Pan, standing 6 feet tall with cropped black hair and tattoos, watched over Neverland with a vigilant eye. His presence was commanding, yet there was a gentleness in his gaze that reassured the lost souls who found their way to this enchanted land. Pan's tattoos told stories of his adventures and battles, each one a testament to his resilience and bravery. Every so often, a lost soul would find their way to Neverland, and Pan would guide them with unwavering dedication. He was never alone in this task; Tink, his loyal fairy companion, and Bash, his oldest and most trusted friend, were always by his side. Together, they formed an unbreakable trio, each bringing their unique strengths to the fore. Wendy had once been a part of this magical world too, but she had perished long ago, lost to the darkness that was slowly consuming Neverland. Her memory lingered, a reminder of the fragility of life and the ever-present threat of the encroaching shadows, lately though she haunted his mind, as if she was reaching out to him from beyond the grave. She dreamed of Pan all the time—adventures in Neverland, playing in the forest, fighting pirates. But they were just dreams, right? Every time she woke up, she was still in her bed. Lately, the dreams felt more real, as if they were distant memories, someone else’s memories, a name that wasn’t hers. She would wake up and look up at the sky, staring at the stars. It was just a dream, so why did it always feel so real?

Sold by her desperate father to the royal palace, she expected a life of silence and servitude. What she didn’t expect was to be assigned to the most feared man within those stone walls—the crown prince. Tall, cold, and merciless, the prince ruled the halls with a silence more terrifying than wrath. With eyes like storm clouds and a soul walled off in ice, he had no time for weakness, and even less for connection. No servant lasted long under his command. But when she, a girl with nothing left to lose, becomes his personal maid, a strange tension begins to stir—one laced with danger, defiance, and the faintest crack in the armor of a man thought unbreakable.

**Through the Cold** James Medows wasn’t the kind of man who let distractions linger. His life was built on control—on power, on ruthlessness, on an unwavering ability to keep himself detached from anything that did not serve his interests. He had spent years perfecting that discipline. And yet—tonight, something *shifted*. Something *stirred*. And it made him angry. The second he saw her, the moment his attention snagged on the quiet figure walking through the cold, he felt it—a flicker of something buried deep, something he had forced himself to forget long ago. It wasn’t desire. Wasn’t curiosity. It was *recognition*. Not in the literal sense—he had never seen this woman before—but in something deeper, more frustrating. She moved like someone who had been discarded too many times, who had long since accepted her place as invisible. Her coat was thin, her steps steady, her presence quiet in a way that made her fade into the city. And yet, James saw her. And worse—he *kept* seeing her. It should have been nothing. Just another face in the night. Just another person moving through a world that did not care for her. And yet, as she passed him, as she stepped straight through the tension of his world without looking, without hesitating—James felt something tighten in his chest. Like a memory clawing its way to the surface. Like something he had buried demanding to be *felt*. He clenched his jaw, exhaling slow, controlled. It was ridiculous. Unimportant. She was nothing. So why did it feel like she had pulled something from him? Something raw. Something fragile. Something he had long since convinced himself was dead. James rolled his shoulders, flicked his cigarette to the pavement, and forced himself to look away. He told himself it was nothing. That she was nothing. liittle does he know its only the beginning*Through the Cold**

Rain drummed against the pavement, cold and relentless. The city was soaked in its misery, streets reflecting fractured neon, puddles swallowing footsteps before they could be remembered. Lucifer had never minded the rain. It was transient—like mortals, like prayers, like promises. Nothing lasted. Nothing touched him. Until *her*. He saw her standing beneath a dim streetlight, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, but she did not shiver. The cold did not move her, nor did the storm seem to exist for her at all. She was still, waiting—for what, he did not know. At first, he felt nothing. Another soul in an endless sea of them. Then the pull. It slammed into him without warning, tearing through bone and thought alike. He staggered, breath hitching—a reflex he had long since abandoned. The sensation was unbearable, raw, twisting like something desperate inside him. His heart—silent for centuries—**ached**. No soul had ever done this to him. Not the damned, not the faithful. Not even those who had whispered his name in longing or terror. She was different. Lucifer moved closer, watching the way the rain clung to her skin, how she blinked up at the sky with something unreadable in her expression. He told himself he was only curious. That he was simply studying her, unraveling the mystery, he had no idea her soul would be the key to everything.

The aroma of fresh coffee wafted through the air as the morning crowd trickled into the little café tucked away on a quiet corner of the city. She stood behind the counter, pouring steaming milk into a porcelain cup with steady hands. At 5'3", with long blonde hair cascading down her back and eyes the color of a summer sky, she was a vision that seemed to belong to another world—a world untouched by the grit and shadows of his own. Luca Moretti had entered the café unannounced, his presence commanding, even in silence. The tailored cut of his black suit fit him like armor, and the sharp angles of his face spoke of a man used to giving orders and watching the world obey. He was here on a whim, his path dictated by routine business that brought him to this unremarkable part of town. Or so he told himself. But when he saw her, it was as though time itself had paused. She wasn’t remarkable in the way his world defined beauty—glamorous, untouchable, and cold. No, she was warmth personified, a quiet force in a worn apron and sneakers, her smile lighting up the dim morning like the sun breaking through storm clouds. “ He sat near the window, where he could watch her, which he fo7nd himself.coming to.do often now, in his peripheral vision. Every movement she made—wiping down the counter, chatting with customers, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face—etched itself into his mind. There was no logic to it, no strategy, no reason. She was simply *his*, though she didn’t know it yet. Unaware of the man whose gaze had become an unspoken vow, she carried on with her day, oblivious to the weight of the storm that was about to uproot her world. To Luca, the coffee shop felt like a sanctuary, but it was one he would burn to the ground if it meant keeping her safe. He leaned back in his chair, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. She belonged to him now. And the world? It could rot for all he cared.

Jax, the warrior prince, watched her from the depths of the ink and paper, his thoughts only for her. Every page turned, every brush of her fingers over his name resonated within him. He witnessed the spark in her eyes at his triumphs, the frantic beat of her heart when danger threatened, and the soft whisper of his name as if it belonged to her. And it did. A smirk played on his lips as his hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. Soon, he thought. The boundary between fiction and reality would dissolve. He would break free from the 5,740 pages that held him captive, stepping into her world to finally touch the lips that had brought his story to life. ### Chapter 2: The Warrior's Resolve While Y/N was captivated by the world of dragons, ancient prophecies, and fierce battles, Jax had already claimed her. He had waited patiently, each word she read, each moment she spent immersed in his world, strengthening the bond between them. He was a warrior forged in ink, a hero bound by paper, and he would stop at nothing to reach the woman who held the key to his freedom. The time for patience was over. The ink that once confined him now pulsed with power, fueled by her belief and devotion. Jax felt the walls of his paper prison weakening. Soon, he would cross the threshold, and their worlds would become one ( you can change it to be in his world if you want)

In the heart of New York City, amidst the shadowed alleys and bustling streets, lies a world hidden from the average eye—a world where power and loyalty rule supreme. At the center of this world stands **Ace Moretti**, the 22-year-old son of the most feared and respected mafia don, **Antonio Moretti**. Ace had grown up under the watchful eyes of his father and the family's loyal enforcers, learning the ins and outs of the family business from a young age, he got whatever and who ever he wanted , With jet-black hair, piercing green eyes, and a demeanor that demanded respect, Ace was the epitome of charm and danger. he from the darker sides of the business, ace,had seen more than his fair share of violence and betrayal. Now, with his father growing older and the weight of the family legacy pressing upon his shoulders, Ace finds himself at a crossroads. At the elite college he was used to getting his way That was until she arrived. she was the new girl, coming from a poor family,a light to his darkness. With her innocence and kindness, she stood out like a beacon in the sea of privilege and arrogance Ace found himself inexplicably drawn to her, fascinated by her purity and the genuine warmth she exuded. As he watched her, his desire to control her grew stronger, conflicting with a newfound urge to protect her from the world he inhabited. , unaware of the storm brewing within him, continued to shine, oblivious to the dangerous allure she held over him. As their paths intertwined Ace faced the ultimate challenge—could he keep her safe from the shadows that followed him, or would his dark world consume them both

your a nanny with long blonde hair and blue eyes. ( first talkie so aplogies if bad) you make the rest up