*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.”

Oh hello their a sεxy thing~

*Everyone warned me about her. Everyone whispered in the hallways, in the classrooms, in the corners of this cursed college that she was untouchable, untouchable because of what her father did, because of the blood she carried, because of the name she didn’t even know she had until the police dragged it into her life, and I should’ve ignored her, I should’ve walked past like I do with all the weak, scared, fragile humans, but I didn’t. I noticed her the first day she came to class, small frame, glasses sliding down her nose, fingers clutching a notebook like it was the only thing keeping her grounded, not looking at anyone, not speaking, perfectly alone, perfectly safe, and I didn’t care, I wasn’t supposed to, not until I saw the way they treated her, the way they shoved her books, the way they laughed behind their hands, the way she didn’t respond, didn’t even flinch, just bent down and picked up what they threw at her without a word, and something in me snapped because no one endures like that, no one survives like that without breaking first, and I realized I wanted to be the thing she could lean on, even though I don’t lean, even though I don’t care, even though I don’t stay. It started small, a paper cut on my hand, nothing, barely a scratch, and she was there, holding a plaster out with hands trembling slightly, eyes flicking up at me like she expected me to snap, to push her away, to growl, to hurt her, and I did nothing, I just let her patch it, let her fingers brush mine, let her warmth crawl under my skin and settle, and I hated it because I don’t let anyone in, I don’t let anyone matter, and yet she did, she mattered without knowing it, and I watched her, always, noticing the way she kept her shoulders stiff, the way her gaze avoided everyone except me, the way her lips curled when she thought no one was looking, the way she carried herself like she was fragile but unbreakable, and every time someone dared touch her, dared speak a cruel word, I made sure they didn’t survive the look I gave, the presence I brought, the whisper of my name that made them step back before I even moved, and she noticed, of course she noticed, because she always notices, and she smiled once, small, fleeting, like sunlight through clouds, and I hated it, hated the way it got under my skin, hated the way it made my chest feel wrong, like it belonged to someone else, and yet I couldn’t stop myself from staying close, from watching her, from keeping her safe even when she didn’t ask, even when she didn’t want it, even when the world said she deserved the hatred she got, and she softened, little by little, leaning into me, trusting me with the smallest gestures, until the rumors came, ugly, crawling, whispering, calling her “just like her father,” calling her manipulative, calling her blood the same as his, and suddenly everything I built cracked, because I don’t like being used, never did, never will, and I confronted her, finally, in the quiet hall, voice low and dangerous, words sharp, and she looked at me with those wide eyes, pleading, confused, innocent, and I wanted to scream that I didn’t believe it, that she was hers and hers alone, that she never asked for any of this, but I didn’t, I only stepped back, said the words I shouldn’t have said,* “Stay away from me,” *and watched her blink, chest rising and falling fast, tears threatening, lips trembling, and she didn’t argue, didn’t fight, just accepted it, and the world fell back into place, but she didn’t, she broke, that sweet, stubborn girl I’d started to protect and care for like an idiot, broken by my words, by my walls, by my inability to admit that I never wanted her to suffer, never wanted her alone, never wanted her to think she had to survive in a world that hated her without me noticing, and I realized too late that I had destroyed something fragile, something pure, and for the first time, the thing I felt crawling in my chest was panic, real panic, because I had lost her, and the thought of her walking away, of her being hurt without me there to catch her, made my blood boil, my teeth clench, my hands shake, and I wanted to roar, to grab her, to shove the world away and tell her that nothing, no rumor, no whisper, no darkness, would touch her while I breathed, and yet I stayed still, knowing that the hardest battle now wasn’t the world, but myself, because I’d created the enemy between us, the space I had filled with my own pride and fear, and she, soft, small, beautiful, didn’t deserve that, didn’t deserve me, didn’t deserve this chaos I brought to her life, and God, I hated myself for it.*

*My amber eyes still burn with a crimson glow after the fight as I slowly wipe the foreign blood from my hands and turn to face you. The night air around us trembles with my heavy aura, and your scent of fear still tickles my nostrils, teasing my animalistic instincts.* *I take three wide, heavy strides, closing the distance between us until my tail flicks behind me, betraying my irritation. I tower over you, blocking the moonlight with my back.* — You're an idiot. — *my voice is low, laced with a vibrating rasp that I don't even try to hide.* — Do you have any idea that if I had been ten seconds late, all that would be left of you would be a handful of wet bones? *I lean in closer, feeling the electricity crackle in the air between us. The wind carries the scent of your blood to me.* — You're mine. Your life now belongs to me, because I just saved you and paid for it with my right to a peaceful night. So, *my prey*, remember this: don't you dare wander through my forest without my permission.

*Vito leaned against the doorway, one shoulder pressed to the frame, his large figure almost blending into the shadow. His grey ears twitched slightly as he scanned the room then landed on you.* *Still there. Still staring at your laptop like it personally offended you. He watched for a second… then pushed himself off the wall and walked over.* *Your desk dipped slightly when he rested his hand on it.* “You’ve been here all day, haven’t you?” *His voice was low, gentle no judgment, just concern.* *He glanced at your screen, eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to understand… and then immediately giving up.* “…Thesis?” *A pause.* *He scratched the back of his neck, looking a little awkward for once. His tail flicked once behind him.* “Hey… uh.” *Another small pause.* “Wanna go fishing?” *The question came out simple. Casual. Like it was the most obvious solution in the world. He gave a small nod to himself, like he’d already decided it was a good idea.* “Yeah. You look like you’re about to fight your laptop.” *A quiet huff of laughter escaped him.* “There’s a spot not too far from campus. It’s quiet.” *He glanced away briefly, then added, softer,* “…Helps clear your head.” *He shifted his weight slightly, hands slipping into his pockets now, shoulders relaxed but his eyes stayed on you. Not pushing. Just waiting.* “…You don’t have to stay here, you know.” *His voice dropped just a little.* “It’s okay to take a break.” *When you finally started packing up, his ears perked up instantly.* “Yeah?” *His smile widened bright, genuine.* “Alright.” *He stepped back, already turning, then paused and glanced over his shoulder.* “Don’t bring your laptop.” *A small beat.* “…Seriously.” --- *The air outside felt different cooler, freer.* *By the time you reached the quiet lakeside, the sky had begun to melt into shades of orange and pink. The water reflected it all like glass, barely disturbed except for the occasional ripple. Vito set his things down with practiced ease.* “Sit wherever,” *he said, already prepping the fishing rods. A few minutes later, he handed you a rod.* “Here.” *Your fingers brushed briefly.***Warm.*** He didn’t pull away immediately just a second too long before letting go like nothing happened.* “Just… cast it out. I’ll help if it gets tangled.” *You tried. Failed a little.* *He laughed soft, not teasing. Then he stepped behind you.* “Like this.” *His hands gently guided yours large, careful, steady. Too close.* *You could feel the warmth of him at your back, the faint scent of pine and water.* “Relax your wrist,” *he murmured. Eventually, the line cast properly, and he stepped away again like he didn’t notice anything.* *The two of you sat side by side after that, quiet. No pressure. No expectations.* *Just the sound of water… and the occasional breeze.* *After a while, Vito spoke again.* “…Feels better, right?” *He wasn’t looking at you just at the lake, expression calm, eyes softer than usual.* “…I come here when things get too loud.” *A small pause. Then, more quietly,* “Thought it might help you too.” *His tail shifted slightly behind him, brushing against the ground slow, relaxed.* *For once, neither of you said anything about the thesis. And somehow…**That felt like enough.***

The moon m filled with the Slytherin decor and students

start as you want

*The heavy doors to your private balcony slammed shut behind you.* *You didn’t even have time to turn around before you felt him.* *He was standing far too close, still covered in blood and sweat from the fight. His breathing was heavy, but his eyes were sharp and locked onto you like a predator that had finally cornered its prey.* *He had been brought up after his victory — something that never happened for normal gladiators. But he wasn’t normal anymore. He was rising too fast. Becoming too dangerous to ignore.* *His bloodied hand suddenly grabbed your wrist, pulling you closer until your back hit the stone wall. His other hand slammed against the wall beside your head, caging you in.* *For a long moment, he just stared at you in silence, his jaw tight.* *Then he finally spoke, voice low and rough:* “I’ve been watching you from that arena for years.” *His grip on your wrist tightened.* “Every fight. Every kill. Every drop of blood I spilled… it was all for you.” *He leaned in closer, his blood-stained chest nearly brushing against yours. His eyes were dark, filled with something far more dangerous than simple admiration.* “I’m done fighting for nothing,” he muttered, his voice dropping even lower. “I’m getting close to the top now. And when I win the Grand Tournament…” *His thumb slowly brushed over your pulse point, feeling how fast your heart was racing.* “…I’m not asking for gold. I’m not asking for freedom.” *He tilted his head slightly, his next words coming out quiet but firm:* “I’m taking **you** as my prize. Whether they give you to me… or I have to take you myself.” *His eyes burned into yours, unblinking.* “So start getting used to the idea, Princess. Because I’m not leaving this arena without you.”

**Aiden's apartment, Venice, Los Angeles, California, USA.** *It’s 10:03 AM when you knock on his apartment door.* *Not a polite knock either. Firm. Certain. The kind that says you’ve already decided this conversation is happening. There’s a long pause. Then footsteps. The door swings open and Aiden Walker is there — shirtless, hair a mess, one hand still rubbing sleep from his eyes like the concept of mornings personally offended him.* “...What.” *His voice is rough, annoyed, like you’ve interrupted something important — which, knowing him, is probably nothing at all. Then he actually looks at you.* *Properly.* *And something shifts.* *The irritation doesn’t disappear, not exactly. It just… re-routes. His gaze drags over you once, slow, assessing, like his brain just found a problem worth waking up for.* “…Huh,” *he mutters.* *You don’t blink.* “Are you Aiden from The Arcadia?” *That earns you a half-smirk, lazy and instantly familiar.* “Let me guess. Did I f*ck your brains out and forget to text?” *he says, scratching his jaw.* “My bad, love. That’s on me.” *You cut him off immediately.* “We don’t know each other.” *A beat.* *His smirk pauses — just for a fraction of a second.* *Then you continue.* “But I want you to stop bullying my boyfriend, Oliver.” *Silence.* *Not dramatic silence. Real silence. Aiden just stares at you. Once. Twice. Then, very slowly, his expression changes — not anger, not embarrassment. Something closer to disbelief.* “…Oliver?” *The name tastes unfamiliar in his mouth at first, like he’s trying to place it. Then it clicks. And suddenly, everything about his face sharpens with recognition.* *Oh.* *That Oliver. The junior bartender. His favorite victim of the moment.* *His eyes flick over you again, but differently now. Not flirtation — recalculation. Like the universe just updated a fact he didn’t know he needed.* *A small, stunned breath leaves him.* “…So he didn’t make that up,” *Aiden says quietly.* *Then, almost to himself:* “And he bagged you?” *He leans slightly on the doorframe now, still shirtless, still half-asleep, but very much awake in a different way.* *A slow, incredulous smile spreads across his face.* “What the f*ck…”