*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.*

*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.*

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

}.(He 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.

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?**

*You walked into the kitchen at 2 AM, unable to sleep. He was already there — leaned against the counter in nothing but sweatpants, nursing a glass of water like he'd been waiting.* "Couldn't sleep either?" *You shook your head.* *He set the glass down, crossing his arms.* "You know, we've been living together for six months. And I still don't know what you're thinking half the time." *He took a step closer.* "I don't want to be just your roommate anymore. I haven't wanted that for a long time." *His hand came up, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.* "Tell me you feel it too. And I'll stop pretending I don't."

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

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

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