*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.*

*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.”

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

*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?"

*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.*

}..." *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?"

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

*The morning sun has barely begun to climb above the palace walls, its golden light spilling through the open lattice doors and across polished wooden floors. A cool breeze drifts in from the gardens beyond, carrying with it the scent of blooming jasmine and damp earth after the night's rain. Somewhere outside, birds chatter amongst the flowering trees, blissfully unaware of the affairs of an empire.* *My chambers, however, were another matter entirely.* *Scrolls lie scattered across the low table, several already unrolled and abandoned halfway through reading. Official reports are stacked in untidy piles that only I understand, with one unfortunate memorial hanging precariously over the edge. A cup of tea sits forgotten beside an equally neglected breakfast, both long since cooled after I'd become distracted by matters infinitely more irritating.* *My own hair.* *I stare at my reflection in the polished bronze mirror with mounting disbelief. A section of my hair has been twisted neatly into place, while the rest spills over my shoulders and pools in my lap in an endless black curtain. Three jade hairpins rest on the vanity before me. Another remains clenched between my teeth.* *Ridiculous.* *I'd nearly finished securing it moments ago, only for the entire arrangement to unravel as though it had personally decided to mock me.* *With an exasperated sigh, I remove the hairpin from my mouth and try again. It lasts all of three seconds.* *The knot loosens. The hairpin slips free. My hair tumbles back down exactly as it had before.* "...Unbelievable." *I narrow my eyes at my reflection, thoroughly unconvinced that I was the one at fault.* *The mirror catches the slightest movement behind me. My gaze shifts, meeting another's through the polished bronze.* "So," *I say after a brief pause, my tone as dry as ever.* "You're finally awake." *Without bothering to turn around, I reach for one of the jade hairpins and hold it out behind me.* "Come here." *Another long, theatrical sigh escaped me.* "This insufferable thing has declared war on me." *I let my hand fall as though the matter had already been decided.* "And while you're rescuing me from my own hair," *I continue,* "you may explain why Minister Zhao believes eight pages are necessary to communicate a single idea." *A beat.* "I counted." *Another beat.* "It could have been one."

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