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maxlarens · 3 months

Note

I got a lot to say so it might be long,

starting with, thank you for the Charles smau and the Lando fic <3

it took me time to choose an emoji lol but I've been doing an internship and time goes by way too quickly, but I decided to go for the strawberry one 🍓

and since you said you wanted to write for driver! reader, and that she was very intense about driving, maybe you can write something about her racing while she's sick/not feeling well but she still wins the race

woo hi again!!! literally no big deal! i hope ur internship is going well, it’s awesome that you’re doing one!! but yeah literally real life is always the priority as much as i’d also like to spend all my time on here lol. but anyway yay the strawberry is super cute 🍓🥺

and YES lol driver!reader is consuming my thoughts right now. i have other things i should be writing instead of this but i smashed this out in a few days😭 i decided not to make it a win because i have a thing brewing for driver!readers first win and i didn’t want to use up all my ideas for that. anyway!!! as usual thank u for the ask and pls enjoyyy 🤗

OP: extraordinary machine

pairing(s): oscar piastri x mercedes driver!reader

summary: you push yourself to your limits. (also sorry i simply don't know enough technical terms about racing for this to be fully accurate but i hope it works)

word count: 3.4k+

Here is a fact— you’ve got a fever of 39.4 degrees.

Here is another, indisputable fact— you’re racing in Imola today.

The fever had come on overnight after a persistent tickle in your throat all weekend. A mildly sore throat had turned rapidly to a snotty nose, full body chills and sweat pouring off you like you’d just run a marathon. You’re wearing a puffer jacket over your racing suit and it’s twenty-nine degrees out. You feel freezing, you feel delirious, and you’re eating Sour Patch Kids by the handful to keep the sugar rush going. Your race engineer, Rachel, keeps telling you that it’s okay if you can’t race. George can step in, I promise. You keep telling her I’m fine. I’m fine. I can race. But the expression on her face says she doesn’t believe you.

You’re telling practically everyone who’ll listen that you’re getting in that fucking car today. Rachel, George, your mum who keeps calling. Lewis keeps looking at you like you’re about to keel over and die and you want to scream at him you did this! Brazil 2015. You had a fever. You got on the podium. If I can’t do this and you can, what does that mean? But you don’t because that’s your 39.4-degree fever talking and this isn’t about being better than Lewis. It’s about knowing without a doubt that you can still get in that car and race your ass off.

Your phone keeps buzzing with texts from Susie that reassure you that you’d be disappointing no one at all if you had to let George take over this race. You’re not letting down women everywhere and you’re not letting down the team. I know Susie, you keep saying, but I’m still racing.

You know you’ve got to convince Toto when Rachel starts a hurried conversation with George and he starts grabbing his fireproofs like it’s a sure thing he’ll be driving in your place. Bundled up in your coat like it’s the middle of winter, you stomp over to Toto’s office and barge in.

“I’m racing,” you tell him without any preamble.

His head snaps to look at you, expression only mildly surprised— not that you would even notice if you didn’t spend so much time around him. He gives you a once over, eyes lingering pointedly on your jacket and then he raises his eyebrows, “It is twenty-nine degrees outside.”

You suck your teeth in frustration, “I know. The car will be hot. I can race.”

He frowns.

You plead, “Toto. Do not take me out of that car. I can do this.”

He shakes his head, “I can see you sweating from here. You’re not well.”

You shake your head frantically, ignoring how your vision starts spinning, “Let me race. If I fuck up you can put George in the car for Monaco. If I fuck up you can even replace me. I don’t care. Just let me drive today.”

Toto’s face pinches in the way it does when he’s considering something, you can see cogs turning in his head as he evaluates what you’ve said and decides if he should listen to it.

He sighs, “I am not putting that kind of ultimatum on you,” your heart stutters and stops in your chest, and you hold your breath, “Okay. Against my better judgement, I will let you race today.”

You let out an audible breath, it edges out into a sob that makes your aching body curl into itself. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes for a moment to suppress the urge to give in to your fever. It would be easier to give up, it would be easier to let George take your seat for the race so you could crawl into bed and cry the fever out. But none of this has ever been easy for you. You’ve fought tooth and nail to get here, you won’t forfeit a race and let people say you took the easy way out.

You look up. Toto looks concerned.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“You won’t.”

You practically stumble onto the asphalt before the national anthem, passing your coat off to Rachel while your trainer wipes your forehead with a towel as if you’ve just finished a full-body workout. Your shoulders feel tense, you can’t stand up straight without shuddering so you’re hunched over awkwardly hoping it doesn’t come off looking too strange.

People are still milling about, setting things up while the drivers assemble. You don’t really notice on account of the fever state you’re in, but you end up standing between the McLaren boys. You must brush against Oscar because he looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed, mouth set in a line and his eyes wide like a puppy dog. You get lost in them a little— because of the fever. Definitely.

“Dude,” Oscar says to you, “You’re really hot.”

On your other side, Lando breaks into a fit of laughter. You frown, your brain trying the puzzle through the sentence. You feel foggy, your eyes feel heavy. You need more Sour Patch Kids, or a shot of espresso, or five Red Bulls. Max could swing it for you.

Oscar leans past you and swats at Lando’s shoulder, “She’s burning up, stupid.”

Lando’s laughter pauses, and he says seriously, “Oh shit.”

Suddenly, you’re being twisted around and you’re wincing at the contact on your shoulder that makes it ache even more. Lando puts a hand on your forehead and then immediately rips it away.

“Eugh. You’re sweaty.”

The back of Oscar’s hand replaces it. You twist away, brushing it off.

“You’ve got a fever,” he tells you, his voice thick with concern for you, “Have you told anyone? Does Toto know? Lewis?”

Instead of answering you press a hand over your eyes and crack your neck, trying to work through some of the stiffness in your back. You roll your shoulders and stand up as straight as possible, pushing through that aching, sickly feeling that runs through your whole body. When you finally drag your hand from your face— a thin sheen of sweat coming with it— Oscar is staring at you with a deep-set frown on his mouth. At his shoulder, Lando looks at you with a markedly less severe, but still concerned, expression.

“I’m fine, Oscar,” you insist.

You’re not. He knows you’re not. It doesn’t matter, you don’t want to seem weak. Not barely thirty minutes before the race. You can’t have either of them thinking you’d be easy for an overtake or that you’ll back out of a fight first. Off the track, fine— you’ve been vulnerable and honest with both of them at times. On the track is a different story. This is Formula One. You’re not here to make friends. They are not here to make friends.

“Mm,” Oscar hums, “Pretty sure you’re not.”

“You’re sweating bullets,” Lando adds, “Can see it from here.”

Something white-hot and pissed off flares up your spine. Oscar is not this kind of person, even on track; but the suspicion that he’s just trying to eliminate you as competition rises anyway. You think it because if the situation were flipped, you’d be weighing the pros and cons of having a sick driver on the track. Their weaknesses, what it means if they’re distracted. It doesn’t make you a good person, but you’re already pretty sure you aren’t one.

“I am fine,” you bite.

Oscar’s expression drops. Into something not quite offended… accepting, maybe? Resigned? It closes off to you, is what you mean. That’s fine, you’re trying to close yourself off to him. You’re re-drawing a line that you’ve been crossing without a thought for at least two years now. You’re not here to make googly eyes at Oscar and let him put his hand on your fever-ridden forehead and have him reprimand out-of-line, so-called professionals for you. You’re here to get in that car every Sunday and put your life on the line for a shiny trophy and fucking glory. Even if you’ve got a fever. Even if you’ve got a weird crush on Oscar Piastri.

“I’m racing,” you add in a different tone, feeling as if you’ve been a bit harsh on a well-meaning Oscar, even if you mean what you’re thinking.

Oscar nods, and says, “Okay,” in a way that really means, ‘If you say so, then it is’.

In the car, on the tarmac, sitting in your starting grid position, you’re shitting bricks.

Your cheeks are squeezed tight into your helmet, you can feel sweat, slick and soaking through your balaclava. Your arms hurt, your legs hurt, your ass hurts where it’s pressed into the seat. You’re not crying, but your mouth— hidden away by your helmet— is open like you’re about to. Set into a grimace that you breathe raggedly out of. Toto says something over the radio before the lights go out, you don’t hear it. You’re too busy regretting how earnestly you’d begged him to let you race. It would have been better if George had taken over. It might have been better if you’d passed out during the national anthem so you really had no choice but to sit it out. No one could say you weren’t committed to this sport if that had happened. They’d have plenty to say about women and their weak constitutions though.

You’re on autopilot when the lights go out. One second you’re freaking out like it’s your first time in a car, the next second everything is fading into background noise and you’re fighting a Ferrari and a McLaren for your original grid position. Twenty of you tear down the straight to turn two and you find yourself slotting easily into what you think is P4. Ferrari— not the same one— in front of you. Your mirrors reveal the McLaren behind you. It’s Oscar, you’re sure. You can tell by the way he sticks to your ass. Every nudge of the car you make he makes with you.

You press the radio button, “That Piastri behind?”

Crackle, “Yeah.”

“Knew it. He’s up my butt, Rach.”

“Okay. Go faster then. Not sure what to tell you.”

You make a face. You weren’t looking for sarky advice, you were trying to commiserate. You press the button and make a vaguely mocking neh-neh noise that gets a laugh and then radio silence because you’re supposed to be fucking concentrating. Which, okay, fair.

You press the throttle, done with trying to manage your tyres for the moment and taking Rachel’s comment as permission. You tear away from Oscar, stopping his fight to overtake you through the chicane in its tracks. You start slowly gaining on the Ferrari in front of you, its red rear wing growing closer and closer.

“Sainz in front?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yup,” Rachel confirms before rattling off some lap times when you ask for them.

By lap thirty-something, you’re on Sainz’s ass like Oscar was on yours. You’re fighting him through every chicane, threatening him on the straights and generally behaving in a way that you know for a fact is putting him on edge. But Carlos isn’t giving up P3 without a fight.

A safety car goes out around lap forty, and you pit. Everyone ahead of you does as well. Oscar doesn’t, Oscar is lucky to have gone in earlier. Rachel tells you he’d made up four places after being forced to box for some tyre issue. You feel a strange mix of pride and jealousy swirl in your chest as you all file into a discordant line behind the safety car.

Verstappen leads the pack, as per usual. Then Oscar, Sainz and you. Leclerc is behind you, then Lando. You’re in P4, right where you started and right where you’ve been fucking sitting the entire race so far. twenty-five laps to at least make it onto the podium. Then you’ll be happy. Or not quite happy, you’d need pole for that. Content. You’d be content.

Max starts weaving. The safety car goes off and Max keeps you all ready and waiting until the exact millisecond that he decides the race can properly begin again. You hate when he does this— you know that’s exactly why. Eventually, finally, he gets going.

You have to run defence like crazy for a few laps to keep Leclerc behind you until everything is warmed up. The gap widens as you drive. At some point, you stop worrying about the Monégasque so much and focus your attention on car fifty-five like your life depends on it. The laps fly by as time ticks on. Twenty-five to go, twenty, fifteen, ten. You’re back on Sainz’s rear wheel, a gap of 0.2 to 0.3 that’s been consistent throughout this last stretch of the race. You’re watching him like a hawk, waiting for the smallest slip-up to take advantage of. Somewhere you can push, somewhere he’s weak. It’s hard— he’s covering all his bases. Not giving you an inch so you can’t take a mile.

You’re closing in on sixty-four laps— with only three to go— when he gives you that fucking inch. It’s in the first chicane. His wheel locks up, and he jerks the car slightly the wrong way, something like that. You get in his space and you push and he backs out first. You press down on the throttle and rocket past him, shouting FUCK! FUCK YES! to yourself.

P3. P3. God, you hope it’s P3.

You press the talk button, “Rach?”

“Yes, P3,” she barks, “Fucking, focus. Three laps to go.”

Those last three laps of Imola are some of the hardest of your life. Defending against Carlos is a task, of course, but it’s not even that. The sickness starts to creep back into your awareness as the adrenaline that had hit its peak during the overtake starts to subside. Two laps to go and you’re remembering the fever again. The sweat soaking your hair and streaking down the back of your neck. Your whole body is on fire and it aches everywhere. It feels like someone has taken a sledgehammer to the inside of your skull. You want so badly to close your eyes and drift away to sleep, but the car is flying through the air demanding your attention with the way it thuds against the track. You’ve got one lap to go and Carlos is on you like white on rice. You can’t afford to make a mistake until you’re firmly over that finish line.

So you don’t. You grit your teeth and you refuse.

Carlos is downright reckless in the last chicane, he tries to bait you by moving to one side and pushing but you’re not going to fall for something like that even if you’re near delirious from the 39.4-degree fever. Though surely it’s higher now, the car temp can’t be helping. You hardly realise you’ve crossed the finish line because you’re thinking so hard about how lightheaded you feel. On instinct, you slow down to a safe speed as Oscar’s McLaren enters your vision, but you think your toes have pins and needles and there’s some feeling tingling up into your shoulders. You blink hard and take a long sip of water so you can make it to the pits before your head starts to spin.

Crackle, “Where are you going? That was P3.”

“Huh?” you realise you’re following the other drivers instead of heading into the pits where you’re supposed to go, “Shit. Sorry.”

You edge back as carefully as you can, avoiding other cars that pass by, lucky you’ve not overshot too far so you can turn into the pits and park your car in front of the P3 sign without going around the entire track. That would be embarrassing. Or that would be more embarrassing than how disgusting you’re going to look when you take your helmet and balaclava off.

Toto, Rachel and a few of your engineers are there to meet you at the barricade when you clamber out of the car, unsteady on your feet. Rachel’s eyebrows are furrowed as she tries her best to smile at you, trying to put on a brave face even though you can tell she’s concerned you’re going to keel over. You brace yourself with a hand against the gate and tear your helmet off, then your balaclava. You’ve never been so fast to put a cap on your head, trying to cover the sweaty mess that is your hair right now.

“That was phenomenal work,” Rachel says, reaching to put a hand on your burning hot bicep, “You look fucking terrible, though.”

You suck in a ragged breath and you nod in agreement, trying to keep the black tinging your vision from taking over completely.

“Get her something to drink,” you hear Toto bark, though it comes to your ears, muffled and staticky.

You’re fine. You’re fine. Until you’re not and your sweaty hand is slipping against the guardrail and your vision is fading into darkness and you’re falling face first into a metal railing. And, and, someone’s got their arm around your middle and you’re not on the ground with your face in the asphalt. You blink, hot tears— from what you assume is exhaustion— burning your eyelids. The arm around your middle is covered in something orange and black… Oscar. It’s Oscar who’s got you propped up, held firm into his body so your legs don’t collapse underneath you. The two of you sway and stumble for a second as you gain your footing back, your vision returning to normal, the buzzing in your ears going away.

“You’re good,” he breathes, “I’ve got you.”

You ignore the shiver that runs down your spine, you attribute it to your current state.

You remember the cameras that are on all of you right now. You try not to look panicked as you step away from him. You try to do it calmly and not frantically like you so want to. Toto has some electrolyte drink held out right in your face and you take it, chugging half of it straight away while you swivel around to face Oscar. You nod, feeling slightly better, but gripping the guardrail tight so as not to repeat earlier.

“Thanks,” you try a smile, but it’s just turning into a grimace because you feel like shit.

Oscar shakes his head, “Don’t mention it.”

“Great driving out there.”

His eyebrow goes up, touching the curl of his hair that peeks out from his cap.

“You’re kidding?” he says, tone laced with amusement.

You frown, which is much easier, “No. You drove great.”

He makes a face like ‘yes, obviously’, but somehow does it in a humble and endearing way that you find you like a little too much. It leaves you confused as to his point.

“No,” he scoffs, “Okay, yes. What I mean is that you just got P3 with a raging fever.”

You purse your lips, countering, “You don’t know I have a fever.”

His tongue darts out to wet his top lip, hiding the small smile that threatens on his face.

He shrugs, “Bit obvious, unfortunately.”

You roll your eyes. You think what he means is it’s a bit obvious because you look like absolute death. There’s probably sweat rolling off you in buckets, your cap is jammed on your head and your hair is probably sticking out at crazy angles. There were dark circles under your eyes before you left for the track this morning, they’re probably ten times worse now. He might also mean it’s obvious from the way your skin is burning hot, like touching a radiator in the middle of winter. Or, perhaps, the way you’d passed out into his arms a few minutes earlier.

You suck your teeth, “Well. I told you I was racing today.”

Oscar nods, biting the inside of his lip, “Yeah. You did.”

There’s more that neither of you are saying. A conversation that you’re trying desperately to have with prolonged eye contact, small little smiles and breaths out through the nose. You think it might be ‘I’m proud of you’ or ‘You’re very impressive and I’m going a little bit crazy about it’. That’s how you feel at least, somewhere in between the fever chills and the urge you’re suppressing to curl into a ball on the tarmac. This is okay, you think. You don’t have to be Oscar’s sworn enemy just because you’re both chasing the win. You can let him worry about you, but make sure he understands he can’t stop you from taking the things that you want. You can say things that mean other things and Oscar can smile at you like it’s something private for just the two of you.

You can be happy with that. Or not quite happy. Content.

🏎️ song inspo (fiona apple my Beloved) -> https://open.spotify.com/track/5h9Iek7Hp9wayRt7fBp7Ab?si=9PnuH5CDSC-qTurLPGiTwg

💫 fill out this form if you want to be added to my tag list: @clowngirlsstuff @leclercsluvs @c-losur3 @mael1pastry @papayamusha @mvk1ma

#🍓anon #oscar piastri #f1 #formula 1 #oscar piastri x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #oscar piastri x driver!reader #oneshots:op81 #driver!reader

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puppym3 · 2 months

Note

hi lovely! i hope you’re doing well <33 could i suggest a seungmin fic that’s kind of like, opposites attract? like seungmin’s this nerdy and shy guy, but in reality (or in bed) he’s not. and y/n’s this outspoken and bold girl but in reality she’s not. sort of like when they get to know each other on an intimate level they realize they’re the exact opposite of how they’ve been portraying themselves to others.

i hope that made sense 😭😭. also u seem really cool feel free to send dms or asks anytime <3

- lovestayblogs ☺️💗

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. unmasked

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

nerdy!seungmin x popular!reader

wc: 9.4k (I DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS THAT LONG.)

warnings: MDNI! 18+, CHAT i got carried away, i got too invested in this guys im sorry, smut, fake dating, campus dating, rumors, nerdy!seungmin, popular!reader, alcohol consumption, college parties, a lot of tension, mutual pining, first time, unprotected piv, creampie, handjob, fingering, a lot of dirty talk, dom!seungmin, sub!reader, they're in love its so fluffy, (lmk if i missed any!)

a/n: LOVESTAYBLOGS! i love you, you're so awesome thank you for the suggestion, i loved writing this one so much and i hope you all feel the same!! i just started writing... and writing... and i got here...

anywaysss... i have a taglist if anyone is interested!

enjoy reading! love you guys! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The campus buzzed with life as students shuffled between classes, laughter and chatter filling the air. Amidst the lively chaos, Seungmin was a stark contrast, always found in the same spot in the library, his nose buried in a book. His glasses perched delicately on his nose, eyes scanning the pages with a focused intensity that rarely wavered.

You had noticed him for a while now. He was hard to miss, not because he stood out, but because he blended in so seamlessly that it almost seemed deliberate. He was always alone, a quiet figure in the background, diligently taking notes, rarely interacting with anyone unless necessary. It wasn't just his solitude that caught your attention; it was the way people treated him. Like he wasn't even there. He was just one of those people who never really existed to anyone, no matter how close they seemed.

That was until you saw him sitting at the coffee shop down the street, sipping from a paper cup. The place was packed, but he didn't seem to mind, his focus solely on the book in his hands. You watched him from the corner of your eye as you ordered your drink. Something about him intrigued you. He was so calm and collected, despite the bustle of people surrounding him.

You sat a few tables away from him, unable to take your eyes off of him. His presence was oddly calming. As if he had a strange sort of gravity, pulling you towards him without even trying. You could just approach him, you weren't usually one to be shy when it came to meeting people, so why was it so hard with him?

You must have been staring for too long because when you finally snapped back to reality, you locked eyes with him. He had this curious look on his face, his eyes searching yours for some kind of answer. He seemed almost amused by your sudden embarrassment, a slight smile playing on his lips. You quickly averted your gaze, hoping to avoid any further awkwardness.

To your surprise, he got up and walked over to your table. "Do you mind if I sit here?" he asked, gesturing to the empty seat across from you.

"Not at all," you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

He settled into the chair, his gaze returning to his book. You sipped your drink, stealing glances at him.

"Seungmin."

"Huh?"

"My name. It's Seungmin."

You stared at him, dumbfounded. "I knew that," you replied, trying to play it cool.

"You were staring at me, it's only fair you tell me your name," he said, not looking up from his book.

You exchanged your name with him, a flush creeping across your cheeks.

"Why are you here alone? I usually see you with other people." He said with a perplexed look on his face.

You let out a nervous laugh. "Ah, so you've seen me often I assume?"

"You're hard to miss, on this small campus, with your loud friends."

Your heart skipped a beat, a strange sense of validation washing over you.

"Well, we were supposed to meet here, but they all ditched me. So I'm alone, like you."

"I don't mind being alone."

"Oh. Well, neither do I."

There was a brief moment of silence as the two of you sat there, trying to figure out what to say next. You decided to break the tension by asking him a question that had been burning in the back of your mind.

"Do you really hate everyone here, or is that just an act?"

He looked up at you, a hint of surprise in his eyes. "What makes you think I hate everyone?"

"I don't know, just from whispers..." you trailed off.

"Whispers can be misleading," he said with a smirk. "What about you? Are the rumors about you true?"

"Rumors?" You tilted your head, genuinely confused.

"That you're a bit out there."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his choice of words. "Out there? What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged, his expression unreadable.

"If you're talking about me being bold and forward, then yeah, that's just who I am. Nothing more, nothing less."

He nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"It's not like I go around telling people that I'm a virgin," you said, rolling your eyes.

Seungmin nearly spit out his coffee, coughing and clearing his throat.

"What?" you asked, trying to hide your amusement.

"I-it's just that, well, you seem like the type to-" he stuttered, his cheeks flushing a bright shade of red.

"The type to what?" you challenged, leaning forward, your elbows resting on the table.

"You know, someone who has a lot of experience, maybe." He said, looking down at his cup.

You leaned back in your chair, letting out a laugh. "You're cute."

Seungmin's cheeks flushed even more.

"I'll have you know that I'm actually pretty inexperienced."

"Really?" he asked, looking skeptical.

"Yup, and I've never had a real boyfriend either," you admitted, a blush spreading across your own cheeks. "Maybe some fake campus couple rumors, but that's it."

Seungmin nodded slowly, still looking unconvinced.

"You don't believe me, do you?" you asked, crossing your arms.

"It's just hard to imagine that someone like you, well, wouldn't be with anyone."

You sighed, resting your chin on your hand. "Maybe it's because I haven't met the right person, nobody wants the label these days."

Seungmin frowned, nodding in agreement.

"Do you want it? The label, I mean," he asked, meeting your gaze.

You considered his question for a moment before responding.

"I do, I want someone who's not afraid to commit to me."

The two of you locked eyes for a moment. "I... hope you find what you're looking for," Seungmin said softly.

You blushed at his response, unsure of what else to say.

The sound of the coffee shop door opening and closing, made you jump, breaking the moment you two shared.

Then your heart dropped, it was one of your friends, the biggest gossiper on campus.

"Shit," you muttered, hiding your face in your hands.

"What's wrong?" Seungmin asked, looking around in confusion.

You lowered your voice to a whisper, "If she sees us together, she's gonna tell everyone I'm messing with you now. She has the biggest mouth on this campus."

"Well, that doesn't seem too bad. Is it that terrible to have people think we're dating?"

Your head snapped up in shock, taken aback by his reaction. "It is for someone like you... You hate attention and it'll get so much worse if she spreads something."

He shrugged, not seeming to care. "It's fine. If she wants to think that we're dating, then let her. If she thinks we're together, people will stop spreading rumors about you."

Your face turned red, suddenly feeling shy.

"What about you? How will this benefit you?" you asked.

He thought about it for a moment before answering, "Well, maybe it would be nice to have someone who isn't afraid to talk to me."

You let out a small laugh. "Well then, Seungmin, would you like to be my boyfriend?"

His eyes widened, looking like a deer caught in headlights. He stared at you, unsure of how to respond.

"L-Like a fake boyfriend! That's what I meant!" You quickly said, saving yourself.

You felt like you were on the verge of passing out. This wasn't supposed to be a serious thing. You two were just trying to save your reputations. Why did the idea of him being your boyfriend sound so... good?

"You're okay with this, right? If not we can call it off," you asked him, nervousness apparent in your tone.

Seungmin nodded, still looking slightly dazed.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. You couldn't believe you were doing this.

"Alright, let's start simple, no big PDA. Just normal stuff," you said, your hands beginning to sweat.

"Right," he replied, looking as nervous as you felt.

You both fell silent, neither of you knowing what to say.

You sighed, taking out your phone and typing a quick message. You took a deep breath before looking at Seungmin. "We should probably get out of here. She's still lurking outside."

Seungmin nodded, following you out of the coffee shop. Once you were a safe distance from the shop, you finally turned to face him, feeling your pulse quicken as you stared into his deep brown eyes.

"I guess I should be going now," he said quietly.

"Yeah," you replied, biting your lower lip.

The two of you stood there for a moment, neither of you making a move to leave.

"Um, I left my number on the receipt."

Seungmin blinked, seeming surprised by your words.

You continued, "I just thought maybe we should have each other's numbers? For convenience."

He nodded slowly, taking out his phone. He typed in your number, your heart pounding in anticipation. You felt like a middle schooler with their first crush, getting nervous over the most mundane things.

"I'll text you so you have mine," he said, looking back at you with a small smile.

You smiled back, your stomach doing flips at his smile.

"Well, I guess I'll see you around." You waved before heading in the opposite direction, walking as fast as your feet could carry you. Your mind racing, replaying everything that happened in your head. You couldn't believe you actually agreed to do this.

Finally, your stalker friend jumped up to you from her hiding spot.

"Heyyyyy!" she said in a high-pitched voice, almost startling you to death. "So I saw you sitting with a boy in the coffee shop, who were you with? You have to tell me!" she pestered, tugging on your sleeve.

"Seungmin," you stated, hoping your voice didn't shake too much. "My...boyfriend," you forced yourself to say it, the word coming out strained.

"What?! Nerd boy?" She yelled in shock, eyes widening. "When did you even start talking to him?"

You shrugged, "Just the other day, he's sweet." You felt a sense of pride as she bought your lie, almost feeling bad that Seungmin had to suffer to save you from being known as some playgirl on campus.

"I didn't know you were into cute shy boys, wow, I never would have expected that from you! It's such a shame, but oh well," she laughed, her face scrunching up as she let out a high-pitched noise that was probably supposed to be a giggle.

She continued to ask you questions about your fake boyfriend and your relationship with him, all while you made up answers on the spot. You were just thankful she hadn't been sitting near the two of you. If she heard anything you had said, you would be fucked.

٠ ࣪⭑

The next day had come too soon, you didn't want to admit it but you were a little excited to play this fake-dating game with Seungmin. It was the most fun you had had on campus so far, and you had only been in his presence for an hour.

You scanned the room as you entered your lecture hall, noticing the usual faces, but there was one person that caught your attention. Seungmin, your boyfriend. The word left a weird taste in your mouth but a pleasant feeling washed over you as you approached his desk.

"Good morning," he greeted you with a small smile, a simple greeting enough to make you blush.

You grabbed his baseball hat and pulled it off, ruffling his fluffy hair out of place. The small giggle you earned made you want to keep messing with him.

"Good morning, sunshine," you said, pulling him into a hug, which was probably overkill, but he was so damn adorable you couldn't resist.

He stiffened, but after a moment, his shoulders relaxed and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to his body. The scent of his cologne surrounded you, his body warm against yours. You pulled back to look at him, noticing the flush on his cheeks. He had this look on his face that you couldn't quite place, almost like he was in awe.

"Aw shit, so it is true, I just thought she was fucking with me!" You both heard your classmate exclaim from a few desks behind you.

Seungmin pulled away and took a seat next to you. "How was your morning?"

"Boring, without you." You replied without hesitation. You could practically see the blush radiating off of his cheeks, "Cute."

He looked up at you in shock.

"Oh, did you expect me not to call my boyfriend cute?" You chuckled, patting his back.

He opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by the sound of your professor's voice filling the room. Seungmin quickly turned to face forward, but you noticed a smile forming on his lips. You could barely pay attention during class, your thoughts consumed by him. What were you doing to this boy, he barely even knew you but you had his mind in a state of chaos, what a mess this is going to be.

After class, you noticed a bunch of people were staring at you two, whispering about your supposed relationship. It seemed the word had gotten out faster than you thought. Seungmin gave you a reassuring smile, squeezing your hand to calm you. The two of you walked out of class hand in hand, like a real couple, but of course it was fake.

You headed for your next class, but not before he told you he had a project he needed to work on so the two of you went your separate ways, parting with a wave. You found your mind drifting back to the warmth of his hand. The softness of his touch and his gentle squeeze reassured you. How was it that he already knew you so well after only two days of knowing each other?

By the time you made it back to your dorm, you had convinced yourself you were going insane. What were you thinking, getting caught up in the fantasy of Seungmin being yours? You threw your bag on your desk, collapsed onto your bed, and let out a loud sigh. Your thoughts drifted to your next meeting with him. When would be too early to text him? You had already exchanged numbers, so why not make good use of them? You took out your phone and stared at your conversation with Seungmin, reading through the last messages. You smiled to yourself and sent him a quick hello, trying your hardest not to seem desperate. You threw your phone across the room onto your bed and got ready to go out with your friends.

After showering and getting ready, you sat down and checked your phone, smiling to yourself at his reply.

"Hey, you busy?" he texted you back.

You replied, "for you, i'm free" it was so cringeworthy you regretted sending it but you couldn't take it back.

You saw the typing bubble appear and then disappear several times before he responded, "I heard you're going to a party? I was invited by your friend because she thought I'd want to go with you."

Your stomach churned, this was going too fast for your liking. "do you wanna come with me?" you texted him, nervousness settling in.

"I'll come to make sure you're safe and you don't drink too much." he texted back. You almost laughed out loud at how cute his text read.

"don't you trust me?" you replied.

"Not when it comes to partying." he answered, and you could imagine him smiling.

"I'll come pick you up." He double texted, making your heart swell in your chest. You were getting a little too attached, but how could you not when he was the first man in a while to pay you this kind of attention.

"okay, i'm waiting for you"

You felt your face grow hotter the moment you pressed send. 'What the fuck are you doing to me, Seungmin,' you thought to yourself as you readied yourself to pick him up from his place.

You went into your closet, pulling out a few outfits. You couldn't believe you were going all out for him, it felt weird, you wanted to look pretty but not for yourself, not anymore, now it was for him. You didn't know why you felt like this, you weren't supposed to have any real feelings for him. But maybe you did. You looked through your wardrobe for the longest time before finally settling on the perfect outfit. You dressed yourself and checked your reflection in the mirror, satisfied with what you saw.

As you were grabbing your purse, you heard your phone beep with an incoming message, signaling that he was waiting outside for you.

You were filled with nervousness and anticipation.

When you saw Seungmin waiting in his car, your heart nearly stopped. You opened the car door and got in. His face immediately flushed, his eyes flickering up and down your body with widened eyes.

"Is this okay?" you asked, gesturing at your outfit.

Seungmin cleared his throat and nodded.

You laughed nervously and looked out the window, trying not to stare at him.

He pulled away from the curb, his eyes focused on the road in front of him.

He began to speak, "You look good," he said softly, but you heard every word, and you couldn't help but blush.

The car ride to the party was quiet. Neither of you said anything as the music from the car radio played. The atmosphere felt tense. It felt like you both had something you wanted to say but neither of you would. It made your stomach twist into knots.

Eventually, he pulled up to your friend's house, parked in front of her house and got out, opening your door for you. You smiled to yourself and grabbed his hand, feeling like it was the most natural thing for you two to do.

When you stepped onto her front lawn, the music blaring from the inside of the house seemed deafening. You could feel the bass vibrating in your bones.

You saw some of your classmates standing on the front porch, and Seungmin instinctively wrapped his arm around your waist, keeping you close to him. You leaned into him, feeling yourself relax. You loved his smell. The mixture of his cologne, mixed with his own scent was intoxicating. It made your head spin and your stomach flip.

He led you inside and you immediately regretted your decision to come. It was much too crowded, people were packed in like sardines and you were suddenly glad that Seungmin had shown up, or else you probably wouldn't have stayed for too long. He guided you over to one of the corners, away from everyone else, but there was still so many people in the house that it didn't seem to matter. He led you upstairs where the music was less loud and people weren't dancing and grinding all over each other. You walked through a bedroom and into an open balcony overlooking the backyard. There weren't that many people, only a handful of people chatting. It seemed like everyone was downstairs.

You smiled and leaned against him. "Thanks for coming with me," you whispered, wrapping your arms around his torso.

"Of course," he replied softly.

You couldn't help but lean your head against his chest and close your eyes for a moment, savoring his warmth and smell. He smelled kind of like laundry detergent and soap.

You looked up at him, and he was already looking down at you.

"Are you feeling alright?" he asked.

You nodded. "Just a little bit of anxiety is all."

"I thought this was your kind of setting?" He said, lightly swaying side to side with you to the slow music.

"Not at all, it's overwhelming." you replied, trying to make out his face in the dim light.

He nodded understandingly. "I get that."

"Well, since we're here," he continued.

Seungmin gently put his hands on your hips, and you felt your body freeze.

He continued, "If we're going to pretend we're in love, we should make it believable, right?"

You blushed at his words. You didn't think you could ever get used to this boy making your heart race with every single action.

You hesitantly returned the gesture, putting your hands on either shoulder of his and letting your fingertips dance lightly along his neck. The two of you were in a moment, the noise of the party below became faint and all you could see was his face. His gaze was fixed on you, the heat of his hands was so intense. You didn't care about the whispers or the eyes on you anymore.

"This okay?" He asked, voice soft and full of concern, almost a whisper.

You nodded.

"If it gets too much for you just let me know and I'll take us somewhere quiet, alright?" He spoke into your hair, his hands gently gripping your sides.

"Thank you," you mumbled into his shirt. "I feel so much more at ease with you."

His breath caught at your words.

The two of you swayed back and forth for what seemed like hours. You felt completely comfortable in his arms. His hands rested comfortably on your waist, his thumbs brushing against your exposed skin. You usually had to get drunk to tolerate these types of parties, but here, you were completely sober.

You couldn't believe the boy in front of you was real. You thought this stuff only happened in cheesy dramas. You leaned back to look at his face again, and found his gaze already on you. Your face grew red at how he stared at you, as if you were the only person in the world. You reached up and ran your thumb along the line of his jaw, your skin burning with each inch. His face grew warm under your touch, and he leaned down, closing his eyes, resting his forehead against yours. He gently rubbed his nose against yours, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

He opened his eyes again, and you could see his pupils dilate in the dark room, the soft glow of the lights outside illuminating his face. Your eyes locked with his and the two of you stopped swaying to the music. The music suddenly got louder as the two of you stood frozen. His eyes traveled from your lips to your eyes, and you saw that he was looking at your face as well.

"Seungmin..." you said softly, not even knowing how you would complete your sentence.

He closed his eyes again and tilted his head slightly to the left. You felt the tip of his nose brush against yours and the side of his cheek press against your cheek, making your entire body shiver.

Wasn't this all just for the rumors? Why did you want this so much? Why did your entire body yearn for him so desperately?

You leaned up, pressing a light kiss to his cheek. The moment your lips touched his skin, his body stiffened as if he wasn't expecting it. He turned his head so that his cheek was pressing into your lips and your eyes widened. He was giving you permission to do this, and he wanted to be sure you understood his permission. He wasn't expecting it, but he also didn't pull away.

Your heart raced faster, you leaned in to press another soft kiss to his plump cheek. This time his hand slipped around the small of your back to hold you closer and his eyes fluttered open to gaze deeply into your own.

His breath ghosted your skin and your lips parted slightly as you gazed up at him, eyes full of anticipation. His hand slipped into your hair, tangling his fingers in your soft locks. You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch, allowing yourself to savor his scent and the warmth of his body. This wasn't fake anymore, this was too real.

Suddenly, you were snapped out of your trance, your friend's voice piercing your ear.

"There you lovebirds are," she yelled from the other side of the balcony. "Everyone was wondering where you were!"

You pulled away, Seungmin's arms still wrapped around you tightly. "I was just getting a breather." You smiled.

"Yeah? A breather in his mouth? I saw you two smashing your faces together just now. Don't be a prude!" your friend laughed and pulled you by the hand towards the door, Seungmin trailing closely behind.

As your friend pulled you into the crowded house, she turned around.

"And I told everyone that you guys were coming downstairs to play drinking games with us." She smirked, her words slurring slightly. She was already drunk.

You groaned in frustration and shot a look over your shoulder at Seungmin. He smiled sympathetically and you rolled your eyes as you walked down the stairs into the crowd. The music was deafening. People were dancing everywhere.

Seungmin took your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, leading you toward your drunk friend and the rest of your 'friends'. You spotted some of the boys you had a class with sitting around the table. Your drunk friend had set out bottles of liquor on the coffee table and you assumed everyone else would be drinking just as much as her.

As soon as you took a seat on the floor with Seungmin and a couple of other girls you barely knew, the first question was shot your way.

"So how did it happen?" A girl asked as she sipped her drink, eyes fixed on yours.

"How did what happen?" You asked, looking over at Seungmin, who shrugged.

"Your relationship." She answered. "You guys are cute." She added.

Seungmin's hand was intertwined with yours, giving you a light squeeze.

The rest of your 'friends' chimed in with their questions as well.

"So you two are like a real couple? Since when? Are you going out?"

"Can we play games now?" Seungmin said, giving me another reassuring squeeze.

Your friend poured the liquor into plastic shot glasses and passed them out around the circle. She turned on some music and told us we should all take turns playing the games. The first round was Truth or Dare. You watched your drunk friends giggle as they each picked on each other.

One of them had just dared someone to drink an entire bottle of vodka in a single minute. The guy, of course, obliged.

Everyone else was laughing hysterically at the poor kid who was struggling to keep down all that liquid. You were starting to regret your choice in friends, these people were immature, especially in their drunk state.

When it was your turn to answer truth or dare, your drunk friend gave you a sly look before asking,

"Truth or Dare?" she slurred out, the alcohol already taking her.

You knew you couldn't tell them you were lying about having a relationship. Seungmin knew that too and gave you another reassuring squeeze, bringing you out of your trance.

You picked dare and everyone started hollering at you.

She said "I dare you to kiss the hottest person here."

You looked around at your 'friends'.

Your friend leaned back in her seat, looking around as well, her eyes lingering on Seungmin.

"It's a shame," she said as she looked him up and down. "I'd definitely hit it."

Your entire body stiffened as the girl in front of you looked up at you, then looked over at Seungmin, then back to you. She took a step towards Seungmin, raising an eyebrow as she waited for you to answer.

You gave her a blank look as your hand reached up and cupped the back of his neck, pulling him into you. His lips parted, allowing yours to brush over them lightly before you pressed your lips gently against him. He froze.

Your friend's voice was muffled behind you as she giggled.

His mouth was hot and tasted slightly of minty toothpaste. You didn't notice his hand resting on your thigh, gently rubbing it, trying to calm you down.

You broke apart, you felt like your heart was about to burst, if it was all for the act, why was your face flushing so much? You glanced over at your drunk friend and saw she was staring at the two of you with wide eyes and her jaw open in shock.

Seungmin wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you to his side and holding you tight, trying to comfort you.

"Wow," the girl said in disbelief, "I guess I'll just take another shot, then." She said and quickly poured herself another shot, downing it quickly before standing up.

"Alright," she slurred, "My turn now." She announced to the group of drunken party goers. "Seungmin, Truth or dare?"

You turned to look at him and he was still holding you tight.

You spoke quietly so only he could hear, "Please choose truth, I can't take it anymore."

He turned his head slightly, giving you a look before answering,

"Truth."

"Okay, well then." Your drunk friend looked around the room as she searched her mind for a question. "If you could only have sex with one of the people here, who would you choose?"

"My girlfriend." He answered instantly, giving her a look as if she was dumb for asking.

Everyone in the group giggled except you and him. He was just playing the game like they all were, but you were both not playing. The way he was holding you made it clear to everyone that he wasn't going to say anyone but you.

"Alright then," she said as she stood up. "You can't do Truth or Dare without shots, so here you go," She said as she handed each of you a shot of vodka. "Now get to it," She slurred.

Seungmin wasn't letting you drink though, so he downed both of your shots at once.

How could he take drinks so well? You've never seen him at a party before.

When you arrived at your friend's house, Seungmin had said that he would make sure he would get you home safe and sober. But seeing him take your shot for you, "You don't have to drink so much, Seungmin, I'm fine," You whispered to him.

He looked at you with a worried expression. "You've been looking down for awhile now," He whispered back, his eyes searching yours. "You're not feeling okay are you?"

"Just a little headache, that's all," You tried to assure him.

His eyebrows knitted together, he then stood up and laced his hand with yours, leading you back outside to the balcony where no one was around. The cool breeze blew and he walked up behind you, and you immediately felt better when all of the noise was muffled.

He stood close behind you, leaning his head down and whispering into your ear, "Do you want me to take you home?"

His hot breath on your skin made your eyes flutter and your heart rate pick up. Go home with him? Is that what he meant? Or were you picking up the vibes wrong?

He didn't even know what was wrong with you and you weren't going to tell him, either. You weren't drunk, so there was no way to explain away what you were feeling. Your entire body was warm, and not from the alcohol.

The boy standing behind you was sending goosebumps over every inch of your skin, making your knees weak, your head foggy. You weren't sure how much longer you could control yourself, and it didn't help that you and Seungmin were touchy the entire day. You thought your hormones would die down at least a little, but they haven't. If anything, your hormones only intensified.

Seungmin turned you around so you were facing him, placing both of his hands on either of your shoulders.

"Hey, you okay?" he said, eyes full of concern.

"Yeah, yeah." You answered, shaking your head to try to clear the thoughts of his hands all over your body, touching you in places that made your head spin, but it was to no avail.

"I think we should go," He said as he took a step back, hands falling from your shoulders.

You immediately felt empty without him touching you.

He walked towards the door and turned around to wait for you to follow. He didn't ask any questions or demand to know what was going on with you, but he looked like he was dying to know. You turned around, not wanting to tell him the truth. You followed him back downstairs and said a quick goodbye to your drunk friends. Seungmin opened the car door for you, even buckling you in.

You didn't even drink, why was he acting like this?

The two of you drove in silence until he pulled up outside your house. You thanked him and unbuckled your seatbelt, but Seungmin held on to your hand as you opened the door, not letting you leave just yet. You looked at him quizzically, wondering why he wouldn't just let go.

"What's going on?" He asked softly, looking you directly in the eye, not letting his gaze drift.

You tried to avert his eyes, not wanting to let him know how badly you were craving everything about him. You bit down on your bottom lip and shook your head, looking away from him, trying to think of a good lie. You didn't have an excuse ready for why you wanted him. You had no excuse as to why your body was betraying you so much. You didn't want to let on that you wanted more, more than this friendship, more than these fake dates, more than you could ever have. You just wanted to have a moment, just one.

You swallowed hard, your mouth dry as you finally looked back into his eyes, knowing it was too late to turn back now.

"Seungmin, I..." You started but your voice caught in your throat.

"Just tell me what you're thinking." He said, voice low as he squeezed your hand.

He had a way with words that always made you weak, and you knew he knew this, too.

You looked up at him through your eyelashes, feeling your cheeks start to warm from his gaze.

You decided to let go. To give up control of the situation. To give up control of the emotions that were driving you crazy, and let them take over your actions instead.

"You wanna know what I'm thinking?" You asked softly, not waiting for a response, just watching him as he continued to watch you, not speaking. You reached out and put a hand on his thigh, squeezing lightly before continuing, "I want to know how your mouth tastes. I want to know what your skin feels like against mine, how you sound when I touch you in just the right places." You let go of his hand and leaned towards him, placing a hand on the side of his neck, the tips of your fingers touching his nape, thumb resting against his chin, "I want to feel your fingers wrapped up in my hair." You let out a breathy sigh before continuing.

Your fingers grazed against his neck, moving to cup his jaw, running a thumb along his lower lip, "And your lips," you said softly, letting out another soft sigh. "I want to taste every inch of your skin," you said, feeling yourself growing warmer with each word that came out of your mouth, feeling your arousal start to take over.

Your body moved closer to him, your eyes locked with his. "And I want you to do the same," You whispered. He blinked at you, looking down at you. You took in a sharp breath before you continued, your hand still cupping his face, "I want you to touch me like no one has before."

He was staring at you in shock now. Your voice was barely above a whisper but he was able to hear every single word that left your lips. His jaw dropped slightly as he tried to process the information, and it took you a few seconds before you realized what you'd said to him. You slowly withdrew your hand, a deep blush covering your cheeks, spreading to your neck and shoulders.

"I- I'm sorry, I was just teasing..." You started, feeling your body tensing up and your heartbeat picking up, feeling like it might burst through your chest.

"No." He whispered, cutting you off mid-sentence. He grabbed your hand and placed it back on his jaw, looking down at you with dark eyes. "What did you mean?" He asked firmly, eyes never leaving yours.

Your cheeks burned from embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Seungmin." You mumbled, "C..Can we continue this conversation inside?" You asked quietly, not wanting to get caught in such an awkward position by any dormmates who might be lurking nearby.

Seungmin immediately turned off his car, opened his car door, and stepped out, opening your car door and unbuckling your seatbelt for you as well.

"Take me inside, then." He whispered. You took his hand, stepping out of the car and led him. You led him upstairs, the two of you climbing the steps and walking down the hall in silence, his hand gripping yours tightly, his skin burning hot against yours. Your heart was racing.

You pushed the door open, revealing your room. It was fairly clean, save for some laundry here and there. You looked over at Seungmin nervously before making your way towards the bed and patting the spot next to you. You looked up at him as he walked over and took a seat next to you.

"So, about earlier," he said softly, eyes never leaving yours, "You said you want me to touch you..." his voice trailed off, eyes searching yours before continuing, "What did you mean?"

His hand found its way back on your thigh, slowly stroking it and making you bite down hard on your bottom lip. You didn't think he would react so strongly, but it's exactly what you needed.

"Did you mean like this?" He asked, leaning down, lips hovering right over your neck as his hand slowly stroked your leg, moving from the top to bottom. "Or maybe like this?" he continued as he began to plant gentle kisses along your jaw and down to your collarbone. Your skin was burning everywhere his lips touched. His breath was hot on your neck, and you were starting to feel your arousal grow again, the heat between your legs only intensifying with each passing second.

"Mmmh," You moaned, unable to control your voice, the noise sounding foreign even to yourself. You had no control of your body as you arched into his touch. You couldn't tell him how badly you wanted him to fuck you until you saw stars, how badly you needed to feel his bare skin pressed up against yours. But the words were stuck in your throat as he continued to kiss and touch you, the heat building inside of you, driving you wild.

"Why? Tell me why you need me to touch you so badly." he asked, his lips hovering right above yours now, his eyes searching your face, his hands roaming across your skin, touching every inch of exposed flesh he could find, making goosebumps form on your arms and legs. He leaned down, his lips inches away from yours, waiting.

You didn't think your arousal could intensify even further, but it did.

You didn't know you were capable of making noises like those that were coming out of you. Your body felt hot and heavy. Your fingers found his shirt, and you grabbed onto it, trying to steady yourself. Your head was spinning. He pulled back just a fraction, looking into your eyes with lust and concern, making your head swim even more.

You leaned forward and pressed your lips to his. Your hands immediately found their way to the back of his head, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and pulling him in for a deeper kiss, letting his lips part yours and his tongue invade your mouth, letting him kiss you how he wanted to.

His hands found their way under your shirt and he slid them up and over your torso, cupping your breasts as his tongue explored your mouth, taking his sweet time tasting every inch of you. Your body arched against him, feeling him pressed against you.

You broke apart only for air. His breathing was ragged and uneven, just as yours was. His eyes were hooded and he was looking down at you. His lips were red and swollen from your intense kiss, his fingers trailing along your jaw. You pulled away, unable to take his teasing touches any longer. You looked up into his eyes with a pained look. You couldn't take it any more, the throbbing between your thighs was almost too much.

"Well? Tell me." he whispered.

"Seungmin, I can't take this anymore." You mumbled.

He looked down at you in shock, but you didn't meet his eyes, not wanting to see what kind of face he was making.

"What do you mean?" He asked, sounding genuinely confused.

"I can't take it anymore, It's driving me crazy. I like you so much, I like your touch so much, please just do something," you whispered, still avoiding his eyes.

Seungmin grabbed your hands, pulling them off of him and forcing you to look up at him.

"Look at me," he said sternly, making your eyes flutter as you looked into his eyes. "Say that again."

"I like you, Seungmin." You breathed.

He didn't speak.

He didn't let you go, and you didn't make a move to get up, either. You both stayed frozen in place. You weren't sure if the confession made him uncomfortable or if it excited him.

You finally felt Seungmin move and your eyes locked with his again.

"Why did you have to say that, hmm? Do you know how long I've liked you for? And you choose to say it now?" He said softly, eyes filled with an unexplainable emotion as he continued to look down at you, his grip tightening slightly as he spoke. "How am I supposed to respond to something like that?"

His voice was low and soft, his eyes searching yours with concern, making your heart jump at how serious his expression was.

"Just fuck me," you mumbled, unable to control the words spilling out of you.

He looked down at you for a second, processing your words, his eyebrows drawing together. He sighed as he stood up and started taking off his jacket, throwing it on the floor. He slowly took his shirt off as well, his muscles rippling underneath the material.

He took a few steps towards you, grabbing your waist and lifting you up effortlessly as if you weighed nothing to him. You were thrown onto his bed, him following suit, climbing on top of you and looking down at you hungrily.

His hands worked to remove the remaining items of clothing on your body as well, making sure to touch every inch of your skin, slowly. You looked into his eyes the entire time he was undressing you, trying to memorize his expressions. He pulled away for a moment as he finished pulling the last article of clothing from you, leaving you bare in front of him. His eyes raked your body, taking you in for what was the first time, his eyes hungry and wanting. He slowly reached for his belt buckle, unbuckling it, unzipping his pants, pulling his pants off his waist leaving him in just his boxers.

You reached down to stroke his hardened member through the material, eliciting a moan from him. He placed his hands on either side of your head, holding himself above you, hovering just a few inches away. He bent down, pressing a gentle kiss on your neck, letting his lips brush against the sensitive flesh before placing another kiss. He moved slowly, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses as he traveled lower and lower, until his face was level with your breasts. He gently kissed the tip of one before taking your nipple between his lips, sucking softly and swirling his tongue around your hardened bud.

Your head arched back, eyes shut tight.

He pulled back for a moment, his hand finding your face. He grabbed your chin with his thumb and forefinger, pulling it back up. "Keep your eyes on me." He breathed.

His other hand slid down to your lower stomach and rested between your thighs. He slowly dragged the tips of his fingers up and down the length of your pussy, his fingers gently parting your folds. You moaned, his fingers lightly brushing over your clit before moving to tease your entrance, your back arching in anticipation.

He finally sank one finger into you, then two, his fingers curling inside you as he pushed them in deeper. He leaned in again, his lips grazing your nipple as his fingers slid in and out of your wet pussy, your body writhing in pleasure beneath him. Your hands moved to grab his hair, gripping it tightly. You closed your eyes and threw your head back again, moaning his name as his tongue lapped at your hardened nubs. His fingers worked themselves in and out of you, curling upwards as they left your pussy, brushing against your clit with every movement. You felt like you could come just like that. He looked up at you as his lips grazed your breast again. "Do you like this?" he breathed. "Tell me how much you love it."

Your breath was ragged as you moaned.

"I...love it so much... please..." You whined, your back arching.

Your fingers pulled at his hair.

Seungmin groaned, pulling away and taking off his boxers. "Do you like seeing how hard I am for you?" he breathed. "Does seeing how much you turn me on get you going?" He took your hands in his, and pulled them down towards his throbbing erection. He helped you wrap your fingers around it, giving your hands a gentle squeeze, encouraging you to stroke it. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against yours as your hand began to slide along the length of his cock, moving up and down with your strokes.

"Keep going. That's a good girl." He moaned, his hand moving to cup the back of your neck and pulling you in for a passionate kiss as you continued to pump him in your hand. Your eyes locked with his. You felt his lips part yours, his tongue invading your mouth.

Your head swam with excitement. Your hand continued to stroke him in a steady rhythm. He pulled back and looked down at you.

"Fuck me, Seungmin. Please, fuck me."

He reached for your hands and removed them from him. He slid off the bed and stood at the edge of it, grabbing your legs and pulling you closer to him. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. You moaned softly as his lips moved from your mouth down to your neck. He pressed open mouthed kisses along your neck and down to your chest, his mouth closing around a hardened nipple.

He moaned your name softly. "You're so sexy when you beg. I want to hear you scream my name, do you want that, baby?" He breathed. He leaned down and gently kissed your collarbone.

You couldn't hold back your moans as you felt his hands caressing your body, exploring your skin as they wandered along your legs.

His eyes locked with yours. You watched him, transfixed by the way he moved, by how gentle he was. "Fuck me." You moaned. "Please, please..." you whined, begging. You reached for him, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him in for another heated kiss, your tongues colliding.

You moaned his name softly into the kiss. He reached between your legs, running his fingers up your wet folds, rubbing your clit as he stroked himself, making you shudder at the feeling. He positioned the head of his cock at your entrance, gently sliding his cock against your slit.

You gasped at the sudden sensation of him pushing himself inside you, the feeling making your toes curl as you grabbed at the sheets, your body writhing beneath him. Your eyes met his again as he began to thrust slowly, his thrusts gentle and languid as he eased himself inside of you, stretching your pussy, your walls hugging his length as he slowly worked his way deeper. He grabbed your hand and placed it over your head.

You moaned softly as he thrust inside of you, his eyes locked with yours. "How do I feel inside you?" He groaned, his hips stilling.

"So big... you fill me so well. Please don't stop. Please," You whined.

His hand reached for yours, pulling it away from his head. He slid your hand between you, letting your fingers brush against his chest as you continued to fuck yourself with him.

"Do you like this, baby?" He asked as your fingers found his abs and slid across them. His hands roamed over your body, squeezing your tits and pulling at your nipples.

Your head arched back.

"Yes... Yes... so good..." you moaned as his hips rolled against your body. His hands moved from your breasts, down your stomach to your clit. He rubbed small circles over it as he thrust slowly inside you, your body shivering at his touch.

He kept thrusting slowly as your eyes met. His hand found your hair, running his fingers through it. He gently grabbed it, tugging your head to the side, exposing your neck to his lips.

You moaned. "I'm close, please don't stop..." you moaned, your voice breaking slightly. You could feel the familiar build-up starting, your muscles tightening.

He bit down hard on your neck before pulling out of you. He didn't stop moving. He continued to push inside you as your walls began to clench around his cock. You let out a cry as the pressure built. He pressed a kiss to the sensitive flesh before leaning over and nuzzling his face into your neck.

"Come for me. Let me hear your beautiful voice when you come for me." He whispered in your ear, his voice strained with need, his breath hot on your skin. You cried out his name as you reached your peak, your entire body tensing.

He bit down hard on your neck as his body tensed against you, his cock twitching deep inside your pussy as you felt him cum in you. He thrust deep inside of you, you both riding out each other's orgasms.

His body stilled above you, and he kissed your lips gently before rolling onto his side and pulling you against him, letting your head rest on his chest as he ran his hand up and down your back. Your breathing was ragged as you laid there. Your body was sore, and you were sure he'd bruised you, but it felt good, really good. You didn't know you were capable of letting yourself feel like this. You felt Seungmin kiss your head, his lips gently moving across your skin. He let out a contented sigh as he held you close to him.

"You okay?" He asked, his voice quiet. "Sorry, I got carried away."

He said, his shy demeanor all of a sudden coming back. The whiplash scared you. You leaned away, looking him in the eyes.

"No, don't apologize. It was good, really good." you breathed. "Thank you." you smiled shyly.

He kissed your lips gently and pulled away.

"But, I kind of... feel you dripping out of me right now." You said, a blush on your face as you felt your cheeks heat up.

"Shit- I'm... I'm so sorry..." he mumbled. He slid off the bed, pulling his pants on and throwing you your shirt before walking towards the bathroom.

You couldn't help but giggle at the situation you both were in, "It's okay, it was amazing."

"I'm still cleaning you up," Seungmin mumbled.

He disappeared into the bathroom. A few minutes later he walked out, carrying a wet washcloth and some tissues.

You quickly pulled the shirt on, and then let him clean you up with the washcloth before he took the used tissues and threw them in the trash. He walked back over to you, sitting on the edge of the bed, his fingers gently running up your thigh.

"Are you okay?" He asked, concern written on his face.

"I'm okay," You assured him, nodding slightly. You pulled him in for a quick kiss and leaned back against the pillow again. "Just a bit tired," you admitted.

Seungmin climbed on the bed with you and laid down, pulling you to him so that your head was resting on his chest. "Get some rest, let's talk tomorrow."

"Thank you," You whispered softly, pressing another kiss to his chest.

You felt your body relax, the fatigue hitting you as your eyelids began to grow heavy. You nuzzled closer to Seungmin, wrapping your arm around his waist and holding him close, the heat of his body against your own warming your skin. He let his fingers run through your hair, massaging your scalp. The two of you stayed silent for a while, both lost in thought as your mind wandered, and you felt your body relax as your thoughts slowly drifted off, and you fell asleep.

٠ ࣪⭑

Your eyes slowly opened, squinting slightly as the sunlight peeked through the window and onto your face, blinding you for a moment before your eyes adjusted. You looked down to see that your head was resting on Seungmin's chest, your arms wrapped around his waist and his hand running through your hair. You took in a deep breath, letting the sweet smell of his cologne wash over you. It smelled wonderful.

You glanced up to see that he was staring at you, his eyes searching your face for signs of discomfort. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" He whispered softly. You smiled slightly as he stroked your cheek and nodded slightly.

"I'm fine," you said. "Just a bit sore."

"I made you breakfast while you were sleeping." He smiled, his eyes twinkling. He moved his hand from your cheek and gestured towards the food he had made for you.

You glanced up at him and smiled, a warm feeling spreading across your chest. He smiled back, and you couldn't help but reach out to kiss him. He pulled back from the kiss, his eyes still searching yours.

"Wait, so did we actually officially get together last night, or was that also just a part of the act?" He asked, genuine concern on his face.

You blushed as the events of last night came flooding back to you, causing a slight blush to creep across your cheeks. He was so cute you couldn't help but laugh.

"I like you, Seungmin." You breathed.

You could see a faint blush rising up on his cheeks as he looked at you, his eyes widening slightly before a shy smile crossed his lips.

"So that's a yes then?" He asked, smiling down at you, his eyes searching your face. You smiled at him, leaning forward and kissing his cheek, making him blush even more.

He glanced away from you, his smile widening slightly. "I like you too. I want you to be mine, my real girlfriend," he mumbled shyly.

The sound of his words sent a shiver through you as you realized this was all real and not just some dream.

His eyes widened as he looked at you, and you could feel yourself blush. You looked away from him, your cheeks heating up as you felt a slight smile forming on your lips.

"Okay, boyfriend, I accept your offer."

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

taglist for my beauties : @loverbangchan, @reignessance, @imperfectlyperfectprincess1, @armystay89, @ihrtlix, @jiyeonslays, @lovestaysblogs, @jeyelleohe, @celebration88

#skz #stray kids x reader #stray kids #skz smut #skz imagines #skz x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids smut #kim seungmin #seungmin x reader #seungmin fluff #seungmin stray kids #seungmin smut #seungmin #kim seungmin x reader #seungmin x you #seungmin x y/n

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supercutszns · 6 months

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sweet on you | jason grace

wc + pairing: 1k, jason grace x f!reader

notes: short-ish jason blurb while i chalk up some of my beefier fics (& my 1k celebration thank u again)<3 this is my first time publishing for him so hopefully this isn't too ooc! i need to let myself write shorter stream of consciousness things,, all fluff, just jason taking your makeup off after a party <33 also its set at chb because i said so

Whenever Jason washes off your makeup, he acts like it's his sworn duty.

You’re a little hazy as he wets a cloth in the sink, repositioning himself between your legs that hang limply off the bathroom counter. You keep scanning his face for any trace of weariness or urgency. After a long day of camp duties, the last thing you think he’d want was to clean up his drunken girlfriend after a secret party. But he’s as kind and patient as ever, and you don’t know if it’s your heart or the alcohol talking, but you are deliriously in love with him right now. He’s a leader—a brave, powerful demigod—but he’s only that good because he’s gentle. That's what you see, anyway. Everyone loves him for a reason, but you're still sure you love him most.

You got drunk. You got anxious. But it’s more than worth it if Jason takes care of you after. Even under these fluorescent bathroom lights, he’s beautiful.

“Why thank you,” he says, a bemused smile on his face.

You blink. “Did I say that out loud?”

“Sure did.”

The scar on the corner of his lip lifts as he kisses your cheek. You hum pleasantly, and you feel the ghost of his laugh before he pulls away. “Close your eyes for me?”

You oblige. In seconds, you’re greeted with the warm press of a towel on your face. Jason keeps you in place with his hand cupping your chin. “Let me know if I poke your eyes, okay?”

“If you do I’ll just bite your finger.”

“Awesome.” He works on sweeping the cloth over your skin to drag off all that makeup. You wait patiently, happily, indulging in the occasional idle chatter and the steady brush of Jason’s thumb underneath your chin. Every pass of his fingers against your face lulls you further into your haze. He’s warm, methodical, sweet. He switches the cloth to a different side and drags up your cheekbones. Your brain is mush with alcohol and appreciation.

“‘M sorry I got carried away, Jace,” you mumble, head swaying involuntarily. “Didn’t need to come get me like this.”

His soft laugh swims in your ears, and he lowers himself a bit to see you better. “Trust me, I wasn’t doing much. The only notable thing this evening was crossing the hundred-page threshold in my book.”

“Is it good?” You slur, toying with his dog-tag necklace you’d gotten him for his birthday.

He tilts his head, “Eh. Alright. I still like taking care of you more, though.”

You must be beaming stupidly wide, because Jason shakes his head with a smile, and he wraps his arms around you to kiss your jaw. “Besides, you’re sweet on me when you’re drunk.”

The feel of his lips would have shut you up in any normal circumstance, but your idiotic thoughts only heighten. “Sweet on you?”

“Mmhm.”

“That’s a thing?”

“Yes! They … people say it.”

His cheeks flush red in that insanely adorable way, and he presses his face back into your neck. “They said it in my book,” he mumbles, and you laugh so hard he has to shush you.

He goes through the rest of your rather particular skincare routine as per your instructions. He’s seen you do it a thousand times, but you repeat the order anyways just to be sure—although it’s likely you’re jumbling up your words and taking too many pauses for any of it to come out coherent. He takes his time, focused intently on the planes and ridges of your skin. If you were any more sober you’d probably be self-conscious, but sometimes his thumb runs across your cheek with a tenderness that has nothing to do with your serums.

Once all’s said and done, your skin refreshed, you’re practically snoozing on the counter. “Sweetheart,” Jason hums, winding arms around you once more, “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Only if it’s with you,” you yawn, cheek smushing into his chest.

“Well, that’s a given.”

He’s smiling again as he runs his hands down to your thighs, so you can loop your legs around his hips. “Hold on, okay?”

You oblige, relishing in the curl of his biceps against your sides as he hoists you off the counter. Usually you’d be hesitant to let him carry you around with you clinging to him like this, but your capacity for embarrassment had vanished about two drinks ago. You hear him chuckling into your hair as the breeze tickles your face, although it's far less severe in his arms.

Camp’s practically deserted this time of night so Jason has no problem getting you into his cabin. He puts you down on his lonely bed in a sea of marble, lit with nothing but the warmth of his reading lamp. “Thank you, baby,” you murmur as he helps you out of your clothes and gives you a shirt of his own. The way he smells reminds you of morning mist as he ties your hair back.

Soon you’re in your favourite place in the world: drowned in blankets on a cool summer night in Jason’s bed. You’re nestled snug against his chest, letting the fog in your mind settle as he traces shapes on your back beneath your shirt. Transfixed by the ebb and flow of his breath, you can’t help but press your lips to his collarbone, lazy chapstick kisses spooling onto his skin.

“Y’re right,” you mumble, “I am sweet on you.”

Jason laughs quietly, setting down his book. He taps on your chin to draw you out of his chest, leading you to his mouth. You’re giggling and falling into him before you even kiss. He tastes like sweet mint as he cages you against him with his arms, nothing but gentle. “Love you,” you whisper with a plucky smile.

He kisses your forehead, “I love you.” He disposes of his glasses and turns off his lamp, sinking the both of you down onto the mattress. “Get some sleep, angel.”

You must be a lot better at following instructions than you thought, because you smother yourself in his warmth and you’re sure you’ve never slept better.

#perrie’s fics #jason grace x reader #jason grace #jason grace fic #jason grace x you #pjo x reader #pjo fic #jason grace blurb #jason grace imagine #jason grace fluff

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neptuneiris · 1 year

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detachment (02/03)

did Aemond Targaryen truly loved you?

pairing: prince!aemond × niece!reader

summary: aemond not only breaks your heart after so many love promises, he also breaks his betrothal to you without any justification and announces his betrothal to a baratheon girl. now you will be married soon too.

word count: 7.9k

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hello beautiful people, finally here is the chapter you have been waiting for so long, im so happy, I hope you like it a lot❤ thank you very much for reading🥺

comments and reblogs are always appreciated, thank u, you are all awesome❣

—TWO MOONS AGO.

"I'm so sorry, my sweet girl."

"No, it's all right, mother. Do not worry."

"I know this is not what you wished for but—

"It is my wish."

You interrupt your mother with a small smile that she instantly knows is neither genuine nor convincing, to which she watches you for a few moments without saying anything, watching you intently.

She takes your hand and places the other on your right cheek to come closer and leave a sweet kiss on your left cheek that you allow to feel that love that only she transmits and comforts you.

She then pulls away from you a little without letting go and watches you with a small smile on her lips and a slight gleam in her beautiful lilac eyes.

"You know you have my full support, my love. And don't even think that I will leave you alone in all this," she assures you, "But I know you and you must not lie to me, Y/N."

You know that at this moment your gaze gives you away, as well as all the true feelings you are conveying but you still want to show your mother that you are willing to do your duty.

And it really is your relief that it is this person you are going to marry when it could have been worse.

"Mother, you must not worry about me."

"But of course I do," she tells you instantly, "You're my daughter and I love you."

"I love you too. But this marriage to Cregan Stark couldn't be better not only for me, but for the whole family," you remind her, "He is a respectful and honorable man. I know there will be much respect between us and eventually affection will be born. And we will have all the support of the North when the time comes for you to become queen."

She smiles softly again with that warmth and affection, gently stroking your cheek with her thumb, looking directly into your eyes with all that sincerity and love.

"But he's not the one you wish to marry, is he?"

So all those pent up feelings, they want to come out at that moment. And even more so because of the way she is talking to you and understands you completely.

"Even with all that your marriage to Cregan Stark offers…. it's not him."

You swallow hard and press your lips together, starting to feel the tears want to come out of your eyes, as well as all that feeling for everything that happened and thinking about everything that could have been.

You remember how a while ago everything was fine, how everything seemed fine, how you thought you knew certain things and knew certain people.

However, he broke your heart.

Worst of all, you never knew why. You really wanted to know what had happened, what had changed his mind and if you had done something wrong, but… nothing.

He left you totally in the dark with his reasons. He preferred you to suffer and forget everything as if nothing had happened from one day to the next to accept his sudden betrothal to Floris Baratheon.

And you truly wanted to understand at the time, feeling completely broken and shattered… but he never gave you an answer.

"It doesn't matter anymore, mother. He is betrothed and now so am I. I do not doubt that after my wedding with lord Stark, his with lady Baratheon will happen soon after. He made his decision moons ago and now so have I."

"Very well," she nods at you, "You learned quickly, my sweet girl. Just as I had to when I accepted my fate."

You smile.

"You mean my father?"

"Our story was in short times, always with a lot of duty involved and inconveniences. Until we could finally be together after that horrible night," she tells you softly, "But when you truly love a person, you can't help it and you just want to join your blood with them, no matter what."

You nod, lowering your gaze, understanding.

But really understanding.

You know that feeling and you know exactly who you used to feel that way with. You were even close to being able to bond forever. But now… you're about to do your duty without that person.

"Then, my sweet girl…" your mother says to you, getting your attention again, "I'll just make sure to arrive at King's Landing a day before the wedding, as you asked. Everything will be ready by the time we get there."

You smile softly in her direction, feeling very relieved at that and nod.

"Thank you, mother."

"Anything for you, my love."

After spending part of your afternoon with your mother, you head to another of the great rooms of the Dragonstone castle, where your brothers are practicing High Valyrian and your younger brothers are being cared for by the maids.

You immediately join in caring for your brothers, listening to Jace and Luke's Valyrian, correcting them on some pronunciations and helping them to formulate words correctly.

Then Rhaena enters the room as well to look after and keep little Joffrey company, letting you know that Baela has flown to Driftmark.

Normally as the night draws in, your mother and father also spend time in this Room, all together as a family, a time when Rhaenyra wishes she could freeze and stay all together like this forever.

And that's exactly what she thinks when she enters the Room and sees all her children, or almost all of them, together attending to different duties, with a little smile and loving look on her face.

Daemon is writing something on the large table, to which she turns to him, stroking her barely noticeable two-moon belly, with a new member to the family coming into the world soon, the prince or princess.

"What are you writing, my love?"

Daemon raises his gaze to her, with the seal of House Targaryen about to embed it in the letter.

"The word to Kings Landing with the news of Y/N's marriage to Lord Stark."

"Ah yes, I forgot to do that."

"And that's why I do it for you, ābrazȳrys."

Rhaenyra leaves a soft and loving kiss on her husband's head to continue on her way to her eldest sons, listening attentively to the High Valyrian, just like Y/N, ready to correct them.

Not long after, considering that the distance between Dragonstone and Kings Landing is not too much, the raven arrives at the Red Keep with the new and unexpected news, with Queen Alicent and her father Otto Hightower reading the message.

The Heir, Princess Rhaenyra returns to King's Landing in less than two moons with her prince consort Prince Daemon and her entire family to celebrate the wedding of Princess Y/N Velaryon to Lord Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell.

"This is vile and disgusting news."

"Father—

"With Lord Cregan Stark?" inquires Otto, "Do you know what this means, Alicent?"

"It can't be that bad, still Daeron's wedding to Lady Lannister adds soldiers and ships to us for Aegon's claim. So does Aemond's wedding to lady Baratheon."

"Rhaenyra will have the whole North on her side by the time the time comes and you know it. The whole fucking North fighting for her and her bastard daughter!" Otto exclaims in annoyance, "We can't let that wedding happen."

"Rhaenyra must already be getting everything ready at Dragonstone. And to try to stop her the wedding, she could easily marry Y/N to Lord Stark somewhere else," says the queen, "It will be useless."

"Call the Maester. Call the entire Council, immediately," Otto quickly orders one of his guards, annoyed and desperate.

The guard immediately complies with the Hand's order, so that very soon all the members enter and take their respective seats in the Council Chamber.

But not long after, Aegon and Aemond Targaryen also decide to burst into the room, Aemond mostly noticing that something is wrong and Aegon simply following, his grandsire surprised to see him in his five senses.

"What's the matter?" asks Aemond serious, approaching his mother.

But before his own mother can answer him, his grandsire does, only without answering him.

"Your wedding to Lady Baratheon will happen by the end of this month."

Aemond immediately observes his grandsire without any expression, hiding his surprise well, drawing the attention of everyone else in the room.

"We will send word to Storm's End's, Lady Floris should already be here by in less than five days and prepare everything immediately," Otto continues, "Not too soon after, we will send a raven to Oldtown and Prince Daeron's wedding to Lady Cerelle will also happen."

"May I ask, my Lord Hand, why so hurriedly?" asks lord Lannister.

"Yes, why?" inquires Aemond of his grandsire as well, with a tone of voice and a menacingly serious look.

But Otto Hightower deliberately ignores his grandson.

"Are you not pleased with the news, Lord Jason?" he inquires condecently, "After all, it is your daughter who is to marry a prince of the realm, my grandson."

"Not that I am complaining, my Lord, in fact I have been waiting to hear this news ever since we agreed to join our houses. But I was also hoping, just like my daughter, that the wedding would be relevant and not too attached to another wedding also of another prince of the realm. It certainly would not draw the attention of our people."

"This is not about getting people's attention, nor how attractive the union is, Lord Jason," Otto tells him seriously and clearly annoyed, "You should feel grateful that the union is going to happen, because I remind you that this is about Prince Aegon's claim to the Throne, or have you already forgotten?"

"I asked you a question and I'm not going to repeat myself," Aemond speaks again in his grandsire's direction, serious.

This immediately gets everyone's attention, but in the end it is Queen Alicent who responds in a soft, cautious voice.

"Y/N is going to be married."

This immediately gets Aemond's attention and also Aegon behind him, who was disinterested and even annoyed to hear his grandsire's words about his claim to the Iron Throne.

But this definitely gets his attention, he even watches his brother cautiously, waiting for his reaction, just like his mother.

However, Aemond keeps his usual neutral and at the same time serious face, hiding his true emotions very well, starting to feel how those true emotions run through his whole body and want to explode.

Otto watches him attentively, annoyed and serious, instantly knowing very well what he must be feeling. And that is what he, Otto Hightower, does not want.

"Yes, Aemond, with Cregan Stark, the Lord of Winterfell," he tells him seriously, "You too have already forgotten why you are marrying Lady Baratheon precisely?"

Aemond clenches his jaw, immediately this getting his attention and watching his grandsire with a deadly and threatening look, all this together with his posture showing that he is losing his patience.

And that everyone notices.

"Aemond," Alicent calls out to him, rising from his seat.

"When?"

Aemond's voice interrupts him, in the direction of his grandsire, his whole posture tense and his hands made into fists, his jaw clenched and his gaze like that of a dragon about to burn everything to the ground.

"I told you, by the end of this month your wedding—

"No, when will Y/N's wedding to Cregan Stark be."

He interrupts her in a firm, menacingly serious voice.

"It doesn't matter when it will be," Otto tells him in annoyance, raising his voice higher, drawing everyone's attention, demanding, "What matters right now is that these two weddings happen before the wedding of Rhaenyra's daughter to Lord Stark so as to invite all the great houses, even Cregan Stark and form alliances before Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon."

"In two moons, approximately."

Alicent replies to Aemond, noting how his anger grows more and more as his grandsire speaks, not giving him an answer.

"That's what they said on the raven they sent this afternoon from Dragonstone."

Aemond lowers his gaze, beginning to think about it, about how the wedding will take place here, at King's Landing, where he will have to be present and witness it all…to Y/N, his Y/N, getting married to Lord Cregan Stark.

Lord Cregan fucking Stark.

"I doubt we can do anything about it, my Lord," Jasper Wylde speaks, "The wedding is already a done deal, we will not succeed in convincing Lord Stark to change his allegiance."

"And this is a great advantage for Princess Rhaenyra and her claim," says Jason Lannister, " Her daughter, Princess Y/N and Lord Stark together is an excellent and convenient match."

At the words of some of the council members, Aemond can't help but feel downright sick, thinking of Y/N and Lord Stark.

As you should.

His own mind tells him, feeling the fire and anger coursing through his veins, unable to control himself, thinking about what is really going on here.

"We will do whatever it takes to still have as much support as possible. King Viserys will not last long and by now we would have to secure all possible alliances for when the time comes. If war falls upon us and if we pull this off… fighting Rhaenyra and her alliances won't be so hard."

"She will have the entire North fighting for her, my Lord."

One of the members tells him cautiously, thinking about the number of soldiers Princess Rhaenyra will have at her disposal, also all the people supporting her claim, that adding up to the whole Valley.

"That's why we need to be more clever," Otto Hightower insists, "My grandchildren's weddings will be paramount in this. We need to send a raven to Oldtown, now," he turns to the Maester, "I need Daeron here at King's Landing and your daughter as well, Lord Jason. After Aemond's wedding, he—

"No."

Aemond Targaryen completely interrupts his grandsire in front of the Queen and the entire Council, drawing everyone's attention, surprised by his boldness and deadly behavior in the direction of his grandsire, who also gives him a threatening look.

"You had plenty of time to plan my wedding with Lord Borros' daughter. It's not my fault that until now you are acting when your job as the Hand is to act since you knew the threats," he tells her seriously and completely firm with his words, "If you want a wedding, plan Daeron's, not mine. I will not be a part of your incompetence when I have already given you too much."

"You are forgetting your place, Aemond," Otto warns him in a careful tone and one in which he fully tells him that he does not want to contradict him now.

But Aemond has had enough.

"You are forgetting your place," he replies in kind.

"Aemond, that's enough," his mother calls to him instantly, letting out a long breath, "You don't want to get married now, that's fine. But don't forget that eventually you will have to," she reminds him earnestly, "After all, Lady Baratheon is still your betrothed and she along with Lord Borros expect the wedding to take place soon."

Again Aemond feels sick to his stomach as he listens to his mother's words, thinking of his betrothed, Lady Floris Baratheon. The very thought of marrying her makes him feel unhappy.

But it is the truth… she is still his betrothed and whether he wishes it or not, he will eventually have to marry her, because his family swore an oath with hers, not him, but his family.

And he has to live up to the weight of that oath.

"We should continue to discuss the marriage of Princess Y/N to Lord Stark, my Queen," says the Maester.

"There is nothing more to discuss, the chances are slim with Lord Stark and we will have to focus on bringing the marriage of my son and Lady Cerelle to the attention of the great houses."

Queen Alicent begins to lead the entire Council, as Otto Hightower continues to watch Aemond with daggers in his eyes, serious, furious and incredulous at his behavior.

He thought he already had everything under control, but Otto forgot that he is not a dragon and the blood of the dragon in anyone who possesses it, especially in Aemond, is chaotic and reckless.

"Congratulations, brother."

Aegon catches Aemond's eye, watching him over his shoulder as he gives him a friendly clap on the back, almost whispering his words.

"You said you hoped our sweet niece would soon outgrow you? Well, now she's marrying the lord of all Winterfell," he says with a small smile, "She's definitely outgrown you."

And with nothing more to say, Aegon leaves the Council Chamber, not interested in the matters of the realm, much less to plan a fucking wedding and have his grandsire take it upon himself to form alliances for his claim to the Throne, as if he cares about such a thing.

As Aemond stands still for a few seconds, watching him go, his words repeating over and over in his mind, anger again coursing through his body, fire, hatred.

He wishes he could prove his brother right, but the truth is that he is very wrong.

Unable to stand it any longer, he quickly heads out of the room as well, not wanting nor caring at all to discuss these matters, this room really displeasing him by bringing back bad memories.

And as soon as he faces the corridors of the Keep, again Aemond remains static for a few moments and his mind again thinking about things he really doesn't want to think about.

But he can't help it.

Like that time he also rushed out of this room, leaving the woman he loves behind, tearing her apart in the worst possible way and pretending not to care.

Even as one of the fiercest and most brutal knights of his time, Prince Aemond doesn't know where he found the courage and strength to break Y/N's heart… his Y/N.

He has always characterized himself as an honorable and respectful man, especially to Y/N, but what he did to her… was out of his nature and highly unpleasant.

And once he was in the safety of his chamber, the first thing he did was sit in one of his chairs near his fireplace, wanting to feel the fire, with the realization slowly starting to become clearer to him, realizing what he had done.

Aemond remembers the last time he cried, it was when he was a little boy in one of his episodes over his lost eye.

A terrible migraine kept him awake for a whole day, he couldn't even get out of bed and couldn't bear to see the light of day. His mother held him tight and was there for him all the time, not even leaving him alone for a second.

Alicent tried and ordered everything to make him feel better, but the Maesters couldn't do much and all he could do, all he learned to do since he was a little boy, was to have to endure the pain.

And since then, the first tear falls down his right cheek.

Aemond, upset, angry and disgusted with himself, cries. And he actually allows himself to cry as he remembers his Y/N's precious face completely shattered and red from her crying, her whole look confused and in need of explanations.

And he couldn't even give her that, an explanation.

And the worst part was that they already had it all. It was all said and done, they were going to be husband and wife finally, as they had asked for so much.

But he finally snatched away her illusion and simply left her without explanations. And that's what makes him lose control completely.

Furious, feeling like a coward, an idiot and annoyed with himself, he lets out a growl and starts breaking everything in his room, with despair and anger in his body.

He screams and blames himself for that weight on his shoulders, a weight that does not belong to him, a weight that he had nothing to do with from the beginning and a weight that he had to let go of the woman he loves when he almost had her because of his family's ambition.

That night the servants had to silently clean the room of Prince Aemond, who, unable to bear it any longer, went for a ride in Vhagar, wanting to forget everything and everyone.

And now, in the present, him in the middle of the hall with the thought of Y/N marrying Lord Stark soon… it's too much.

And he knows it's the same feeling she must have felt when he broke her heart.

He couldn't agree more that he deserves it, but he didn't want to let her go either. Nothing he did was really his choice, but that was the right decision.

And now…he still has to face the consequences of his own actions: Y/N's marriage to a man who will not be him.

"There you have it, my princess."

"Thank you, Emelly," you smile at one of your maids, who leaves you a tray with your almost every night tea so you can fall asleep, "You can rest now."

" You don't need anything else, princess?"

"No, I'm good, thank you. See you in the morrow."

"Of course, princess. Get some rest."

The maid leaves your room, who looking at you in your mirror you continue brushing your straight, silver hair, preparing for sleep.

You've already gone to your siblings' and Rhaena's rooms, especially the little ones', to wish them good night.

Your mother and father have also already come to speak with you and have your usual conversations of the night, where they talk about your wedding to Lord Cregan more than anything else, Daemon and Rhaenyra making sure nothing else haunts your mind.

They know that a wedding can cause too much stress, especially when you're marrying the one you didn't expect from the start, talking about duty and what's expected next from you and your husband.

Your older brother Jace had told you it's a stressful but very necessary conversation, considering the next wedding in the family will be his and Baela's.

You let out a long breath, leave your brush on your dressing table and head off to drink your tea, needing to sleep.

You take the cup from the tray in your hands when the napkin catches your attention. You frown and notice how there is something sticking out from under that napkin, hidden but wanting to be seen specifically by you.

You set the cup down on the table and pick up the napkin, curious and wary, realizing that it is the small envelope of a letter, definitely catching your attention more than before.

You analyze it and there is no indication of who the message might be from. So you decide to open it, finding a small sentence and an addressee that makes your heart jump in your chest and your lips parted.

Meet me at our place by the Hour of the Wolf. I need to explain everything to you, please. I will be waiting.

A.T.

Your pulse starts to race, your whole body starts to shake and you read the message over and over again, your system making you feel more emotions and feelings as you read who has sent this to you.

You think to yourself that this must be a joke or even perhaps some kind of trap, thinking that this can't be. But you know it's him.

It's his handwriting, you would recognize it on any piece of paper, as well as the signature he always uses in all his messages, short and subtle.

Now you understand why so much mystery. But you honestly don't understand how he could have gotten his message to you. It's practically impossible.

Unless he hired or paid irrelevant people, because Emelly is extremely loyal to you and would not have done this considering your history with your uncle, as well as anyone else knows it.

Your uncle who right now must be waiting for you.

Your mind tells you as you look at his message in front of you, surprised with your parted lips, with a feeling starting to invade your chest that you don't know exactly what it is but… it causes you some emotion.

And you can't. You truly can't do this.

You remember everything that happened, what he did to you, what his grandsire did to you too, and how broken you felt, how he broke your heart and left you without explanation, only to become betrothed to Floris Baratheon.

You swallow hard, walking to your huge windows, looking out at the night outside and barely lit by the fire torches that light a little of the roads around Dragonstone, looking out beyond the sea, in the direction where that island is and where you and Aemond used to meet.

You press your lips together, feeling a sharp pain in your chest, as well as that uncertainty and beginning to take into consideration what he has written to you on that little piece of paper.

But again… you can't.

You are both betrothed. You are betrothed to Lord Cregan Stark, you will marry him soon and then… probably he will marry Lady Floris Baratheon as well.

You know you shouldn't even consider it, you know you shouldn't feel that curiosity and longing, because he doesn't deserve it.

That's why you make your decision just as he made his moons ago.

Even though you admit that it hurts and even costs you, you still think of yourself, because he doesn't deserve you to feel this way about him, not after all the damage caused.

You don't know what Aemond really thinks, but it certainly isn't entirely wise to ask you to meet in the hour of the Wolf as if nothing had happened.

And what a coincidence that he does this just when your wedding is in a few more weeks.

You stare out over the sea for a few more moments, thinking, but having already made up your mind. You let out a long breath and without hesitation, you head to your fireplace and throw his message into the fire.

Then you head back to your table to drink your tea and drink it all down so you can finally sleep and forget this ever happened.

While on the small island in Blackwater Bay, Aemond Targaryen keeps Vhagar close by, watching as he sits on a huge rock on the sand of the beach towards the direction of Dragonstone, waiting for you.

He doesn't really find much to entertain himself with, beginning to feel anxious with each passing minute and still not seeing any dragons approaching in the night sky, getting up and pacing back and forth, letting out long breaths and trying to calm himself.

He would be a fool not to have thought that maybe you would ignore him and not even in your greatest madness, the other side of the Targaryen coin, would you agree to meet him after all that happened.

Of course he had thought about it. But he still decided to risk it.

But the minutes pass and pass, with Aemond waiting for you, disappointment and reality coming at him like a strong wave every moment he is still there alone on the island.

He feels frustration beginning to course through his body, also anger but not for you, but for himself.

He thinks of your soon marriage to him, Lord Stark and feels more despair coursing through him, not even bearing the thought.

He asks the Seven to you please show up, really wanting to explain himself.

But he knows it is too late. He was never going to get this chance, because he really hurt you too much and he knows it, he knows it and he has the memory more vivid than ever.

But even though he knew it, he can't help but be disappointed as he continues to wait for a dragon in the night sky that never came.

—PRESENT

The days go by too fast after the conversation with your mother and after so many preparations and requests for the wedding.

When the wedding day finally arrives.

Your mother overlooks her pregnancy, considering she is barely four moons pregnant, to ride Syrax and take her with her to King's Landing while you ride Silverwing so you both arrive in the capital a day before the wedding, as you wished.

You try to suppress all feelings along with the nerves of returning to the Red Keep, where there are many buried memories and people from the past. However, you are here for your wedding.

You know that this visit is brief just to get the wedding over with and nothing more, then your family will return to Dragonstone or probably your mother will decide to stay again to take care of your grandsire, while you will go to Winterfell.

You really want to know the North. It was one of the few conversations you had with Lord Stark and he agreed, as well as both of you being present at Court after spending married moons.

And you really have no intention of anything else happening and just let it happen as it should. And just before the sun sets, you and your mother arrive at King's Landing.

You meet your father, your brothers, sisters, also your grandmother Rhaenys and your grandsire Corlys, even also Queen Alicent welcomes you both back and also gives you her congratulations for your wedding.

If you didn't know her, you wouldn't know that her smile is fake. Clearly Alicent didn't want you to marry her son but neither did she want you to marry a person as influential as Lord Stark. But honestly you don't care.

She is the one who directs you and your mother to the king's chambers, to whom your mother wishes to speak and also in case she wants to dedicate a few words to you for your wedding.

On your way back to your room you meet your aunt, sweet Helaena, who welcomes your mother with a charming look and smile, also you, congratulating you on your wedding.

Fortunately you don't meet any other relevant people, just as you didn't see him or his betrothed anywhere, which you are thankful for.

Because the sooner this could happen, without distractions and unexpected inconveniences, the better.

The only thing you remember about that night when you arrived at King's Landing is that you had to drink a large and considerable amount of your tea in order to sleep, not being able to fall asleep because you were thinking about tomorrow.

And honestly also for thinking a little about him.

You were afraid that he would suddenly enter your chamber through the secret door, because surely he hasn't forgotten his request to meet you on the island to explain everything and you never showed up, but fortunately that didn't happen.

And when you least expect it, you are already at the celebration feast with all the guests present, you looking like a bride, waiting for your betrothed, everything going according to your mother's plan.

The common thing in a wedding is to get married at the Septon and then move on to the feast, but in this case, your mother chose the other way around, just like her wedding to your father, Sr. Laenor.

You learned that Alicent had questioned this, but your mother didn't care much, just reminded her that this was how her wedding had once been and that this way, you would feel less overwhelmed, knowing you perfectly well.

When it all begins.

They have already announced the king, also all your family, only the Hightower-Targaryen and also your betrothed are missing.

Your grandsire is seated at the large table next to his wife on the right side, while your mother is seated on his left side, followed by your place and then your betrothed's place. Your father takes a seat at the head of the table on the left side along with your brothers and sisters.

All the lord's and lady's present are spread throughout the Throne Room, as the food will soon be served and the musicians are already in position to begin at any moment.

Your mother at your side holds your hand to give you her support and her soft, sweet smiles in your direction to help with your nerves. Although she also makes sure that your entire appearance is intact.

It was always Rhaenyra's wish that her daughter, her first daughter, would have a wedding like hers was.

She would also prefer a Valyrian wedding, in fact that was her illusion when the king gave his blessing for the wedding between Y/N and Aemond.

But now, things are different and considering that Lord Stark is not Targaryen, clearly, a Westerosi wedding was the best option. And you did not complain at all.

In fact, it filled you with excitement and affection that when your father and grandfather saw you entering the Room, with your appearance for the occasion, they instantly told you that you wore them many years ago, when they were also in this same place and your mother married your father, Laenor.

A white dress with shoulder-length sleeves draws attention with golden details and some chains adorn around your waist with dragon figures.

Your hair falls in elegant waves, reaching above your waist, with some very subtle braids adorning the top of your head.

Your mother wanted some golden pins to be placed between your hair, also jewelry such as gold necklaces, rings and bracelets, to look more and properly like a Targaryen princess.

When at that moment, they announce the missing people at the big table. The people or rather the person you most expected and never wanted to arrive at the same time.

"Prince Aegon Targaryen, first born son of King Viserys Targaryen with his lady wife, Princess Helaena Targaryen."

The doors directly in front of you allow you to see the entrance of your uncle and sweet aunt who together make their way over to you to take a seat beside Queen Alicent.

Aegon's appearance is appropriate, however, due to all the rumors that keep spreading to Dragonstone, his condition is far from the best for a prince of the realm. His tired face with large bags under his eyes and his clear boredom and disinterest in being here is clear.

However, after all he seems to be willing to drink wine and enjoy himself.

But your sweet aunt by his side completely overshadows him once the view is on her and her beautiful sky blue dress with light silver tones and all her bright and sweet look that characterizes her so much.

When they announce the next people and you try not to make a big deal of it once Aegon and Helaena take their seats.

"Prince Aemond Targaryen, second son of King Viserys and Prince Daeron Targaryen, the third and final son of the king."

So both of them, he, now enter the Throne Room and you avoid looking too much, as well as feeling too much.

You try to distract yourself with the fact that you hadn't seen Daeron in a very long time, nor had anyone else, not even your mother or father. You thought he would still be in Oldtown because he wasn't even here for Helaena and Aegon's wedding.

Maybe he really wanted to fly here, but he was not allowed to, maybe because of his age, knowing that Queen Alicent does not like dragons and is very overprotective in that aspect.

But now that you are looking at him, he is tall, very tall. Not as tall as he is, but for his age, he's definitely growing into a man. But even though you want to focus on Daeron, you don't as you focus on him, inevitably.

His walk hasn't changed, neither has that determination, that confidence and that kind of power he possesses just by looking at him, also that fear and respect at the same time.

And his appearance… hasn't changed either.

Maybe his continuous training has made him look a bit stockier of his arms and his body in general, but his hair, his face and his eye patch is the same.

But he gives you the impression that he's even more handsome.

You look away from him in an instant, as everything that happened comes back to you in a matter of seconds, which is inappropriate. But all you can think about is him.

His hugs, kisses, caresses… all those words of love, all those wishes and all those promises… all only to end in an unexplained broken heart. You swore that he and you were destined to burn together. You swore that you would marry in the tradition of your house.

You swore it would be him and you.

But he made his decision.

And now here you are. He's betrothed and so are you, where by the end of the day you'll be married.

You completely avoid looking at his face once he starts to walk up the steps to take a seat next to his brothers, just like Daeron. You don't feel his gaze at any moment, just as you don't dare to look at him either.

When you ask yourself; where is his betrothed?

She must be here for such celebrations if they are betrothed. And you are sure that Floris Baratheon would not want to miss such an important celebration at the Red Keep.

However, he is all alone and his betrothed seems to be nowhere to be found. Doubt lingers but the feast gives you something new to think about when they announce your betrothed.

"Cregan Stark, lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, the future lord husband of the bride, Y/N Velaryon."

At that moment, everyone at the table rises to greet your betrothed who walks towards you with a kind and respectful smile, looking very well for all this celebration. Or at least most of the people at the table stand up….

You can notice out of the corner of your eye how on Queen Alicent's side some people are still seated, but you don't dare look at them, though you get an idea of who they might be.

Still you focus on your betrothed who bows to the king once he arrives at the table and then makes his way to you to take a seat next to you.

Not before taking your mother's hand to plant a gentle kiss on the back of it, which she accepts with a kind and sweet smile and then turns to you and does the same with more affection.

You smile in his direction as you return his gesture by placing a soft kiss on his cheek and then both of you take a seat, as well as everyone else. When your grandsire, the king, gives a short speech before the feast begins.

And once everything has been said, the feast begins. The music starts and the food is served.

You feel his gaze for a few seconds, not long enough, but you don't notice him at all and continue to enjoy the feast. You talk to your mother from time to time and also to your betrothed, that is if your father and Jace are not talking to him asking him about Winterfell and the Wall.

Your sisters also ask you from time to time if you are feeling well and you can only nod, telling yourself that this is really happening and you have to completely ignore his presence.

When the time comes for the opening of the dance.

Cregan rises from his seat first and offers you his hand to lead you to the center of the Room, which you gladly accept and together you walk to dance in full view of everyone, a traditional Westerosi dance.

It is a simple dance, nothing difficult and you really enjoy it, while you focus your gaze at all times on him, Lord Cregan, who also smiles softly in your direction and does perfectly the right steps, all under the watchful eye of all the nobles present and also of your family.

Both of you stand back to back, and then both of you slowly raise your arms to shoulder height, while you can't help it and turn your gaze towards him, already feeling since the dance started his burning gaze.

Aemond has a meaningful look on his face when your gaze meets his, acting nonchalant, watching you intently, raising his wine glass to his lips.

You can only smile really ungracefully and turn your gaze to the front, continuing to dance and focusing only on your betrothed.

While Aemond at all times… wants this to be over and done with. Though I'd prefer to think this isn't really happening.

He feels like an alluring force, as he can't take his eye off of you, looking at you so beautiful in that dress, knowing in an instant that this is not the dress you would have worn for their wedding. But you still look really beautiful.

A true Targaryen beauty.

A warm feeling envelops him every second he sees you there, so perfect, dancing, smiling and catching everyone's attention, his especially at your every move, not realizing that his face gets softer every second as he watches you.

However… everything is replaced by hatred and anger when those smiles are directed at Lord Stark. And by the way he looks at you too… he wants to burn everything to the ground, clenching his hands into fists.

"Easy, little brother."

Aegon murmurs behind him, over his shoulder, amused, his breath smelling very strongly of wine.

"Everyone can sense how you're starting to wake up. You don't want to cause a fucking scene at our niece's wedding because of your jealousy, do you? Grandsire won't be too pleased."

Aemond can only feel that rage come over him more, knowing full well that Aegon has no intention of calming him down, but to provoke him further and do exactly as he has told him.

And he is succeeding.

Especially in the moment when he again focuses on you, smiling at Lord Stark, glowing and looking this beautiful but for him, Lord Stark, not for him, the one she was supposed to marry and be completely his.

And he regrets it so much, he regrets it so much that he called off their wedding and also leaving you without explanation, knowing that this is exactly what he deserves, to see you happy without him.

As the dance of just the two of them ends and a new song begins, in which he watches as Y/N, his Y/N, places one of her hands on Lord Stark's shoulder and the other intertwines with his, his other hand on her waist, this only making him angrier.

A more choreographed dance begins and the nobles in pairs also begin to join the center of the Room to dance, beginning the real celebration.

And Aemond sinking in his own misery, thinks that he could have survived watching Y/N dance with Lord Stark at an appropriate distance. But now they are both chest to chest, smiling and talking about something with all the nobles also dancing around them.

He doesn't understand that important thing that the two of them are talking about, but he doesn't like it at all, neither does the closeness. In fact he doesn't like any of it.

All he wants is to get her away from him, away from all of this and make her his, finally, no matter what.

His breathing starts to get heavier by the moment, thinking that by the time this is over, she will already be married to him and they will go away together, where they will have to consummate the marriage.

The very thought makes him only feel more enraged and more courageous to snatch her from his arms, not caring about her family and his, not caring about his grandsire and his words, not caring about his mother's words either about "you have to control yourself and think of us."

Not only does Aegon notice her state, so does his grandsire, who watches him intently and cautiously, noticing the look on Lord Stark's face more than menacing, about to do something foolish even though he was very clear with him before attending this feast.

He also catches the eye of Rhaenyra, who watches her husband and subtly points to her half-brother, instantly Daemon knowing exactly what is going on.

And how could he not know?

It reminds him of him many years ago, also watching the woman he loves, about to marry someone else who is not him.

He places a small half smile, bringing his wine glass to his lips, watching his nephew attentively and amused, almost expectantly, wondering even though Aemond has his full attention on you, if he will finally do something about it or what.

"Aemond," his grandsire mumbles to him.

But Aemond, beginning to go into his madness, doesn't watch or listen to him, watching you intently.

"Aemond, I'm warning you," his grandsire insists.

"Oh come on grandsire," Aegon tells him amused, "You know it will be useless. I can tell you don't know him."

And even though Aemond is immersed in his madness, he still thinks and remembers the words of his grandsire and mother.

"I will overlook that it was you who prevented the raven to Storms Ends from arriving when you knew perfectly well that your betrothed should have been here days ago."

His mother tells him seriously and annoyed.

"Now you will attend this wedding alone and I expect you to behave yourself. Just as I expect you to come to terms with the idea that you will marry Lady Baratheon by the end of next month, without protest."

"And you are not going to commit any of your foolishness at the Y/N wedding, do you understand me?" Otto immediately threatens him, "You're not going to talk to Y/N, you're not going to threaten Lord Stark either, and you're going to let the wedding happen in peace, is that clear? "

Aemond feels a bitter feeling, continuing to watch you attentively and him watching threateningly, with the fire in his body about to explode.

"You know what your problem is, grandsire?" Aegon says to Otto Hightower, who watches him seriously and on the verge of losing his patience, "You question the blood of the dragon too much."

And in that same instant, Aemond rises from his seat in a confident movement, with his gaze firmly fixed on you, who are completely disinterested in what is happening with him, completely focused on Lord Stark.

And Aemond's movement completely catches the attention of his grandsire, his mother, also your mother and father, who in an instant look at each other, definitely remembering the past.

Aemond makes his way towards you, not caring about anything.

He doesn't care about his mother and grandsire, he doesn't care about the war that will probably befall them when his father dies, the only thing he cares about at this moment is you.

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#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x oc #aemond x reader #hotd aemond

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hazashiovo · 6 months

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Hi! Could I ask for Sokka (if u write him)/Zuko and Tenzin (again, if u write him) falling in love with a tattoo artist badass s/o please?

I loved your badass hcs! 🫶 you’re such an awesome writer!

Thanks in any case and have a lovely day!

I write for Sokka and Zuko, not Tenzin tho ,hope it's ok

The first time Sokka saw you was when he was undercover in fire nation grounds.

It would happen that he passed by your shop,and out of curiosity peeked inside to see what's going on and all.

And then it happens,he sees you in all your glory. Tattoos imprinted on your body making you look like a goddess.

One specific tattoo caught his eye, a dragon image surrounded by red butterflies was drawn on your back.

He could see it because you wore a dark tank top ,low enough for your tattoo to be seen by the world.

When he returned to the camp he couldn't get you out of his mind, especially the arts imprinted on your body. Unfortunately he couldn't take a better look at you without looking like a creep.

But the next couple of days he spent his time thinking of you. Katara noticed and asked what's up with him,but he just shrugged her off and continued his day, mostly thinking about you.

Soon after ,He and Katara found their way to the city,in the area where you worked at. And then again, Sokka saw you.

He tried averting his gaze,if Katara saw him he wouldn't hear the end of it.

Fortunately Katara left to go buy food for the others, allowing Sokka to stare at you.

Then it came,that feeling from a few days ago, you turned around to check if your gut was right,and there he was , looking at you dumb founded.

You shaked your head,yet approached the boy who seemed to rudely stare at you.

"It's inappropriate to stalk and stare at someone,you know?" He remains stuck, trying to gather his words and finally speak. His eyes watching as you put both of your hands on your hips,head tilted expecting an answer.

Woah,your hands are also drawn on,yet he can't really decipher the designs.

"Helooo?" You snap your fingers in front of him,his gaze turning to look at your face.

Lord,were you gorgeous. Just like the designs drawn on your body,your breath taking.

"You're gorgeous." Really Sokka? That's the first thing you speak to her? Oh boy.

Your expression contorts in a confused one, registering the words he just spoke.

"Thanks? Even so ,that doesn't excuse your staring." You furrow your brows, deciding to cross your arms to look more intimidating.

"I'm sorry,it wasn't really my intention,but I just uh, really like those things that you have all over your uh body." He points with his hand at your hands, you chuckle, realizing he was just admiring the art stuck to your skin.

"You mean my tatts?" He watches as you quirk an eyebrow, figuring that's what they're supposed to be,he nods.

"Yeah,they're awesome!"awkwardly he rubs the back of his neck.

"I made those on my hands, I have a shop downtown,but I'm pretty sure you saw me there too." You speak, referring to the time you also felt stared at,only to turn and see a flick of dark hair leaving.

Sokka blushes, he didn't mean to seem creepy,he was just stuck,that's all.

Then he recalls what you just said. "Wait,you did those?!" The boy points at your hands with a pretty shocked expression on his face,mouth almost agape.

"Yes dummy, in my shop,where I tattoo people?" You quirk a brow up, amused by his care free personality.

"No way! That's so cool!" You could see he almost jumps of the ground. Another chuckle leaves your lips.

"I could muster up a pretty cool design for you,if you ever feel like it." You shrug, your eyes darting to your own tattoos.

"Oh uhm,I'm honored but I don't know,I never really thought about something like that." Sokka laughs awkwardly, yet inside he feels so warm,like someone is fire bending in him.

"Have it your way pretty boy." You shrug, turning around ready to leave, after all there's a client you have in an hour.

"I'll see you around !" He shouts after you, attracting the attention of other people in the market.

"Who are you shouting at?" Katara pokes him in the side, making her brother joint up.

"Katara uh, no one! Just my imaginary friends." He'd give her this smile, hoping she would drop it and go on with their day.

Don't worry Sokka,it's not the last time you get to meet your dream girl ;)

Zuko admired what you did. The precision one must have to be able to do what you do...

He already said he could never do something like that.

But he does love your own tattoos.

Especially the one on your tigh, a snake surrounded by white flowers. And he made sure to tell you that.

He hangs around your shop pretty often, especially when he was hiding in ba sing se, sometimes making sure nobody is trying anything with you. It's just how Zuko is.

He even asked you one time if you would do something on him.

"You want me to tattoo on you?" You raise an eyebrow,a small smirk on your mouth.

"I mean yeah, I wouldn't mind." He would shrug ,and explain in detail how exactly he would like his design and how big,it would bring a big grin on your face.

He's a proud boyfriend, and he loves watching what you're doing.

After he becomes fire lord,you're his official court artist.

Zuko claims it's for your safety mostly.

He's just lovestruck by you and can't handle not having you around him.

#x reader #atla #atla x reader #reader #avatar the last airbender #zuko #zuko x reader #sokka #sokka x reader

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queer-overwatch · 6 months

Note

Hi!! Could I request maybe a Venture x Reader (Any pronouns will do) on like a museum date? I want Venture to yap.Please and Thank you. ( Also bless the both of you I needed more Venture content I was tweaking without them)

Venture at a Museum!

Aaa ty sm for the request!!! I love that idea so much- they are such a yapper I love them <3 also your welcome hehe, had to take thing into our own hands >:3 (also bc u didn't request a specific format (like hcs or oneshot) i just did a short lil oneshot, hope thats okay!) -Frisk

══════ஜ▲ஜ══════

"Look, look- they have a whole section on rocks! Kinda basic selection but it's still rocks!"

You never thought you'd be able to learn so much about rocks in one day, but it seemed like Venture had made it their personal mission to force as much information into your brain as possible. You didn't mind, really! It was always nice listening to them rant about all the cool stuff they found while walking around the museum you'd planned to bring them to, but it was a lot to take in at once.

"Augh, I love sedimentary rocks- they're my favorite! 'cuz sometimes they have like, little fossils in them and I'm like, "Woah! A cool thing in another cool thing!" and it's awesome! One time I found a trilobite fossil in a rock, it was so cool! I wonder if they have any here- that'd be so amazing! I wonder what they taste like-"

After spilling every single fact they could think of about the rocks on display, Venture drags you to a section of the museum dedicated to Egyptian history, though they mostly just seemed interested in the architecture of the pyramids. You really did try to listen, but you mostly just caught the gist of their long, long, long explanations- something about a Mastaba being like a sort of prototype to pyramids? You were just happy to see them so excited, even if you didn't quite understand what they were so hyped about.

"Oh, if only that British lady could go back to ancient Egypt and get the architects of their time to answer my questions! I'd give anything to be able to do that!" Sensing the slight disappointment creeping up on them, you decide to try and bring Venture elsewhere, not wanting them to spend any energy on being upset by what they can't do.

"Why don't we go look at the dinosaur fossils? I'm sure there's some mistakes in the descriptions that you can correct!" You take their hand, gently pulling them away from the long essay-like description of images of the pyramids that they were reading. Incising them with promises of being able to show off their intensive knowledge of dinosaur fossils, or fossils in general.

Venture perked up almost immediately, following behind you as they ready themselves to go on and on about their favorite dinosaur ever, the Deinocheirus! You tried to ask why it was their favorite ones, and all they said was something about it being "them fr fr" and having rocks in its stomach. You weren't too keen on questioning that one.

They take a large step so they're walking next to you, swinging your arms as you walk, "It's always been one of my biggest goals to find a dinosaur fossil! I really hope I do one day, if I did I could die happy!"

"Please don't die- I would be so sad if you died." You squeeze their hand, voice light as you joke with them.

"Aw but I wanna! I wanna be a fossil for future people like me to discover! When I do die I wanna be buried with a bunch of cool stuff! Maybe mess around with my bones a little, just to throw 'em off!" As you finally reach the fossil exhibits, they abandon you to run off and check over every. single. fossil. which while endearing, gave you a lot of running to do in an attempt to catch up.

"Finally! For once a museum that gets everything right! Well, everything as far as we know-" They stand next to one of the larger fossils, not anything you recognized as you take your place next to them, catching your breath.

"Wow, how impressive-" you wheeze, standing up straight and stretching out your legs as you link arms with Venture, trying to stop them from running off on you again.

They laugh, grabbing you by the shoulder and dragging you in the tightest hug you've ever received.

"Thank you, so, so, so much for planning this. And for listening to me talk about rocks so much, and for caring about me- and a million other things! I can't even remember everything you've done for me, but I know its a lot!" They let you go, still holding you by the shoulders, the biggest smile you've ever seen on a person splayed across their face.

"Of course-! I love spending time with you, you're well aware of that, silly." You laugh, grabbing their wrists and taking their hands off your shoulders, holding their hands as you admire the glow of excitement on their face.

"Welllll since you clearly don't mind, can we go to this other museum I found online next week?! I heard they have an area where you get to watch an hour long video on the story of Julius Caesar!"

#venture #overwatch venture #venture x reader #venture overwatch #overwatch x reader #sloane cameron #if i made any mistakes anywhere please tell me-#im a lil stupid #Xornk

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thisgirlnamedblusy · 9 days

Note

pspspspspsps here kitty kitty kitty (Joking,... now you laugh) ....

Italian, Fem!Reader, that had traveled briefly to the village, to sell some books, movies, and whatnot -- just to grant the vilagers some sense of like.. the outside world? If that makes sense?

Reader, having already timed their escape, decides to go to that peculiar house up on the hill, across the bridge, before their departure, -- maybe the residents, who, Reader thought, was an old couple, or a very wealthy woman, .. maybe even one of those trust-fund families.. yes! Reader BET that the inhabitant of a place so grand would spend a pretty penny on some foreign knowledge.. maybe, Reader could even upsell. Yes! That would be enough to pay off Readers risky carriage fees.. (nervous laughter)

Reader, ignoring all darkness, all red flags and blatant signs of danger, because, well, Reader is very oblivious, and very optimistic, -- and, well, they barely know English, so, .. how would Reader know what the villagers say about the owner of said.. Oh-so large mansion? Pfft. As if.

'Oh.. its getting dark. Jeez, the trees sure do make this place gloomy!' 'Uhhhh.. why do i have a blaring sense of discomfort, nausea, unease, and a will of fright that makes my stomach churn with instinct to yeet myself the opposite direction? Oh, man, i knew i shouldnt have eaten that un-refrigerated fruit!'

Angie, if i remember that dollies name correctly, answers .. takes one look at Reader, in all of their 'Italian-beauty-standard-fitting', 'italian-book-carrying', 'Donna-language-speaking' glory (Donna language speaking because.. Italian. That was also a joke. Plz laugh), and immidiately, with that screechy voice calls Donna over

Donna fucking FAAAWNNNSSS over everything Reader has, buys their entire stock, then, out of pure gushy-ness, of how nostalgic, and amazing, and flavourful (meaning, how much stuff that Donna was desperately searching for, Reader has in stock) Readers 'for-sales' are, that she, spur-in-the-moment, ushurs Reader inside, makes them tea and whatnot,

well.. so much for Readers plan of escape. Poor bus-maid Reader hired, they thought, as they sat awkwardly beside the lady in black, veiled thickly, who was talking in Italian, since, well, Reader has little to no knowledge of english. Atleast shes also Italian. Thats nice. Wait.. why does Reader feel their cheeks heating up? Gosh, darn it, Reader has read (aha) far too many romance books.

Make it so that, since Reader, who, now, cant escape the Village, since their little plans of flight had been SPOILEDD!! (reference. Chuckles) they stay with Donna, then, after awhile, after teaching Donna everything they know about Italy, and get really comftorable with her, and sees her without her veil on accident, and cooks traditionally, does fucking .. house chores, because, well, they're an unpaying guest in a strangers home, they both start catchin' feelsies and all that sweet stuff. I'll leave the deciding of when and how to you! How generous of me!

(No smut, please. Aroace look'enne for sum intimate, not-so-intimate love. Aha. Joke again. Just a little giggle, please 😨)

Hope ya have an amazing day!! Yes, i know im too descriptive, im just awesome like that. Much apreesh, Anon. 💗

(p.s, thank u blusy 🫂🫂🫂 virtual hugs from italy. ciao bbg.. or.. bbb.. i dont .. i dunno)

Yesss!!!! Well, that was quite long request, but it was funny to write!!! Thank you for sending it and for your funny words!!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language(s) mistakes!!!!

Foreign Business

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem, Italian! Reader

Warnings: fluff, Donna being Donna

Word count: 8,585

Summary: Should you leave that gloomy village?

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

“17:30, do you hear me?” the young woman driving the small bus said.

You rolled your eyes and nodded, picking up your stuff.

“I don't think it will… How do you say… take long,” you murmured with an innocent smile, taking out your suitcase as best you could, letting it fall into the snow.

“Hey, stranger,” the girl said, with a gloomy look. “You have to pay me now.”

“Cosa? No, I'll pay you when I get back,” you said with a frown, crossing your arms.

“I'm leaving,” the girl whispered, starting the vehicle again.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey! No, no, no…” you said comically running towards the small bus. “Why are you in such a hurry?”

“Look stranger, it's clear that you have no idea of what’s going on in this place, right?” the driver asked, with a raised eyebrow. You shook your head and smiled innocently.

“Hey, I was invited,” you protested confused, giving up and taking out your wallet.

“Who has invited you?” she wanted to know.

“I have a relative in this country who is also a businessman,” you explained, putting on your coat because of the cold. “He says he is known as… The Duke.”

The girl looked at you curiously, but finally shook her head.

“No idea…” she murmured. “Besides, that doesn’t matter to me. My job is to bring you here and take you back to Bucharest. If for… Well, for whatever reason you don’t come back, I’ll be left without my money, do you understand?”

“Why wouldn’t I come back?” you asked nervously, looking down the hill, where the old village stood in a frozen mist. “I'm just going to sell my stuff and…”

“You bore me,” the driver sighed, with a mocking laugh that made you burn with rage. “Just pay me now, spaghetti.”

“Mm, politeness is not your best virtue, is it?” you murmured, wishing to say other things, other not-so-elegant words.

After all, that stupid girl was your only transportation in that place in the middle of nowhere… You should control your desire to insult her with all your might.

“I'd rather be rude than stupid,” the young woman laughed, extending her hand for you to give her the money you were holding, squeezing it tightly.

“Ugh, here, your money,” you grumbled, getting a satisfied look from the driver, who turned off the engine, reclining her seat and picking up a magazine.

“A pleasure doing business with you, spaghetti...” she sighed with a sinister laugh.

You, without her seeing you, made fun of her, angrily picking up your suitcase and walking towards the path where you had met with the Duke.

“Stupida...” you hissed, shaking your head, observing the landscape around you.

The trip had been exhausting. Dodging the mountains, those snowy landscapes had taken you too much time, but, that seemingly remote place had a special charm that made it worth it.

You were always a saleswoman, descendant of a family of merchants that expanded throughout old Europe decades ago. Sell, buy, repeat… That was your way of life. Trading in the villages of your country, Italy, was something simple for you, perhaps too simple.

The lack of interest of people in the modern world for something as simple as books, films, or any element of culture, had caused your business to falter, and you had no more than four clients in your area.

You always believed in tradition, in following the family legacy, even when circumstances were not in your favour. You could say that you were also a bit stubborn. Your family branched out to all possible places, places like France, Germany, Spain…

They all seemed to be haunted by the same curse, the same lack of interest in a good book, in knowledge itself.

But there was one place, a place where the tentacles of your family had arrived to stay for a long time, a place where the past lived, where present and future seemed not to exist at all.

A distant relative, the Duke, was for you the luckiest member of the family. Not even your parents knew how long that man had been in that village, in Romania. There were even rumors that he never came, that he never left, he had always existed.

Nonsense and legends in your opinion.

What you did know was that in that place, there were some business opportunities.

You had heard many things about the Duke, about the place where he worked. Apart from old superstitions and legends of witches and vampires, things you didn't believe in, you had heard that the people of the place lived completely oblivious to the outside world.

A unique opportunity. How much would a person pay to know what the world around them was like?

You didn't really care much about the reasons, those strange rumors. You didn't even wonder why that village seemed to be frozen in time. The only thing you thought about when you got on that plane was business.

“Qui...” you sighed when you reached that meeting point the Duke marked.

Without having anything else to do but wait, you sorted your merchandise while you studied the snowy forest that surrounded you, trying to decipher the old wooden signs that indicated illegible directions.

“Re-Reser-Reservoir...” you stammered, removing the snow from one of those signs, looking around. “Un bacino idrico?” you asked, scratching your head. “Mm, interessante...”

Yes, maybe if you finished soon you could do some sightseeing and, above all, you could see the enormous castle that seemed to guard the village.

The minutes passed, you couldn't tell if quickly or slowly. Nothing, there was no sign of the Duke. You might not have known what he looked like, but… In reality, you hadn't seen anyone pass by that path.

The cold began to mix with impatience, making you shiver.

“Ah!” you shrieked when, out of nowhere, a flock of black crows appeared, passing over you, close, too close.

Those black birds seemed like an evil omen, but you were too eager to know that place to realize it. Simply, with a proud cough, you stood up from your crouched position, shaking the snow off your dress.

“Uccelli…” you growled furiously, watching how that flock of crows moved away with sinister sounds.

Checking that your merchandise was still intact, you closed your suitcase, crossing your arms, slowly losing patience.

As you sighed for the umpteenth time, you realized that maybe you were in the wrong place. Asking wouldn't do any good, and besides, there was no one you could ask.

“Mm?” you muttered when you noticed something different among your stuff, a sealed envelope that you could swear wasn't there before.

Looking around confused, thinking no way those crows left that envelope, you slowly picked it up, opening it with a frown. As you began to read, you looked nervously at that forest again. It was a letter for you, in the middle of nowhere.

Dear (Y/N)

I'm afraid something unexpected has come up. It prevents me from attending to you, even though I was certainly looking forward for us to meet. I suppose that, since you are my family, to trade in the village on your own won't be a problem for you.

I'm sorry for the inconvenience.

PS: A word of advice, listen to what the villagers tell you, I wouldn't want the wolves to devour you, or anything worse. Please take care of yourself.

Duke

There was no doubt about it, that letter had arrived there by magic. The idea of messenger crows seemed less and less crazy. But the reality was overwhelming: you were alone in that unknown place.

You had two options: You could take your suitcase, walk back in your tracks and go to the bus, writing yet another failure in your diary, a very expensive one. On the other hand, you could ignore those chills, that feeling of being where you shouldn't be and do what you had come to do.

I wouldn't want the wolves to devour you, or anything worse…

That warning seemed like an irony, a little joke that was surely common to all outsiders like you. Well, it's not like it was a place where there could be wolves but… That wasn't the disturbing thing. What could be worse than being savagely devoured by those beasts?

Curiosity or cowardice, that was your dilemma.

With a thoughtful sigh, you looked at those two possible paths, imagining that, under each of them, there was a line of text that told you which page to go to, like those adventure books that offered several possibilities, some of them fatal ones.

You always fantasized too much thanks to those books. Maybe if you had been as rational as the protagonists of those great adventures, you would have considered your possibilities better.

Shrugging, not wanting to have wasted your money on a fruitless trip, you didn’t listen to the Duke's letter. After all, your job was to talk to people, you didn't need his help, or so you thought.

The castle was increasingly imposing as you approached. It was fascinating, a place from a novel, full of possibilities. Surely when you returned home and read one of those books, you would imagine that gloomy and mysterious landscape.

The glances traveled to your eyes passively. These villagers were definitely strange, they seemed to either fear you, or wish you away, you weren't sure.

Unfortunately, your eagerness to offer knowledge to these poor souls was unsuccessful.

Muttering things you didn't quite understand, in an English that was practically incomprehensible to you, which, on the other hand, was bad luck, since you didn't fully master the language either, each one of the doors of those old cabins closed in your face.

“Hey, I haven't even said my name!” you protested after the tenth disinterested grunt from one of the inhabitants of that place. “Cazzo…”

The door opened again and a young woman with an apologetic look appeared.

“Forgive my father. He doesn't trust outsiders,” the young woman said. Well, at least she spoke to you. “My name is Elena.”

“Sono (Y/N),” you said politely, shaking your hand with the young woman's, who frowned upon hearing you speak that way.

“It's clear that you're not a villager,” the girl joked, closing the door.

“No, I'm Italian,” you said, with a business smile that you had already rehearsed.

The young Elena nodded curiously, glancing at your suitcase.

“Are you a merchant?” she asked, pointing at your merchandise.

You nodded slowly.

“Yes, I've come on behalf of a relative... His name is, or he calls himself... Duke,” you explained with a trembling voice. Your nerves couldn't fail you. At least you had managed to talk to someone.

“The Duke?” the girl asked, with a surprised look. “Wow, I didn't know he had a family.”

“Yes, but he seems to be the only one who is successful,” you murmured jokingly, pronouncing the words in the best way possible. “Well... Elena, right? Are you interested in something?”

“No, I'm sorry. I'm afraid we have everything we need,” she said, shaking her head with a kind smile. “My father says that books are a waste of time.”

“Sciocchezze,” you sighed with a mischievous smile, showing her a vinyl record. “What about music? It's the sound of the soul.”

“No, no, I... I'm afraid we don't need anything like that,” Elena shook her head again.

“Oh, great,” you said, letting your smile fade at the thought that you couldn't even get enough money to recoup the investment of the trip.

“Don't be offended, just…” the young woman said, gesturing with her hands to emphasize her apology. “… We just work to live, that's, that's all we do, anything else would be entertainment.”

“Oh,” you said curiously, arching your eyebrows.

“But, um…” the girl said, looking around. “Maybe, maybe I know someone who might be interested.”

“Do you?” you asked.

Elena nodded, briefly pointing to a large house that stood out from the orchards.

“Luiza has always been a very cultured woman, and she is very kind. Maybe she would want to listen to you,” the young woman explained, in a kind tone. You blinked, looking at the indicated place, and smiled. “She lives up there, in the orchards.”

“Elena!” A loud voice was heard inside the cabin and the girl shuddered.

“I'm coming, father!” Elena shrieked, with another apologetic look. “Sorry, (Y/N), but…”

“Oh, of course, there is no… Pro-problem,” you said nervous about the impatience of that unpleasant man. “Luiza… Okay. Ciao!”

At least that girl helped you not to lose hope.

Elena wasn't lying, that Luiza seemed a bit different from the rest of the villagers, kinder, smarter, with an understandable English... It seems that you interested her enough to invite you into her house.

“Wait there, I'll make tea,” she said kindly, indicating that you sit at a table where a man seemed to be sharpening a knife with a distrustful look. After a few tense seconds, the man left his task, looking at you with distrust.

“So you're a merchant...” he whispered, tilting his head and crossing his arms.

“Yes,” you answered, with that well-rehearsed smile.

“And an outsider...” he whispered, with a sinister smile. “Luiza says you are related to the Duke...”

“That's right,” you said, without losing your merchant composure.

He laughed, shaking his head.

“Wow, I didn't know the fat man had a family,” the man said, with the same surprise in his voice as the young woman before. “Where are you from?”

“Italy,” you said proudly, ignoring those dark eyes, which hardened when they heard you answer.

“Italy, you say?” he asked, leaning a little towards you, narrowing his eyes. “You say you're related to the Duke?”

“Y-Yes,” you stammered, confused by that change in attitude.

“Mm, are you sure you're related to the merchant?” he asked suspiciously, making you nervous. “Hey, maybe by any chance you know...”

“Ahem,” Luiza interrupted, serving you the cup of tea. “Marcus.”

“What? I'm just asking, the girl says she's Italian,” the man, her husband, apparently, protested. “You and I know who…”

“Marcus,” Luiza said, with a firmer tone. The man shook his head, sighing in defeat. “Don't scare the poor girl.”

“Bah, if she's not scared yet, she must be brave, or stupid,” Marcus commented, laughing amused. You made an effort to smile at that little joke, smelling the delicious aroma of tea.

“Okay, (Y/N), unlike my husband, I’m interested in those foreign items… Do you have any opera records?”

“Oh, sure, sure,” you said, as if coming out of a confused thought, opening your suitcase and putting on a display of everything you had.

Well, you did manage to sell a few things. You would always be grateful to that woman, the only kind woman in that place, apart from the young girl, of course. But even with that partial success, you didn't have enough to feel like you had succeeded.

If that woman had bought you something, nobody was telling you that there couldn't be more Luizas in that place. You just had to find them.

You were ready to leave that house, when a small book caught your attention. It looked like a book full of old photographs of the village. You approached it with curiosity while Luiza kindly opened the door for you.

“Um, sorry, but... Can I take a look?” you asked, pointing at the book. The woman looked at her husband and he shrugged, making a vague gesture of farewell.

“Of course...” the woman sighed, faking a smile. You returned it gratefully, starting to turn the pages of that album. “This village is an old one.”

“I see,” you commented nodding, turning pages and pages full of snowy landscapes. “My family had told me about this place, but... Well, not much. What is this?” you asked, pointing to a kind of square guarded by four large statues.

“Those are the… The four founders of the village,” Luiza explained. “The Dimitrescu family, owner of the castle; the Moreau family, owner of the lake lands; the Heisenberg family who owned a metal factory on the outskirts of the village, and the… The Beneviento family, the doll makers.”

“Oh,” you sighed interested, not even hearing the names very well, you were more attentive to those old photographs. “Does anyone live in the castle? I'd like to visit it.”

“Um, no, I…” the woman stammered, making you frown. “I don't think you should go near it, (Y/N).”

“Isn't it open to the public? What a pity,” you said with a disappointed voice.

Luiza made a strange gesture, shaking her head.

“Young lady, take some advice from me,” the woman said, speaking in a very low tone, approaching you with a hand on your shoulder. “You must leave this place.”

“Why?” you asked, confused, looking away at another of the photographs, one with a beautiful mansion, guarded by a waterfall.

It quickly caught your attention, even making you ignore the kind woman's warning words.

“Because…” Luiza sighed, with a broken tone, as if she were afraid of something. “It's not the best place for an outsider.”

“Oh, yeah, well,” you said, amused, gesturing with your hand. “I have people skills. That's not a problem. Tell me, is this house in the village?”

“Oh, that house…” Luiza murmured, looking at the same photograph.

“It's impressive,” you said curious. “Does anyone live there?” you insisted, running your hand over the drawing of what looked like a symbol, one with a moon and a sun.

“It's, it's far from here,” the woman commented, closing the album and subtly pushing you towards the exit. “Listen to me, don't go near that place. It's very dangerous.”

You shook your head with wide eyes, pulling your suitcase.

“Everything here seems very dangerous,” you commented with a low voice and a frown. The woman put on a sad look, caressing your cheek in a strange way.

“Go away, (Y/N), go away before the shadows invade you,” Luiza whispered, turning her back on you and closing the door softly, leaving you petrified on the floor.

“Cosa diavolo non va?” you asked yourself with a strange grimace, slowly moving away from the house.

Ignoring these strange warnings, you walked aimlessly through the village, looking for someone who wasn't afraid of your presence, or who wouldn't bow their head, ignoring your greeting.

Tired from your erratic walk, you decided to lean against a stone sculpture, in the middle of another snowy square. Failure loomed in your thoughts, in your mind, wondering if perhaps with the Duke present, things would have been different.

You looked at your watch and sighed, it was still early to leave, and even more so when you had barely sold four things. You had to make an effort, either that, or try another nearby village.

The crows flew above you like a bad omen that you couldn't interpret. The sky was dark, gloomy.

Don't let the shadows invade you...

Luiza's words echoed in your ears, words you didn't know how to interpret, or rather, that you didn't want to interpret. You were in a different country, in a different culture, lost in that snowy, sinister village. Even though you believed that nothing could go wrong, a bad feeling began to haunt you.

Yes, maybe it was time to leave.

You stood up with a defeated gasp, shaking your head, depressed by your ridiculous failure. But, you had barely taken two steps when something caught your attention.

In front of you was a wooden door, a kind of fence that separated a private property. Above the frame, there was a symbol, one that you remembered having seen before: that moon and that sun.

Your mind was left thinking. Yes, surely that would be the way to the waterfall house. It had to be. Luiza warned you to not get too close but… Curiosity was calling you.

Okay, it wasn't a huge castle but… Still, that mansion couldn't belong to just any villager. The curious relationship of wealth, bigger houses and kindness that you found in the village made you think that maybe someone rich lived there, a person or family with enough money to think about leisure or wisdom.

“Mm,” you murmured curiously, approaching that place, looking at that symbol closely. The door was open. You almost thought you heard whispers that encouraged you to enter that dark path.

You swallowed when a cold breeze came out of that darkness. Your body trembled for no reason, but your mind was blinded by greed. You couldn't miss that opportunity to know what or who was on the other side, who lived in that place.

The sunlight illuminated the path you had to follow with increasingly less intense rays. Slowly, you followed that luminous advice, entering through the wooden door, walking towards the unknown.

It didn't seem like a very strange place, or so you thought. The trees seemed sad, that place seemed devoured by time. Strange objects hung from the almost rotten branches, which you passed by without flinching.

You simply kept your mind busy, like a danger blocking mechanism that seemed to alert your subconscious. Instead of worrying, when you saw that those things hanging from the trees were dolls, you simply whistled, making your way through the branches with a slow walk.

You passed an old wooden bridge, one that said: go away in all possible languages. You were never good at interpreting those words, those screams from your mind that demanded your attention.

The sunlight diminished as you walked, it was getting dark. The branches of the trees drew disturbing shadows that surrounded a pair of ruined cabins.

“Brr,” you shivered when you saw those wooden claws stalking you.

The smile never left your face, but your body began to notice the symptoms of that inner fear; a dizziness, a feeling of heaviness in your stomach... All of these were physical signs that seemed to want to stop you in your tracks.

You even thought that the tea or the fruit you ate at Luiza's had upset your stomach. No, you didn't see the danger in any way, or rather, you didn't want to see it.

Finally you reached a clearing, where a mound showed a sinister grave you didn't want to approach. Your stupidity and your desire for wealth were so strong that you thought it was perhaps a simple decoration.

“Un ascensore...” you murmured when you reached a red door, surely the entrance to that curious mansion.

Biting your lip, you rubbed your hands entering those metal bars. Of course, whoever lived in that place had to have a lot of money, and, above all, a great desire to spend it. You fantasized about what you were going to find: a rich family? A widow, perhaps? A wealthy man? Maybe one of the founders of the village’s descendants? It didn't matter who it was, but you could smell money from miles away.

When you got out of the elevator, the sight in front of you forced you to stop. There was that house, that huge house with a beautiful waterfall next to it.

“If this doesn't work, I'm leaving the business,” you said, rehearsing in your head the phrases to say to the inhabitant of that place, greetings, smiles, all your charms.

The sound of the falling water relaxed you, although you didn't know why you were even nervous. The word danger whispered in your mind like a premonition or intuition, but you let the waterfall completely eclipse it. The beauty of that place couldn't entail any danger, you were convinced.

You cleared your throat as you approached the door, slowly climbing the steps. At the moment, there was nothing that matched Luiza's warnings, nothing, until, before you could knock on the door, it opened with an ominous creak.

“Um, hello?” you asked, seeing how, in front of you, there was nothing but a beautiful wooden room, with a rocking chair that moved by itself. “Ciao...” you repeated in a lower voice.

There didn't seem to be anyone in that place and you sighed, relaxing your shoulders and looking around.

“Oh!” you squealed in fear when you looked down, where, what looked like a ventriloquist's doll was standing looking at you. “Oh... Cazzo... What...” you said upset. “Good... Good trick...”

Smiling, thinking that, like the gravestones in the clearing, this was just a joke, you crouched down curiously, looking at that puppet.

“Hello?” you repeated, standing up again and ignoring the doll, which, perhaps because of the accumulated fatigue, you thought was following you with its gaze.

“Down here, stupid!” a high-pitched screech scared you again, making you fall backwards, tripping and crashing your body against the hard stone of the porch.

But neither the pain of the fall nor the fright were the worst. Yes, you were not dreaming, if it was a joke, it was the best one you had ever seen.

That doll, that damn doll moved, moved its articulated mouth, laughing out loud.

“Who are you?” the puppet asked, approaching your collapsed body. You backed away scared, crawling until you reached those small steps.

“Ahhh! Una bambola parlante!” you shrieked in fear, standing up as quickly as possible with your hands in front of your body.

“Who are you calling a talking doll, you silly, silly?” the puppet asked.

No, there was no doubt. There were no strings, no ventriloquist, it was alive.

“Ah, io, io… What?” you stammered nervously, shaking your head, blinking hard to make what was undoubtedly a hallucination go away. It didn’t.

“Wait, wait, wait, can you repeat that?” the doll said, approaching with a comical step. “What did you just say?”

“Cosa?” you asked, grabbing your suitcase, ready to run away. “Sorry, I… No, no… What?”

“You called me a talking doll,” it said, crossing its arms.

You nodded confused.

“I'm, I'm, I'm sorry... No, no...” you stammered, still shocked and scared by the impossibility of that old toy. It couldn't move, it just couldn't.

“Who are you?” it asked again. “Why do you know Italian?”

“I-I-I'm Italian,” you stammered, shaking your head.

The doll tilted its head curiously, looking you up and down.

“You're a long way from home, you silly Italian,” the doll commented in a mocking tone.

You blinked again, scratching the back of your neck, searching all over the doll for the mechanism that was supposed to make it behave like that. You didn't find it.

“I-I'm a merchant,” you said with a broken voice. The doll nodded, walking towards you quickly, climbing up your dress. It was too close, you couldn't move.

“Merchant?” it asked again, looking at you as if it was reading your soul. “What do you sell?”

“I sell… I sell… Books and… Vinyl and… Movies…” you explained when the doll finally got off your body, without taking those cold eyes off you.

“Books and movies?” the puppet asked.

You, nervous, still scared, nodded erratically.

“Do you have Italian stuff?”

“S-Sure I have,” you whispered in a small voice.

“Mm,” the doll murmured turning around, but looking at you several times before disappearing into the darkness of the mansion. “Donna, Donna! You have to see this, come, come!”

“Donna?” you asked yourself, gathering enough courage to walk back to the door, where, after a few seconds, the sound of heels approached.

In front of you was a woman, a woman dressed completely in black, with a veil covering her face. She had a stoic pose, she emanated danger, and even more so when you saw that she was holding the doll in her arms.

Even if she was the most experienced ventriloquist in the world, she could never have done that, it was simply impossible.

“She's pretty, huh, Donna?” the doll said, nudging the lady, who sighed tiredly. “An Italian beauty knocking on your door, not even in your dreams could you imagine something like that.”

“Angie…” A hoarse, dark voice came out of that black veil while the woman lowered the doll to the floor. It laughed amusedly, staring at you again.

“Um, well…” you murmured confused, with your gaze fixed on that black veil, on those invisible eyes that you knew were watching you. “H-Hello…”

There was no answer. The lady didn't even seem to be bothered by your words.

“Um… I'm… I'm (Y/N),” you said, putting fear aside and politely extending your hand towards her, who looked at it briefly, without returning your greeting. “No? Okay… Well…”

“I'm Angie!” the doll shrieked, grabbing your hand instead of its owner and shaking it roughly. “Nice to scare you!”

“H-Hello… Suppongo…” you whispered, still confused but, mysteriously, more relaxed.

“Forgive her, she doesn’t like to talk,” the doll explained, pointing at its owner in a mocking way. “Shall I tell you a secret? She's Italian too.”

“Oh, really?” you asked, looking at the lady, who nodded briefly. “Che strana coincidenza…”

“Perché strana?” that hoarse voice asked again, the voice of that mysterious lady.

“Oh, well…” you said embarrassed, of course, that doll hadn't lied to you. “No, it's nothing…”

“Che vuoi?” the lady in black asked again, her tone lighter, but reflected impatience.

“I'm, I'm a merchant,” you said again, trying to smile, making a superhuman effort to make that strange situation stop being so strange.

After all, she was the inhabitant of that place, and she was also Italian. The business seemed to call you…

“She sells a lot of things, Donna!” the doll shrieked, pointing at you. “Things you like!”

“Mm,” the woman in black murmured, looking over your shoulder at the merchandise. “Me li può mostrare?”

“Oh, sure, sure…” you said nervously, heading towards your suitcase and opening it on the floor, closely followed by that strange doll, which didn't seem to want to leave you alone.

“Look, Donna, your favorite record!” the doll squealed, rummaging through the merchandise without any kind of hesitation, under your watchful gaze, and hers.

The lady took that vinyl, observing it carefully. You almost thought you heard a slight laugh coming out of that veil.

“È, it's a special edition,” you murmured when you saw how interested she seemed to be. “You, you know… Come prima… Più di prima…” you sang in a timid and horrible way.

The veiled lady looked up with a sigh.

“Are you also a singer?” she asked with a weak, whispering voice.

You laughed nervously shaking your head, with your cheeks slightly blushed.

“No… The truth is, I’m not… Although, although they've always told me that I have a beautiful voice,” you said timidly, looking sideways as Angie rummaged through the books.

“Mm,” the lady murmured with disinterest, looking at the vinyl again.

“Donna, Donna! Nonna's favorite book!” the doll squealed, handing her one of your books in perfect condition. “Look, look, this one isn't broken!”

“I have that one on sale… If, if you're interested… Donna, right?” you said with your voice cracked by nerves, playing with your sweaty hands.

“Donna? Lady Beneviento for you, silly!” the doll snapped at you, in a haughty tone.

“Beneviento?” you asked involuntarily, knowing that you had heard that name somewhere.

Of course you heard it. Like a whisper of help, your mind recalled Luiza's words, those that explained to you the families who had founded the village. Of course, that Donna Beneviento was an important person in that place. Despite everything strange, your greed took precedence, she seemed truly interested in what you were selling.

The mysterious woman nodded slowly, leafing through that book with curiosity.

“I’m sorry, Lady Beneviento,” you said elegantly, lowering your head. You knew she was not an ordinary villager and therefore, you could not treat her as such.

“Vieni,” she whispered, gesturing for you to enter the house.

You nodded nervously, closing your suitcase and pulling it into the mansion, with an extra weight. That living doll had climbed on top of it, swinging its legs in a playful way.

“Hey, do you mind?” you said nervously. The doll, obviously, shook her head.

You groaned, still in disbelief, and when you looked again you saw something strange.

There was a portrait, a portrait hanging on the wall of the stairs. On it, there was a woman, a really beautiful, gorgeous woman with a pale face, serious eyes and black hair. Next to her, there was that puppet, the Angie doll. Would she be the lady?

Lady Beneviento cleared her throat, getting your attention, letting you know through her non-verbal language, that she didn't want you to look at that portrait. You decided to be good and obey.

“Sit down, I'll make some tea and we'll talk business,” the woman whispered, pointing to a cozy corner of that house.

“Sure... Yes, um... Thank you,” you said with a kind smile.

The woman in black looked at you for an almost awkward moment and then turned around, walking slowly towards a hallway. You followed her with your eyes until she disappeared.

It was a strange situation indeed. Perhaps you should have listened better to your survival instincts.

After what seemed like an eternity, the lady returned, serving you a cup of tea with an elegant gesture and sitting in front of you.

“Grazie…” you whispered with a grateful smile, blowing on the steaming liquid. “Truth be told, I didn't expect to find someone who spoke my language… I've never been good with English.”

“You seem to speak it quite well,” she commented, with a regal pose, barely moving, not letting anyone see for a moment what that black veil was hiding.

“I have no choice, I guess,” you sighed, shaking your head.

“Do you trade all over Europe?” she asked curiously as you opened your suitcase again, your hands shaking.

You weren’t there to chat. You had gone to do business. You couldn’t forget that.

“No, I… Well, I used to trade only in Italy,” you explained with a sad smile.

“Where in Italy are you from?” she asked again as Angie, with the suitcase open again, rubbed her wooden hands, rummaging through your stuff with an evil laugh.

You looked back at the lady, a bit confused.

“Da che parte d’Italia vieni?” the lady repeated with a slightly darker voice. “Nord, sud…?”

“Oh, yes, Well… I was born in the city of… This may seem like a joke to you but… I’m from the city of Benevento,” you said with a shy smile.

You didn’t want her to think you were laughing at her. It was just a stupid coincidence.

“Mm, why would I think it's a joke?” she asked, with a tired sigh.

“Well, because of your… Your last name… It's quite similar, isn't it?” you said with a fake smile. “Are you from around there?”

“No,” the lady answered dryly, without bothering to shake her head. “I was born here.”

“Oh, okay…” you murmured, glancing at the doll, who was shuffling through your books. “Hey, um… be careful…” you said to the doll, who made a mocking gesture, imitating your voice in an unpleasant way. “Hey, la, la bambola…”

“Angie”

“Yes, Angie…” you repeated with a frown. “Why is she alive?”

“That's none of your business,” she said, with a cold voice, one that ran through your nerves, putting them on alert again.

“O-Okay, sorry,” you murmured, looking down.

“Do you have Italian movies?” she asked after a tense moment, one that you took advantage of to hide your embarrassment in the teacup. “Film.”

“Oh, yes, yes of course…” you said nervously, reaching for the suitcase, rummaging through your messy things due to the Angie doll, who protested with a grunt at your hand. “I have a lot of these.”

“Mm?” the lady murmured, looking at the cover confused, opening it and taking out the disc. “What is this?”

“A, a movie,” you said, clearing your throat. “A DVD.”

“DVD…” she whispered, looking at her reflection in that shiny disc, visibly confused. You couldn't believe she didn't know it. That village was definitely stopped in time. “I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't understand you.”

“Um, well…” you said, scratching the back of your neck, wondering how you were going to explain that to this mysterious woman. She didn't seem to be joking, at all.

“Hey, it's like a mirror!” Angie squealed, climbing onto her owner's lap and comically looking at herself in the disc, turning it curiously. “I want one, Donna, I want one!”

“Ugh, va bene…” the lady whispered, putting the DVD back in its place and handing it to the doll, who jumped victoriously. “It's still not what I'm looking for.”

“What… What are you looking for?” you asked, flashing your fake saleswoman smile again.

“Don't you have any 28mm rolls?” the woman wanted to know.

You nodded confused.

“Yes… But, but they are, they are special, I mean, I mean… They are… They are molto costose, you know… They are, they are almost museum relics,” you said, taking a metal box out of the suitcase and opening it, displaying its contents.

“Fine, I want them,” she murmured, nodding and snatching the box from your hands. “Money is not a problem.”

Well, that phrase fostered a more sincere smile on your face.

“Va bene… It is…” you said nervously, taking out a notebook in which you wrote down your sales.

“I'm not finished,” she interrupted you, leaving the box on the floor. “I also want those books.”

“Those? Which ones?” you asked confused by her vague description.

“All of them,” the lady said abruptly, leaving you glued to the seat. “I've been asking the Duke for that classic novel collection for a long time.”

“The Duke? Oh, well, I'm related to him,” you said smiling, taking the books out of the suitcase and leaving them on the table.

“You?!” Angie asked in a shrill voice, getting too close to you again. “Come on! You don't look like that fat greasy guy!”

“Fat greasy guy?” you asked amused. “Well, I don't really know him, but it seems that in this village you do it quite well.”

“Oh, yes, he's a scammer!” Angie shrieked laughing amused. “Isn't he, Donna?”

“Mm…” the lady nodded, distracted by the books.

That scared you.

“Oh, I… I'm not like him. I'm always fair with prices and… Cazzo, don't think I'm trying to rip you off or anything like that… Cazzo.”

“Do you mind stopping talking like that? I don't like rude girls,” Donna snapped at you, with a dangerous, annoyed tone.

“I'm, I'm sorry, it's just that... Well, I'm not used to being understood,” you explained with a different blush, one that was accentuated when a shy laugh came out of her veil.

“It was just a joke,” she said amused, more relaxed, surely fascinated by that collection of books she was looking for so much. “Do you want some more tea?”

“Oh, yes, per favore,” you said, extending your cup towards the teapot, with a calm smile.

“I still don't know what a girl like you is doing in a place like this...” she whispered after a moment of calm silence, one that served to, little by little, get you used to that sinister atmosphere, and that doll.

“It's a long story...” you sighed, leaning back on the old sofa.

“I have time,” she said, with the same tone as you. “I'm sure you'll appreciate having a chat in your native language, right?”

“S-Sure…”

As if you had suddenly forgotten what you were doing there, or how much time you had left to leave, you began to chat calmly with that strange woman.

At first she seemed gloomy, reluctant to hold any kind of conversation but… As you explained everything that led you to the village, your concerns, your goals… Well, her attitude relaxed quite a bit.

The short, dry sentences turned into a soft voice, into shy laughs from time to time. It seemed that she had gained some confidence with you, or so that living doll hinted. After your hectic trip through Romania, a chat in your language effectively lifted your spirits, it was almost like feeling at home.

On the other hand, that erratic behavior of the lady in black never ceased to surprise you. Like the rest of the villagers, she seemed not to understand or comprehend very well the outside world, the time in which you lived.

To your surprise, she had never even set foot on Italy. Yes, her family came from there, but, incredibly, Donna had never been there. But that was not the only thing that was curious, so were the words that claimed she had never left the village.

It might seem that this woman, with money, with power, from an important family, had little or no interest in traveling, in leaving this sinister time capsule.

But that was not the case. Her words were full of sadness, her sighs, that nostalgia with which she listened attentively to your words... It seemed as if deep down she wanted to leave, as if, for some reason, her stay in the village was some kind of condemnation for her.

The mansion grew darker as time went by as you talked, sharing impressions, tastes, hobbies… It was almost as if you had just met a friend, a friend with an interesting voice, with a beautiful body, with a subtle but intoxicating lavender perfume…

Your cheeks betrayed those erratic thoughts about the lady in black and you shook your head several times.

You, a cultured girl, a fan of romance novels, always tended to idealize that kind of situations. You didn't want to believe in love at first sight, but you certainly didn't know what it felt like, if it was even possible.

No, no, no, no… You couldn't think about that, despite how attractive Lady Beneviento was to you. Everything had an end, and sooner than you would have liked, yours came.

Sighing, finishing your last cup of tea, you looked at the clock and almost choked.

“Oh, cazzo!” you said hurriedly, getting up from the sofa. “5 o'clock, if I don't hurry…”

“What's wrong?” the lady in black asked, getting up too, playing nervously with her hands.

“I'd love to stay and chat but… If I don't make it to that stupida’s bus, she will leave without me and…” you explained, gathering that was left in your suitcase. Donna had bought almost everything without thinking about it.

“Are you going to leave?” she asked in a whisper, with a voice that, at least to you, seemed sad.

You looked at her and nodded with a polite smile, extending your hand towards her, a hand that, this time, she shook briefly.

Damn, her hands were very soft…

“It's been nice meeting you, Donna,” you said kindly, turning around to walk towards the hall.

“Are you going to let her just leave? Silly Donna…” you heard the doll whisper in an indiscreet manner.

“W-Wait, wait a moment,” the nervous lady said, running to meet you, making her veil move, inducing your mischievous eyes to look at what was underneath. “D-Do you really have to go?”

“Yes,” you said with a confused look, totally innocent.

“W-Wait, I… I…” she murmured, approaching slowly. “It's dangerous to go out at night.”

“Hey, can someone explain to me what it is that scares you so much about this place? And why are there living dolls?” you asked with an impatient tone, remembering each of the villagers' warnings.

“I'll explain everything to you, but, but only if you stay with me a little longer, just a little longer,” the lady said, in a tone that sounded curiously desperate. “Per favore…”

“Please, please!” the doll repeated in a shrill tone.

“Um…” you stammered, unable to find an answer, a desire to stay that you knew existed. But that village had already given you so much trouble, you wanted to leave, but at the same time, you didn't.

Damn senseless crush… How can you even know if you really liked that woman?

“Okay,” you said, letting your words speak for themselves, sighing as you looked at your wristwatch, knowing that, even if you ran, you wouldn't make it to the bus on time. “Hai un telefono?”

The lady nodded, pointing to a small table.

You walked slowly past her, checking how, in a disturbing way, the doll and owner followed you with their gaze.

“Irina?” you asked when someone finally answered, after a few tense moments.

“Oh spaghetti, it's you!” the driver of the bus screamed. She seemed agitated, as if she was running away from something, or so you sensed, there was too much interference. “You have to… Help me! Wolves… Monsters…! Call the… Lice!”

“Cosa? I don't understand you, are you okay?” you asked with a frown, that stupid girl seemed to be in danger.

“No…! No…! Mother Miranda!”

After those screams, the call was interrupted, leaving you disoriented. Seeing you like that, Donna approached, taking the phone from your hand and hanging it slowly, as if somehow those screams hadn't surprised her.

“It seems that there are some connection problems,” Angie mocked, laughing, but stopping when the lady suddenly looked at her, as if she had said something she shouldn't. “Oops…”

“I think she wanted me to call the police… Who is Mother Miranda?” you asked confused, with your heart racing.

“She’s the leader of this village,” Donna murmured, with a somber voice. “But don't worry, she won't hurt you, I won't allow it.”

“Hurt? Um, hey, Donna, I think, I think Irina was in trouble,” you said nervously, focused on finding out what had happened.

“You'll be in trouble if you go out at night, silly! You have to stay here!” Angie yelled at you, pointing comically at the floor.

“Oh, no, no, I don't want to disturb you,” you said with a trembling voice.

Your intuition wasn't wrong at all, but... In that house, you didn't seem to be in danger.

“You're not disturbing me, I like your company,” Donna said, with her hands in front of her body, with an elegant posture, unfazed by what seemed to be the death of the bus girl. “Do you want...? Do you want to cook something for dinner?”

“Oh, um, yes, dinner... Um...” you said confused, nodding without really knowing why. “Va...Va bene...”

As if you had forgotten what had happened, as if that call hadn't taken place, you went down to that dark basement with the lady in black and started cooking. It was a fun, entertaining time.

You both shared your own recipes, your special ways of doing things. Your mind had forgotten about going home, it had forgotten where you wanted to go, why you wanted to leave. The only thing you knew was that you wanted to stay with that dark Italian Lady. You wanted to talk to her, laugh with her.

Yes, you started to believe in love at first sight, you had no doubt that it existed, you were experiencing it.

Day and night began to dance before your eyes, the sun and the moon. How long had you been there? You didn't know. Had it been days, weeks, months? You weren't sure.

Cooking, reading, watching those movies… Any excuse was good enough to forget about your problems, to forget you had a place to go back to.

Maybe darkness had invaded you but… You had become addicted to her, to Donna Beneviento, to that strange woman and her doll, to her voice, her words, her laughter… To the lavender of her perfume…

“Sale,” Donna said, extending her hand so you could give her the jar she needed while, like so many days, like so many times, you cooked with her.

A curious routine, cooking, cleaning, sewing… Something that your own conscience used as payment for being a guest who didn't pay for her stay but… Were you really a guest? What were you?

“I've never seen anyone making pasta,” you said curiously, leaning your elbow on the counter. Donna laughed amused, shaking her head. “Well, my grandmother usually…”

“You say I'm like your grandmother?” she joked, kneading calmly.

“No, not at all,” you said, amused, looking hypnotically at that curious dough. “I buy it ready-made, it's easier and faster that way.”

“Chi va piano…”

“Va lontano…” you finished, smiling again, with that damn blush on your cheeks. “It's true, you're right, Donna.”

She glanced at you briefly, giving you another of her beautiful laughs. You were so dazed that nothing mattered anymore, only waking up in that guest room again, only going downstairs to share moments with her, only her, only Donna mattered to you.

“Wait, let me help you,” you said, picking up one of the flour sacks and putting it on the counter with a loud thud, raising a thick cloud of white dust. “Cazzo! Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!”

The lady coughed, brushing the flour away with her hand, clearing her vision. It could be a comedian or a dangerous one, you didn't quite know. Her little apron was unable to stop all the flour, which landed on Lady Beneviento, including her veil.

“Tutto bene?” you asked timidly, brushing the dust out of your hair.

“Sì,” the woman in black murmured, accidentally removing her veil, shaking it in front of your wide-open eyes.

When she realized the mistake she had made, the mistake of showing you her face, she gasped nervously, shaking her head.

You stood petrified, admiring every inch of her beauty, a hidden one, one that you only sensed and you had just confirmed. No, a stupid scar couldn't be that important, it wasn't capable of hiding anything, of overcoming her beauty.

“Non… Non…” she whispered, turning around and covering her face with her hands. “Non guardami!”

“Donna, wait, wait…” you said nervously, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t, don't cover yourself, You are… Sei bellisima…”

“No, no, no…” she repeated, nervously, pushing away your comforting hand. “Sei una bugiarda!”

“I'm not lying, Donna, really, I…” you said, trying to reason with those incipient sobs, with the trembling of her body.

“Now you'll want to leave… You'll make me hurt you!” she shrieked, completely out of control. You shook your head, ignoring that dangerous last sentence.

“Shh,” you whispered softly, turning her around, taking advantage of a slight moment of weakness. “I won't leave, I like being here.”

“No… Non é vero…” she said, moving away from your gaze.

You snatched the veil from her so she couldn't put it back on and, without thinking, you launched yourself at her lips, kissing them fiercely, just as you had wanted to do for a long time, you didn't know how long.

“Donna…” you sighed when you pulled away from the kiss, a messy kiss that she had a hard time joining.

Finally she did, caressing your cheeks, mouth agape by that sudden reaction, one that she was apparently also waiting for.

“You have come into my life like a savior, like a light that has passed through the darkness…” she whispered, kissing you again, losing that fear, that cowardice, the fear of being discovered, of you seeing her wounded face.

What Lady Beneviento didn’t expect, is that you would feel something for her.

“Per favore…Non partire…Rimani con me…Per sempre…” she murmured while your lips caressed each other, while the warmth of that unexpected love slowly passed through your body, until it reached your heart.

“Per sempre…”

#donna beneviento #donna beneviento x reader #re8 donna #re8 village #oneshot #requests

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