck, while your body rested on hers, in the intimacy of the old sofa.

“Mm… yes, it’s time, I'm leaving,” you sighed disappointed, getting up after giving your lover one last kiss and walking towards your coat.

“Are you leaving, silly?” Angie asked as you wrapped yourself up, this time, without letting the lady give you one of those goodbye kisses that made you melt.

“Yes, I'm leaving,” you said with a slightly furious tone, tired of being patient, of understanding what was going through her mind. “It seems that I always have to leave.”

“Oh, that sounded like a complaint, silly gardener,” the doll scolded you, while the lady grabbed your waist from behind, kissing your hair.

“I'll see you tomorrow, vero?” Donna whispered in your ear, but your smile didn't widen like other times, you simply turned around cupping her face slightly, before separating yourself from her.

“Yes, as always,” you said in a dry tone, reaching the doorway, but taking a deep breath before disappearing. “Donna.”

“Mm?”

“I just… wanted to tell you that…” you stammered, finding in your words remnants of your former personality. “I love you.”

The lady in black looked at you and a brief smile appeared on her face, but the answer wasn’t what you expected; she simply nodded.

You had confessed, you had verbally declared the love you felt for her and… nod? Was that her answer? There was no patience left that you could use, you were almost desperate.

“Okay, that's enough,” you growled, slamming the door and crossing your arms. “A while ago you asked me what I was playing at, right? Well, it's my turn, Donna: what are you playing at?”

“Cosa? I don't understand,” she murmured, with a sad look, backing away.

“What am I to you?” you asked, approaching the withdrawn lady, intimidating her in a ridiculous way. “We've been doing this for weeks, kissing at night, caressing each other... I tell you that I love you and what's your answer?” you said with irony, mockingly imitating her previous gesture.

“D-Don't talk to me like that,” she said confused, shaking her head and blinking rapidly. “Y-You make me nervous.”

“You make me nervous,” you growled, hardening your words unconsciously, completely forgetting that, with a single gesture, she could force you to jump into the void. “What am I to you, Donna? A toy?”

“No”

“A doll? Your employee who has to work overtime? Is this part of my job? I have to take care of the flowers, and then of you? Donna, I can't take it anymore, I...” you questioned, slowly losing your nerves.

“You don't understand,” the lady hissed, changing confusion into irrational anger. “We can't, I can't...”

“What can't you do? Have sex with me? I've already told you a thousand times that I don't care if you have a...” you answered, thus beginning your first argument with her, something inevitable.

“It's not that, it's not that!” Donna shouted furious, making rationality return to your head and your body start to tremble. “You don't understand...”

“So explain it to me!” you shouted back, making the Angie doll run away from the place in a funny way, hiding under the table.

“Hey, watch your tone, gardener!” the puppet scolded you, to which you growled.

“Shut up,” you hissed. “Donna, I love you and… I, I'd like to think that I'm more than just your gardener… I want to share my life with you, do you understand?”

“I can't!” the lady in black shrieked, making her voice bounce off the walls. “I can't love you!”

“Why?” you asked, watching as her hands trembled more and more, as madness took over her.

“Because… because I… I can't stand the idea of ​​losing you!” she finally said, sobbing, with a tear running down her cheek. “I-I can't, cazzo…”

“Lose me?” you asked a little calmer, trying, unsuccessfully, to avoid an imminent crisis, a terrible one. “Donna…”

“You don't understand, (Y/N), I can't love, I can't let my heart love you because… because I couldn't stand… seeing you… Oddio… tesoro, I can't… you, you're…”

“What am I?” you asked, approaching cautiously.

“You're mortal!” Donna screamed madly, with a burning hatred in her eyes. “You're just another villager and I… I'm going to have to see you… see you die… and I'll lose you and… and…”she said, short of breath, so you put your hands on her shoulders.

“Donna, don't… don't think about it, I… there's still a long way to go… and I'd like to spend my life with you and…” you stammered, trying to make her reason.

“I can't allow myself to fall in love with you… not when I know I'm going to lose you… I… No, no, no!” she yelled, moving her arms, pushing you away. “Porca puttana!”

“Oh, shit, don't do that,” you said scared, trying to stop her arms, which were flailing wildly, trying to stop her hands from pulling on her hair with excessive force. “Donna, please, relax.”

“Cazzo! Cazzo, cazzo!” she cursed while crying in agony. “Ti amo! Ti amo!”

“O-Okay, okay, Donna, please don't…” you whispered, unable to control her.

She was completely out of her mind, running away from your reassuring hands, hitting hard everything in her path.

“Mannaggia! Mannaggia!” the lady continued screaming, kicking the chairs, the table, hitting her head against the wood. “I can't!”

“Donna, Donna…” you called trying to hold her, but it was impossible, she was too strong.

“Who do you think you are to do this to me!?” she shouted at you, quickly grabbing you by the collar of your dress, lifting you in the air. “You have conquered me… just to make me suffer!”

“Donna, let me go… Gods… Angie!” you called to the doll, who approached cautiously.

“Donna, Donna, let her go, come on! You love her, I know it, you told me!” the doll said, also trying to calm her sick owner. “Calmati, Donna!”

The lady let you go, but that didn't stop her anger, which slowly turned into tears, falling to her knees on the floor.

“Don't die... I can't lose you, I can't... they'll kill you, they...” she stammered completely gone, lost, inconsolable.

“Shit...” Angie hissed, running to your side and climbing onto a small table while you crouched down, trying to calm your beloved. “I'll have to call her.”

“Who? What are you going to do?” you asked while fighting the spasms and uncontrolled fury of the lady.

“Mother Miranda! It's me, Angie! Donna's lost her mind again!” the doll screamed into the phone.

Mother Miranda?

After a few minutes that seemed like hours, someone knocked on the door. A shiver ran through your body when you saw the priestess with a serious look that turned sinister when she noticed your presence.

“Gods, what's wrong with you now, Donna?” the blonde asked, ignoring you and forcibly lifting her adopted daughter. “For the Gods' sake, get up, have you taken your medication?”

“Mother... she... she...” Donna sobbed, resting her head on the raven woman's chest, who sighed, caressing her reluctantly.

Miranda's grey eyes locked with yours, making you involuntarily step back and lean against a wall.

“Oh, honey... what did that stupid girl do to you?” asked the witch, continuing to comfort poor Donna.

“I haven't done anything,” you defended yourself, catching her attention again.

“She's going to...” Donna murmured, burying herself in the priestess. “She's going to die, and I love her, Mother, I love her... I love her...”

“Oh, my precious girl,” Miranda said, with a terrifyingly affectionate tone. “Calm down... everything is okay.”

“No,” the lady said unhinged again, moving away from her mother and shaking her head. “N-No, nothing is okay... Mother Miranda, please... I don't want her to die. I'll do anything for...”

“Shhh, taci, Donna,” the witch snapped, wiping the tears from her clothes and lifting the kneeling lady back up. “But how curious fate is... Now, be quiet, dear, no one is going to die.”

You, unable to do anything, terrified by the presence of the priestess, limited yourself to listening.

“No, Mother, maybe not now, but she will die and I will be alone again and…” Donna explained, desperate.

A sinister smile formed on the blonde's face, making you frown.

“No, dear, she won’t die, (Y/N) will live forever,” she commented. “Just like you.”

“What?” Donna and you asked at the same time, making a disturbing laugh bounce off the walls.

“Mm, I must admit that I didn’t expect these results, (Y/N), you were too valuable to be thrown away,” Miranda said, making you, confused, shake your head. “Tell me, girl, haven't you noticed something strange lately?”

“Yes,” you answered coldly, getting a little closer to the women. “My wounds heal on their own and at night…”

“Oh, let me guess, you lose consciousness… you wake up far from home, don’t you?” Mother Miranda whispered, making your eyes widen.

“How do you know?”

“Because I did it, (Y/N)… I must confess that you weren’t a success, but the Cadou didn’t kill you, so I decided to leave you in the hands of my little Donna in case you gave me any surprises.”

The revelation came to your head. That fog in your memories, that empty space in your memory… had it all been Miranda’s doing?

“S-So…” Donna commented, wiping away her tears. “Is (Y/N) like me?”

“Sort of… but she's a failure, aside from her sleepwalking, she's a simple villager, a waste, unfortunately,” the witch commented, leaving you with more questions than answers. “So… well, I guess it's okay if you keep her.”

“Wait, wait,” you interrupted. “Did you experiment on me? What have you done to me?”

The blonde woman didn't answer, she simply laughed softly, passing by you indifferently.

“Cheer up, dear, you're immortal,” she commented before disappearing in a black cloud, leaving you completely in shock.

“But, but, but,” you stammered, with too much information, so much that you couldn't fully take it in. “What? What does it mean?”

“Tesoro…” Donna sighed, catching you by surprise, grabbing your face with a radiant smile. “It means I won't lose you... you can be mine forever...”

“Wait a minute, Donna, I don't...” you said confused, pushing her gently. “I need time to...”

A wild and salty kiss interrupted your complaints, and a hug calmed your doubts, a strong, joyful hug, totally out of madness.

“There will be time to think, vieni,” the lady told you, pulling your wrist. “You will be mine forever, tesoro... forever...” she sighed, kissing you quickly, kisses that were hard for you to return “Now I can love you.”

“Yes, Donna, but...” you said confused, moving away subtly. “I just don't understand.”

“I want to make love to you,” she said in your ear, making your body tense and a burning heat start to rise up your legs.

“Um, I… I…” you stuttered, shaking your head, though you didn't have much time to think, as her arms lifted you into the air, leaving you on the couch.

“Per favore…” the lady begged, climbing up your hips while her lips timidly rested on the skin of your neck.

As always, there was no better option than to let yourself go and you, despite still being disoriented, decided to close your eyes and worry only about the warm of her body against yours.

“Gods, Donna…” you sighed, grabbing her face to kiss her while her hands undressed you impatiently. “Donna…”

“I won't lose you anymore, I'll never lose you,” she repeated among gasps while her nails scratched your skin, cupping your exposed breasts and your hips rubbing against hers. “Mine…”

“Yours,” you answered, with the heat of your cheeks dispelling doubts, with her cold hands contrasting with your hot skin, with electric currents running through your body every time your hips played together.

“Do you want to be mine, tesoro? Mine forever?” the lady asked, deactivating Angie with a gentle movement of her hand while playing with her own dress, thus releasing her throbbing erection, one that made your eyes shine.

“Oh, yes, I do...” you said biting your lip, overwhelmed by the reaction that your kisses provoked in her body, by that impatience, the gentle stimulation her hand made on her shaft. “Donna, Gods... you are big.”

She laughed childishly, embarrassed by your comment but focused on her task, on making you hers abruptly, on taking you after so much time full of doubts and uncertainty.

Your mouth moaned involuntarily as you noticed her heat on your wet entrance, the precise movements she made with the tip on your clit, passing, traveling, conquering your folds in such a hurried way, with that furious madness turned into pure passion.

“I want to enter you, (Y/N), I want your body to embrace me,” she sighed in your ear, repressing the desire to penetrate you quickly, playing little by little to enter your wetness, but being careful not to hurt you. “(Y/N)…”

“Yes, Donna… fuck…” you said in the middle of a frenzy of moans and desperate movements of your hips, wanting to fulfill her wish, wanting to fulfill yours.

“No…” Donna protested, moving away and pulling your hair as a punishment. “Don't talk like that. Pretty girls don't talk like that,” she whispered, biting your lip, like a sinister threat that made you lose control more and more.

“Mm, and what do pretty girls do?” you asked in a suggestive tone, sliding down so that her erection was once again impregnated with your arousal, joining your hand to hers, going up and down her skin, making the lady moan in a tremendously erotic way.

“Pretty girls... let themselves be taken care of...” she whispered in her melodic voice, interrupted by the moans caused by being masturbated by you. “Cazzo...”

“Mm, who's saying bad words now?” you joked, completely losing track of what had happened, letting yourself be carried away by passion as you placed your body in the correct position and slowly introduced the tip inside you.

“Mm…” the lady murmured, pushing herself inside you, stretching your body as your legs parted to make room for her.

The sensation was overwhelming, even a little uncomfortable at first, but your new character, one that surely had to do with what that witch had done, prevented you from feeling anything but pleasure.

“Yes, yes Donna!” you screamed as you noticed how she slid down your walls, how you covered her with your wetness while her hips moved wildly, possessively, desperately.

“Ti amo… ti amo!” she cried euphorically, grabbing your legs to move you as she pleased while emphasizing her thrusts. “You feel so good…”

“Gods, you too!” you moaned, closing your eyes, wanting only to feel pleasure, only to feel her, awakening, unintentionally, one of your wet nighttime fantasies. “Donna, do it inside, fill me!”

“Oh, yes, tesoro, of course I will… you will carry my seed inside you… no one will be able to touch you… you will be mine!” she moaned as she let your movements guide her as you wanted.

“Yes, yes!” you shrieked, hitting the couch, being stopped by her firm hand, by her bright eye looking at you with a chilling desire. “Make me a mother, my love! I want to have your babies!”

“Yes, yes, tesoro… Cazzo, it's… it's too much… I'm going to…” the lady in black growled, moving faster and faster as your premature orgasm squeezed her body with intensity and your screams of pleasure reverberated in the old mansion.

“Fill me!” you screamed in the euphoria of your orgasm, noticing how, after an embarrassed gasp, her seed began to fill you and her movements ceased, staying very close, as deep inside you as she could.

Wet kisses, caresses, whispers… after that lustful act, there was only love, the realization that you would always have each other, that she was yours, and you were hers.

“Um, (Y/N)… I…” Donna murmured, finally pulling out of you with an embarrassed face. “I don't know if I'm ready to… have a baby …”

“Oh, Donna, honey…” you said amused, caressing her face. “Don't give it any importance, it's just a fantasy.”

“A fantasy? Can you explain it to me? I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about,” she said, a little confused, looking at you curiously.

“Mm, well, I guess I have all eternity to explain it to you but… now… how about you make me yours again?”

[cameronsbabydoll]

SUGAR-COATED CHAINS — CHAPTER ELEVEN

WARNINGS — rafe is a bit dark in this one, controlling, rafe sorta makes the reader depend on him

You wake before dawn in the quiet of Rafe’s penthouse. The city outside is still dark, the only light coming from the soft glow of a bedside lamp and the distant flicker of streetlights.

You’re lying in the large, cool bed—alone now, even though you can still feel the echo of his presence in every folded sheet and subtle scent of his expensive cologne. Your heart beats a little faster as you realize the night has ended and something in you has changed.

You sit up slowly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and as you do, you notice a single email on your phone. The subject line is blunt: Lease Termination Notice. With trembling fingers, you open it and read that your old apartment lease has been canceled effective immediately—no warning, no explanation. In that moment, a chill mixes with a strange acceptance. You realize that your old life is officially over; you have nowhere to go but forward, into the world Rafe has chosen for you.

Before you can process the shock further, you hear footsteps in the hall. Rafe appears in the doorway, already dressed in a tailored black shirt and slacks. His face, usually so composed, holds a quiet intensity that both unsettles and reassures you. He steps into the room, his gaze steady as he sees the email on your phone. Without a word, he moves toward you, his presence wrapping around you like a warm, unyielding cloak.

“You’re awake,” he states softly, his tone more matter-of-fact than caring. You nod, and he gently places a hand on your shoulder. “I took care of it. You won’t have to worry about that place ever again.”

His words are final. There’s a note of calculated certainty in them—a reminder that everything in your life now is arranged by him. As he speaks, you can almost feel the invisible threads he’s woven around you tightening, guiding your every move.

“Rafe… what if I don’t want to live somewhere else?” you ask quietly, the vulnerability in your voice exposing your uncertainty.

He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You belong with me. I planned it all out so that you’d never have to face the uncertainty of your old life. From now on, this penthouse is your home.” His tone is calm but leaves no room for debate.

You search his gaze, a mix of fear and comfort swirling in your chest. Part of you is terrified by the thought of having no choice, of being so completely claimed. Yet another part—one that has grown accustomed to his relentless care—finds solace in his certainty. “Okay,” you whisper, the word both a surrender and a reluctant promise.

Later, after Rafe leaves for work that morning, you wander alone through the penthouse. The silence is overwhelming. Every room, every piece of art, every meticulously arranged piece of furniture feels like it was designed by him—to keep you here, to remind you that you no longer belong to your old life. You run your fingers over the cool surface of the marble countertop in the kitchen, the texture strange yet oddly comforting. You gather your scattered thoughts and try to imagine your future here, even though uncertainty lingers at the edges of your mind.

As the day unfolds, you make a few tentative changes—small touches that mark your presence in the space. You place a few of your favorite books on a shelf next to his collection, arrange a delicate vase of fresh flowers on the coffee table, and even set out your cherished plushies on a small side table. Each act feels like a quiet rebellion against the total control he wields, yet at the same time, you can’t help but feel drawn into his meticulously orchestrated world.

By the time the afternoon light softens into dusk, you’re not alone for long. Rafe returns home from work earlier than expected. The sound of his footsteps echoes in the entryway as you stand to greet him. When he sees you, his gaze lingers—first, with the usual cool detachment, then softening ever so slightly when he notices the tentative changes you’ve made in the penthouse. His hand, ever-present, finds yours and pulls you into a tight embrace as he murmurs, “Miss me, angel?”

You smile weakly, burying your face in his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat and the reassuring pressure of his arm around you. “Always,” you whisper.

That evening, as the tension of the day melts into a fragile intimacy, Rafe sits with you on the couch. The room is dim, lit only by the gentle glow of a floor lamp, and the quiet hum of the city outside is the only soundtrack to your shared silence. He sets his phone aside—a rare gesture—and turns to face you, his eyes dark and intent.

“Listen,” he says, his voice soft but carrying an undeniable authority, “I want you to understand something about our life together.” He pauses, letting the silence stretch between you. “I have plans for us—a future that’s already been arranged, so that every morning, every night, you know exactly where you belong.”

His words are both comforting and chilling—a promise of security with the underlying note of control. You feel a flutter of anxiety mixed with a reluctant desire to trust him, to let him shape your destiny.

“Rafe…” you begin, your voice barely audible, “what if I have questions about... about who I was, or what I want for myself?”

He tilts his head, his gaze unflinching as he fixes you with a look that’s both playful and possessive. “You ask questions, sweetheart. But remember, you’re here now—my way of life is the only way that matters.” His hand squeezes yours, firm and unyielding. “Everything is planned for you. You have no choice but to belong.”

You swallow, feeling the sting of his words, and yet a small part of you—a part that has grown accustomed to the certainty of his control—finds comfort in the finality. “I—okay,” you say softly.

That night, after dinner—an unremarkable meal of takeout and shared wine that seems to mark the mundane passage of time—Rafe and you retire to the bedroom. The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts long shadows over the room, and the air is heavy with unspoken promises. As you lie there, the intimacy of the moment seeping into you, you find yourself unable to shake the need for connection, for reassurance.

Slowly, you crawl over to him, straddling his lap as you settle on the edge of the bed. Your head rests on his chest, and you can hear the deep, measured beat of his heart. For a long time, the only sound is the steady hum of his breathing, punctuated by the occasional rustle of sheets.

Then, with a shy determination, you ask, “Rafe… if I asked, would you say that my future is completely decided? That I have no choice but to be exactly where you want me to be?”

He looks down at you, his eyes narrowing slightly as if considering your question carefully. His voice, when he speaks, is low and deliberate. “Yes,” he says simply. “I’ve planned it all out. Every part of your life is now woven into mine. You’re not just living here; you’re staying here—forever.”

There’s a moment of charged silence as his words settle over you. A part of you trembles at the weight of his certainty, yet another part—one that’s grown to crave the stability of his control—finds solace in his declaration.

He leans in and presses a slow, firm kiss to your forehead, his hand resuming its steady, possessive caress along your thigh. “Better not let anyone know how much I let you ask these questions, though,” he teases in a low murmur, the edge of humor barely masking the underlying command. “I’ve got to keep up my act, don’t you think?”

You giggle softly, a mixture of nervous laughter and genuine affection, and your eyes flutter closed as you snuggle closer, the warmth of his body and the quiet dominance of his presence enveloping you completely.

In that fragile, intense moment, you sense that every part of your future—every choice, every dream—has already been decided by him. And though a sliver of doubt remains, you let it fade away under the certainty of his touch.

As sleep finally claims you, you cling to him, both comforted and resigned, knowing that tomorrow you’ll wake to the same inescapable truth: you belong to him. And with that, the delicate promise of forever is sealed in the quiet darkness.

[andy-15-07]

hiii! i saw that your request is open. i would love to read about reader and pedro planning to go public

reader and pedro have been dating for almost a year but never go out on public together because reader wasn’t ready with people’s response and she has some trauma from her previous marriage (got cheated on and divorce). pedro was also scared that paparazzi & fans will bother her. but now after they said ily and sure about each other, they finally planning to go public

thanks in advance 💖

Us

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x female reader

Word Count: 1235 | requests are open!

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the city. From their apartment window, they watched the lights of the skyscrapers twinkle into life, creating a breathtaking panorama. Inside, a comfortable silence hung in the air, a quiet anticipation buzzing between them.

Y/N sat on the edge of the couch, her gaze drawn to the swirling patterns in her coffee cup. Beside her, Pedro stood by the window, his profile etched against the vibrant hues of the sunset. A thoughtful expression softened his features, his eyes tracing the city lights as if lost in a private reverie.

Almost a year had passed since their relationship had blossomed. A year filled with stolen moments, whispered confessions under the cloak of night, and an unwavering support that had deepened their bond. Yet, their love story remained a secret, shielded from the public eye and the inevitable scrutiny that came with fame.

Y/N had always been wary of the spotlight. The echoes of her past marriage, a painful chapter marked by betrayal and heartbreak, still lingered. The discovery of her ex-husband's infidelity had left deep scars, a constant reminder of the vulnerability that came with exposing her heart. She had vowed to protect herself, to keep her love life private.

And then there was Pedro, a man who understood her fears, who respected her boundaries with a gentle patience that melted her heart. He never pushed, never pressured her to share their love with the world. He understood the potential pitfalls – the intrusive glare of the paparazzi, the relentless scrutiny of the public, the way their love story could be twisted and sensationalized. He knew how easily something beautiful could be tainted by the harsh glare of fame.

But something had shifted. Their love had evolved, deepening into an unwavering foundation. It was no longer just about the private moments they cherished; it was about building a life together, a life they yearned to share with the world.

Pedro turned from the window, his gaze finding hers. He walked towards her, his footsteps a soft rhythm on the wooden floor. He sat beside her, his hand reaching out to gently cup hers, his thumb tracing soothing circles on her knuckles.

"We're really doing this, aren't we?" he asked, his voice a low murmur, a question hanging in the air.

Y/N looked up at him, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. "Are we?" she echoed, the uncertainty in her voice betraying the whirlwind of emotions swirling within her.

He smiled, a warm, reassuring smile that reached his eyes. "We're ready. I know you've been through a lot, but with you, I feel an unwavering certainty. I want the world to know how deeply I love you. And I'm ready to face whatever comes our way, together."

She squeezed his hand, his touch a grounding force amidst the fluttering in her chest. She had spent countless nights battling with doubt, fear gnawing at her, picturing the judgmental eyes and the potential for heartbreak. But in his presence, she felt a newfound strength. She could do this.

"I love you too," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "But I'm scared. Scared of the judgment, of the possibility of it all being torn apart."

He gently stroked her hand, his touch a silent reassurance. "I know, mi amor. I understand. I wouldn't want anyone to hurt you. That's why I've been so cautious. I've seen how the public can twist things, how they can turn something beautiful into a spectacle. But we can't live our lives in fear forever. We've waited long enough."

She took a deep breath, letting his words settle into her soul. There had been countless sleepless nights, the weight of the decision pressing down on her. But with Pedro by her side, the fear seemed to diminish, replaced by a newfound resolve.

"I don't want to hide anymore," she confessed, her voice trembling slightly. "Not from you, not from them. I want to be with you, openly, without the constant worry."

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "We'll do it when you're ready, mi amor. Together."

A comfortable silence settled between them, a shared understanding unspoken yet deeply felt. They had made the decision, but the path ahead remained uncertain.

"So," Pedro began, his voice light, attempting to break the lingering intensity, "how do we want to announce it? Instagram? A joint interview? Maybe a staged paparazzi photo?"

She chuckled, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. "Let's not go for the full 'paparazzi' act. But I think I'm okay with social media. It feels like the most natural way to share it."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Sí, I think so too. Maybe a simple photo of us, something casual, something that captures the essence of who we are."

"Real," she echoed, the word resonating deeply within her. It wasn't about creating a spectacle, but about sharing their authentic selves with the world. "It's not about impressing anyone," she added. "It's about showing them who we are, no matter what they think."

He pulled her close, his embrace a comforting cocoon. She rested her head on his chest, finding solace in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

"Are you sure?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He pressed another kiss to her hair. "Más seguro que nunca, mi vida."

They remained like that for a while, simply holding each other, the weight of their decision settling into their souls. It was a significant step, a leap into the unknown. But there was also a sense of liberation, a feeling of finally stepping into the light.

As the night deepened, they started to plan. They would post a simple photo of them together, a candid moment captured, a reflection of their genuine selves. No grand proclamations, no elaborate schemes – just a glimpse into their love story.

When the time came to post it, her heart raced. Pedro was by her side, his hand gently resting on her thigh, a silent anchor amidst the storm of emotions. She could do this. They could do this.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the Instagram app and uploaded the photo – a casual snapshot of them walking hand in hand, laughter sparkling in their eyes. She paused, her finger hovering over the 'post' button, a wave of apprehension washing over her. Then, with a trembling hand, she pressed it.

The world would see them. It wasn't just a relationship; it was their life, their love, unfiltered and authentic.

The response was immediate, overwhelming. Messages poured in from friends, family, fans, and colleagues. The support was abundant, but so were the inevitable questions, the curiosity, and the occasional critical comment. The scrutiny was inevitable. But for the first time, she didn't feel alone. She had Pedro by her side.

He squeezed her hand as they scrolled through the comments together, reading the messages of love and support.

"We're doing okay, aren't we?" she asked, her gaze meeting his.

He smiled, his eyes twinkling with pride. "Más que okay, mi amor. We're doing fantastic."

The future remained uncertain, as it always did. But one thing was certain – they would face it together, hand in hand, no longer hiding in the shadows. It wasn't about impressing the world, but about sharing their love, their story, with the world. And that, in itself, was enough.

[blitzwhore]

All 2 U (Motherfucker) and I Will Be Okay are thematic parallels of each other.

And I really, really love that.

It's the taking a person off their pedestal. The idolised image that you've always had of them finally crumbling down around you, shattering to pieces. They are not the person you thought they were.

It's the uncertainty. The asking yourself, or them, “Did I mean nothing at all to you? Do you even care that you hurt me?” Desperate for some sort of reassurance.

It's the assuming the answer is no. It's the conviction that the other person is already gone. Even though they're still fighting for you, still trying to reach out to you, desperate to fix what's broken. It's the being too caught up in the feeling of having lost them already.

(Now I know there's one thing I can't keep // When you're gone I will be okay, but my tears won't fall upon your shoulder).

It's the still reaching out and chasing after them, desperately trying to find a single good memory to hold onto—only to find the other person rejecting you over and over again, the memories cracking under your touch and burning in your grasp. It's the sudden certainty that every single good moment was a lie.

And it's the way both Stolas' and Octavia's fears and insecurities were exploited and validated by those around them, which ultimately pushed them to believe they'd come true.

Yes, he is a motherfucker; no, you didn't do anything wrong, he just didn't care about you. He deserves to be insulted and hated.

Yes, he is a deadbeat father and a disgrace who didn't give two shits about you and willingly left you behind. He deserves to be laughed at and shunned.

And above all else, it's the fact that Stolas eventually found his way back to Blitz; found himself in the arms of the same man whose love he thought he'd never have. Found himself loved, knowing he is cherised by Blitz beyond a trace of doubt.

It's hoping that the same will be true for Octavia someday; that she'll find herself in her dad's arms once again, knowing beyond a trace of doubt that she is loved by him.

[girlscomehome]

after the first kiss

pairing: abby x gn!reader cw: fluff + (not rly sexual) kissing! winter/christmas + modern setting, ib the faye webster song, friends to lovers, referring to you and abby as the prettiest around, lazily proofread, and i believe that’s all! wc: 605 a/n: i know christmas passed and all… but i’m still feeling some lingering longing for christmas abby !!!!! masterlist | taglist

Oh, it was nothing short of enchanting. You felt as if you were floating on the lightest, most ethereal clouds, a sensation so tender it bordered on the divine. Yes, it was a cliché—a saccharine definition you might have scoffed at another time. But it was the truth—your truth. In that moment, nothing in the world could stop you, not with the lingering imprint of Abby’s lips, soft and warm against yours, still igniting your senses.

It unfolded with an agonizing slowness that still felt far too fleeting, leaving you yearning for time to stop, to stretch, to hold. You wished, pathetically and earnestly, that someone had captured it—a moment so profound that historians would immortalize it, waxing poetic about the soul-lifting, almost religious wonder of it all.

Abby had invited you to the Winter Wonderland at the local mall, a charming outdoor festival where the air smelled of spiced cider and pine. Grubby kids darted about, teens giggled nervously on first dates, and adults wandered in search of the perfect tree to adorn their living rooms. But you and Abby? You hovered somewhere between those two worlds—caught in the giddy uncertainty of “firsts” yet entirely certain that the prettiest thing in that snow-dusted field was each other.

You’d been friends for so long—close enough to know each other’s quirks, to share endless laughs. So why did this feel so unnervingly new? You ambled aimlessly through the rows of trees, trading silly jokes and snatches of laughter, the kind of mindless joy that made the cold seem warmer. But then, somewhere between the laughter and the quiet, your steps faltered. The air shifted.

Perhaps your body knew before your mind did, sensing that this moment would mark the start of something you’d never forget. Abby turned toward you, her gaze soft yet electric, her puppy-dog eyes drawing you in like a spell you were powerless to resist. And then, with a quiet boldness, she leaned in, and her lips met yours.

It was brief but breathtaking. Not messy, not hurried—just soft. Sweet. The faint taste of the candy apple you’d shared lingered between you, a whisper of sugar on her lips. You hadn’t known a kiss could be perfect until that moment.

When you pulled away, your breath caught, and you opened your eyes to find her staring back at you. Her cheeks flushed pink against the winter chill, her pupils wide, and her lips curved into a crooked, lovesick smile. The sight melted you, leaving your heart dripping like snow under a warm sun.

“Again?” she asked, her voice soft, almost shy.

You blinked—once, twice, and then a third time as the word echoed in your mind.

Again? Again. Again.

Your head bobbed in an eager nod, and she laughed—a quiet, musical sound you wanted to capture and keep forever. Before the moment could slip away, you kissed her once more.

This time, her hands cradled your face with purpose, her fingers warm against your skin. Your own hands found her cheeks, your thumbs grazing their soft curve. The kiss was another meeting of softness—so sweet, so unhurried. Yet it carried a depth that reached beyond the physical, as if your souls were finding one another, intertwining in ways words could never capture.

When she pulled back to catch her breath, her forehead rested against yours, her lips curling into a smile that felt like sunlight breaking through clouds.

“Are you free again later this week?” she murmured, already weaving plans for your next adventure between breaths.

You smiled, your heart swelling with the certainty that, like her kisses, this was only the beginning.

[b38rman]

READ YOUR MIND ᯓ★ Ollie Bearman

tags - ollie bearman x afab!reader, friends to lovers, fluff, slight miscommunication, loosely inspired by the sabrina carpenter song of the same name

synopsis - This was definitely not on the marketing internship job offering for Prema Racing. You swore you had everything under control before this—before Ollie Bearman took up most of the weekend's agenda.

rating - teen and up readers

warnings - slightly suggestive ending

a/n - i wrote this before ollie was announced as a 2025 f1 driver and the slight implications of dread related to that uncertainty are littered throughout this work so just keep that in mind (or not) enjoy!

Thursday — Spain, 2024

The unmistakable sound of the hotel doorbell rang through your room. Admittedly, the best time to go to sleep had already passed you by at this point, considering the 7 AM lobby call time the team had for you. Unfortunately, the restlessness that could only be attributed to constant location changes seeped into your bones.

You got up, trying to dispell the feeling populating your gut. Perhaps, more than anything, it was the dull influx of certainty. You were still learning how to get used to this.

You opened the door slightly, just enough to see who was on the other side. 

“Took you long enough.” The familiar rumble of Ollie’s voice filled your ears, as he pushed his way into your bedroom.

At this point, you were 100% sure that any of this was not part of any of the contracts Prema made you sign when they offered you the internship. No matter how much you looked between the lines of wage and non-disclosures, you wouldn’t find what you and Ollie had anywhere.

It was just that it was becoming a routine at this point. From the beginning of the season, Ollie seemingly couldn’t find a better victim than you for his late night musings. You tried to gently reprimand him at first, telling him off about his bedtime and his racing and all of the things he’d scoff at you for and turn a stubbornly deaf ear towards.

Ollie rounded the room slowly, his white sleep shirt and flannel pajamas contrasting against your worn summer camp shirt and cotton shorts. You felt overexposed, as you always did in these situations. 

“Wanna play Mario Kart?” Ollie asked, mindlessly making his way to your side of the bed.

You thought about it for a second before responding, “Nope, too tired to be that stressed out.”

Ollie hummed in acknowledgment before laying back onto your bed, phone in hand, with his legs still dangling over the edge. He always took your side of the bed, despite it very obviously being rumpled and occupied.

You climbed onto the other side and tucked yourself in under the sheets. As if on instinct, Ollie moved his head upward, resting it on your stomach, before locking his phone and setting it on his chest. 

“I just feel a bit odd, you know? Like everyone says so many good things about me but really, I haven’t done anything.” He looked to the ceiling as he rambled. “I have another FP1 tomorrow and all I can think about is how I don’t know how to be what people want me to be. I don’t know how to keep being good, or how to really be good; will people even look back and think I was good?” 

“That’s some bad imposter syndrome you got there, huh?” You stretched your hand out and lightly laid it on his head, stretching your fingers against the expanse of brown waves. Ollie leaned into the touch, shutting his eyes.

“The only thing that should matter is who you want to be.” You grinned fondly at him, even if he couldn’t see it. “Besides, you’re way too young to be worrying stuff like that.”

“We’re the same age.” He opened his eyes just to look at you as he said that. 

“And do you see me worrying about my legacy?” You joked, earning a toothy smile and a roll of eyes from Ollie. 

At every moment you’ve spent with Ollie so far, he’s not felt like someone that appears on national television broadcasts or on carefully curated Pinterest boards. You could almost see yourself looking across the lecture hall, seeing him, and wondering if he was really paying attention or just browsing on his laptop.

Instead, he was one of the boys you’d keep track of social media appearances for. You managed his filming schedules for both long-form and short-form videos, and wove through seas of people and motorhomes with him to find a spot to record his little post-race briefs. You weren’t assigned to him specifically, but it usually was you and him most of the time.

“It’s, um, getting late.” You tried not to be too awkward about untangling your hand from Ollie’s hair. “I think you should get some rest.”

You waited for him to complete the final part of this routine you had going, wherein he’d sleepily walk to his own bedroom and you’d fall asleep in your own fully warmed bed. 

Except for the fact that he didn’t do that at all. 

“Could I just stay here? I don’t really want to be alone right now.” You felt Ollie shift ever so slightly from where he was, head still resting on you.

Questions on professionality and ethics rang through your mind one after another. 

“Are you sure?” Was all you could muster. 

Ollie seemed to recognize your concern without you voicing it. After all, you weren’t particularly discreet about any of it. 

“I’ll just wake up earlier, it’ll be fine.” He finally raised his head and began setting an alarm for five in the morning. Part of you knew it was futile. Considering everything, it was a bold move, considering that it was just past midnight.

You watched him mindlessly, as he turned all the lights off, only leaving the light from the bathroom peaking out through a slight opening in its door. For a moment, you let yourself think of a time and place where this was a normal occurrence—one where him curling up in bed next to you in near complete darkness felt like a grounding force instead of a guilt-inducing one.

You turned to face away from where he was laying, opting to try and not make this any weirder than it could be. 

“Good night.” He said regardless. “Sweet dreams.” He said, in a softer voice, almost as if he didn’t want you to hear him. 

You could feel his body near yours, almost as if the full size bed was too cramped for the two of you. 

“Sweet dreams, Ollie.” You replied.

You felt him roll over to his back as you drifted off to sleep. 

Friday

Your eyes shot open at the sound of an iPhone alarm going off, obviously being the one Ollie set a few hours prior. What you didn’t immediately process was the arm wrapped around your waist, and the soft snores coming from the face that was nuzzled into your hair. Your heart was pounding. 

“Ollie,” You lightly shook the arm that was over you. “Ollie, wake up.”

You were only met with a long grunt and a tightened grip.

“Ollie, please, come on.” You tried sitting up to give him a bit more of a hint, displacing his arm on you.

Finally, he rolled over, turning off his alarm. The sun was barely out yet, and you saw him squinting at you through his sleepy eyes. 

“I don’t want to go.” He said softly and groggily, toying with a loose string on your worn shirt. 

“You have to.” You replied with every ounce of control in your body.

Ollie grunted faintly before stretching his arms over his head, silently sitting up and making his way out of the door as quickly as he came through it. 

Everything kept moving into the next day. You’d comprehensively briefed Kimi in the morning on his share of marketing activities over breakfast and sneaked some Live at Prema footage here and there, with Ollie notably paying less attention and getting called by some F1 media members midway. 

The constant elephant in the room was the tinge of disappointment the team felt due to Ollie’s slightly lackluster feeder performances in direct comparison to all of the F1 hype surrounding him, which no amount of sarcastic humor from the team could conceal. 

Despite everything that happened the night prior, everything remained calm and professional (he barely acknowledged you outside of what he needed to do, which was both a relief and a punch to the gut). 

Between photoshoots and practice sessions, you’d spotted Ollie from afar. Barely anyone could get a hold of him after free practice, as he was justifiably rushing between garages. 

He was up and down the paddock clad in his black Haas shirt, clearly moving with an air of confidence that filled your chest with something you couldn’t describe. This Ollie felt worlds away, which brought you as much joy and pride as it did a hint of melancholy. You were still figuring out what he was making you feel, but at times like this, he felt worlds away.

You were pulled away from your thoughts as quickly as they came to you, as you engrossed yourself in content with the F1 Academy drivers. When you weren’t doing that, you were organizing paperwork, analyzing metrics, and sifting through footage on your phone and camera.

The feeling you suppressed earlier only returned as the F1 cars hit the track. You thought about how near he felt at present, just at touching distance in the space between your hotel room and Grisignano de Zocco; but you also thought about how faraway everything would become after Prema, and how much you’d have to feel if you allowed yourself to let your guard down around Ollie.

After all, every sane racing driver would hope that feeder wouldn’t be forever. Deep inside you, though, you wished this feeling wouldn’t just be hidden in the footnotes of what would become Ollie’s career. Nevertheless, the sheer idea of wanting someone who was literally the face of a future generation of racing amidst the backdrop of him being capable of being wanted by every other person in the world felt incredibly absurd and daunting to say the least. 

(The two of you weren’t even anything. You weren’t really sure about these thoughts.)

After your rumination and the inevitable conclusion of the free practice session, you continued your work as you were directed to. It was entirely a coincidence, though, that your next duties included bringing parts of Ollie’s race kit and his water to his area in the shared driver’s area in preparation for qualifying. As every internship went, you often had miscellaneous work to fulfill.

Kimi had already finished his personal preparations for qualifying, already looking over last minute data, while Ollie was running late due to his prior commitment. The air was undeniably stress-ridden, as your first real encounter of the race day with Ollie was him scrambling to get into his overalls and suit, but you set everything down calmly while pointedly avoiding eye contact.

“Was starting to think you didn’t miss me at all.” Ollie was the first to break the silence, imploring you to look up at him.

Warmth filled your body at his words. For a moment, you worried that he knew he had some type of effect on you, but you quickly pulled yourself together mentally. 

“One less person to persuade to listen to my content briefs.” You shrugged, smiling at him playfully, almost daring him to retaliate. 

As the rush caught up to both of you, the only cohesive answer to your banter that he gave you before exiting into the garage was a soft squeeze on your forearm. 

“We’re friends, right?” Ollie asked, already tucking himself into your bed without hesitation.

Once Ollie was done slumping over in qualifying debriefs with the team, he made his way to your room again. It was the same routine as last night, just with a lot less talking.

The thing is, you weren’t saying anything either. That in itself said a lot.

You looked at him, eyebrows scrunched together. “Yes?”

Well, you were sharing a bed, tucked under the same sheets, staring face to face at each other in the dim yellow light of your Barcelona hotel room. 

“Maybe? I don’t know, Ollie—“ You second-guessed for a moment before continuing, “—I’m literally an intern. We work together, technically.” 

Ollie’s face twisted into something unreadable. His eyes shifted to the side as he mouthed the word ‘technically’ under his breath. 

“I mean, I guess we could be friends if you want.” You followed up. God, you felt ridiculous for having a conversation that sounded like this. 

He took a breath, deep and slow. “I want a lot of things,”He answered.

Ollie looked at right you, eyes so big, bright, and endless.

“I know.” You replied impulsively, in a voice barely above a whisper. 

He got so dangerously close to you that you could feel the warmths of his breaths on your face. 

“You don’t.” The weight of his gaze felt like it was melting you from the inside out. “You really don’t.” 

Ollie closed the gap between the two of you, his dry lips engulfing yours for what felt like an eternity, despite it being maybe a five-second peck at most. When he pulled away, you were breathing like he’d taken all of the air out of your lungs just from the sheer pace your heart was beating at.

A look of uncertainty flashed across his almost annoyingly pretty face. The kiss was so sweet, and you hated to be the one to make him question himself.

“We shouldn’t.” You said in conjuction with your uncontrollable heartbeats and air-filled breaths. 

“Then tell me you don’t want this.” Ollie challenged, laying one calloused, warm hand on your cheek.

“Ollie—“ You tried to protest. Every logical part of your brain was telling you how wrong all of this was, and how stupid you were for letting this happen in the first place.

In spite of all that, you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. You couldn’t lie to him for the life of you. 

You wanted this so bad. All you could do was want.

You laid your cold hand atop the one cupping your face, and let yourself look back at the earnest look on his face. You felt overexposed, sensitive all over like you’d been put out in the sun for too long.

“Please.” You could barley manage words, but you finally let yourself lean into him to erase every seed of doubt planted in his mind. 

The movement of your lips against one another quickly turned hot and heavy, and you let Ollie take and take everything he could’ve wanted. His hand wandered down to your neck and achingly close to your chest, as his kisses migrated down to your neck.

“We—ah—we really shouldn’t be doing this,” You weakly attempted to be rational, even if your hand was tangled in his hair and heat was quickly pooling between your thighs.

In response, he dove right below your collar bone, beginning with a bite and continuing with not-so-subtly marking you there, coaxing a mix between a gasp, wimper, and a soft moan out of you. 

It was glaringly obvious that he didn’t care all that much.