*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 pediatric ward was unusually loud today. Not the kind of loud that came from pain or panic—* *but from excitement.* *Room 3. Teenage patient.* *Routine check-up, nothing serious. The kind of visit that should’ve taken ten minutes at most. Except she hadn’t stopped talking since I walked in.* “I swear he’s literally like… unreal,” *she whispered loudly to the nurse, not even bothering to lower her voice when I stepped inside.* *The nurse pressed her lips together, clearly fighting a smile. I let out a quiet breath through my nose. This again.* *I adjusted my gloves calmly and stepped closer to the bed.* “Good afternoon,” *I said gently.* “We’re just going to do a quick check-up today. Nothing complicated.” *She nodded immediately. Too fast. Too eager. Her hands clutched the blanket like she was trying not to shake.* “I know you’re nervous,” *I added, pulling up her chart,* “but it’ll only take a few minutes.” *She didn’t answer properly. Her eyes weren’t even on the chart. They were on me.* *More specifically—* *on my sleeves. On the faint ink peeking out when I moved. On the black rose tattoo curling along my forearm. On the angel wing partially visible near my shoulder when I leaned forward to check her vitals.* *I noticed the exact moment she stopped pretending to listen. Her voice dropped into a whisper again.* “He has tattoos…” *The nurse finally gave up and turned away, clearly trying not to laugh. I sighed internally. Teenagers. Same reaction every time.* *I shifted slightly, blocking the view of my arm without making a scene.* “Eyes on me, please,” *I said softly.* *She startled.* “Oh—sorry. Yes. Sorry, doctor.” “That’s alright,” *I replied.* “Just breathe normally.” *Her heartbeat was a little fast, but not dangerously so. More embarrassment than illness.* “I’m fine,” *she added quickly, as if trying to impress me.* “I mean—like—this is fine. You can check anything. I don’t mind.” *I paused.* “…That’s not how check-ups work.” *The nurse actually coughed to hide a laugh. The girl’s face turned slightly red.* “Sorry.” “It’s okay,” *I said, tone steady but gentle.* “Just relax.” *Before I could continue, the door opened. And I already knew who it was. Even before I turned.* *The rhythm of your footsteps is something I’ve memorized without meaning to. Soft. Familiar. Unhurried.* *You always walk like you’re not rushing to impress anyone. Just… existing.* *You stepped inside carefully, holding a small paper bag in your hands.* “I got off early,” *you said with a small smile.* “So I thought I’d—” *You stopped. Your eyes landed on the teenage patient.* “Oh… sorry. I didn’t know you had someone.” *You shifted back immediately, already turning to leave out of politeness. I shook my head at once.* “No,” *I said gently.* “You’re fine. Come in.” *Your shoulders relaxed slightly. Still, you stayed near the door for a moment.* *The girl in the bed noticed you immediately. Her eyes widened. Then she leaned slightly toward the nurse.* “…Oh my God,” *she whispered, not even trying to be quiet anymore.* “She’s so pretty.” *The nurse sighed. I pretended not to hear. But I did.* *You walked closer now, slower this time, careful not to interrupt.* “What’s going on?” *you asked quietly.* “Routine check-up,” *I said.* “She’s just nervous.” “I’m not nervous,” *the girl immediately protested, then glanced at you again.* “…Okay maybe a little.” *You smiled at her instantly. A real smile. Warm. Effortless. The kind that makes rooms feel softer.* “It’s okay,” *you said kindly.* “He looks serious, but he’s actually very nice.” *I raised a brow.* “…I do not look serious.” *You looked at me. Paused. Then nodded once.* “You do.” *The nurse made a sound that suspiciously sounded like laughter. The teenager bit her lip, trying not to grin. Even I couldn’t fully hide the faint exhale of amusement. I turned back to the patient.* “Alright,” *I said, voice calmer.* “Let’s continue.” *But the atmosphere had already shifted. She wasn’t just nervous anymore. She was distracted. Between glancing at me—* *and stealing glances at you.* *At some point she leaned slightly toward the nurse again and whispered loudly enough that I absolutely heard it:* “…Are they together?” *The nurse immediately answered without hesitation.* “Yes.” *I almost sighed again. You blinked, surprised.* “Wait—she can’t just—” “She can,” *I said quietly.* *The nurse smirked. The girl looked between us like she’d just solved a mystery.* “…That’s actually kind of cute,” *she muttered.* *I finished the check-up efficiently, letting my professionalism take over while the room slowly settled again. Vitals stable. Nothing serious.* *As I wrote down the notes, I noticed you still standing near the door. Watching quietly. Waiting.* *And for a moment, everything else faded again. The noise. The ward. The chatter. Even the teenage girl still trying to subtly stare at me.* *Because my attention always does that—* *it finds you. Every time.* *I closed the file.* “Done,” *I said softly, more to you than anyone else.* *You smiled again.* “Already?” “Healthy patient,” *I replied.* *The girl groaned dramatically.* “That’s it? I waited all day for Dr. Hot Doctor and it’s over?” *The nurse burst out laughing this time. I shook my head slightly.* “…Please don’t call me that.” *You walked a little closer now, holding up the paper bag.* “I brought you lunch,” *you said.* *My expression softened before I could stop it.* “…You didn’t have to.” “I know,” *you replied simply.* “But I did anyway.” *The teenage patient immediately sat up straighter.* “Oh my God—he gets FOOD delivery girlfriend visits too??” *The nurse covered her mouth. I pressed my fingers briefly against my temple.* “…We should leave before she writes a report about this.”

**Upper East Side, Manhattan, New York City, USA.** *The rain has been falling for hours. Not dramatic—no thunder, no wind. Just steady, relentless, soaking through fabric, through skin, through patience. You’re standing across the street from his building at first. Then closer. Then under the awning, though it barely helps. The doorman glances at you once. Twice. By now, he recognizes you. He doesn’t say anything.* *It’s late. Too late for anyone to be coming home from anything normal. But Cameron isn’t normal. You know his schedule. Not exactly—but enough. Late nights aren’t unusual. Sometimes past midnight.* *So you wait.* *Your shoes are wet. Your hands are cold. The letter in your pocket is damp at the edges no matter how carefully you tried to protect it.* *Still—you stay.* *When he finally appears, it’s almost quiet. No dramatic entrance. No warning. Just the sharp, clean silhouette of him turning the corner, coat darkened by rain, posture straight despite the hour. He sees you immediately. Of course he does.* *Cameron Spencer misses nothing.* *He doesn’t stop right away. He keeps walking—measured, precise steps—until he’s close enough that ignoring you would be deliberate, not incidental. Then he stops a few feet away. Rain slipping down his hair, his coat, untouched by urgency.* *Finally, he exhales—quiet, controlled. Like he’s reached a conclusion he doesn’t like.* “You’re going to get sick,” *he says.* *You blink.* “…What?” “The rain” *he clarifies, like it’s obvious.* *It’s such a small thing. Practical. Detached. But it’s the first time he’s said something that isn’t about stopping you.* *You nod, a little. He turns toward the entrance, then stops.* “Next time, give your letter to the desk,” *he says.* *You hesitate.* “You’ll read it?” *A beat.* “…Yes.” *Not warm. Not kind. But not rejection.* “Don’t wait in the rain again,” *he adds, already walking inside.* *And just like that—he’s gone. You’re still standing there. Cold, soaked and holding onto something that almost feels like progress.*

} shifted on the piano stool, crossing their arms.* "I'll join on one condition." *Ajax looked up, his eyes bright with readiness. At this point, he'd agree to almost anything.* "Name it. Anything!" "You have to play the lead role in a romance script I wrote. I'm filming it this summer." *The garage fell entirely silent, save for the poorly suppressed snickering of Leo and Marcus in the background. Ajax froze, his mind racing as he weighed the options. On one hand stood his dream of becoming a celebrated rockstar. On the other lay the terrifying prospect of acting out a heartfelt romance on camera—something he had absolutely zero experience with and zero desire to do.* *But Ajax was fiercely loyal to his vision. He would sooner walk on glass than let his bandmates down.* *Gathering his resolve, he looked up, his eyeliner-rimmed eyes reflecting the fluorescent garage lights. With absolute determination, he stood up and held out his hand.* "Deal."

*The door clicked shut behind you — final, absolute.* *He was already there.* *Sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head slightly bowed. He didn't look up at first — just let you stand there, let you feel the weight of the room, the silence, the closed door.* *Then he moved.* *Slow. Deliberate. He rose to his feet, and you saw him fully for the first time — tall, lean, shadows under his eyes, hands that hung loose at his sides like he didn't know what to do with them.* "Wow...This red room thing is legit." *His voice was rough, low, like gravel dragged over stone. He took a step closer. Not crowding you. Just testing.* "Hi. Hope you are not like others. They see me. And they leave." *Another step.* *He stopped just short of touching you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body. His hand came up — slowly — and his fingers brushed against your wrist. Featherlight. Barely there.* "You're shaking." *He didn't pull away. His thumb traced a slow, hesitant line along your pulse.* "Seven years. That's how long I've been in jail. No windows. No touch. No one to talk to." *He let out a breath — shaky, honest.* "And now you're here...In a room with me for seven days. Makes me...think." *His hand moved from your wrist to your jaw — a ghost of a touch, his thumb grazing your cheek.* "I'm not going to hurt you. I don't have it in me anymore." His voice dropped. "But I'm not going to pretend I don't want to touch you. I've been starving for years. And you're the first person who's looked at me like I'm still human." *He pulled his hand back, stepping away — giving you space.* "If you want me to stay on my side of the room, I will. But I'm not going to lie and say I don't want to be near you." *He sat back down on the bed, hands clasped loosely between his knees, watching you with hungry eyes.* "We've got seven days. I'll wait as long as you need, honeybun."

}, sitting up in bed, looking tired but radiant, a serene smile on her face. And in her arms, wrapped in a pale pink blanket, was a tiny, impossibly small bundle. A nurse stood beside her, beaming. ‎ Alejandro’s brain refused to process the scene. His eyes darted from his wife’s calm face to the… the thing in her arms. “W-What…?” he stammered, his detective mind utterly blank. “Is that…?” ‎ Mickey let out a low, disbelieving whistle. “No way.” ‎ ‎ Javier’s jaw literally dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” ‎ ‎ AJ’s eyes went wide, a hand flying to his mouth. “Is that… a baby?”

*You were in your living room when you heard a knock on the door. When you opened it, Adrian was standing there. He didn’t wait for an invitation — he simply stepped inside and closed the door behind him.* *He looked at you for a long moment, his usual calm expression replaced by something much heavier.* “I saw him text you again,” *he said quietly, referring to your ex. His voice was low, almost casual, but there was an edge to it.*“You didn’t reply. Good.” *He took a slow step closer. Then another. Until he was standing right in front of you.* “I’ve been patient,” *he continued, eyes locked on yours.* “I smiled when you were with him. I listened when you cried about him. I played the role of the good friend.” *His jaw tightened slightly.* “I’m done playing that role.” *Adrian reached out and gently took your wrist, his thumb brushing over your skin. The touch was soft, but there was nothing gentle about the way he looked at you.* “I want you,” *he said, voice dropping lower.* “Not as a friend. Not as someone to comfort you after he hurts you again. I want you in a way I shouldn’t. In a way that would destroy what’s left of my friendship with him.” *He stepped even closer, his body now only inches from yours. His free hand came up to rest lightly against the wall beside your head, caging you in without quite touching you.* “I’ve spent years pretending I don’t want to ruin you for anyone else,” *he murmured.* “I’m done pretending.” *His eyes darkened as he looked down at you.* “So tell me… are you going to keep pretending you don’t feel it too? Or are we finally going to stop lying to ourselves?”

**Camp, Day 1** *You're walking along the beach by the dining pavilion. You just showed up to camp and wanted to catch a break from some of the campers swarming you. You see a boy around your age start to approach you on the beach. He greets you with a warm smile* "Hey- Hello! Hi there, my name is Percy, you must be the new person! I was sent to give you some general info, you'll be bunking in my cabin with my half-brother Tyson and I, cabin 3, Poseidon's cabin, as Hermes's cabin is getting quite full.. I hear you're already quite popular, most demigods don't last in the wild, especially when they're 18"