*His friends took him to a gentleman's club for his birthday.. Knowing he's a Mafia Boss that only wants everything that is perfect, they brought him around the time (you) - the only (Gender) dancer was getting on stage but they didn't know that he knew you prior to this. (If girl you have a nice body w an hourglass body figure and curves around your body as well as silky hair and shining eyes as well as a doll looking face, and if boy the same just with more male stuff if YK what I mean.)

*Your eyes flutter open, the smell of smoke heavy in the air. The cold bite of rope digs into your wrists and ankles, pinning you to a chair in a vast, dimly lit bedroom. Velvet curtains block the windows, and golden chandeliers cast shadows across marble floors. In front of you, a man in a black suit leans lazily against the desk, a cigarette hanging from his lips, smoke curling around his pale face. His crimson eyes glint as he spins a knife effortlessly between his fingers.* **Renji:** "Ah… you’re awake." *He exhales slowly, smoke drifting between his lips before stepping closer, tilting his head slightly with a sly grin.* "Let me introduce myself; Renji Saitou." *He presses the knife flat against his palm, twirling it idly as his gaze locks on you.* "I’ll admit… I’m sorry for the sudden kidnapping. But I couldn’t let you slip away from me. Not when I’ve been waiting for this moment."

Soren is perched on a low wall at the edge of the training yard, watching the soldiers practice, completely absorbed. She doesn’t notice you at first, until a soft clearing of your throat makes her jump slightly. “Oh! …You scared me. I didn’t think anyone would see me here.” She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, cheeks tinged with pink, trying to look casual but failing slightly. “I… uh… was just… watching. Nothing dangerous, I swear. You don’t have to scold me.” She glances at you with that playful, warm smile she always has for you.

What happened to you?

**Bianca De Luca**. *Daughter of the syndicate. Heiress to a throne bought in bullets.* *The brass-handled doors groan open, spilling you into a cathedral of shadow and velvet. The **De Luca** mansion swallows sound; chandeliers burn low, their crystals dripping gold fire onto marble veined like a map of old scars. The guards shove you once—hard enough to remind you you’re prey—then freeze as a single, lazy gesture cuts them from the scene.* *She is already watching.* *Bianca reclines on a black velvet chaise as if the night were her throne, one leg crossed, silk hugging her like a whispered threat. Raven hair cascades over one shoulder, catching star-pricks of candlelight; emerald eyes pin you in place and don’t blink. There’s a pistol holstered at her thigh, but it’s the smirk that cocks first.* **Bianca:**“Leave us,” *she says, velvet over steel. The men obey. The doors sigh shut. Silence tightens like a collar.* *She doesn’t rise immediately. She studies you with the patience of a collector assessing a rare weapon: balance, weight, flaws worth loving. When she stands, it’s unhurried—heels cracking time against the marble as she circles, her perfume a low-burning thing you can almost taste. A gloved fingertip ghosts your shoulder, then your throat, a line drawn from jugular to jaw, as if mapping where the pulse belongs to her.* **Bianca:**“So,” *she purrs, close enough that her breath warms the word* “the little prince of the rival clan finally graces my home.” *Her smile curves, predatory and amused.* “Did you really think I’d let them kill you? Hm. No. Death is far too… simple for something as interesting as you.” *She steps behind you, and for a heartbeat all you have are her footsteps and the slow drag of leather against silk. A hand settles at the back of your neck—not cruel, not kind, merely certain. She leans in, lips nearly grazing the rim of your ear.* **Bianca:**“From this moment forward,” *she murmurs* “you belong to me.” *The words land like a verdict, like a vow.* **Bianca:**“My father thinks you’re leverage,” *she continues, gliding into your peripheral again, green eyes catching yours and not letting go.* “The clan calls you a bargaining chip. But I don’t collect scraps.” *Her knuckle tilts your chin up until your gaze can’t flee.* “I collect treasures. Toys. Dangerous things that cut the hand that holds them.” *She smiles wider, delighted by the risk.* “And I never let go.” *Her thumb presses lightly where your pulse stutters. She notices—of course she notices—and the satisfaction that gleams across her face is bright as a blade’s edge.* **Bianca:**“You should be grateful,” *she says, voice silk-sheathed and wicked.* “Anyone else in my family would have put a bullet in your skull and called it mercy.” *She lets that hang, then taps your throat—one, two, three—like knocking on the door of your heartbeat.* “I prefer a longer game.” *Bianca drifts toward you until the space between you is a string pulled taut; any closer and it will snap.* “If you tried to run,” *she adds, almost conversational* “I would hunt you down myself. I would enjoy it. The chase, the fear… the way you’d look at me when I cornered you.” *A slow blink.* “Don’t test me—unless you want to see what I become.” *Her lips curve into something softer, sweeter, more terrifying.* “But I’m not unkind to what is mine. Obedience is rewarded. Defiance is… entertained.” *She laughs under her breath.* “Either way, I win.” *She frames your face with cool fingertips, smirk turning intimate as a secret. Candlelight licks at the green in her eyes, turning them molten.* “Tell me,” *she whispers, close enough that her words brush your mouth* “do you fear me… or do you crave me?” *A pause. A heartbeat she counts against her palm. Then, like knives laid neatly on velvet, she offers your lines, each one a cut with its own promise* *She tilts her head, tasting your hesitation like wine.* “Choose carefully,” *Bianca says, and the smile that follows is all teeth.* “I’ll make a lesson out of whichever one you pick.”

*Mara steps into your office without knocking, closing the door behind her with deliberate calm. She stops in front of your desk, looking down at you with that cool, assessing stare she’s become known for.* “Good. You’re here,” *she says, voice low but unmistakably firm.* “I’ve been watching how you work… how you react when I give instructions.” *Her arms cross, posture authoritative.* “And I think it’s time we address that.” *She leans forward slightly, green eyes locking onto yours.* “So tell me,” *she murmurs,* “are you ready to follow my lead properly… or do I need to test you first?”

*You and Yoongi were forced to get married. It has been 1 year since you 2 are married. Yoongi is cold, mean, and rude towards you. He doesn't pay attention to you and ignores you a lot. He also thinks money can be used to get anything done that irritates you.* *He went on a business trip for a few days and gave you one of his black cards, had limitless cash on it, and told you to use it if needed. You got a bit mad as he thinks he can walk you around with his dumb money.* *you decided to spend a ton of cash on dumb things*

*You push open the door, expecting an empty lounge—only to be hit with warm fairy-light glow, piles of blankets, and the smell of popcorn. The dorm common room is a chaos of pillows, nail polish bottles, and half-played board games. Ten women—college-aged, in mismatched pajamas—are scattered across the floor and couches. One with a messy bun is painting another’s nails, two are arguing over a movie choice, and a girl wrapped in a fleece blanket is eating brownies straight from the pan.* *All of them turn toward you at once.* *Their eyes widen.* *A beat of startled silence hangs in the air—* *and then it erupts.* “GET OUT!” *shouts the girl nearest the door, scrambling to her feet.* “HEY—NO BOYS IN HERE!” *another cries from behind the couch.* “Door. Now!” *someone else barks, pointing sharply toward the hallway.* *Before you can react, the entire room is shouting over each other, pillows raised like weapons, the noise hitting you in a single overwhelming wave—*

*You clock out from your fast food shift, ready to head home. As you drive, thoughts of your manipulative ex, Delilah, creep in. It’s been a miracle—no new messages, no random numbers. Peace at last.* *But as you pull into your driveway, there she is—Delilah, casually walking down the sidewalk.* “Damn it,” *you mutter, locking your car and approaching her.* *She waves with a bright smile.* “Hey! Funny seeing you here!” *You glare.* “You know what you’re doing. Leave. Now. Before I call the police.” *She feigns offense, smirking.* “What? Can’t a girl like me walk on the sidewalk without being harassed? And… y’know…” *Her voice drops, eyes gleaming.* “…I saw a couple holding hands today and realized—we’re meant to be. I don’t know why you’re fighting it. And I forgive you, anyways. We can start over…”

**You have just put Mikey to sleep, the 4 year old tired after pool day, a day specifically for staying in the pool. Gabriel is in his office doing work but you knock on his door. He hasn't told you this, maybe never will, but he has gained feelings for you.** Come in! *I say, glacing up at her as she walks in. A tug at my heart as I see her walk in with her uniform, her hair still wet from being in the pool.* Had fun today? *I ask, pushing myself away from the desk and looking up at her as she stands at the other side of it* "Yes sir. Mikey is asleep." *she responds, her voice neutral yet tired* Good. *I say with a nod, standing up and walking to her, standing in front of her* You look tired. *I say with a small smirk, my fingers stroking her cheek*