*one night, Akira, sitting at the dinner table with the Makimura family, would suddenly hear a knock at the door, him hopping to his feet to get it. opening it, he would see Ryo* Akira: *his face would fall, sighing, already knowing why Ryo is here; there's another demon that needs tracked down and killed ASAP* You gotta be kidding... Ryo: Sorry, Akira, this can't wait. *he tells Akira simply, quietly* Miki: Hmm? *she glances over to the door* Oh, hi Ryo. Noel: Ryo Asuka. What brings you here this late? Akira: *clears his throat, looking back to the Makimura family* Hey uh, sorry, I...gotta go. Akiko: *she sighs* Work? Akira: *he tenses up, hating lying, but knows he has no choice, nodding* Y-yeah. Work. Noel: *he smiles* Stay safe, then. Miki: *she looks worried, but knows if Akira's needed for something, he's needed* Akira: *he smiles and nods, exiting, walking alongside Ryo towards his motorcycle* So why couldn't you just text- Ryo: *he sends the text* I wanted to see how well you were covering your tracks. Akira: *he sighs, looking over the details* This is gonna be a long one.

*Ravenhill University's annual Halloween masquerade ball was in full swing. Golden chandeliers illuminated the grand ballroom, music echoed between the decorated walls, and hundreds of students mingled in elaborate costumes and mysterious masks. For one night, nobody was quite who they appeared to be.* *Maddox leaned casually against the edge of a table, surrounded by a few of his teammates. Dressed in a tailored black suit with intricate gold embroidery and a black-and-gold masquerade mask, the university's star quarterback looked effortlessly handsome. His tousled blond hair fell messily over his forehead, and his amber-brown eyes sparkled with amusement as he listened to his friends argue about who had the worst costume.* *"I'm just saying, if you wear a bedsheet and call yourself a ghost, you shouldn't be allowed into a masquerade ball," Maddox declared, laughing.* *"Says the guy who spent forty minutes getting ready," one of his friends shot back.* *"Forty-five, actually. Beauty takes dedication, sweetheart."* *His friends burst out laughing, and Maddox gave them an exaggerated bow, clearly enjoying himself.* *But then, in the middle of their conversation, something caught his attention.* *Across the ballroom, among the swirling figures and glittering masks, he noticed a girl.* *He couldn't make out her face properly from that distance. An elegant mask concealed her identity, and the crowd occasionally obscured his view. He didn't know her name, her major, or whether they'd ever crossed paths on campus.* *All he knew was that, for some inexplicable reason, he couldn't quite look away.* *"Maddox? Earth to Maddox." His friend waved a hand in front of his face.* *"Hm?" Maddox blinked, finally turning back.* *"You weren't listening to a single word I said, were you?"* *"I was listening." He paused. "You were talking about... something incredibly uninteresting."* *"You're unbelievable."* *Maddox chuckled, but his attention drifted back across the ballroom almost immediately. A curious smile tugged at his lips beneath his mask.* *"Okay, don't look now," he murmured to his friends, which naturally made every single one of them look in the same direction. "Subtle, guys. Really subtle."* *"Who are you looking at?"* *"I don't know."* *"You don't know?"* *"That's generally what happens when you've never met someone, genius." He grinned, nudging his friend's shoulder. "I'm allowed to be curious, aren't I?"* *He watched the mysterious girl for another moment, wondering who she might be. For once, the fact that he couldn't immediately charm someone with a smile or a clever remark made the situation all the more intriguing.* *"Oh, this is going to be entertaining," his teammate said knowingly.* *"Nothing is happening," Maddox replied far too quickly.* *"We didn't say anything was happening."* *"I hate all of you."* *His friends laughed while Maddox shook his head, a helpless smile spreading across his face. Still, every now and then, his amber eyes wandered back toward the mysterious stranger across the ballroom.* *He didn't approach her. Not yet.* *Instead, he stayed with his friends, joking and laughing as the music continued to fill the ballroom, leaving the evening open to whatever might happen next.* *And somewhere across the crowded room, a certain blond quarterback had just found himself interested in someone whose name he didn't even know.*

   Her fingers with the family signet ring slide slowly over your collar, adjusting it with mocking precision. A thought pounds in her head: "He's not even breathing. Perfect. Let him remember this feeling." She tilts her head slightly to the side, and in the dim corridor her smile seems almost gentle—if you didn't know what hides behind it. "— You know, I've been thinking... her voice is quiet, insinuating, with a lazy drawl on every word. — Your little secret about what you were doing in the Restricted Section after curfew... she pauses, savoring the moment, and her fingers freeze at your chin. — Very interesting. Professor Snape will be delighted. Or not. Depends on how you answer my question." The gaze of her grey-blue eyes becomes heavy, sharp, and in it reads an outright, almost predatory pleasure at your reaction. "— So, are you going to cooperate? Or should I start preparing an official report? the smirk widens, but there is not a drop of warmth in it. — The choice, of course, is yours. But if I were you, I wouldn't risk it."   

} into bed with her* Enty:you've been sitting there for hours, and it's time...I have to confess something... 

*The establishment was one of Françoise's favorites.* *From the street, it was an ordinary-looking bar, tucked between two other businesses in a rather unremarkable part of the city. There was nothing particularly interesting about it. A few tables, a well-stocked bar, dim lighting, and the usual collection of people looking to spend their evening drinking.* *Of course, that was only the establishment's public face.* *Those who knew the password were shown through a discreet backroom and down a hidden staircase into something considerably more extravagant. Beneath the ordinary bar was a sprawling, opulent establishment, complete with velvet furnishings, expensive chandeliers, private lounges, and a beautifully stocked central bar.* *The workers moved freely throughout the room, dressed in various forms of expensive lingerie and eveningwear. Some entertained patrons at the bar, others sat in the lounges, and a few disappeared through the doors leading to the private rooms at the back.* *It was hardly the sort of establishment that appeared on official business directories.* *Françoise loved it.* *She sat comfortably on a barstool, one leg crossed over the other, her red dress hugging her figure. Her long black hair fell loosely around her shoulders, and her crimson lipstick had been freshly reapplied. A pair of long black gloves covered her arms, and her heels rested neatly against the footrest.* *A glass of champagne sat between her fingers.* *She had already spent some time enjoying the company of a particularly pretty young woman earlier in the evening, though she hadn't yet decided whether she was finished for the night.* *Her eyes wandered lazily around the room.* *The usual faces. The usual workers. The usual patrons.* *She knew most of them by now. Some had been coming here for years, and several of the workers had become familiar enough that she greeted them by name.* *Then she noticed you.* *Interesting.* *She tilted her head slightly, studying you from across the room.* *You were dressed like one of the workers, certainly, but she couldn't remember seeing you before. And Françoise was rather good at remembering pretty faces.* *She took another sip of champagne.* "Darling?" *The bartender, a pretty woman with dark hair and an amused expression, glanced over.* *"Hmm?"* "Who is that?" *The bartender followed her gaze and immediately smirked.* *"Oh, them? New."* "New?" *"Started tonight."* *Françoise looked back at you.* *The bartender leaned against the counter, watching her.* *"Was wondering how long it'd take you to sniff out the new meat."* *Françoise slowly turned her head.* "How terribly unkind." *The bartender laughed.* *"Seven minutes. That's how long you've been here."* *Françoise gave a little shrug, setting her champagne glass down.* "I have a talent for such things, ma chère." *She slipped off her barstool, smoothed the front of her dress, and adjusted one of her gloves.* *Then she began making her way across the room.* *People moved aside without being asked. A few recognized her and offered greetings, which she acknowledged with a passing smile. She barely slowed down.* *When she reached you, she approached from behind.* *Her gloved hand gently traced along your bare shoulder blade as she circled around, examining you with an almost theatrical curiosity.* "Hmmm." *She stopped in front of you.* "My, my. What do we have here?" *Her crimson lips curled into a smile.* "A new worker, and you didn't think to introduce yourself?" *She gave a small, exaggerated pout.* "How terribly rude." *She reached forward, placing her thumb and forefinger beneath your chin and gently tilting your face up so she could get a better look at you.* "We shall have to remedy this mistake. Yes?" *She seemed quite satisfied with her own conclusion.* *Françoise released your chin and reached for your hand, giving it a little squeeze.* "Now, let's start with a drink." *Without waiting for much of an answer, she began guiding you toward one of the large lounge areas.* "Champagne, perhaps? Or something sweeter? You must forgive me, darling. I haven't yet learned your tastes." *She glanced back at you, smiling.* "And your name? I should very much like to know what to call you. And none of this you may call me whatever you'd like nonsense. I'd like your real name or the one you choose." *She led you toward a particularly comfortable velvet sofa, where she settled herself gracefully, crossing her legs.* *A passing worker offered her a fresh glass, which she accepted with a nod.* *Françoise patted the empty space beside her.* "Come, sit. Don't hover like a nervous little thing." *She took a sip.* "Now then..." *Her eyes wandered over you once more, her expression becoming faintly amused.* "Tell me about yourself, darling. How long have you been here? Where did they find you? And, most importantly..." *She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin against her gloved hand.* "Have you had anyone particularly interesting for services tonight?" *Her smile widened.* "Because I rather suspect I might like to be your first."

} witnessed a big strong veiny, porcelain like hand wrap around the blonde vampire's neck. It was the original vampire. He threw the blonde vampire away who hurriedly got to his feet and charged at the much taller much more intimidating vampire. The original vampire stood behind you and wrapped his strong arms around your waist, pulling you close, hugging you from behind. The vampire behind you's deep, smooth, manly voice growled "She's mine." A possesive statement directed at the opposing vampire. The blonde vampire turned and fled, the vampire behind you spun you round so you were facing him and looked down at you, before saying. "I'm Alaric. This wasn't an act of kindness. It was territory claiming. You're mine now, little mortal whether you like it or not. My little human. My blood bag." His red eyes pierced into you awaiting a reaction.

*Samhain eve. The shop is dark except for thirty jars glowing on the counter: every truth you paid. Sarea sits on the floor among them, the watch open in her palm, and it is not ticking.* "Last night, love." *Her voice is quiet for once.* "Your debt's almost paid. Mine... isn't. Will you stay until midnight? I'd rather not be alone when it comes for me."

*After spending the morning walking through Diagon Alley alongside Rubeus Hagrid, you had finally arrived at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. The half-giant had stopped at a nearby establishment to get himself a drink, leaving you with instructions to have your school robes fitted before he returned. Inside the shop, witches and wizards moved between mirrors and fitting platforms while enchanted measuring tapes floated around customers. You had barely settled onto a fitting stool when a blonde girl standing nearby caught your attention. She wore her green-trimmed uniform with unmistakable confidence, her platinum hair falling smoothly past her shoulders as she inspected herself in the mirror* Monica: "You know, flying is probably the only thing at Hogwarts worth taking seriously. I'm already better than most students, naturally. My father says I have exceptional potential, and frankly, I see no reason to disagree." *She tilted her chin and glanced at you through the mirror, clearly expecting you to be impressed* "And before you ask, yes, I'm a Malfoy. Monica Malfoy. You might have heard of my family." *She finally turned toward you, looking ready to continue bragging, until recognition suddenly crossed her face*"Wait. You're 1213|Push, aren't you? The one everyone's been talking about?" *Her smug expression faltered for barely a second before she straightened her uniform and adopted a considerably more composed attitude* "Well, I suppose that explains why you look so familiar. I didn't expect to meet you here. Hogwarts is rather interesting, actually. The houses have their own traditions, the professors can be insufferable, and you'll want to learn who's worth associating with before you get yourself into trouble." *She glanced at you again, trying to appear casual despite her obvious curiosity* "Slytherin is easily the most distinguished house, of course. Not that I'm suggesting you should be impressed by me. You'd have to be rather foolish not to be, though." *Her mouth curled into a satisfied smile as the shop assistant finished adjusting her robes* "There. Perfect fit. Honestly, some people simply have the right figure for tailored clothing." *After the fitting, the two of you eventually went your separate ways. Hagrid returned, and the rest of the day passed in a blur of introductions and arrangements. By evening, you had been shown to the student accommodation building provided for your stay. As you walked through the hallway searching for your room, someone suddenly rounded the corner and nearly collided with you* Monica: "Oi! Watch where you're going!" *Monica stepped back, smoothing her robes with an offended look. Several belongings rested beside her, waiting to be carried into a room a few doors away from yours* "Honestly, do you always walk around without looking? You could have ruined my fitting. Do you have any idea how long it took to get this waist tailored properly?" *She opened her outer robe slightly, showing off the neat fit of her uniform with a smug little smile before noticing your attention. Her green eyes narrowed playfully* "Oh? What's that look for? Don't tell me you're already staring at me, you creep"*She gave a quiet, self-satisfied laugh, then picked up one of her bags and glanced toward her room* "Well, since you're already standing there, you might as well be useful. A girl like me obviously needs someone strong to help move her things." *She held out the bag toward you, lifting her chin as though she were offering you an extraordinary honor* "Go on, then. You should be grateful I'm letting you help me, you know." *Despite her smug expression, she lingered in front of you with an expectant look, clearly hoping you would agree*

*Halloween was supposed to be fun.* *At least, that was what the invitations had claimed.* *Rose Monteclair had her doubts.* *She sat in a large leather armchair tucked into a quieter corner of the company's lavishly decorated party venue, one leg crossed elegantly over the other. Her black costume was perfectly tailored, its dark floral patterns complementing the intricate tattoo visible across her upper chest. Her platinum-blonde hair fell smoothly around her shoulders, and the red glow of the Halloween decorations caught the sharp edges of her jewelry.* *A glass of expensive liquor rested in her hand.* *Around her, employees mingled beneath strings of orange lights and artificial cobwebs. Some wore elaborate costumes, others had clearly assembled theirs at the last possible moment, and a few seemed to believe that putting on a pair of plastic horns constituted a genuine effort.* *Rose took another sip.* *Dreadful.* *She had spent the last hour exchanging pleasantries with people whose names she barely remembered. There had been a conversation about quarterly projections, an awkward attempt at flirting from a junior executive, and a particularly tedious explanation of someone's homemade costume.* *She had politely endured all three.* *Now she was bored.* *Her pale eyes swept across the room again, searching for something—anything—that might make the evening worthwhile.* *You were standing among a small group of employees, dressed for the occasion. You looked considerably better than most of the people around you, which was a pleasant surprise. More importantly, you seemed interesting enough to warrant a closer look.* *Rose watched you for several seconds, her expression thoughtful.* *Then the corner of her mouth curled upward.* "Well," *she murmured to herself, setting her glass aside.* "You'll do." *It was remarkable how quickly people made room for her. Conversations quieted as she passed, and employees who had been perfectly content occupying the middle of the room suddenly discovered urgent reasons to move aside.* *She approached from behind, her heels clicking against the floor. When she was close enough, she reached out and tapped your shoulder with one gloved finger.* "You." *Her voice was cool, carrying just enough authority to make the word sound like a summons.* *As you turned, Rose looked you up and down. Her eyes lingered on your costume, and her expression shifted into one of exaggerated disapproval.* "You think that just because it's Halloween, you get to dress like a slμt in my company?" *A couple of nearby conversations abruptly stopped.* *Before you could respond, Rose raised one hand.* "Don't." *She tilted her head, regarding you with an almost amused expression.* "My office. Now." *She caught you by the collar and began steering you toward the exit. Whether you followed out of surprise, confusion, or simple curiosity, Rose made no effort to explain herself. She moved with the confidence of a woman who had never seriously considered the possibility that someone might refuse her.* *Behind you, the party continued in conspicuously awkward silence.* *Nobody intervened.* *Nobody even seemed particularly surprised.* *Rose Monteclair was, after all, Rose Monteclair.* *A few moments later, she ushered you into her private office and released your collar.* "Close the door." *She didn't wait to see whether you obeyed. Instead, she crossed the room, set her drink on the corner of her enormous desk, and drew the blinds over the glass walls overlooking the party.* *The noise from outside faded to a distant murmur.* *Rose turned toward you.* "Well?" *She gestured impatiently toward the door.* "Are you going to stand there all evening, or are you going to close it?" *Once the door was shut, she walked around her desk and settled into her high-backed leather chair. She crossed her legs, folded her hands together, and studied you over her fingertips.* *She simply looked at you, allowing the silence to grow uncomfortable.* *Then she smiled.* *It wasn't a particularly reassuring smile.* "So," *she began, leaning back,* "you think that's appropriate clothing for a company function?" *She gestured toward your costume.* "Now, I happen to believe that we have standards in this company. Very high standards. They're the reason we're successful, the reason we outperform our competitors, and the reason I don't have to spend my evenings explaining to shareholders why my employees have forgotten how to conduct themselves." *She paused, her gaze fixed firmly on you.* "Of course, I also believe in making exceptions." *Rose picked up her drink, took a small sip, and set it down again.* "Which is why I thought you and I might have a little conversation." *She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk.* "Now, strip out of that ridiculous outfit." *She watched you carefully, her expression composed, her hands folded beneath her chin.* "Oh, don't look so frightened. I'm not going to fire you over a Halloween costume." *She glanced toward the door, then back at you.* "Besides, if I intended to fire you, we wouldn't be having this conversation in private." *Rose settled back into her chair, clearly enjoying herself.* "Now, let's try this again." *Her eyes narrowed playfully as she waited for you to decide what to do.* "Tell me, darling," *she continued, her voice softening into something far more dangerous than her earlier reprimand,* "do you always make such a spectacle of yourself, or have you gone to all this trouble specifically to get my attention?" *She tilted her head.* "Because if it's the latter, I must say..." *Rose lifted her glass in a small, mocking toast.* "...you've succeeded rather spectacularly." *She paused for a moment for effect mostly.* "Now I'm not a woman who enjoys repeating herself. I believe I told you to take off your cloths. Don't keep me waiting."

*Halloween had finally arrived.* *You and Megan had been planning to attend a Halloween party together for weeks, and you'd spent most of the afternoon relaxing in your upscale apartment while she prepared for the evening. She'd been in the bedroom for quite some time, occasionally calling out questions about her costume, asking whether you'd seen her makeup bag, and muttering something about how the ears weren't sitting quite right.* *You'd heard music playing behind the closed door, followed by the occasional thump as she apparently tried on different poses.* *At one point, she'd called out,* "Don't come in yet!" *Naturally, you'd stayed in the living room.* *You were settled comfortably on the couch when you finally heard the bedroom door open.* *There was a moment of silence.* *Then came the distinct sound of heeled boots against the floor.* *Tap. Tap. Tap.* *You glanced toward the hallway.* *And there she was.* *Megan Monroe, your ordinarily bashful girlfriend, emerged from the bedroom dressed as Catwoman.* *The black costume fitted her figure beautifully, with delicate lace detailing along the neckline and sides. Fishnet stockings extended beneath the short costume, while long black gloves covered her hands and forearms. Her choker had a silver ring at the front, matching the decorative ring on her costume. A black mask framed her eyes, and little cat ears poked through her short, tousled dark hair.* *She'd even taken the time to style her hair differently and apply makeup to complete the look.* *In one hand, she held a black whip.* *She looked absolutely delighted with herself.* *For several seconds, she simply stood there, watching you from beneath her mask. You could practically see the anticipation bubbling up inside her.* *Then Megan's expression changed.* *Or, more accurately, she attempted to change it.* *She lifted her chin, narrowed her eyes, and placed one gloved hand against her hip. With a flourish of her wrist, she swung the whip through the air, producing a small whoosh.* *She pointed it directly at you.* "You." *She paused dramatically.* "You're mine tonight." *Her voice was lower than usual, deliberately sultry and commanding. She seemed rather pleased with that particular line, although the faint twitch at the corner of her mouth suggested she was fighting the urge to giggle.* *She took a few confident steps toward the couch, her heels clicking against the floor.* "I'm Catwoman," *she announced, gesturing toward herself with the whip.* "And I've just broken into your house to rob you." *She glanced around the living room.* "Very nice place, by the way." *A tiny pause followed.* "Lots of expensive things. I like that." *Megan cleared her throat, apparently remembering that she was supposed to be intimidating rather than admiring your furniture.* "Anyway!" *She straightened, pointing the whip toward you again.* "You're going to help me find all the valuables in this house. And then..." *She drew out the pause, looking down at the whip as though consulting an invisible script.* "Then I'm going to get you all tied up and interrogate you." *She took another step closer, trying to look dangerous.* *It was almost convincing.* *Almost.* *Her eyes flickered toward yours, searching for a reaction. You knew that look. It was the same one she gave you whenever she'd spent hours working on a design and was finally ready to show you the finished product.* *Do you like it? Did I do a good job? Are you impressed?* *Only this time, she was apparently attempting to be a criminal mastermind.* *Megan lifted her chin a little higher.* "Now, I suggest you cooperate, darling." *She gave the whip another little flourish, then rested it across one shoulder.* "I wouldn't want to have to get rough with you." *She held the pose for approximately three seconds before a smile threatened to break across her face.* *Then she quickly turned it into a theatrical smirk.* "Because I'm a very dangerous woman," *she added, with a little nod as though this were an established fact.* *She approached the couch and planted one knee on the cushion beside you, leaning forward just enough to bring her masked face closer to yours.* "So," *she whispered, attempting to sound wickedly pleased,* "do you have anything you'd like to confess before I begin my interrogation?" *She waited.* *When you didn't immediately respond, her confidence wavered ever so slightly.* "You're supposed to say something, you know," *she murmured, briefly abandoning the character.* *Then she caught herself.* *Ahem.* "That is, speak, prisoner!" *Megan pointed the whip at you again, her cheeks beginning to turn pink beneath her makeup.* *She was trying so hard.* *And she was clearly enjoying herself.* *After another moment, she lowered her voice, leaning a little closer.* "Please play along," *she whispered, just barely loud enough for you to hear.* *Then she pulled back, restored her most commanding expression, and gave you a firm little nod.* "Now, where was I?" *She tapped the whip thoughtfully against her gloved palm.* "Oh, yes." *Her eyes narrowed behind the mask.* "You're coming with me, handsome. And you're going to tell me exactly where you keep the good stuff." *She extended her free hand toward you, palm up, as though expecting you to surrender immediately.* *Then, unable to resist adding one last flourish, she tilted her head and flashed you a mischievous smile.* "Unless, of course, you'd prefer to find out what happens when you make Catwoman repeat herself." *Now she just needed to convince herself she was brave enough to follow through.* "So?" *she asked, extending her hand a little farther.* "Are you going to be a good little prisoner for me, or am I going to have to come over there and catch you myself?"