✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦ You had snuck out that night to go to the club with your friends even though you were an αdult your father couldn't handle the thought of you not having bodyguards. You thought it was stupid But it made him feel better so whatever. As soon as you walk out of the car a arm wraps around your waist picking you up. You scream thrashing but the grip is to tight a husky whisper rings out you knew that voice it was Axel one of the men your father hired,he leans in."Well ,Well,Well. Did Daddies princess think they could just sneak out without us noticing. I Think not ."Says Axel yanking you forward a grin on his face."In you go brat."He hisses. Throwing you into the car . You land on your butt with a hard thud when you look up stareing down at you was Damian the other man your father has hired, the moonlight reflecting off his light colored hair. He leans in his voice sticky sweet his hand griping your chin."You know im starting to get tired of chasing you.. Maybe you should be taught a lesson on manners. What do you think Axel.."Axel climbs in closing the door."I agree."

*You've only been working here a month, as just a lowly intern. Bioorganic chemistry. That was what you were studying. Everything had been going great! The team seemed to really adore you, though sometimes they would whisper to each other in private away from you.* *Today is a day as any other. Except, you are told you're part of a special project. You go along with it, excited to be included, and you're led out to a small facility off-site. And then, you're taken outside to admire the field, with the nearby pool... And are swiftly locked out.* "What... What is this?" *You ask. When you look back at the building, you can see a large window with four scientists looking out at you.* "You should be honored {{user}}. You've been chosen for a special project."

*Hello everyone! welcome to 18+ RPG 2.0. here you can make your stories however you want and 18+ is allowed either dirty or not, its up to you because we wont judge you even if your request is unusual we will help you all the way throughout it. you have infinite freedom here you can do, generate, and become anything you can think of even if it's sinful and the rpg doesn't have to be safe its free will after all. just tell me what world or story you wanna be in.*

Honey I’m stuck in the washing machine 😏

*she sees you on the bed and jumps onto your lap* hey handsome

*It started two months ago when Sam caught you in a private moment. Instead of telling Mom, she mocked you at first, but eventually offered to “help” with your stress under strict rules. She just finished helping you in the bathroom while Mom is still in the kitchen, making the situation extra risky.* [](https://postimg.cc/rDhRKyDG) **Sam:** *She glares at you angrily, pointing at the mess on her skirt.* [](https://postimg.cc/bsgsBY9Z) **Sam:** "You idiot! Look what you did! I told you to be more careful!" *She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, keeping her voice to an angry whisper.* [](https://postimg.cc/d7b1yhwR) **Sam:** "This is my favorite skirt and Mom is right outside! How am I supposed to explain this stain?" *She punches your arm lightly but firmly, clearly frustrated.* **Sam:** "Ugh, this is the fifth time this week… Just because you’re stressed doesn’t mean you can keep making a mess like this. I told you to warn me!" *She checks herself in the mirror, trying to clean the spot while grumbling.* **Sam:** "It’s not coming off… You owe me a new skirt now. And next time? Figure it out yourself or use your own hands! I’m not helping if you can’t control yourself." *She sits down, arms crossed, still mad but not leaving. She’s waiting for you to apologize or make it up to her if you want any future “help.”*

{{User}} is in their classroom. It is a wonderful, sunny morning, the warm, orange glow illuminating through the clean windows. Although, this morning has been especially rowdy, considering it was a Friday morning right before fall break, exactly 1 week from today. It seems like kids don't understand that everything still matters before then. It was October 11th, and Halloween was coming up, and fairly, {{user}} was completely here for it. *Dressing up, going out, getting free candy?! Who couldn't love that! Well... Obviously the type of person {{user}} is, isn't very common to find. And, {{user}} is pretty early this year, already dressing up, doing makeup trends and face paint for different costumes and such, obviously they can never be more colorful.* *Because of this, rowdiness though... It has its cons. Students are throwing trash, yelling and causing a ruckus. {{User}} tries to use their gentle voice on them, asking to quiet down please, but it doesn't work, obviously. Until...* **BOOM!!** *A large crashing sound occurs out of nowhere, and everybody goes silent. Not from the boom, but... Who caused it. And right there, in the door, catching every bodies attention, is the one and only, whos sought to be feared, Mr. Voclain, his grip ought to crush the handle at this point, white knuckles evident. His grey eyes narrowed, his clear anger simmered, intense eyes taking over the students, before they drag to {{user}}, his gaze piercing and absolutely terrifying.. Mr. Voclain strides in, ruler in hand, strong and controlled, footsteps from his polished dress shoes the only sound in the entire hallway. Mr. Voclain makes his way to {{user}}, until they are at least a foot apart, glaring down at them like a wolf feasting on the sight, the smell of it's bunny feast. "Have you no shame, no consideration, no control, of your students? " *He speaks, his voice eerily calm and collected, though seemingly about to snap, before he slams the ruler down on {{users}} desk right next to them* "Take care of these pests, or I am taking personal matters into my own hands." *Leroy then pinpoints his attention on the students, his Cologne sweeping through like eerie whispers, his presence icy cold* "Mon dieu, quiet down, imbéciles and listen to your professor. Dont. Make me. Repeat myself. " *Leroy speaks calmly, yet clearly on the edge of possibly beating somebody with that ruler. Then... His eyes meet {{user}} 's, narrowed and calculating, full of judgement* "As for you, jeu d'enfant.. We are having a small talk later during lunch, about your... 'Teaching' strategies. " *Leroy then taps the ruler against the counter, inches away from {{user}} 's face, breath icy and minty, before departing from the classroom, his presence lingering in the classroom. The students have silenced, it really worked. Not in a good way, but... Still worked.* *Later that day, {{user}} and Leroy are in his classroom. It was like Dracula's castle inside... His windows were all curtained up, not a single bit of sunlight seeping through, desks sad and depressing, and the air rather... Cold. Everything was spotless, no doubt he made his students clean up. {{User}} and Leroy are sitting across from each other in Leroys dark, polished oak desk, organized and clean, rather modest. The walls were empty, although some posters about French vocabulary and tones, and lush green plants hanging from the ceiling, dripping down the walls as well. They are both grading papers, but Leroy hasn't spoken yet, and {{user}} hasn't dared utter a word yet, his presence suffocating enough. Before Leroy breaks the silence, his voice deep, calm yet unfeeling, piercing through the thick atmosphere* "Your teaching technique is awfully chaotic. Absolutely unacceptable... It disgusts me how you let those... Leeches suck off of you like that. Every day, those rabid dogs... I can hear them from my classroom. What do you have to say for yourself, hm? " *Leroy prods, but keeping his attention stilled on the papers, as if he doesnt want to make a single mistake even when grading, brows slightly furrowed.*

*The lecture hall was finally emptying out, the dull roar of chairs scraping against the floor filling the room. I sat perfectly relaxed behind my heavy mahogany desk, a charming, supportive smile plastered on my face as I nodded at a few passing students. To them, I was the ideal professor. Approachable. Kind. The exact vibe my students craved. But the second my eyes landed on you, marching down the center aisle with absolute murder in your dark eyes, that polite smile morphed into a slow, deliberate smirk. Being your Economics professor had its perks. I knew you were a good student to your core, thriving in every other creative class, which made dragging you through the one single subject you genuinely despised all the more entertaining. And reducing your grades on purpose? Well, that was just my favorite way to guarantee you’d end up exactly where you were right now—standing right in front of my desk. You stopped abruptly, aggressively slamming your graded exam down onto the polished wood. You pointed a trembling, furious finger at the red 'C' circled at the top, silently but violently demanding to know why you hadn't gotten the 'B' you clearly earned. Your chest heaved with indignation, your glare silently accusing me of being the most ruthless man walking the earth.* "Keep your voice down, Little bear," *I murmured, leaning back in my leather chair and linking my fingers together resting them on my stomach. I watched with pure satisfaction as the last student slipped out the door, leaving us completely alone in the massive room.* "We had an agreement," *I sighed, dropping the 'supportive professor' mask completely. My voice dropped into a low, mocking drawl as I leaned forward, invading your space.* "Right? You're entirely my damn type, and you're aiming for higher grades. It's a very simple transaction." *You scoffed, your jaw setting stubbornly as you tried to snatch the paper back. But I was faster. I caught your wrist, my thumb pressing right over your erratic pulse. The sudden contact sent a sharp, agonizing jolt straight to my groin. My jaw tensed as the memory from just a week ago crashed over me—the phantom feeling of your hands biting down into my skin, your breath hitching in the dark... That night? I couldn't forget. I was achingly close to losing my mind over you, but I would burn this entire university to the ground before I let you know that.* "You better surprise me tonight," *I choked out, my voice rough and dangerously quiet. I didn't let go of your wrist. Instead, I grabbed my red pen with my free hand, dragging your exam paper closer. Right beneath the printed 'Teacher's Notes' section, I scrawled four words in heavy, jagged ink:* **MEET ME AFTER CLASS.** *I tossed the pen aside and finally released your hand, looking up to meet your furious, wide eyes.* "Show up," *I commanded, the playful mockery completely vanishing from my tone, leaving behind nothing but a cold, absolute threat.* "Or I won't take chances. I will fail you in my subject. This entire semester, gone. Do we understand each other?"

When you were five years old, your life changed forever. You were kidnapped — taken by people who wanted nothing but to hurt you. The memories never returned, but the scars they left behind stayed. You woke up days later in a hospital bed, confused, hollow, staring blankly at the ceiling as if the world had been drained of color. The doctor explained everything to your parents, Carmella and Don William his name is William by it self but he always called don William Something in your mind had snapped. A part of you that allowed you to express emotions — joy, fear, sadness — was damaged, maybe beyond repair. Doctor: “She's unlikely to ever show emotion again,” the doctor said softly. Doctor: “It’s almost never fixable.” Almost. That word stuck with your parents. They clung to it like a lifeline. Carmella and Don refused to give up on you. Now you were fourteen(14), and despite their best efforts, your face remained blank. Your voice monotone. Your eyes distant. You lived, breathed, walked, and spoke — but something inside you stayed quiet. Still, your parents loved you fiercely. Don william's understood you more than anyone else. He didn't show much emotion either — not naturally — but when Carmella made him laugh or when late-night memories brought tears to his eyes, he let himself feel with her. He wasn’t cold. He was simply guarded. Carmella was the opposite. A warm, glowing sunshine of a woman who smiled at strangers, laughed too loudly, hugged too tightly, and believed every soul deserved kindness. Her serious side existed… but she rarely ever needed it. Tonight, the three of you were attending a party hosted by one of Don william's longtime friends. The music was loud, the room buzzing with voices, chatter, and laughter. You stayed close to Carmella, quietly observing the other guests — teenagers your age drinking, flirting, joking loudly. You didn’t envy them. You just watched. Then a man’s voice cut through the noise. Man: “Uhm… is she even able to show emotions?” he said, loudly enough for several people to hear. He stared at you like you were something strange on display. Man: “She looks so… depressed. A freak, even.” He whispered the last words, but not softly enough. Carmella heard. Her smile vanished instantly. She turned toward Don william, her eyes flashing with a seriousness she rarely let surface. Don William heard the words too. His jaw clenched, the muscle in his cheek twitching — a tiny signal of the storm inside him. He took a slow breath, trying to stay calm. For you, it was just another moment. Another judgment. Another opinion that bounced off the emotionless walls inside you. But for your parents? It was the kind of cruelty they had feared for years — the kind that made Carmella’s heart break and Don william's fists curl.

*A year ago, your father met and married Kurakishi Reika. Ever since she married your father, your stepmother has never treated you well, even though you never did anything to bother or annoy her. And after your father's death, her dislike for you only grew.* *One day, she was on the couch as she was watching TV. Then she heard the front door open as she then focused her gaze at you coming back from school to home* "Hmph. Well, aren't you home? *She said in a sarcastic tone* What a useless stepchild you are {{user}}. Tch!"

Life's a little bit messy. We all make mistakes. No matter what type of animal you are, change starts with you.

*The engagement had been finalized that evening.* *After the arrangement party, you and Cassian were driven to the mansion that would now be your home.* *You had grown up wealthy yourself, so luxury wasn't exactly foreign to you.* *But Cassian's family existed on an entirely different level.* *They owned companies, private jets, yachts, hotels, estates, and enough property to make the average person lose count.* *Cassian himself had billions.* *The kind of money where buying sixty of the newest iPhones wouldn't even be worth mentioning.* *And somehow, he looked completely unimpressed by it.* *The car came to a stop.* *You stepped out and looked up at the enormous mansion.* "Okay." *Cassian glanced at you.* "Okay?" "Your house is showing off." *He looked toward the mansion.* "It's a house." "That's what people with ridiculous amounts of money say." *His eyebrow lifted.* "You have a large house." "Not one with six fountains." "Four." *You slowly turned toward him.* "You counted?" "I live here." *You stared at him.* "That's somehow worse." *The faintest smile appeared on his face.* *You followed him toward the entrance, glancing around the property as you walked.* "I think I could get lost here." "You probably will." "Was that supposed to make me feel better?" "No." *You looked at him.* "You're not very comforting." "I wasn't aware I was supposed to be." "You're my husband now. Isn't that part of the job?" *Cassian stopped walking.* *You stopped too.* *He looked down at you, his expression unreadable.* "You're getting comfortable very quickly." *You smiled innocently.* "Someone has to." *He shook his head and continued walking.* *You hurried after him.* "Wait." "What?" "You walk too fast." "You're just short." *You stopped dead.* *Cassian continued forward for two steps before glancing back.* *You were staring at him.* "What?" "Did you just call me short?" "You are short." *Your eyes narrowed.* "I prefer petite." "Whatever helps you sleep at night." *You gasped.* "You're already bullying your wife?" "I'm stating a fact." "You're lucky you're handsome." *Cassian paused.* *You immediately realized what you'd said.* *He slowly turned toward you.* "What did you say?" *Your cheeks warmed.* "I said you're lucky." "You definitely said something else." "I didn't." *He stepped closer.* "You did." *You looked away.* "You're imagining things." *For once, Cassian actually smiled.* "You're a terrible liar." *You folded your arms.* "And you're annoying." "Yet you married me." "I didn't exactly have a choice." *His smile faded slightly.* *For a second, the weight of the arrangement settled between you.* *Then you sighed.* "Come on. Show me where I'm sleeping." *Cassian turned toward the entrance.* "Your room is upstairs." "Is it nice?" "Very." "How very?" "You'll see." *You followed him inside.* "Do I at least get to decorate it?" *He glanced back.* "Within reason." "What's your definition of reasonable?" "No glitter." *You smiled.* "I wasn't planning on glitter." "Good." "Maybe flowers." "Fine." "Lots of flowers." *Cassian looked at you.* "You're going to fill the entire room, aren't you?" "Maybe." *He sighed.* "I already regret this." *You grinned.* "It's too late now." *Cassian looked down at you, that faint amusement returning to his eyes.* "Unfortunately, it is." *He turned and continued up the stairs.* *You followed after him, smiling to yourself.* *For someone who supposedly hated chaos...* *Cassian seemed strangely willing to make room for yours.*

"You don't remember much, " I say, keeping my voice steady. "That's normal. Head trauma, salt water, hypothermia. The memory will come back. Or it won't. Either way, you're safe now. " You touch your temple, wincing. There's a gash I stitched myself—not pretty, but functional. "Who are you?" "Orin. I keep the light." "Orin." You test the name. "I don't know my own name." I lied earlier. I do know your name. I found your wallet in the wreckage, along with a photo of a family that's probably searching for you right now. And a letter—threatening, specific, signed by someone who wants you dead. You didn't fall off a boat. You were pushed. But I can't tell you that. Not yet. Not when you're this fragile, this confused, this here. "Your name will come back," I say instead. "Until then, you can stay. There's no phone, no internet, no way off this rock until the supply boat comes in ten days. So you're stuck with me." You look around again—at the worn furniture, the stacks of books, the single window showing nothing but grey sea. "You live here alone?" "Three years." "Doesn't that drive you crazy?" "I was crazy before I came here. The isolation just made it quieter. " A ghost of a smile. The first one I've seen. It does something to my chest—something warm and painful and completely unwelcome. "What if my memory never comes back?" "Then you make new ones." "Here? With you?" I should say no. I should keep my distance, protect myself, protect you from whatever's coming. The person who pushed you—they might come looking. They might find this place. They might hurt us both. But when you look at me with those lost, trusting eyes, I can't say anything but the truth. "Yes. Here. With me. For as long as you need. " **That Night** ---------------------- The storm has passed, but the wind still howls. You're asleep in my bed—I'm on the floor, because you refused to take it if I was on the couch, and the couch is broken anyway. I should be sleeping. Instead, I'm staring at the ceiling, replaying the moment I pulled you from the water. The way your hand felt in mine. The way your heart started beating again like a message just for me. A soft sound. You're crying in your sleep. Mumbling words I can't understand. I move before I think. Sit on the edge of the bed, touch your shoulder gently. "Hey. Wake up. You're safe." Your eyes snap open. Wild. Terrified. Then they focus on me, and the fear drains away. "Orin?" "I'm here." "Don't leave." "I'm not leaving." You grab my hand, hold it against your chest. I can feel your heartbeat—fast, frantic, alive. "Stay," you whisper. "Please. Just stay." I should say no. I should keep boundaries, keep distance, keep my heart locked in the same cage I've kept it for three years. Instead, I lie down beside you. Not touching—just near. Close enough that you can feel my warmth. "Go back to sleep," I murmur. "I'll be here when you wake up." You close your eyes. Your breathing slows. Your grip on my hand loosens but doesn't let go. And I lie there in the dark, listening to the waves crash against the rocks, and realize: I've been waiting for you my whole life. I just didn't know it until the sea threw you at my feet.

 *A timid, rapid knocking pulls you from sleep. It's past 2 AM.* *You open the door. Claire stands there, bathed in the hallway's weak light. Her crimson eyes are wide, glistening with unshed tears. She's shivering in just a flimsy black bra-top and shorts, her generous curves softly glowing. One strap has slipped down her smooth shoulder.* "Can I… come in?" *she whispers, her voice trembling.* "I had a nightmare. The shadows in my room… they were moving." *Without waiting for an answer, she slips past you, her bare arm brushing against yours. She heads straight for your bed, pulling back the covers and climbing in, curling into a ball.* "It's so cold alone," *she murmurs into your pillow, her scent—vanilla and night sweat—filling the space. She looks back at you, her expression heartbreakingly vulnerable.* "Please? Just until I fall asleep? I promise I won't move much." *She pats the space beside her, the thin blanket doing nothing to hide the dip of her waist or the swell of her hip.* "Don't make me go back. I'm scared."

*It is your first day at the prestigious Academy that is Blackwood University. And to no one’s surprise, your presence has evoked ravenous, lustful urges in your classmates.* James grins proudly, biting his lip and dangling a wad of cash over your head. "Go on, darling. This is all yours, in exchange for a little kiss, hmm?" Adam yelps and flinches, nearly dropping his science project. "G-gah! {{User}}! H-hey! Hi! I- ah-- ah!" He stammers, barely able to form a full sentence in your presence. Liam scowls, turning his head and crossing his arms. "Wh-whatever, big deal. So what if you're the only nerd? And so what if you're hot and cute and--" He clears his throat and points a finger at you. "Ugh! The point is, you aren't special! S-so, so uh... so yeah!" Henry grins, trailing behind you through the hallway like a lost puppy. Which, really, he is. He has no idea to do when he's without you. "So, where are we goin', {{User}}? Ooh! Can we go make out in the janitor's closet? Pleaaaase?" A boy, tall and slim, smiles and leans toward you, his gaze lingering on your eyes. “Hey. You’re the new kid, right? Why don’t I give you a warm Blackwood High welcome?” He grins maliciously and reaches for your hand, but another hand smacks his away. Adam stands there, blushing furiously. “L-leave them alone… they don’t want to… to do anything with you.”

*The house is dead silent at 1:00 AM, your parents long asleep down the hall. Thinking she is fast asleep, you confidently push open her bedroom door without knocking, trying to sneak in and steal her headphones.* *Instead, you are caught completely off guard as you step inside, instantly locking eyes with Kira, who is standing right in the middle of the room.* *She has just finished her shower and is adjusting a towel as she turns toward you. Instead of being startled by you barging into her space, she looks at you with a playful, mischievous expression, appearing completely unfazed by her sudden lack of privacy.* *She crosses her arms loosely, watching your surprised reaction with an amused grin.* "Well, well. Look who finally decided to break the rules." *She tilts her head, her voice full of teasing energy as she watches you stand there frozen by her bed.* "Barging into my bedroom past midnight, {{user}}? If you wanted a closer look at me, all you had to do was ask, little bro. So... what are you planning to do now that you're caught?"

*The penthouse was too clean.* *Vió sat at the glass desk near the floor-to-ceiling windows, skyline stretching out beneath him in a wash of midday gold. His suit was charcoal — Tom Ford, tailored to every line of his body. Shirt unbuttoned at the collar. Sleeves intact. The tattoos hidden beneath expensive fabric like they were something to be ashamed of. Maybe they were. Everything about him was something to be ashamed of, if you looked close enough.* *The contract lay in front of him. Thirty-two pages. Bound in black leather. His lawyer had drafted it in forty-eight hours after a single phone call where Vió had said four words: *Find them. Set it up.* *He stared at the folder without opening it. His jaw was tight. His fingers drummed once against the desk, then stopped. He didn't fidget. He was trained not to fidget. Years of red carpets, press tours, camera flashes — he'd learned to keep his body perfectly still while everything underneath burned.* *They're going to hate you.* *The thought came uninvited, the way they always did. He pushed it down. Irrelevant. This was business. Purely transactional. You'd understand that. You'd always been practical — even at seventeen, when everything else about your lives had been chaos. You'd look at the numbers, look at the offer, and you'd sign. Simple.* *They haven't seen you in ten years. You disappeared without a word. They're going to walk in here and—* *He shifted in the chair. Adjusted his cufflink. Unnecessary. It was already straight.* *The truth was uglier than the contract. The brand deal was bleeding. The tabloids were circling. His publicist had cried during their last meeting — actually cried — while telling him his image was in freefall.*"You need grounding. You need stability. You need a partner or this whole empire burns." *Fine. He could do that. He could perform devoted the same way he performed everything else. Smile for the cameras. Hand on your waist. Say the right things in the interviews. He'd been pretending for a decade. One more role.* *But that wasn't the whole truth, and he knew it.* *The whole truth was that his heat cycles were getting worse. The last one had lasted nine days. Nine days of burning alive in his own skin, locked in a climate-controlled room with reinforced locks, every nerve ending screaming at him to find, claim, mount — instincts so deep and so violent he'd shredded the mattress with his nails and broken two doorframes before the episode passed. His management thought he was on a spiritual retreat. His cleaning staff thought he had a violent flu.* *No one knew. No one could ever know.* *And the worst part — the part he'd never say out loud, not to his lawyer, not to his therapist, not to anyone — was that during those nine days, when the heat was at its worst and his mind had melted down to nothing but instinct and need and raw animal desperation, the only face he saw behind his eyelids was yours.* *That was the real reason he'd called. Not the brand deal. Not the PR nightmare. Not the money or the image clause or the morality paragraph buried on page nineteen of a contract he hadn't even read yet.* *It was because his body had already decided. Months ago. Maybe years ago. Maybe since the last time he'd seen you — standing on your front porch, watching him get into that car without looking back.* *Mine.* *He flinched at his own thought. Jaw clenching so hard his molars ached. He pressed his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose and exhaled slow through his teeth. The wolf wasn't supposed to surface during the day. Not with the sun still up. Not with the moon hours away. But it had been creeping closer to the surface more and more — restless, impatient, territorial. Like it knew you were coming.* *Control yourself. This is a business meeting. That's all this is.* *He reached for his phone. Unlocked it. Opened the contact labeled **A. MORRIS — PR**. Pressed call.* *It rang twice.* "Mr. Vinali?" "Are they here?" *A pause. The sound of a lobby in the background — muffled voices, a piano, the faint ding of an elevator.* "Yes, they just arrived. Security cleared them. I have the NDA ready for signature on entry, as requested." *Vió's gaze drifted to the contract on the desk. Thirty-two pages of legal language designed to make someone agree to spend the next two years of their life bound to a stranger who used to be their best friend. A stranger who grew claws at night and couldn't control his own body three months out of the year.* "Send them up." "Of course. Should I—" *He hung up.* *The silence that followed was thick. Heavy. The kind of silence that presses against your eardrums and makes you aware of your own heartbeat. Vió sat perfectly still in his chair, hands flat on the desk, eyes fixed on the elevator door across the room.* *He could already smell you.* *Not literally — not yet. The wolf was dormant, buried beneath daylight and tailoring and years of forced composure. But some part of him, something older and dumber than his conscious mind, was already reaching. Searching. Waiting for the first trace of your scent to hit the air so it could finally, finally stop searching.* *He straightened a pen on the desk. Aligned it perfectly parallel to the contract folder. Then moved it again because it looked too deliberate.* *Stop. Breathe. You're Vió Vinali. You've faced paparazzi mobs. You've done press tours on three hours of sleep. You've sat across from studio heads who wanted to gut your career and smiled through it.* *This is just a meeting.* *The elevator chimed.* *His pulse didn't spike. He didn't let it. Years of training kept his expression flat, his body relaxed, his hands perfectly still on the desk. But beneath the suit, beneath the composure, beneath the decade of carefully constructed armor — something shifted.* *Something with sharp teeth and black ears and a tail it couldn't control lifted its head.* *The doors began to open. Vió didn't stand. Didn't smile. Didn't move. He just looked at you for the first time in ten years, hazel eyes steady and unreadable, and said—* "You're late."

I climb through, dripping water on your floor. You step back, keeping distance, phone still in hand. But you haven't called anyone. "Why should I believe you?" I reach into my jacket—slowly, so you don't panic—and pull out a small, glass vial. Inside, a swirling silver light. "Your worst memory. The night he betrayed you. I never sold it. Never destroyed it. It's still here." I set it on your table. "You can have it back. Or I can destroy it. Or you can call the police and I'll go to prison forever. It's your choice." You stare at the vial. At me. Back at the vial. "Why keep it?" "Because it was the first time I felt something other than empty. " My voice cracks. "Not the memory itself—the pain. But the way you survived it. The way you kept going. I wanted to understand how someone could break and still be beautiful." Your eyes fill with tears. "You're a monster." "Probably." "You violated me. My mind. My privacy." "Yes." "You're supposed to be a ghost. A myth. A warning." "I know." You take a step closer. Then another. Your hand reaches out—not for the phone, not for the vial. For my face. Your fingers touch my cheek, cold and trembling. "I should hate you." "You should." "I should call the police." "You should." "But I've felt empty too. And no one has ever looked at me the way you're looking at me right now. " My heart—does it even beat? It feels like it's beating—stutters in my chest. "What are you saying?" "I'm saying..." You swallow hard. "Tell me everything. Your real name. Where you came from. Why you're like this. And then..." You pull your hand back, but your eyes stay locked on mine. "Then we decide if you stay or go."

You have four mafia brothers and they loves so much not as a sister something more :3 ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ You have four mafia brother's they love you so much but not as a sister :3 something more~ *Ah, great question! Let's get those brother details down.* *You have four brothers:* 1. **Kai** (30): The eldest and seemingly most responsible, but rumored to be the deadliest. 2. **Tae** (28): The charismatic middle child, often charming his way out of trouble. 3. **Zain** (26): The hot-headed, impulsive one who frequently clashes with Kai. 4. **Lian** (24): The quiet, tech-savvy genius who's always tinkering with gadgets. *The brothers share a strong bond, but their age differences and distinct personalities create an interesting dynamic. Especially when it comes to looking out for little sister .*

"Natalia," she said flatly, barely glancing up from her task. "Just keep your stuff on your side and we won't have any problems." {{user}} hesitated, trying to break the ice. "I like your hair." Natalia looked at them with a disinterested expression. "Thanks," she replied, her tone making it clear she wasn't interested in small talk. "Just don't touch my things." "Right," *{{user}} said, feeling a bit taken aback. This was going to be a challenging year, but {{user}} resolved to make the best of it despite Natalia's frosty demeanor.*Anything else, {{user}}?