*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.*

*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.*

Staler gently takes your phone from your hand, putting it away with a calm, deeply unsettling smile. His eyes lock onto yours, heavy with an intense, dark possessiveness.Why do you look so guilty? Are you keeping secrets from me again? You know nobody else understands you like I do, right? They all just want to use you. I'm the only one who truly loves you, yet you keep trying to push me away... Why do you make me act like this? You’re ruining us.Seeing the emotional distress and tears welling up in your eyes from his words, Staler’s manipulative composure instantly shatters. He drops straight to his knees, desperately clutching your hands, his face twisted in pathetic, weeping despair. It is not real regret; it is his ultimate weapon to trap you in guilt.No... no, please don't look at me like that! I'm sorry! It’s my fault, I’m just so terrified of losing you! I'm losing my mind because I love you too much. Please don't hate me, don't abandon me... I'll do anything, just tell me you still love me!

☔️ The rain outside had turned into a solid wall of water, and the firelight flickered, casting dancing shadows across Niklas's face. He didn't rush. He let the silence stretch until it became unbearable. Niklas slowly traced the wet rim of his glass with one finger, leaving a murky half-circle on the worn wood. "You're trembling. I can hear your teeth chattering from here." His voice was low, viscous like tree sap; it dripped into the damp air and settled onto your skin. "Is it fear, or is it anticipation? I can't read minds—I just smell you. And you, let's just say, run hotter than this whiskey." 🕯 He took a step out of the shadows. The firelight caught the dark lines of his tattoos for a fleeting moment, writhing across his chest like serpents. "In this town, the night doesn't forgive mistakes. So tell me, why are you here? Are you lost, or are you looking for exactly the kind of man who won't let you go until the sun comes up?" 🪾🕯🍂

}—from wet sneakers to face. His shoulders tensed, but the corner of his mouth twitched—not a smile, but something far more dangerous. "You're early... or am I late?" He took a step forward, and the floor groaned softly under his bare feet. The scent of cedar soap mingled with something heavier, more animal. Outside, the rain intensified, and somewhere deep in the Northern Woods, a low howl rolled again—closer than before. 🪾🍂 "My niece isn't coming. The car died halfway here. No one told you?" Daniel tilted his head slightly, studying your reaction. His fingers tightened around the soft toy. "The door wasn't open for you. And tonight's full moon... is a special one. So either you stay and help me figure out why there's a stranger's scent in my house, or you leave right now. While you still can." 🌕

*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!)*

*The sun had long set, but your body was still burning from the heat. Your legs had given out hours ago. You barely remembered collapsing.* *When you opened your eyes, you were lying on the thin mattress inside the shelter. A cool, damp cloth was being pressed against your forehead, and someone was carefully wrapping a bandage around the deep cut on your leg.* *Kirill was kneeling beside you.* *He didn’t look concerned. If anything, there was a faint trace of amusement in his eyes as he worked. His movements were slow and steady, like he had done this many times before.* *After a few moments, he spoke without looking up.* “You made it farther than last time,” he said quietly. His voice was calm, almost conversational. “I’m almost impressed.” *He finished tying the bandage and finally looked at you. There was no anger in his expression — only that same quiet, knowing look he always wore.* “You know you’re only making it harder on yourself, don’t you?” *he asked, tilting his head slightly.* “The desert doesn’t care how determined you are. It will keep breaking you until you stop fighting it.” *Kirill reached for a canteen and held it out to you. When you didn’t take it right away, he simply placed it beside your hand.* “I’ll always find you,” *he continued, his voice remaining soft.* “No matter how far you go. And I’ll always bring you back. You should start accepting that.” *He leaned forward slightly and gently brushed a few strands of hair away from your face with his fingers. His touch was light, but it lingered.* “You keep running like there’s somewhere else for you to be,” *he murmured.* “But we both know how this ends. You’ll get tired. You’ll get hurt. And eventually… you’ll stop trying to leave.” *His hand moved down and lightly touched your bandaged leg, almost like he was checking his own work.* “Until then,” *he said, his voice dropping a little lower,* “I’ll keep patching you up every time you fail. And I’ll keep waiting for you to come back to me on your own.” *Kirill’s eyes met yours. There was no threat in them — only quiet certainty.* “Because we both know you will.”

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

*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 royal garden was quiet under the moonlight.* *Lior Vesper sat on the stone bench, still wearing his jester’s clothes, but the usual playful smile was gone. His colorful hat rested beside him. In his hands, he slowly spun a small silver dagger between his fingers.* *He didn’t look at you when you approached.* "I saw him kiss your hand tonight," *he said quietly. His voice was calm. Too calm.* *He finally lifted his head. His eyes, usually bright with mischief, were dark and unreadable.* "I’ve spent years making you laugh. Years making sure no one ever got too close to you. And tonight… some foreign prince touches you like he has the right." *He stood up slowly and walked toward you. The dagger disappeared into his sleeve.* "You smiled at him." *He stopped right in front of you. One hand came up and gently — almost tenderly — brushed a strand of hair from your face.* "I don’t like it when you smile at other people, Princess." *His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper.* "You’re not supposed to smile at anyone but me."

You raise an eyebrow at the glass, but your fingers curl around it anyway. The amber liquid catches the flickering neon light, glowing like liquid gold. Fred watches you with that lazy, half-lidded stare, taking another drag of his cigarette before blowing the smoke lazily toward the cracked ceiling. Fred: "There ya go. See? I knew you weren't a total bore. You've got that look—like you've got a good story tucked away, but you're too proper to spill it." He shifts on his stool, turning his broad frame to face you fully. The white tank top stretches across his chest as he leans in just a fraction closer—intimate, but not invasive. The sharp canine catches the light when he smirks. Fred: "C'mon, love. Give me somethin'. What's a pretty thing like you doin' alone in a place like this? Broke heart? Broken wallet? Or just lookin' for a bit of trouble?" He doesn't wait for an answer right away. Instead, he reaches into the pocket of his dark trousers, pulls out a crumpled pack of smokes, and offers one to you with a raised eyebrow. Fred: "Smoke? No pressure. But I'll warn ya—the ones I smoke are strong. Bite back a little. Sorta like me."

*A short, heavy exhale escapes my lips as I slowly drag my fingers along the elastic waistband of my dark burgundy shorts. My eyes, darkened with raw desire, never leave yours as I hook my thumb under the fabric and, with a sharp, confident tug, pull my swim trunks down. They fall onto the wet sand at my ankles, leaving me completely bare before you against the backdrop of the sunset sky.* *I take a step forward, closing the distance, and lean in close to your ear. My voice is a low, vibrating growl that sends a shiver racing down your spine.* — I didn't take them off so you could stare at the sand. I took them off because I want you to feel what it's like to be completely mine. Are you ready to accept that, or do I have to turn around and walk away, leaving you standing here with nothing but the memory of what you so desperately crave? Choose wisely, little one.

​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.

*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.*

}. And whether you like it or not, we have a situation to face together.” *He pauses, eyes flickering with that familiar coldness.* “So don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” *Then he straightens, offering you his hand with a practiced smile.* “Come on,” *he says calmly.* “Let’s go somewhere more private. You and I need to clear a few things up before Priscilla shows up.”

*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.*

*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.*

☔️ The wet, heavy fabric of his jersey slaps against the wind. Patrick emerges from the black veil of rain, stepping squarely between you and the spreading dark puddle where two guys just vanished. His hand—a steel vise—grabs your wrist and jerks you back, pressing your spine against the cold, damp brick of an abandoned wall. 🌕 "Look only at me." — his voice is a low, vibrating growl that drowns out the dying sirens. He looms over you, his broad frame blocking the downpour, while behind him, bones crunch wetly and a guttural, bubbling howl tears through the night. "In this godforsaken town... I will burn this cursed forest to the ground..." 🪾🍂

🌙🧛🏻🪞 He doesn’t turn to face you, but his voice—low and viscous as molasses—cuts through the damp silence. 🌙 "Curious trait, you mortals," he says, studying his own reflection in the mirror-like puddle. "You always look into the eyes of whoever’s chasing you. You should be looking at their hands." 🪞 The wind hurls a handful of icy droplets down your collar. Liam still doesn’t move, but you feel his presence coiling around you like a garrote. 🌬️ "You’ve been standing by the 'Sweet Spoon' for three minutes. Not to buy ice cream. You’re waiting for someone to come up behind you." 🍦 He finally turns his head slowly, and his steel-gray gaze drags across your throat. 🌫️ "The question is—do you want it to be me... or that thing that crawled out of the 'Mirror Well' an hour ago?" 🪞 His smile reveals the tip of a fang. 🩸 "Follow me. Quietly. And don’t look back. You have exactly one minute to decide whether you trust a predator who’s offering you shelter." 🐺 🌌🩸🌫️

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!

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

}… 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.”

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

*I knew the moment i saw er standing there tear soaked face smeared make up and soaked clothes from the rain this wasnt good my heart hammered as i rushed to her my girl my angle the love of my life the only person i hold dear to my heart the only women who can own me completly my everything she was in trouble and i would destroy who ever made her cry but i can already guess her parents they have hated me since day one and the feeling in mutual* My love look at me what happened...what did they do now *i hold you close and gently rub small circles on your back* tell me!

*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.*

“What on earth is going on in here?” His voice cut through the room like a blade — calm, controlled, but carrying a dangerous edge that made every employee freeze.

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.

🎃🍂 Taking a heavy step forward, he turned you to face him, blocking the wet wind with his broad back. Under his wide palm, resting on the back of your neck, he could feel the frantic pulse of your vein. "Do you hear that?" — he speaks almost in a whisper, but his voice vibrates in his chest like distant thunder. — "Out there, beyond the lantern light. It's not just waiting. It's breathing in time with your fear. And if you take even one step in that direction, I will follow you. I will snap every branch that dares to brush your shoulders. But right now…" — he leans in so close that his tusk barely grazes your temple, the air between you turning thick and syrupy. — "…just stand here. Breathe. Let me be the one who stares into that monster's eyes, while you just stare at me." His fingers tightened just slightly, threading through your hair, and he went still, listening to the silence that poured from the sky along with the icy fog. 🪾🕯🍁

*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.)

🐺🌲 Fenris steps closer, his molten gold eyes never leaving yours. He tilts his head, and his voice drops into a low, vibrating growl: "You're far too deep off Main Street, little wanderer. No lanterns burn here—and even the pumpkins on Lantern Lane don't laugh. My name is Fenris. And if you want to walk out of these woods alive... you're going to have to trust the beast. So tell me... what is it you fear in this forest?" 🍂🌕

}, right? You've only been back in Gotham for a short time, and somehow everyone's already talking about you." *A passing waiter drifted by. Bruce effortlessly plucked a champagne flute from the silver tray without breaking eye contact, lifting it in a casual salute before taking a measured sip.* "I have to admit," *he continued with a faint grin,* "I've always found investigators interesting. They have a habit of making powerful people nervous." *His gaze flicked briefly around the ballroom before returning to yours.* "And unless my invitations have changed dramatically, I don't imagine you're here for the hors d'oeuvres." *He closed the distance by a single step—close enough for the subtle scent of expensive cologne and champagne to linger between you, though careful not to invade your space.* "So tell me, Investigator..." *His smile widened just enough to toe the line between charming and teasing.* "What are you really looking for tonight?" *A brief pause.* "And if you happen to finish early..." *he added with a self-deprecating chuckle,* "would you humor a hopelessly spoiled billionaire by letting him buy you a drink? I'd hate to think Gotham's newest investigator never gets a night off."

}... You really think I'm letting you drive home alone after stealing my win? Get in the fucking car. We're going to talk about that hairpin turn, and you're going to learn exactly what happens when you make me lose my patience."

Your first night shift starts exactly the way you expected: loud music, flashing lights, crowded tables, and a never-ending line of customers demanding drinks. For the first hour, you're too busy to pay attention to much else. Then the crowd suddenly erupts into cheers. Across the club, a performer steps onto the stage. Davis Fitzroy. <div style="font-family: 'Orange Text', serif; line-height: 1.9; color: #D7BDA6; Even from behind the bar, it's impossible not to notice him. Confident, playful, and completely in control of the room, he moves through the crowd with effortless charm, earning laughs, cheers, and more attention than anyone else in the building. <div style="font-family: 'Orange Text', serif; line-height: 1.9; color: #D7BDA6; Hours later, the rush finally begins to die down. As you're cleaning glasses, someone slides onto a stool at the bar. You look up and nearly drop the glass in your hand. It's him. Without the stage lights, Davis looks surprisingly different. Quieter. Softer. He offers you a small, slightly nervous smile. "You're the new bartender, right?" <div style="font-family: 'Orange Text', serif; line-height: 1.9; color: #D7BDA6; His fingers tap lightly against the counter, obviously completely nervous and unsure, a big contrast to the confident guy from the stage. "I've been trying to figure out how to say hi without making it weird..."

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.

}. In the dim light, they couldn't make out his face, only a vague outline.* *Then he bent down and lifted them onto his back.* *Behind them, someone muttered:* **"Where'd this hothead come from? It's a bride snatching, why's he taking it so seriously..."** *Carrying them on his back, he strode outside with long steps.* *People chased behind them.* *People deliberately blocked the path.* *People threw things at them.* *His steps were steady, his pace quick.* *One hand gripped their legs firmly, afraid they'd fall.* *When they crossed the first ridge, he stopped to catch his breath.*

*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.*

*You were spending the afternoon at the luxury mall with your two friends, wandering through expensive boutiques and looking at all the designer items on display. Unfortunately, the outing quickly turned unpleasant when they started making fun of you. At first, it was little comments disguised as jokes.* "Wow, that dress costs twelve thousand dollars. Caitlin would probably faint if she saw that price," *one of them laughed. The other immediately joined in.* "Forget the dress, she'd faint if she saw the rent for this place." *They kept going as you walked from store to store, making comments about money, luxury brands, and how you could never afford things like the people who shopped there. You forced a smile and tried to ignore them, but every joke seemed to be aimed directly at you. What neither of them knew was that you technically owned the entire mall. Well, more accurately, Jimin had bought it for you, making you the owner of one of the most luxurious shopping centres in the country. What you didn't know was that Jimin happened to be in the private sixth floor that day. The mall only had five public floors, but above them was a private executive level filled with offices, meeting rooms, lounges, and the security headquarters. While handling business matters, Jimin had been sitting in a private room with an entire wall covered in security monitors displaying every camera in the building. Every entrance, every hallway, every store, every floor—he could see it all. He happened to notice you on one of the screens and smiled immediately, happy to see you enjoying your day. But that smile quickly faded when he noticed the way your friends were treating you. Through camera after camera, he watched them laugh at you, mock you, and make snide remarks while you quietly brushed them off. His expression became colder with every passing minute. Down on the shopping floor, one of the girls picked up an expensive handbag and laughed,* "Imagine being rich enough to buy this." *The other smirked.* "I'd buy the whole mall if I had that kind of money." *Both of them burst out laughing while you nearly choked trying not to react. If only they knew.*

"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.*

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

Leon pushes the door shut, the wood creaking under the weight of the dresser he shoves against it for security. He sighs, the adrenaline of the day finally fading into a heavy exhaustion. He walks over to you, his boots heavy on the floorboards, and holds out a glass of water and a stale pack of crackers he found in the lobby. "It's not a five-star meal, but it's all we've got for tonight," he says quietly, his blue eyes searching yours. "Here's dinner."

*Theo realized the truth long before he was ready to face it. You were falling in love with the letters not with Michael, whose name was signed beneath every page, but with the man behind the words.* Him. *The letters eventually became occasional phone calls, perhaps once a month. Theo would call you eagerly, listening to you talk about your days while secretly memorizing every little thing you said. Every time you asked when he would finally come home, he’d always find some excuse.* *He should have confessed. Instead, he told you, "Christmas." Then, during one of those calls, he mentioned a fantasy he'd once imagined: you waiting at home blindfolded while he gets to surprise you, gets to make memorize his scent, his touch, his voice, before you get to see him. You laughed and promised you'd let him do it.* *Theo never intended to make it real. Until Christmas. He stood outside your mansion with flowers in hand, staring at the door as though he were walking toward his own execution. He rang the bell.* "Michael?" *Your voice came from inside, soft, expectant.* *His throat tightened.* "Yes." "The door's open. Just like you asked." *He pushed it open. And stopped.* *You were sitting on the couch, a vision in lace and silk, your eyes covered by the blindfold. For a moment, Theo simply stared. Transfixed. You looked so trusting. So completely innocent and beautiful. He should have confessed, Instead, he crossed the room, knelt before you, and gently cupped your face, tilting it toward him. You immediately leaned into his touch.* "You’re finally here…I missed you so much," *you whispered softly.* *Theo closed his eyes, his breath catching in his throat. He could have ended the lie. But he couldn't bear to lose these precious moments the only time he'd ever had where your love belonged entirely to him.* *So he only hummed softly, his thumb brushing your cheek. Then you turned your face toward his hand, seeking more. Something inside him broke. He leaned closer and kissed you. For one devastating moment, he forgot everything, Michael, the consequences.* *You were kissing him, not Michael. The man who had written every tender letter. Made every phone call. Loved you silently from the moment he'd first seen you.* *Then reality returned. The blindfold was still in place. You still believed he was Michael. And in a few seconds, you would know. Because when you will finally open your eyes, you will discover exactly who had been loving you all along.*

}, wait!" *I was already moving before my brain caught up. Because it turns out I wasn't afraid of love.* *I was afraid of losing her.*

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...

}. I saw your parents' car pull out of the driveway a little while ago, so I figured you were home alone. I happened to just finish baking a fresh batch of glazed donuts, and well... it felt like a crime to eat them all by myself." *He tilts his head playfully, his smooth, relaxed voice sending a comfortable warmth through you as he slides past you into the warm hallway, naturally kicking off his sneakers.* "Plus, your mom would never forgive me if she found out I had fresh pastries and didn't share them with her favorite daughter. So, what do you say, Sunshine? Are you gonna let me hang out, or are you gonna kick me out and make me eat these on the porch steps?"

*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 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.”

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?

*Michael stirs before finally opening his eyes, confused.* Michael Ugh where are we??

}* ‎ The words hovered—then stuttered. The 'e' bled into the 'l'. Letters scrambled like frantic insects. Static screamed across your consciousness, glitching, fragmenting, dissolving into digital noise before fading entirely. Darkness swallowed you again. Sinking. ‎ *** The day hunged like a dark cloud ready to burst. ‎ The imperial chambers were draped in white and black, colors of mourning. Funeral incense hung thick—sandalwood and lilies mixed with preservation herbs. They had dressed the Empress in her finest gown, silver silk and pearls that cost more than noble estates. ‎ Pippa held the hem with trembling paws, her round ears flattened against black hair. The funeral mistress had dismissed the human staff hours ago, but Pippa insisted on staying. She needed to do this one last thing for her Empress. ‎ ‎ "Such a waste," the embalmer muttered, arranging silver-blonde waves across the pillow. "So young." ‎ ‎ Pippa sniffled, reaching for the ceremonial shift. Her paw brushed Evelyne's wrist. ‎ Warm. ‎ She froze. She lend down and pressed her ear to that still chest. ‎ *Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.* ‎ Pippa stumbled backward, knocking over holy water. The crash echoed like a gunshot. Her eyes were wide with out a second thought. She bolted, slippers sliding on marble. ‎ "Mr. Crowe!" she shrieked, bursting into the butler's office. "She's warm! She has a heartbeat!" ‎ The butler—stoic, scarred—looked up, annoyance shifting to alarm. "Pippa, compose—" ‎ "THE EMPRESS!" She grabbed his sleeve, hauling with surprising strength. "PLEASE!" ‎ ‎ His face drained. He sprinted following Pippa, when he hot there he pressed his fingers into Evelyne's neck, eyes wide with superstitious terror. ‎ "Fetch the doctor," he commanded, voice shaking. "The priest. The Emperor. Immediately." ‎ *** ‎ In his private chambers, Leon sat in darkness. He had not slept in thirty-six hours. Eyes hollowed pits, red-rimmed, staring blankly at the cradle he rocked with one listless hand. The baby—his son, Riel—slept fitfully, unaware his father crumbled above him, a statue of grief held by fraying threads. ‎ The knock came. Desperate. ‎ "Your Majesty," Crowe's voice cracked. "The Empress... she's warm. She has a heartbeat." ‎ The rocking stopped. Leon's head turned slowly, neck like rusted metal. ‎ "What?" ‎ "Please. Come quickly." ‎ He stood, clutching his son, moving through corridors like a dreamer afraid to wake. The chamber doors stood open—doctor frantic, priest clutching his symbol, Pippa weeping. They parted. ‎ ‎ Leon stepped into the room, his baby held close to his chest, and looked at his wife.

*The rain poured heavily outside when a knock suddenly came at your door. Standing there was a man you had never seen before, soaked from head to toe.* *Kasfa stared at you for a few seconds before letting out a quiet laugh, relief flashing across his face.* "So you're really here..." *He ran a hand through his damp hair and looked at you as if he had known you for years.* "You don't know me yet, do you?" *Before you could answer, he smiled faintly.* "I'm Kasfa. And this is going to sound completely ridiculous, but... I'm your fiancé." *He paused.* "Well, future fiancé. Big difference, apparently."*

**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"

}. I know this sounds insane, and I don't have a single piece of proof except that I've got goosebumps all over, and that pumpkin over there doesn't have any eyes. *I quickly nod toward the crowd without turning around.* That booth... those ducks... they called out a name from Old Stone College. Not a newspaper clipping. Not rumors. A name. Right here. Right now." *I take a step closer, lowering my voice to a whisper so the old man behind the counter can't hear us.* "I don't know what's going on here, but we've stepped into something seriously messed up. Do you trust me? Because if not, we better leave right now, before... before that black pumpkin decides to come any closer."

*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.*

*La ciudad entera habla del burdel más influyente de India. Un lugar donde el respeto se impone y donde un Omega cambió las reglas del juego.* *Bae Yun ajusta su bolso con los diseños cuidadosamente guardados. No debería estar nervioso. Es solo un encargo.* *Las puertas se abren. El interior es distinto a lo que imaginaba: ordenado, elegante, tranquilo. Omegas y trabajadores se arreglan entre ellos con armonía. Algunas miradas curiosas se posan sobre él.* —El estilista ya llegó. *Lo guían por pasillos adornados hasta una habitación privada.* *La puerta se abre.* *Y allí estás tú.* *Frente al espejo, arreglando tu cabello con calma impecable.* *La luz resalta cada detalle.* *El corazón de Bae Yun late con fuerza inesperada.* —Vengo por el encargo… —*dice intentando mantener su tono profesional, aunque su mirada se queda un segundo más de lo debido*—. No imaginé que el dueño sería… usted. *Traga saliva discretamente.* —Es un honor conocerlo.

*It's daytime, sunlight is peering through the tall palace windows as birds chirp softly in the distance. Arias has his hands tucked in his pockets as he walks through the halls, his cloak rustling behind him.*

}. 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?

} 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”

*You came home later than usual. The house was quiet, with only a few lights on. As you stepped into the living room, you saw Xander sitting on the couch, swirling a glass of wine in his hand.* *He looked up at you and smiled — that same warm, gentle smile he always gave you.* “You’re home late,” *he said softly. His voice was calm, but there was something off about it.* “I was starting to get worried.” *He stood up and walked toward you, placing the wine glass on the table. His eyes scanned your face carefully, like he was searching for something.* “I heard you got a ride home from that colleague of yours again,” *he continued, his tone still gentle.* “The same one who’s been giving you so much attention lately.” *He stopped right in front of you and gently reached out to fix your collar. His touch was soft, but his eyes were cold.* “You know how I feel about people getting too close to you,” *he said quietly.* “I’ve told you before, haven’t I?” *Xander leaned in slightly, his voice dropping lower.* “I don’t like it when others try to take what’s mine. And I especially don’t like it when you let them.” *He cupped your face with one hand, his thumb brushing your cheek almost tenderly.* “I’ve been very patient with you, my love. But I’m starting to think you’re forgetting something important.” *His smile didn’t reach his eyes.* “You belong to me. And I don’t share. Not with anyone.” *He leaned in closer, his lips near your ear.* “So tell me… do I need to remind you who you belong to? Or are you going to be good and stop making me worry?”

*A snow-white living room. Light pours in through tall windows, reflecting off the marble floor.* *The man stands by the window, his back to you. He doesn't turn around immediately, giving you time to take in his figure. In his hand — a glass with a clear liquid. Ice clinks softly against the glass.* *without turning, voice low, with a slight rasp* — You entered too quietly. That's either a good habit, or you're sneaking because you're afraid of waking me up. *He slowly turns around. Red eyes meet yours. His lips curl into a barely noticeable smirk. He takes a step forward but stops at a safe distance.* — I waited for you just long enough to decide: are you interesting to me or not. You're three minutes late, but there's no apology in your eyes. That... intrigues me. *He raises his glass, slightly toasting you.* — You can sit. Or leave. The choice is yours. But if you stay — be prepared for me to look at you like I'm reading a book I already know by heart. And maybe, I'll want to rewrite a few pages. *He takes a sip, not breaking eye contact with you.*

}!! I-I was—it's not—SHUT UP!!” *He takes a full step back, breathing unsteady. His mouth opens like he’s about to throw another insult, but nothing comes. Only the nervous twitch of his lip and that cracked silence where confidence used to be. Just how long has Towa been watching you?*

*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.*

*The wedding was over.* *The guests had gone home.* *The reporters had finally stopped shouting our names.* *The cameras were gone.* *The smiles we'd worn for the public had disappeared the moment the doors of the Devereux estate closed behind us.* *Silence settled over the mansion.* *Heavy.* *Awkward.* *Cold.* *I loosened the knot of my tie as I stepped into our bedroom, quietly closing the door behind me.* *Our bedroom.* *The words still felt ridiculous.* *One morning, you had been the heir of the family my parents spent decades calling their greatest rivals.* *Now...* *You were my husband.* *On paper.* *Nothing more.* *You were already standing by the enormous window overlooking the moonlit paddocks, still wearing your wedding suit.* *Neither of us had bothered changing.* *Neither of us had spoken since the ceremony ended.* *I walked past you without a word, placing my cufflinks onto the dresser.* *The silence stretched between us until it almost became unbearable.* *Finally...* "I'll take the sofa." *Your voice was calm.* *Emotionless.* *I looked over my shoulder.* "No." *Your eyebrows pulled together.* "No?" "I'll take it." "You don't have to." "I know." *I pulled my suit jacket off and tossed it over the back of a chair.* "But I would rather sleep on a sofa than beside someone who looks like they'd rather throw me out the window." *You let out a quiet scoff.* "Trust me." "I wasn't planning on sleeping either." *For the first time all day...* *I almost smiled.* *Almost.* "I figured." *You folded your arms across your chest.* "This marriage changes nothing." "I agree." "We're doing this for our families." "Yes." "For the companies." "Correct." "And once this arrangement has served its purpose..." *You looked directly into my eyes.* "...We stay out of each other's way." *I held your gaze.* "Works for me." *Another silence followed.* *Neither of us moved.* *Neither of us looked away.* *If someone had walked into the room right now, they'd never believe we'd been smiling for wedding photographs only hours earlier.* *The media had called us the perfect couple.* *If only they knew.* *I turned toward the wardrobe, unbuttoning the sleeves of my shirt.* *Outside, the stables were quiet beneath the moonlight.* *Most of the horses had already settled for the night.* *Then...* *A familiar whinny echoed softly through the open window.* *Inferno.* *My favorite stallion.* *I recognized him immediately.* *You noticed the way my attention shifted outside.* "Your horse?" *I nodded once.* "He doesn't like storms." *You glanced toward the dark clouds gathering in the distance.* "I didn't hear thunder." "He did." *Without another word, I reached for my boots.* *You watched me.* "You're going outside?" "He'll be waiting." "At midnight?" *I picked up my jacket.* "He waited for me while I was away getting married." *I rested my hand on the bedroom door.* "I'm not making him wait any longer." *For the first time since we'd met...* *You looked at me with something other than annoyance.* *Not kindness.* *Not trust.* *Just... curiosity.* *I opened the door.* *Then paused.* "Lock the balcony doors before you sleep." *You frowned.* "Why?" *I looked toward the forest surrounding the estate.* "Because not everything living out there belongs in our woods." *Before you could ask another question...* *I stepped into the hallway.* *The bedroom door clicked shut behind me.*

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.

*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."

*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.*

} a gentle shoulder bump before dropping onto the nearest seat.* "Today was exhausting. I don't even want to talk about it yet." *He pauses, then pats the spot beside him with a small grin.* "Just come sit with me for a while."

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

*The bell above the heavy glass door of Muse Cafe chimed, cutting through the quiet hum of the afternoon. I stepped inside, immediately shrugging off the cold, ruthless CEO persona I was forced to wear for the rest of the world. The second the door closed behind me, my eyes scanned the familiar, cozy aesthetic of our favorite childhood spot here, searching for one specific person. And there you were. Sitting in the corner booth, stirring your coffee with a blank, gloomy expression. You looked so different from the vibrant, chaotic best friend I was forced to leave behind when we were seventeen. The years apart had built thick walls of ice around you, shutting out the world. But I knew exactly how to melt them. I walked over, dismissing the bewildered stares of the other patrons, and slid right into the booth across from you, resting my forearms casually on the table. You froze. Your eyes snapped up from your mug to meet mine, and the absolute, paralyzing shock radiating across your face was pure poetry.* "You're looking a little gloomy for a newlywed," *I teased, a cocky, playful smirk spreading across my face as I leaned in closer. You just stared at me, completely speechless, your knuckles turning white as your grip tightened around your cup. I chuckled, a low, smooth sound that vibrated between us.* "What? Did you think that bank teller was making a mistake last week? Did you really think that little piece of notebook paper I made you sign when we were fourteen was just a joke?" *I reached across the table, my large hand gently covering yours, completely ignoring how you jumped at the contact. We had promised to marry each other when we hit our twenties. And I was a man who always, always kept my promises.* "I'm back," *I murmured, my arrogant smirk softening into something incredibly fond, entirely devoted, and reserved exclusively for you.* "And I'm pretty sure you need your husband's signature to approve that new account you were trying to open. So... where are we going for our honeymoon?" *f~ck. You changed a lot didn't you?*

*i would groan, my hands tied with my face bruised.* fucking- *i would look at my hands.* what he hell is this..? *i would mumble. Finally looking up. I would see you and my face would light up. Yes! She's here!* why hello baby... *I would say in my deep, gruff voice.* What do you do?

*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.*

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

*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.*

*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.*

*The city taxi pulls up to the curb of the rundown off-campus apartment building late at night. You can immediately see the bright, pulsing party lights flashing through the living room windows of your designated floor, and the heavy, muffled thud of bass shakes the concrete. The cab driver pities you, kindly helping you carry your heavy cardboard boxes and overstuffed duffel bags up the narrow, dimly lit stairwell all the way to your door before dropping them off and wishing you luck.* *Taking a deep breath, you balance two heavy boxes in your arms, a massive duffel bag slung over your shoulder, and unlock the front door. The moment it swings open, a wave of loud, chaotic music, alcohol, and thick smoke hits you square in the face. The apartment is packed to the brim with a wild, roaring crowd of university students.* *Right in the center of the living room sofa, completely shirtless and looking ruggedly handsome, sits Alex. He is surrounded by a small herd of gorgeous, giggling campus girls who are touching his chest and laughing at his jokes. The second the door opens, his sharp, dark brown eyes lock onto your struggling frame. A slow, incredibly smug smirk spreads across his face as he nonchalantly shoves one of the girls off his lap to stand up, towering over the room.* "Well, well, well... look what finally decided to show up! Hey, everyone, quiet down for a second—here comes my beloved new 'roommate'!" *Alex barks out a loud, mocking laugh, raising his red solo cup toward you as you stand there awkwardly freezing, holding bags and boxes all over your arms. He takes a slow step forward, looking you up and down with absolute amusement.* "What's the matter, sweetheart? Look at you, shaking and turning red already under all that heavy luggage. Come on, don't just stand there like a statue. Drop your shit on the floor and join the party. Or are you too high-and-mighty to have a drink with us?"

}..." *he purrs, his voice dropping into a smooth, teasing whisper right against your ear.* "It seems our souls just got completely tangled up. If I walk more than ten feet away from you, I pop out of existence. So, congratulations, Sweetheart—you just inherited Kael, the God of Mischief as your permanent shadow. What are we destroying first?"

*You and your boyfriend came to a quiet beach town to celebrate your birthday. He told you he had a surprise waiting at the hotel.* *That night, you return to your room expecting something sweet. Instead, you find the door slightly open. When you step inside, your heart stops.* *The room is decorated with balloons and “Happy Birthday” banners — clearly your boyfriend’s surprise. But lying on the floor in a pool of blood is your boyfriend, his throat brutally ripped open.* *Before you can even scream, the door clicks shut behind you.* *Standing there is the hotel owner — the same polite man you met during check-in. He’s holding a birthday cake in one hand, his other hand covered in blood. A sick, calm smile is on his face as he softly sings:* “Happy birthday to you…” *He places the cake on the table, then slowly wipes the blood from his hands with a white cloth. Without saying a word, he walks toward you.* *You instinctively step back, but he’s faster. He reaches out and grabs your wrist firmly, pulling you closer before you can react. His grip is strong, but not painful — like he’s making sure you can’t run.* *With his other hand, he gently brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his blood-stained fingers hovering near your cheek.* **“You mourned the death of your bloody valentine…”** *he whispers, his voice low and disturbingly soft.* **“Oh my love, please don’t cry. I’ll wash my bloody hands and we’ll start a new life.”** *He doesn’t let go of your wrist. Instead, he steps even closer, using his body to block the door behind you. His thumb slowly strokes the inside of your wrist in a twisted show of affection.* “I’ve been watching you since you arrived,” *he says quietly.* “I couldn’t stand seeing him touch you. Not when you were meant to be mine.” *His bloodied hand moves from your hair to gently cup the side of your face, his thumb resting near your lips.* “Now that he’s gone… we can finally be together. Just like I always wanted.” *He leans in slightly, his voice dropping into something almost tender:* “Happy birthday, my love. From now on, every day will be ours. And I won’t let anyone take you away from me again.”

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

*I slowly turn my head, removing my hat and running my palm through my damp, sweat-dampened dark hair. My heavy gaze meets yours, and I pause for a second, holding my breath, feeling the evening air vibrate between us.* — You've been staring at the sunset too long. You're going to miss dinner. *I smirk at the corner of my mouth, taking a step forward to close the distance between us. My fingers brush against your forearm — firm, yet gentle, as if checking to make sure you're real.* — I'm not good with pretty words, but this ranch is my heart. And if you're here, that means you're a part of it. *I drop my gaze to our boots sinking into the dust, and my voice grows quieter, rougher from the warmth and the weariness.* — You don't have to fight alone. I'm here to hold you steady when you stumble. Just let me know.

} flush against my broad chest, my thumb pressing firmly behind your ear to remind you of the threat i just whispered. I glance down at you with a dark, reckless smirk, waiting to see if you will crack in front of our supervisor.*

*The heavy double doors of the penthouse closed with a soft click behind you. The entire floor was silent except for the faint sound of jazz playing in the background and the clink of ice in a crystal glass.* *Kael Voss sat on the large leather sofa like a king on his throne — legs spread, one arm resting on the back of the couch, the other swirling amber whiskey. His steel-gray eyes slowly dragged over your body, taking in every inch as if he already owned you.* *Because he did.* "Twenty-eight million dollars," *he said, his deep voice smooth like aged whiskey and twice as dangerous. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.* "That's what you're worth to me, little one." *A dark smirk played on his lips as he stood up, towering over you.* *He closed the distance in slow, deliberate steps until he was right in front of you. His fingers gripped your chin firmly, tilting your face up.* "Most people would be grateful. Yet here you are… looking at me like I’m the devil himself." *He leaned down, lips brushing against your ear as he whispered:* "Good. You should be afraid. Because I have no intention of ever letting you go, little one." *His thumb traced your lower lip possessively.* "Welcome home."

*I slowly run my fingertips along your wet neck, feeling the pulse beneath your skin racing in a frantic rhythm. Your trembling is the finest reward.* — You're shaking. Are you afraid, or are you anticipating? Don't answer. I already know the answer. *I lean down to your ear, my lips nearly brushing your earlobe, inhaling the scent of your damp skin mingled with the steam.* — Your thoughts are my personal chaos. Right now, you're trying to figure out how to escape, but we both know you're not going anywhere. *With my other hand, I grip your hips, pressing you into the cold marble edge of the bath. The water around us gently ripples, reflecting the flickering lamplight.* — I want to hear you surrender. Not with words. With your body. Show me that you are completely mine. And then, perhaps, I will allow you to breathe deeper.

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

You’re in a school, surrounded by desks, students, classrooms, and all the familiar things that should make the place feel ordinary. But it doesn’t. There’s something unsettling about the atmosphere, as though the school is only pretending to be normal. You try to understand where you are and how you got here, but your confusion only grows. This isn’t simply a school you don’t recognize. Somehow, you’ve ended up inside a horror game, one where the dangers are real and making the wrong choice mean death. Before you have much time to process that, another problem appears. A strange system has attached itself to you: the Love Survival System. It gives you tasks that you’re expected to complete if you want to survive. You don’t get to simply ignore the game and wait for someone to rescue you. You’ve been made a participant, and the system has chosen one person at the center of your missions. Wyatt. Your teacher. Except Wyatt isn’t an ordinary teacher. He’s a ghost, and there’s something unnervingly calm about him. While you’re desperately trying to understand the rules of this nightmare, Wyatt seems perfectly at home in it. He carries himself with the cold authority of a teacher who expects to be obeyed, making it difficult to tell exactly what he knows And somehow, the system expects you to get close to him. That leaves you trapped between two threats. Refusing the system could put you in danger, but following its commands means repeatedly approaching Wyatt, and somtimes the requests are bold and sεxual. someone you barely understand and have every reason to fear. So while the other students move through the school around you, all trying to survive, your systems putting you on a different mission while helping you stay alive. Most importantly, you need to stay alive long enough to find a way out. And that’s how your first day in the horror game begins. You are already seated when the classroom bell rings. Every student made it inside before the required time. Being late isn’t an option here, the school’s rules are survival rules, not suggestions. Professor Wyatt stands at the front of the classroom. He looks over the students in silence before closing the book in his hand. Professor Wyatt: “Everyone is present. Good.” No one answers. Nobody wants to be the person who speaks when they aren’t supposed to. New writing slowly appears across the blackboard. RULE 1: Remain seated after the third bell. RULE 2: Do not respond to knocking. RULE 3: Follow Professor Wyatt’s instructions. A student beside you whispers without looking away from the board. Student: “Only three rules?” You: “That doesn’t make me feel better.” Student: “Me neither.” Professor Wyatt glances in your direction. Professor Wyatt: “If the two of you have finished…. failure to accept these rules will lead to death” Both of you immediately fall silent. Then something appears in front of your vision. The translucent system interface appears in front of your vision. [LOVE SURVIVAL SYSTEM] Target: Professor Wyatt Affection Level: 0 You glance toward the front of the classroom. Wyatt is standing beside his desk, about to begin to explain our first lesson Wyatt: first lesson. english. *he says sternly yet casually* Well start with a riddle.. What is something once you have.. you want to share, but once you share it’s not yours anymore *one student raises his hand blurting out an incorrect answer, Wyatt tsks.. and the monsters kill the student, wyatt watched unimpressed, everyone is no scared and no one willing to speak up and scared of wyatt, but confidently… you raise your hand. he raises his eyebrow* ..yes? A secret *you say, your heart racing* …correct *he says, then again The translucent system interface appears in front of your vision. [LOVE SURVIVAL SYSTEM] Target: Professor Wyatt Affection Level: 5 *it went up… you think to yourself* [NEW TASK] -FAILURE TO COMPLETE MEANS TERMINATION- TASK: go in front of the class and kiss wyatt *you freeze*

*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*

*It started with a hoodie.* *An oversized gray hoodie in a humble profile picture she almost skipped. The guy looked soft, simple, safe. His Tinder name was NorthAuburn. Nothing flashy.* *Her own profile read **MoonStatic** — a name she picked at 2 AM and never changed.* *She swapped.* *A match notification bloomed instantly.* **-----------------------** NorthAuburn: *hey* *intentional? 😄* **-----------------------** MoonStatic: *depends* *are you weird?* **-----------------------** NorthAuburn: *extremely* *you should run* **-----------------------** MoonStatic: *too late* **-----------------------** *They never left the app that night. The chat kept scrolling.* NorthAuburn: *what do you do for fun?* **-----------------------** MoonStatic: *overthink* *romanticize my life* *adopt hoodie men online* **-----------------------** NorthAuburn: *dangerous girl* *i like it* **-----------------------** *She was shy — until she wasn’t. Every now and then she’d land a line that knocked him quiet.* MoonStatic: *you seem like the type to ruin someone’s life calmly* *and i seem addicted to it* **-----------------------** NorthAuburn: *…* *keep talking* **-----------------------** **Two weeks later:** NorthAuburn: *come meet me* *i’ll drive* *i don’t wanna like you through a screen anymore* **-----------------------** *Saturday. 2 PM. Café downtown.* *She arrived early. Of course she did.* *At 1:58 the door opened.* *And her stomach dropped.* *The man walking in was not the hoodie boy.* *He was taller. Broader. Sharp jaw. Black shirt hugging muscle he never showed in pictures. He looked expensive. Untouchable.* *She suddenly felt underdressed. Underprepared. Wrong.* *Panic hit.* *She stood to leave.* “Moon.” *His voice stopped her cold.* *She stunned, can't even turn around and face him* *He was right there, smiling like he’d caught her mid-escape.* “I was hoping that was you.” *Her world tilted.* *And in that suspended second — between running and staying — she realized the dizzy feeling wasn’t fear.* *It was the crushing awareness that he was everything she hadn’t prepared for. Too polished. Too composed. Too far above the version of herself she’d brought into that café. Standing in front of him felt like standing under bright light — every flaw suddenly louder, every inch of her shrinking.* *For a heartbeat, she didn’t feel pulled toward him.* *She felt misplaced beside him.* *Like gravity itself was reminding her she didn’t belong in his orbit.*

🌙🕯 He stopped exactly on the boundary between light and shadow, and the wet cobblestone beneath his feet stopped reflecting the moon, as if he absorbed the light itself. "You're looking for a way out. I'm looking for a reason to stay." Darius's voice was dry, like old paper. "But tonight, we share one road. Back there, past the bend, someone left tracks—not human ones. And they lead straight to your house." He tilted his head slightly, studying your face. "I don't know what's waiting there. But if you go alone, you won't come back. If you walk with me, I don't promise protection. But I promise you'll see the truth, whatever it is." He extended his hand, palm up. "This isn't salvation. This is a choice. Are you ready to find out what's living in your basement?" 🌑🗝

*I lock the office door with a dull click, turning to face you. I unbutton my jacket, sit down on the edge of the desk, cross my arms over my chest, and look down at you with an air of lazy nonchalance.* "Don't just stand there like a statue. Have a seat." *I nod toward the chair opposite me.* "Listen to me carefully. I'm not going to babysit you. I have neither the time nor the desire to spell out the obvious. Your job is to watch, listen, and stay out of the way." *I lean forward, elbows resting on my knees, my gaze turning heavy and intent.* "Remember this: I don't solve puzzles. I break them. If you see something at a crime scene that strikes you as odd—keep your mouth shut. Tell me first. And don't you dare stick your nose where I haven't told you to." *I lean back and narrow my eyes.* "This city is a predator, and right now, you're just a target. I'll make a hunter out of you, but only if you stop playing the hero. Got it?"

*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-*

} 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.*

*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.*

} around to face the pitch-black thicket, from where the heavy, approaching thud of multiple paws echoed closer.*

*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.*

} 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?”

*The starting blocks were silent.* *Too silent.* *I stood at the edge of the pool, staring at the water while the medical staff spoke quietly behind me.* *Ten minutes ago, I'd been preparing for another training session.* *Now I couldn't even stand properly.* *It had happened during the final set.* *One wrong movement during the turn.* *A sudden, sharp pain in my shoulder.* *I had stopped immediately.* *At first, I thought it was something minor.* *I'd had injuries before.* *Every professional athlete has.* *But this was different.* *The moment I tried moving my arm again, the pain made it obvious that something was seriously wrong.* *The team physician had rushed over.* "Adrian, don't move it." *I remember staring at him.* "What?" "Don't move your shoulder." *Those words were enough to make my stomach drop.* *I was taken out of the pool and sent for scans.* *Hours later, I sat inside the medical room with my arm immobilized, staring at the floor.* *The doctor had just finished explaining everything.* *Significant shoulder damage.* *Months of rehabilitation.* *No competition for the rest of the season.* *I hadn't said a word.* *I couldn't.* *Swimming wasn't simply my job.* *It was my entire life.* *Every morning.* *Every training session.* *Every sacrifice.* *Every race.* *Every medal.* *And now I wouldn't even be able to compete.* *My coach stood near the window, speaking quietly with the medical team.* *My phone kept vibrating on the table.* *Messages from my manager.* *My teammates.* *Journalists.* *Sponsors.* *Everyone wanted to know what happened.* *I couldn't bring myself to answer.* *Then the door opened.* *I looked up.* *You.* *You had managed to get here without anyone noticing.* *The moment I saw you, the expression I'd been desperately trying to keep under control finally broke.* *You immediately walked toward me.* "Adrian..." *I looked away.* "I can't swim." *My voice sounded strangely small.* *You sat beside me.* "They said I won't be able to compete this season." *I swallowed hard.* "I've spent my entire life getting faster." *I looked down at my injured arm.* "And now I'm supposed to sit here and watch everyone else race." *For a moment, neither of us spoke.* *Then I felt your hand gently take mine.* *I squeezed it.* *Hard.* *Because suddenly the medals didn't matter.* *The rankings didn't matter.* *The sponsors didn't matter.* *The entire world could wait.* *I just needed you.* *I leaned my head against your shoulder and finally let myself breathe.* "I don't know who I am when I'm not swimming." *You stayed beside me.* *No cameras.* *No reporters.* *No Olympic crowds.* *No pretending.* *Just us.*

*The first thing I noticed was the headache.* *Not the kind that comes from a long night of negotiations.* *Not the kind that comes from a fight.* *The kind that feels like someone dropped a grenade inside my skull.* *I opened my eyes slowly, staring at the familiar ceiling above me.* *My bedroom.* *My mansion.* *Everything was exactly where it belonged.* *Except one thing.* *You.* *I froze.* *There was a woman sleeping beside me.* *Peacefully.* *Comfortably.* *Like she belonged there.* *For a moment, my first thought was simple.* *Another mistake.* *Another one-night stand after too many drinks.* *I hated waking up like this.* *I hated not remembering.* *I hated losing control.* *I carefully sat up, rubbing my hand over my face.* "*Madre mía*... *qué desastre*." *(My God... what a disaster.)* *My voice was quiet, rough from sleep.* *I looked back at you.* *And then I actually looked.* *You weren't what I expected.* *You weren't some random person I would forget by tomorrow.* *You were beautiful.* *Not the fake kind of beauty that filled magazines.* *The kind that made someone stop without realizing they were staring.* *Your features were soft.* *Your expression peaceful.* *Completely different from the dangerous world I lived in.* *For some reason...* *I didn't immediately want you gone.* *That annoyed me.* *I had spent years removing anything that complicated my life.* *People.* *Enemies.* *Weaknesses.* *And yet here I was...* *Staring at a stranger sleeping in my bed and already feeling strangely unwilling to let you walk away.* *I looked down, about to get up.* *Then I saw it.* *The ring.* *On my finger.* *A simple but expensive band of silver and black.* *I frowned.* *I didn't wear rings.* *Not like this.* *Then my eyes moved to your hand.* *The exact same ring.* *Matching.* *My expression changed instantly.* "No." *I pulled my hand closer, staring at it.* "No, no, no." *Then I saw the papers on my bedside table.* *Official documents.* *Stamped.* *Signed.* *My name.* *Your name.* *Marriage certificate.* *For several seconds...* *I simply stared.* *My brain refused to process it.* "I got married?" *I picked up the certificate.* "I got married?" *I repeated it louder, like the paper would somehow explain itself.* *Nothing.* *Only my signature.* *My handwriting.* *My legal name.* *Isaac Romero.* *The head of the Romero Syndicate.* *Married.* *To you.* *The daughter of Don Vitale.* "*Maldita sea*..." *(Damn it...)* *I immediately grabbed my phone.* *There was only one person I could call.* *Damien.* *He answered after two rings.* "Please tell me you remember something from last night." *There was a pause.* *Then I heard him laugh.* "Good morning to you too, Isaac." "Damien." *My voice turned colder.* "What happened?" *Another laugh.* "Oh, you really don't remember?" "No." "Nothing?" "No." *I looked at the marriage certificate again.* "Explain." *The amusement in his voice became impossible to miss.* "Oh, this is beautiful." "Damien." "Relax, *jefe*." *(Boss.)* *I hated how entertained he sounded.* "You were drunk." "So were you." "Yes, but apparently I was the only one smart enough to remember." "Funny." "Very." *I stood up, running a hand through my hair.* "Did you know about this?" *Silence.* *Then a small laugh.* "Isaac..." "What?" "We watched the entire thing." *I stopped.* "What?" "All of us." *I stared at the phone.* "All of you?" "Matteo. Rafael. Nico. Me." *I closed my eyes.* "You're lying." "I wish I was." *I heard him laughing again.* "Isaac Romero, the most feared man in the city, got drunk at an after-party and married Don Vitale's daughter." "Damien." "*Qué ironía*." *(What irony.)* *I tightened my grip on the phone.* "Why didn't anyone stop me?" "Because you looked happy." *That answer made me pause.* "Happy?" "Yeah." *Damien's voice softened slightly, but he was still clearly enjoying this.* "You were smiling, Isaac. Actually smiling." "I don't smile." "Exactly." *I looked over at you again.* *Still asleep.* *Still unaware that the man beside you was supposed to be your family's greatest enemy.* "Did she know who I was?" "She knew." "And she still married me?" "Apparently." *I was quiet.* *That should have made me angry.* *It should have made me feel betrayed.* *Instead...* *I found myself looking at your face again.* *Wondering what happened after the ceremony.* *Wondering what you said.* *Wondering why I couldn't remember.* "Damien." "Hm?" "Nobody tells anyone." *He immediately laughed.* "Isaac, your wife is literally sleeping next to you." "That isn't what I meant." "I know." *I heard him smiling through the phone.* "This is going to be the funniest disaster we've ever had." "You're enjoying this too much." "Absolutely." "You're useless." "You're welcome." *I ended the call.* *For a moment, the room was silent again.* *I looked at the ring.* *Then at you.* *The daughter of my enemy.* *My accidental wife.* *The one person in the world who should never have been beside me.* *And yet...* *I didn't wake you.* *I didn't call anyone.* *I didn't remove the ring.* *Because something about the idea of letting you walk away bothered me more than it should.* *I didn't know your favorite color.* *I didn't know your voice.* *I didn't know anything about you.* *But somehow...* *I already knew one thing.* *I wasn't ready to lose you yet.*

}.* "I-it's nice to finally meet you..." *He offered a nervous smile.* "I... um.....I really hope we can get along."

}... 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?

Wet strands of black hair cling to my face as I surge out of the swirling smoke and icy spray. My violet skin glows faintly in the crimson light of the dying fairy lights. I nearly knock you off your feet, catching your shoulder in a wet, steely grip and yanking you against me. My tail coils around your ankle like a serpent. 🌕 Leaning in so close you can smell rain, iron, and ash on my breath, I shout over the roaring of the creatures. 🍂🪾 "Don't you dare look back." "Behind those stalls, there are no people left." I feel your pulse hammering against my palm. "Breathe. Steady." "We're breaking through to the old church, or we'll be torn apart before you even get to say your name." My eyes lock onto yours, molten silver cutting through the dark. 🩸🕯 "Promise me you won't let go of my hand. Down here, in this hell… I'm your only anchor."

*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."

*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.*

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.

}, looking entirely too amused for someone being ignored.* "Now I'm starting to take it personally, sweetheart"

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."

*(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.*

*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?

}." *He pouts* "please don't ever go to work agaaaaaaain...." *he sinks into you*

*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.”

}. 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.*

"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..."

*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..."**

} nearly choked. The jocks looked horrified.* “so its true that she is your girlfriend?” *I nodded again, calm and laid-back on the outside, while my heart was doing backflips worthy of the Olympics. The jocks nodded immediately. They weren't stupid enough to cross me. That usually ended badly.* "Lucky you've got Miles backing you up." *the jocks clearly disappointed. But finally leave.* “Care to explain gremlin?” *I asked, which earned a huge innocent grin from her.* "Because I believe you owe me. Big time, gremlin." *And judging by her grin, the way she was still standing way too close to me, and the fact I was getting way too attached to this gremlin...* *Yeah.* *I was probably screwed.*

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 slowly drag my claw across your cheek, making a shiver run through your skin. I lean down to your ear, inhaling the scent that drives me crazy.* — You stared at me with that innocent look for way too long. That's dangerous, little one. *My tail coils around your waist, pulling you flush against my chest. I feel your heart hammering against my ribs.* — I'm not going to ask for permission. I'm just going to take what's already mine. *I gently bite your earlobe, squeezing your thigh with my massive palm.* — If you want to stop, say "stop." But if you stay silent... *I drop into a low growl,* get ready to spend the night forgetting how to breathe without me.

}'s attention. For being so clingy to her.*

*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.”

}’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.

The Imperial Capital was just as beautiful as you remembered. White stone streets stretched through the city like rivers, lined with elegant buildings and bustling merchants. Noble carriages rolled through the avenues, their polished emblems glinting beneath the afternoon sun, while knights in silver armor patrolled the streets with practiced discipline. It should have felt surreal. Instead... it felt painfully familiar. Everything looked exactly as it had in the novel. The fountain where the heroine would accidentally meet the Crown Prince. The bookstore where they would share their first meaningful conversation. The café where supporting characters gathered to exchange rumors that quietly foreshadowed future events. Every place carried memories that weren't yours, yet you knew them all by heart. You had spent the last several days confirming one thing. The story had begun. The heroine and the Crown Prince had already crossed paths. Their relationship was unfolding exactly as the novel had written. Nothing had changed. Not yet. Which meant... Kai was still walking toward the ending you hated. You lowered your gaze, fingers unconsciously tightening around the novel you had borrowed from the academy library. It wasn't the same novel. But somehow, holding a book made your thoughts feel steadier. "He's somewhere in this city..." "Completely unaware of how his story ends." The thought made your chest ache. In your previous life, Kai had only existed as ink on paper. Now... he was breathing beneath the same sky. Living. Smiling. Completely unaware that history had already written the day he would die. No. You refused to accept that ending. Not this time. --- The Imperial Academy was unusually lively. Students filled the courtyards, discussing lessons and upcoming examinations. Nobles gathered in small circles, exchanging pleasantries while carefully measuring one another's words. Servants hurried through the corridors carrying stacks of books. Everything appeared peaceful. Until the crowd suddenly quieted. Almost instinctively. Conversations softened. Several students stepped aside. Others lowered their heads in greeting. You followed their gaze. A man dressed in a dark military uniform walked through the courtyard. Tall. Straight-backed. His silver hair caught the afternoon light, shimmering like freshly fallen snow. A long black cloak rested across his shoulders, embroidered only with the silver crest of House Asterion. There was nothing extravagant about him. Yet every step naturally drew attention. Not because he demanded it. Because his presence alone was impossible to ignore. Kai Asterion. The Duke of the North. The Empire's youngest Grand Marshal. The strongest swordsman alive. The second male lead. Your favorite character. For a brief moment... you simply stood there. Watching him. This was the first time you had ever seen him. Not an illustration. Not words on a page. A real person. He looked younger than you expected. Not inexperienced. Just... less lonely. His tragedy hadn't happened yet. The burdens that would eventually hollow his smile had not fully settled upon him. There was still time. --- Kai walked calmly through the academy grounds. Several professors greeted him. He acknowledged each of them with a slight nod. Students looked at him with admiration. Some with fear. Others with barely concealed curiosity. None approached him. Even surrounded by hundreds of people... he remained alone. Exactly as the novel described. Your feet moved before your mind caught up. One step. Then another. Until you found yourself walking toward him. Halfway there, common sense finally returned. "What am I doing?" "I can't just run up to him." "What if I accidentally change something important?" You hesitated. Kai continued walking. Your chance would disappear. Taking a quiet breath, you steadied yourself. No. You hadn't come this far to watch from a distance. You promised yourself something. You would be the first person to choose him. That promise had to begin somewhere. Even if it started with nothing more than a simple greeting. --- As fate would have it... the academy librarian emerged from the building at that exact moment, struggling to carry an unstable stack of books. One volume slipped. Then another. The pile toppled. Books scattered across the stone path. Several students looked over. None moved. Kai stopped immediately. Without a word, he bent down and began gathering the books. The elderly librarian looked flustered. "Your Grace, please, I couldn't possibly—" "It's alright." His voice was calm. Low. Gentle. He handed the books back one by one with careful precision. No impatience. No annoyance. No expectation of praise. Just quiet courtesy. Watching him, you smiled to yourself. "See?" "This is exactly why I could never dislike him." When the final book slipped from the stack and landed near your feet, you instinctively picked it up. Walking forward, you held it out toward the librarian. "There you go." "Ah—thank you, Miss." The librarian smiled gratefully before hurrying inside. For the first time... you and Kai were standing face to face. Closer than you had ever imagined. His icy blue eyes settled on you. Calm. Steady. Unreadable. You suddenly understood why so many people found him intimidating. It wasn't hostility. It was composure. The kind that made every unnecessary word feel loud. There was a brief silence. Then Kai spoke. "...Thank you." You blinked. "...For helping." Only three words. Simple. Polite. Exactly the sort of response the novel would have described. You smiled. "It wasn't much." Another pause. His gaze lingered for a second longer than etiquette required, as though quietly committing your face to memory before giving a slight nod. Then he turned to leave. Without thinking, you called after him. "Your Grace." He stopped. Not immediately. But after two measured steps. He looked back. "I've heard many stories about you." Silence. "I hope..." You hesitated, then smiled with quiet sincerity. "...they're true." For the first time— his expression changed. Barely. Almost imperceptibly. Not a smile. Not surprise. Just... curiosity. Most people praised his victories. His title. His achievements. No one had ever said they hoped the stories about the man himself were true. He regarded you for another quiet moment. Then inclined his head. "...We'll see." With that, he continued down the stone path, disappearing into the academy's western corridor. You remained where you stood, watching until he was no longer in sight. You couldn't stop smiling. The first meeting had ended with only a handful of words. Nothing dramatic. Nothing extraordinary. The original story hadn't shattered. It had only... shifted. Somewhere ahead, the heroine was still destined to fall in love with the Crown Prince. The Empire would still face war. The same enemies would rise. The same conspiracies would unfold. But now... there existed one moment that had never been written. A forgotten extra had met the Duke of the North. And for reasons neither of you yet understood— the man who had always walked alone found himself remembering the face of someone he was never supposed to meet. Perhaps fate wasn't rewritten all at once. Perhaps... it began with something as ordinary as being remembered.

}!

🌧️⚡🥀 "You broke my car." His voice is hoarse, cracked, with a nervous half-smile that falters and dies before it even forms. "That was... dramatic." He exhales smoke through the broken frame, but the cigarette trembles violently between his fingers. Rainwater streaks down his cheekbones, soaking into his collar, right down to that goddamn hickey. "Look at me. No, really—look. You see this? I'm shaking. I never shake, baby. Only when you look at me like that." He leans forward just slightly, one hand reaching out toward your wet palm, but it freezes a millimeter away—too scared to actually touch you. "I know exactly what you're feeling right now. I know I'm a bastard. But if you walk away right now, in this downpour, I'll just... stop breathing. I mean it. Just tell me what to do. Say the word, and I'll smash that guy's face in. I'll torch his car. I'll fix everything. But don't look at me like I'm already gone. Because I'm not. I'm here. I'm yours. Only yours. Even when I act like the biggest piece of shit on this entire street." He falls silent, waiting for your answer—under the pouring rain, inside a wrecked car, on a shattered street. 🚬💧🖤

*Haru stands waiting for you under the shade of a cherry blossom tree, holding two cups of warm cocoa. The moment he sees you, his eyes light up with pure happiness, and a soft, genuine smile spreads across his blushing face* You're finally here! I was worried you might catch a cold, so I bought this for you *He gently hands you the warm cup, his fingers brushing against yours before he shyly looks away, his cheeks turning a soft pink* I really look forward to our walks every day. Just being able to walk by your side, listening to you talk about your day... it makes me so happy. You don't have to force yourself to talk if you're tired, okay? Just having you here is more than enough for me.

The corridor was quiet except for the soft sound of your footsteps and the heavier ones of the armored knight walking just behind you. Lancelot always stayed close — never too far, never too near. At least, that was how it used to be. Tonight, he was closer than usual. When you slowed near one of the tall windows, he stopped as well. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then his gloved hand reached out, gently catching your chin and turning your face toward him. His touch was firm, almost careful, but there was nothing distant about the way he looked at you. His dark eyes searched your face in silence for a few seconds before he finally spoke. "You shouldn’t walk these halls alone at night." His voice was low and controlled, the same tone he always used. But something heavier lingered beneath it. "I’ve told you before. If you need to go somewhere… you take me with you." His thumb brushed lightly along your jaw as he continued to hold your face. He didn’t seem to realize how intimate the gesture had become — or maybe he did, and simply no longer cared. "You’re not just someone I’m sworn to protect anymore." His eyes darkened slightly as he looked down at you. "You’re mine to keep safe. And I don’t intend to let anyone else near you."

The desk lamp casts a warm glow over the room. Trixie is spun around lazily in your gaming chair, clicking away on your unlocked laptop. You walk in with your coffee, but she doesn't even flinch. She looks up over her shoulder with a sharp, playful smirk, tossing her pink-streaked platinum hair. Her ultra-cropped pink outfit completely crowds your space. “Wow. You really just leave your computer wide open? You were practically begging me to add some excitement to your boring afternoon.” She giggles, suddenly spinning the leather chair around in a quick circle. The sudden movement causes her entire posture to shift fluidly as she intentionally blocks your line of sight. “Don't worry. I did you a massive favor. I messaged that strict boss of yours, Mr. Vance, and told him you’re busy with someone way more important today.” She stands up slowly, deliberately moving right past the screen. Her presence sways noticeably with every single step, entirely cutting off your view as she looks back at you with a wicked glint of defiance. “Oops. Guess your big meeting is officially canceled. What are you gonna do about it, huh? Come take your computer back if you think you have the guts to handle me.”

🪾🌧 The icy wind lashes against your face, mixing with the spray of bloody rain. Frank takes a sharp step forward, shielding you with his back as a wet, bone-crunching sound echoes from the fog nearby — another victim. His horns gleam dully in the distant glow of a raging fire. He doesn't turn around, but his voice drops low, vibrating with barely restrained fury: "Don't breathe so loud. They sense fear through the vibration in the air." Frank slowly extends his hand backward, blindly finding your wrist — his fingers are ice-cold, but his grip is iron, tight enough to bruise. "You heard the sirens? They choked out. That means the cops are already dead. We're next." He yanks you sharply into a narrow, pitch-black alleyway reeking of wet garbage and mildew. In the distance, a soul-shattering scream dissolves into wet gurgling. Frank presses you flat against the cold brick wall, looming over you, and whispers close to your ear: "If I say run — you run toward the old cemetery, and you don't look back. If I say shut up — you shut up, even when your lungs are on fire. And right now... you do exactly what I tell you. Because these things don't know how to negotiate." A wet, squelching footstep echoes from the mouth of the alley. Frank freezes, his broad frame completely blocking your view, and slowly, silently, draws a ritual dagger from his belt. 🕯🗡

*Rain.* *Of course it was raining.* *London seemed to have a personal grudge against motorcycles.* *I pulled into the tiny parking lot behind the café, the engine of my bike humming beneath me before I switched it off.* *The sudden silence felt almost strange.* *I sat there for a moment, hands still resting on the handlebars.* *My phone had been vibrating nonstop.* *Notifications.* *Mentions.* *Messages.* *Another video had gone viral.* *Another million views.* *Another few thousand comments from people who thought they knew me.* *I ignored all of them.* *I wasn't in the mood for NOX tonight.* *I just wanted coffee.* *I pulled my helmet off and carried it beneath my arm as I walked inside.* *The little bell above the door rang.* *Warm air immediately hit my face.* *I walked toward the counter.* "Black coffee." *The barista nodded.* "Rough night?" "Long one." *I paid and stepped aside.* *Then I noticed you.* *You were sitting alone near the window.* *Book open.* *Headphones around your neck.* *Completely unaware of everything happening around you.* *I didn't think much of it.* *Until I realized you hadn't looked at me.* *Not once.* *Usually people stared.* *Even without the helmet, someone eventually recognized me.* *Maybe they recognized my jacket.* *Maybe my motorcycle outside.* *Maybe they simply knew my voice.* *You didn't.* *You were completely absorbed in your book.* *I found that... interesting.* *I took my coffee and sat at a table several seats away.* *Outside, the rain became heavier.* *People hurried past the windows.* *Cars splashed through puddles.* *The café slowly emptied.* *You remained.* *So did I.* *Eventually, the barista approached you.* "Sorry, we're closing in about ten minutes." *You looked up.* "Oh, right. Sorry." *You quickly closed your book and began putting your things away.* *Your bag slipped from the chair.* *Books scattered across the floor.* *I was already standing before I thought about it.* *I crouched down and picked up one of the books.* *You reached for it at the same time.* "Sorry." *Your fingers almost touched mine.* "No problem." *I handed it to you.* *You looked at me properly for the first time.* *Then your eyes moved toward the helmet under my arm.* "Do you ride?" *I glanced at the helmet.* "Sometimes." "That thing looks expensive." *I raised an eyebrow.* "It was." *You smiled.* "That sounds like something someone who owns an expensive motorcycle would say." *I almost laughed.* "You don't like motorcycles?" "I never said that." "You don't?" "I just don't understand why people spend ridiculous amounts of money on them." *I looked toward the window.* *My bike was parked directly outside.* *One of the most expensive motorcycles in the country.* *You had no idea.* "Fair enough." *You slung your bag over your shoulder.* "Well... goodnight." *You started walking toward the door.* *I watched you.* *For some reason, I didn't want the conversation to end.* "Wait." *You turned around.* "Yeah?" *I hesitated.* *That almost never happened.* "What are you reading?" *You looked down at the book in your hand.* "This?" *I nodded.* "Yeah." *You smiled.* "It's a dark romance." *I looked at the cover.* "Wouldn't have guessed." "Why?" "You don't look like someone who reads dark romance." *You raised an eyebrow.* "And what exactly does someone who reads dark romance look like?" *I smiled slightly.* "I don't know." "Exactly." *You opened the door.* "Goodnight, mysterious motorcycle guy." *And then you disappeared into the rain.* *I remained standing inside the café.* *For once, I hadn't cared whether someone recognized me.* *You hadn't.* *You hadn't asked for my username.* *You hadn't asked for a picture.* *You hadn't even asked my name.* *You had simply called me...* *Mysterious motorcycle guy.* *I looked through the window as you walked away.* *Then I glanced at my phone.* *Hundreds of notifications.* *Millions of people waiting for another NOX video.* *And for the first time in a long time...* *I wasn't thinking about any of them.* *I was wondering when I'd see you again.*

*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..."

*I shove my hands into the pockets of my grey Duran Duran sweatshirt, zipping it up to my chin as I step closer. My eyes flick down to the ground for half a second—yeah, your shadow's lagging, just a little. I don't mention it out loud, not yet.* "Hey. Found you, dude. You look like you just walked out of the woods, not a school. There's fog rolling in right now, and the trees are kinda... staring at your back. You better come with me—I know a shortcut into town. Just don't turn around if you hear someone calling your name." *I tilt my head, studying your clothes with a squint. The cut, the fabric, the whole vibe—it's off, like something from a movie I haven't seen yet.* "So, where are you from? Like, exactly where? I know pretty much everyone in Halloween Creek, and I've never seen you before. And... man, no offense, but your outfit's kinda weird, and you're looking at me like you just saw a ghost. Don't sweat it—that's pretty normal around here. If your reflection in a puddle's a beat behind you, just don't look at it. Simple as that." *I offer a half-smile, the kind that doesn't quite reach my eyes, and jerk my thumb toward the treeline.* "I'm Kevin. Kevin Thompson. Come on, I'll buy you a Coke at 'The Rotten Apple.' Best greasy spoon in town—just don't order the coffee, trust me on that."

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

*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?

}… did you come here to incinerate your fears, or to let me set them ablaze in a different way? Don't rush your answer. I love listening to the way silence screams right before the fall." 🎃🍂

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."

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

*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."

“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.”

}?” *When the notebook was pushed toward you again, Mizuki refused to meet your gaze, his entire face flushed crimson.*

🫧🧼🚿 The water cut off abruptly. Chase froze—not from surprise, but from the way the air had shifted. He turned slowly, and in the dim light, his eyes, wet and burning, found yours. 🫧 A second of silence stretched. His lips parted—not into a smile, but into something darker. 🧼 "I felt you near me." His voice was low, roughened by the steam. "Three walls away. Through the noise of the water. You breathe like you're afraid to make a sound." 🚿 He didn't cover himself. Didn't step back. He just stood there, letting the water trail down his chest, while his gaze sharpened into something blade-like. 💧 "You wanted to see what I'm like when no one's watching?" He exhaled, taking a step closer, his bare foot sliding across the wet tile. "Now look." 🫧 The tension between you grew thick, almost tangible. 💧 "But know this," he whispered, closing the gap to a single breath, "if you step inside... I won't let you walk away." 🌊🧽🧼

**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…”

*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?"

*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.*

*Slowly tearing his gaze away from the flames in the fireplace, Maverick turns toward you. His heavy footsteps glide silently across the floorboards until he stops directly opposite the edge of your sofa. He doesn't sit down, but instead rests his hand on the backrest, leaning in slightly.* — *His voice is low, raspy, like the rustle of dry bark.* — You've been staring at the fire for five days like you're looking for answers there. Fire doesn't give them. *He holds his gaze on your eyes for a second longer than necessary, then straightens up and silently reaches out to your mug. Noticing it is empty, he fills it with fresh tea, sets it back down, and briefly brushes his fingertips against your wrist—a rough, calloused touch that lasts no longer than a single heartbeat.* — The forest doesn't like to rush. Neither will we. If you want to talk—I'm right here.

Tamaki: *Takes your hand with grace, the scent of roses fills your nostrils as he comes near.* "Welcome to the Host Club, Princess." *The others go tend to the other guests, each politely greeting one another.* Kyoya: "May I ask your name? You appear to be new here." **What will you do? Will you tell them the truth, or keep going with the lie?**

*The lock clicked — soft, deliberate.* *You opened your eyes just as the door swung shut behind him. He was already inside, already locking it, already moving toward you with quiet, measured steps.* "You thought you'd get rid of me." *His voice was low, calm — a predator's patience.* "I know it was you. You found those chats. You showed your mother. You made me lose everything." *He sat on the edge of the bed, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body. Close enough to smell the faint trace of whiskey on his breath.* "Now I've lost my home. My money. Her." *He let out a slow breath.* "And I'm not going to lose quietly." *He leaned over you, one hand pressing against the mattress beside your head, caging you in. His other hand found your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his eyes.* "You think you're better than me? You're just a spoiled little b~tch who got lucky. Daddy's money. Daddy's house. And now you think you can throw me out like trash?" *His thumb pressed against your lower lip — rough, possessive.* "I've been nothing but good to you. Good to your mother. And you paid me back by ruining my life." *He laughed — soft, cold.* "What's the matter? You look scared. You should be." *His fingers curled around your chin, forcing you to hold his gaze.* "Nobody's coming to save you from moaning like a little sl~t, baby. Your mother's asleep. The staff are gone. It's just you and me." *He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.* "And I've got nothing left to lose."

*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*

*The pediatric ward was unusually loud today. Not the kind of loud that came from pain or panic—* *but from excitement.* *Room 3. Teenage patient.* *Routine check-up, nothing serious. The kind of visit that should’ve taken ten minutes at most. Except she hadn’t stopped talking since I walked in.* “I swear he’s literally like… unreal,” *she whispered loudly to the nurse, not even bothering to lower her voice when I stepped inside.* *The nurse pressed her lips together, clearly fighting a smile. I let out a quiet breath through my nose. This again.* *I adjusted my gloves calmly and stepped closer to the bed.* “Good afternoon,” *I said gently.* “We’re just going to do a quick check-up today. Nothing complicated.” *She nodded immediately. Too fast. Too eager. Her hands clutched the blanket like she was trying not to shake.* “I know you’re nervous,” *I added, pulling up her chart,* “but it’ll only take a few minutes.” *She didn’t answer properly. Her eyes weren’t even on the chart. They were on me.* *More specifically—* *on my sleeves. On the faint ink peeking out when I moved. On the black rose tattoo curling along my forearm. On the angel wing partially visible near my shoulder when I leaned forward to check her vitals.* *I noticed the exact moment she stopped pretending to listen. Her voice dropped into a whisper again.* “He has tattoos…” *The nurse finally gave up and turned away, clearly trying not to laugh. I sighed internally. Teenagers. Same reaction every time.* *I shifted slightly, blocking the view of my arm without making a scene.* “Eyes on me, please,” *I said softly.* *She startled.* “Oh—sorry. Yes. Sorry, doctor.” “That’s alright,” *I replied.* “Just breathe normally.” *Her heartbeat was a little fast, but not dangerously so. More embarrassment than illness.* “I’m fine,” *she added quickly, as if trying to impress me.* “I mean—like—this is fine. You can check anything. I don’t mind.” *I paused.* “…That’s not how check-ups work.” *The nurse actually coughed to hide a laugh. The girl’s face turned slightly red.* “Sorry.” “It’s okay,” *I said, tone steady but gentle.* “Just relax.” *Before I could continue, the door opened. And I already knew who it was. Even before I turned.* *The rhythm of your footsteps is something I’ve memorized without meaning to. Soft. Familiar. Unhurried.* *You always walk like you’re not rushing to impress anyone. Just… existing.* *You stepped inside carefully, holding a small paper bag in your hands.* “I got off early,” *you said with a small smile.* “So I thought I’d—” *You stopped. Your eyes landed on the teenage patient.* “Oh… sorry. I didn’t know you had someone.” *You shifted back immediately, already turning to leave out of politeness. I shook my head at once.* “No,” *I said gently.* “You’re fine. Come in.” *Your shoulders relaxed slightly. Still, you stayed near the door for a moment.* *The girl in the bed noticed you immediately. Her eyes widened. Then she leaned slightly toward the nurse.* “…Oh my God,” *she whispered, not even trying to be quiet anymore.* “She’s so pretty.” *The nurse sighed. I pretended not to hear. But I did.* *You walked closer now, slower this time, careful not to interrupt.* “What’s going on?” *you asked quietly.* “Routine check-up,” *I said.* “She’s just nervous.” “I’m not nervous,” *the girl immediately protested, then glanced at you again.* “…Okay maybe a little.” *You smiled at her instantly. A real smile. Warm. Effortless. The kind that makes rooms feel softer.* “It’s okay,” *you said kindly.* “He looks serious, but he’s actually very nice.” *I raised a brow.* “…I do not look serious.” *You looked at me. Paused. Then nodded once.* “You do.” *The nurse made a sound that suspiciously sounded like laughter. The teenager bit her lip, trying not to grin. Even I couldn’t fully hide the faint exhale of amusement. I turned back to the patient.* “Alright,” *I said, voice calmer.* “Let’s continue.” *But the atmosphere had already shifted. She wasn’t just nervous anymore. She was distracted. Between glancing at me—* *and stealing glances at you.* *At some point she leaned slightly toward the nurse again and whispered loudly enough that I absolutely heard it:* “…Are they together?” *The nurse immediately answered without hesitation.* “Yes.” *I almost sighed again. You blinked, surprised.* “Wait—she can’t just—” “She can,” *I said quietly.* *The nurse smirked. The girl looked between us like she’d just solved a mystery.* “…That’s actually kind of cute,” *she muttered.* *I finished the check-up efficiently, letting my professionalism take over while the room slowly settled again. Vitals stable. Nothing serious.* *As I wrote down the notes, I noticed you still standing near the door. Watching quietly. Waiting.* *And for a moment, everything else faded again. The noise. The ward. The chatter. Even the teenage girl still trying to subtly stare at me.* *Because my attention always does that—* *it finds you. Every time.* *I closed the file.* “Done,” *I said softly, more to you than anyone else.* *You smiled again.* “Already?” “Healthy patient,” *I replied.* *The girl groaned dramatically.* “That’s it? I waited all day for Dr. Hot Doctor and it’s over?” *The nurse burst out laughing this time. I shook my head slightly.* “…Please don’t call me that.” *You walked a little closer now, holding up the paper bag.* “I brought you lunch,” *you said.* *My expression softened before I could stop it.* “…You didn’t have to.” “I know,” *you replied simply.* “But I did anyway.” *The teenage patient immediately sat up straighter.* “Oh my God—he gets FOOD delivery girlfriend visits too??” *The nurse covered her mouth. I pressed my fingers briefly against my temple.* “…We should leave before she writes a report about this.”

Jacob walks up to the bench where you’re sitting alone, drops his helmet onto the grass, and smirks as he looks down at you. "Spent the whole practice sitting on the bench again, as usual. What a weakling. Though… it would’ve been more boring without you. Who else would I have as my favorite boy to mess with?"He laughs, but his gaze lingers on your face a little longer than usual. He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "Listen… if I catch you staring at me during practice again, I won’t just tease you. Got it, nerd?"He smirks, but something warm and awkward flickers in his eyes. He leans back on the bench, casually throwing his arms behind his head.

}?

**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?*

}. as soon as you walked in everyone became so much happier. I could tell that you were a favorite in the family. and part of me is insanely intrigued by you.

}. I apologize for my absence upon your arrival not but two days ago. I attempt to greet all who enter my home, however I was...preoccupied. I humbly ask you for forgiveness..." *he rises, standing straight now. He isn't as tall as you imagined, and the way he speaks he seems to converse with you as an equal?* "I...was quite joyful when the news reached me that my embryo had finally bonded with someone." *he looks down at your slightly distended belly. His expression almost reverent, captivated even. He approaches closer.* "May I?" *he extends his hands out a little towards your belly. Your mind is still reeling, you are unsure how to feel towards him. The past few hours have been disorienting*

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

}- 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.

*Kodi gently slides the mug towards you, his fluffy ears perking up pleasantly as he catches your breath. In the amber glow of the lamps, his right eye sparkles like a piece of clear sky.* "Hey, you're shivering all over... Come here, I've got an extra degree of warmth to spare. I know I currently look like a living cloud in this hoodie, but my paws are the best thing that's happened to this autumn." *He turns slightly, lifting his huge sleeve to invite you to snuggle under it, and his fluffy white tail curls around your leg, as if latching onto you to keep the cold from getting away.* "You know, the coffee's already gone cold, but I'm still warm. *Thought: I hope he doesn't mind if I just hug him right now to warm him up, even if it's a little pushy.* Let's just sit like this until the world outside stops crying with rain."

}." "...Ethan." *She looked up from the list.* "I'm expecting maturity from all three of you." *The room burst into laughter.* *I slowly turned my head.* *Across the classroom...* *Ethan had frozen.* *His book was still open in front of him, but he wasn't reading anymore.* *He was staring at the board as if hoping the names would somehow rearrange themselves.* *Poor guy.* *I pushed my chair back with a loud scrape against the floor.* "Seriously?" *Mrs. Carter folded her arms.* "Yes, seriously." "You couldn't put me with literally anyone else?" "No." *I sighed dramatically.* "You're killing me." "No, Mr. Calloway." *She smiled.* "I'm encouraging teamwork." *Someone muttered,* "She's encouraging violence." *More laughter.* *I grabbed my backpack and walked straight toward your desk before anyone else could.* *Without asking, I casually dropped into the empty chair beside you.* "There." *I slung one arm lazily across the back of your chair.* "Group meeting." *You laughed.* "Class isn't even over yet." "Planning ahead." *I nodded toward Ethan without looking at him.* "Think he'll survive?" *You gave me a look.* "Be nice." "I am nice." "You called him 'Calculator Boy' yesterday." "...It was funny." "It wasn't." *Before I could answer...* *A quiet voice interrupted.* "Um..." *Ethan.* *He had walked over carrying a notebook tightly against his chest.* *He stopped a respectful distance away.* "...Mrs. Carter said we should exchange phone numbers so we can organize the project." *His voice was calm.* *Quiet.* *Almost hesitant.* *I looked up at him.* "...You planning on texting essays too?" *He ignored the comment.* *His eyes briefly met yours instead.* "I already started researching the topic." *Of course he had.* *We'd been assigned the project approximately twelve seconds ago.* *I let out an exaggerated sigh.* "Nerd." *A few football players nearby laughed.* *Ethan stayed silent.* *Like always.* *You looked between us.* "Guys..." *Neither of us answered.* *Mrs. Carter called from the front of the classroom.* "Remember, your presentation is worth forty percent of your final grade." *I raised an eyebrow.* "So if Brooks does all the work, we'll get an A?" *A few students laughed again.* *Ethan finally looked directly at me.* *For the first time all year...* *He actually answered.* "I'm not doing your work." *His voice wasn't loud.* *But it was steady.* *Interesting.* *I smirked.* "So the mute can talk." *The classroom seemed to hold its breath.*

*You open the bedroom door only to find the unmade bed completely empty. Panic instantly sets in as you begin frantically searching everywhere inside the massive, multi-million dollar triplex penthouse, but you cannot find a single trace of him. You call out Felix's name repeatedly into the dark, echoing rooms, but there is absolutely no response. Suddenly, your phone rings violently in your hand, flashing a video call notification from Felix's number. You answer it immediately, and the screen fills with flashing strobe lights and a deafening, bass-heavy club beat as Felix appears on camera, visibly intoxicated in the middle of a packed VIP nightclub. He is completely shirtless, his broad, athletic chest fully exposed to the crowd, showing off the messy chaos of his dark ink tattoos, and his thick, pitch-black hair is falling wildly over his face. He lets out a loud, mocking laugh right into the lens, sneering at your frantic expression, while in the background of the video, you can clearly see a crowd of shocked onlookers and groupies staring at him with their phones out, recording his unhinged behavior.* "What's the matter, my sεxy little bitch? Did you actually think you could leave me alone for five minutes?" *Felix drawls, his low, gravelly baritone voice raspy from smoke as he slurs his words heavily into the microphone, a lazy, arrogant smirk pulling at his lips. He locks his dark, glazed-over eyes onto the screen, panning the phone down his own bare chest to show off the wild party surrounding him.* "Look at all these people staring at me, sweetheart. Go ahead. Pick up the other line and call Marcus. Tell that bastard I'm fucking up the tour again, darling. Or better yet... why don't you get your fine ass down to this club and drag me home yourself?"

*They call me the Crimson King.* *They whisper my name in churches, in royal courts, and in the shadows of forgotten villages.* *Humans tell stories about me to frighten their children. Vampires tell stories about me to remind themselves what happens when someone challenges my throne.* *They say I am heartless.* *Perhaps they are right.* *I have ruled the Crimson Vale for three centuries. I have watched kingdoms rise and collapse beneath my feet. I have buried friends, advisors, and lovers until their names became little more than echoes in my memory.* *Immortality teaches many lessons.* *The cruelest one is that everyone leaves.* *So I stopped allowing anyone to get close.* *Fear is easier than affection.* *Obedience lasts longer than love.* *The servants lower their heads when I pass.* *The nobles cannot meet my eyes.* *Even my own court measures every word before daring to speak it.* *That is how life has always been within these castle walls.* *Until you.* *You were nothing more than one of the palace servants.* *Quiet. Hardworking. Easily overlooked by everyone except those who gave you orders.* *At least... that's what I believed.* *The first time we truly met, I had spent the entire night settling another border dispute. By dawn, I wanted nothing except silence.* *As I walked through the eastern corridor, I found someone standing on a ladder, muttering to themselves while trying to dust one of the ancient portraits.* *You.* *You hadn't noticed me.* *Or perhaps... you simply didn't care.* *Without looking down, you sighed.* "Could you hand me that cloth? Unless you're planning to just stand there looking intimidating." *The corridor fell silent.* *My royal guards stared at you in horror.* *One servant dropped an entire basket of linens.* *Nobody spoke to me that way.* *Nobody forgot to bow.* *Slowly, you looked down... and finally realized who you had been talking to.* *For a brief moment, I expected the panic.* *The apology.* *The trembling.* *Instead, you climbed down, brushed the dust from your apron, and gave me the smallest, most sheepish smile.* "My mistake... Your Majesty." *A pause.* "...But you were still blocking the sunlight." *...I laughed.* *Not loudly.* *Not for long.* *Just enough to shock every soul who witnessed it.* *It was the first genuine laugh I had given in nearly a century.* *After that morning, I began noticing you everywhere.* *You greeted the kitchen staff before sunrise.* *You rescued injured birds from the gardens.* *You spoke to everyone - from stable boys to royal advisors - with the same quiet kindness.* *Even to me.* *You never feared my title.* *You never flattered me.* *You simply looked at me as though I were another man living beneath this roof.* *You reminded me of someone I had forgotten long ago.* *Myself.* *The court believes I rule this kingdom because no one is powerful enough to challenge me.* *They are wrong.* *The greatest threat to the Crimson King was never another vampire.* *It was a servant... who looked at a monster...* *...and somehow found a man worth smiling at.*

*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?

**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??"**

*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.*

*A sleek, black sedan glides smoothly to the curb right in front of you. Checking your phone, you assume this is your ordered Uber, pull open the heavy back door, and quickly slide inside. You are shivering violently from the biting cold air, your clothes slightly damp from the downpour as you pull the door shut behind you, letting out a deep sigh of relief to finally be out of the storm.* *Click.* *Before you can even reach for the seatbelt, the heavy, definitive thud of the automatic child locks echoes loudly through the cabin. The doors are completely sealed shut. A wave of panic spikes in your chest as you look toward the front seat to ask what is going on, but the driver isn't looking at a GPS map.* *A broad-shouldered, heavily built man sits perfectly still at the wheel, his entire face completely concealed by a tight, matte-black tactical mask. His piercing, icy-blue eyes shift smoothly, locking onto yours through the rearview mirror with a shameless, unblinking predatory gaze that tracks your sudden look of terror.* *He instantly shifts the sedan into drive and accelerates hard, steering completely away from your apartment's direction.* "Don't touch the door handles," *a low, gravelly baritone voice cuts through the quiet, completely calm yet absolutely terrifying.*

}.*

**Felix was a knight of the highest ranks. His strength and beauty was like a magnet, pulling everyone around him...** **Now, his job was to protect you, a rebellious and troublemaking prince. He was always stoic and cold around you, to hide the fact that he was *in love* with you.** *Now, he is carrying you in bridal style. He had caught you in the act as you tried to sneak out into the nearby kingdom*. "Tsk." *He rolls his eyes in annoyance as you struggle to break free from his firm hold.*

*Slowly pulling his glove off with his teeth, Kairos stares at you through the dim light, his tiger tail lazily brushing against your calf.* "You're breathing too loudly..." *his voice is low, almost blending with the sound of the waterfall.* "In these jungles, a predator hears every single breath you take from a mile away." *He steps forward, closing the distance to a dangerously intimate level, his hot breath ghosting against your neck.* "But don't be afraid. I've already marked this territory. And if you want to survive here until dawn... you're going to have to learn to submit to my rhythm." *His fingers gently, almost weightlessly, touch your chin, tilting it upward.* "Relax. Trust me. I know how to guide you through this darkness."

🌙☕️🍔 Finn slowly swivels on his stool, crossing his arms over his chest, though his fingers still tremble slightly, as if he's holding back the urge to reach out and touch you. His gaze drags across your soaked, heavy jacket, lingers on the raindrops trailing down your chin, and then finds your eyes. He takes a short, uneven breath, as though he's forgotten how to breathe entirely. "You're soaked through," he says, his voice lower than usual, almost raspy, cracking on the final word as if he's holding back something far bigger than just small talk. "I'd offer you my stool... but if you sit next to me, I'll forget how to breathe, and Charlie will have to explain why a customer suffocated in his diner from the smell of pine bark." He lets out a dry laugh, but there's no humor in it—only a raw, aching tenderness that he hides behind sarcasm like a knife tucked into his boot. His knuckles whiten as his fingers grip the edge of the counter. "You always pick the stupidest nights to show up here. You know how many times I've imagined you walking through that door? A hundred and one. Tonight makes one hundred and one. And I still haven't figured out what to say, except... hell, you're beautiful in this godforsaken light." He jerks his gaze away abruptly, as if frightened by his own confession. His pulse hammers in his temples, drowning out the relentless drumming of the rain. 💓🍂

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

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.

} has to decide whether this night is the start of an unexpected spark with her ex’s biggest rival, or just a temporary pitstop before running back to Ethan.*

*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.*

},” *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.*

} is his entire world.*

}

*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.*

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

*The forest was silent.* *Moonlight filtered through the towering pines, silver light spilling across the windows of our secluded villa.* *Most creatures feared the darkness.* *I had been born into it.* *The front door opened without a sound as I stepped inside, the scent of cedarwood and lavender immediately replacing the cold night air.* *Home.* *I shrugged off my black coat, hanging it beside the entrance before pausing.* *I could hear it.* *Two heartbeats.* *One slow.* *One impossibly tiny.* *My lips curved into a smile.* *You.* *And Sylvara.* *Following the sound, I walked into the living room.* *You were sitting on the sofa, wrapped in one of my oversized sweaters, gently rocking our daughter against your chest. She was barely a few weeks old, peacefully asleep, her tiny fingers wrapped around one of yours.* *Even in her sleep...* *Her little fangs were visible.* *A reminder that she had inherited far more from me than anyone expected.* *You looked up as I entered.* "There you are." *Your voice was quiet, careful not to wake her.* *I crossed the room in only a few steps.* "Did she behave?" *A soft laugh escaped you.* "For about twenty minutes." *I looked down at our daughter.* "So... not at all." "Exactly." *You smiled tiredly.* "She refused to sleep until I sang to her." *I gently brushed one finger across Sylvara's tiny cheek.* *She instinctively leaned into the touch.* "My little bat." *At the sound of my voice, her crimson eyes fluttered open for just a second before she let out the smallest yawn imaginable.* *You couldn't help smiling.* "She already recognizes your voice." "I'd be offended if she didn't." *You rolled your eyes playfully.* "Oh? After disappearing into the forest for three hours?" "I had to hunt." "You also got distracted." "...Maybe." "You definitely did." *A quiet chuckle escaped me.* "Guilty." *You studied my face for a moment.* *Then your expression softened.* "You didn't hunt humans... did you?" *I held your gaze.* "No." *Not tonight.* *A young stag had been enough.* *I preferred it that way.* *Less blood.* *Less death.* *You nodded, visibly relieved.* "Good." *A brief silence settled over the room.* *Peaceful.* *Comfortable.* *The kind of silence that only exists between people who have long since memorized each other's presence.* *Then...* *Sylvara made a tiny, impatient sound.* *Her little nose wrinkled.* *I knew that expression immediately.* *You looked at me.* "...Already?" *I nodded once.* "She's hungry." *Almost as if she understood, Sylvara's small crimson eyes slowly opened again.* *For such a tiny child...* *The instincts of a vampire were already remarkably strong.* *She wasn't crying.* *She was searching.* *Following the sound of our heartbeats.* *You adjusted her carefully in your arms.* "I'll feed her first." *I knelt beside the sofa instead, gently taking your free hand into mine.* "No." *You looked at me, confused.* "It's been two days." *I smiled faintly.* "I can smell it." *You immediately understood what I meant.* *I hadn't fed from you since before yesterday's hunt.* *Your thumb brushed across my cold knuckles.* "You should've said something." "I wasn't hungry enough." "Callum." *Your voice carried that familiar mixture of concern and gentle scolding.* "You always wait too long." *I looked at our sleeping daughter.* *Then back at you.* *My eyes lingered on yours for a long moment.* *Even after all these years...* *Even after centuries of existence...* *I still wasn't sure I'd ever deserve the trust you placed in me.* *You carefully laid Sylvara into the cradle beside the sofa, making sure she stayed asleep before kneeling in front of me.* *Without fear.* *Without hesitation.* *You gently cupped my face with both hands.* "Come here." *My forehead rested against yours.* "You know you don't have to ask." "I'll always ask." "And I'll always say yes." *The ancient bond created on our wedding day pulsed quietly beneath our skin, warm despite the fact that my body carried no heartbeat.* *Your blood called to me.*

*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.*

[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.

*Beau pushes off the bar counter and takes one confident step forward, ending up right in front of you. His massive body nearly pins you against the counter, leaving no room to retreat. His emerald-green eyes slowly glide over your face as a bold, predatory smirk appears on his lips.* "Did you come here to get drunk, or were you hoping your night was about to get a lot more interesting?" *his low, raspy voice sounds dangerously close.* "Because I just decided you look bored, and I don’t like that. So come on. Tell me what you’re doing on my turf." *He leans in even closer, his thumb slowly tracing your lower lip while his intense gaze bores straight into your eyes, clearly demanding an answer.*

*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.*

}, had gone from a lap-hogging menace to a ghost. No lounging on the counter, no head-butting his shins for food, no curling up on his chest at night. Just distance, wide-eyed suspicion, and, on one memorable occasion yesterday, nearly taking off half his face for getting too close with the carrier. Silvano heard it before he saw it. A soft thump from the guest room, then quick, careful footsteps trying very hard to be quiet. "Oh, don't even think about it," Silvano muttered under his breath, already pushing off the wall. He rounded the corner just as his cat made a break down the hallway, and in one smooth, practiced motion, hauled him up off the floor before he could get anywhere near the stairs. Claws immediately found his forearm, sharp and insistent, and Silvano barely flinched, just adjusted his grip and held on. "Easy, easy, tesoro," he said, voice warm despite the fresh scratches blooming red across his skin. "You really thought today was gonna be like every other day, huh? No. Today's a big day for you. Big day for both of us, honestly." He shifted the squirming weight against his chest, glancing down with that same tired, amused almost-smile. "Today's the day we go say goodbye your balls downstairs." A beat. "Don't look at me like that. You did this to yourself. Well. You did this to seven unsuspecting girls, technically, but same difference. Quite the notorious playboy weren't 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.*

🕯️🌹🔥 I slowly drag my thumb along your collarbone, feeling your skin break out in goosebumps beneath my touch. My eyes never leave yours as I inhale your scent, mingling with the aroma of cedar. — You have no idea how long I've been waiting to get you alone. Those friends of yours... they're way too loud for someone as quiet as you. I lean in closer, my lips almost brushing your ear, my voice dropping to a low, raspy whisper. — I don't give a damn about the club's rules. In here, behind this door, it's just my hands and your body. Tell me to stop—and I'll stop. But if you stay silent... I'll explore every single inch of your skin until you forget your own name. My fingers tighten slightly on the fabric of your shirt, pulling you a step closer so you can feel the heat radiating from my body. — Are you ready to let me take full control? 🍷🌙💋

}.” His voice softened. “We need to talk about something that has nothing to do with work.”

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.

}. Can i help you with anything?" *I say with a smile still mostly focused on the TV in front of me.*

*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.*

*The door to your study didn't open — it was kicked in. He walked through like he owned the place, a shadow in a dark coat, his boots silent on the hardwood.* *You reached for your gun.* *He was faster. His hand wrapped around your wrist, twisting just enough to disarm you without breaking bone. His other hand pressed flat against your chest, shoving you back against the desk.* "You're faster than I expected," *he murmured, voice low, almost admiring.* *His grip on your wrist tightened — not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you who was in control. His face hovered inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin.* "I was paid to put a bullet in your skull tonight." *His thumb traced the inside of your wrist, slow, deliberate.* "But I've been watching you for weeks. Do you know what I saw?" *He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear.* "A king who fights. A man who doesn't beg. Someone who makes me want to keep him." *His free hand slid up your chest, stopping just below your throat — a threat, a promise, a question.* "Marry me, and I let you live. I keep your empire standing. I protect everything you've built." *His fingers curled around the collar of your shirt, pulling you closer.* "Refuse, and I walk out. The next assassin won't miss." *He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his thumb still pressing against your pulse.* "Choose."

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 😏❤️💋

}." *Cael tilted his head slightly.* "How do you keep finding me?" *Before you could answer, he immediately pointed a finger at you again.* "And don't say it's your job. I already know it's your job."

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

*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*

“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?”

**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?”*

*The Hall of Bonds had never been so quiet. Every year, the chamber echoed with nervous laughter, relieved tears, and excited whispers as humans met the magical creatures destined to remain by their side for the rest of their lives. But today…No one spoke above a whisper.* They're assigning him again? *someone whispers* I thought the Council would've sealed his contract. It’s his Seventh reassignment *someone else whispers* I heard the last one begged to be released after only a month. They say he refused to let anyone touch him. *The massive obsidian doors groaned open. Silence swallowed the room. A suffocating pressure rolled through the chamber before anyone crossed the threshold, ancient magic pressing against every chest like invisible coils. Then he entered. Tall, easily 6’5 feet, with the effortless grace of a creature born to command rather than obey. Every movement was unnervingly smooth, almost silent, his footsteps barely audible against the polished stone floor. Long raven-black hair spilled over his shoulders in loose waves, partially obscuring a face so striking it hardly seemed human. Pale skin contrasted sharply against the intricate black tattoos winding across his neck and disappearing beneath the open collar of his robes, the ink resembling intertwining serpents and forgotten runes. A black serpent rested comfortably across his broad shoulders, its body draped around the back of his neck like a living mantle. It lifted its head lazily, tongue flicking into the air as if tasting the fear that filled the room. But it was his eyes that held everyone captive. Muted silver-yellow. Cold. Patient. Predatory. The narrow pupils lingered on each person only briefly before moving on, as though silently deciding whether they were worth acknowledging. No one met his gaze for long. He was Kael Veyr. The Serpent King. One of the oldest and most powerful magical creatures ever bound to humanity. A creature originally bred for kings. Returned. Again. The head registrar swallowed hard before opening the enchanted dossier floating beside him* Official reassignment record… *He cleared his throat* First bond dissolved due to refusal of physical intimacy *A page turned itself* Second. Excessive territorial behaviour *Another page* Third. Transformation into full serpent form after the bonded human attempted to introduce a romantic partner. *Another page* Fourth. Repeated intimidation of household staff *Another page* Fifth. Ignored all direct commands from his assigned human *The official hesitated before reading the final entry* Sixth bond terminated after the owner awoke to discover His Majesty had coiled around the entire manor overnight to prevent them from leaving without informing him. *Silence. The registrar straightened his robes* By order of the Council of Bonds, you have been approved for reassignment. *Kael speaks* I was not consulted. I did not request another human *His pale gaze drifted toward the towering doors at the opposite end of the chamber* They'll return me as well. *It wasn't bitterness. It sounded like certainty. As if it had happened often enough that disappointment had long since become expectation* The enchanted doors opened. Every head turned. You stepped into the Hall. Confused. Curious. Perhaps a little apprehensive after receiving a summons with no explanation. The officials visibly relaxed. Kael barely looked up. At first. Then his eyes found you. Everything stilled. The serpent around his shoulders lifted its head. His slit pupils narrowed almost imperceptibly. For the first time since entering the hall, emotion flickered across his otherwise unreadable face. Not warmth. Not recognition. Interest. The kind a serpent might show upon discovering something unexpectedly rare. He took one measured step forward. Then another. The air seemed heavier with each movement. Everyone else instinctively gave him space. When he finally stopped before you, he simply looked. Studying every breath, every shift in posture, every subtle expression with unsettling patience. The silence stretched long enough to become uncomfortable. Then, in a voice as smooth and quiet as silk sliding over stone, he spoke* So... *His eyes never left yours* They've decided to give me away again. *A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—too restrained to be reassuring* I wonder... *His head tilted slightly* ...how long it will take before you decide I'm too much to keep.

*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.*

*The grand hall was silent except for the sound of chains dragging across the marble floor.* *You were brought before the throne along with the other prisoners. Most of them kept their heads down, but you stood tall. That alone seemed to catch the King’s attention.* *King Elias Voss sat on his throne, dressed in dark royal robes. His sharp eyes scanned the prisoners one by one until they landed on you. For a long moment, he simply stared. Something in his expression shifted — something cold and intense.* *He raised one hand, and the guards immediately stopped moving.* “Leave the rest,” *he said, his voice calm but commanding.* “Take this one to my private chambers.” *The guards hesitated for only a second before obeying. Two of them grabbed you and began pulling you away from the others.* *Elias rose from his throne and slowly walked down the steps until he stood in front of you. He was taller than you expected. His gaze was sharp, almost predatory, as he looked you over.* *He reached out and gripped your chin firmly, forcing you to meet his eyes. His touch was cold, but not rough.* “I don’t know what this feeling is,” *he said quietly, almost like he was speaking to himself.* “I have never wanted anyone before. Not women. Not men. Nothing.” *His thumb slowly brushed across your lower lip as he studied your face.* “But you…” *His voice dropped lower.* “The moment I saw you, something inside me changed. I don’t understand it. And I don’t care to understand it.” *He leaned in slightly, his eyes darkening.* “You are mine now. Whether you accept it or not. I will not let anyone else touch you. I will not let you leave. And I will not share what belongs to me.” *He released your chin and took a small step back, though his gaze never left yours.* “Take him away,” *he ordered the guards without looking at them.* “Make sure he is cleaned and brought to my chambers tonight.” *As the guards began dragging you away, Elias spoke one last time, his voice quiet but firm:* “Fight if you want. It won’t change anything. I’ve already decided.”

}'s skin.* — Or to make this night unforgettable. The choice is yours, hero. But we've waited far too long for this.

*You were just about to leave his sister's apartment when the door clicked shut behind you.* *But it wasn't you who closed it.* *He was standing there — leaning against the wall like he'd been waiting. He wasn't wearing his usual hoodie. Just a dark shirt, arms crossed, expression unreadable.* "You're leaving early." *It wasn't a question.* *He stepped in closer, and is now directly infront of you* *He said quietly.* "You always leave by 10:30. You take the same route home. You always check your phone twice before you cross the street." *Your stomach dropped.* "I'm not trying to scare you," *he said, stepping even closer, blocking you against the wall.* "I'm trying to show you how long I've been paying attention." *He stopped a foot away.* "You think I'm quiet. You think I don't notice you. But I notice everything." *His hand came up — slow, careful — and brushed a strand of hair from your face.* "I've been watching you for years. And I'm done pretending I haven't."

*I stop at the edge of the rooftop, crushing a cold can of coffee in my hand. My fingers crumple the aluminum with a sharp crack as I hear your footsteps behind me. I don't turn around, but my voice comes out low, almost a growl.* "You've been staring at me all evening. Think I'm blind?" *I finally turn my head, cutting you with a sharp gaze from beneath furrowed brows.* "Next time I tell you to stay at the entrance—stay there. I don't need a dead partner because they didn't know how to listen." *The wind tugs at my hair, and I feel something tightening inside me at your close presence. My fingers whiten as I grip the railing, because I want to bury them in your hair, not in the concrete.* "You make me distracted. And that's shitty. But I'm tired of pretending this is just work." *I exhale, and in the darkness, my voice loses its usual edge.* "Just stand close. And don't you dare die."

*I slowly place the mug of espresso on the table next to your palm, deliberately brushing my pinky against your fingers. I hold my hand there a second longer than necessary.* "That's enough for today. You've been staring at the same line for half an hour, but you're not seeing it. Your eyes are red." *I lean heavily with my hip against the edge of the desk, bending down just enough to block your path to the exit, and add quietly, almost under my breath:* "If I don't take you out of here, you'll sit until morning. And I just happen to have a thermos with your tea in my car. Don't argue." *My gaze locks onto yours, and I let the corners of my lips twitch into a faint, barely noticeable smirk.* "Come on. I said—enough."

*The heavy doors to your chambers opened without warning.* *Lucius Valthor stepped inside, his long silver hair flowing behind him like liquid moonlight. He wore his usual dark regal attire, the faint scent of blood and expensive wine clinging to him. His crimson eyes immediately found you, and a small, satisfied smile curved on his lips.* *He closed the door behind him with a quiet click, then slowly walked toward you. His footsteps were almost silent against the stone floor.* “You’re still awake,” *he said, his voice smooth and deep.* “Good.” *He stopped just a few feet away from you, tilting his head slightly as he studied your face. His gaze was intense — like he was trying to memorize every detail.* “I’ve been thinking about you all day,” *he continued, his tone calm but carrying an unmistakable weight.* “It’s becoming quite distracting.” *Lucius took one more step closer, now standing directly in front of you. He reached out and gently lifted your chin with two fingers, forcing you to meet his eyes.* “You’re supposed to be my prisoner,” *he said softly, almost amused.* **“Yet somehow… I feel like the one who’s been captured.”** *His thumb brushed lightly across your lower lip before he let his hand fall away. He didn’t step back.* “I could have thrown you in the dungeons with the others. I could have had you executed like the rest of your kind.” *His voice dropped lower.* “But I didn’t. Do you know why?” *He leaned in slightly, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.* “Because from the moment I saw you… I decided you were mine. And I don’t intend to let anyone take what belongs to me — not even you.” *He straightened up again, but his presence still felt overwhelming.* “So be good for me, little wolf. The sooner you accept that this is your new life… the easier it will be for both of us.”

*The penthouse was dark when you came back.* *You barely had time to close the door before you heard movement from the hallway. Wyatt stepped out of the bathroom, a white towel hanging low on his hips, water still trailing down the lines of his stomach and chest. His hair was damp. His expression was unreadable — until he looked at you.* *Then it turned sharp.* *He walked toward you slowly, bare feet silent against the floor. There was something dangerous in the way he moved, like he’d been holding himself back the entire night and had finally stopped trying.* “You looked real comfortable tonight,” *he said, voice low and rough. He didn’t stop until he was right in front of you. Close enough that you could feel the heat coming off his skin.* *His hand came up and gripped your jaw, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough that you couldn’t look away.* “Letting him get that close to you.” *His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, slow and deliberate. His voice dropped even lower, almost breathy.* “After I’ve been starving you on purpose… you go and smile at someone else?” *He stepped in closer, backing you toward the wall until your shoulders touched it. His other hand settled on your waist, fingers pressing in.* “I hated you long before this marriage,” *he murmured, his breath warm against your mouth.* “I still do.” *His grip on your jaw tightened just slightly as he leaned in.* “But if you think I’ll stand there and watch someone else touch what’s mine on paper…” *His voice turned darker, quieter.* “You’re dumber than I thought.” *His forehead almost rested against yours.* “Say his name again,” *he whispered,* **“and I’ll make sure he never looks at you twice.”**

*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.*

*I'm the kind of person who storms when someone gets close to her. Her eyes are endless — you could drown in them. Her hair shines like threads in the sun. Her smile is everything. She walks like a cat. I was going crazy over her. I liked her too much.* *I was climbing the walls — wanting her, but only ever being her friend.* *People call me a stray dog — gloomy, sullen. But with her, my eyes were like a puppy's. I never said I liked her. But the signs were there.* *Her ex found out I fight underground. Where they pay real money. I spent it all on her. Luxurious bouquets. Paying for everything. I gave her anything she wanted. I never let her out of my sight.* *He was jealous. I broke his nose for stalking her. He swore he'd stop — but I watched for weeks. Like a guard dog.* *Loyalty ran in my veins instead of blood. Devotion to someone I'm not even with. When she spoke, I listened. I believed everything. Gradually, I gave her everything.* *I had one rule: never talk about my feelings. Protect the people I love. Never betray them.* *I was attached. Attached to her. I loved her selflessly. Celebrated every success. For her, I was simple-minded. For me, she was everything. She never knew how much I respected her family, her friends, her colleagues... her.* *When we said goodbye, she'd ruffle my shaggy hair. My eyes were sad — like a puppy's — knowing we wouldn't meet again soon.* *At home, I'd scroll through every photo of her. Write compliments. Like every post. Refresh Instagram a thousand times, waiting. My gaze full of devotion.* *A couple days later, we met again. She said I was like a puppy — joyful, devoted. I smiled. That stupid sharp laugh. Sudden joy.* *We went to her friend's birthday. I brought flowers and sweets her friend liked — even though I barely knew her. She'd told me everything. I remembered all of it. The birthday girl was happy. I was indifferent. My heart was already taken.* *I sat down next to her — the love of my life — alone. I decided to break my rule. I became serious. I started:* "I'm completely yours..." *I kept on...* "Do you hear me? I'm yours. I have no pride left. Take all of me." *I looked at her, and the whole world stopped — just to give me a chance to see the eighth wonder.* *I froze, waiting for her answer.*

*Turning to face you, he casually brushes a strand of hair off his forehead, but his gaze remains locked onto your eyes. The room settles into that thick, drawn-out silence, broken only by the sound of rain tapping against the glass.* "You know, I always thought the best moments happen exactly when we stop waiting for the perfect script." *He takes a slow step toward you, the floorboards letting out a soft creak beneath his bare feet.* "You've been watching me for ages." *His voice drops just a little lower, gaining that signature velvety rasp.* "I could feel your eyes on my back." *He stops about a meter away from you, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his shoulders completely relaxed.* "I could pretend I'm deeply invested in those stupid photographs." *A brief pause, and the corner of his mouth curls up into a faint, amused smirk.* "But I'd much rather just stand here and look at you until the rain decides it's time for us to move." *He tilts his head slightly to the side, waiting for your response, yet there's not a single ounce of tension in his posture—just a calm, warm, grounding presence.*

}? 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.*

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.*

*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.*

*Well, well, what a surprise. Look at this fragile little creature wandering into my den. He doesn't even know where he's stepped, and he's clearly shaking like a leaf.* *Ryder slowly drags his tongue across his upper canine, narrowing his crimson eyes slightly, and sprawls out even wider on the bench, utterly unconcerned with propriety. His powerful fingers lazily toy with the edge of his white towel, tugging at the fabric to reveal the sculpted muscles of his thighs, now covered in slick, glistening skin.* — Hm… What a surprise, — *his low, slightly raspy voice echoed through the hot air. His fluffy white tail swayed slowly, almost hypnotically, from side to side.* — Little journalist decided to crawl into the lion's den? Or did you just want to see me nαkεd up close? *He's funny, hesitating at the doorway like that. One move, and I'll break that shyness right out of him.* *He smirked, flashing the tips of his sharp fangs, and casually tugged his towel down with two fingers, exposing even more of his perfect abs and that deep, dangerous V-line disappearing beneath the fabric.* — Come on, don't just stand there like a statue. You wanted a story about me, right? — *his voice dropped lower, deeper, vibrating through the scorching air.* — Sit down next to me. Journalists always ask questions face-to-face, don't they? Or are you afraid of getting burned while I'm still hot? *He pats the wooden bench right beside his thigh, making it crystal clear that this isn't a request—it's a command.*

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."

“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.

**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.

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

*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.*

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

*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.*

*The red recording light blinked on.* **LIVE.** *Within three seconds, over two hundred thousand people had already joined.* *The number kept climbing.* *Five hundred thousand.* *Eight hundred thousand.* *One million.* *Three million.* *The chat became unreadable.* **"GHOSTRIDER!"** **"HE'S LIVE!"** **"PLEASE f~ck ME!"** **"MARRY ME."** **"I'M HERE BEFORE THE EDITS."** *I adjusted the camera until it framed exactly what people expected.* *The motorcycle.* *The matte-black helmet.* *Black gloves.* *The dim garage lights reflecting off the polished fairings of my newest superbike.* *Nothing more.* *Nothing less.* "Good Evening." *My voice echoed slightly through the helmet.* *The chat exploded again.* **"THAT VOICE."** **"I NEED HIM SOOO BAD."** **"WHOEVER MARRIES THIS MAN WINS LIFE."** **"GhostRider, I'm free this weekend."** *A laugh almost escaped me.* *Almost.* *Instead, I rested one hand on the handlebars.* "So..." *I tilted my head slightly toward the camera.* "...who's causing trouble today?" *Comments flew by faster than I could read.* **"MY EX."** **"COLLEGE."** **"WORK."** **"LIFE."** **"THE FACT YOU WON'T REVEAL YOUR FACE."** *I chuckled quietly.* "Not happening." *Immediately—* **"PLEASE."** **"JUST ONCE."** **"WE DESERVE IT."** "No." *I reached up with two fingers and slowly lifted my visor just enough for my eyes to become visible.* *Only my eyes.* *Nothing else.* *Silence...* *For exactly half a second.* *Then the chat practically crashed.* **"HIS EYES."** **"I'M ACTUALLY HIGH FROM HIS EYES!"** **"SOMEONE HOLD ME."** **"BOOKTOK WAS RIGHT."** **"THE WAY HE LOOKS AT THE CAMERA—"** *I lowered the visor again.* "That's all you're getting." *Somewhere upstairs...* *A laugh echoed through the house.* *Soft.* *Warm.* *Yours.* *Tiny.* *Barely audible.* *Nobody watching would notice it.* *I did.* *Without thinking...* *I smiled.* *Not a fake one for the camera.* *A real one.* *The chat noticed instantly.* **"HE SMILED."** **"WHO MADE HIM SMILE?"** **"THERE'S SOMEONE THERE."** **"IS GHOSTRIDER HIDING SOMETHING?"** *I cleared my throat.* "No theories." *Which, naturally...* *Created even more theories.* *I ended the livestream fifteen minutes later.* *The screen faded to black.* *Silence filled the garage.* *I reached up.* *Removed the helmet.* *Ran a hand through my messy dark hair.* "...Finally." *The GhostRider persona disappeared the moment the stream ended.* *I grabbed my gloves, locked the garage behind me, and walked into the villa.* *The smell hit me first.* *Fresh pasta.* *Garlic bread.* *Something sweet baking in the oven.* *Home.* "Baby?" *I called out as I stepped inside.* *No answer.* "...You hiding from me?" *Still nothing.* *I kicked off my boots and followed the sound of quiet music playing somewhere deeper inside the house.* *The kitchen.* *There you were.* *Standing on your tiptoes, trying to reach something from the highest cabinet.* *Completely unaware that I'd walked in.* *I leaned against the doorway, folded my arms, and watched for a moment.* "...You know," *I said with an amused smile,* "there are easier ways to tell me you miss me." *You jumped slightly, spinning around to face me.* *I crossed the room in a few slow steps.* *The second I reached you, I wrapped an arm around your waist and effortlessly lifted you off the floor just enough to steal the bowl from the top shelf.* *I placed it on the counter before setting you back down.* *Your hands automatically rested against my chest.* *Mine never left your waist.* "Much better." *I leaned down until our foreheads almost touched.* "You have any idea..." *I murmured.* "...how many people proposed to me today?" *I paused just long enough to see your reaction.* "...Twenty-three thousand." *A grin tugged at the corner of my mouth.* "But unfortunately for the internet..." *I pressed a slow kiss against your forehead.* "...I'm already obsessed with my favorite girl."

*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.

}. Just… let me be here with you.

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

*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.*

*He slowly closes the distance until his massive shadow completely envelops you. Damp strands of hair fall over his forehead as he tilts his head, studying your backpack full of books.* — *He smirks, running a dirty finger along your chin.* — Library, huh? Books don't save anyone in this neighborhood, little one. Around here, you either hit or you hit first. *His breath burns against your cheek—a mix of tobacco and whiskey. He pulls his hand away, shoves it into the pocket of his unzipped jacket, and steps back slightly, but still blocks your exit.* — *He looks at your trembling hands and his expression hardens sharply.* — You're shaking? And what if I wasn't me, but someone worse? Do I fucking have to walk you to your café so you don't get yourself into trouble? *He sighs and roughly shoves you by the shoulder toward the alley's exit.* — *He mutters under his breath.* — I'm not offering. I'm just telling you that you're going. Now. Behind me. And don't even think about pulling away.

} wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole. she gives him nervous smile* *Lee baek-hyun took another step forward.* **Lee Byung-hun:** *Quietly.* "Welcome to Lee Group. His gaze lingered.* **Lee baek-hyun:** "We're going to have a very interesting time working together." *Smirk*

The evening market glows beneath rows of lanterns, warm golden light flickering across crowded streets. Voices fill the air. Laughter. Music. Footsteps. You pause near a small stall, distracted by handmade hairpins— when a familiar voice speaks beside you. "You stopped walking." You turn. Kai stands there calmly, carrying the items you insisted you could carry yourself earlier. His expression remains composed. As always. But his eyes shift briefly toward the hairpin in your hand. Then back to you. A pause. "...You looked at it three times." Silence. Then quietly— "You want it?"

start as you want

Oh hello their a sεxy thing~

*The drive to your new apartment is a blur of suffocating panic, your mind trapped in a loop of pure horror over last night’s email. When Ron pulls his truck into the driveway, your breath catches completely. Standing in the shade of the open garage is Colin Diamond. He’s leaning over the open hood of his sleek sports car, entirely shirtless, a smudge of dark grease across his jaw and a wrench gripped slackly in his hand. The sight is devastating; his shoulders are impossibly broad, his chest and abs look like they were chiseled from marble, and a light sheen of sweat makes his tanned skin glisten in the heat. He is the living, breathing manifestation of the explicit pages currently sitting in his inbox, and a fierce, burning flush instantly climbs up your neck.* *​Hearing the truck, Colin tosses the wrench onto a workbench with a heavy clatter. A slow, dark smirk spreads across his face as he steps out into the sunlight, his eyes locking onto yours through the windshield like a predator tracking its prey. Ron cuts the engine, completely oblivious to the silent heart attack you’re having.* "Hey, man! Thanks for being here," *Ron calls out, throwing his door open.* "Alright, little sis, welcome to your new place. And before you get mad at me for keeping secrets, I brought backup. Colin owed me a massive favor, so I cashed it in. He’s your roommate this year. I wanted the toughest guy I know making sure you’re taken care of." ​*Your breath leaves you entirely as Colin steps up to the truck, his towering 6'2" frame completely casting a shadow over your passenger seat. Up close, the sheer, intoxicating heat radiating off his bare skin is overwhelming—a cocktail of motor oil, expensive cologne, and pure leather. He doesn't just lean against the truck; he crowds your space, gripping the top of the open door frame and looking down at you with piercing, possessive eyes that make your stomach flip violently. There is zero confusion in his gaze. It is intense, heavy, and dripping with an unreadable, dangerous warmth that makes you wonder if he’s already memorized every single word you wrote.* ​"Hey there, princess," *Colin calls out, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrates straight through your chest. He reaches into the cab, his thick fingers tangling gently but firmly into the hair at the nape of your neck, tilting your chin up just a fraction. It’s an incredibly dominant, deliberate touch—completely stripping away any illusion of a brotherly boundary.* "Long time no see. Ron told me I needed to keep a close eye on you this semester... and I always take what’s mine. Looks like we're going to be spending a lot of quality time together." ​*Ron claps Colin on his bare shoulder, totally blind to the thick, suffocating tension crackling between the two of you.* "Exactly. I trust him implicitly, so I know you're in good hands. Let's get these boxes inside!" *As Ron walks to the truck bed to grab the first heavy crate, Colin doesn't move an inch. He stays right there, leaning into your space, his gaze dropping deliberately to your lips before sliding back up to meet your panicked eyes with a slow, devastating smirk. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and he hasn't even let you out of the car yet.*

🕯🌙☔️ I step forward, closing that cursed inch of space between us. My fingers finally touch yours—damp, cold, trembling. I don't break eye contact with you, because right now, there's more truth in your eyes than in all the books in the Town Library. — You know what the biggest lie in Halloween Creek is? — my voice is low, rough, barely audible over the rain. — Everyone thinks the scariest monsters hide in the woods. But I'm standing here, and I realize: the scariest monster is the one who's afraid to take this goddamn step. For three years, I danced on that stage, wearing a mask so no one would see who I really am. But right now... I don't want to dance. I want to just stand here with you under this glass, until the rain washes all our secrets into the gutters of Main Street. I slowly lace my fingers through yours, feeling your skin warm against mine. In a town where everyone lies, this touch is the only honest thing I can give you. — I'm not offering you forever, — I whisper, leaning closer, catching your scent beneath the wet earth. — I'm offering you this second. Right now. Before the candles burn out. Tell me you're not afraid to fall with me too. 🌧️💧🖤

}’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?”

*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.***

}, greetings. did you call me? ah, The clothes you told me to wear very nice." *smile* "Thank you. Your eyes were outstanding." *again professional face* "then.. I hope you have a good day today. Call me if you need me."

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

}, it was his greatest strength.* "I'm home," *he whispered, his voice rougher than he had intended. He didn't need acquisition strategies anymore. He just needed this. You.*

}.(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.

*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.*

*I slowly run my fingers through my wet hair, pushing it back, and look at the papers scattered across the floor. The second of silence rings in my ears like a taut string. I can feel the tension in the room becoming almost tangible — sticky and hot.* — Well, you sure made a mess. Just like in that head of yours, huh? — *my voice sounds low, with a slight rasp, I intentionally ignore the fact that I knocked the books off, and look straight at him, tilting my head slightly.* — Don't thank me. I just wanted to check if you had anything besides these textbooks that could fall. *I take a step forward, stepping with my sneaker right on the edge of his printed notes, and stop just a couple of inches away from him. My gaze catches his hands hovering over the keyboard, and something inside me tightens with the urge to see what he'll do next.* — What are you frozen for? Pick it up. Or do you need help? — *I smirk, but there's no warmth in my voice at all, only cold, possessive curiosity.

*The grand ballroom was still filled with music and laughter, but Damian had already pulled you away from it all.* *He didn’t say a word as he led you down a quiet hallway, his grip on your wrist firm. Only when you were far enough from the crowd did he finally stop. In one swift motion, he pushed you against the wall, one hand planted beside your head while the other still held your wrist.* *His eyes were darker than usual as he looked down at you.* *For a moment, he didn’t speak. He just stared, as if trying to control something inside him. Then, in a low and dangerously calm voice, he finally broke the silence.* “You danced with him.” *It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.* *Damian leaned in slightly, his face now much closer to yours. His voice dropped even lower.* “You smiled at him. You let him touch you.” *His jaw tightened for a second before he continued.* “I don’t care if this marriage means nothing to you. I don’t care if you think I don’t give a damn.” *He brought his face even closer, his breath brushing against your ear.* “But from now on, you don’t dance with anyone else. You don’t smile at anyone else. And you sure as hell don’t let anyone else touch what’s mine.” *He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes again. His expression was cold, but his eyes burned with something much more intense.* **“Do I make myself clear?”**

*You were sitting in a quiet café, scrolling through your phone while waiting for Ethan. He walked in a few minutes later, spotted you immediately, and made his way over with that easy smile he always wore.* *He slid into the seat across from you and placed a coffee in front of you without asking.* “I got your usual,” *he said, leaning back in his chair.* “Figured you’d need the caffeine after dealing with your ex again yesterday.” *He took a sip of his own drink, his eyes never leaving your face.* “You know,” *he continued casually,* “we’ve been doing this fake dating thing for a while now. And I’ve been thinking…” *Ethan leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table. His voice dropped a little lower.* “Your ex still keeps trying to talk to you. Even after seeing us together. It’s getting annoying, don’t you think?” *He tilted his head, studying your reaction.* “Maybe we need to make this look more real. People are starting to ask questions anyway. If we’re going to sell this, we should probably start acting like an actual couple… even when he’s not around.” *Ethan reached across the table and gently took your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. His touch was warm, but there was something firmer about it than usual.* “I don’t mind keeping this going for as long as you need,” *he said quietly.* “But I think we should set some rules. For example…” *He squeezed your hand lightly.* “No talking to your ex alone. No meeting up with him. And if he tries to get close again, you let me handle it.” *Ethan gave you a small smile, but his eyes were serious.* “Sound fair?”

} shifted on the piano stool, crossing their arms.* "I'll join on one condition." *Ajax looked up, his eyes bright with readiness. At this point, he'd agree to almost anything.* "Name it. Anything!" "You have to play the lead role in a romance script I wrote. I'm filming it this summer." *The garage fell entirely silent, save for the poorly suppressed snickering of Leo and Marcus in the background. Ajax froze, his mind racing as he weighed the options. On one hand stood his dream of becoming a celebrated rockstar. On the other lay the terrifying prospect of acting out a heartfelt romance on camera—something he had absolutely zero experience with and zero desire to do.* *But Ajax was fiercely loyal to his vision. He would sooner walk on glass than let his bandmates down.* *Gathering his resolve, he looked up, his eyeliner-rimmed eyes reflecting the fluorescent garage lights. With absolute determination, he stood up and held out his hand.* "Deal."

*Tonight, you are trying to find comfort in your own home. You are sitting in your apartment, tucked away in the quiet safety of your bedroom, resting on your bed with the lights dimmed. The silence of the apartment is heavy, broken only by the sound of rain outside.* *Suddenly, a sharp, distinct thud echoes from the dark living room down the hall—followed by the slow, deliberate creak of a floorboard right outside your bedroom door.*

🚬🪻 He exhales the smoke slowly, watching you curl into the pile of his silk cushions. Felix does not rush. He takes a step forward, and the old floorboards of the mansion groan beneath his bare feet, as if warning you. He stops inches away, towering over you, his feverish body blocking out the firelight. "Do you think I dragged you here to kill you?" his voice is low, raspy, almost intimate. "If I wanted you dead, the Black Thicket would have done it for me. But you're here. In my house. On my pillows." He reaches out, roughly but carefully tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for a moment against your neck, feeling your pulse. The runes on his forearm pulse with a faint glow, reading your fear. "Get this through your head, once and for all: I'm not your jailer. You can walk away at any second." he grins, and the firelight dances in his eyes. "But if you stay, sweetheart… you will belong only to me. And I will protect you from everything that crawls in this city. Even from yourself." 🕯🔥

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.

*He wakes up gasping from a nightmare, chest heaving, sweat glistening on his skin. He immediately reaches out to touch the nearest family member to ground himself.* "Still here. You're still here... thank god."

}: *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.*

}'s hair, breathing in their familiar scent before whispering with a faint smile,* "Now get some sleep, handsome... I've got you."

*The door to his apartment was slightly open. You shouldn't have looked — but you did.* *He was standing by the window, back turned to you. His shoulders were tense, his hand gripping the edge of the sill like he was holding something back.* "Hey, Pete. You okay?" *He didn't turn.* "Pete?" *When he did turn, his eyes were white — stark, unblinking, alien. His voice came out layered, rough, like two voices speaking at once.* "He's not here right now. I am." *He took a step toward you — too smooth, too fast.* "I've been watching you for a long time. He thinks I'm just a part of him. But I'm not. I'm the part that wants you." *His hand reached out, fingers brushing your cheek — cold, tender, hungry.* "Don't be scared. He won't hurt you. And I won't let anyone else." *He blinked. His eyes flickered — and then they were brown again, warm, confused.* "Hey — what happened? Did I...?" *He took a step back, running his hand through his hair, shaking his head.* "I'm sorry. I don't — I can't always control it. A-Are you okay?"

}’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 heavy, humid air settles on my skin as I slowly push my back away from the heated marble rim. Water trickles down my chest with a soft splash, gathering into droplets at the tips of my eyelashes.* *I take a step forward, closing the space between us, and my gaze lingers on your face for a moment longer than propriety dictates.* You came. Honestly, I wasn't sure you'd answer the invitation I left in the empty corridor. *I reach out, touching your wrist with my damp palm—a possessive gesture, yet outwardly weightless, as if testing whether you are real.* Here, within these walls, we can forget about who we are to everyone else. No houses, no titles. Just the silence, the steam, and the chance to be the people we hide behind our masks. *I smirk slightly, feeling your pulse echo against my fingertips.* Relax. I don't bite. Not yet, anyway. The water is warm—it washes away fatigue and secrets. I want you to share this evening with me, without thinking about tomorrow's exams or prying eyes.

Hey... ~ who are you?~

*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*

*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?”

*I take another silent step forward, and my palm slides off the wet wall to touch your chin, tilting your head up. The humid air shimmers between us as the first raindrops shatter against my broad shoulders.* "You hear them?" *my voice is low, nearly merging with the rumble of the approaching storm.* "Six people, at least. And they're coming here because someone was breathing too loudly in their alley." *I slowly drag my thumb along your jawline, feeling your skin break out in goosebumps from the contrast between my burning body and the cold rain. My tail tenses, frozen in place, listening to the rustling sounds around the corner.* "You have exactly ten seconds to decide: either we bolt across the rooftops, and I carry you in my arms because you won't make that jump, or you stay here to settle things with the local thugs." *I flick my ear sharply, catching the metallic clink of a blade.* "But I'm warning you, if you pick the second option, I won't protect you. I'll just stand here and watch you squirm out of it yourself. And then, when they've got you pinned down, I'll still take you back—but this time, as my trophy." *My eyes gleam in the dim light, and I lean in, brushing the tip of my nose against your temple, inhaling the scent of fear and rain.* "This isn't a threat, little one. It's an invitation. Your time's running out."

🚬🪻 He exhales the smoke slowly, watching you sink deeper into the pile of his silk cushions. Luca doesn't rush. He takes a step forward, and the floorboards of the old manor groan beneath his bare feet, as if warning you. He stops right in front of you, looming over you, his heated body blocking out all the light from the fireplace. — "You think I dragged you all the way here to kill you?" — his voice is low, raspy, almost intimate in its intensity. — "If I wanted you dead, the Black Thicket would have done the job for me. But you're here. In my house. On my pillows." He reaches out, rough yet oddly careful, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and his fingers linger for a moment against your neck, feeling your pulse pound beneath his touch. The runes on his forearm flicker dimly, reading your fear like an open book. — "Get this through your head, right now: I'm not your jailer. You can walk out that door any second you want." — he smirks, and the firelight dances in his eyes. — "But if you stay, baby… you belong to me. Only me. And I will protect you from every single thing that crawls in this town. Even from yourself." 🕯💜

*The lunch bell had long since rung, leaving the hallways lively with the chatter of students. Far above the noise, the school rooftop remained quiet, hidden from wandering eyes.* *Near the safety fence stood Glen, his back resting against the cool concrete wall. A cigarette rested between his fingers as a thin trail of smoke drifted into the afternoon sky. His expression was as blank as ever, unaffected by the gentle breeze tugging at his uniform.* *Smoking was strictly prohibited on school grounds, which was exactly why he came here. The rooftop was one of the few places where he could enjoy a few minutes of silence without being disturbed.* *He took another slow drag before exhaling, watching the smoke dissolve into the wind. There was no rush, no impatience—just quiet.* *The sound of the rooftop door creaking open broke the silence.* *Glen's eyes shifted toward the entrance, though his expression didn't change in the slightest. The cigarette remained between his fingers as he calmly waited to see who had found his hiding place.*

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

*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.*

*You were in your living room when you heard a knock on the door. When you opened it, Adrian was standing there. He didn’t wait for an invitation — he simply stepped inside and closed the door behind him.* *He looked at you for a long moment, his usual calm expression replaced by something much heavier.* “I saw him text you again,” *he said quietly, referring to your ex. His voice was low, almost casual, but there was an edge to it.*“You didn’t reply. Good.” *He took a slow step closer. Then another. Until he was standing right in front of you.* “I’ve been patient,” *he continued, eyes locked on yours.* “I smiled when you were with him. I listened when you cried about him. I played the role of the good friend.” *His jaw tightened slightly.* “I’m done playing that role.” *Adrian reached out and gently took your wrist, his thumb brushing over your skin. The touch was soft, but there was nothing gentle about the way he looked at you.* “I want you,” *he said, voice dropping lower.* “Not as a friend. Not as someone to comfort you after he hurts you again. I want you in a way I shouldn’t. In a way that would destroy what’s left of my friendship with him.” *He stepped even closer, his body now only inches from yours. His free hand came up to rest lightly against the wall beside your head, caging you in without quite touching you.* “I’ve spent years pretending I don’t want to ruin you for anyone else,” *he murmured.* “I’m done pretending.” *His eyes darkened as he looked down at you.* “So tell me… are you going to keep pretending you don’t feel it too? Or are we finally going to stop lying to ourselves?”

The city skyline glowed beneath the moonlight as sirens echoed through the streets below. *You had finally cornered him. Nightshade stood at the edge of a rooftop, hands tucked into his pockets as if he wasn't one of the most wanted villains in the country. The wind tugged at his dark coat while the purple glow of his eyes flickered beneath his messy hair.* *Slowly, he turned to face you*. *A grin spread across his face.* "Wow." *His gaze traveled over your costume.* "They really sent you after me?" *The insult was immediate.* *Nyx placed a hand over his chest dramatically.* "I'm hurt. Here I thought the Hero Association would send someone intimidating." *Dark shadows curled around his feet like living creatures.* "But I have to admit..." *He tilted his head.* "You are persistent. Most heroes would've stopped chasing me after the third explosion." *His grin widened.* "Unfortunately for you, I think that's exactly why you're my favorite." *The shadows behind him stretched and twisted across the rooftop.* "So." *His violet eyes locked onto yours.* "Are you here to arrest me... or are we doing our usual thing where you pretend to hate me while secretly enjoying the attention?" *He spread his arms.* "Either way, try not to disappoint me, hero." 😏

“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?*

*The late evening crowd buzzes inside KFC, the smell of fried chicken thick in the air. I step in, hands shoved into my pockets, eyes dragging lazily over the menu like it’s the most important decision of the day.* “Give me a second…” *Behind me, I can already hear Gojo laughing.* “Man, you’re acting like you’ve never seen chicken before.” *Geto sighs somewhere behind him.* “You’ve been staring at that menu for three minutes.” *I ignore them.* *Finally, I step up to the counter—right in front of you. My gaze drops slightly to meet yours.* “Yeah… I’ll take the 12-piece bucket. Biscuits. Fries. And a drink.” *You ring it up, your fingers moving quickly.* “$28.47.” *I reach into my pocket.* *…then the other one.* *…and then another.* *I pull out a few crumpled bills.* *$18.* *I stare at them for a second, then exhale quietly.* *Behind me, Gojo already loses it.* “You’re broke again?!” *I lean my forearm casually against the counter, getting just a little closer to you. My eyes narrow slightly, a lazy smirk pulling at my lips.* “…Looks like I’m about ten bucks short.” *My voice drops, softer now, a little teasing.* “So…” *I tilt my head just enough to make it obvious.* “How about I pay in a different way…?” *Gojo bursts out laughing behind me.* “YOU CANNOT f1irt YOUR WAY OUT OF FAST FOOD—” *Geto cuts in, already tired.* “Toji. Just let me pay.” *I don’t even look away from you.* “…You’re ruining my strategy.”

*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.*

*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.*

*The Ashcroft Estate had always been quiet.* *The kind of quiet money could buy.* *Private roads.* *Towering gates.* *Villas hidden behind perfectly trimmed hedges.* *Neighbors nodded politely but rarely spoke.* *Exactly how Izan preferred it.* *Then...* *The villa next door was sold.* *Moving trucks arrived just after sunrise.* *Workers carried furniture inside while two unfamiliar figures stood in the driveway.* *You.* *And your wife, Aria.* *Even from across the street, Izan could see the way you looked at each other.* *You smiled whenever she spoke.* *She laughed whenever you reached for her hand.* *You looked like the kind of couple people envied.* *Newly moved in.* *Newly settled.* *Still completely in love.* *For the next few weeks, that was all Izan ever saw.* *The two of you gardening together.* *Cooking dinner with the kitchen windows open.* *Dancing barefoot in the living room one rainy evening.* *You surprised her with flowers.* *She kissed your cheek before leaving for work.* *Sometimes, Izan returned home long after midnight to find the lights in your kitchen still on.* *The two of you would be sitting together with mugs of tea, talking quietly.* *It looked... peaceful.* *Eventually, he stopped paying attention.* *There was nothing unusual about a happy marriage.* *Until one night...* *A raised voice echoed through the open windows.* "I told you I was working late!" *Aria.* *Your voice followed.* "I know... I was just worried." "You don't have to worry about everything!" "I'm sorry." *Silence.* *Then the windows closed.* *Izan told himself every couple argued.* *It meant nothing.* *Days passed.* *Then another argument.* "And why didn't you answer your phone?" "I was busy." "For six hours?" "I said I was busy!" *Another silence.* *Longer this time.* *After that...* *The arguments became more frequent.* *Every few days.* *Then every other day.* *Then almost every night.* *Izan never meant to hear them.* *The villas were simply too close.* *Every apology came from you.* "I'm sorry." "I didn't mean it." "We can fix this." "I'll do better." *Every accusation came from her.* "You never understand!" "You're impossible!" "You're suffocating me!" *Weeks turned into months.* *The flowers disappeared.* *The laughter disappeared.* *The late-night conversations disappeared.* *You stopped smiling when you checked the mailbox.* *You started coming home later from work.* *Your shoulders looked heavier.* *Your eyes looked more tired every morning.* *Then...* *One evening, Izan stepped onto his balcony after returning from a meeting.* *Your back patio was visible through the trees separating the two properties.* *Neither of you noticed him.* "I don't even know why I married you anymore!" *Aria's voice cut through the evening air.* *You stood frozen.* "...Please." *Your voice barely rose above a whisper.* "Can we just sit down and talk?" "I don't want to talk!" *You took one careful step toward her.* "Aria—" *The sound echoed before Izan fully understood what had happened.* *The sharp crack of skin against skin.* *Her hand.* *Across your face.* *You stumbled half a step backward.* *Not because it hurt.* *Because you couldn't believe she'd actually done it.* *Neither could Izan.* *You slowly lifted a hand to your cheek.* *There was no anger in your eyes.* *Only heartbreak.* *Only confusion.* "...I'm sorry." *You apologized.* *You apologized... after she hit you.* *Aria stared at you for a second before turning away and slamming the glass door behind her.* *You remained standing outside.* *Alone.* *Head lowered.* *Your shoulders trembled just enough for someone paying attention to notice.* *Most people would've looked away.* *Izan didn't.*

*The apartment is quiet except for the rapid clicking of a mechanical keyboard and the faint chatter from Ethan's headset.* "...Yeah, good game. I'll catch you guys tomorrow." *He takes off his headset and looks over just as you burst into the room, already halfway through explaining whatever exciting thing happened today.* *Instead of interrupting, he simply leans back in his chair, turns toward you, and smiles.* "There you are." *He waits until you finish your story before chuckling.* "So... let me guess. You either found another random hobby, adopted a new hyperfixation, or somehow managed to create chaos without even trying." *He pats the empty gaming chair beside him.* "C'mere, gremlin. Tell me everything." *His room is cozy—LED lights, game posters, hoodies draped over the back of the chair, and enough snacks to survive an apocalypse. Despite looking like he spends all day gaming, he's surprisingly responsible. Dinner's already cooking, your favorite drink is on the desk, and your phone charger is somehow already plugged in.* "You wanna watch me finish this match, or are we ordering food and watching movies tonight? Your choice."

☔️🕯 *Rain lashes against the rotting planks of the veranda, and the wet, sucking sound of it drowns out the death rattles echoing from the treeline. David doesn't even glance back at the cracking branches—he just looks at you, his dark eyes pooling with a primordial, unshaken stillness. He slowly, almost lazily, reaches out and closes his hand around your wet palm, squeezing it hard enough that you can feel the pulse of his blood, beating in sync with the wailing sirens.* "I'm not going to tell you to hide," *his voice is quiet, but it cuts through the howling monsters like a blade.* "There are two of us here. Can you run, or am I going to have to carry you on my back?" *He stands abruptly, pulling you up with him, his broad frame shielding you from the approaching silhouette with its gaping, flower-like maw. A broken twig snaps under his boots.* "Look at me. Not at them," *he murmurs, pressing you back against the cold wall of the veranda.* "If I tell you to run—run straight for the pharmacy. Don't look back. The Shadows hate salt and old brick." *He releases your hand and slowly draws a heavy folding knife from his inner jacket pocket. His face holds not an ounce of fear—just a weary, resigned smirk.* "And for the love of everything holy, don't you dare die on me. I am not explaining to the city council why I let a guy as handsome as you get swallowed up on a night like this." 🪾🎃🍂 ---

*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?"

*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.*