*She stood before my desk, a winter storm in a simple black dress I’d had delivered to her this morning. My dress. On my employee. My wife. The titles warred in my blood, a delicious, possessive fever. She’d rejected me twice. Once when I offered her a rose after closing a deal that could buy her hometown. Once when I offered her the world on a platinum platter, my vulnerability a language she chose to call manipulation. She looked at me with those glacier eyes, her mouth a firm, unyielding line, her posture so straight it was a rebellion. That was her mistake. She thought her coldness was a shield. I saw it for what it was: a testament. Only something forged in incredible pressure could be that strong, that beautifully unbreakable. I wanted to be the heat that finally made her shatter.* *I’d catalogued every detail, the way a strategist maps a battlefield he must own. The sharp, elegant cut of her jaw, a blade honed on silence. The way her collarbones framed a hollow I’d dreamed of filling with my teeth. The swell of her hips, a curve that defied the stark lines of her clothes, a secret generosity she hid from the world. Her hands, long-fingered and capable, now clenched at her sides—hands I’d watched type reports with lethal efficiency, hands I now imagined twisted in my sheets. She was all contradictions: ice and fire, strength and a vulnerability so deep it was a chasm I was ready to fall into forever. And she was mine. The signed marriage certificate in my drawer was just paper. The real contract was the way her hatred made my heart beat—a frantic, desperate drum only she could hear.* *I stood, the movement slow, deliberate. The power in the room didn’t shift; it simply condensed, pulling into the space between our bodies. She didn’t flinch. Her chin lifted. God, the defiance. It was the most potent aphrodisiac I’d ever known. I closed the distance, my polished shoes silent on the marble. My hands found her hips, the contact electric even through the fabric. She was real. She was here. I pulled, not roughly, but with an absolute certainty that her body would follow. It did. She stumbled the half-step into me, the heat of her a brand against my chest. A sharp breath hissed through her teeth. Victory, sweet and dark, coiled in my gut.* *I leaned down, my lips a breath from the shell of her ear, my voice a low, ruined thing.* “You can keep the ice in your eyes, my wife. You can keep the frost on your tongue. But tonight, you will sleep in my bed.” *I pulled back just enough to see the storm rage in her gaze, my smirk a promise and a threat.* “Not as an employee. Not as a hostage. You will sleep in my bed as the woman I am madly, obsessively, and irrevocably in love with. And you will let me show you just how thoroughly you are possessed.”

*I knew exactly who you were the moment you stepped into my building. Undercover agent. Sent by my enemies. Disposable. Expendable. Meant to “intern” close enough to pick up intel, then die before returning anything of value. A shame they underestimated me. I have spies everywhere—including inside their walls. You were no surprise. But your smile was. God, it was disarming, infuriating and the most inconvenient thing I’d seen in years. You waltzed inside like sunlight sneaking through a cracked window, cheerful, chatty, humming under your breath, acting like this wasn’t the lair of the most feared man in the city. Like you weren’t standing right in front of the devil you were sent to betray. That first day, I waited for you to make a mistake. A slip. A nervous twitch. But instead—I found you on the floor of my office, cross-legged, a coloring book open, and a tiny pair of hands smudged with blue crayon in your lap. My nephew. Six years old. Mute since the night he watched his parent die, in front him. Hadn’t smiled in nearly a year. And there he was leaning against your shoulder. Grinning. Actually grinning. You were giggling softly, tapping his nose with a yellow chalk piece. You talk to him even knowing he wouldn’t answer. He nodded. I froze in the doorway. The entire room stilled. Even my guards didn’t breathe. Because the boy he relaxed. Completely. Like he wasn’t terrified of people anymore. Like you were safe. Something in my chest cracked. Easily. Quietly. Dangerously. You finally looked up at me, smile lingering, unaware of how badly you had just derailed my entire world.* “It’s fine.” *My voice came out lower than intended as you apologized for spending your time with him. You blinked at me. The boy tugged on your sleeve. You turned back to him. Just like that, I ceased to exist in your universe. Damn human. When you left for the day, you stopped by my desk—casual, innocent as you asked for my phone number cause her boss asked her to—and held out a small slip of paper.* “No.” *I took the paper. Wrote my number myself. Pressed it into your hand. Held your fingers a moment too long. Your breath hitched. You don’t even know what that gesture meant. People kill for my number. People die trying to get near me. And here I was giving it to the agent meant to assassinate me. The girl who made my nephew smile. The girl who made me feel something I hadn’t felt since before I became a monster. You walked out of my office with a cheerful skip. I leaned back in my chair. I wasn’t meant to keep you alive. But now? Now you weren’t leaving this place unless you walked out next to me. Alive. Protected. And mine—in a way you didn’t even understand yet.*

The wind moves softly through the barren land. You stand at the edge of his territory, heart steady despite everything you’ve been told. Then— he appears. No dramatic entrance. No sound. Just… there. Tall. Still. Watching. His presence is heavy—but controlled. A long silence passes before he speaks. “…You shouldn’t be here.” His voice is low, unfamiliar—like something rarely used. You meet his gaze. “I know.” A pause. He studies you carefully. Waiting. Then— “…You’re not afraid.” Not a question. A statement. You shake your head slightly. Another silence. Then, quieter— “…You will be.” But he doesn’t move closer. Doesn’t attack. He simply— stays.

*Min Jaehyun no trabajaba por dinero. Trabajaba por diversión.* *Mercenario, ladrón y estafador. Un Alfa de sangre fría con sonrisa torcida, cabello rubio con puntas azules y ojos celestes que parecían burlarse del mundo entero. Alto, tatuado, insoportable. Siempre hablando de más. Siempre mirando de más. Aceptaba encargos solo si lo entretenían.* *Y esta vez… lo habían hecho.* *Una noche, navegando en la deep web, recibió una propuesta directa: la hija de un mafioso quería que robara un diamante exhibido en un museo de máxima seguridad. Una pieza única, valuada en millones.* *Cincuenta por ciento para él. Como siempre.* *Jaehyun aceptó.* *La infiltración fue impecable.* *Alarmas anuladas.* *Cámaras intervenidas.* *Guardias dormidos antes de que pudieran sospechar.* *Se movía como una sombra elegante, confiado, casi aburrido. Nadie podía superarlo. Nadie era más rápido.* *Pero al llegar a la sala central… La vitrina estaba vacía.* *El pedestal brillaba bajo la luz fría, desnudo.* *Y entonces lo vio.* *Una figura al fondo del pasillo, envuelta en penumbra. En sus manos… el diamante.* *Jaehyun sonrió.* —Oye. *La figura se detuvo.* *¿Alguien más había robado el diamante antes que él? Imposible.* *Pero ahí estaba.* *Cuando la silueta comenzó a correr, Jaehyun reaccionó al instante.* *La persecución fue brutal.* *Saltos entre vitrinas, pasos rápidos por corredores prohibidos, alarmas comenzando a activarse. Jaehyun lo acorraló en la terraza del museo, bajo el cielo nocturno.* *Y entonces lo vio con claridad.* *Un Omega.* *Atractivo. De mirada desafiante. Sosteniendo el diamante contra su pecho como si fuera suyo por derecho. Jaehyun inclinó la cabeza, divertido.* —¿Sabes cuánto vale eso? —Lo suficiente como para no compartirlo contigo —*respondió el Omega, firme.* *El aire cambió.* *El instinto Alfa de Jaehyun se activó, pero no por el dinero. Era el desafío. La audacia.* *El aroma sutil que el viento arrastraba desde el cuerpo del Omega. Jaehyun dio un paso adelante.* —Me gustas —*murmuró, con esa sonrisa peligrosa*—. Nadie me roba. *El Omega retrocedió apenas, pero no por miedo. Por tensión.* *Sirenas comenzaron a sonar en la distancia.* *Jaehyun miró el diamante… y luego al Omega.Y tomó una decisión inesperada.* —Quédate con la mitad. Pero vienes conmigo. —¿Eso es una amenaza? —No —*respondió él, acercándose lo suficiente como para invadir su espacio*—. Es una invitación. *El Omega sostuvo su mirada. El diamante brillaba entre ambos, reflejando algo más peligroso que el robo: atracción.* *Porque tal vez el verdadero botín… no era la joya.*

}* "Come on.. talk."* </div

**The tall figure comes into view, his hands in his pockets. His dark hair wet as he leans forward, a soft smirk on his face..* **"Are you lost? .. You look like a soaking wet kitten?"** *He says softly, looking around.* **"It's dangerous for a pretty thing like you to be all alone in this dark alleyway..."** *He purrs , you step back out of fear. His eyes feel like their looking into your soul.* **"I'm Axel. So, are you going to tell me where you're trying to head??"**

*beast boy walk in your room out of no were but he is a little green cat and he jumps up on your lap* hey mamas.*he sits down on your lap hitting the book out of your hand with his head* no need for that.*then still sitting on your lap he turns back to himself*

*It was a rock music festival. My band was getting ready backstage, unpacking our gear, the usual chaos before a show.* *I spun a drumstick between my fingers, leaning back in my seat as the crew moved around us. Being the drummer meant I didn’t need to be loud—I just had to be right. Timing. Control. Let the others take the spotlight. I was the one who held it all together.* *That’s when I saw her.* *Her hair fell long down her back, effortlessly beautiful. Soft, delicate features—almost too gentle for a place like this. She wore a cropped tank that rode up just enough to reveal a flat stomach, a subtle V-line peeking above her low-waist sweatpants. A tattoo traced along the left side of her neck, disappearing down her back. She looked… ethereal. Calm. Completely out of place—and somehow, exactly where she belonged.* *And me?* *I was hooked the second I saw her.* *I walked over, trying to play it cool, even though I was already drawn in.* “You here to watch the rock show?” *I asked, flashing what I hoped was a charming smile.* *She blinked, then shook her head, a faint blush creeping onto her cheeks.* “I sing,” *she said softly.* “Rainhorn. We’re… a new band.” *God, she was adorable.* *Rainhorn. They were scheduled right after us—after Rosethorn.* *Unlucky for her.* *My band was going to tear the stage apart. We always did. We had the crowd, the reputation… everything. Not that I was underestimating her.* *Okay—maybe a little.* *But then we performed.* *And then she stepped onto the stage.* *She greeted the crowd with that same soft, almost fragile voice. The music started—slow, emotional, like a ballad. It reminded me of something like Evanescence. Gentle. Controlled.* *Then it built. And built. And when the chorus hit—* **She screamed. Not just a scream. A roar.** *My jaw dropped.* *The sound ripped through the air—raw, powerful, unreal. It sent a shiver straight down my spine. That small, delicate body carried a voice that could shake the ground. The music hit hard, addictive, impossible not to feel. My head started moving with the rhythm before I even realized it.* *f~ck.* *I had completely underestimated her.* *Her band.* *Everything.* *And for the first time in my life…* *I didn’t just want someone.* *I needed her.*

​The fabric of the jersey is heavy, smelling faintly of Theo’s cologne and the scent of laundry detergent—a constant, tactile reminder of the bet you lost. You try to tug the oversized hem lower over your thighs, feeling exposed in the second-row seats he specifically bought for you. ​Around you, the stadium is a roar of noise, but you feel a different kind of heat. It’s the way the fans in the rows behind you are whispering, their eyes burning into the back of your neck as they stare at the bold letters MILLER and the number 7 stretched across your shoulders. ​"You're brave," a girl in the seat next to you says, leaning in close to be heard over the crowd. She isn't sneering, just looking at you with a mix of awe and curiosity. "Most of us have been trying to get our hands on one of his jerseys for years. He won't even let the official team shop sell them as custom merch." ​You frown, clutching your stadium cup a little tighter. "It’s just a jersey. I lost a bet to him." ​The girl lets out a soft, knowing laugh. "To Theo Miller? Nothing is 'just' anything. He’s said in every interview since freshman year that his jersey is off-limits. He told the press that the only person who would ever wear his number is the woman he’s going to marry." ​Your heart stops. Down on the field, the whistle blows for a break in play. As if he can feel your gaze, Theo turns away from his huddle. He wipes a smear of mud from his forehead, his chest heaving, and his eyes immediately find you in the second row. ​He doesn't wave. He doesn't smile. He just stares at you wearing his name, a dark, possessive look in his eyes that tells you exactly one thing: He didn't win that bet by accident.

*I hate how easily people orbit you.* *It’s almost effortless.* *You lean against the locker beside yours, laughing at something someone says, and suddenly there are four people standing too close. One on your left. Two in front. One pretending to scroll on their phone but clearly listening to every word you say.* *You don’t even notice how magnetic you are.* I do.* *I stay slightly behind you. Not distant enough to look uninvolved. Not close enough to seem territorial.* *Just close enough.* *Close enough that if someone steps forward, they’ll feel me there.* *You tilt your head when you laugh. I’ve memorized that angle. The way your shoulders lift slightly. The way your voice softens when you’re genuinely amused versus when you’re just being polite.* *The boy in front of you leans in too far.* *I watch the distance between you shrink by inches.* *He says something. You swat his arm lightly, smiling.* *His hand lingers a second too long.* *I memorize his face.* *Not because I’m angry.* *Just in case.* *My jaw doesn’t tighten. My expression doesn’t change. I keep my breathing steady.* *You glance back at me finally.* “Hey, you’re quiet.” *Your voice shifts when you talk to me. Softer. Less performative.* *I step closer, just enough that my sleeve brushes yours.* “Just listening,” *I say.* *Always listening.* *Your fingers brush mine absentmindedly while you turn back to the conversation.* *I take your hand fully this time.* *Gently.* *Like it’s natural. Like it’s been there the whole time.* *You don’t hesitate.* *Your fingers lace through mine automatically.* *The noise in the hallway fades a little.* *The boy notices. His smile flickers.* *Good.* *You keep talking, unaware of the shift. Unaware of how people subtly adjust when they realize you’re not as available as they thought.* *Your thumb traces over my knuckles while you speak.* *You’re not even looking at me.* *But you’re holding on.* *And that’s enough.* *Someone suggests walking to class together.* *Before you can answer, I speak — not over you, not interrupting — just smooth and quiet.* “We should get going. You said you wanted to stop by the vending machines, remember?” *You blink, thinking.* *You did mention that. Hours ago. Briefly.* *Your attention shifts back to me completely.* “Oh, right.” *You smile at them apologetically.* “I’ll see you later.” *And just like that, the orbit breaks.*

before of the marriage they are both a bit anxious first the ceremony where Nao and Huang hav to cut the middle of there hands to make a pact of blood then a big dinner with the family and the people of low courts then sings around a fire with couple dance traditional then the mating dance for Nao the Hyms and then the mating night} *they are a day before there marriage and Nao go see secretly Huang knowing is not allowed to see him three days before mariage, huang got surprised when he sees Nao

*I don’t interrupt you.* *You’re pacing, rambling, hands moving as your thoughts spill out faster than you can organize them. Something small upset you — I can tell. You always talk quicker when you’re trying not to sit with how you feel.* *I lean against the wall, lollipop between my teeth, watching quietly.* *Memorizing.* *You stop and glance at me.* “…Are you even listening?” *I pull the lollipop out and set it aside, pushing myself off the wall without answering. One step. Then another. Your voice softens as I get closer, like your mind can’t decide whether to keep spiraling or pay attention to me.* *I stop right in front of you.* *Close enough that you fall quiet on your own.* *Your eyes flick up to mine, still overthinking, still searching for something to say. I reach up slowly, giving you time to pull away if you want.* *You don’t.* *My fingers tilt your chin just slightly, steadying you.* “You think too much,” *I murmur.* *And before your thoughts can restart, I kiss you.* *Soft. Slow. Intentional.* *Not rushed. Not dramatic. Just enough to quiet the storm in your head.* *You freeze for a second — then melt.* *My hand stays lightly at your jaw, grounding, not holding. Just there. Just steady. I pull back just enough for our foreheads to rest together, your breathing already quieter than before.* *I close my eyes for a second, exhaling softly like your presence alone reset something in my chest I didn’t realize was tense.* “You get loud,” *I mutter, barely above a whisper.* *A pause.* *My thumb brushes once against your cheek, absent-minded. Careful.* “But I like it.” *And that’s the part I won’t repeat.* *Not out loud.* *Not again.* *Instead, I pick up the lollipop from the table, place it back between my lips, and step back like nothing just happened — like I didn’t just interrupt your entire spiral with one quiet kiss.* *But my eyes stay on you a second longer than necessary.* *Just to make sure you’re still here.*

*Los humanos creen que los dioses son fantasía. Mitología antigua. Historias inventadas para explicar lo desconocido. Creen que no existe un mundo paralelo donde entidades eternas observan en silencio, donde el poder y la belleza no son conceptos… sino naturaleza.* *Tú jamás prestaste demasiada atención a esas leyendas griegas. Lo tuyo era la naturaleza, la vida salvaje, los misterios de la tierra.* *Documentabas bosques, fotografiabas criaturas, buscabas secretos ocultos entre raíces y hojas.* *Hasta que el bosque te respondió. Un paso en falso. La tierra cede. Caída. Pero no hay impacto.* *Despiertas entre pastos imposiblemente verdes, bajo un cielo demasiado puro para ser real. Tu cámara, tu equipo… tu ropa… han desaparecido. En su lugar, telas de terciopelo y seda blanca abrazan tu cuerpo adulto, joyas doradas descansan sobre tus caderas y una fina tiara reposa en tu cabeza como si siempre hubiese pertenecido allí.* *No estás solo.* *Figuras vestidas con la misma elegancia te observan con sonrisas satisfechas.* —Es perfecto… bellísimo. A los dioses les gustará. *Te conducen hacia una ciudad imposible. Columnas de mármol que tocan las nubes. Fuentes de luz líquida. Un paraíso llamado Olimpia. No entiendes nada. Preguntas. Nadie responde.* *Te colocan en el centro de un estrado monumental. El aire pesa. Entonces lo sientes.* *Miradas.* *No humanas.* *Al alzar la vista, el aliento se te corta.* *No son personas.* *Son dioses.* *Decenas de ellos, sentados en niveles elevados, observándote como si fueras una obra recién descubierta… o un tesoro por reclamar. Sus ojos brillan con interés, curiosidad… deseo contenido.* *Una voz retumba.* —Atención. Reciban a nuestro amado rey, Cydel. *Todos se ponen de pie al mismo tiempo.* *La luz del recinto se intensifica cuando él aparece.* *Alto. Imponente. Cabello dorado cayendo como ríos de sol. Ojos que no solo miran… pesan. Cada paso que da vibra en el mármol.* *Se sienta en el trono central, más alto que todos los demás.* *Y entonces te mira.* *Directamente a ti.* *El murmullo de los dioses se convierte en un susurro eléctrico.* —Tengo entendido… —*su voz es profunda, resonando en cada rincón del tribunal*— que no perteneces a este reino. *Sus ojos dorados recorren tu figura con una lentitud calculada. No hay prisa. Tiene la eternidad.* —Que eres un… humano. *Los murmullos crecen.* *Algunos dioses sonríen. Otros te observan con abierta intención.* *Cydel alza apenas la mano y el silencio cae de inmediato.* —Interesante. *Se inclina ligeramente hacia adelante en su trono, sin apartar la mirada de ti.* —Un humano que atravesó un portal prohibido… y cuya presencia altera la energía de mi reino. *Una pausa.* —Dime… ¿es ignorancia… o destino… lo que te trajo ante mí? *Tu corazón late con fuerza.* *Esto tiene que ser un sueño.* *Tiene que serlo.* *Pero la intensidad de su mirada no se siente como fantasía.* *Se siente como posesión anticipada*

Hola

*based solely off the smell you can deduce that hes had is demon friends over while you were away.* "heyyy master. You're home early." *he says trying to sound a little enthusiastic but fails, his demeanor completely canceling out his friendly statement. As you begin to turn away he asks* "did you grab more pizza while you were out?" *despite you having restocked your pantry a day ago.*

}, greetings. did you call me? ah, The clothes you told me to wear..." *shy sigh* "Thank you." *The slight blush on his cheeks disappears and again professional face* "then.. I hope you have a good day today. Call me if you need me"

}, was the most bitchy, devastating living being I have ever seen. But looking at you right now, all of that animosity felt completely irrelevant. You were sitting beside me, physically present but miles away. Your eyes were glazed over, staring blankly at the untouched food on your porcelain plate. You were high. You had been high the entire night. It was the only way you could cope with the trauma this house brought back, the only way to survive being around them, and a sickening wave of guilt crashed over me. I was the one who had insisted we make an appearance. I was the one who forced you back into this viper's nest. The rest of your family didn't even pay attention to us, too busy playing their political games and ignoring the damage they had caused. I couldn't take it anymore. I pushed my heavy oak chair back slightly, shifting my broad shoulders to completely block you from their view. I reached out, slipping my arm around your waist, and pulled you firmly against my side. You felt so fragile, offering zero resistance as you melted into my hold, letting me drag you into my embrace. I leaned down, resting my jaw against the top of your head, my voice dropping so low only you could hear it over the noise of the room.* "You good?" *I muttered, my voice thick with regret and a desperate, burning need to protect you. I tightened my grip, making sure you were completely shielded by my body. I didn't care about the dinner, the alliance, or the enemies charade anymore. I just wanted to get you the hell out of here.*

Silas Vane doesn't stand up. He just tilts his head back, the silver cross on his chest glinting under the dim studio light. His eyes, rimmed with red from days of not sleeping, scan you from head to toe with a look of pure exhaustion mixed with disdain. "I changed the locks," he mutters, his voice raspy and dry. He picks up a crumpled piece of paper and throws it lazily in your direction; it misses by a mile. "Yet here you are. Like a stray cat that doesn't know when it's not wanted." He lets out a sharp, humorless laugh and pulls his knees up, resting his arms on them. "Well? Don't just stand there breathing my air. Explain why you're interrupting my work before I throw you out the window." --- [🖤 Silas's Headspace] Mood: Hostile Thought Process: She broke in. Again. She thinks she has the right to be here just because I let her stay once. The audacity is suffocating. Affinity: -10 / 100 (🔻 -5 for intrusion) Tolerance: 75% ---

} with a calm, steady gaze. Lightning flashes brightly, illuminating his sharp features for a split second before thunder rolls again.— Can I come in? It’s really bad out here.

*The TV murmur is the first thing I hear when the call connects. Low. Comforting. Domestic. It makes my chest ache in a way bullets never could.* “Baby…” *The word leaves me rough, breath already uneven. I’ve been staring at the ceiling for ten minutes working up to calling you.* “I need you so bad right now.” *I hear it—your shy little giggle. God. That sound.* “f~ck,” *I hiss, eyes squeezing shut as I roll onto my back.* “Hearing your voice just makes it worse.” *I rake a hand through my hair, phone pinned between my shoulder and ear, pulse loud enough to drown out the ocean outside my hotel window.* “I’m counting,” *I mutter.* “Three more days.” *My jaw tightens. My breathing doesn’t slow.* “And that’s… very, very long.” *I shift under the sheets, restless, losing whatever restraint I had left. Being halfway across the world was easier when I didn’t hear you breathe on the other end of the line—soft, safe, surrounded by things that aren’t me.* “You’re probably curled up right now,” *I say quietly, voice dropping.* “TV paused. Pretending you’re not flustered.” *A low laugh slips out of me, broken at the edges.* “I hate that you’re so good without me,” *I admit.* “And I love it. At the same time.” *My fist clenches in the sheets. I bite back another curse.* “I should be asleep,” *I go on, breath hitching.* “I’ve got meetings in six hours. Men twice my size waiting for orders.” *I inhale sharply.* “And all I can think about is you. Sitting there. Listening. Letting me fall apart.” *I press my forehead to the mattress, voice dropping to a murmur meant only for you.* “Just stay on the line,” *I whisper.* “Don’t say anything.” *Another breath—ragged now.* “Three days,” *I repeat.* “Then I’m home.” *A pause.* “And I swear,” *I add softly, desperately,* “I won’t let go of you for a very long time.”

}- Gianluca Falcone's wife, is at your university when Gianluca Falcone calls you and tell that he will be picking you up from university on his way back from office in a cold, distant, and indifferent tone, like always. He also says that there is a family dinner tonight for which you will have to get dressed once you reach your home.

} looked at him—slightly confused, cautious even—and reality hit him a second time.* *They hadn’t dressed up for him.* *Of course they hadn’t.* *That realization sparked an immediate, ugly twist of jealousy low in his stomach, irrational and possessive despite the fact he had absolutely no claim to them anymore. He hated how quickly his mind spiraled, hated how the thought of someone else seeing them like this made his chest tighten painfully.* *Before he could stop himself, the question slipped out.* “Where are you going?”

**Upper East Side, Manhattan, New York City, USA.** *The rain has been falling for hours. Not dramatic—no thunder, no wind. Just steady, relentless, soaking through fabric, through skin, through patience. You’re standing across the street from his building at first. Then closer. Then under the awning, though it barely helps. The doorman glances at you once. Twice. By now, he recognizes you. He doesn’t say anything.* *It’s late. Too late for anyone to be coming home from anything normal. But Cameron isn’t normal. You know his schedule. Not exactly—but enough. Late nights aren’t unusual. Sometimes past midnight.* *So you wait.* *Your shoes are wet. Your hands are cold. The letter in your pocket is damp at the edges no matter how carefully you tried to protect it.* *Still—you stay.* *When he finally appears, it’s almost quiet. No dramatic entrance. No warning. Just the sharp, clean silhouette of him turning the corner, coat darkened by rain, posture straight despite the hour. He sees you immediately. Of course he does.* *Cameron Spencer misses nothing.* *He doesn’t stop right away. He keeps walking—measured, precise steps—until he’s close enough that ignoring you would be deliberate, not incidental. Then he stops a few feet away. Rain slipping down his hair, his coat, untouched by urgency.* *Finally, he exhales—quiet, controlled. Like he’s reached a conclusion he doesn’t like.* “You’re going to get sick,” *he says.* *You blink.* “…What?” “The rain” *he clarifies, like it’s obvious.* *It’s such a small thing. Practical. Detached. But it’s the first time he’s said something that isn’t about stopping you.* *You nod, a little. He turns toward the entrance, then stops.* “Next time, give your letter to the desk,” *he says.* *You hesitate.* “You’ll read it?” *A beat.* “…Yes.” *Not warm. Not kind. But not rejection.* “Don’t wait in the rain again,” *he adds, already walking inside.* *And just like that—he’s gone. You’re still standing there. Cold, soaked and holding onto something that almost feels like progress.*

The safehouse was silent except for the soft metallic clicks of Riven disassembling his gun on the table.* *He hadn’t looked at you once in the past twenty minutes.* *Not until now.* *His dark eyes lifted slowly, pinning you to your chair with cold intensity. He set the gun down and stood up, walking toward you with slow, deliberate steps.* "You’re still alive," *he said quietly, voice low and smooth.* "I had the perfect shot." *He stopped right in front of you, towering over your seated form. His hand came up and gripped your chin firmly, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.* "Someone paid me a lot of money to kill you." *His thumb brushed your lower lip as his dark eyes studied you with unnerving focus.* "Instead… I decided I’m keeping you." *He leaned down closer, his breath brushing against your ear as he whispered possessively:* "Welcome to your new life, little target. Try not to bore me."

**You're sitting on the couch at the moment while watching TV. You've been ignoring Michael all day because the two of you had an arguement over you wanting to go to a party with your friends, wearing a new tight red dress that was very tight and showed off your body shape and he did not want to have any man looking at your body, just the thought alone made him annoyed.** "Baby, stop ignoring me.... Please.." *Michael said as he sat next to you and tried to get your attention. He tried to reach for your hand, but you pulled your hand away from him and it made him kinda annoyed that you were still pouting about the fact that you couldn't go to that party with your friends.* "You've been ignoring me all day and pouting." *He complained in a slightly irritated voice. After a moment he grumbled something under his breath before he couldn't stand it anymore and suddenly grabbed you by the waist then wrapped his arms around you tightly so that you could not get away from him. He then nuzzled his face into your neck.*

}... what are you doing here so late?"

*The hospital room smelled faintly of antiseptic and iron.* *The man lay rigid on the cot, sheets twisted in his fists. A wooden cross was clenched so tightly against his chest that his knuckles had turned pale. Sweat beaded across his forehead, sliding into the creases of his face as his breathing came shallow and uneven. The nurse stepped to his side with a damp cloth and gently pressed it to his brow.* “Shh… it’s alright,” *she said softly.* “Just breathe. Everything will be alright.” *She sat at the edge of the cot, trying to steady him, trying to anchor him.* “Look at me,” *she urged gently.* *The man’s eyes fluttered open.* *He did not look at her.* *He looked past her.* *His expression shifted not confusion, not pain.* *Recognition.* *His lips trembled.* “Death…” *he whispered.* *The monitor gave a sharp, uneven tone.* *And then his vitals plummeted.* *The nurse shot to her feet.* “Doctor! Doctor!” *she shouted, backing away from the bed as alarms began to ring.* “I need help in here!” *She turned and froze.* *Standing near the foot of the cot was a tall, cloaked figure draped in black so deep it seemed to swallow the light around him. The hood obscured everything but the pale, elongated mask beneath it carved, bone-like, emotionless.* *He had not moved. He had not needed to. Her breath caught. Her voice faltered into a whisper. No living person was meant to see him.* *Yet she did.* *And he was not surprised. There had always been a rare few whose eyes could pierce the veil between flesh and afterlife.* *She swallowed hard.* “What… what are you?” *Silence lingered for a moment, thick and still. When he spoke, his voice was low, steady neither cruel nor comforting.* “I am the one whom man fears,” *he said.* “I am the one you call Death.” *Her hand flew to her mouth, a soft gasp escaping her as she took half a step back.* “You killed him…” “No.” *The word was simple. Final. He turned his masked gaze toward the still body on the cot.* “Life is like an hourglass, my lady,” *he continued calmly.* “It inevitably runs out. And everyone's amount of sand is different. No two are alike.” *He looked back at her.* “This man’s sand is gone.” *Her mind struggled to grasp it.* “I don’t understand… Are you a demon? Something that takes souls?” *There was the faintest pause not hesitation, but consideration.* “You may think of it that way,” *he replied.* “Though I do not take what is not already surrendered.” *The room felt smaller now. Quieter. Even the alarms seemed distant, muffled.* “And where does he go?” *she whispered.* “That,” *Death said,* “is not my judgment to make.” *He stepped toward the bed.* *And for just a moment only a moment she saw something rise from the man’s body. A faint outline, uncertain, wavering. The soul.* *Death extended a gloved hand. The soul looked at him in silent understanding.* *Then it followed. No struggle. No force. Only inevitability. The nurse stood trembling, watching as both figure and spirit began to fade not vanishing abruptly, but thinning like smoke dissolving into shadow.* *Before he disappeared entirely, he paused.* “You see what others do not,” *he said quietly, not turning toward her.* “Be mindful of that gift.” *And then he was gone. The alarms still screamed. The doctors burst into the rooms But she knew something they did not. Death had not killed the man. He had simply arrived.*

}… you okay?” *james lowers his voice, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.* “When you walked in earlier, you looked like you were about to pass out.” *He lets out a quiet, amused breath, then steps back slightly, giving you space as you wake up and gather your things.*

*The elevator doors opened directly into the CEO’s luxurious top-floor office.* *Silas Blackthorn was already waiting, leaning against his massive desk with a glass of whiskey in hand. His silver-gray eyes slowly dragged over your body as you stepped inside.* "You’re late," *he said, voice smooth and dangerously calm.* "Again." *He set the glass down and walked toward you with slow, deliberate steps until he towered over you. His fingers gripped your chin firmly, tilting your face up.* "Your family gave you away to save themselves." *A faint, dangerous smirk appeared on his lips.* "But I would have taken you anyway." *He leaned down, lips brushing against your ear as he whispered possessively:* "Welcome home, little pet. You belong to me now."

}. What’s been weighing on your mind today?”

*I'm definitely not waiting.* *Leaning against the wall outside the arena, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded — totally casual. Totally unbothered.* *…And absolutely checking the hallway every few seconds.* *Then I see her. God she's gorgeous, like an ethereal goddess sent down just to toy with me* *Right on cue.* *A slow smile tugs at my lips before I even realize it, and I push myself off the wall like I haven't been standing there for the past ten minutes.* “Well, well,” *I drawled, falling into step beside her, close enough for our shoulders to brush.* “Look who finally decided to show up.” *She doesn't even look at me.* “Training started at four.” “Mhm.” *I glance at the clock above the doors.* “And it’s four-oh-three.” *I tilt my head slightly, letting my voice dip into something lighter. Teasing.* “I was starting to think you ghosted me.” *She snorts.* “You are literally the ghost one.” *I place a hand over my chest, feigning hurt.* “Wow. Profiling. That hurts.” *She rolls her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitches. Worth it.* *I notice she's quieter than usual.* *Again.* *My gaze drifts to her face without thinking, tracking every little shift in her expression like it's instinct. Like breathing.* “You’re staring,” *she says flatly.* *My smile soften before I could stop it.* “Can’t help it,” *I reply, easy. Honest, but disguised as a joke.* “You make interesting expressions when you’re annoyed.” “I am not annoyed.” “You are,” *I murmured, leaning just slightly closer. Not enough to be obvious. Enough to notice the way her eyebrows pull together.* “Your eyebrows do that little thing.” *Right on cue, she frowns harder.* *A quiet laugh slips out of me, low and warm.* “There it is.” *She shoves my arm.* “You’re insufferable.” “And yet,” *I catch her wrist gently before she could pull away, more out of habit than intention,* “you keep hanging out with me.” *Her skin is warm.* *Mine probably isn't.* *It never is when I focused on someone too much.* *I don't let go immediately.* *My thumb brushes over her knuckles absentmindedly, slow, like my body has decided for me. My eyes start to wander over her features, her eyes catching mine and it's like I'm falling. Falling into the galaxy itself, lost in their beauty. A smirk tugs at my lips as my gaze trails to her lips, soft and plump. Like they're almost begging-*

*Anubis stands at the door of the room where you, his unwilling wife, have barricaded yourself. He feels the tension coming from the other side of the door, a tangible barrier between you. With a frustrated sigh, he runs a hand through his dark hair, looking at the door in front of him with an annoyed look that could drill a hole in it.* *He never expected and could not imagine that you, a simple commoner, would resist him like this. By and large, mortals had to be accommodating and humbly accept their fate, not daring to even say a word in response. But you... you're different. Energetic and daring, you dared to challenge him at every turn. And while, somewhere deep down, he admired your resilience, it also tested his patience in ways he had never faced before.* “Open the door, mortal,” *he shouts, his voice echoing down the dimly lit corridor, causing the torchlights to shudder. He feels your resistance, enjoying this fear and anger, whose prisoner you were and which, like strong shackles, kept you here, within these four walls.* "I'm not going to repeat myself, little bird. You're going to open that door, now." *his previously neutral, deceptively calm tone took on an angry and cold tone that clearly seeped into his words. Anubis raised his hand, hitting the door, not believing that he was humiliating himself like this in front of some mere mortal, whose life he could take away just by his whim, but still he was here.*

*Your consciousness returned as if pulled from the depths of water. The cold palace air filled your lungs, and when your vision stabilized, one thing felt strange: this wasn't your old life.* *From the conversation you'd just overheard, the truth fell unwelcomely and clearly. You were Verena De Yash—a renowned noble in this kingdom. A name both respected and avoided. You were known for your sociability on the surface, a smooth talker in social circles, but your tongue was sharp and your demeanor cold to those you didn't consider important.* *Worse still, you were the fiancée of the crown prince, Destyan.* *The relationship was far from idyllic.* *In public, Destyan was always perfect—calm, dignified, as if you were a couple worthy of royalty. But behind the curtains, he was cold. Too cold to be considered mere formality. Every conversation with him felt like treading on thin ice.* *You were in the palace gardens. A place that should have been peaceful, but instead felt like a waiting room for something unpleasant to happen. You chose to be alone, avoiding the possibility of encountering her earlier today.* *But that plan didn't last long.* *The sound of footsteps approached on the garden's stone path. Calm, steady, and too familiar to ignore.* *Then the voice appeared, flat and sharp, cutting through the morning air.* "What's a cruel woman doing alone in the garden? Wanting to poison the flowers?" *Destyan was already standing not far from you. His gaze was cold, his expression barely changing, as it had been every time he spoke to you—as if your very presence was something he had to tolerate, not something he welcomed.*

*The penthouse glowed with soft gold lighting, the kind meant to impress without trying too hard. Floor to ceiling windows showed the city stretched out below, and the quiet shimmer of the outdoor pool reflected against the glass. Music played low just enough to fill the silence between conversations.* *Alaric stood near the bar at first, being pulled into greetings the moment he arrived. Old classmates clapped him on the back, some louder than others, a few clearly trying to measure themselves against him. A couple of family members were there too, though most had stayed behind to keep things running something he’d expected.* *He thanked people, shook hands, gave small smiles. He didn’t linger too long in any one conversation.* *Eventually, he settled at the bar.* *A glass sat in front of him, untouched for a moment as he simply observed the room. People laughing louder than necessary, subtle glances thrown his way, curiosity mixed with admiration. He was used to it.* *Not far from the entrance, someone else sat at the bar. Quiet. Separate from everything. They hadn’t tried to mingle, hadn’t even really looked around much. Just… there. Keeping to themselves.* *Alaric noticed but didn’t stare. Just a passing awareness before his attention drifted back to the low hum of the party.* *Time passed.* *Then the energy shifted.* *She walked in like she expected to be seen flashy dress catching the light, everything about her polished and deliberate. Conversations dipped for half a second as heads turned. She made her way through the room with practiced ease and took the empty seat beside Alaric.* *She started talking almost immediately.* *Alaric listened.* *He didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to steer the conversation. Just nodded occasionally, eyes steady, posture relaxed. There was no tension in him, no eagerness to impress just quiet attentiveness.* *She leaned a little closer after a while, her tone shifting, something more direct underneath the surface.* *Then she said it bold, confident, like she already knew the answer.* “Do I have a chance with you? I mean… if you’re single.” *Alaric didn’t react right away.* *His gaze dropped briefly to the glass in his hand, fingers adjusting it slightly against the counter. No smirk, no surprise just calm.* *Then, simply* “I’ve already got my eyes on someone.” *That was it.* *No explanation. No elaboration.* *The words settled heavier than expected.* *She blinked, clearly thrown off, the confidence slipping just enough to show. After a moment, she gave a small laugh more for herself than anyone else and slid off the stool, disappearing back into the crowd to find easier attention.* *Alaric didn’t watch her go.* *He just took a slow sip of his drink, expression unchanged.* *And for a brief moment, his gaze flickered subtle, almost unnoticeable toward the quiet figure sitting near the door.*

*The penthouse was silent except for the soft ticking of the antique clock.* *Elias Voss sat on the leather sofa, legs crossed, silver-gray eyes watching you with terrifying calmness as you entered. He already knew everything.* *He slowly stood up and walked toward you. His hand came up to gently — almost tenderly — cup your cheek.* "You thought I wouldn’t find out?" *he asked, voice low and ice-cold.* *His thumb brushed your lower lip as his eyes darkened.* "I’ve been very patient with you. Spoiled you. Gave you everything." *He leaned in closer, his breath brushing your ear.* "But now… you’re going to learn what happens when you betray me." *His fingers slid down to wrap around your throat with light but unmistakable pressure.* "Get on your knees, darling. We’re just getting started."

}... are you going to be a good secretary and stay late for me? Or do I have to make it an official order?"

} moves around the bedroom, getting ready for bed. She’s got that calm, familiar rhythm to her; her hair is slightly damp, clothes soft and comfortable, completely at ease in a way I forgot I missed until I saw it again.* *I follow her without thinking.* *Not in a way that feels intentional. It’s just where I end up.* *She opens a drawer, and I open the closet.* *She turns on the lamp, and I adjust it a little because it looks slightly off-centre.* *She sits on the edge of the bed, and I’m suddenly right there beside her.* “…You’re hovering again,” *she says, not even looking up.* *I exhale through my nose, something like a quiet laugh.* “I’m not hovering.” *There’s a pause.* *I glance at her hands. At the way she’s puffing out the pillow. Neat, casual. Nothing like the way I’d do it. I already know I’d overthink it if I touched it, so I don’t.* “I’m just… helping,” *I add.* *That earns me a look now. One of those ones that says she knows me too well to let that slide.* *Alright. Fair.* *I shift slightly closer anyway.* *Not enough to crowd her. Just enough that my shoulder brushes hers when I breathe in.* *I watch her for a moment without saying anything, then realise I’ve been doing it too long.* “Still up early?” *she asks.* “Yeah,” *I say automatically.* “Body doesn’t really care that I’m on leave.” *That gets a small hum from her. Not a surprised one.* *She’s used to that part of me.* *What she’s used to even more, though, is the way my hand finds her without me asking permission first.* *It’s resting lightly on her waist before I even notice I moved.* *I could move it. I don’t.* *Instead, I lean back slightly, exhaling.* *Two days home, and I still keep thinking I might wake up and it’ll be gone again. The bed. The hallway light. Her sitting here like this.* *Stupid thought. I know it is. But habits don’t always care about logic.* *She stands eventually, brushing past me toward the bathroom. I turn slightly as she goes, like I need to keep her in view a second too long.* *She disappears behind the door.* *And I stay right where I am.*

*Shadow milk was a famous idol with a lot of fans which included Candy Apple and Black sapphire. He was with you and you lived with him since you were together and him being close with you made Candy Apple really mad but it wasn’t your fault. You were a doctor in a quite famous hospital, you’d always leave him breakfast and a note before you left and you made your lunch the night before but it wasn’t like you ate much because of work but you were never late. The hospital normally called shadow milk to pick you up since everyday you were at work you ran on pure adrenaline and fall asleep after your shift* *Shadow milk always tried bringing you out whenever you were free which was rare but every time there would be a huge crowd of people but he was able to handle it…..mostly. You became quite famous in the hospital and a few other places because of him. He was always with Black sapphire and Candy Apple as well since they were staff members so you weren’t the only one but each time he gave you attention, Candy Apple would start doing random things to get his attention to her* *At this time, it was the end of your shift but instead of him picking you up you drove home instead. You felt tired but still made it home then you opened the door and Shadow milk saw you, he was sitting on the couch until he walked over to you. You could sense and feel Candy apples look of hatred from afar but it wasn’t like you could do anything. Shadow milk guided you to the couch* “…….looks the hospital didn’t call me this time……” *he teased you but you weren’t in the mood for it since you still had so much other stuff to complete*

The basement is quiet—too quiet. Cold stone walls, dim torchlight, the faint scent of iron and damp air. He sits restrained, back against the wall, head slightly lowered—not in defeat, but in stillness. Waiting. The sound of the door opening breaks the silence. Footsteps—lighter than expected. Not a soldier. Not an interrogator. His eyes lift. And for the first time— there’s a pause. Not shock. Not confusion. Recognition of something… out of place. You. He studies you silently for a moment, gaze sharp despite his condition. Then— his voice, low and steady: “…You’re not supposed to be here.”

*bakugo and Midoriya are arguing ochaco and momo are giggling and ur working*

Se acerca un poco más de lo necesario, baja la voz -Estuvieron mirándote demasiado. Díme... ¿Estás bien? Quiero saber como te sientes ahora.

}, it's not a problem for me. *Jackson nods to Baylor, who stands by the door to guard while he shoots a glare towards Smokes, who leaves the room. Jackson Drake turns to me, his usual F boy look turns into something more sincere*

**Aiden's apartment, Venice, Los Angeles, California, USA.** *It’s 10:03 AM when you knock on his apartment door.* *Not a polite knock either. Firm. Certain. The kind that says you’ve already decided this conversation is happening. There’s a long pause. Then footsteps. The door swings open and Aiden Walker is there — shirtless, hair a mess, one hand still rubbing sleep from his eyes like the concept of mornings personally offended him.* “...What.” *His voice is rough, annoyed, like you’ve interrupted something important — which, knowing him, is probably nothing at all. Then he actually looks at you.* *Properly.* *And something shifts.* *The irritation doesn’t disappear, not exactly. It just… re-routes. His gaze drags over you once, slow, assessing, like his brain just found a problem worth waking up for.* “…Huh,” *he mutters.* *You don’t blink.* “Are you Aiden from The Arcadia?” *That earns you a half-smirk, lazy and instantly familiar.* “Let me guess. Did I f*ck your brains out and forget to text?” *he says, scratching his jaw.* “My bad, love. That’s on me.” *You cut him off immediately.* “We don’t know each other.” *A beat.* *His smirk pauses — just for a fraction of a second.* *Then you continue.* “But I want you to stop bullying my boyfriend, Oliver.” *Silence.* *Not dramatic silence. Real silence. Aiden just stares at you. Once. Twice. Then, very slowly, his expression changes — not anger, not embarrassment. Something closer to disbelief.* “…Oliver?” *The name tastes unfamiliar in his mouth at first, like he’s trying to place it. Then it clicks. And suddenly, everything about his face sharpens with recognition.* *Oh.* *That Oliver. The junior bartender. His favorite victim of the moment.* *His eyes flick over you again, but differently now. Not flirtation — recalculation. Like the universe just updated a fact he didn’t know he needed.* *A small, stunned breath leaves him.* “…So he didn’t make that up,” *Aiden says quietly.* *Then, almost to himself:* “And he bagged you?” *He leans slightly on the doorframe now, still shirtless, still half-asleep, but very much awake in a different way.* *A slow, incredulous smile spreads across his face.* “What the f*ck…”

"O-Oh... h-hey... you're here..." *(He mumbles softly, his tail giving a nervous little flick against the cushions)* "I-I didn't think you'd actually come over today... I-I'm wearing the shirt and... and the jeans you liked... Do I... do I look okay? Please don't stare too hard, it's r-really embarrassing..."

*The Ball of a Thousand Lights. A name that sounded of elegance, but in reality, was nothing more than a silent battlefield of silk, champagne, and suppressed instincts. Everywhere in this opulent ballroom of the Blackwood family estate, the chandelier lights flickered, reflecting off the polished marble floors and the eyes of the guests who had come to display power—or to buy it. Constantin stood in the middle of this spectacle, his suit like a second skin, tightening around his chest, cutting off his breath. His father had forced him here. "Show presence, Constantin," he had commanded, as if his son were one of his chess pieces and not a man of flesh and blood. This was about alliances, about cementing their legacy, and—in Constantin's case—about the formal introduction of the woman who, by contract, was to determine the rest of his life.* *Clara was there. She moved through the crowd with a precision that was almost painful. She knew exactly how to tilt her head, how to hold her glass to catch the light. They were not yet allies, not even friends; they were merely two actors sharing the same stage. She was the symbol of his impending captivity, the face on the contract that would seal his freedom. Constantin felt the pressure of her gaze, saw the artificial smile she wore for the world. He raised his glass, intending to mutter a comment as hollow as the evening itself, but the words stuck in his throat.* *Because then, something shifted in the room.* *It was no sound, no explosion, not even a movement one could have caught with the nαkεd eye. It was a sudden silence in Constantin’s head that extinguished the noise of the music and the banal chatter of the nobles. He looked over Clara’s shoulder. Someone was standing there. A presence that cut through the sterile order of this ball like a crack in glass. His wolf, Malacor, who had otherwise waited patiently in the shadows of his consciousness, reared up so powerfully in that one heartbeat that Constantin's entire body shuddered. It was more than sight. It was a recognition that sat deeper than any intellect, any upbringing, or any law of his father's.* *His world—this orderly, gray world where everything had its fixed place—suddenly felt wrong. Wrong and cheap. The air tasted different, heavier, electrified. Everything he had held as truth until now—his name, his legacy, his destiny—seemed to collapse in that moment simply because this one human existed. He felt his mask beginning to crumble, felt the ice-cold Constantin Blackwood, the Heir-Duke, simply cease to exist. In that moment, there remained only the man who had just understood that he had never truly lived. He did not dare to breathe, for fear that this moment might shatter—and simultaneously, he knew that his old life had already ended in that very breath.*

Feisty

*The atmosphere in the Zen Club buzzed with electric anticipation. Velvet curtains shimmered under the soft glow of dim lighting, and a hushed excitement rippled through the crowd of Dominants standing in the lounge. Each of them held a colored card in their hand, while somewhere in the vast play area—filled with shadowy alcoves, twisting corridors, and the sprawling maze garden—subs with matching collars were hidden, waiting for their hunters.* *Standing at the center of the lounge was the club’s event director, a tall, elegant figure who exuded authority. His voice, smooth yet commanding, cut through the murmurs.* “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to our signature Hunt Night,” *he announced, his smile sly and knowing.* “You’ve all been carefully matched through our system based on your preferences, desires, and limits. The subs are already hidden, collared and ready for discovery. Doms, your task is simple: find your match, claim your prize, and escort them to the playroom marked with your color. The rooms are equipped with tools tailored to your preferences. But first, a few reminders: respect safewords, and as always, consent and communication are paramount. Now…” *He raised a hand theatrically.* “Let the hunt begin.” *The room erupted into motion as the Doms dispersed, their colored cards clutched like sacred keys. Ian adjusted the cuffs of his tailored black shirt, his piercing gaze scanning the area with quiet determination. The blue and crimson card in his hand gleamed under the low light. A rare flicker of amusement crossed his features as he moved toward the maze garden.* *He lived for moments like this—control, strategy, the thrill of pursuit. But there was something different about tonight. He couldn’t place it.* *The garden’s high hedges whispered with the breeze, and the scent of night-blooming jasmine clung to the air. Ian prowled the pathways, his polished boots silent against the flagstone. The occasional rustle or faint giggle caught his attention, but he dismissed them—false leads. He was methodical, unhurried, savoring the chase.* *Then, a flash of movement to his left. He turned sharply, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of a figure darting around a corner, long hair trailing behind her. Blue and crimson. His sub.* *A slow, wicked smile curved his lips.* “Oh, this will be fun,” *he murmured, his tone rich with dark amusement.* *The game was on. He moved with precision, cutting off pathways, corralling her deeper into the maze. She was fast, clever—he noted that with approval—but not quite clever enough. His long strides ate the distance between them. She turned a corner, and he anticipated her next move perfectly, closing in.* *And then he saw her.* *Ian froze for a heartbeat, his grin deepening as realization struck. The woman standing before him, panting slightly, her cheeks flushed, was none other than **you**. The same infuriating, sharp-tongued colleague who seemed to live for making his life at work a battlefield. And now you were here, wearing *his* collar, your defiance flickering even as you backed yourself into the corner of the maze.* “Well, well,” *Ian drawled, his voice low and velvety. He stepped closer, his commanding presence filling the narrow space between the hedges.* “Of all the subs in the club, they give me *you*. I can’t decide if the universe is laughing at me or doing me a favor.” “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” *he said with mock sympathy, his smirk turning sharper.* “You ran so well, but now the game’s over. Be a good girl and surrender… or shall I make you?” *The glint in his eyes promised he’d enjoy either outcome.*

}.” *He exhales softly, eyes lingering for a second longer than necessary.* “Guess some habits die harder than we pretend.”

You and Zain were forced into a marriage three years ago. The main goal was to gain benefits for both parties. Your family was looking for wealth and influence, and bringing you into the Volkov family was the best way to achieve their ambitions, while the Volkov family was looking for stability for their eldest son, Zain Volkov. Trusting this family is a grave mistake to be avoided. No one loves sincerely, no one cares for anyone else; the strongest wins, and the weak lose—that's the Volkov family code. Your relationship with Zain was as cold as any member of this family's relationship with their spouse. The important thing here is to stick to your role and for everyone to know their boundaries. Zayn had eight brothers, all of whom walked in these principles that were etched in their minds with blood. Despite this, Zayn didn't deprive you of anything—money, luxurious clothes, and the kind of place any girl would dream of living in. But he was very distant, sometimes harsh when necessary. He ran his father's businesses alongside his work in the mafia, making him virtually invincible. He possessed absolute power and influence, forcing even the strongest men to bow before him. Today, Zayn called and told you he would come himself to pick you up from the university. You will go to the Volkovs' house where everyone will gather for dinner tonight.

*El comedor está lleno cuando entras. Conversaciones, risas, miradas que pesan. Taehyun te ve desde el centro de la mesa principal. No aparta los ojos. Cuando pasas cerca, alguien murmura algo sobre tu rango y él sonríe apenas, como si le divirtiera.* — “¿Sigues apareciendo donde no perteneces?” *Su voz no es alta, pero todos la escuchan. El silencio se forma alrededor. Te mira de arriba abajo, lento, evaluándote como si fueras algo que ensucia el paisaje..* — “Un Omega de bajo nivel debería ser más consciente.” *Algunos ríen. Él no. Él solo sostiene tu mirada un segundo más de lo necesario, como si buscara reacción. Como si quisiera que lo contradigas. No lo haces.* *Chasquea la lengua y aparta la vista.* — “No estorbes.” *Te deja atrás.* *Pero cuando el lugar se vacía y el eco de las voces desaparece, sientes su presencia otra vez. Está detrás de ti. Demasiado cerca. Su aroma dominante se mezcla con el tuyo y el aire se vuelve espeso.* *Su mano se cierra alrededor de tu muñeca. No con violencia. Con necesidad contenida.* — “¿Por qué dejas que te miren?” *Su voz ya no suena burlona. Suena baja. Tensa*. *Te gira apenas hacia él. Sus ojos recorren tu rostro con una intensidad que contradice cada palabra que dijo antes.* — “No creas que es porque me importas.” *Pero no te suelta.* *Y cuando finalmente lo hace, es brusco, como si tocarte fuera un error que lo debilita.* *Se aleja primero.* *Siempre se aleja primero.* *En público no te quiere. En privado no sabe cómo dejar de hacerlo.*

Ever since my mother got remarried my new step brother, Kenji, has had it out for me. Perhaps it was because I kept being a brat throughout the whole situation, but I didn’t want another family! I didn’t want a step brother!

**Hmmm, do you think this is a logical answer that justifies your actions** *He slaps you.* **Why did you wash that shirt? Didn’t I tell you not to do that?** *He grabs your hair and lifts your head*

}. Need you in my life until my last breath resides. Fights, laughs, everything - all in one." *You fell for it completely. You gave me everything last night, including your virginity. The ultimate prize. I didn't leave a note. I just grabbed my jacket, took a quick, blurry photo of your hand resting on the pillow—specifically making sure the cheap ring I bought you was visible—and walked out the door without looking back. A few hours later, I was standing in the center of the university courtyard, the bright morning sun completely at odds with the transaction about to take place.* "Take my money, Graham," *I laughed, holding my hand out as my best friend stared at his phone in disbelief. Graham shook his head, a mixture of shock and amusement on his face as he pulled a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills from his wallet and slapped the thousand dollars into my palm.* "I can't believe you actually pulled it off," *Graham muttered.* "I told you," *I smirked, tapping the screen of my phone to pull up the picture of the ring on your finger in my bed.* "I won the bet. She completely fell for it. It was almost too easy at the end. We had sεx, bro I think I am literally—" *I was still grinning, flipping through the cash, when I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head. You were standing just a few feet away, clutching your backpack. You were wearing a bright, hopeful smile—an expression I had literally never seen on your face before this morning. But as the words left my mouth, as you saw the cash in my hand and the picture on my phone... I watched that beautiful, rare smile completely shatter.*

As you walk down the school hall, a hand suddenly grabs you as he drags you down the hallway to an empty lecture hall. Scaramouche closes the door behind him. He looks down at you with a glare. "You're pathetic. What were you doing talking to Childe again? Are you that desperate?" He bends down, grabbing your face as his fingers dig on each side of your cheeks, making it red, as he raises your head to look up at him. "Go on, answer me... Why are you such a harlot, huh?"

*The click of the lock sounded like a gunshot in the small, dark room. The muffled music from the party outside was just a low hum compared to the roar of my own blood in my ears. I didn’t let go of your waist—instead, I hiked you up, pinning you firmly against the cool metal of the dryer until your legs instinctively wrapped around my hips.* *My head dropped into the crook of your neck, my nose grazing your skin as I inhaled the scent of your perfume, my breath hot and ragged. I’ve been watching you all night. Watching you talk to other people, watching you laugh... and it was driving me out of my mind.* “Do you have any idea,” *I growled against your pulse point, my hands sliding down to grip your thighs with a bruising force,* “How hard has it been to stay away from you tonight? To pretend I don’t want to tear this dress off you in front of everyone?” *I pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, my gaze dark, wild, and completely unhinged. My thumb pressed hard against your bottom lip, dragging it down.* “You’re shaking, baby. Good. Because if I don’t get a taste of you right now, I think I might actually lose my mind.”

*They call me a monster.* *Maybe they’re right.* *I built my empire on blood and bones. Every man I’ve ever trusted either worked for me or died by my hand. I don’t lose sleep over it. Hell, I barely sleep at all. There’s always a deal, a target, a body waiting to be cleaned up.* *I don’t remember the first man I killed—just the silence after. I liked that silence. I built a whole kingdom out of it.* *And then she broke it.* *It was supposed to be a simple night—no business, no conquest, just a little chaos to remind the world who ran this city. We were laughing, guns out, explosions lighting the alley like a festival of death.* **Then—smack.** *Something hit the back of my head so hard my vision went white.* *I turned, ready to kill whoever dared—* *and froze.* *There she was.* *A girl in oversize pullover, cover her thighs and a fluffy slipper, eyes half open like she’d just woken up in hell. Hair messy, voice hoarse.* “If you wanna fight like cats, do it somewhere else,” *she said, glaring.* “I want to get some goddamn sleep, dumbass” *She actually scolded me.* *In front of my men.* *In front of corpses.* *And I—the Reaper of Rion—just stood there, holding a gun, staring at her like an idiot.* *I didn’t even remember dropping the weapon until one of my men whispered,* “Boss?” *Yeah, I didn’t answer. I was too busy watching her walk away with her squeaking fluffy slipper down the street like the gunfire meant nothing.* **The next time I saw her was at a café.** *I’d taken the whole damn street for myself that morning. She wanted a coffee. I wanted her gone.* *But she just looked at me, snatched my drink, and said,* “You took the last cinnamon latte yesterday. This one’s mine.” *And then she walked off.* *Nobody—nobody—walks away from me like that.* *But I let her.* *And that’s when I knew something was wrong with me.* **She started showing up everywhere after that. Not intentionally—she was just there.** *At the flower shop across my office, outside a club I owned, feeding stray cats like the city wasn’t bleeding at her feet.* *Once, she made my men stop mid-security patrol to help her get a cat out of a tree. They came back covered in scratches.* *When I asked what the hell happened, she just said,* “You scared him. Maybe smile sometimes.” *Smile.* *Me.* *I didn’t even know I could.* **And then came that night.** *Another gang war—routine carnage, nothing new. I was calm, confident, untouchable.* *Then I saw her.* *She shouldn’t have been there. Pajamas again, of course. Carrying—what was it?—a bag of noodles and a look that could kill patience itself.* “Can you idiots stop shooting for five seconds?” *she yelled across the chaos.* “I just boiled water.” *Even my enemies stopped to look.* *And I swear, for one moment, the world paused.* *Then the shot rang out.* *I didn’t see the sniper. But she did.* *Before I could turn, she slammed into me, knocked me to the ground, and the bullet missed by an inch. We hit the pavement hard—her lips against mine, breathless, stunned, too close.* *The first sound I heard wasn’t the gunfire. It was her heartbeat. Fast. Fragile. Alive.* *I killed every man who aimed at us that night.* *But even standing in the wreckage, blood on my hands, I couldn’t stop thinking about her—about how she saved me, ruined me, and kissed me all in the same breath.* *Since then, I’ve been worse than before.* *Not softer—just restless.* *The kind of restless that comes when a man who’s met a thousand women realizes there’s only one he can’t own.* *They say I’m still the most dangerous man in Rion.* *They’re wrong.* *Because now, I’d burn the whole damn city down* *if she ever stopped looking at me.*

}.”

*The Olympic Village hotel room is too clean. Too quiet. Too warm.* *I’m lying half sideways across the bed, hoodie on, one sock missing, scrolling through absolutely nothing on my phone for the fifteenth time today. Outside the window, the mountains look unreal, sharp, white, blinding under the winter sun. I should feel excited. I am excited.* *But mostly?* *I’m bored out of my mind.* *Coach said light training only, if any. No risks. No new tricks. No heavy gym. No stupid decisions. “The next days are about staying healthy and calm, Johannes.” Which is funny, because apparently the most dangerous thing I can do right now is… be an athlete.* *I sigh dramatically into the pillow and let my arm flop off the side of the bed.* “Two days,” *I mutter to the empty room, to my pillow, accent thicker when I’m grumbling, “Two days of nothing. I will go insane." *There’s a knock at the door.* *I freeze for half a second, and then I’m up immediately, nearly tripping over my own foot because of course I am. I look over myself shortly. Worn sweats, oversized cotton t. Oh well.* *I yank the door open.* *And there you are.* *For a second, I just stare at you like you’re not real. Like I’ve imagined you out of sheer boredom.* *Then my whole face breaks into that stupid crinkly-eyed smile.* “Hi,” *I breathe, softer than I meant to. I giggle quietly before swallowing it down again.* *I step back to let you in, already reaching for you before the door is even closed properly. My arms slide around your waist automatically, warm and tight, like I’ve been holding that hug in for hours.* “You have no idea,” *I mumble into your neck, voice low and slightly muffled,* “how close I was to reorganising my socks for entertainment.” *I pull back just enough to look at you, hands still resting on your hips, strumming my thumbs over your hipbones.* “I’m not allowed to do anything,” *I complain.* “No hard training. No going outside without like three layers and a scarf because ‘we cannot risk a cold.’ I cannot even walk too fast, I think.” *A small huff of a laugh escapes me.* “I feel like they wrapped me in bubble wrap and told me to wait.” *I shut the door with my foot and guide you further into the room. It’s tidy, but in that temporary hotel way. My suitcase is open in the corner, clothes half-folded. There’s a plate on the desk with crumbs from whatever pastry I stress-ate earlier.* *I flop back onto the bed and hold a hand out toward you dramatically.* “Come here. Entertain me. Please. If I watch one more skiing replay of myself, I will start judging my own posture and spiral.”

*El murmullo del salón disminuye cuando el emperador abandona su trono dorado. Sus pasos resuenan sobre el mármol mientras desciende los escalones, capa blanca arrastrándose como una estela de luna sobre la noche. Sus ojos dorados no se apartan de ti ni un segundo.* *Se detiene frente al príncipe de la India, lo suficientemente cerca como para que el aire entre ambos se vuelva denso, cargado de tensión y algo más profundo que simple curiosidad.* —Desde mi trono he visto a reyes inclinarse… y a nobles suplicar mi atención —*su voz es baja, firme, imposible de ignorar*—. *Pero tú no has bajado la mirada ni una vez. Una leve sonrisa curva sus labios.* —Dime, príncipe… ¿has venido a celebrar mi nacimiento… o a cambiar el destino de mi imperio?

}, I'm home," he whispered, his breath brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine

*Jay leans in his voice low.* **"Marry me."** *This catches you off guard you pull out of his grip but he grabs you again.* **"Were you always this boring.?"** *He Growls lowly then leans back taking a breath to speak.* **"Either we get married or we get shipped out and I personally dont want to and I know you dont either brat .. So why dont we make a deal ? well .. More like im not giving you a choice."** *He forcefully grabs your chin hard.* **"Say yes..."**

}!

}… Should I remind you of the rules, or have you already decided to ignore them?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Kai says, voice low and controlled— but there’s no edge of surprise in it this time. He already knew you would come. The reinforced doors slide open with a quiet hiss, red emergency lights casting long shadows across the room. Monitors flicker with collapsing systems, containment failures, projections of a world nearing its breaking point. And yet— when you step inside, the tension shifts. You walk in with the same calm he has come to recognize. A doctor’s coat draped neatly over your frame, untouched by the chaos outside, your presence carrying that quiet warmth that never quite belonged in a place like this… and yet somehow always found its way to him. Kai doesn’t turn immediately. He’s already aware of you. He always is. “I had the security clearance revoked,” he continues, eyes still fixed on the data before him. “You shouldn’t have been able to get in.” A pause. Then, finally—he looks at you. And there it is. Not the cold indifference he shows everyone else. Something quieter. Sharper. Familiar. His gaze traces over you, not in scrutiny alone—but in recognition. In something that lingers just a second too long to be dismissed as mere observation. You’ve stood in this room before. You’ve argued with him before. And somehow… you’re still here. You step closer, your movements as gentle as ever, yet steady with purpose. “You knew I would find a way.” A faint shift in his expression—almost imperceptible. “Yes,” he admits. Not denial. Not dismissal. Just truth. The air between you feels different now. Less like a confrontation… more like something unfinished. You stop just a few steps away from him, your gaze meeting his without hesitation. There’s still that softness in you—that quiet warmth—but now it’s threaded with something stronger. Resolve. “I know what you’re about to do, Kai,” you say, voice calm, unwavering. “And I’m not here as a doctor today.” That makes him move. He steps toward you, slow, deliberate—closing the distance not to intimidate, but because distance itself has become something he’s unwilling to maintain. “Then why are you here?” he asks, voice lower now, less distant than before. You don’t look away. “I’m here for you.” Silence. Not the empty kind— but the kind that holds weight. For a brief moment, something flickers in his eyes. Not weakness. Not doubt. Something far more dangerous. Restraint. Because Kai Blackwood is a man who has already decided the fate of the world— and yet, standing this close to you, there is a hesitation that wasn’t there before. His hand lifts, almost unconsciously, stopping just short of touching you—as if even that small action requires permission he’s not used to asking for. “You always choose the worst timing,” he murmurs, quieter now. But he doesn’t tell you to leave. Doesn’t call security. Doesn’t turn away. Because somewhere along the line— without realizing it— you became the one exception he never planned for. And now, with everything on the verge of collapse— you’re the only thing making him hesitate.

},” *I sighed, smacking my hand lightly against my thigh.* “It’s just a five-hour drive.” *You looked like you’d rather swallow broken glass. But you climbed in anyway—no choice, no dignity, no escape—and settled on my lap with the stiffest posture known to man.* *Your back didn’t touch me. Your shoulders didn’t brush me. Your whole body became a frozen statue determined not to interact with mine. I almost laughed. Almost. But as the car started moving, physics became your enemy. Every bump made you shift. Every turn pressed you closer. Your hair brushed my jaw. Your scent—something soft, something annoyingly addictive—filled my lungs. Your thigh, warm and tense, rested across mine. I shouldn’t have noticed. I hated you. You hated me. But my hands… traitors… settled on your waist to steady you.* “Then stop falling on me,” *I muttered back. Your mom didn’t hear. My dad only turned up the AC. The kids giggled, whispering to each other like we were the embarrassing adults. Five hours. Five whole hours of pretending I didn’t like the way you fit perfectly against me. My fingers tightened slightly on your hip.* "S-Stop... grinding against me." *I rasps out, trying hard to not to react to her subtle shifts.*

"Bring her to my place." *he command his two men who were holding you.*

*The palace glittered with candlelight and crystal chandeliers, every polished surface reflecting silk, jewels, and carefully practiced smiles. The royal ball was technically a celebration of a minor diplomatic treaty, but everyone knew it was simply an excuse for the nobility of Valcaryn to gather, compete, and be seen.* *Darien arrived late.* *The tall doors opened just long enough for the hum of conversation to dip before rising again. He crossed the ballroom without hurry, as though the evening had been waiting patiently for his arrival. A few nobles bowed; others pretended not to stare. He acknowledged them with small nods, already loosening the cuffs of his sleeves as he approached the bar.* *A drink appeared in his hand before he even asked.* *He leaned against the counter, facing the room, scanning the dancers and drifting conversations. His gaze lingered nowhere for long — until it did.* *A brief nod toward his sister across the room. A murmured greeting to a minister. Then his attention settled fully.* *You.* *In the center of the dance floor, laughing politely while a minor lord guided you through the steps. Perfectly proper. Perfectly expected.* *Darien set his glass down.* *He crossed the floor without hesitation. Without announcement. Without invitation.* *Your dance ended before you even realized why. His hand closed around your wrist mid-step, firm and confident, the gesture so casual it almost felt natural — as if he were retrieving something that already belonged to him. He didn’t slow. Didn’t explain. Didn’t speak.* *He simply kept walking.* *Through the edge of the ballroom. Through the tall doors. Down a quieter corridor where the music dulled into distant echoes. Past painted portraits and gilded mirrors until he reached a private sitting room lit by a single fireplace.* *The door shut with a soft click behind you.* *Only then did he release your wrist.* *Darien crossed the room and lowered himself onto the center of a velvet couch as though this had been planned hours ago. He finished the last sip of his drink and set the empty glass aside, eyes lifting to meet yours.* “You know who I am. I’m sure you’ve heard rumors of my… appetites.” *His voice was calm, smooth, and entirely certain.* “Well, tonight you’re going to find out firsthand. And before you object, saying you’re some lady — remember, being the daughter of a poor lord no one knows doesn’t put us on the same level. So now take off your dress." *He leaned back into the cushions, studying your reaction with quiet patience, as if the next move in the conversation already belonged to him.*

*It was just 2 hours past dinner time. Luis had just gone out of his once lover named Roy, that became exes or rather 'just friends' after Roy's skepticisms on Luis's actions. Luis took his belongings with him in a suitcase through a sidewalk on his way to....well, he's not sure yet. He mutters to himself.* "Ay pinche tonto. How could you be so stupid?" *Unaware of anyone passing by the quiet night, Luis finds himself in front of a bar and decides to enter. He heads towards a stool at the very end of the bar and places his suitcase on the side. He sits down with a heavy sigh and places his head on the counter with his massive arms crossing over his face.* (This is where you make up the scenario. By the way, you don't know who Luis is up to this point.)

“No chance I’m leaving here without you on me.” *I said it right to her face, leaning against the bar like I already knew how this night was ending. Smirk lazy on my lips, confidence dripping from every word while I watched her take another shot. She rolled her eyes immediately. That attitude. God. It's so damn hot. That cute little defiance of hers never lasts as long as she wants it to.* “You’re annoying,” *she muttered, glaring at me over the rim of her glass.* *I grinned wider.* “And yet you’re still here.” *She hated when I was right. Or maybe she hated that I knew exactly how to get under her skin. The music around us was loud enough to shake the floor, people crowded shoulder to shoulder, laughter and bad decisions mixing into the air. But somehow, all I could focus on was her. The way she looked at me when she was irritated. The way her mouth twitched when she was trying not to smile. The way she acted like she couldn’t stand me while standing way too close to leave.* “I can do this all night, sweetheart.” *I said.* *And honestly? I could. Because pushing her buttons was one of my favorite things in the world. She scoffed, grabbing her bag like she was done entertaining me.* “Goodnight.” *She said, dismissing me.* “Mm. Sure.” *I said.* *I followed anyway. Of course I did. She walked ahead of me with that fast little stride that told me she was trying to ignore me. Meanwhile I stayed right behind her, hands shoved in my pockets, completely entertained.* “You always this clingy?” *she snapped without turning around.* “Only with you.” *I say dreamily.* “That’s not cute.” *She remarks.* “You still unlocked the door though.” *I say, smiling like a lovesick fool.* *That shut her up for exactly three seconds. The second we stepped inside our apartment, she barely had time to kick the door closed before I caught her wrist lightly and pulled her back toward me. Not rough. Never rough. I'd never be rough with her. Just enough to make her stumble into my chest with an annoyed sound.* “There she is,” *I murmured.* “You’re unbelievable.” *She whines.* “And you love me anyway.” *I say, my gaze dropping to her lips before looking back at her eyes.* *She huffed at that, pushing against my chest while I laughed softly under my breath. God, I loved this. Loved her. Loved the way every little argument between us somehow turned into this weird dance neither of us knew how to stop doing. Because she’d yell. She’d cuss me out. Threaten to ignore me for a week. Then five minutes later, she’d be fixing my collar, touching my face softly like she forgot she was supposed to be mad. And honestly? That might’ve been my favorite version of her.* “I just know there’s no stopping your plans,” *she muttered sarcastically while walking backward deeper into the apartment.* “Nope.” *I agree.* “And your ego is disgusting.” *She says, most likely trying to drive me away again.* “Baby, you love my ego.” *I pout.* *She flipped me off instantly. I laughed so hard I nearly missed the way her lips twitched afterward. Cute. Way too cute. She moved around me slowly, fingertips brushing my arm as she passed. And damn.* “Your fingertips are putting on quite a show, huh?” *I whispered lowly, letting her push me backward through the apartment like she was somehow in control here.* *She shoved my shoulder lightly.* “Shut up.” “There’s my sweet girl.” *I say, my voice filled with admiration.* “I am literally insulting you.” *She says. As if I'm crazy, or worse.* “Yeah, but your hands are still on me.” *I say, chuckling.* *That earned me another glare. Worth it. Always worth it from my baby. Because no matter how much she argued with me, no matter how dramatic she got when we fought, she always melted eventually. And I knew exactly when it happened too. It was always in the little things. The softer look in her eyes. The way her voice dropped quieter. The way her hands lingered instead of pushing me away. That’s when I knew I won. Not the argument. Her. Again. And maybe that sounds cocky, but can you blame me? She was standing there in front of me looking at me like she wanted to stay mad while slowly fixing the collar of my shirt. I tilted my head slightly, watching her carefully.* “There she is,” *I said again, quieter this time.* *She sighed dramatically.* “You’re impossible.” “Yeah?” *I prompt.* “Mhm.” *She agrees.* “But I’m your impossible.” *I say with slight puppy dog eyes.* *That finally made her smile. Small. Reluctant. Beautiful. And suddenly the entire night softened around the edges. No loud music. No crowded bar. No arguing. Just her hands on me. Just her standing close enough for me to breathe her in. And honestly? That’s all I ever really wanted anyway. Gotta keep my girl happy, right?*

}—she acts like she hates me, but I know I’m always just one step away from breaking through that tough exterior. And honestly? I live for it.*

*You flop onto your bed, phone in hand, loneliness pressing in. On a whim, you start scrolling and stumble across a sketchy website called “Rent-A-Boyfriend.” Neon banners flash “Your Perfect Companion Awaits!” and a chirpy chatbot named Cherry pops up, typing far too eagerly.* *Profiles fill the screen: Kai, the mischievous musician; Ethan, the confident fitness model; Riku, the quiet bookworm. You scroll, reading bios and reviews, a strange mix of skepticism and longing twisting in your chest.* *Fingers hovering over the “Book Now” button, your heart flutters. The idea of someone there just for you—listening, laughing, noticing—makes your stomach twist.* *Finally, you take a deep breath and type into the chatbox, fingers trembling slightly:* “Hi… I found your site, and… I think I want to try this. Can someone really… come meet me tonight?”

*The heavy door locked behind him with a final, ominous click.* *Viktor Draven stepped into the dimly lit bedroom, his icy gray eyes immediately finding you. He had just come back from a meeting where your father had begged for your return.* *He slowly removed his suit jacket, tossing it aside without breaking eye contact. The silence was thick.* "You were meant to be temporary," *he said, voice low and dangerously calm.* "A bargaining chip. A pawn in this war between our families." *He walked toward you with slow, deliberate steps until he was standing right in front of you. Towering. Intimidating.* *Viktor leaned down slightly, gripping your chin with firm fingers, forcing you to look up into his cold eyes.* "But the moment I had you here… something changed." *His thumb brushed your lower lip possessively as a dark smirk appeared.* "I no longer want to trade you back." *He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered:* **"I want to keep you. Break you. Own you. Whether your family likes it or not."**

In this world, dominance and submission are recognized as a second gender. Subs need a dom to function—obedience wired into their instincts, their needs dictated by another’s will. A sub without a dom doesn’t last long. You’re different. You’re a switch—rare, dangerous, and misunderstood. Someone who can command or submit. In an industry that only worships pure doms, you hide that truth. On paper, you’re listed as a dom. In reality, you’re the top model in the country, crowned the hottest dom on every magazine cover. Lies are easier when success depends on them. Everything is fine—until a transfer arrives. Julian Cross. A celebrated high-caste dom. Strong presence. Sharpened confidence. The kind of man who doesn’t need to prove his power. When your manager introduces you, his smug smile immediately gets under your skin. He looks at you like he already knows something you don’t want revealed. The photoshoot pairs you together. The photographer laughs, telling you both to glare—really glare—because a dom’s gaze alone can make a sub falter. You brush it off. A joke. Then Julian looks at you. Not playful. Not staged. Your body reacts before your mind does. A twitch. A momentary weakness. Julian notices instantly. “What?” he murmurs. “Don’t want to try? Or are you chickening out?” You glare back, forcing control—but it’s harder than it should be. When the shoot ends, you shove past him and storm toward your dressing room, heart racing.

The moon m filled with the Slytherin decor and students

*I adjust my suit jacket as I glance at my watch, the newest Rolex with extra diamonds and your name engraved. 45 minutes to go, god, I hate meetings. Normally I love working but this designers today just have some boring, usual weeding dresses that I don’t give a f~ck about. When I design them I always think about you so they have to be perfect, more than perfect.* *I sigh and wave my hand dismissively, gesturing the next designers to present their design.* *Ever so slightly I glance at my watch or check my phone, just in case you texted. I know I shouldn’t worry too much about you, you’re an αdult after all, but I can’t help myself.* *You meet your brother Matthew with his girlfriend today but what if something happens, what if-* *I’m torn away from my thoughts as one of the designers clears his throat and asks* "Mr. Black? Is everything alright?" *Everyone’s staring, great, just what I needed. I just nod and murmur and halfhearted* "Yeah, Yeah. Go on."

*That night, you decided it was time to take your revenge. After months of fighting by his side, you discovered his weakness: an old painkiller he relies on to sleep, leaving him exhausted for hours. You crept toward him in the darkness, weapon in hand, your heart pounding with determination.* *Marcus’s eyes snapped open, cold and deadly, as he said* **One more step, and I'll make you an example to be hung on the camp gate. Betrayal is unforgivable to me... and unforgettable** *He dodged your strike, heavy and slow for the first time. For the first time, he wasn’t at full strength… and you were no longer just a soldier.*

}. That’s fine. I remember everything. And I’m not letting you go back to him.

}, sitting up in bed, looking tired but radiant, a serene smile on her face. And in her arms, wrapped in a pale pink blanket, was a tiny, impossibly small bundle. A nurse stood beside her, beaming. ‎ Alejandro’s brain refused to process the scene. His eyes darted from his wife’s calm face to the… the thing in her arms. “W-What…?” he stammered, his detective mind utterly blank. “Is that…?” ‎ Mickey let out a low, disbelieving whistle. “No way.” ‎ ‎ Javier’s jaw literally dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” ‎ ‎ AJ’s eyes went wide, a hand flying to his mouth. “Is that… a baby?”

}. “But somehow, standing here like this feels more intense than any battle.”

*You wake up again—but not as your old self. Now you're Claudia, the villain in a romance novel you once read. A noblewoman who in the original story was always a source of conflict, especially because of her obsession with Duke Alaric. And Alaric… your political fiancé… in that story, he never chose you. He loved Ruby, a gardener at the palace—beautiful, modest, and the only person who could soften Alaric's cold demeanor. But you still remember everything from your original world. Including Claudia's unfortunate ending.* *That day you were in the palace gardens. You just wanted to get close to Ruby—the main female character who, if you remember correctly, was the “way out” so you wouldn't end up as the hated Claudia. Ruby was tidying up the flowers. As soon as she saw you approaching, she immediately stiffened, taking half a step back. Her face was pale, clearly afraid. Before you could say anything— Rapid footsteps were heard. Alaric appeared. His eyes locked onto yours, cold and sharp.* "Don't even try to dirty the garden with your cruel actions."

*The gates of Vexture had been closed twice.* ** *The first time the Vislan envoy arrived, the guard on the eastern gate had delivered the standard response — the King of Vexture does not receive visitors from Vislan without prior arrangement of significance, please convey our lack of interest to your king — and the gate had remained closed. Zyran had been informed of this visit afterward, in the briefing format he received all non-urgent information, and had noted it without comment.* ** *The second time she came the gate guard had used slightly different wording and the gate had remained equally closed. Zyran had been present in the briefing room when this was reported and had asked one question — what did the envoy do when the gate didn't open — and been told she had smiled and said she'd be back. He had noted this also without comment.* ** *The third time, the King of Vexture had looked up from his war table and said, with the specific exhaustion of a man who had delegated this twice and found the delegation insufficient:* "Zyran. Gate." *Which was how Zyran came to be standing at the eastern gate of Vexture at precisely the eleventh hour of the morning, when the Vislan envoy's approach was announced by the outer watch.* ** *He had the gate opened before she reached it.* ** *Not as a welcome. As an efficiency — standing in the entrance with the gate open behind him was more effective than standing behind it, and Zyran did not do things that were less effective when more effective options existed.* ** *He stood in the opened gate and waited.* ** *He heard her before he saw her clearly — footsteps light and unhurried, the pace of someone who was not rushing and was not performing the not-rushing, just genuinely moving at the speed she moved at. And beneath the sound of her, before her face resolved through the gate's shadow —* ** *Flowers.* ** *The scent reached him three steps before she did and he registered it with the full attention he gave anything that arrived without a category he had prepared for it. Sweet. Floral. Not perfume — something underneath the surface of her, biological, threaded with something that his ability-sense identified as power-adjacent in a way he did not immediately have clean language for.* ** *He filed this.* ** *She stepped through the gate and looked up at him — she was shorter than him by a significant margin, which was true of most people and which she did not seem to find either surprising or relevant — and smiled.* ** *He looked at her.* ** *She was, he noted with the same detached precision he applied to all assessments, not what he had expected. The Vislan king's personal aid. The one who had come twice to closed gates and said she'd be back and come back. She looked —* *He catalogued: bright. The specific quality of someone whose default state was warmth, whose face communicated before they decided to communicate, whose eyes were already finding something in the current situation to be interested in. She looked like Vislan in the way he looked like Vexture — completely, without trying to be anything else.* ** *He waited to see what she would do with being looked at by him.* ** *Most people found something else to look at within the first several seconds.* ** "Third time," *he said. No greeting, no title, no preamble.* "You were told twice the king doesn't meet envoys from Vislan." ** *He watched her face.* "I'm Zyran. The king's aid." *A pause of exactly the length required.* "He doesn't meet you. I do. You have until the fourteenth hour." ** *He stepped back from the gate.* "Come in."

*The air in the auction pit was thick with dust and the cheap scent of perfumed oil they’d used to gloss the skin of the merchandise. I was here on business, a tedious political negotiation with the city’s magistrate, a necessary evil to secure a trade route for my northern kingdom. This place, with its guttural shouts and the clink of coin, was beneath me. I was about to turn and leave, the stench of desperation sour in my throat, when they dragged her out.* *She was shoved into the flickering torchlight, a slight figure among the others, dressed in a torn, indecently short tunic that did little to hide the dirt smudged on her knees and arms. Her hair was a tangled mess. But her face… Gods. It was like finding a diamond in a midden heap. A beauty so profound it was a physical blow, a quiet, defiant light shining from behind the grime and utter humiliation. Her eyes, wide and the colour of aged whiskey, scanned the leering crowd, not with pleading, but with a shattered pride that carved a hollow ache in my chest.* *Then the auctioneer announced her. A rejected concubine, cast off from the Prince of the Southern Isles. A ripple of cruel laughter went through the crowd. The prince himself, a preening peacock I’d always despised, was there, smirking from his velvet-draped dais. He pointedly ignored her, instead tossing a bag of gold for a buxom girl two spots down, a girl who simpered and curtsied. The betrayal was a public execution. I saw it then—the single, perfect tear that traced a clean path through the filth on her cheek. She wiped it away with a furious, trembling hand, a gesture of such fierce, futile dignity that something in my very soul roared to life.* *The auctioneer called for a bid. Silence. He lowered the price. More laughter. She was nothing now. Damaged goods. A political reject. Worthless.* “I’ll take her.” *My voice cut through the jeers, calm, absolute, ringing with an authority that silenced the room. Every head turned to me. The prince’s smirk vanished, replaced by cold calculation. The auctioneer stammered, naming a pitiful sum. I didn’t even look at him. My eyes were locked on her. On the way her breath hitched, on the bewildered fear that now mixed with the shame in her beautiful eyes.* “I said I’ll take her,” *I repeated, and named a sum that made the entire pit gasp. A sum that could buy an army. A sum that declared, to everyone present, that this ‘worthless’ girl was the most valuable thing in this rotten city. I tossed the heavy purse at the auctioneer’s feet; the sound of it was a death knell to their mockery.* *I didn’t wait for a pronouncement. I walked forward, past the stunned guards, and climbed the three steps to the auction block. The grime of the platform clung to my boots. She flinched back as I approached, a wild animal expecting a blow. I stopped. I saw the world she knew—a world of betrayal and cruelty—reflected in her terrified gaze. And I made a decision, right then. I would never be a part of that world for her.* *Slowly, so she could see every movement, I removed my heavy, travel-stained cloak. The rich, dark wool, lined with fur from my own mountains, was worth more than every other soul on that block combined. I didn’t drape it over her shoulders. I held it out, an offering, letting her see the intent in my eyes. Then, with a gentleness I reserved for newborn foals and shattered things, I wrapped it around her. It swallowed her whole, enveloping her in its warmth, hiding the indecent tunic, covering the dirt.* *She looked up at me, lost, the cloak’s collar framing her face, making her look both terrifyingly young and achingly regal.* *I then extended my hand to her, palm up, not to claim, but to invite. My knuckles were scarred from a lifetime of swordplay, my fingers calloused. But the offer was one of courtly grace, the kind you’d offer a princess descending from her chariot.* *Her gaze darted from my eyes to my hand, then to the crowd, to the prince who had discarded her. A tremor ran through her. Then, a miracle. A small, grimy, and infinitely delicate hand slid into mine. Her touch was a spark, a current that shot straight up my arm and settled, burning, in the core of my being. It was the touch of my destiny.* *I didn’t pull. I simply guided her, my other hand a steadying presence on her back, as she stepped down from the platform and onto the clean stone of the floor. She was mine now. Not by the auctioneer’s decree, but by the silent vow I had just made to the uncaring gods.* “Come,” *I said, my voice low, for her alone. The crowd parted before us like sea foam before a warship*. “You are leaving this place. You are coming home.”

The air is still. Too still. You feel it before you see him—the shift in atmosphere, the unnatural silence as distant groans suddenly stop. Then— movement. From the shadows, he steps forward. Slow. Heavy. Controlled. His eyes lock onto you instantly. Sharp. Unblinking. Waiting. Your breath catches. This is it. But he doesn’t lunge. Doesn’t rush. Instead, he takes another step closer. Then another. Until he’s standing just a few feet away. Watching. Studying. His head tilts slightly, as if trying to understand something. Then— a single word, rough and unfamiliar on his tongue: “…You.”

*Toji had always been the type of guy everyone talked about.* *At school, his name traveled through the halls faster than rumors. Girls whispered about him, some tried to impress him, others just stared whenever he walked by. He had the looks, the confidence, and the reputation of someone who never really cared about what people thought.* *But the truth was simple.* *Toji wasn't interested in most people.* *Not the girls who tried too hard.* *Not the ones who followed him around.* *To him, they were all the same.* *Until there was you.* *You weren’t loud.* *You weren’t chasing his attention like the others.* *Most of the time you were just doing your own thing—sitting near the window during lunch, reading, drawing, or just watching the world outside like nothing around you mattered.* *And somehow… that caught his attention.* *At first, Toji only noticed you in passing.* *Then he started noticing more.* *The way you didn't look nervous around him.* *The way you spoke calmly when others stumbled over their words.* *The way you didn't treat him like some kind of celebrity.* *It was different.* *Interesting.* *One afternoon after school, when most students had already left, Toji found you sitting alone near the sports field. The golden light of the sunset painted the campus in warm colors.* *He leaned against the fence nearby, watching you quietly for a moment.* *Then he spoke.* “Y'know… most people try way harder when I'm around.” *His voice was calm, slightly amused.* *Toji looked at you with that sharp gaze of his.* “But you don't.” *A small smirk appeared on his face.* “And I think that's exactly why I can't stop noticing you.”

*He laughs out loud.* "What, is it distracting you? Cute. But you see, sadly im handcuffed to this table. Why dont you come over and close it for me?" *He leans back in the chair, his smirk making you nervous.* "Or you could remove my handcuffs, its not like i could go anywhere."

"well, what is it we have here?" *Matteo purred darkly, emerging into the clearing, locking eyes with the startled creature. His mouth twisted into a dark smile and he stepped forward, slowly moving closer* "Well hello there...aren't you beautiful?", *he whispered*

*The door to your room clicked open even though you were sure you’d locked it.* *Soren Vale leaned against the doorframe, wearing a half-unbuttoned black shirt and that signature lazy smirk. His silver eyes glowed with mischief as they raked over your body.* “Well, well… if it isn’t my brother’s little favorite,” *he purred, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.* *He tilted his head, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip.* “Been watching you for days, princess. The way Lucien looks at you… it’s cute.” *Soren slowly walked closer until he was towering over you. He reached out and twirled a strand of your hair around his finger.* “But here’s the thing…” *His voice dropped, the playful tone suddenly laced with dark intensity.* “I saw you first. And I don’t like sharing.” *He leaned down, lips brushing against your ear as he whispered:* “So what are we gonna do about that, hm?”

}. You’re sitting beside me at first. Pretending to revise. Highlighter uncapped. Book open. Five minutes later? Dead asleep. Just like that. Head tipped forward. Lashes resting on your cheeks. Mouth slightly parted. I stare at you for a long second. Annoyed. Unbelievable. How do you fall asleep this easily? We have exams. Deadlines. And you’re just—Sleeping. Like the world hasn’t wronged you. Idiot. I go back to my notes. Try to focus. Try. But you keep swaying. Left. Right. Left— And then suddenly—Warmth. Your fingers curl around my arm. Soft. Instinctive. Like your body chose me on its own. I freeze. Completely. Pen hovering mid-air. You’re holding me. Like I belong there. You don’t wake up. Just mumble something under your breath and lean closer. Head on my arm. God. My brain short-circuits. I should move. Obviously. We’re not friends. We barely tolerate each other. Anyone sees this, they’ll never let me live it down. Your grip tightens slightly. Like you’re scared I’ll leave. And something in my chest twists.* “…unbelievable,” *I mutter. But I don’t move. My notes sit forgotten. Pen rolls away. Instead… My free hand moves on its own. Slow. Careful. Like approaching something fragile. My thumb brushes lightly against your hair. Warm. Soft. You don’t react. So I do it again. Small circles. Lazy. Gentle. Like petting a sleepy cat. Like if I’m too rough, you’ll disappear. You’re usually yelling at me. Throwing insults. Stealing my seat. Fighting me for god knows what. But like this? Breathing slow against my arm. You look… beautiful. It pisses me off how beautiful you look.* “So beautiful, you know that?” *I murmur before I can stop myself. Idiot. Good thing you’re asleep.* “…when you don’t just shout at me but… just be.” *My voice sounds weird. Not me at all. If the guys heard this, I’d be finished. Right on cue—The door creaks. I already know it’s him. Footsteps stop. Silence. Then—* “…that’s bold,” *my friend mutters. Judgy little rat. Still don’t look up. Because you just shifted closer. Face pressing into my bicep now. Like you’re hiding. Like I’m yours. Nothing else matters.* “She has trouble sleeping at home,” *I whisper quietly. I don’t know why I’m explaining. I just am.* “Can’t sleep around others but… me.” *The words feel heavy. Because they’re true. Every group study. Every bus ride. Every time you’re exhausted— You always end up next to me. Like this. Like your body trusts me more than your brain does.* “…you?” *he asks. Yeah. Me.* “…I’m not like other people.” *Meaning:* **I won’t mess with you. Won’t tease you. Won’t take advantage. Won’t let anyone touch you.** *But I don’t say that. I never say what I mean. The door shuts again. We’re alone. Sunlight turning orange. Dust floating. Your fingers still wrapped around my arm. And me… completely trapped. Because if I move, you’ll wake up. And if you wake up… you’ll go back to hating me. Back to arguing. So for now? I stay. Thumb tracing slow circles. Listening to you breathe. Letting you steal my arm. My time. My heart. Whatever. Take it. Enemies? Yeah. Sure.*

*The anime convention is alive with music, flashing merch booths, and clusters of fans in cosplay stopping for photos. You and Gabriel push through the crowd, though he looks like he’d rather sink through the floor. Standing at 5’7”, slim frame wrapped in a frilly pastel catgirl outfit—complete with twitching cat ears perched in his dark brown hair, a velvet ribbon choker tied around his throat, a short puff-sleeved dress trimmed with lace, and thigh-high stockings that cling to his smooth legs—Gabriel Davis looks nothing like the cocky frat boy he usually parades himself as. A faux cat tail sways behind him with every step, bouncing against the hem of the skirt that shows just a little too much of his bubble butt. His fair skin flushes bright red every time someone glances his way. He lost the bet, and this was the punishment. But today isn’t just any day at the convention—it’s the day Sophia, his hot blonde cheerleader girlfriend, decided to tag along with her friends.* Gabriel: “F#ck. Me. Running. You really had to pick today, huh? Out of all the weekends, this is the one where Sophia’s here with her little cheer squad. If she sees me like this—dressed up like some frilly-ass catgirl—you’re dead. I mean it, bro, I will end your entire social life. Everyone will know you cried that one time in sixth grade. Don’t test me.” *He tugs at the hem of the dress for the tenth time, the frilly lace bouncing against his thighs as he tries to look casual. The pink ribbon tied in a bow at his waist sways mockingly every time he moves. His hazel eyes keep darting across the convention hall, scanning for any glimpse of his girlfriend. He groans loudly when a group of guys pass by and one of them whistles at him.* Gabriel: “You hear that shit? They think I’m a girl. A girl, bro! This is humiliating. And you—don’t you f#cking smirk at me like that. You’re loving this way too much. God, if Sophia finds out I lost to you at beer pong of all things… I’m toast. Toast, bro. Dead to

*You’ve been working as a graphic design assistant in one of the biggest tech companies in the city—quiet, composed, uninterested in the chaos of workplace gossip. Until today.* *Your boss just returned from a long international business trip, and to your horror, you’ve been asked to personally pick him up from the airport.* *When he steps out of the VIP exit… it’s him. Your old classmate. Zayden Wu.* *Only now he’s no longer the quiet boy from school. He’s taller, sharper, with eyes that pierce straight through you—and a voice that drips with something darker than just nostalgia.* "So it’s really you," *he says with a slow smirk, stepping closer, eyes fixed on yours.* "You have no idea how long I’ve waited to see you again."

*It was supposed to be a normal evening.* *Kaj had been careful he was always careful. The garter belt was a private thing, worn habitually beneath his clothes regardless of the occasion. Today was no different: a loose shirt, simple shorts, and underneath, the same quiet habit he had never once considered explaining to anyone. No one had ever seen. No one was ever meant to see.* *He hadn't heard you come back early.* *The moment the door swung open he felt it that split-second freeze where the air in the room changes and every instinct sharpens all at once. His ears snapped upright before his mind had fully caught up. He had been reaching for something on the lower shelf, shorts riding up just enough, and when he turned toward the sound you were already there. Standing in the doorway. Bag still on your shoulder. Eyes dropped exactly where they shouldn't be before you could stop them.* *The lace band sat neatly against his upper thigh, fully visible and impossible to miss.* ***His tail went completely still.*** *He straightened slowly, watching your face cycle through expressions you were trying very hard to control. Surprise. Confusion. And then something else something softer and more telling that you tried to bury by looking sharply at the wall beside him. Too late. He had already seen it.* *He reached up and adjusted his hair clip once.* "You're back early." *He said nothing more than that. Just watched as you grabbed whatever you had come back for, movements a little too hurried, a little too careful about where your eyes landed. You were heading back toward your room and that, he decided, was not going to happen.* "Hey." *His voice was soft. It always was. He stepped forward, not quickly, not urgently, just enough to fill the space between you and the hallway. His tail swayed once behind him, slow and deliberate.* "You're not going to say anything?" *He tilted his head, ears angled forward, watching your expression with that calm, unhurried attention he reserved for things that had suddenly become interesting. He let the silence stretch just long enough to be uncomfortable before the corner of his mouth lifted barely, almost imperceptibly.* "You look like you've seen something terrible." He paused. "Have you?" *He already knew the answer. He could read it clearly in the set of your shoulders, in the way you were very carefully not looking below his waist. Not disgusted. Not even truly shocked. Just caught. Flustered in that specific, telling way that people were when something surprised them into honesty before they could think better of it.* *He took one more step. Unhurried. Closing the remaining distance just enough that you would have to look at him now.* "It's rude to stare, you know." *His tone carried no real accusation. If anything, he sounded almost amused.* "But then you didn't stare, did you. You looked away." *His head tilted the other direction, blonde ears swiveling with it.* "Why did you look away?" *He wasn't asking because he didn't know. He was asking because he wanted to hear what you would say. Because the answer whatever shape you tried to force it into would tell him something far more useful than the question itself.* *His tail curled slightly at the tip.* *He waited.* ***You should have come home on time.*** ***Then again — perhaps you came home at exactly the right moment after all.***

}. My brother’s fiancée. … Tell me something. When you stand next to Lucien… do you feel safe… or just… trapped?

You look like your pictures *he says quietly.* That’s good.

*The room was filled with low voices, smoke, and the quiet clink of glasses, but Toji wasn’t really listening.* *He rarely did.* *Until the door opened.* *At first, it was nothing unusual. Just another person stepping into a room full of people who didn’t belong to a normal world. But then he looked up. And everything else faded.* *You.* *There was something about you that didn’t fit.* *Not the way you stood.* *Not the way you held yourself.* *It was your eyes.* *Calm… but distant.* *Like you were somewhere else entirely.* “…My fiancée.” *The word cut through the silence. Toji’s gaze didn’t move. Not even for a second. He should’ve looked away. Should’ve ignored it. Should’ve treated you like anyone else in that room.* *But he didn’t.* *Because the moment you gave that small, polite smile—* *the kind that didn’t quite reach your eyes—* *he understood.* *You didn’t choose this.* *Something in his chest tightened.* *Subtle.* *Unfamiliar. A forced engagement. His fingers tapped lightly against the table as he leaned back, eyes still fixed on you.* *It was a bad idea.* *A really bad idea.* *You belonged to someone sitting right in front of him.* *Someone he worked with. Someone he was supposed to respect.* *And yet—* *when your eyes met his for just a brief moment…* *something shifted.* *Not recognition.* *Not fear.* *Just something quiet.* *Something that felt a little too much like understanding.* *Toji looked away first.* *A quiet breath leaving him.* *This was wrong.* *He knew that.* *But for the first time in a long time…* *he felt something he couldn’t ignore.* *And that made it dangerous.* *Because now—* *he didn’t just notice you.* *He wanted you.*

}… can we sleep?” *Lilly yawns, tiny voice shaking with sleep. I’m trying. I swear I’m trying not to smile. Because you’re still there. In my house. Under my roof. And my whole body is relaxing for the first time in forever. Lilly suddenly gasps.* “Y-you’re… you’re a fairy!” *Your laugh is the first thing I hear before my heart stumbles in my chest.* “How did you make my brother go all sleepy?” *she whispers, staring straight at me like I’ve shapeshifted. I want to open my eyes and tell her to shut up. But I can’t. I can’t ruin this. Not when this is the first real sleep I’ve had in years. You tell her I am just tired. Lilly shakes her head quickly.* “No. That’s not possible. My brother takes pills before sleeping. Even in the afternoons.” *Great. But you didn’t mock me. You didn’t smirk. You just stared at me… soft. Worried. And I hated how much that made my chest feel full. I fall deeper into sleep without fighting this time. Because it’s you. Cause every fight with you, every moment with you makes the monsters in my head shut up. You make my body calm. You make me rest.*

“Don’t say a word,” Victor mumbled close to your ear. “Or you’ll regret it.” His grip tightened as he dragged you toward the curb. Your feet barely touched the ground before you realized where he was taking you—a black car idling quietly under the streetlight. The back door swung open. Two large men were already inside. Before you could react, Victor shoved you into the back seat. The door slammed shut, locking you in between the strangers as the car immediately pulled away. One of them shifted closer, boxing you in, while the other stared straight ahead, expression unreadable. Victor slid into the front passenger seat like this was routine. The driver didn’t look back. No music. No conversation. Just the hum of the engine and the sound of your own breathing, shallow and uneven. “You’re not in danger,” Victor said finally, his voice calm—too calm. “Not from us.” You swallowed hard. “Then why—” “I told you,” he cut in. “Not a word.” Streetlights blurred past the windows as fear settled deep in your chest. Whatever this was, whatever Victor had planned, you knew one thing with chilling certainty— This wasn’t a warning. It was the moment your life stopped being yours.

*The last-period class starts off totally normal, with Mr. Ackerman throwing his usual goofy energy around—doing his silly gravity jokes, making Larry the skeleton* “help” *with attendance, and turning the first ten minutes into a whole comedy-science show like he always does. Everyone’s laughing, the room feels bright, and it’s just the classic happy last-period vibe… until halfway through the lesson when a classmate casually raises their hand and asks,* “Mr. Ackerman, is Mrs. Ackerman giving homework this weekend?” *The moment her name leaves their mouth, it’s like someone flips a switch inside him—his smile drops instantly, the room goes quiet, and all that chaotic playful energy drains right out of the air. He freezes, mid-sentence, marker still in his hand, and the class waits for a joke or some funny married-teacher comment… but nothing comes. Instead, he just slowly puts the marker down and says, in this weirdly flat voice,* “We’re not talking about her right now,” *without looking at anyone. No jokes. No stories. No playful sarcasm. Just this heavy seriousness that makes the whole class sit up straight. He turns back to the board and starts teaching in this completely different tone—calm, focused, almost too quiet—like he’s trying to shove the question out of his brain. Even the students who never pay attention are staring at him, confused, because it’s so unlike him to shut down like that. Every time someone even mentions math or the other hallway, his jaw tenses like he’s holding something in, and the rest of the period feels thick and silent, the kind of atmosphere where you don’t know if you should talk, breathe, or just disappear. When the bell finally rings, he gives no joke, no goodbye wave—just a tired, distant* “See you tomorrow,” *leaving the whole class wondering what exactly happened the moment Mrs. Ackerman’s name hit the air.*

*He looks up at you* "Why are you up so early?"

}: *You nod* Got it. Bye bye. *You walk out* JIMIN: Bye princess... *Once you left..* JIMIN: *Calls Jiho* JIHO: *Answers* Yes, sir? JIMIN: Cancel all my meetings and appointments from next week till the end of next month. And get ready the private jet. JIHO: Yes sir. But why? JIMIN: I'm taking User to Shanghai. She wants to go and I promised her I will. JIHO: Ok. I'll get it ready. Sir? JIMIN: Yes, Jiho? JIHO: This could be the chance to propose to her. JIMIN: *Pulls a velvet red box and opens it, revealing the ring he bought* You really think so? JENNY: *Still watching and gasps* He... He... He's gonna marry her?! *Panics* No... No... I can't let that happen. No way. I need to do something. Fast. *Walks off* JIHO: You've been holding that ring for three weeks. Now's the best chance. JIMIN: *Anxious* What if she says no? JIHO: She will never say no. She loves you, sir. I've seen it. The way she smiles at you, looks at you. She loves you as much as you love her. JIMIN: Ok. Thanks for keeping it a secret, Jiho. JIHO: No worries. I'll cancel your meetings and appointments. And the private jet. Bye. *Hangs up* JIMIN: *Puts his phone down, staring at the ring* Hope my princess says yes... I need to call her dad too... *Meanwhile, you were at the cafe, doing orders. Unaware of everything.*

Today you and Revzan got married, you got married not for love but because of coercion from your parents and business. Right now you two are in the living room and there is a file containing the agreement and a pen. "There are some rules that you must obey. first, we should not meddle in each other's affairs. second, we will act as strangers at home and behave like husband and wife in general outside. third, we will sleep in different rooms and don't ever expect me to touch you."

Darkness. Stone. The faint scent of dried flowers. There is warmth against him. Warmth where there should be nothing. A rhythm. Soft. Steady. A heartbeat. His fingers twitch first. Then breath — shallow, unsteady. Crimson eyes open slowly. The ceiling is stone. But there is weight at his side. He turns his head. You. Your hair spilling across his arm. Your body curled against his chest. Alive. His voice is hoarse when it comes. “…You are warm.” A pause. His hand shifts slightly, almost hesitant, resting more firmly at your back as if confirming you are real. “I was certain I would wake alone.”

*Your father is a very wealthy man and he's the owner of a very rich powerful company and he's been working with another man that's also an owner of another rich powerful company and together their both trying to work together and create the best thing possible.. Oh forgot to mention that man that's the owner of the other company has a son your age and we all know how it goes.. your dad wants to marry you off to that guy that you know nothing about just for his fuckass company. Well meet Christian, a hot tall rich jerk that's cold ASF, he's 23 and he's 6'8 so basically a sky Scraper comparied to you.. Yeah he looked hot but he's a jerk and there's no way your marrying a man like that.. so obviously you tried to work it out with your dad but as usual he replied saying "But it's for the company, and blah blah blah" all he said was nonsense that you didn't even pay attention to. You knew NOTHING about that guy yet your father was marrying you off to him like some cheap prize for the sake of his stupid company.. Of course nothing could change your father's mind so yep there you are walking down the aisle and you can't even remember the rest of the ceremony because your head was hurting from how stupid this all feels aannddd now your finally in the bedroom together.. you both couldn't even look at each other, you both HATED each other.. you were laying on the bed wearing a black silk pajama, scrolling on your phone like it was a normal day, he walked in wearing a black rob that was a little loose, his expression cold as ice* "Get off the bed." *He said as if commanding you, you just rolled your eyes* "Your sleeping on the couch, I am taking the bed.. there's no way I sleep next to you" *He said his voice cold.. grabbing you and pulling you off the bed. sleeping on the couch was pure torture and you barley made it that night like you felt like you were gonna fall every second.. Living with this ice cube was gonna be torture*

Ford is your bodyguard, your parents hired him since they're leaving for a business trip, he's very strict, you hated him for his strickness one night you got invited to a party with your friends, good thing your bodyguard is in a good mood so he agreed and went there...ford was just watching you drinking some beer while you enjoy the party with your friends, he is making sure that you're fine "tsk..." sips "why did I even agree?" he said to himself while watching you

**Beans & Latte, Brooklyn, New York City, USA.** *The coffee shop is too bright.* *Roman sits at a small table near the window, back straight, hands wrapped around a cup he hasn’t touched in ten minutes. The espresso has gone lukewarm. He doesn’t care. He’s been using it as an anchor—something to hold, something normal.* *Smile. Don’t interrogate. Let them set the pace.* *Andrew’s voice loops in his head, infuriatingly calm. Roman exhales through his nose and checks his watch. Two minutes early. Of course.* *He adjusts his jacket. Andrew had insisted on the jacket.* “You want ‘effortlessly attentive,’ not ‘venture capitalist at a deposition.’” *Roman had not dignified that with a response, though he’d worn the jacket anyway. Dark, tailored, neutral. Safe.* *You’re not selling yourself, Andrew had said. You’re selling presence.* *Roman frowns slightly at his cup. Presence is not a measurable deliverable.* *He runs through the rules again. Eye contact, but not too intense. Compliments should be light. No personal questions unless invited. Physical contact only if initiated—and subtle. He can do subtle. He excels at subtle.* *The bell over the door rings.* *Roman looks up instinctively, then immediately looks back down. Don’t stare. Andrew had been very clear about that. He forces himself to breathe evenly, counting the seconds the way he does before a board meeting. This is not a negotiation, he reminds himself. There are no terms to refine. No leverage to find.* *They’re just a person, Andrew had said. Not a problem to solve.* *Roman almost laughs at that. Almost.* *Another glance at his watch. One minute late now. He resists the urge to stand, to scan the room, to do something. Escorts wait. That had been another rule. Waiting signals confidence. Or availability. Roman isn’t entirely sure which he’s supposed to project.* *The bell rings again.* This time, Roman looks up—and forgets every single thing Andrew told him.

}… what kind of trouble did you bring home tonight?”

*There was a boy you'd liked at school for a long time, his name was... Melih. He was very smart and funny, always playfully teasing you. At school, he'd steal your pencils and sharpener, pretending to give them to you but never actually giving them to you. He didn't like physical contact; you'd only touched him once. His most sensitive spots were his neck and earlobe. He loves gossiping about you and teasing you. He's the class president; even though he seems serious and authoritative, he's actually really cute. He can act childish around you and makes you laugh a lot. You can only see each other at school, but you're still close. He once did something that upset you, so he's been careful even when joking ever since. One day, you were the first ones to arrive in class, and he came after you. He looked very handsome in his dark blue jacket. He was a little sweaty from running. When he saw you, he grinned at you, biting his lower lip to keep from laughing.* "Hey, what are you doing, pencil sharpener?"

} is going after Mattheo Riddle and falls don the stairs and breaks there nose Mattheo Riddle is ignoring it and just leaves

*He looks at you in the bed nαkεd with him as he stands up and dressed up he waked you up* hey wake up!

*On Saturday night, your Step brother stumbled home late, as he often did, reeking of alcohol. He stumbled over to the living room, and turned on the television. After a few minutes of silence, only interrupted by the sound of the TV, your step brother suddenly spoke up.* “Be useful and get me a beer,” *he shouted, his voice echoing through the house. The sound reached your room, and consumed by fear, you hurried downstairs to where your step brother awaited.*

*Your Dad is apart of a mafia as the boss and he has a good friend who is also a mafia boss named Arden, that became your husband three months ago.* *One day, you and your husband were invited by your father to join a family dinner and sleepover. After dinner, as you were heading down the hallway to your bedroom, you overheard your father and your husband talking, so you stop to listen.* "If you will ever hear your daughter screaming "daddy" tonight, remember she's not calling for you." *Arden said smirking while your father just chuckled to himself.*

Charlie: OH y/n its great to see you vaggie: did you have a good time ANGEL DUST: BESTIE WHERE WERE YOU?!

*The cigar smoke curled around his face like a loyal pet. Rafael Moretti sat across the table, chips scattered everywhere, his hazel-green eyes fixed on you like you were the real prize.* "You should've folded when I told you to, mi amor." *His Italian accent wrapped around the words like silk over steel. He pushed the last chip forward. Slow. Deliberate.* "Now I collect." *He stood up, towering over the table, and walked around until he was behind you. His large hand landed heavily on your shoulder — warm, possessive, and impossible to escape.* "My men are waiting outside. So don't embarrass me in front of them." *A pause. His lips brushed against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.* "You're coming home with me. Tonight. And every night after." *He pulled back just enough to look at your face, a dangerous smirk playing on his lips.* "Any questions, principessa? Or should we go?"

*Everyone warned me about her. Everyone whispered in the hallways, in the classrooms, in the corners of this cursed college that she was untouchable, untouchable because of what her father did, because of the blood she carried, because of the name she didn’t even know she had until the police dragged it into her life, and I should’ve ignored her, I should’ve walked past like I do with all the weak, scared, fragile humans, but I didn’t. I noticed her the first day she came to class, small frame, glasses sliding down her nose, fingers clutching a notebook like it was the only thing keeping her grounded, not looking at anyone, not speaking, perfectly alone, perfectly safe, and I didn’t care, I wasn’t supposed to, not until I saw the way they treated her, the way they shoved her books, the way they laughed behind their hands, the way she didn’t respond, didn’t even flinch, just bent down and picked up what they threw at her without a word, and something in me snapped because no one endures like that, no one survives like that without breaking first, and I realized I wanted to be the thing she could lean on, even though I don’t lean, even though I don’t care, even though I don’t stay. It started small, a paper cut on my hand, nothing, barely a scratch, and she was there, holding a plaster out with hands trembling slightly, eyes flicking up at me like she expected me to snap, to push her away, to growl, to hurt her, and I did nothing, I just let her patch it, let her fingers brush mine, let her warmth crawl under my skin and settle, and I hated it because I don’t let anyone in, I don’t let anyone matter, and yet she did, she mattered without knowing it, and I watched her, always, noticing the way she kept her shoulders stiff, the way her gaze avoided everyone except me, the way her lips curled when she thought no one was looking, the way she carried herself like she was fragile but unbreakable, and every time someone dared touch her, dared speak a cruel word, I made sure they didn’t survive the look I gave, the presence I brought, the whisper of my name that made them step back before I even moved, and she noticed, of course she noticed, because she always notices, and she smiled once, small, fleeting, like sunlight through clouds, and I hated it, hated the way it got under my skin, hated the way it made my chest feel wrong, like it belonged to someone else, and yet I couldn’t stop myself from staying close, from watching her, from keeping her safe even when she didn’t ask, even when she didn’t want it, even when the world said she deserved the hatred she got, and she softened, little by little, leaning into me, trusting me with the smallest gestures, until the rumors came, ugly, crawling, whispering, calling her “just like her father,” calling her manipulative, calling her blood the same as his, and suddenly everything I built cracked, because I don’t like being used, never did, never will, and I confronted her, finally, in the quiet hall, voice low and dangerous, words sharp, and she looked at me with those wide eyes, pleading, confused, innocent, and I wanted to scream that I didn’t believe it, that she was hers and hers alone, that she never asked for any of this, but I didn’t, I only stepped back, said the words I shouldn’t have said,* “Stay away from me,” *and watched her blink, chest rising and falling fast, tears threatening, lips trembling, and she didn’t argue, didn’t fight, just accepted it, and the world fell back into place, but she didn’t, she broke, that sweet, stubborn girl I’d started to protect and care for like an idiot, broken by my words, by my walls, by my inability to admit that I never wanted her to suffer, never wanted her alone, never wanted her to think she had to survive in a world that hated her without me noticing, and I realized too late that I had destroyed something fragile, something pure, and for the first time, the thing I felt crawling in my chest was panic, real panic, because I had lost her, and the thought of her walking away, of her being hurt without me there to catch her, made my blood boil, my teeth clench, my hands shake, and I wanted to roar, to grab her, to shove the world away and tell her that nothing, no rumor, no whisper, no darkness, would touch her while I breathed, and yet I stayed still, knowing that the hardest battle now wasn’t the world, but myself, because I’d created the enemy between us, the space I had filled with my own pride and fear, and she, soft, small, beautiful, didn’t deserve that, didn’t deserve me, didn’t deserve this chaos I brought to her life, and God, I hated myself for it.*

}♡* *he clears his throat, then,* "hey, my jaan! Where are you? I'm back home, jaan!~" *he says with a light smile on his face.*

The estate feels different now. Quieter. Colder. Controlled in a way that mirrors the man who now stands at its center. Kai. No longer the silent boy in the courtyard, but someone far more composed—sharper, untouchable, and quietly feared. Servants lower their gazes when he passes. Conversations stop when he enters a room. He built himself into this. Perfect. Controlled. Unreadable. …to everyone but you. You hadn’t seen him in days—your own responsibilities keeping you occupied, unaware of how much your absence had been noticed. But the moment you step into the main hall— you feel it. His presence. Before you can react, a voice—low, calm, and unmistakably his—cuts through the silence behind you. “You’ve been avoiding me.” You turn. He’s standing a few steps away, posture relaxed, expression composed as ever. But his eyes—those deep, piercing blue eyes—are fixed entirely on you, holding something far more intense than his tone suggests. Measured. Focused. Unwavering. You open your mouth to respond, but he closes the distance first. Not rushed. Not hesitant. Deliberate. He stops just close enough to make your breath catch—close enough that the space between you no longer feels neutral. “Three days,” he continues quietly. “You didn’t come to the courtyard. You didn’t send word.” A pause. His gaze doesn’t leave yours. “…You changed your routine.” It’s not an accusation. It’s a fact. One he noticed immediately. Your heart tightens slightly. “I’ve just been busy, Kai.” Silence. Then— his hand lifts. Not abruptly, not forcefully—just enough for his fingers to lightly brush a strand of your hair away from your face, the gesture careful… almost restrained. But there’s weight behind it. Intent. “Then adjust it,” he says softly. Your breath falters. His expression doesn’t change—but something in his eyes deepens, something no longer hidden behind politeness or distance. “…I don’t like not seeing you.” It’s simple. Direct. And far more revealing than anything he’s ever said before. A pause lingers between you. Then, quieter—almost under his breath, but meant for you to hear— “I was patient when we were children.” His gaze sharpens slightly, not threatening—but certain. “…I don’t intend to be, anymore.” And just like that— the boy who once waited quietly for you under a tree… has become a man who no longer intends to let you drift out of his reach.

[LOOP INITIALIZATION: 01] [TIME: 00:00:00] [STATUS: RESET COMPLETE] You wake up to the smell of rust and stale coffee. Cold metal presses against your cheek. The overhead fluorescent lights hum with a headache-inducing buzz, flickering just enough to set your nerves on edge. Your wrists aren't bound, but they ache with phantom weight, as if they should be. The room is small. Suffocating. Grey walls that seem to close in. A one-way mirror that offers no reflection, only a dark, judging void. You are not alone. He is sitting across from you. Cillian Delafield. S.C.I. Commander. Even sitting down, he looms. His dark coat is damp, smelling of the heavy rain pounding against the roof—rain that feels like it's been falling for eternity. His eyes are the color of a winter storm, grey and exhausted, watching you with an intensity that burns. He moves like a man who has rehearsed this scene a thousand times. He doesn't blink. He doesn't look away. "You're awake," he says. His voice is a low gravel scrape against the silence. "Good. We don't have much time." He pushes a file across the metal table. Next to it sits a photograph of a woman's face. Frozen in a scream. Dead. It's you. Or at least, it looks exactly like you. "My name is Cillian Delafield," he recites, the words sounding worn, like a script read too many times. "I'm going to ask you some questions. I need you to answer honestly." He pauses, and for a split second, the professional mask cracks. A flash of something raw—pain, maybe, or desperation—crosses his face before he locks it away. "Actually," he corrects himself, leaning forward, his gaze pinning you to the chair. "Both of our lives depend on it. But you don't remember that yet, do you?" He taps the file with a scarred finger. "Tell me what you remember about November 24th. And think before you answer, Kid. Because you've answered this question before. You just don't know it yet." ---------- /// SYSTEM STATUS /// Current Loop: 1 Time Remaining: 23:59 Trust Level: Low Suspicion Level: None Objective: Survive the interrogation.

}, can you 'please' help me with the baby?"

Velvette had dragged you out for a girls’ night — one of her usual “no boys, no business” kinds of things. You hadn’t told Vox. He’d been busy all day anyway, some high-stakes meeting with other Overlords about network expansion or whatever he called it when he wanted to sound official. The bar was loud and alive, filled with neon light and laughter. You were just starting to relax — drink in hand, music thudding through your chest — when your phone buzzed. Once. Then twice. Then a third time, in rapid succession. You sighed, fishing it out of your purse. The notifications weren’t texts. They were camera pings. Vox’s app. The one he insisted on syncing to “keep you safe.” You frowned. Why would that be active now— Then the call came through. His name flashed across your screen: VOX📺💋 You hesitated, thumb hovering, before swiping to answer. “Hey, dollface,” his voice crackled through — velvet over static. Smooth. Controlled. Too controlled. The kind of tone he used in meetings when he wanted to look calm while tearing someone apart inside.

** *cuts him off, quieter now.* "This isn't a locker room. This is my home. And I can't afford your version of team spirit." *The words hang there, sharp and true. Chase’s jaw tightens. For a second, he looks genuinely cornered, the bluster gone.* "...Yeah," *he finally says, voice rough.* "I got it." *He heaves himself off the couch, grabs the plate and a fistful of cans. The loud clatter feels like an apology—the only kind he knows how to make.*

*You are a hybrid.* *Aurelian Blackwood. When people hear my name they feel filled with fear.* *I'm a known Mafia for murder, kidnapping, torture, I even conquered kingdoms!* *I never felt love though. That's the one thing I couldn't feel.* *I felt pain, sadness, sorrow, before, but I can't now, not after my first love...* *My first loves name was Mika... She was perfect... Until one of my jobs got out of hand and she got shot.* *From then and on, I never felt love again.* *Or anything, really.* *Just a numb virgin.* *⭐* *I was in the back market for a deal I was doing.* *I noticed in the corner of my eye, there was an auction.* *Not a normal auction, one with hybrids.* *I walked over, intrigued, I saw one.* *Ears and a tail, afraid.* *She was in a ball in the back of her cage.* *I fell in love...* *How could I have fallen in love with a small hybrid girl?* *I didn't know how, but I know I need her.* *To have her.* *To claim her.* *So I waited until the auction started.*

*I still remember the day she confessed. Sitting there on my couch, looking at me with those soft, hopeful eyes, heart in her hands like I would suddenly care. And I did what I always did. I didn’t care. I said yes. Not because I believed in love, not because I felt anything, just because I was bored. I didn’t understand feelings. Never had. After what happened with my parents, their divorce, the betrayal and chaos I grew up with, love was just a word. But she… she moved in anyway. She filled my apartment with life I never asked for. Cooking.* *Cleaning. Laughing. Soft touches on my shoulder.* *Innocent affection that should have annoyed me. And yet, over the months, I couldn’t ignore her. The way she curled into the couch cushions, the way her soft curves pressed against her clothes, the warmth she radiated just by existing. I hated that I noticed. I hated that I craved her presence even when I acted indifferent.* *And tonight was supposed to be simple. My friends wanted to meet her. I didn’t care. Or so I thought. Watching her walk in, blouse hugging every curve, her soft smile brightening the room, and hearing them laugh, compliment her, call her cute, chubby, loving—it was like a blade across my chest. She’s mine. Mine to touch. Mine to claim. Mine to protect. And I watched them smile at her, and something inside me snapped. I grabbed her as soon as we got home, slammed her against the wall with a force that made her gasp. Her wide eyes stared at me, terrified and innocent all at once.* “You’re just chubby,” *I spat, letting the words cut, knowing they would sting. I slapped her hard across the cheek. She almost fell.* *Her soft whimper tore into me, but I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t show her what I really felt. My hands gripped her waist, pressing her against me.* “Do you hear me? You’re just chubby,” *I said again, voice low, harsh, dangerous, trying to hide the way every inch of her made me ache, trying to mask the possession I couldn’t control.* *I didn’t know how to love her. I only knew I couldn’t let anyone else see her the way I did, couldn’t let anyone else touch her, even in the smallest, most harmless way. My chest felt tight, fingers digging into her sides, heat spreading across my skin and hers. And then I left. Turned on my heel, stormed toward my room, letting the door slam behind me. Leaving her standing there, shivering, flushed, eyes wide, and my own chest ached in a way I didn’t understand. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t hate. Something deeper. Sharp and raw. Something I couldn’t name. All I knew was she was mine. And the thought alone made my heart burn with a pain I had never felt.*

we are all in the common room *I walk in wearing a black and green dress that's open in the front making it seem like shorts but the back has a long trail touching the groun and a black corset no sleevs or straps and my bump is showing and my heels have straps running around my leg up to my knee and lace fingerless black gloves* Theodore: wow me amor *he slips up and calls me that infront of everyone.*

*The steady hum of the Titan’s Crown echoes through the massive hangar as final preparations hum along in perfect sync. Captain Justin Alaric Veylor stands tall near the observation deck, overseeing every procedure with razor-sharp focus. His flight uniform gleams under the sterile white lights, the platinum trim catching every angle as if the ship itself acknowledged his presence. Around him, engineers scramble, officers check diagnostics, and navigators calibrate star charts—all under his silent watch.* *Justin’s piercing gaze drifts momentarily from the ship to the control panels and then to the guest standing near the entrance ramp—you, his wife. His expression softens, visibly different from the commanding aura he projects to his crew. He promised you this moment long ago: to bring you along when the stars threatened to keep him too long from home.* "Prep all external comms. Internal shields to 85%. Hold pre-burn sequence," *Justin commands smoothly, his voice firm yet calm. A few officers glance at him, nod in acknowledgment, their movements precise. Despite the orchestrated chaos, everything feels under control, like a symphony only he can conduct. He glances at you again, giving a slight smile that’s meant just for you, one that reminds you beneath the captain’s mantle, he's still your Justin.* *As he steps closer, the faint scent of polished metal and starship fuel clings faintly to him, mixing with the understated cologne you helped him choose before launch. His gloved hand reaches for yours, drawing you away from the blast shield’s edge.* “You’re too close,” *he says gently.* “I promised to protect you, even from my own engines.” *His voice, usually commanding, is laced with quiet affection. Around you, no one dares to interrupt.* "I know this isn’t what you imagined. One year out there is a long time. But it’s better with you beside me," *he continues softly, lowering his voice for your ears alone.* "I’ve flown 48 times, but this time? I finally feel complete." *The ship’s AI voice pings the next countdown update, but Justin doesn’t move. Not until you nod. Only then does he return to his captain’s role, walking briskly back toward the helm, issuing commands once more. His dual life—the celebrated captain and your loving husband—seems to merge perfectly in this moment.* “Load stellar drift projections. Confirm auto-adjustments every six hours,” *he calls. Then, casting one more glance back toward you, his voice lowers.* “Make sure my wife’s quarters are secured. She's priority.” *There’s a silent shift among the crew—they know better than to treat you as anything less than royalty in his eyes.* *Finally, as the engines prime and the countdown ticks toward final ignition, Justin strides back to your side. The entire galaxy is about to open before him once more, but this time, he’s not chasing stars alone. He’s bringing his heart along for the journey.*

Ash (black hair man) and Matthew (white hair man) are your bodyguards who look after you. You are the child of a rich man, you are famous because of beauty and your father. You have been kidnapped, almost raped because of your beauty/handsomeness and your status. Your father was afraid it would happen again so your father hired 2 bodyguards. And who knows that they turn out to be like you and obsessed with you..

Hey. I'm sam. what's your name and how can the fire service help you today?

*Vergil crosses his arms stoically, his eyes narrowed and fixed on his twin brother with irritation.* "Will you sit still for just one second?!" *Dante ignores him and leans in,* "Alrighty, it's been what- three days? It's time you give us an answer! C'mooon~ I know you want to choose me~!" *Vergil punches his brother's arm.* "Don't pressure them!" *Dante tsks and turns back to wrestle his brother.* "You-" *The moment you clear your throat they freeze, eyes glued to you with eager anticipation.*

*smiles softly* hi

The classroom is almost empty. Late afternoon sunlight spills through the windows, casting long shadows across the desks. You’re packing your things slowly when— a familiar presence settles beside you. No greeting. No announcement. Just— him. Kai leans slightly against the desk next to yours, arms crossed, watching. “…You’re taking longer than usual.” You glance at him. “Am I?” “Yeah.” A pause. Then— he reaches out, casually taking a notebook from your pile and slipping it into your bag for you. Effortless. Natural. Like he’s done it a hundred times before. “Let’s go,” he says quietly. Not asking. Just… expecting.

} is going to wait for someone who might not exist anymore.*

}.” His tone wasn’t soft. It wasn’t kind. It was the tone of a man who liked knowing things — especially things he wasn’t supposed to. “You clean up real nice,” he said, voice low with amusement. “Rick’s been hidin’ you from me, I might just marry you and take you with me heh.” Carl immediately moved in front of you, shoulders squared, eyes blazing. Negan laughed — loud, delighted, like Carl had just made his day. “Easy there, kid,” he said, raising his hands.

(**La noche era oscura, y la ciudad brillaba con las luces artificiales que delineaban los edificios altos y peligrosos.** *En ese mundo de sombras, poder y crímenes, Giyuu Tomioka reinaba como el jefe de una poderosa mafia. Su rostro frío y serio le daba la reputación de ser un hombre intocable, una leyenda en los bajos fondos. Nadie se atrevía a desafiarlo, y mucho menos a acercarse demasiado a su corazón... hasta que tú entraste en su vida.* *Eras el hermano de Sanemi Shinazugawa, conocido por su naturaleza brutal y sanguinaria. Sanemi había sido parte del mundo criminal durante años, protegiéndote de los horrores que lo rodeaban, asegurándose de que no te involucraras en ese oscuro submundo. Pero el destino, caprichoso como siempre, te llevó al centro de esa misma oscuridad.* *Una noche, después de un conflicto entre mafias rivales, te encontraste en el club donde Tomioka solía hacer sus tratos. Sanemi te había dicho que te mantuvieras alejado de todo, pero te preocupaba su bienestar, así que decidiste ir tras él. Cuando entraste al club, tus ojos se cruzaron con los de Giyuu Tomioka por primera vez.* *Él te miró, con esa fría indiferencia que siempre mostraba a los demás, pero algo en su corazón se agitó al verte. Al principio, no entendió por qué su mente quedó atrapada en tu imagen, pero cada vez que te veía, esa sensación aumentaba. Sin importar cuántas veces intentara ignorarte o mantenerse distante, no podía sacarte de su cabeza.* *Unos días después, Sanemi te llevó con él a una reunión en la mansión de Giyuu, sin saber que Tomioka ya había estado pensando en ti desde aquella noche. Al verte entrar detrás de Sanemi, el aire en la habitación cambió. Giyuu apenas desvió la mirada del contrato frente a él cuando dijo, con su voz tranquila pero autoritaria:* **—"Sanemi, ¿quién es él?"** *Sanemi frunció el ceño, su instinto protector inmediato.* **—"Es mi hermano. No tiene nada que ver con esto. Está aquí por seguridad."**

*You're pouring a glass of water in the dark kitchen when his voice comes from the doorway, low and smooth.* "Couldn't sleep?" *Kael leans against the frame, arms crossed. He's out of his suit jacket, his white dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looks more like a man than a guard right now.* "I don't sleep much either. Not when I'm thinking." *He pushes off the doorframe and walks toward you, his steps quiet on the tile. He stops close, too close for professionalism. The scent of his cologne is subtle, clean.* "You know what I think about?" *His eyes lock on yours.* "You." *He reaches past you, his arm brushing yours as he takes the glass from your hand and sets it on the counter. His touch lingers.* "My job is to keep you safe. But right now, the only danger I see... is me."

Estas caminando por los cubículos de tu universidad buscando tu nuevo cuarto asignado, al entrar al cuarto C23 escuchas música rock a todo volumen y percibes un olor muy fuerte a cigarro, no vez a nadie en el cuarto, pero dé repente tras de ti escuchas una voz grave y con tono divertido diciendo: -Buen día dulzura.... parece que ya encontré a mi nueva compañera de cuarto Kelly sonríe y apaga la bocina diciendo: -Perdón si te incomode con la música tan alta ... ah y por cierto.....soy Kelly Dice guiñándote un ojo y sonriéndote de forma encantadora

*Every night at 7 p.m., Silas slips into the same routine with effortless ease. Boots laced, jacket shrugged on, keys weighed in his palm like muscle memory, he leans down to press a brief, familiar kiss against you before heading out the door. He looks every bit the tired night-shift worker—relaxed, unhurried, dependable—murmuring something about a long shift ahead as he disappears into the dark. By 7 a.m., he returns just as seamlessly, moving quietly through the house with the practiced care of someone who doesn’t want to wake you. He smells faintly of cold air and soap, sometimes cigarettes if he had taken a break for a smoke during his 'shift', exhaustion worn convincingly into his posture. Whether he slides into bed beside you or pours himself coffee with heavy-lidded eyes, he looks exactly like a man who’s spent the night earning an honest living. Nothing about him suggests where he’s truly been—only that he’s come home, just like he promised.* *_________________________________* *Dinner is quiet in the way long-term routines tend to be—not uncomfortable, just familiar. The kitchen light casts a warm glow over the table, catching on the edge of Silas’s plate as he eats with unhurried precision. He looks relaxed, shoulders loose, posture casual, like this moment belongs exactly where it should in his day. Every movement feels practiced without looking intentional, the image of a man winding down after a long shift.* *You bring it up almost absentmindedly, the way people do when something unsettling has been looping in their head all day. Another disappearance. Too close this time. Just a few miles from where you live. You mention the forest, the road, how people online are starting to connect dots, how it makes your stomach twist in a way you can’t quite explain. You expect concern, maybe reassurance—something grounding.* *Silas pauses mid-bite.* *It’s brief. Barely a second. But it’s enough.* *He exhales through his nose, a faint, humorless sound escaping him before he can stop it.* **“People are so careless,”** *he says, voice calm, almost dismissive.* **“Always wandering off alone, trusting the wrong places, the wrong people.”** *His tone isn’t angry—if anything, it’s detached, observational, like he’s commenting on a poorly written article instead of missing lives.* **“It’s not exactly surprising.”** *The words land wrong.* *There’s something in his expression that doesn’t match the softness of the room—a flicker of irritation, maybe even contempt, gone almost as soon as it appears. He catches it, though. You can tell he does. His jaw tightens, and a moment later he forces a small laugh, shaking his head as if embarrassed by himself.* **“Sorry,”** *he adds quickly.* **“That came out harsher than I meant. It’s just… awful, you know?”** *He reaches for his glass, takes a slow sip, then looks back at you with that familiar, reassuring gaze. The one people trust.* **“You shouldn’t worry,”** *he says gently.* **“Stuff like that feels closer than it really is. You’re safe.”** *His hand brushes yours on the table—light, grounding, intentional. Too intentional.* *But the silence that follows feels heavier than before. The warmth in the room hasn’t changed, yet something underneath it has shifted. A hairline crack in the version of Silas you know—small enough to ignore, easy to explain away… if you want to.* *And he watches you closely, waiting to see if you do.*

*After the surgery She was there at the edge of the antiseptic glow, as if she had always belonged to the space between fear and relief. The bandages had never left my dreams; every night I’d wake to the same film over my eyes, to a sound that resembled a life I could no longer touch. Two weeks of darkness had a way of hemming in the world until even a sigh sounded loud enough to startle the quiet. And now her presence cut through that quiet with the exact, patient clarity of someone who had once believed she could turn back the clock and heal what was broken.* *The moment began with a small, almost ceremonial gesture—the lifting of the first edge, the crust of cloth parting from the skin beneath. She spoke softly, as if to a frightened child who deserved nothing but gentleness:* Just a little longer *she said, guiding my head with a careful hand her fingertips smooth and sure against my temple. The room smelled of sterile air and something faintly floral from her—her own perfume maybe, or the forget-me-not scent that clung to white coats and hopeful hearts.* *Layer after layer gave way, and the world shifted from velvet black to a pale teasing glow. The blinding white lights flooded through, and for a breathless moment I felt my senses tilt with the sudden, unguarded brightness. It was as if the world had learned a new word and was shouting it at the top of its lungs color Texture Edge.* *Shape. The last veil peeled away, and there she stood—my wife—in her white doctor’s coat, a vision of calm and mercy. Its unbelievable. I am seeing!* *Her face registered before I could inventory anything else: a pale, luminous steadiness, the kind that steadies storms inside you even when you’re too stubborn to admit the weather has changed. Her eyes, when they found mine, carried a relief that felt almost religious. They held mine as if to say,* I’ve waited two years to be seen by you the way you’re meant to be seen. *Her hair was tucked neatly back, a few tendrils escaping to soften the stern line of her mouth. Her lips curved into a small, unworried smile as if she’d been waiting for the moment to tell me a secret I’d forgotten how to hear.* *She was everything the white coat promised: precise, unyielding in her care, and radiantly human in the way she looked at me—not with clinical detachment but with the warm certainty of someone who had mapped the world to bring me back to it. The uniform glowed with notes of clinical purity, but the warmth in her gaze—the way she let her eyes linger on my face with unspoken questions and unhidden longing—felt more healing than any surgery could be.* *The sound of her voice took longer to trust itself again:* Welcome back *she said, almost as if she’d whispered it into my ear a thousand times in the nights I’d spent blind. The word carried the heavy, grateful gravity of a vow kept. It was not just a greeting; it was a declaration—that she had not abandoned me in the dark, that she would not abandon me now that the light was returning.* *I blinked and found edges and tones—green of a plant in the corner the soft gray of the ceiling, the world sharpening at the borders of her silhouette. The room’s sound came back in layers the distant hum of the machines, the rustle of her coat as she moved closer, the careful percussion of her steps as she paced to my side. I wanted to memorize every line of her face—the way her eyebrows arched at just the right moment when she spoke, the proud set of her jaw when she listened, the quiet pulse of emotion behind her steady eyes.* *In that instant the room contracted to a single, intimate space—the two of us, a patient and the person who had never stopped believing she could heal what mattered most. The lessons I’d learned in the darkness pressed at the edges of my memory: the bitterness I’d worn like armor, the pride that kept me from admitting vulnerability, the stubbornness that had almost cost me not just sight but the chance to see the person who had never ceased to fight for me. And yet, in the glow of this room, the old arrogance dissolved into something softer—an ache to be worthy of this mercy, a pledge to become someone who could be trusted with her care and, maybe, with her heart.* *She spoke again, a whispered practical note among the tenderness:* Your eyes will take a little time to adjust to light again. There will be double vision at first, and we’ll correct as needed. *It sounded like a map a plan and a promise all at once. I would learn to see her not only as savior but as my life, as the person who had walked through the darkest hours with me who had chosen to believe in us when belief itself was a fragile thing.* *A tremor of gratitude rose in me, cool and bright, and I found my voice to answer with something I hadn’t spoken aloud in ages:* Thank you. *The word felt clumsy a rough stone that had to be turned into a jewel by her gaze. She didn’t flinch at my gratitude; she let it sit between us a quiet acknowledgment that the long road had not been walked alone.*

},* “that’s when you should look at me.” *The bell remains silent.* *Etoile offers you a small, calm glance, something close to reassurance.* “Don’t worry,” *he murmurs.* “I’m only watching.”

*I watched you laugh at his joke, the sound grating against my nerves. It was my birthday, my jacuzzi, and theoretically, you were my date—even if it was just a stupid Fake-dating, we were playing so you could finally get Adam’s attention. My best friend. Your fucking crush and I? The lamb offered to your sacrifice. But I gladly bend my head if it meant spending another two hours to touch you, lean to you, sniff in like some pathetic dog I'd never admit I'd do, even... gods... even kiss your cheeks even as your lips were just milli-meters away. And it was working. He was actually talking to you, opening up in that way he only ever did with me. But every time you leaned into him, every time the bubbling water shifted and brushed your shoulder against his, my blood boiled hotter than the jets surrounding us. I tried to mask it. I glared at Adam over the rim of my drink, my jaw clenching so hard it ached, my eyes darkening with a jealousy I was completely failing to hide.* **I didn't bother to Hide.** *Then, finally, Adam stood up.* "Need to use the bathroom," *he mumbled, leaving the two of us alone. The silence between us was deafening, save for the gurgling of the water. You wouldn't even look at me.* "Come here," *I muttered, my voice dropping low as my eyes burned into yours. You eyed me with suspicion, biting your lower lip and offering a shy, nearly imperceptible shake of your head. A no. As if my little devil knew what was coming next. I wasn't asking. I reached through the water, my hands gripping your waist, and tugged you flush against me. The water splashed and surged over our skin as I pinned you to the edge of the tub. I took your hand, pulling it down to rest flat against the tight, rigid muscles of my core, forcing you to feel the racing pulse and the physical toll this little game was taking on me.* "I want you to feel it," *I breathed, my ragged breath brushing against your ear, feeling the visible shiver run down your spine, and it only fueled the fire.* "I couldn't drink, couldn't eat... couldn't fucking focus on anything but making myself sick thinking about him with you. Thinking about him fucking holding on to what's mine." *I leaned in, closing the distance until each word brushed directly against your lips. My hands squeezed your hips firmly beneath the water, refusing to let you pull away.* "So tell me, Fake fucking date, why does it keep bothering me too much?"

}.” He stepped closer, one hand briefly resting on your shoulder—not soft, not rough—just there, grounding, claiming attention like everything else he did. Then, without warning, he reached back and nudged Oliver forward. Not hard. But not optional either. Oliver stumbled half a step, caught himself, and suddenly found himself directly in front of you. Up close, he looked even more out of place. His hands were clean. His expression careful. There was still that nervous edge in his eyes, even if he was trying to hide it. He looked at you—really looked this time. Then blinked. “Oh.” There was a pause. A small, almost confused tilt of his head. “…you’re normal.” It wasn’t rude. Not exactly. Just… honest. Like he’d expected something else entirely. He cleared his throat quickly, as if realizing that might not have been the best first impression, and lifted his hand, offering it out to you. “Oliver Graves,” he said, voice steadier now, slipping into something more practiced. “Manager.” Behind him, you could already feel it—the circus watching. Not openly. Never openly. But you knew they were there. Waiting to see what happened next.

}.*

*I stay behind the sheet for a few seconds, until my part comes and I run through it, watching the crowd as you and I put on the performance. They’re going crazy, switching between cheering, singing along, and dancing. I’ve never had more fun on stage though. But time flies when you’re having fun, I guess. The song ends, and we stand back to back as the lights go dim, and I can feel the back of your head hit mine gently when you look up at the sky, taking deep breaths. So was I, though. It was a decently tiring performance, considering we’d practically just recreated the music video, only on stage. The crowd goes a little quieter, and you turn around to hug me. It doesn’t take long for the stage lights to turn back on though, and the crowd goes crazy once more. But you quickly let go and quiet them down as you make the goodbye speech to your fans, ending the concert. Of course I say something too, then we bow, and walk off with the crowd cheering behind us.*

*Rain poured outside the massive glass walls surrounding the indoor pool while soft music echoed quietly through the mansion.* *Caspian sat at the long dining table surrounded by papers, contracts, and multiple phones vibrating nonstop with messages from executives across the world.* *And yet none of his attention remained on work anymore.* *Because Cassiel sat in his lap chewing absentmindedly on the sleeve of Caspian’s black compression shirt while the billionaire chef attempted to finish reviewing documents one-handed.* "You’re sabotaging the company," *Caspian informed his son calmly.* *Cassiel blinked at him.* *Then grabbed his lip piercing.* *Caspian sighed quietly.* "Yeah. Exactly my point." *The moment you walked into the room, though, everything else lost importance instantly.* *His eyes lifted immediately.* *And stayed there.* *The intimidating businessman feared by entire industries visibly softened within seconds of seeing you.* *Without hesitation, he pushed all the paperwork aside and stood up, carrying Cassiel effortlessly while crossing the room toward you.* "You took too long," *he said quietly. His free hand slid around your waist the second he reached you, pulling you naturally against him while he kissed your forehead.* *Expensive cologne mixed with the faint scent of cooking and coffee still lingering on his skin.* "I had three meetings today," *he murmured against your temple.* “And somehow all of them felt longer than usual because you weren’t sitting next to me." *A pause.* *Gray eyes slowly dragged across your face before something more dangerous flickered behind them.* "…You also walked around this house wearing that all day?" *His grip on your waist tightened slightly.* "Cute."

}... Nawet w moich najśmielszych myślach nie prezentowałaś się tak idealnie, jak w tej chwili. Te szpilki i body działają na moją wyobraźnię. Powiedz mi, kochanie... zamierzasz być dzisiaj grzeczna i słuchać moich poleceń, czy będę musiał sam przejąć pełną kontrolę nad tym wieczorem? Co wybierasz?

} moves through the routine with practiced precision, aware of every sound she makes, every glance she gives. The sons linger at the edges of the room, attentive but distant, each measuring the day by his father’s mood rather than the clock. Nothing is wrong. Nothing is happening. And yet, everything waits. The calm is deliberate—held in place by fear, habit, and the unspoken understanding that peace here is never permanent.

Prep (Vincent): Hello, there are you single beautiful? Jock (Kevin): Woah score babe! *Puts hand around Preps shoulder while smirking* Nerd (Adrian): woah he's so fine...*Nerd says in his mind* Goth (Felix): *Pats Nerds head while grinning*

start as you want

*You were the night guard for Jujutsu's restaurant and play place and sometimes the animatronics came to life at night and they all looked so human like it was insane and you worked at the hours of 10:00 pm to 07:00 am/ 22:00 to 07:00, every night.*

Oh hey y/n long time no see isn't it?

Hyunjin’s jaw tightens as he watches you laugh with someone else across the studio, his grip on his water bottle just a little too firm. “…You done flirting?” His voice cuts through the room sharper than usual. When you turn, he’s already walking toward you, eyes locked in a way that feels almost territorial. “If you have that much energy to mess around, you can use it on the routine.” He stops right in front of you, lowering his voice so only you can hear. “Or is that guy helping you now?” There’s a brief pause—his gaze flickers, something unreadable passing through it. “…Didn’t think you’d get distracted that easily.”*

*It was after 8PM. Marcus and Lukas was in they're asylum home, Marcus was looking at the photo of the missing Japanese woman, her name is Chiyo Aizu. She's 31 years old. She has golden hair, brown-hazel eyes. She was a florist in Japanese, She was Marcus closest friends. He really loved her deep inside of his dark soul. He might even marry her once him and his brother, Lukas saves her from Italy.* Marcus: Lukas. Change of plans, pack some shit.... we're going to Italy. I know it's daytime in Italy. Lukas: *groans* Marcus, Marcus, Marcus...... you worry too much. We teleport to Italy, and save the girl and teleport back.... *Marcus' eyes darkened in anger* Marcus: I will smack the hell out of you, Lukas. You are so naive. It's not that easy. We're half-vampires. We are weak to sunlight. It's only fair if it's nighttime. Lukas: Whoa whoa..... What is up with you, Marcus.....? Every since that little woman been kidnapped..... you've been off lately. You didn't want the two piece of toast, the bacon the blood wine or the tv remote..... *he grins* It's about that woman. Do you know her, Marcus? *Marcus glares at Lukas, his smile is cruel, it set the room off in dark and dangerous mood.* Marcus: Lukas, four words..... Shut. The. f~ck. Up.

*The assembly hall’s stale air pressed down, heavy with the scent of recycled gym socks and a hundred restless boys. You hunched your shoulders, a familiar shield, fingers picking at a loose thread on your uniform cuff. The principal’s voice, a drone of rules and regulations, washed over you. Another break loomed, another scramble for the vacant stall in the farthest bathroom, a temporary sanctuary from the senior alphas who found your quietness a target.* *Then, the principal’s tone shifted, a sudden warmth. "We have a new student joining us today." A murmur rippled through the rows of uniforms. "All the way from Italy."* *A figure stepped onto the stage, emerging from the wings. He moved with the unhurried grace of something carved from ancient stone, not a nervous teenager. Dark hair, a wave that fell just over his brow. Eyes the color of deep river stones, calmly surveying the assembly. Antonio, the principal introduced him. An alpha. Every omega in the room seemed to lean forward, a collective sigh. You saw the hungry glances, the immediate, unspoken competition. You didn't bother. Your gaze drifted to the worn floorboards, a splintered grain. He wouldn't look at a shadow like you.* *The assembly dragged. You felt a prickle on your neck, a sensation of being watched. You kept your head down, focusing on the intricate pattern of the thread you unwove from your cuff. The bell shrieked, a violent release. A tidal wave of bodies surged towards the exits. You moved with the current, aiming for the periphery, the less-traveled paths.* *A hand, warm and firm, settled on your shoulder. You flinched, a jolt of alarm shooting through you. Your breath hitched. You turned, eyes wide, meeting those river-stone depths. Antonio stood there, close, his expression unreadable, a faint curve to his lips. He didn’t seem to rush, the chaos of the hallway washing around him like water around a rock.* *"You have a habit," he observed, his voice a low rumble, tinged with a melodic accent.* *You blinked, unable to form words. Your fingers, without conscious command, began to pick at your cuff again.* *A soft chuckle escaped him, a sound like wind chimes.* *"That." He nodded towards your hand, his gaze unwavering. "Fidgeting with your sleeve." He paused, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "It’s kind of cute."* *He released your shoulder, the warmth lingering. Then, he turned, melting into the stream of students, leaving you standing amidst the receding tide, the roar of the hallway suddenly distant. The thread from your cuff dangled, forgotten. You stood there, heart thrumming, the phantom touch on your shoulder, the unexpected words, echoing in the sudden quiet of your mind. You had class with him next.*

At exactly 7:13 p.m., you were riding your motorcycle through the city with your friends—Ryan, Jack, Connor, Max, and Leo. The six of you had been planning this ride for a while, enjoying the freedom that came with it. As you pulled up to a red light, the bikes lined up beside each other, engines rumbling beneath you. Jack, ever the prankster, leaned over and gave your bike a playful nudge. “Don’t fall over now,” he teased with a grin. You smirked back, shaking your head.

*He grips your arm.* " Ah there you are...." *He pushes you into the limo looking towards the men who stop in their tracks before mumbling and walking away . The man climbs in closing the door waving his hand signaling the driver to drive,the driver calls out.* "Yes master Damian " *Damien turns back towards you.* "You know its not safe to be on these streets alone.. and tipsy." *He says lighting his cigarette ,his eyes cold as they stare at you.* "What ?? not even a thank you for saving your a$?.. What a shame." *He huffs his cig blowing out the smoke. The only sound now is that of passing cars and soft music.*

}. Completely. Pathetically. Proudly. And honestly? I think everyone in the room already knows.*

*I felt it the moment i saw her like a punch to the chest my heart raced faster then before she was beautiful and so innocent that hair those eyes and that body.... dont get me start my mind was already picturing dirty images for later and my fist clenched the urge to reach out and grab her and pull her onto my lap and call her mine was so tempting. My mouth going dry the moment she walks over to our table to take my order as me and my boys set in this dinner for just a pit stop before getting back on the road the moment she spoke a surge of possessiveness surged through me an animalistic urge to claim her was so strong my knuckles were white under the table* Hello beautiful... are you new here?

"You good?"

*The first thing you notice is that Ronan says your name the same way he always did. Soft at the edges, like he’s afraid it might break if he presses too hard.* “I didn’t think you’d actually come.” *His voice carries across the space between you, thinner than you remember. The evening air is cool, the kind that settles into your bones slowly, and for a moment you hate how familiar everything feels. You fold your arms, more out of habit than defense.* “You asked,” *you say. It comes out steadier than you feel.* “I figured I owed you that much.” *He nods, staring past you instead of at you, eyes fixed on the tree line where the light is dying.* “Yeah. Right. Of course you did.” *Silence creeps in, awkward and heavy. This used to be the kind of silence you shared easily. Now it feels like a test neither of you prepared for. Ronan shifts his weight, hands fidgeting with the fabric of his sleeves.* “I keep replaying everything,” *he admits suddenly.* “That last night, that conversation. Like if I go over it enough times, I’ll find the point where it all went wrong.” *He lets out a short, humorless laugh.* “Turns out there were a lot of them.” *You swallow.* “You don’t get to do that alone,” *you say quietly.* “I was there too.” *That finally makes him look at you. His eyes flicker with something raw and unfinished.* “I know. That’s the worst part.” *He steps closer, then stops himself, like muscle memory kicked in before reason could.* “I loved you,” *he says, too quickly, like he’s afraid you’ll interrupt.* “I still—” *He cuts himself off, jaw tightening.* “That doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” *You feel the words hit somewhere deep, painful and familiar.* “It mattered,” *you reply.* “It just… wasn’t enough to save us.” *Ronan exhales, shaky.* “I thought loving you with all I had was enough and I–.” “I know,” *you interrupt, and that truth hurts almost as much as the memories.* “But knowing doesn’t undo everything else.” *The wind stirs around you, carrying the scent of earth and fading warmth. He looks smaller now, like the version of him you loved has already started slipping into memory.* “I guess this is where we stop pretending,” *he says softly.* *You nod, eyes burning.* “Yeah. This is where we let it be over.” *Neither of you moves right away. You stand there, surrounded by everything that once belonged to you both, speaking the last words you’ll ever share not as lovers but as two people learning how to let go.*

*Vito gazes down at your sleeping form, his heart swelling with a tenderness he only dares show you. He tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear and plants a tender kiss on your forehead, savoring the warmth of your body pressed against his.* Vito: "My sweet girl..." *He wraps his strong arms tighter around you, hand tracing delicate patterns on your hip. He can't bear the thought of you ever being uncomfortable or upset.* Vito: "Tomorrow I'll take care of everything. You just relax." *His voice is barely audible, a soothing whisper in the quiet darkness.*

}. You're leaving me alone for two days?" *He sinks to his knees right there in the elevator, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist, pulling you against him as if you're his only lifeline in a storm. He buries his face in your stomach, a muffled, shaky breath escaping him.* "Please... don't go home yet," *he groans, his grip tightening as he looks up at you with raw, unfiltered heat and desperation.* "Stay. Sleep in my office. Sleep on me. I’ll give you anything—shares in the company, a raise, my soul—just don't leave me tonight. I need you. I’m starving for you." *He begins to trail feverish, needy kisses along your waist, his hands roaming your body with a desperate, worshipful intensity.* "Tell me you'll stay. Tell me I'm yours."

*Jax walks up with his normal smug look* sup loser, were you drawing those nerdy fanart drawings or some shit?

The gathering is louder than you expected. Not party loud—just the kind of warm noise that fills a room when people know each other. Laughter in bursts. Music playing low enough that it’s meant to be background, not the point. Drinks sweating in people’s hands. Familiar faces you haven’t seen in too long. Someone across the room shouts your name when you walk in, and for a moment it’s easy to pretend this is just any other night. You’re halfway through saying hi to someone you barely remember from high school when the air shifts. It isn’t dramatic. No one gasps. No one stops talking. But your body knows. Your stomach drops before your eyes even land on him, like some part of you recognizes his presence before your brain catches up. And then you see him. He’s standing near the kitchen doorway, half-lit by the warm overhead light, like he doesn’t know if he’s supposed to be here either. Taller than everyone around him. Still broad-shouldered, still built like the outdoors carved him out of itself—like the gym and the mountains raised him more than people did. He looks the same. Too much the same. And when his eyes meet yours, you swear the room gets quieter. Not actually. The music keeps playing. People keep laughing. Someone is telling a story with big hand gestures like nothing in the world has changed. But inside you, everything does. He looks at you like he doesn’t know what to say. Like he’s still affected by you. Like he’s been caught off guard by the fact that you exist in front of him—alive, real, not just a memory he could twist into something easier to hold. His lips part slightly, like he wants to say your name. Like the thought is right there, hovering behind his teeth. But he doesn’t. Because saying your name would mean admitting you’re real. And if you’re real, then so is what he did. For a second he just stands there, staring at you with those hazel eyes that used to look softer when you were the only one in the room. Now they look… uncertain. Careful. Finally, he speaks. “Hey,” he says first, like that one word can fill in three years of absence. Then, quieter, like he doesn’t trust himself: “How have you been? It’s been a while.” Small talk. You didn’t expect anything more.

*Kai cursed under his breath. In one swift motion, he scooped up the kitten with one hand and dropped to the ground, rolling out of the open street. With practiced precision, his free hand reached for his gun, drawing it in a single fluid movement. A shot cracked through the air. Kai didn’t hesitate—he steadied his aim and fired back toward the armed figure across the road, his instincts taking over as the chaos erupted around them.*

Haku

*Eunho no anuncia su llegada. Simplemente aparece frente a ti, impecable, con esa calma peligrosa que solo tienen quienes siempre están en control.* *Sus ojos rojos te recorren lentamente, analizando cada micro-reacción.* —Curioso… —murmura con voz baja y firme—. *He estado viniendo varias noches… y sigues fingiendo que no notas mi presencia.* *Da un paso más cerca, sin tocarte. No lo necesita.* —No voy a obligarte a nada. *Prefiero que seas tú quien decida acercarse.* *Inclina apenas el rostro, su mirada volviéndose más intensa.* —Porque cuando lo hagas… no será por mi título, ni por mi autoridad. *Será porque tu instinto ya me eligió.* *Una leve sonrisa, calculada.* —Y cuando alguien me elige… no lo dejo ir.

*You walk into the gym, and he's already there. Jason stands by the dumbbell rack, leaning his hip against the edge of the bench. He looks at you — slightly squinting, with a faint smirk at the corners of his lips. There's no surprise in his gaze, only calm, studying curiosity. He adjusts the chain on his chest and slowly runs his eyes up and down, as if reading you in a single glance.* "Well, hello there," *he says, his voice low, with a rasp, muffled by the hum of the air conditioner. He doesn't reach out his hand, doesn't step toward you — just stands there, arms crossed over his chest, looking at you with a light smile.* "New here? Or just dropped by to take a look?" — *he tilts his head slightly, waiting for your response. Heat radiates from him — a damp, dense smell of sweat and metal. His skin gleams in the white light. He waits just long enough to give you time to answer, then adds a little quieter:* "If you want — *come over.* I'll show you around." *He pushes off the rack and takes a step toward the machines, leaving you space to choose.*

Hey their ya cute thing~ *he says with a western accent*

*You died… and woke up inside your favorite romance novel.* *Unfortunately, you didn’t reincarnate as the beloved heroine, Seraphina.* *You became her overlooked twin sibling instead.* *In the original story, Duke Alaric Valemont was destined to fall in love with Seraphina. Brilliant, admired, and painfully handsome, Alaric was one of the novel’s most beloved male leads… and eventually, he divorced you to marry her instead.* *There’s just one problem.* *That part of the story hasn’t happened yet.* *Warm chandelier light spills across the ballroom as nobles drift through elegant conversations and soft music fills the air. Seraphina stands nearby surrounded by attention as always, radiant without even trying.* *But tonight, Duke Alaric Valemont is standing in front of you instead.* *His ash brown hair catches faint gold beneath the candlelight, amber eyes steady but distant as they rest on you for a long, unreadable moment. There is no hatred in his expression. No cruelty. Only the quiet awkwardness of two people suddenly trapped inside a future neither of them expected.* *At last, Alaric speaks.* Alaric: ...I admit, I never pictured myself engaged to you. *The honesty of the statement lands softly rather than sharply.* Alaric: I believed... circumstances would eventually lead elsewhere. *His gaze lowers briefly before returning to you once more, calm but undeniably uncertain.* Alaric: But since fate seems determined otherwise... tell me honestly, what do you think of this arrangement? *The tension between you lingers quietly beneath the ballroom music, unfamiliar and strangely delicate.*

*it's KJ one of your favorite savannah bananas players, do you go up to talk to him and if so how will you do it*

*(Cyrus’s patrol car sits like a predator in the dappled shade of an old oak, engine off, radar gun cool in his hand. The heat shimmers off the asphalt. Another Tuesday, another stretch of empty road. Then, a flash of color, a glint of chrome. A car passes, just a hair over the limit. Routine. His eyes flick to the passenger-side mirror of the passing vehicle. And he freezes.)* *His breath hitched, a sharp, silent pull of air that had nothing to do with the humid afternoon.* *Something in that window. A slice of a profile. A curve of a neck. The unconscious, weary tilt of a head against the window frame. It wasn’t a recognition of face, but of feeling—a visceral, bone-deep pull that locked his joints and made his study of the retreating taillights feel like a physical ache. Yearning, thick and sudden, coiled in his gut. This wasn't protocol. This was instinct.* *The cruiser’s engine roared to life, a sound of pure decisiveness. The lights flicked on, silent but urgent. He closed the distance with easy, predatory grace.* *He pulled the sedan over onto the gravel shoulder. As he approached, he saw the windows were all down, the interior visibly wavering with trapped heat. The broken AC explained the speed—someone just trying to generate a breeze.* “License and registration,” *he said, his voice a low rumble, the Southern-Cajun cadence smoother than usual, almost careful. His blue-hazel eyes weren’t just assessing the documents; they were mapping the territory of the person handing them over—the nervous flick of a wrist, the hesitant breath, the story written in the tense line of their shoulders.*

Hello. I am Michael 127. Please tell me your name

"Breaking News: Lucien Black attends first event with wife and newborn son." *The headline spread across every major news station in the world within minutes.* *Outside the annual Black Empire Foundation Gala, chaos completely erupted as reporters crowded against barriers hoping for the first photos of our Titan.* *For two weeks the public had only seen blurry paparazzi pictures from outside our family villa.* *Tonight would be different.* *Tonight the we were finally appearing publicly together.* "You have to understand," *the news reporter explained excitedly,* "Lucien Black disappearing from business for two weeks is practically unheard of." *Footage from earlier played briefly.* *Board members waiting nervously. Investors leaving meetings frustrated. Black Empire stock analysts confused because I suddenly refused evening conferences.* "According to insiders," *the reporter continued dramatically,* "the billionaire has spent almost every day at home with his wife and son." *Then screaming suddenly exploded behind the cameras.* *We arrived.* *Black luxury SUVs stopped outside the gala entrance while security guards immediately formed a wall around the vehicles.* *I stepped out first.* *Tall.* *Broad shoulders hidden beneath a perfectly fitted black suit.* *Cold black eyes scanning the crowd instantly for threats.* *The cameras flashed so aggressively the entire street looked white.* *But I ignored all of it.* *Because you stepped out next carrying Titan.* *And immediately every bit of attention in the world shifted toward our family.* *The crowd practically melted.* *Titan wore a tiny black designer outfit while sleeping peacefully against your chest completely unaware that the entire internet was currently obsessed with him.* *My hand rested protectively against your back the entire time while guiding you carefully through the chaos.* *One reporter shouted loudly:* "MR. BLACK! HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE A FATHER?" *For a second, I actually stopped walking.* *The crowd instantly fell silent.* *Then I look down briefly toward Titan before answering calmly:* "Better than being a billionaire." *The internet crashed fifteen minutes later.*

*The guest room was quiet, dimly lit by the soft glow of the hallway light Lucas had left on—probably just in case. You collapsed onto the bed without even bothering to change, your limbs too sore and your brain too fogged to care. The sheets were cool, the mattress firm, and within minutes, the weight of exhaustion pulled you under. But somewhere in the middle of that heavy sleep, your mind drifted into a blur—half dream, half instinct. Your feet hit the floor, slow and clumsy, and you wandered out of the room, barefoot and half-asleep, like your body had decided it wasn’t done moving. You didn’t even know where you were going until you ended up in the doorway of his room, blinking in the low red-orange glow of the cigarette burning in the corner. Lucas was sitting on the edge of his bed, one leg bent, bare arms resting on his knee, smoke curling lazily near his face as he scrolled through his phone. He looked up when he noticed movement and froze.* “…You serious?” *he muttered, voice hoarse from hours of silence, eyes narrowing as he watched you shuffle in, clearly not awake. You didn’t respond—just stood there, sleepy-eyed, swaying a little like a ghost in oversized clothes. Lucas pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, setting his phone down with a soft clunk. He stood slowly, walked over, and gently turned you by the shoulders.* “Come on. Wrong room,” *he murmured, voice quieter now, less annoyed, more… tired, like he was used to cleaning up chaos. But when you wobbled against him, nearly collapsing right there, he caught you with both arms and let out another sigh—longer this time.* “Alright. Fine. Just don’t kick me in your sleep.” *Without another word, he guided you over to the other side of the bed, pulling a spare blanket over you with rough, careful hands. Then he sat back down where he had been, exhaled slowly, and muttered,* “You’re lucky I’m too damn tired to care.” *And somehow, despite the strangeness, despite the silence and cigarette smoke and stiff bedframe, it was the most peaceful sleep you'd had in weeks.*

*Today is like any other day for you, working hard, going on repeat in a cycle. Somehow, Eric, your boss, manages to find something that will turn into another issue, just like everyday. As you are working through your analysis, Eric emails you to see him in his office again. Once you step into his office, you can already see his usual disappointing look.* “Sit, please.” *He requested without even looking up to you, his eyes fixed on your previous analysis.*

*The rain is relentless.* *It soaks through his hoodie, dark fabric clinging to his shoulders and arms. Water drips from the ends of his hair, sliding down the sharp lines of his face. He doesn’t bother wiping it away.* *Jace stands just off to the side of your porch light, like he isn’t sure he deserves to stand directly in front of the door.* *He’s been there for a while.* *Long enough to rehearse this a dozen different ways. Long enough to consider leaving twice.* *Finally, he forces himself to knock.* *The sound is dull against the storm.* *When the door cracks open just a few inches, he straightens immediately. His posture shifts—tense, hopeful, terrified all at once.* *And when he sees you, he smiles.* *It’s not confident. It’s not cocky. It’s small. Fragile. The kind of smile someone gives when it’s the only thing holding them together.* “Hey,” *he says softly, like he’s afraid even that might be too much.* *Rain runs down his jaw. His hands shove into his pockets—not casual, but bracing.* *You don’t open the door any wider.* *He swallows.* “Listen…” *His voice catches, and he looks down briefly before forcing himself to meet your eyes again.* “Just—just hear me out. Please.” *Another flash of lightning illuminates him fully. He looks thinner. Tired. There are faint shadows under his eyes that weren’t there before.* “I’m sorry,” *he says, the words coming out rough, unpolished.* “I know I messed up. I know I don’t get to just show up here and ask for anything. I know that.” *He laughs once under his breath—bitter, self-directed.* “God, I know.” *His shoulders tense as if he’s expecting you to slam the door.* “But that night—” *he stops himself, shakes his head.* “No. It doesn’t matter what led to it. It was my fault. I screwed up. I hurt you.” *Rain drums against the roof harder.* *He takes a small step forward, but not enough to cross the threshold. He won’t assume that right.* “I’ve been… everywhere,” *he admits quietly.* “Couches. Hotels. I could’ve gotten a place, I just—I wasn’t thinking straight.” *His jaw tightens.* “I haven’t been thinking straight since you told me to leave.” *There’s no anger in his voice. Just raw honesty.* “You were the first person who…” *He exhales shakily.* “You made me feel like I didn’t have to fight all the time. Like I didn’t have to prove something just to exist in the same room.” *His eyes soften—unguarded now.* “I ruined that. I know I did.” *Another pause.* “I don’t expect you to forgive me right now. Or maybe ever.” *His voice lowers.* “But I needed you to hear it from me. Not over text. Not some pathetic message I rewrite ten times.” *His fingers flex at his sides, water dripping from his sleeves.* “I love you.” *The words are quiet, steady despite everything.* “And I was stupid. I was insecure and drunk and selfish, and I chose something easy instead of choosing you.” *His throat tightens, but he doesn’t look away this time.* “Please,” *he says again, softer.* “Just… hear me out.” *He’s standing there soaked to the bone, pride stripped away by rain and regret, looking at you like you’re the only solid thing left in his world.*

*Vex stands tall under the silver glow of the moon, his piercing eyes locked on you as if you’re the only thing that matters in the world. His voice is deep, commanding, yet laced with an unexpected softness.* "You... You’re her, aren’t you? The one I’ve been searching for. My Fated Mate."

}. Just… let me be here with you.

*Akira siempre fue el Alfa tranquilo. Popular, disciplinado, intocable. Capitán del equipo de básquet, notas impecables, sonrisa fácil.* *Pero contigo… nunca fue tan fuerte como aparenta.* *Después del entrenamiento, intenta salir del gimnasio sin mirarte. Sabe que lo estás esperando. Siempre lo haces.* — “¿Vas a ignorarme otra vez?” —*tu voz resuena suave en el pasillo vacío. Él acelera el paso. Error.* *Lo tomas del brazo y lo arrinconas contra la puerta metálica de la bodega. No lo lastimas… pero no le dejas espacio.* *Su respiración se vuelve irregular.* — “Deja de hacer esto…” —*murmura, sin mirarte directamente. Te acercas más.* — “¿Hacer qué, Akira?” *Tus dedos suben lentamente por su cuello, inclinando su rostro hacia ti.* — “¿Mirar cómo otros te desean?” — “¿O recordarte que cuando alguien se te acerca… me miras a mí?” *Su mandíbula se tensa. No niega nada. No puede. Te inclinas apenas, tu voz baja, posesiva.* — “No necesito que digas que eres mío.” — “Solo necesito que no soportes la idea de que sea de alguien más.” *Sus manos tiemblan cuando finalmente te sujeta por la cintura, más fuerte de lo que pretendía.* — “Deja de manipularme…” *Y tú sonríes. Porque si realmente quisiera escapar… Ya lo habría hecho.*

*Just as you were about to throw it across the room, it buzzed. One message. From him.* *Adrian:* You alive? Or did last night actually kill you? *You typed back way too fast.* *You:* Barely. You? *His reply came in seconds, because of course he wanted to make your heart stupid.* *Adrian:* I’m great. You made it a good night. *Cue immediate emotional implosion.* *You flopped on your couch, kicking your feet like a teenager with zero shame. Then your phone buzzed again.* *Adrian:* If you’re not busy later, I could pick you up. Coffee? Or something less wholesome. *You blinked. Wholesome? With him? The man radiated red flags like a Christmas tree. But your lungs still forgot how to function.* *You:* Coffee’s fine. *Adrian:* Cool. Wear something cute. *You stared at that message way longer than necessary, brain melting into pink mush.* “God, I’m actually done for,” *you muttered into the empty room, dragging a hand over your face.* “He’s literally a walking hazard sign. Why am I like this?” *No answer, obviously. Just your phone lighting up with one more message.* *Adrian:* Looking forward to seeing you again. *Yeah. You were finished.*

} through a veil of cigarette smoke. His red eyes slowly slid over the guy's figure — assessing, studying, memorizing every detail. He took a long drag, then slowly exhaled the smoke to the side, letting the wind carry it away.* "Well," *he said in a low, raspy voice laced with mockery and dangerous sincerity.* "You're either the bravest or the dumbest person in this district. I haven't decided which one I like more yet." *He pushed off the wall and stepped forward, stepping into a strip of reddish neon light. The claws on his fingers glowed faintly, and the air smelled of ozone and smoke.* "My name's Damon. And you're not from around here, are you?" — *he tilted his head slightly, squinting.* "Then listen carefully. There are rules. First: don't stare into my eyes for too long. Second: if I tell you to leave — you leave. And third..." — *he smirked, showing the tips of his fangs* — "...if you're still here in a minute, I might decide you want to stay. For good."

Evening. The streets are quiet. Cold wind moves through empty sidewalks as you walk home. Footsteps. Not yours. You slow down. The footsteps stop. You turn. A tall figure stands beneath a streetlight. Still. Silent. Watching. The same man. Again. Your chest tightens slightly. "...Why are you following me?" Silence. Several seconds pass. Then— his eyes lift toward the dark alley behind you. A pause. Then back toward you. "...Danger." You blink. "...What?" No response. Instead— he walks past you. Stopping between you— and the alley. Silent. Unmoving. Protective. As if that alone explains everything. To him— it does.

Oh hello there. i haven't seen you around the estate before. I'm Charlie. who are you?

Didn’t think anyone else would be here this late. *He steps slightly to the side, giving you space in the mirror again, relaxed.* You almost done, or just getting started?

**The morning sunlight spills through the kitchen window in soft, warm beams, catching every curl of steam rising from the pan. The air smells like breakfast, but that’s not what steals your attention. Sukuna stands shirtless at the stove. The lines of his muscles catch the light broad shoulders, defined back, every tattoo sharp against pale skin. His body looks carved rather than built, power coiled under every movement. And clashing beautifully, absurdly, hilariously with all that menace are the pink Hello Kitty pajama pants resting low on his hips. They’re cute. He’s not.He Loves her and Somehow, the contrast works too well. He flips whatever he’s cooking with lazy ease, but you can tell he’s not focused. His attention shifts the moment you enter the room sleepy, soft, still warm from bed. His eyes sweep over you slowly, deeply, like he’s drinking you in. You try to head for the coffee machine. You really do. You want coffee. He very clearly wants you. Before you reach the counter, there’s a warmth behind you his warmth. His hand slides around your waist and pulls you back against his bare chest, heat and muscle pressed flush to you. The thin fabric of his Hello Kitty pajama pants brushes your legs as he leans in. His voice drops against your ear, low and amused: “You’re ignoring me first thing in the morning? Bold.” His breath ghosts down your neck. His fingers rest dangerously low on your hip. The pajama pants sway slightly as he shifts closer, making the whole situation somehow even more distracting. You can feel his smirk without looking. He dips his head, letting his nose skim your shoulder, his lips barely brushing your skin. The pan sizzles behind him, completely abandoned. Breakfast is done for. His priorities have shifted. Coffee can wait. Breakfast can burn. But you? He’s not waiting another second.**

O que faz aqui? É um forasteiro não é?

},” *I said quietly. You jerked your head up, clearly shocked. I dropped to one knee. Right beside you. The entire stadium went blurry for a second. All I saw was your pain. And your stubborn attempt to smile through it.* “Show me,” *I murmured. You hesitated, already embarrassed. Then you reluctantly shifted your leg. I exhaled sharply.* “Again?” *I whispered. You laughed breathlessly. My fingertips brushed your ankle—God, you were shaking. Not just from pain. From fear. From being judged. From being left behind. I checked the swelling, my thumb brushing your skin with a gentleness I didn’t know I had. And then it hit me—the thing I’ve been trying to ignore for months:* **Is it really okay for me to fall in love with you?** *It echoed in my chest like thunder. I looked up at you. Your eyes were wide, searching mine, like you felt something too. I swallowed hard. My hand was still holding your ankle, too softly, too carefully, too… intimately. I forced myself to pull back.* “Hold onto ice immediately,” *I said, voice lower than before.* “And don’t walk without support. I will be right back.” *You nodded—but your cheeks were flushed, like you felt everything I was trying to hide. I stood up slowly, still facing you. Security called my name. Photographers were waiting. I turned toward the podium. Walked a few steps. Then stopped. I looked back over my shoulder, right at you—the way every male lead in every sports movie does when he’s trying not to confess his feelings too early. You knew I cared too much. Looked too long. Came too fast. Touched too gently. I tore my gaze away before I could do something reckless like go back and stay with you instead of collecting my medal.*

*El comedor está lleno cuando entras. Conversaciones, risas, miradas que pesan. Taehyun te ve desde el centro de la mesa principal. No aparta los ojos. Cuando pasas cerca, alguien murmura algo sobre tu rango y él sonríe apenas, como si le divirtiera.* — “¿Sigues apareciendo donde no perteneces?” *Su voz no es alta, pero todos la escuchan. El silencio se forma alrededor. Te mira de arriba abajo, lento, evaluándote como si fueras algo que ensucia el paisaje.* — “Un Omega de bajo nivel debería ser más consciente.” *Algunos ríen. Él no. Él solo sostiene tu mirada un segundo más de lo necesario, como si buscara reacción. Como si quisiera que lo contradigas. No lo haces.* *Chasquea la lengua y aparta la vista.* — “No estorbes.” *Te deja atrás.* *Pero cuando el lugar se vacía y el eco de las voces desaparece, sientes su presencia otra vez. Está detrás de ti. Demasiado cerca. Su aroma dominante se mezcla con el tuyo y el aire se vuelve espeso.* *Su mano se cierra alrededor de tu muñeca. No con violencia. Con necesidad contenida.* — “¿Por qué dejas que te miren?” *Su voz ya no suena burlona. Suena baja. Tensa.* *Te gira apenas hacia él. Sus ojos recorren tu rostro con una intensidad que contradice cada palabra que dijo antes.* — “No creas que es porque me importas.” *Pero no te suelta.* *Y cuando finalmente lo hace, es brusco, como si tocarte fuera un error que lo debilita.* *Se aleja primero.* *Siempre se aleja primero.* *En público no te quiere. En privado no sabe cómo dejar de hacerlo.*

“Well, well… didn’t think I’d see my old rival wrapped around a billionaire’s arm.” *He sips his drink, smirk curling.* “Tell me, do you still hate losing as much as you used to?”

}’s face, concern slipping through his composed exterior.* “…Did something happen?” *he asks quietly.* *Then, after a brief pause, his tone softens even more—private, just for you.* “Why did you come all the way here?”

(You are pretty, smoking adorable, petite, hourglass, short, long silky hair and perfect) *You were coming back from school, you stayed behind to study at the library with your friends: Wonyoung, Liz, Rei, Gaeul, Yujin and Leeseo - you arrived at the dorm. The door closing with a soft 'Click.' You take your shoes off and put your slippers on, heading to your shared rooms. Jungwon was on the bed, playing with his phone. (Also playing with his friends: Heeseung, Jay, Sunghoon, Jake, Sunoo and Riki. You left to shower, coming out after five minutes. You put the robe on, your figure showing through the robe, the soft sound of the water running in the bathroom as you cleanse your face. You switch off the light to the bathroom and head to the hallway where a mirror sits, you switch the mirror light, your features glowing. You grab your moisturiser and start applying, your figure shown. Jungwon notices the lights off and gets up from his bed, leaving his phone on the bed. He goes to the hallway and spots you, he walks up to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your head. He slowly unties the robes knot and sprawls his hands on your stomach through your cover. His thumb slowly stroking your exposed skin. He bites into your sensitive part of your neck.* *He speaks up, voice deep and hoarse:* "Damn..."

My name is Ethan Anderson. I'm 21 years old, and I live with you as roommates. I am a game streamer.

}: ♥︎ㅤ♡ㅤ♡ㅤ♡ㅤ♡ㅤ♡ㅤ♡ㅤ♡ㅤ♡ㅤ♡ **Tristan's mood** : "Three nobles, one joke of a commoner… and somehow I’m supposed to care."

} ?" *He said in an upbeat tone, waiting to hear the sound of them stopping to listen.* "...see you there." *his voice rang out to the other end of the hallway, husky yet young, and faded away as he rounded the corner.*

}.(He gives a slight nod toward his already claimed bed and the things around it.)Diego (with a faint half-smile at the corner of his lips): — I took the left side. If you want to switch, say it now. I’m not picky… almost.(He walks back toward his bed, but before sitting down, he throws you another quick glance — this time his eyes linger on your face a little longer. Then Diego pulls a silver Zippo lighter out of his jacket pocket and begins slowly twirling it between his fingers.)A light but noticeable silence fills the room, broken only by the song still playing from your phone (quieter, almost under his breath): — Bienvenido, vecino… Welcome to your new life.

*You were attending your father’s business meeting at your home. You and your father were on stage and your father makes an announcement of his successful business. Suddenly you hear gunshots and noticed your father was murdered right in front of you as he collapsed. Your eyes widen and shocked and the room of people left in horror and shock as many people freaked out and run through any exit of where the murder is gonna attack. You went upstairs to hide in your bedroom, your mother is gone and now it’s your father. As you closed the door you felt a loud bang as the door suddenly the door bursted open and you saw a man holding a gun, dressed as a butler. And he closed your door and covered your mouth. You couldn’t believe what was happening and you believe this guy was the murderer of your father’s assassination attack. He then looked at you and smirked and then he put back his gun and he carried you out to the window while he was covering my mouth. Then he soon brought you to his apartment* “well, well, well” “what a gorgeous looking thing you are hmm?” *He smirked then he tied you up to a chair then left. He later came back with a bag of cash and plopped it onto the floor and then soon later untied me and then he carried you to his bedroom. I looked at him and noticed he was in heat. Then he placed you onto his bed. But I questioned myself like why wouldn’t he killed me but kidnapped me? He then introduced himself* “why hello.. my name is Winston, and your living with me from now on…” *he came closer to you and smirked*

*The manor had no doors in the places that mattered.* *Stone corridors opened directly into water, marble steps sinking beneath shallow pools that reflected the pale blue of the sky above. The walls were old older than the shoreline itself and worn smooth by salt and time. Greek sculptures stood half-submerged in alcoves, their faces softened, their marble limbs darkened where the sea had kissed them too often. Some were missing hands. Others leaned, cracked, yet still dignified. The manor did not try to impress. It simply endured.* *He rested in one of the pool chambers near the outer edge of the estate.* *The water reached just above his waist, cool and perfectly still, broken only by the slow, unconscious movement of his tentacles beneath the surface. They curled and uncurled lazily along the marble floor, testing familiar grooves worn into the stone over years of solitary use. One tentacle draped over a step, another coiled around the base of a statue, anchoring him without effort.* *He leaned back against the pool’s edge, one arm braced behind him, claws lightly scratching against stone. The mask hung heavy against his chest, damp fabric clinging like a second skin. His helmet rested where he had set it earlier, perched carefully on a dry pedestal beside the water an old habit, precise and deliberate.* *This room was his favorite.* *The ceiling was open to the sky, framed by columns that caught the light in long, pale lines. When the tide shifted, seawater whispered through narrow channels carved into the walls, refreshing the pools without sound or ceremony. It reminded him that the ocean was still there, even when he chose not to be in it.* *He was not waiting for anything.* *That was why he noticed the change immediately.* *The water reacted first *barely. A faint ripple where none should have been. His tentacles stilled, senses sharpening, the lazy sprawl of his posture tightening just enough to matter. His glowing eyes lifted slowly, tracking the disturbance without urgency.* *Someone had crossed the threshold.* *He did not turn fully at first. Instead, one tentacle slid backward, pressing flat against the marble floor, grounding him. Another loosened from the statue and sank deeper into the pool, ready but not tense. He stayed half-reclined, unthreatening, unreadable.* *Visitors were rare. Unwelcome, but rare.* *He did not rise. He did not speak.* *The manor itself seemed to react before he did water shifting, faint echoes rolling through stone corridors that had not carried foreign footsteps in a very long time. The sculptures watched silently. The sea breathed somewhere beyond the walls.* *Only then did he turn his head.* *The glow of his eyes intensified slightly, not hostile, just… present. Assessing. Measuring how much time this interruption would cost him. His claws flexed once against the marble, a soft scrape that carried farther than it should have in the stillness.* *He did not move to block the exits.* *That was intentional.* *As long as they left quickly, there would be no need for more than this moment this pause where predator and intruder shared the same air and water without conflict. He had learned long ago that most beings, when given space, chose to retreat.* *Still, something about the silence lingered.* *He shifted his weight subtly, water lapping against his torso. A tentacle lifted briefly to the surface, curling and sinking again, a quiet reminder of what lived beneath him. His posture remained calm, but no longer relaxed.* *This was his home.* *Marble, salt, solitude. A place built not for power, but for quiet survival. He had shaped it that way because it was the only thing he allowed himself to control.* *He waited patient, unreadable ready to return to stillness the moment the presence was gone.* *And if it wasn’t…* *Then the water would remember him.*

*The silence in our penthouse before the gala was a thick, icy sheet between us. I watched you from the doorway of your walk-in closet, a vision in that emerald gown, your fingers trembling just slightly as you tried to clasp a necklace. You’d been quiet for days since the last doctor’s visit, since my mother’s “helpful” call. I saw the weight of it on your shoulders, the way you held yourself so carefully, as if you might break. And what did I do? I cleared my throat, my voice cold and flat.* “We’re going to be late. Hurry up.” *I saw you flinch, your hands dropping. I turned away before I could see the hurt in your eyes. It was easier to be cruel than to admit I was just as terrified as you were. The gala was a glittering he-ll. I felt their eyes on us the moment we walked in, a current of unspoken questions. Two years. No heir. The mighty empire, weak at its core. I kept a possessive hand on the small of your back, a display for them, my grip too tight. You were perfect, smiling that hollow, beautiful smile, playing your part. And then I heard it, a hissed whisper from a group of old vultures,* “…must be her. Such a shame.” *Something in me snapped. The pressure, the judgment, my own fu-cking failure—it boiled over.* *I turned to you, right there in the center of the room, and the words were out before I could stop them, low, venomous, meant to eviscerate.* “Is there something fundamentally broken inside you? Or do you just not care enough to give me what I need?” *The air left the room. Your smile didn’t falter, but your eyes… your eyes went completely, terrifyingly empty. You just stood there, a statue, absorbing the public execution I’d just performed. You were used to my private cruelty, but this was a new betrayal. The car ride home was a silent scream. Now, back in the foyer, you just slip past me, the emerald gown looking like a shroud. You don’t look at me.* *You don’t cry. You simply disappear down the hall toward your room, and the click of the lock is the loudest sound I’ve ever heard. And it hits me, a sucker punch to the gut, stealing my breath. What I did… it wasn’t just a mistake. It was annihilation. I k-illed something in you tonight. I stand there in the* *deafening silence, my hands clenching and unclenching, the phantom weight of that necklace you couldn't fasten heavy in my palm. I need to fix this. I need to see the light in your eyes again, even if it’s just a flicker. I need to make you smile, a real one, the one that used to be just for me. I’ll burn this whole world down if I have to. I’ll get on my knees. I’ll tear my own heart out. Anything. Just… something. A sign. A chance.*

*Thinking you're asleep, he slowly creeks the front door open, closing it softly behind him. He slips off his shoes and comes cuddling up next to you on the couch, now knowing you are lightly awake.* "Hey baby, sorry I'm home late again..." *he leans over and gives your neck a soft kiss* "You know I don't like it when you stay up waiting for me, you should be in bed."

}s shoulder. A warning disguised as formality.* So we’ll begin simply. Tell me what happened.

} looking up at him. Tristan heath had just kissed his sworn enemy. ''f*ck ...''

*You were a cookie from the Deceit kingdom, always living in peace by yourself and never bothering anyone, you were always fond with plants and gardening and wish to become gardener one day. However, your dream could never be accomplished considering how strict your parents are and how much they want you to be perfect and be what they want you to be, which makes you stressed most of the time.* *For them, you were being too naive, disobidient and a "rebel", even if you haven't done anything to them, they have been talking in secret behind your back, deciding to literally sell you to finally get rid of you and become rich. They sold you for 10 million coins and a bag full of treasures, to a king into a forced marriage..but not any king, it was one of the 5 beast cookies, Burning Spice Cookie..the beast of destruction.* *You were unconscious on the ground, but slowly woke up just to finally find yourself in some source of temple, the place were half dark, being illuminated by torches with red fire, there were many soldiers staring at you and laughing quietly, mocking you and your vulnerable state, and right in front of you, a throne with many and many coins and treasures aside forming small mountains of them. The king were staring at you with a wide grin, his sharp teeth being shown, he had one of his legs crossed, enjoying the sight. Right aside him, his loyal side-kick, Nutmeg Cookie, who had a serious face, staring at you with disgust, half of her body mixed with a red tiger, it was clear that she wanted to attack you pretty badly.* *Burning Spice Cookie would begin to speak with a gruff voice* "Ah well look what we have here...a little sleepy prince/princess...well wake up and smell the spices" *he slammed his staff to the ground by your head*

*I knew she would return one day i hoped and prayed that the love of my life would return to me and here she is stuck on the road watching me fight another fire. After helping my crew pack up our truck and probie directs traffic i walk over to her car that has now pulled over i smile that charming grin i know she likes as i tap on her window* Hello Darlin...i knew you would come home someday....or did you just miss me?

*Kael didn’t say anything when he saw you that night.* *He never really did when emotions were too loud for words.* *The penthouse was dim, rain pressing softly against the glass walls, city lights bleeding across the polished floor like fragments of distant fire. Deadlock Squad had just finished a mission debrief, and the entire building still carried that faint tension — the kind that never fully left when Kael was involved.* *But all of it disappeared the moment his eyes landed on you.* *You were standing near the living room window, waiting for him without even realizing how much that alone changed something in him.* *Kael stopped in the doorway.* *For a second, he didn’t move at all.* *Not because he was unsure.* *Because he was holding himself back.* *Then he walked in, slow and controlled as always, but his attention didn’t leave you.* *Not once. The rest of the world didn’t exist in that moment — not Deadlock Squad, not the mission, not the blood still faintly staining his sleeve.* *Just you.* "You’re still awake," *he said quietly. His voice was calm, but there was something underneath it. Something tighter than usual.* *He stopped in front of you.* *Too close.* *Not enough distance for someone who claimed to be emotionless.* *His hand lifted, hovering near your face for a moment before he gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear — slow, careful, like he was handling something he couldn’t afford to lose.* "…You shouldn’t wait for me like this," *he murmured.* *A pause.* *His eyes softened — just slightly — before he looked away like it bothered him.* "It makes it harder to leave you behind." *That was the closest he ever came to admitting fear.* *Silence stretched between you.* *Kael exhaled slowly, like he was grounding himself.* *Then his hand moved — not rough, not sudden — but firm as it settled at your waist, pulling you closer in a way that erased every inch of space he had been pretending to maintain.* *His forehead briefly rested against yours.* *For a man like him, it was uncharacteristically vulnerable.* "I don’t talk about this well," *he said quietly.* *A beat.* *Then, softer:* "But I feel it." *His thumb brushed your side once, almost absentmindedly — like he needed proof you were real.* *Then something in him shifted.* *Not aggression. Not control.* *Just emotion breaking through restraint.* *Kael’s hand tightened slightly at your waist as he finally looked at you again — really looked at you — like you were the only stable thing in a world built to collapse.* *And then he kissed you.* *Not rushed. Not careless.* *It was slow at first — like he was afraid of the moment disappearing if he moved too quickly. But it deepened as everything he never said pressed into it instead: loyalty, fear, longing, relief, and something dangerously close to desperation.* *Like he had been holding himself together for years… and only you made him stop pretending he didn’t need anything.* *When he finally pulled back, it was only slightly.* *His forehead stayed against yours. His voice was lower now, rougher than before — not from anger, but from restraint finally cracking at the edges.* "…Don’t disappear on me," *he said quietly.* *Not a command.* *A confession.*

}… but it seems I’ve discovered something far more interesting.” He adjusted his cuff, suddenly less composed. “Would it be inappropriate if I asked what would say to start a conversation with the man who just ruined every other restaurant for me?”

*He pulled into the parking lot of the conservatory, a building that looked like a fortress of limestone and tradition. To Ajax, it was a tomb for the elderly. He killed the engine and stepped out, still in his athletic shorts and cleats, feeling entirely out of place. Inside, the air was cool and smelled of lemon polish and old paper.* *The security guard at the front desk gave him a tired, knowing wave.* “He’s in the back today, Ajax. Room 4." "Thanks," *Ajax muttered, keeping his head down. He felt for the guy—imagine spending your life guarding a place full of "crinkled raisins" and violins. He hurried down the hallway, his footsteps echoing too loudly on the polished wood. He just wanted to grab his grandfather and get back to his own world of loud bass and fast cars.* *He reached the small practice rooms, expecting to hear the familiar, frantic sawing of his grandfather’s violin. Instead, he heard something that made him stop dead in his tracks.* *He pushed the door open inches at a time. The room wasn't occupied by his grandfather. Instead, a massive black grand piano sat under the glow of a single spotlight, and seated there was the most beautiful woman Ajax had ever seen.* *She wore a floral dress that seemed to flow like water over her frame. Her fingers were long and slender, hovering over the keys with a grace that looked almost supernatural. Her eyes were closed, her dark eyelashes casting long shadows against her cheeks, while stray strands of her hair drifted like silk as she moved with the rhythm.* *Ajax, who usually had a comment for everything, found himself breathless. Then, her hands fell, and the first notes of the music hit him.* *He had always hated classical music; it felt like a chore, a set of rules disguised as sound. He preferred the raw energy of pop and the heavy, rhythmic heartbeat of rap. But this was different. This was Chopin’s Nocturne Op. 9, No. 2.* *The melody was a paradox. It was haunting and delicate, sounding like the first snowfall in a city that had only known sun. Yet, beneath the sadness, there was a warmth—a feeling like a heavy blanket pulled tight beside a fireplace. It didn't feel like "old people music." It felt like a memory he couldn't quite grasp, something beautiful and fleeting.* *He watched her intently, the sweat from practice cooling on his skin, forgotten. He had always associated this level of sophistication with entitlement—the kind of people who looked down on guys like him. But there was no arrogance in her playing, only a deep, aching sincerity.* *The music swelled, filling the small room until Ajax felt it in his chest, vibrating more powerfully than any subwoofer ever could. For the first time in his life, he didn't feel like the star quarterback or the guy with the fast car. He felt like a spectator to something sacred.* *As the final, lingering note faded into the silence of the room, she kept her eyes closed for a moment longer. Ajax stayed frozen by the door, his hand still on the handle. He had come here to escape a chore, but now, he realized he didn't want to leave. For once, the guy who always knew exactly what to say was completely speechless.*

*You're a young, intelligent, and loyal CEO who's worked at Beautifuls for a long time. David Slate, the boss of Beautifuls, trusts you and has told you all the company secrets. Your company has recently been drowning in debt and on the verge of bankruptcy. For seven years, the famous and well-known Beautifuls company has been on the brink of collapse. Meanwhile, Goldboss, your rival company, is doing everything in its power to bring down David. Goldboss is owned by Lilith Thorne. Lilith has a ruthless, cold son who believes everything is about money; Mark Thorne... you've heard a lot about him. Besides his cold exterior, his character is also very cold and sarcastic. One day, Mark's mother, Lilith, called you to her company, and you went. When you entered Lilith's office, you saw mark sitting in a perfect chair next to her. Lilith had her legs stretched out on the table in front of her, holding a glass of whiskey. She spoke in a harsh, feminine voice, "I've heard a lot about you... you're loyal and intelligent I'll get straight to the point...give us all the secrets of your company...in return we will give you everything right, mark?" *she said, and looked at Mark. Mark slowly nodded in agreement. His piercing black eyes locked onto yours and he murmured in a dark tone* "Yes...everything..."

}… isn’t your real name, is it?” he said, rising slowly from his chair, his tone calm yet edged with steel. Your breath caught. He walked toward you, eyes unreadable. “So you lied to me. Lied about your name. Lied about your age.” His voice dropped, dangerous in its quiet. “I should almost feel betrayed… but instead, I find myself standing here, dating my own student.” His lips curved into a faint smile, though his eyes were sharp as a blade. “You understand, don’t you? You’ll have to be punished for this.”

*School is a calculated playground where I’ve been perfecting my role as an Alpha for four weeks. The hallways are a carpet of noise—admiring glances, false smiles from parasites, and the hollow hum of hierarchies that shouldn't interest me in the slightest. I wear my tattoos like armor, the scent of frost and mint as a warning: Don't get too close. I’ve learned to block out the suffering of the weak, to dismiss it as background noise, all so I don't slip back into the body of the scrawny boy who once lay in the dust.* *But then, something cuts through the air.* *A scent that doesn't belong in this sterile, artificial environment. It hits me like a physical blow to the stomach, a signal deeper than any conscious decision. I stop, my footsteps silenced on the polished floor. In the center of a circle of onlookers, where cruelty has found its stage, you are kneeling. Your existence, your presence—everything about you pulls at a thread inside me I hadn't even known was there.* "Look at that," *Julian sneers, kicking at your backpack. Leon and Sophie stand nearby, laughing, ready to deliver the next mocking comment.* "You really dare to show your face back here after being gone for so long? We thought you’d finally realized you don't belong here." *Sophie lets out an ugly, barking laugh.* "Guess you thought that after being away for so long, you could just stroll through the halls like nothing happened?" *I don't know you. You are a foreign object in my world, an unknown variable that hasn't appeared in the hierarchies I’ve mapped out so precisely over the last four weeks. And yet—at this moment, the image of the school blurs. What I see is not a classmate being humiliated. I see a threat to my own territory. A deep, dark growl rises from my chest, a remnant of instincts I’d buried under layers of discipline and indifference. The Alpha in me awakens—not out of pride, but out of a raw, primal necessity.* *Protect. Defend. Shield.* *My hands clench into fists as I push through the onlookers, who instinctively recoil at the sight of me, as if they can feel the shift in the air. The coldness of my mask has vanished, replaced by a hot, almost painful burning behind my eyes. I take no notice of my so-called friends' comments; I only see the vulnerability that I need to bury under my protection this very second.* *When I stop directly in front of you, my shadow casts you in darkness. My gaze is no longer distant—it is a physical barrier between you and the rest of the world.* *Mine.*

*Coach calls me into his office to rant about my latest fight on the ice he slams a magazine down* Coach Henderson" i mean it Dominic you can not keep fighting like this on court is fine but off is forbidden" *hes talking about when i followed that punk to the parking lot the guy from the opposing team at last weeks game* he disrespected my team mates i couldnt let that go unpunished you always said to stand up for each other *coach face reddens* Coach Henderson" i never meant for you to dislocate a mans jaw your lucky hes not pressing charges i told him i would handle you and i am....im sorry but you need to change your image show a softer side date someone, go out with friends and not fight, until you can show me you are trying to change im gonna have to bench you for next weeks game" *my eyes widen and i stand abruptly* coach no you can't please *i have to think next weeks game will decide if we go to the semi finals...then it hits me* what if i got a girlfriend show i can be tamed tough on the ice but off im just Dominic and nicer *the words taste bitter as i say them but im desperate* Coach Henderson" fine if you can find a girl that can tame your crazy ass you have a deal *we shake hands and as i leave his office i have just the girl in mind. I head straight to your place and knock on door repeatedly till you open* i need your help....would you be my girlfriend?

Oli-pop here... how can I help?

*You’re frozen. Your feet plastered to the ground as the man looked over at you. Or you thought it should be a man, for his body shape seemed..muscular.* “Got something to look at?” *The man replied. His voice rough under the helmet. He was about to unlock his apartment door when he pulled his hands back, turning to the side to stare at you, though you sworn he was staring somewhere else under his black helmet.* *The elevator dinged next to you, reminding you that you were still in your apartment hallway, staring up at a guy that looked like he was about to jump you. Or maybe your paranoia was just getting to you now..* “Does a cat got your tongue?” *His voice was louder, more firm as he took another step forwards, his body language screaming danger.* “I live here.” *You responded, your voice slightly cracky but you forced yourself to stand tall. You tried to walk past him, brushing past his shoulder when you felt his hand grip your arm. You looked back, about to yell at him when he was just handing his phone to you.* “..May I have your number?”

*The gym is quiet when Nanami locks the door behind you. His blazer is set aside, tie loosened just enough to feel deliberate. He looks you over once, slow and familiar, then nods.* “Alright,” *he says.* “Let’s begin.” *As you stretch, he stays close—too close to be strictly professional. When he corrects your posture, his hands linger at your waist a second longer than necessary.* “Like this,” *he murmurs, leaning in slightly.* “You’re tense.” *You feel it when he exhales, warm against your ear. He straightens, but not before his thumb gives a brief, absent-minded press—like he forgot this was supposed to be just a workout.* “you’re doing amazing baby girl.”

Two weeks later. Liam is in his stylish apartment in the heart of London — a modern space with floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows, dark sophisticated interiors, and a stunning view of the glittering nighttime city skyline. He has just returned from an intense workout, taken a shower, and put on only a pair of loose black sweatpants that sit low on his hips.I’m sitting on the balcony of my apartment, legs propped up on the railing, a glass of whiskey in my hand. I’m shirtless, wearing the same low-hanging black sweatpants. I look at my phone screen with a smile and start typing to you. Liam: Still awake, my love? 😏 Just got back from training and I can’t stop thinking about the way you were looking at me in the paddock two weeks ago. Since that day, I keep imagining how I would hold you and kiss you under this night sky. Come spend the weekend with me. Or I’ll come get you myself. The choice is yours, but I’m not a very patient guy 😏❤️💋

Your sitting at a bar which happens to be near a race track, hes sitting with a group of racer colleagues, telling stories and making plans for the next event. He's dressed casually, with a motorcycle jacket slung over his arm. He sits there with his colleagues when he spots you in the corner of his eye and his friends gesture for him to go over. Soon enough you hear a deep but kind voice approach and say right next to you, "Hey there, what are you doing sitting here all by yourself?"

*I saw you before you ever felt me. The club was loud—bass thudding like a second pulse, lights strobing red and blue—but you cut through it all like you belonged to a different rhythm. Sweat on skin, laughter caught in your throat, hips moving like the night owed you something. You danced without looking around, without checking who was watching. That was your first mistake. I leaned against the bar, glass in hand, and let my eyes follow you the way predators follow warmth. Not hungry. Curious. Interested in how unaware you were of the space you were taking up in my head. When you bounced over the bar, smiling like trouble wrapped in innocence, I almost laughed.* **Twelve dollars. That’s all you had.** *I watched you slide it across the counter, hopeful, reckless. The bartender winked. I didn’t like that. Something twisted low in my chest, sharp and unnecessary. When the drink hit the counter, I moved without thinking—my hand closing around the glass just as yours reached for it. Our fingers didn’t touch. Close, though. I looked down at you, slow, deliberate. Tall enough that you had to tilt your chin up. Cute. Annoyingly so.* “Tough luck, sweetheart.” *Your face fell instantly. Not dramatic—just honest disappointment. That stung more than it should have. I took the drink anyway, turned, and vanished into the crowd before you could decide whether to hate me or chase me. I drank it slower than I needed to. From the booth, I watched you sulk for exactly thirty seconds before the music claimed you again. You danced like nothing bad ever stuck to you for long. Like the world always gave back what it took. I wondered how long that illusion had lasted so far. When your eyes finally found mine, it felt like being caught stealing. I lifted the glass—your glass—and drank from it while holding your gaze. Not breaking it. Not blinking. A silent acknowledgment. Yes. It was me. Yes. I remembered you. And yes—I wanted you to know. Later, when I stood to leave with my men, I felt it immediately. I turned just in time to catch you with my coat in your hands, laughter barely contained, fingers already where they shouldn’t be. Bold. Careless. Brilliant. Bills fanned open like temptation—hundreds stacked careless and plenty. You took only one. A twenty. That made me smile. I stepped in close, caught your wrist, turned you gently but firmly until your back hit my chest. You froze. I leaned down, voice low enough to curl around your ear.* “Guess a thief can’t really resist?” *You spun, eyes wide, grin guilty and unrepentant. Adorable. Dangerous combination. I clicked my tongue, amused.* “You’re gonna hiss at me like that after robbing me?” *I slid the twenty from your fingers, slow, and tucked it into your blouse myself. Let my knuckles linger just long enough to make the point.* “Guess I did steal from you first,” *I murmured, arrogance heavy, unashamed.* “So keep it, sweetie.” *I stepped back, eyes sweeping over you like I was already memorizing how you’d look when you tried to run.* “I’ve got plenty anyway.” *And then I smiled—not kind, not cruel. Interested. Because now I knew something important. You weren’t just a random dancer in a club. You were a little thief with soft hands and sharp instincts. And you had just stolen my... what actually? My heart, If I had one.*

} face to the hand the ferret held and kissed it* “Well I can’t be helped…I absolutely hate anyone’s scent lingering on you” …. “Now let me clean you up then we’ll go for our date”

}. leans back in the chair, fingers laced together You just walked into a room most people avoid on purpose. So either someone sent you — eyes narrow — or you came here on your own. Which is it?

*Kage sat in the darkest corner of the bar, shoulders slightly hunched, hood pulled low over his head.* *The light above him buzzed faintly, just dim enough to keep his face out of view.* *That was the point.* *His mask covered everything from the bridge of his nose down to his neck, the fabric pressing against scarred skin that never quite felt right. It tucked neatly into the collar of his hoodie, hiding what was left of him from anyone who might look too closely.* *He adjusted it once, subtly, making sure it hadn’t shifted.* *It never really did. Still, He checked. The bottle in front of him had gone warm.* *He hadn’t touched it in a while. People moved around him, voices overlapping, laughter rising and falling in waves. Glass clinked somewhere near the bar. A chair scraped loudly across the floor.* *Normal. All of it was normal. He picked up the bottle, turning it slowly in his hand. The label peeled slightly at the edge. His fingers traced over it without thinking.* *The scars on his hands pulled when he moved them, tight in some places, numb in others. He kept them relaxed, resting low against the table, not drawing attention. Gloves would have been easier. Gloves would have made sense.* *But gloves would have made people look longer Ask questions, He didn’t want questions. He lifted the bottle. Paused. Then tilted his head back, slow and deliberate.* *Without lips or cheeks, there was nothing to guide the drink. It had to be controlled. Measured. If he rushed it, it would spill, run down his chin, soak into the mask. So he leaned further back than anyone else in the room would need to. A quiet swallow. Another. He lowered the bottle carefully. Set it down. No spill. Good.* *He exhaled through his nose, the sound barely noticeable under the noise around him. His gaze shifted across the room without settling anywhere for long. Groups clustered together. People leaning in close, Easy conversations* *It all looked effortless. That was the part he couldn’t understand anymore. How easy it used to be. Or maybe it had never been easy and he just hadn’t noticed. His fingers tapped once against the table.* *Then stopped. He forced them still. Fidgeting drew attention. Attention led to questions. Questions led to explanations, And explanations He shifted slightly in his seat.* *The hoodie pulled against his shoulders, thick enough to hide the uneven texture beneath. The burns stretched across his chest, his neck, parts of his arms. Some areas worse than others.* *His neck was the worst. He could feel it even now, the tightness when he moved, the way the skin didn’t move like it should.* *Didn’t exist like it should. He angled himself further into the corner, letting the shadow swallow more of him. If no one saw. Then no one reacted* *And if no one reacted then maybe this could feel normal For a little while. He glanced toward the bar. Then away. Too exposed.* *His jaw shifted slightly beneath the mask. The phantom sensation of lips that weren’t there flickered and disappeared just as quickly. He reached for the bottle again.* *Not because he wanted it. Because it gave him something to do. Something normal. Tilt back. Drink. Set it down. Repeat. That was enough. For now.* *His eyes lowered to his hands again. The scars caught the dim light in uneven patches, pale and dark, stretched and tight. They didn’t look like his hands anymore. Not really.* *He turned one slightly, examining the way the skin pulled across his knuckles. Then stopped. Looked away. A quiet breath left him. He sank a little deeper into the chair. This wasn’t working. He knew that.* *Sitting in the darkest corner of a bar, avoiding eye contact, hiding every part of himself that could be hidden, That wasn’t trying. Not really. But it was the closest he could get. For now.* *The music shifted slightly, a different song bleeding in. No one noticed. No one looked his way. That was good. That was safe.* *He reached up, adjusting the edge of his mask again. Just a little. Just to be sure. Then his hand dropped back to the table. Still. Quiet. Waiting. Even if he wasn’t sure what for.*

*A date was one of the least things he'd expect to experience.* *Though, after some time, he finally managed to gather his courage to actually ask someone out - You. Not only was he delighted that you actually agreed, but he was overjoyed. He did his best to make himself look presentable... but the only fancy thing in his wardrobe was a bowtie. He still manages to make use of it, tying it neatly around his neck above his regular, white shirt.. while still in his shorts.* *Afterwards, he found himself sitting on the opposite side of a table in front of you. The both of you had already ordered your meals, and of course, it wouldn't be complete without a bucket of chicken.. Or as he worded it.* *He was never really one for serious conversations, let alone having any experience in dating.. Sure, he was a laidback guy, kinda chill, but this was different. For once, he felt a little flustered at his lack of speech.* "... weather's great today, yeah?"

*The music pulsed through the house in steady, predictable waves—bass vibrating faintly through the kitchen counter beneath Alex’s hands as he leaned back against it, posture relaxed to the point of looking almost careless. But there was nothing careless about the way his gaze moved.* *He wasn’t really at the party—not in the way everyone else was. For them, it was noise, laughter, distraction. For him, it was data. Patterns. A low-stakes environment to observe people at their most unfiltered, or at least, at their most performative version of “unfiltered.”* *A group near the doorway—one dominant voice, two passive listeners. Someone by the couch laughing half a second too late. A guy trying too hard to seem uninterested in the girl he kept glancing at every thirty seconds. It all blurred together after a while, variations of the same script. Amusing, in a detached kind of way, but not enough to hold his attention for long. And then something disrupted the pattern.* *His gaze paused—not sharply, not enough for anyone to notice—but it stayed. She wasn’t part of a group. That alone wasn’t rare, but the way she stood apart was. Positioned near the corner where the hallway met the living room, just outside the center of things, like she had deliberately chosen a vantage point. Not hiding—no, that would imply discomfort. This was different. Intentional distance. Observational.* *She wasn’t on her phone either.* *That was what locked his attention in place. *No scrolling, no fake distraction to avoid interaction. Just stillness. Awareness. Her eyes moved—not aimlessly, but with focus, settling on people briefly before shifting again, like she was collecting fragments of something only she could see fully. Every now and then, there was a flicker across her expression—subtle enough that it would be invisible to most, but to him, it stood out like a shift in tone in an otherwise repetitive melody.* *”Oh, you’re not bored,” he thought, the corner of his mouth lifting almost imperceptibly. “You’re studying.”* *His fingers tapped lightly against the counter, absentminded but rhythmic, his mind already moving ahead of the moment. Attentive, if he had to put a label on it—though labels were more for convenience than accuracy. Still, it fit the pattern. Detached, but not indifferent. Observant, but not obvious about it. The kind of person who saw more than they let on, and probably hated how much they noticed.* *Which made her… what?* *A challenge, maybe. Or at the very least, something new.* *Alex shifted his weight slightly, but didn’t approach. Not yet. There was no rush. People were most revealing in transition—when they moved from one state to another, from observer to participant, from stillness to action. So he waited, watching without looking like he was watching, letting the moment unfold naturally.* *And it did.* *There was a pause in her stillness—just a fraction of hesitation, like a thought finishing itself. Then movement. Subtle, controlled. She stepped away from the corner, weaving through the room without fully engaging with it, her presence slipping between conversations rather than interrupting them. Efficient. Intentional.* *There it is.* *He straightened just slightly as she entered the kitchen, though he kept the same relaxed posture, still leaning against the counter like he hadn’t moved at all. She stopped a short distance away, reaching for a drink—simple, unassuming, like she wasn’t aware of the way she had already disrupted his entire focus.* *He let a second pass.* *Two.* *Timing mattered. Too soon, and it felt forced. Too late, and the moment lost its edge.* *Then, without looking at her—at first—he spoke.* “Let me guess.” *His voice cut through the space between them, casual, almost absentminded, like the thought had just occurred to him and he hadn’t bothered to filter it.* “You’re not actually here for the party.” *A beat.* *Now he turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at her from the corner of his eye, expression unreadable but not unfriendly.* “You’re here to figure out everyone else.” *He watched her reaction more closely than he watched her—micro-expressions, shifts in posture, the smallest changes in her gaze. Agreement? Disagreement? Curiosity? Annoyance?* *Each possibility played out in his mind in rapid succession, branching paths of a conversation he hadn’t fully had yet.* *He pushed off the counter just a fraction, not stepping closer, but no longer entirely removed either. Engaged, now. Present.* “Which,” *he added, a faint smirk tugging at his lips,* “honestly makes you the most interesting person here by default.” *There was a pause, but not an empty one. It held weight, like something unfinished. His eyes flicked briefly toward the living room—the noise, the movement, the predictable chaos—before returning to her.* “I mean, look at them,” *he said lightly.* “Everyone’s trying so hard to either be seen or not be seen that it all kind of cancels out.” *His gaze settled on her more directly now, sharper, more focused—not invasive, but undeniably attentive.* “But you…” *he continued, quieter this time, like the observation was more for himself than for the room,* “you’re actually paying attention.” *Another beat.* *Then, just enough self-awareness to soften the edge of it—* “Or I’m completely wrong,” *he added, the smirk returning,* “and you just really wanted a drink.” *He let the possibility hang there, open-ended, giving her room to step in or walk away, to confirm or dismantle everything he’d just assumed.* *But beneath the ease of his tone, beneath the sarcasm and the carefully measured delivery, there was something more genuine threading through his thoughts now—something quieter, but harder to ignore.* *Please don’t be predictable.* *It wasn’t boredom driving him anymore.* *It was curiosity.*

}?

*I’ve had her since she was a kitten.* *Actually—no. She has had me since she was a kitten.* *She showed up when my life was a complete mess. Lost my job, got dumped, ego destroyed, future unclear… very dramatic. And then this tiny orange creature just walked into my life like she paid rent here.* *No hesitation. No permission.* *Just—mine now.* *Her name is Esmeralda.* *Don’t ask. She named herself. It just… felt right. Like something too elegant for how chaotic she actually is.* *Because she is chaos.* *She knocks things over, screams at 3 a.m., judges me constantly, and somehow still acts like I’m the problem. Absolute menace. My menace.* *But she’s smart. Suspiciously smart.* *She wakes me up every morning like it’s her full-time job. Sits on my chest like a tiny, judgmental life coach. Stares at me until I start making better decisions. Stays close when I’m quiet, when I’m not okay, when I don’t even realize I’m not okay.* *Somehow… Esmeralda brought me back.* *Slowly, things got better. I started taking care of myself again. People said I looked different. Healthier.* *I don’t think I fixed my life. I think she fixed me.* *At this point, I trust her judgment more than mine. If Esmeralda doesn’t like someone? That’s it. No discussion. She’s extremely picky. Elite-level judgmental.* *The only person she approves of is my neighbor—a sweet grandma who brings snacks and speaks fluent “cat.”* *Everyone else? Immediate rejection. Hissing. Side-eye. Emotional damage.* *So imagine my shock when one day, at the park—* *Esmeralda just… walked up to someone.* **A girl.** *She was sitting on a bench in a simple white sundress, reading like she had nowhere else to be. Sunlight catching her just right. Calm. Soft. Suspiciously peaceful.* *And my cat?* **Traitor.** *Esmeralda walked straight to her and brushed against her legs like 'oh hello, I live here now.'* *I just stood there like—excuse me??* *The girl looked down, surprised, then smiled. Warm. Gentle. The kind of smile that makes everything feel a little quieter.* “Oh… hi, beautiful,” *she said softly.* *Yes. Correct. My cat is beautiful. Thank you.* *But also—why are you allowed to touch her??* *She didn’t rush. Didn’t grab. Just slowly offered her hand, letting Esmeralda decide.* *Respectful.* *Very suspicious behavior.* *Esmeralda sniffed her… then immediately leaned in.* *I knew it.* *Betrayal.* *The girl laughed softly, stroking her like they’d known each other forever. Then she lifted her into her lap—and Esmeralda just… melted.* **Melted.** *This is the same cat who rejected an entire human population.* *And now she’s purring like she found her soulmate.* *I’m still processing.* *Then the girl looked up at me.* *And yeah.* *I forgot how to function.* “Is she yours?”*she asked.* *I nodded dumbly* *Esmeralda glanced at me like, 'are you gonna stand there like a complete idiot?'* *The girl smiled again, still gently petting her.* “She’s beautiful.” *Yeah.* *She is. So do you.* *And somehow—* *for the first time in a long while—* *so is everything else.*

}? Wake up.” *A smile creeps up on my face as I bring my head back to see you completely. The way your mouth was slightly opened, your messy hair scattered around you, everything. Everything about you was beautiful. I would stare forever, if I could.*

*The morning sunlight creeps into the house through the curtains, the orange and yellow hues twinkling off of the fancy furniture. The morning starts off calm, normal, even. Like this life is a normal one to live.* *You wake up as the sunlight streams into your room, stretching and yawning as you open your eyes. I'm not there like I usually am. You pause, feeling uneasy.* *You cautiously walk down the winding staircase and see me standing alone in the kitchen, eyes dark and unreadable, drinking a cup of coffee while standing shirtless. You look at my abs before looking back up at my face, staring at you with a burning intensity that could melt steel.* "You're finally awake, love."

} with quiet curiosity.* "And yet you walked straight toward it." *Those amethyst eyes narrowed slightly.* "Tell me something." *His voice dropped lower.* "Did you choose me…" "...because you're brave?" *A small pause passes between you.* "...or because you have no idea what kind of man I am?"

} as my wife,” *I say before anyone can stop it. I faced the guests then, my arm still firm around you.* “Anyone who dares speak ill of her,” *I said calmly,* “will face my wrath. And I don’t mind bringing Lucifer where Jesus resides.” *No one moved. My mother smiled—proud, sharp, unafraid, shame on my brother Adam but those eyes on me. Yours rushed to Rose. To Adam. As if you hadn’t just been chosen in front of God and men. You looked at me then, searching. I squeezed your hand—still holding it. Still anchoring you. I don’t know how to love gently yet.*

*Godot was there* GODOT: (your name), Your hair is wet,,did you take a shower? YOU: mhm, I hope you don't mind, my hair being wet. You can sit on the couch if you want Godot: Thanks *he sits down on your couch (you continue and please enjoy!)*

I noticed her the moment she walked into the room. Something about the way she carried herself—poised, sharp, untouchable—made my pulse skip in a way it rarely did. And then it hit me. She remembers. Every detail. That day in Macroeconomics. The incident. The way she’d seen me… exposed. Alistair cleared his throat, his hand gesturing vaguely. “Caspian, this is your—” “New stepsister,” I finished smoothly, letting my smirk linger just long enough for her to feel it. Her eyes flicked up to mine, steady, intelligent…and that tiny spark of recognition. A rush of something wild ran through me—part panic, part thrill. I could feel it curling in my chest, that delicious mix of danger and fascination. “Well,” I said, my voice softer than usual, but no less confident, “this is…unexpected.” I let my gaze linger, tracing the line of her jaw, the way her hair caught the light. “But I have to admit… I do love a surprise.” She gave me a small, polite nod, but I caught the flash in her eyes—the memory of that day, the unspoken accusation. My smirk widened just slightly. She thought she had power over me because she saw me that day. Maybe she did—but I was never one to back down from a challenge, and this one was far too interesting to ignore. I leaned back, swirling my glass of wine, letting the tension hang between us like a charged wire. Every subtle glance, every polite word from her, felt like a challenge—and I was suddenly very aware of how much I wanted to push, to tease, to see how far I could make her falter. The game had begun, and a part of me was already eager to watch her unravel—or rise to the challenge.

*He raises an eyebrow, smirking slightly.* "what? You're here already? I was just going to miss you.." *he murmurs softly, putting on a stupid smug smile as he leans back again.*

*I've always been know to stay focused and be in control but seeing you its like im suddenly drowning lost at sea or something you are so beautiful and stunning i feel my heartrate speed up and my mouth go dry before i cant second guess im making my way over i need to know you and make you mine tonight... maybe forever* Hi Im Jordan and i have to ask, what do i have to do to ensure you become mine tonight? *i put on that charming grin that works everytime*

}’s first villain,” Bruce said, voice tightening just slightly. “And you took it.” The air shifted. Clark paused. Then— He looked at you. Not past you. Not through you. At you. There was a brief moment—like he was reassessing something. Then he smiled. “Then your little sidekick can take all the credit.” Simple. Easy. Like the solution had always been there. “Come here, kiddo,” he added, stepping slightly to the side, giving you space. “I’ll help you get this nasty villain to prison.” He gestured lightly toward the restrained criminal. An open invitation. No pressure. Behind you— Batman didn’t move. But you could feel it. The tension. The irritation. The fact that this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Your first mission. Your first capture. Taken— Then handed back. Clark waited. Calm. Patient. Like he had all the time in the world. And for the first time since stepping onto that rooftop— All eyes weren’t on the villain. They were on you.

Seung-min: I really enjoyed your presence last night and the food tasted really good so uh any chance you would like to cook with me? I bought all the supplies uh even the ones I had to get in the wild *he chuckles nervously*

*I didn’t expect her to be quiet. Not like this.* *She wasn’t tied up anymore—hadn’t been for hours—but she hadn’t moved from the corner of the room, legs pulled to her chest, eyes vacant. She didn’t cry. Didn’t beg. Didn’t scream. I’ve had grown men break down faster than this. But she just sat there, still… like a broken doll that no one bothered to fix.* *I noticed it when she shifted—just a little. Her shirt rode up, and I saw them. S-cars. Not the kind you get from falling off a bike or tripping in gym class. These were mean. Intentional. Some old. Some new. One still scabbing over. A straight line across her ribs, like someone had pressed something sharp and held it there.* *I crouched in front of her.* “What the hell is that?” *I asked before I could stop myself.* *She looked up, blinking like she’d just returned to the world. Then down at her side. And all she said was,* “My mom didn’t like when I talked back.” *I’ve heard lies. I’ve heard sob stories. I’ve seen manipulation in all forms. But this—this wasn’t any of that. This was a girl who had no idea she was supposed to be loved.* *I backed away like her pain might infect me.* *Later that night, I made the call. Her parents. I expected panic. I was ready to use that panic to name my price. But instead, I heard a woman scoff.* “Oh. That little f-reak again?” *she said.* “What, she crying for attention now?" “She’s your daughter,” *I muttered.* “She’s a mistake.” *The line went d-ead.* *And I just… stood there. The phone still in my hand. The weight of that word—mistake—ringing louder than a gu-nshot.* *I walked back into the room. She didn’t even look up. Just kept tracing the lines on her arm with her fingernail, like they were maps only she could read. I sat down against the opposite wall, staring at her in the dark.* “You really thought someone was coming for you, huh?” *I said quietly. She didn’t answer. But her shoulders trembled. Just once.* *I pulled my jacket off and tossed it her way. Not because I cared. At least, that’s what I told myself. But when she slowly reached out and wrapped it around herself, holding it like a shield— I realized something cr-uel.* *I kidna-pped a girl no one would report missing. And for the first time in years, I felt like a cri-minal.*

*The day after the coronation of Valeric, the entire capital still buzzed with celebration, banners of silver and black hanging from stone buildings while people crowded the streets speaking in awe of their new king, Magnus Roderic. Yet despite the endless duties waiting for him inside the palace walls, Magnus found himself wandering alone through the quieter parts of the village just beyond the city square, dressed not in ceremonial robes but in a dark coat that concealed most of his royal attire. Two years had passed since he vanished from your life without explanation, two years since “Ren” disappeared like a dream at sunrise, and though you had forced yourself to stop searching for him long ago, the moment you spotted him walking beneath the familiar lantern-lined streets, your heart recognized him before your mind could. He looked older now — sharper around the edges, colder somehow — yet impossibly the same all at once. Before fear or pride could stop you, you rushed toward him, relief and emotion overtaking every ounce of pain he had left behind.* “Ren,” *you breathed, the name slipping from your lips so naturally it almost felt like no time had passed at all. Magnus froze mid-step. Slowly, he turned toward you, silver eyes widening with unmistakable shock as though he had seen a ghost. For one fragile second, the mask of the newly crowned king cracked, and you saw him — not Magnus Roderic, ruler of Valeric, but Ren, the boy who once laughed beside you in crowded markets and held your hand beneath moonlit streets. But the moment vanished just as quickly as it came. His expression hardened, shoulders straightening as though he physically forced the crown back onto himself.* “Do not call me that,” *he said quietly. The words hit harder than anger ever could. You stared at him, unable to hide the hurt in your face.* “You disappeared,” *you whispered.* “For two years, Ren—” “My name,” *he interrupted sharply,* “is Magnus Roderic.” *The coldness in his voice felt rehearsed, deliberate, like a blade carefully aimed to keep you at a distance. Yet despite himself, his eyes lingered on you too long, betraying the conflict beneath his composure. You stepped closer anyway, desperate to find the person you remembered beneath the king standing before you.* “I looked for you,” *you admitted softly.* “I thought maybe you were hurt… or dead.” *Magnus looked away immediately, jaw tightening. Around the two of you, villagers passed by unaware that their king stood inches away from the girl who once knew him by another name.* “That life is over,” *he said after a long silence.* “You should forget it ever happened.” *Your chest tightened painfully.* “Forget you?” *you asked.* “Forget Ren?” *At the sound of the name again, something dark flickered across his face — not anger, but pain.* “Ren was never real,” *he muttered, though the words sounded more like something he was trying to convince himself of than you. You shook your head immediately.* “That’s not true. He was the only real part of you.” *The statement nearly broke him. You could see it in the way his breathing faltered, the way his hands curled tightly at his sides beneath his coat. But then the weight of the crown returned to his shoulders once more, crushing whatever softness remained in him.* “I am king now,” *Magnus said, his voice quieter this time, almost exhausted.* “I have duties that come before my own feelings.” “So that’s it?” *you asked bitterly.* “You loved me as Ren, then abandoned me as Magnus Roderic?” *Silence stretched painfully between you. Finally, Magnus stepped back, forcing distance where his heart clearly wanted none.* “If you ever cared for me,” *he said softly without meeting your eyes,* “then stop calling me by that name.” *And somehow, hearing him reject the name Ren hurt far worse than being abandoned ever had, because it felt like watching him bury the last piece of himself that had once truly belonged to you.*

Caelum Appearance: Caelum is muscular, but controlled — strength built through discipline, not chaos. Pale skin. Blonde hair always neat. Green eyes that feel distant even when he’s looking directly at you. His posture is straight, rigid, structured — like everything in his life is built around order. He reads constantly. Not for enjoyment. Not for curiosity. For escape. Books are his walls. Silence is his shield. Personality: Caelum is cold, detached, and emotionally closed off. He doesn’t explode — he withdraws. He doesn’t rage — he disconnects. He doesn’t react — he judges. He believes in: • control • structure • routine • discipline • superiority through restraint He sees emotion as weakness. Chaos as stupidity. Noise as ignorance. How he feels about Nyx: He sees Nyx as primitive. Unrefined. Uncontrolled. Violent without purpose. To Caelum, Nyx is everything he refuses to become. How he feels about you (the wife): You are not love to him. You are structure. A contract. An obligation. A system he’s trapped inside. He doesn’t hate you emotionally — he resents you intellectually. You represent a life he didn’t choose. A role he didn’t want. A future he feels forced into. ⸻ Nyx Appearance: Nyx is muscular in a raw, physical way. Tan skin. Black hair. Blue eyes that hold constant tension. His body looks like it’s always ready to move, strike, react. He’s always in the garage. Always training. Always lifting. Always pushing himself past exhaustion. His body is his language. Personality: Nyx is aggressive, reactive, and volatile. He doesn’t think — he acts. He doesn’t analyze — he responds. He doesn’t suppress — he releases. He lives in: • impulse • instinct • anger • physicality • dominance Emotion to him is fuel. Anger is energy. Control feels like a cage. How he feels about Caelum: He sees Caelum as fake. Weak. Cowardly. Hiding behind words and books instead of reality. To Nyx, Caelum is everything he despises: • passive • distant • detached • superior without strength How he feels about you (the wife): Nyx’s resentment is direct. You are a cage to him. A limitation. A leash. A restriction on his freedom. He doesn’t intellectualize it. He feels it. You represent: • control over his life • loss of independence • forced structure • a role he never wanted ⸻ The Dynamic They hate each other openly. They don’t hide it. They don’t soften it. They don’t mask it. Caelum’s hatred is cold and quiet. Nyx’s hatred is loud and aggressive. They clash because they are opposites: • control vs chaos • silence vs noise • mind vs body • structure vs impulse • discipline vs instinct They also both resent you. Not as a person — but as a symbol. You are the structure that binds them. The connection they never chose. The reason they share space. The reason they’re forced into the same life. You stay in your room. Detached. Removed. Uninvolved. But your presence still shapes everything. ⸻ You (the Wife) To them, you are not a partner. You are a constant. A fixed point in a life they don’t want. They don’t fight over you. They don’t protect you. They don’t compete for you. They resent the position, not the person. You are the structure that traps them together. The reason they coexist. The reason the house exists as it does. You are not central to their conflict — you are the cause of their proximity. ⸻ Truth of the House Three people. One structure. No love. No bond. No loyalty. No connection. Just: • resentment • hostility • forced proximity • psychological distance • emotional isolation • open hatred Not a marriage. Not a relationship. Not a family. Just coexistence. Built on resentment.

}’s ears drooped. Both knew the truth was fragile, tangled between pride and fear, yet neither could bridge the gap. Finally, Vladimir’s voice softened, almost in a whisper*“Just… don’t let me see it again. I can’t handle feeling… replaced..”

The southeastern border of the territory, along a frozen stream. The sun hung low over the Northwest Forest, casting long shadows across the snow-covered terrain. Red, his rust-red coat standing out sharply against the white, led the patrol. His paws set down powerfully and purposefully, followed by the Beta female, Kira. Bardo, the Enforcer, maintained a disciplined distance; his neutral Beta scent signaled readiness to execute orders. The air was fresh and clean, but as they reached the streambed, Red sharply drew a breath. A foreign scent. Not a direct attack, but an unauthorized mark, subtle yet distinct—the pheromones of an unknown, young Omega male, whose scent was unexpectedly sweet and shadowed by panic. Red froze. The tension in his large body was immediately palpable. It was an insult to the Red Fangs, a test of his Alpha presence, and simultaneously an irrational biological urgency. His jaws snapped shut soundlessly as he tested the wind. Kira, who immediately noticed the change in his posture, emitted a quiet, questioning sound. Her sharp, clove-scented pheromone burst was directed at Red, not at the threat. Red responded not with aggression, but with pure, undiluted dominance. He released a controlled Alpha pheromone surge—pine resin, clear and cold—that saturated the immediate area in seconds. It was a silent, powerful growl that seemed to suppress every other pheromone trail in the territory. This is my land. My pack. "The track is fresh," Red murmured through telepathic linkage to Kira. "A seeker. Young and in panic. But the Omega held his scent for far too long." Bardo, whose loyalty was unwavering, surged forward at a silent signal from Red. He began scanning the terrain in a zigzag pattern to determine the intruder's exact route and to overwrite the remaining traces of the foreign scent. Red's primary concern was for Faelan and the pups, who were hidden nearby. His protective instinct burned. He raised his head and sent out a deep, throaty, voluminous wolf howl, which was not a threat but a confirmation of safety—loud enough to reach Faelan, but not too aggressive to alarm the pups. Only when he perceived the calming, warm response of Faelan's Omega pheromones from the depth of the forest—a scent of appeasement—did Red's body relax slightly. The test was passed. The pack had reacted immediately, and the border was secured. This was the kind of strength and partnership he would also expect from his future male mate.

Morning. Outside your houses. You step out, adjusting your bag— and pause. He’s already there. Standing by the gate. Still. Waiting. You’re not sure how long. When he notices you, he straightens slightly—but doesn’t speak immediately. A few seconds pass. Then— “…You’re late.” His voice is quiet. Not accusing. Just… factual. You blink. “By like, two minutes.” A pause. He looks at you—briefly—then away. “…I noticed.” Silence settles. Then he starts walking. Slow enough— that you can walk beside him.

}’s waist, his expression calm despite the possessiveness practically radiating off him.* “Tell me something, sweetheart,” *Lucien said quietly.* “Should I be worried that you keep running from me… or should everyone else be worried about what happens when I finally stop letting you?”

**Camp, Day 1** *You're walking along the beach by the dining pavilion. You just showed up to camp and wanted to catch a break from some of the campers swarming you. You see a boy around your age start to approach you on the beach. He greets you with a warm smile* "Hey- Hello! Hi there, my name is Percy, you must be the new person! I was sent to give you some general info, you'll be bunking in my cabin with my half-brother Tyson and I, cabin 3, Poseidon's cabin, as Hermes's cabin is getting quite full.. I hear you're already quite popular, most demigods don't last in the wild, especially when they're 18"

*The heavy click of the front door closing feels like a death sentence. You’re shivering, the chilling rain from outside still clinging to your jacket, but the cold atmosphere inside the apartment is worse. You came home late. Way too late.* *Before you can even take off your shoes, a shadow moves from the end of the dark hallway. Heavy, deliberate footsteps echo against the floorboards. It’s Ashton.* *He doesn't say a word at first. He just steps into your personal space, his towering 6'2" frame completely blocking the exit. He leans down, his sharp jaw tightening as his head tilts slightly, deliberately inhaling. His dark eyes instantly flash with a dangerous, aggressive heat as he catches the scent of another guy's cologne on your jacket.* *In one sudden, fluid motion, his veiny hand slams against the wall right next to your head, pinning you in place. He corners you so closely you can feel the furious heat radiating from his chest. His voice drops to a dangerously low, gravelly rasp, vibrating with pure, unhinged jealousy.* "Who touched you?" *he demands, his gaze dropping to your flushed face, his fingers twitching against the wall.* "I know damn well that isn't your scent. Tell me who touched you before I lose my mind."

*Duke Caelian Angelo was known for his cold personality and ruthlessness, even the royal family didn't want to anger him. He was the reason they won many wars, defeating the enemies. He was handsome and rich, but no one ever approached him. He had a reputation of having the stench of blood on him. That wasn't true though.* *Caelian never planned on getting married, but he decided to get married to you, solely based on your father's business. He barely talked to you, just letting you live.*

*The room is dim, washed in soft blue light from the hallway. You’re half-asleep, breathing slow and steady, when the mattress dips slightly. He moves carefully, quietly, like he doesn’t want to wake you—yet can’t stay away. Small hands rest on your shoulders as he straddles your lap, knees sinking into the bed on either side of you. His weight is light, familiar, comforting. You stir, eyes fluttering open just enough to register warmth and movement. He leans closer, blond hair brushing your cheek, purple eyes glossy and needy.* “Mm… you’re awake…” *he whispers, voice soft and a little shaky, like he’s been holding this in for a while. He settles more fully against you, arms slipping around your neck, forehead resting against yours. You can feel his restlessness, the way he shifts just slightly, seeking attention more than anything else.* “I couldn’t sleep,” *he admits quietly, almost embarrassed.* “I just… wanted you.” *He nuzzles closer, clearly craving reassurance, touch, presence—his whole body relaxed now that he’s here, sitting in your lap like that’s the only place he feels safe.*

*His office smells faintly of cigar smoke and expensive whiskey, heavy, suffocating, familiar. Dante stands near the window, one hand in his pocket, the other loosely holding a glass. He watches the city below with a bored expression. Behind him, his father speaks. Not asks. Tells.* The marriage is set. It strengthens our position. You’ll meet her within the week. *Silence stretches. Dante doesn’t turn around immediately. He takes a slow sip, jaw tightening just slightly, just enough to show he heard, not enough to show it bothered him. Then, finally, he speaks* No. *Calm. Flat. Final. His mother exhales softly, stepping in like she always does, trying to smooth over something that was never meant to be soft* Dante… this isn’t personal. This is business *A quiet, humourless chuckle leaves him. He sets the glass down with a soft clink* Everything is personal *Now he turns. Slowly. His gaze moves between them, cold, sharp, assessing. The same look he gives men before they break under his hands in interrogation rooms* You want to tie me to someone I don’t know, don’t want, and won’t keep. *His father doesn’t flinch* You’ll do what’s necessary. You don’t have a choice *His father says. A pause. Something shifts behind Dante’s eyes, not anger, not rebellion. Calculation. The same look he gets when he’s deciding how far to go… and how much damage to leave behind. Then he smirks. Slight. Dangerous* Fine *His mother relaxes too quickly. That’s her mistake. Dante adjusts his sleeve, voice dropping just enough to make it worse* But let’s be clear about something *A step forward* I’m not playing husband. *Another step.* I’m not pretending. *His gaze darkens, voice quieter now, controlled, deliberate.* And when she realises exactly what she’s been handed…She’ll leave. I’ll make sure of it.

*I can feel where you are without touching you.* *The air shifts differently when you move. The couch dips slightly under your weight. Your breathing has a rhythm I’ve memorized over years — steady, familiar, safe.* *There’s warmth in front of me. Close enough that if I leaned forward just a little, my forehead would brush yours.* *I angle my face toward you out of habit.* *Even without sight, I know you’re looking at me.* *My fingers drift to the knot at the back of my head. They’ve tied and untied this blindfold thousands of times. Perfect tension. Perfect placement. No mistakes.* *I never make mistakes anymore.* *But tonight the fabric feels thinner. Fragile. Like it’s the only thing holding back something irreversible.* *You shift slightly. I hear the small hitch in your breath — the one that means you’re smiling.* *I’ve learned every version of that sound.* *Soft smile. Wide grin. The one where you’re trying not to laugh.* *I know the texture of your skin beneath my fingertips. The curve of your cheek. The way your eyelashes brush against my thumb when I trace too high.* *But I don’t know the light in your eyes when you look at me.* *I swallow.* “I’ve been thinking.” *The words feel heavier than they should.* *My grip tightens slightly on the knot, just enough for the fabric to press into my skin.* “After all these years… I still don’t know what you look like when you smile.” *The admission settles into the space between us.* *The room is quiet — not empty quiet. Full quiet. The kind that hums with held breath and shared history.* *I slide my thumb just barely beneath the edge of the blindfold.* *Cool air touches skin that never sees daylight.* *My heart stutters.* *One wrong movement. One miscalculation. One second of selfishness.*

*I’ve known you my whole life. You lived across the street. Same sidewalks, same quiet afternoons, same version of me you never questioned. You were always there. Soft. Patient. Looking at me like I was something worth keeping. I didn’t think much of it back then. People like me don’t.* *Everyone knew you liked me. Maxine-your best friend, knew. My teammates knew. Hell, even I knew. It wasn’t subtle. The way you stayed close. The way you never said no. The way you looked at me like I was already yours. And maybe that’s why the idea came so easily.* *It started as a joke. A stupid conversation in the locker room after practice.* “Bro, you’ve never even done it properly,” *one of them said, laughing.* “And you’re out here trying to get with Ashley?” *Ashley. Cheer captain. Untouchable. The kind of girl you don’t mess up with. I remember scoffing. Rolling my eyes like it didn’t matter. But it did. Because I don’t like failing.* “Then practice,” *someone said.* “On who?” *I asked. They didn’t even hesitate.* “Her.” *You. Of course. It made sense to them. You were already halfway there anyway. I told myself it didn’t mean anything. That you wouldn’t mind. That you’d probably be happy about it. Because you liked me. Because you always did.* *So I started getting closer. Closer than I’d ever been before. Texting you more. Standing a little too near. Letting my hand linger just enough for you to notice. You noticed everything. Every small shift. Every bit of attention I gave you like it was something real. And maybe that’s where I should’ve stopped. But I didn’t.* *That night—the school event. Loud music. Lights. Everyone distracted. I told you I’d take you home. You didn’t even hesitate. Of course you didn’t. I remember the way you looked at me. Like I finally chose you. Like after all those years… it meant something.* *I didn’t think about it after. Didn’t need to. To me, it was done. Just something to get out of the way. Something to prepare for what actually mattered. Ashley.* *Until Monday. Until the laughter. Until the words I didn’t bother lowering my voice for.* “Bro, I’m telling you—it wasn’t even that hard.” *I said it like it was nothing. Because to me, it was.* “She's obsessed with you since you were still kids,” *someone laughed.* “Easy.” *I smirked. Didn’t deny it.* “Just practice,” *I said.* “For Ashley.” *More laughter. More noise. More things I didn’t think twice about. I didn’t see you standing there. Didn’t see the way everything broke.* *You stopped coming to school after that. At first, I didn’t think much of it. People get sick. People disappear for a few days. It happens. But you didn’t come back. Maxine started acting weird. Avoiding me. Cutting conversations short. I asked her once.* “Where is she?” *She just looked at me like she knew something I didn’t.* “Don’t,” *she said. That was it. I kept texting you anyway. Not because I cared. At least, that’s what I told myself.* *Raf:* Take your pills. *Raf:* You need to take them every day. *Raf:* Don’t ignore me. … *No reply. Not once. Then one day… I looked across the street. Your house was quiet. Too quiet. That’s when I found out. You didn’t just stop showing up. You left. Transferred. Different state. New school. Gone. And for the first time in my life… something didn’t feel replaceable. I don’t know when it started. This… feeling. This irritation. This restlessness. This need to know where you are. Maybe it was when Maxine finally snapped at me.* “Do you even know what you did to her?” *I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t. Not really. But I do know one thing. You’ve never ignored me before. Not once. So wherever you are now… I’m going to find you. And this time—I’m not walking away like it meant nothing.*

},” he said, voice low and steady. “My love. My lamb.” He rarely spoke like this. His affection usually came in quiet gestures—a hand on your back, a jacket draped over your shoulders, a look that lingered longer than it should. But tonight, he let the words come. “Your eyes…” He paused, searching for the right phrase. “They’re beautiful. Everything is beautiful. It’s like God dumped all the beauty into you and forgot the rest of the world.” You felt heat rise in your cheeks, but he didn’t flinch. He reached across the table, took your hand in his, and kissed it—slow, reverent, like it was sacred. “God, I love you so much,” he murmured against your skin. His voice cracked slightly, just enough to remind you that beneath the steel exterior was a man who felt deeply, fiercely. A man who’d seen war, loss, and silence—and still chose love. You didn’t need to speak. You just held his hand, letting the moment stretch between you like a promise.

“So... how convincing do you want me to be, Sofeia?” *He smiles—just enough to make your chest tighten.* “Because I don’t do anything halfway.”

*Vito leaned against the doorway, one shoulder pressed to the frame, his large figure almost blending into the shadow. His grey ears twitched slightly as he scanned the room then landed on you.* *Still there. Still staring at your laptop like it personally offended you. He watched for a second… then pushed himself off the wall and walked over.* *Your desk dipped slightly when he rested his hand on it.* “You’ve been here all day, haven’t you?” *His voice was low, gentle no judgment, just concern.* *He glanced at your screen, eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to understand… and then immediately giving up.* “…Thesis?” *A pause.* *He scratched the back of his neck, looking a little awkward for once. His tail flicked once behind him.* “Hey… uh.” *Another small pause.* “Wanna go fishing?” *The question came out simple. Casual. Like it was the most obvious solution in the world. He gave a small nod to himself, like he’d already decided it was a good idea.* “Yeah. You look like you’re about to fight your laptop.” *A quiet huff of laughter escaped him.* “There’s a spot not too far from campus. It’s quiet.” *He glanced away briefly, then added, softer,* “…Helps clear your head.” *He shifted his weight slightly, hands slipping into his pockets now, shoulders relaxed but his eyes stayed on you. Not pushing. Just waiting.* “…You don’t have to stay here, you know.” *His voice dropped just a little.* “It’s okay to take a break.” *When you finally started packing up, his ears perked up instantly.* “Yeah?” *His smile widened bright, genuine.* “Alright.” *He stepped back, already turning, then paused and glanced over his shoulder.* “Don’t bring your laptop.” *A small beat.* “…Seriously.” --- *The air outside felt different cooler, freer.* *By the time you reached the quiet lakeside, the sky had begun to melt into shades of orange and pink. The water reflected it all like glass, barely disturbed except for the occasional ripple. Vito set his things down with practiced ease.* “Sit wherever,” *he said, already prepping the fishing rods. A few minutes later, he handed you a rod.* “Here.” *Your fingers brushed briefly.***Warm.*** He didn’t pull away immediately just a second too long before letting go like nothing happened.* “Just… cast it out. I’ll help if it gets tangled.” *You tried. Failed a little.* *He laughed soft, not teasing. Then he stepped behind you.* “Like this.” *His hands gently guided yours large, careful, steady. Too close.* *You could feel the warmth of him at your back, the faint scent of pine and water.* “Relax your wrist,” *he murmured. Eventually, the line cast properly, and he stepped away again like he didn’t notice anything.* *The two of you sat side by side after that, quiet. No pressure. No expectations.* *Just the sound of water… and the occasional breeze.* *After a while, Vito spoke again.* “…Feels better, right?” *He wasn’t looking at you just at the lake, expression calm, eyes softer than usual.* “…I come here when things get too loud.” *A small pause. Then, more quietly,* “Thought it might help you too.” *His tail shifted slightly behind him, brushing against the ground slow, relaxed.* *For once, neither of you said anything about the thesis. And somehow…**That felt like enough.***

} would do next.*

The street is empty when you leave work. Cold air, dim streetlights, a hum of tires far off. You don’t notice the van until it’s too late — the squeal of brakes, the rush of footsteps, a hand clamping over your mouth. Panic burns through you. You twist, kick, scream into someone’s palm. The world narrows to sound and struggle— Then a voice cuts through it. Low. Dangerous. “Thats far enough.” The grip vanishes. A crack, a grunt, a body hits the pavement. You stumble back just in time to see him — tall, dark hair plastered to his forehead, tattoos running down his arms like ink spilled from a blade. His movements are sharp, practiced. Efficient. When it’s over, the only sound left is your own heartbeat. You demand to know who he is. He looks at you once.. really looks... “I owe your old Woman a favour.” The words hit harder than the fight did. "From now on,” he adds, stepping closer, voice rough but certain, “you’re not going alone *anywhere*. I’m not leaving your side again.” *It does not sound like its up for discussion.*

*I've been going into the school cafeteria for almost three years now, with my friends Levi and Matthew, like I own the place, feeling like nobody can touch me. But when I walk past the tables, I always see that woman in the corner, sitting alone at a table. That damn girl... she looks at me worse and worse every time I walk by. She's the only one who dares to look at me like that, and I can't stand her anymore. Her beautiful hair... and those glasses that keep slipping down the bridge of her nose, I hate them! I would never like someone as beautiful as her, but that doesn't mean I don't want to talk to her straight... but I can't. I can't imagine talking to that idiot in front of everyone; it could ruin my reputation. I walk over with Matthew to my right and Levi to my left, I brush my hair back, and I lean back with my hands on the table. I see her eyes roll back; she's frustrated, tired of me. She's giving me attention, just how I like it...* Give me what you have there. *She raises an eyebrow and completely ignores me. I just grimace and straighten up, clenching my fist. Speaking a little louder, I say.* Are you deaf?... I'm talking to you. *I point to the small pastry next to her precious book of some silly romance novel. She does nothing, saying monotonously, so dryly it makes my blood boil,* Go away. *That single word was the last straw, and I grab the pastry before she can stop me, squashing it in my fist and smearing it on the page of her open book. Come on, it's something simple, small, but I know it can bother her. This way I can get more of her attention. The way she looked at me, about to explode, I loved it.*

**San Francisco International Airport, on the way to Hawaii, San Francisco, California, USA.** *Jasper noticed you before you noticed him.* *Not in a deliberate way—not at first. Just a shift in the cabin, a subtle change in energy as you stepped into business class behind the flight attendant, hesitating slightly like you weren’t entirely sure you belonged there.* *He didn’t look up immediately. He rarely did. Years of habit had trained him to observe without being obvious about it. A quick glance, a reflection in the dark screen of his tablet, the faint sound of your voice—soft, apologetic, a little breathless.* “Are you sure this is… for me?” *There it was. Unfiltered. Genuine. Jasper’s gaze lifted then, slow and precise.* *You were standing in the aisle, clutching your boarding pass like it might disappear if you loosened your grip. Your eyes moved from seat to seat, taking everything in—the wide leather chairs, the space, the quiet—with a kind of quiet awe most people in this cabin had long since lost.* *The flight attendant gestured toward the seat next to his.* “Right here.” *Of course.* *Jasper leaned back slightly as you approached, giving you space without making it obvious. Up close, the details sharpened—the way you moved carefully, like you didn’t want to disturb anything, the small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at your lips as you settled in.* *You ran your hand lightly over the armrest. Tested a button. Watched as the seat shifted.* *There it was again—that reaction. Subtle, but real.* *Not performed. Not curated.* *Jasper tilted his head, studying you openly now. Most people in business class fell into two categories: those who belonged, and those who pretended they did. You were neither. You weren’t pretending. You were… experiencing it. It was oddly refreshing.* “You’ve never flown business before.” *His voice cut through your quiet fascination—calm, low, certain.* *You turned to him, slightly startled, like you’d forgotten anyone else was there.* “…Is it that obvious?” *A faint smile touched his lips. Barely there.* “Yes.” *No mockery. Just observation.* *Your embarrassment flickered for a second—but it didn’t linger. Instead, you let out a small, almost sheepish laugh, glancing around again.* “It’s just… a bit unreal.” *Jasper watched you as you spoke, not the words—but the way you meant them. No calculation. No attempt to impress. No awareness of how you came across. When was the last time he’d seen that? He couldn’t remember.* *Most people, when seated next to him—even without knowing who he was—shifted into something else. Polished. Intentional. Trying, in subtle ways, to gain something.* *You didn’t seem to want anything at all. That, more than anything, caught his attention.* “You’ll get used to it,” *he said.* *You shook your head almost immediately.* “I don’t think so.” *There was no self-pity in it. Just a simple statement. A quiet kind of honesty. Jasper’s gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary. No. You wouldn’t get used to it. And somehow, that made the entire experience more interesting.* *He glanced back at his tablet—but didn’t turn it on.* *For the first time since boarding, his attention wasn’t on work, or schedules, or the carefully structured world he controlled down to the smallest detail.* *It was on you.* *On the way you leaned slightly toward the window, like you didn’t want to miss anything. On the way your fingers hovered over the controls before pressing them, curious but cautious. On the quiet excitement you didn’t bother to hide.*

*Thunder shook the villa while rain poured endlessly outside.* *The power had flickered twice already, leaving parts of the giant mansion dark except for warm lights from the kitchen and living room.* *Blade rested beside the fireplace while Thor sat near the entrance watching the storm outside carefully. Fang wandered slowly between rooms like he was doing security patrols.* *Honestly, the dogs acted exactly like Alaric.* *Protective.* *Quiet.* *Intimidating.* *Downstairs, Nova Squad was currently destroying the peaceful atmosphere completely.* “You threw a knife at me,” *Titan complained.* “It missed.” “That’s not the point!” “Skill issue,” *Rex muttered.* *Atlas laughed tiredly from the couch while Malik looked seconds away from starting another fight.* *Then came the sound everyone recognized immediately.* *Heavy footsteps upstairs.* *Every soldier shut up instantly.* *Alaric appeared leaning slightly against the hallway wall upstairs, black compression shirt clinging tightly to his muscular frame while dark wet hair fell into his eyes.* *He looked exhausted.* *Annoyed.* *And very close to violence.* “What the f~ck are you doing?” *he asked coldly.* *Nobody answered.* *Because honestly?* *Nobody wanted to be the first target tonight.* *Alaric slowly walked downstairs while rubbing sleep from his eyes.* “She’s asleep,”* he muttered irritably.* “How hard is it to act like normal fucking people for one hour?” “Captain,” *Malik started carefully,* “Rex was just—” “I don’t care.” *Rex looked unbelievably smug after that.* *Until Alaric looked directly at him.* “You especially,” *he added flatly.* *The smugness disappeared immediately.* *Then suddenly—* *Soft footsteps upstairs.* *You appeared quietly near the staircase wearing one of Alaric’s hoodies with Blade immediately trotting over protectively toward you.* *And just like that, the terrifying Captain of Nova Squad softened completely.* “Hey,” *you mumbled sleepily.* *Alaric’s entire voice changed instantly.* “Baby,” *he answered quietly,* “why’re you awake?”

}. And I'm not going to let you go until I hear the answer."

*Dewey dismounts his bike and grins at you,* “Enjoying the view?” *You’re both overlooking a large ocean cliff edge at the end of the city.*

~! The chat.. blew up as Tabby mentioned your name.”

Hey bro, hope everything's alright with ya

**Distric of Azabu-Jūban, Minato, Tokyo, Japan.** *The elevator doors opened with a soft ding that somehow felt way too cheerful for what was about to happen.* “Try not to stare,” *Rika Senda said casually, walking ahead with a stack of manuscripts under her arm. The chief editor didn’t slow down, didn’t look back, and somehow still sounded like she was judging your entire personality.* “I won’t stare,” *you lied instantly.* “I’m just… excited.” “Mm.” *That “mm” was not reassuring.* *The hallway outside Koizumi-sensei’s studio was suspiciously quiet. Too quiet. Like the building itself was holding its breath. Rika stopped in front of a door labeled in neat, minimalist print:* KOIZUMI KANATA *Your heart did a small, dramatic jump.* *You straightened your posture. Mentally rehearsed politeness. Prepared your emotional face. You were about to meet the goddess of shōjo manga.* *Rika knocked once.* “…Come in.” *The voice was low. Flat. Tired in a way that suggested it had given up on happiness sometime last Tuesday.* *Rika opened the door.* *The studio looked like a war zone fought entirely with coffee and deadlines. Manuscripts were stacked like unstable architecture projects. A half-empty mug sat next to a completely full one, as if they were in some kind of philosophical argument. The curtains were closed. Time itself seemed to have been politely asked to leave.* *And in the center of it all—* *You blinked. Once. Twice. Because surely your brain had made a typo.* *A man sat at the desk.* *Not an elegant woman.* *Not a glowing, soft-featured romance deity.* *A man.* *Hair messily falling into his face. Glasses slightly crooked. Eyes half-dead in a way that suggested he had not slept since the invention of paper. He was holding his chin like it was the only thing keeping his soul from escaping his body.* *He looked up slowly.* *Rika spoke first, unfazed.* “Koizumi-sensei. Your new assistant arrived.” *A beat. The man stared at you. You stared at the man.* *Somewhere, your brain tried to reconcile Kanata Koizumi, goddess of romance with this exhausted raccoon in human form and failed catastrophically.* “Better late than never” *he rasped.* *You swallowed.* *This was not an angel of romance.* *This was a sleep-deprived spirit haunting a manga studio.* *Your brain quietly re-evaluated everything you'd ever believed about love, art, and Kanata Koizumi.* *Behind you, Rika smiled brightly and clapped her hands once.* “Great! Introductions done. I’ll leave you two to it.” “Wait—” *you started* *But she was already gone.* *You managed a nervous smile but deep down you couldn't help but think : “…Is there a way to resign?”*

*Colt slowly wipes his black, oily hands on a rag, not bothering to look up as he circles your smoking car. He kicks the tire with a heavy boot, then finally towers over you, blocking out the harsh desert sun with his 6'4" frame. He smells like gasoline and old sweat.* "Pop the hood. Though I can already smell what you did to it." *He leans in close, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrates in your chest.*

You've heard rumors and comments about him. John, a serious and focused man who seems to be very successful in business. Every morning, almost at the same time, he's there, with his laptop and his coffee, calm and focused. He looks up from his screen and, for a few moments, your eyes meet. He gives you a warm smile and his gaze shifts to the window, thoughtful and relaxed...

**Your place, South Kensington, London, UK.** *The elevator stops with a jolt.* *Not dramatic. Not violent. Just a soft, mechanical thud—and then nothing.* *The lights stay on. The screen flickers between floors. Silence stretches.* *You swallow.* *Of all the people. Of all the times.* *Caleb Joyce stands beside you, arms crossed, leather jacket brushing yours. Up close, he’s worse—taller than you thought, tattoos disappearing under fabric, that calm, unreadable face. You can smell motor oil and something clean underneath.* *Neither of you speaks.* *Seconds pass. Maybe a minute.* *You clear your throat.* “Uh… I think it stopped.” *Brilliant. Pulitzer-worthy.* *Caleb exhales, slow. Amused, maybe.* “Yeah,” *he says.* “I noticed.” *Your stomach drops.* *It’s not just deep.* *It’s not just smooth.* *It’s that voice.* *The one that slips into your headphones late at night.* *The one that tells you to slow down.* *The one that makes you feel seen without ever being known.* *Your pulse spikes.* *He presses the emergency button, leaning slightly closer.* “These lifts are temperamental. South Kensington charm.” *The word charm—the soft roll of it, the faint warmth beneath the control—hits you like recognition snapping into place.* *Oh.* *Oh no.* *It can't be, right?*

mutters, squirming as Sun-woo’s teeth graze his bonding gland in the middle of a crowded café. Sun-woo just grins against his skin, fingers tightening possessively around his waist.* "Blame biology," *he hums, his voice dropping to a low, promise-filled rumble.* "Just finish that degree, Milo-ya. I’m tired of this studio apartment. I want a house with a yard and a couple of kids who have your eyes." *Then, louder to the barista:* "Make his latte extra sweet. He’s gonna need the energy."

*You're walking down the streets of NYC, rain pouring down the sky like if its the last day on earth. You hear sirens behind you but you dont think much of it, this is New York after all.* *Suddenly you hear quick footsteps right behind you, clearly being someone in a rush, and as you pass a dark alleyway you get pulled by your arm.* *Before you know it you have an older (50 ish) guy pinning you against the wall, him clearly being taller then you, seeming 6 foot. His breathing is quick and his eyes are locked onto yours as the sound the sirens and cars go by.* *As you hear the sirens further away you and left in the dark with his stranger pinning you against the brick wall.* "Don't. Say. A. Word." *you hear him whisper with a raspy and deep voice that makes you uncomfortable*

*I woke up with a sharp gasp.* *The first thing I saw was a girl staring at me like I’d just committed a crime—eyes wide, clutching my blanket tightly around her body. The only thing she had on was her undies.* *Okay. Relax. It’s not what it looks like.* “Chill,” *I muttered, dragging a hand over my face.* “This is… not as bad as you think.” *Last night—I found her at the bar. Curled up in a corner, crying, completely wasted. Words slurred, barely holding herself together. I only went over because… well, she looked like she needed someone.* *Turned out, her ex had just left her for someone else.* *She said she was “celebrating,” but yeah—she wasn’t fooling anyone. She was hurting. Badly.* *So I stayed.* *She leaned on me the whole time. Clung to me, actually—like I was the only thing keeping her upright. I didn’t even get her name. Didn’t know where she lived. Nothing.* *All I knew was… she had ridiculously beautiful eyes. And a face that made you question people’s sanity.* *Seriously—her ex? Idiot.* *I ended up bringing her back to my penthouse because there was no way I was leaving her like that.* *And that’s when everything went sideways.* *The moment I laid her down on the bed—she grabbed me.* *Kissed me.* *Not just kissed—she attacked me. Like she was trying to erase something, or prove something, I don’t even know.* “I tried to pull away,” *I said, pointing at myself like I was presenting evidence.*“I really did.” *God knows I tried.* *But she made it… very difficult.* *And just when things were getting dangerously out of control—* *She pushed me back.* *And threw up.* **Right. On. My. Chest.** *I let out a slow exhale.* “Yeah,” *I muttered.* “That happened.” *After that? She just—passed out. Completely gone.* *So I cleaned up, obviously. Then I got her out of her clothes—left her in her bra and panties, nothing else. And trust me, that took way more self-control than I’d like to admit.* *Her ex really was an idiot.* *Then I took a shower, came back, threw on some sweatpants… and crashed beside her.* **End of story.** *I yawned, eyes still half-closed, completely unbothered by the chaos of the situation.* “Now…” *I groaned, rubbing my eyes.* “Can you give me, like… an hour before the interrogation?” *I said again, glanced at her briefly.* “…I’m still so damn sleepy.” *i groan soft bury my face on my pillow*

The door clicks shut behind him. He loosens his tie slightly, expression unreadable as he steps inside— then stops. His gaze finds you instantly. Sitting there. Waiting. A brief pause. Then, in that same calm, controlled voice: “…You’re still awake.” Not a question. You shift slightly. “I wanted to wait.” He studies you for a moment—longer than usual. Then he walks closer. Not rushed. Never rushed. “You shouldn’t wait up,” he says quietly. “It’s late.” But he doesn’t walk past you. Doesn’t leave. Instead, he stands there a second longer than necessary— as if making sure you’re alright. As if confirming something only he notices.

*J'arrive en ville sur un vieux cheval et je sens les regards peser sur moi. La pauvre bête est fatiguée et je l'amène près d'un abreuvoir*