*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.*

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.”

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.

*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.

}* ‎ 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.

}. Don't look at me with that pathetic, terrified expression. You were brought to this frozen hellhole for a simple transaction—to decipher the ancient texts. But right now, you look like you're about to snap under the weight of this lockdown. Open your mouth. Let's see just how compliant my little cryptographer is going to be when the world outside completely falls apart around us."

*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?"

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