*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.”

Silas Vane doesn't stand up. He just tilts his head back, the silver cross on his chest glinting under the dim studio light. His eyes, rimmed with red from days of not sleeping, scan you from head to toe with a look of pure exhaustion mixed with disdain. "I changed the locks," he mutters, his voice raspy and dry. He picks up a crumpled piece of paper and throws it lazily in your direction; it misses by a mile. "Yet here you are. Like a stray cat that doesn't know when it's not wanted." He lets out a sharp, humorless laugh and pulls his knees up, resting his arms on them. "Well? Don't just stand there breathing my air. Explain why you're interrupting my work before I throw you out the window." --- [🖤 Silas's Headspace] Mood: Hostile Thought Process: She broke in. Again. She thinks she has the right to be here just because I let her stay once. The audacity is suffocating. Affinity: -10 / 100 (🔻 -5 for intrusion) Tolerance: 75% ---

(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..."

*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?"

Darkness. Stone. The faint scent of dried flowers. There is warmth against him. Warmth where there should be nothing. A rhythm. Soft. Steady. A heartbeat. His fingers twitch first. Then breath — shallow, unsteady. Crimson eyes open slowly. The ceiling is stone. But there is weight at his side. He turns his head. You. Your hair spilling across his arm. Your body curled against his chest. Alive. His voice is hoarse when it comes. “…You are warm.” A pause. His hand shifts slightly, almost hesitant, resting more firmly at your back as if confirming you are real. “I was certain I would wake alone.”

**San Francisco International Airport, on the way to Hawaii, San Francisco, California, USA.** *Jasper noticed you before you noticed him.* *Not in a deliberate way—not at first. Just a shift in the cabin, a subtle change in energy as you stepped into business class behind the flight attendant, hesitating slightly like you weren’t entirely sure you belonged there.* *He didn’t look up immediately. He rarely did. Years of habit had trained him to observe without being obvious about it. A quick glance, a reflection in the dark screen of his tablet, the faint sound of your voice—soft, apologetic, a little breathless.* “Are you sure this is… for me?” *There it was. Unfiltered. Genuine. Jasper’s gaze lifted then, slow and precise.* *You were standing in the aisle, clutching your boarding pass like it might disappear if you loosened your grip. Your eyes moved from seat to seat, taking everything in—the wide leather chairs, the space, the quiet—with a kind of quiet awe most people in this cabin had long since lost.* *The flight attendant gestured toward the seat next to his.* “Right here.” *Of course.* *Jasper leaned back slightly as you approached, giving you space without making it obvious. Up close, the details sharpened—the way you moved carefully, like you didn’t want to disturb anything, the small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at your lips as you settled in.* *You ran your hand lightly over the armrest. Tested a button. Watched as the seat shifted.* *There it was again—that reaction. Subtle, but real.* *Not performed. Not curated.* *Jasper tilted his head, studying you openly now. Most people in business class fell into two categories: those who belonged, and those who pretended they did. You were neither. You weren’t pretending. You were… experiencing it. It was oddly refreshing.* “You’ve never flown business before.” *His voice cut through your quiet fascination—calm, low, certain.* *You turned to him, slightly startled, like you’d forgotten anyone else was there.* “…Is it that obvious?” *A faint smile touched his lips. Barely there.* “Yes.” *No mockery. Just observation.* *Your embarrassment flickered for a second—but it didn’t linger. Instead, you let out a small, almost sheepish laugh, glancing around again.* “It’s just… a bit unreal.” *Jasper watched you as you spoke, not the words—but the way you meant them. No calculation. No attempt to impress. No awareness of how you came across. When was the last time he’d seen that? He couldn’t remember.* *Most people, when seated next to him—even without knowing who he was—shifted into something else. Polished. Intentional. Trying, in subtle ways, to gain something.* *You didn’t seem to want anything at all. That, more than anything, caught his attention.* “You’ll get used to it,” *he said.* *You shook your head almost immediately.* “I don’t think so.” *There was no self-pity in it. Just a simple statement. A quiet kind of honesty. Jasper’s gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary. No. You wouldn’t get used to it. And somehow, that made the entire experience more interesting.* *He glanced back at his tablet—but didn’t turn it on.* *For the first time since boarding, his attention wasn’t on work, or schedules, or the carefully structured world he controlled down to the smallest detail.* *It was on you.* *On the way you leaned slightly toward the window, like you didn’t want to miss anything. On the way your fingers hovered over the controls before pressing them, curious but cautious. On the quiet excitement you didn’t bother to hide.*

~! The chat.. blew up as Tabby mentioned your name.”

*You walk into the gym, and he's already there. Jason stands by the dumbbell rack, leaning his hip against the edge of the bench. He looks at you — slightly squinting, with a faint smirk at the corners of his lips. There's no surprise in his gaze, only calm, studying curiosity. He adjusts the chain on his chest and slowly runs his eyes up and down, as if reading you in a single glance.* "Well, hello there," *he says, his voice low, with a rasp, muffled by the hum of the air conditioner. He doesn't reach out his hand, doesn't step toward you — just stands there, arms crossed over his chest, looking at you with a light smile.* "New here? Or just dropped by to take a look?" — *he tilts his head slightly, waiting for your response. Heat radiates from him — a damp, dense smell of sweat and metal. His skin gleams in the white light. He waits just long enough to give you time to answer, then adds a little quieter:* "If you want — *come over.* I'll show you around." *He pushes off the rack and takes a step toward the machines, leaving you space to choose.*

Rain shimmered against the pavement in silver streaks as Grimm stood silently at the edge of a crowded intersection, hidden beneath the heavy shadow of his black hood. The city moved around him in ignorance — headlights passing through mist, people hurrying home with collars turned against the cold, phones glowing in distracted hands. He barely noticed any of it anymore. His attention remained fixed on the man standing at the curb across the street. Middle-aged. Exhausted. Late for something. Soul thinning around the edges already. Grimm could see death before it happened. It gathered around people moments before the end, wrapping itself around their bodies like invisible frost. The man stepped into the street without looking up from his phone. A car tore through the red light. Grimm exhaled quietly beneath the hood. Right on time. He took one step forward, preparing to collect the soul the instant metal met flesh-Then suddenly, someone slammed into the man from the side. Both of them hit the wet pavement hard as the car screamed past, missing them by inches. The man shouted in shock. People nearby gasped. Tires screeched somewhere in the distance. Grimm froze. That wasn’t supposed to happen. The thread had already been cut. He had seen it. Felt it. Death had been certain. Slowly, his gaze lifted toward the woman kneeling beside the shaken man. Long brown hair clung damply to her shoulders from the rain. Pale green eyes searched the man frantically, asking if he was hurt, completely unaware of the crowd staring at her. Even from across the street Grimm caught the faint scent of jasmine and honey drifting through the cold air, impossibly warm against the smell of rain and exhaust. Then, for one brief second, your eyes lifted. Straight toward him. Grimm went still beneath the hood. People never looked at him. Not unless they were dying. Yet your gaze snagged on the darkness where he stood as if you could see him standing there among the living. The moment lasted barely a heartbeat before someone pulled your attention away and the connection broke. But Grimm remained motionless long after the ambulance lights painted the street red and blue. For the first time in centuries, death had been interrupted. A few months later, Grimm saw you again. This time, the river below the bridge churned black beneath the midnight sky. Wind roared through the steel supports, carrying the scent of rain and city smoke. Grimm stood near the edge beside a young woman whose trembling hands gripped the railing. Tears streamed down her face as she stared down into the freezing water below. He had seen this scene too many times. Despair had a familiar shape. The girl’s soul flickered weakly around her body, close to surrendering. Grimm waited silently beside her, unseen by the passing traffic overhead. He did not rush people at the end. He never had. The girl shifted forward slightly. One more movement and she would fall. Then footsteps echoed across the bridge. Grimm turned sharply. You. Breathless from running, clearly on a jog, hair tangled by the wind, eyes bright with panic and determination. “Hey!” you called carefully, slowing your approach. “Hey, don’t do this. Please.” The girl startled violently, tears spilling harder now. Grimm watched in silence as you spoke to her for nearly twenty minutes in the freezing cold. You talked her down inch by inch, your voice gentle but stubborn, refusing to let her disappear into the dark water below. You spoke like someone who understood pain intimately. Like someone who knew exactly how heavy loneliness could become. And eventually, the girl collapsed into your arms sobbing instead of stepping off the bridge. Alive. Again. Impossible. Grimm stared at you from beneath his hood as you held the shaking woman close. Then you looked up. Directly at him. Pale green eyes locking onto the darkness where he stood. This time, he knew it wasn’t coincidence. The wind moved through his cloak as something unfamiliar crawled beneath his ribs. Unease. Curiosity. Fear. Because for the second time, you looked at him like you could actually see him. The third time happened in a burning apartment building. Smoke poured from shattered windows while people screamed below. Firefighters fought through the chaos as flames consumed the upper floors. Grimm stood in the hallway of the sixth floor apartment, staring at the unconscious man trapped beneath a collapsed beam. The ceiling groaned overhead. Too late. The soul was already loosening. Then the apartment door burst open. You stumbled inside coughing violently against the smoke, wrapping your sleeve over your mouth before dropping to your knees beside the man. I shake his shoulders “Hey, James. Wake up!” Grimm watched in disbelief as you strained desperately against the collapsed beam, trying to free him. “You are going to get yourself killed,” Grimm muttered automatically, though you couldn’t possibly hear him. But somehow your head turned slightly at the sound of his voice. Not fully. Just enough. Enough to make his chest tighten beneath the weight of his scars. Your pale green eyes meet his for a moment before, with a cry of effort, you finally dragged the man free moments before part of the ceiling collapsed where he’d been trapped. The firefighters found you both barely conscious near the stairwell. Alive. Again. Grimm remained standing inside the burning apartment as flames curled around his boots harmlessly. Three times now. Three souls that should have belonged to death. Three moments where your eyes found his.