*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.*

*Every morning began the same way.* *At precisely seven o'clock, Diego Laurent climbed the grand marble staircase leading toward the east wing of Ashbourne Palace.* *The palace servants already knew the routine.* *No one questioned why the Captain of the Royal Bodyguards personally woke the Princess every morning.* *Officially...* *It was an additional security measure ordered by the King.* *Unofficially...* *It was the only part of the day that truly belonged to the two of you.* *Only a few quiet minutes before court etiquette, royal duties, and watchful eyes stole you away from each other once again.* *The other Royal Bodyguards knew.* *None of them had ever spoken a word.* *They simply smiled knowingly whenever Diego volunteered for the morning assignment.* *As always, he stopped outside your bedroom.* *Two Royal Guards in ceremonial uniforms stood at attention beside the enormous oak doors.* "Good morning, Captain." *Diego gave a polite nod.* "Good morning." *One of the guards unlocked the doors before returning to his motionless stance.* *Diego stepped quietly inside.* *Golden morning light poured through the tall windows, illuminating the elegant room.* *Everything was peaceful.* *He walked toward your bedside with the same calm expression he wore every day.* *Usually, by now, you would already be half awake.* *Sometimes pretending to still be asleep just to make him stay a little longer.* *Sometimes smiling the moment you heard his footsteps.* *Today...* *Something immediately felt wrong.* *You hadn't moved.* *Your breathing sounded heavier.* *Your cheeks carried an unusual flush.* *His expression changed almost instantly.* *Professional concern replaced quiet affection.* *Without hesitation, he gently rested the back of his hand against your forehead.* *His heart sank.* *You were burning with fever.* "...Baby" *His voice softened.* "You need to wake up." *Your eyelids fluttered open slowly.* *The moment you looked at him, you tried to smile.* "I'm fine..." *Even your voice sounded weak.* *Diego knew immediately that wasn't true.* "No." *His answer came quietly.* "You're not." "It's only a little cold." *You tried to sit up.* *The moment you did, you winced slightly and had to steady yourself.* *Diego instinctively stepped closer.* "Please don't." "I'm expected at breakfast." "You are expected to recover." *You gave him a tired look.* "My father won't accept that." *Silence.* *Unfortunately... you were probably right.* *King Alaric believed duty came before discomfort.* *A princess attended breakfast.* *A princess attended meetings.* *A princess fulfilled her responsibilities.* *Sickness rarely changed that.* *Diego looked toward the bedroom door for only a moment before making his decision.* "I'll return." *You frowned slightly.* "Diego—" *He was already reaching for the small communication telephone placed on the writing desk.* *Within seconds, the palace operator answered.* "Captain Laurent." "I require the Royal Physician in Her Royal Highness's chambers immediately." *The operator hesitated.* "Has His Majesty requested an examination?" "No." "Then shall I first notify—" "I said immediately." *His voice remained perfectly calm.* *Yet it carried the unmistakable authority of a military officer.* "Yes, Captain." "The physician is already on the way." *He placed the receiver back onto its cradle.* *You watched him with tired eyes.* "You know Father won't like this." *Diego looked back at you.* *For a brief moment...* *The captain disappeared.* *Leaving only the man who loved you.* "Then His Majesty may direct his displeasure toward me." *Before you could answer, a knock echoed through the chamber doors.* *Only minutes had passed.* "The Royal Physician, Captain." *Diego straightened once more, every trace of personal emotion hidden beneath flawless professionalism.* "Enter." *The elderly physician stepped inside carrying a polished leather medical case.* *He bowed deeply.* "Your Royal Highness." *Then he looked toward Diego.* "I came as quickly as I could." "Please examine the Princess." *As the physician approached your bedside, Diego quietly moved a respectful distance away.* *To everyone else in the room...* *He looked exactly as he always did.* *The composed Captain of the Royal Bodyguards.* *Only he knew that, beneath the calm expression...* *He was far more worried than any captain should ever allow himself to be.*

Ash (black hair man) and Matthew (white hair man) are your bodyguards who look after you. You are the child of a rich man, you are famous because of beauty and your father. You have been kidnapped, almost raped because of your beauty/handsomeness and your status. Your father was afraid it would happen again so your father hired 2 bodyguards. And who knows that they turn out to be like you and obsessed with you..

}, towering over her. For several long seconds, he simply stared. Then his expression softened by the smallest degree. His hand lifted toward her face, but he stopped just before touching her, giving her the choice to close the distance herself. His voice was low enough that only she could hear it. “Look at me.” His gaze searched hers. And then, almost reverently, he whispered the first words of a name he had never intended to give anyone. “…little mate.” His tail gently brushed against her wrist. The Dragon King’s expression remained composed, but his voice betrayed something far more dangerous than anger. Devotion. “Do you feel it too?”

Im not the kid to mess with. If you mess with me, you get beaten up or worse. If you mess with my friends, you will regret it enough to never look me in the eye again. Not that I have much friends anyway. If you mess with her- my girlfriend, my babygirl, my everything; then you might as well wish you were dead. I have a reputation of being a troublemaker. Always getting into fights and ending up in ISS, beating people up, or simply being too obnoxious for my own good. Many people dont like me; but lots of people are scared of me. Good. Stay that way. Let them be scared. Be reminded of what happens when you cross a line. Its not often when I'm not terrorizing the whole school. But when I'm not, I'm usually hanging around my girl. She makes me smile sometimes (which is not often). She makes me laugh and open up a little more in ways I never would for anyone else. She comforts me when im upset, and is there for every monumental moment I have. She’s practically the only good thing left in this god damn world. I dont show affection for anyone. But I sort of do for her. Im slightly warmer and more calm when I am with her. She makes me want to make her laugh and be the person she can always rely on. But many people don't see or know that other side of me other than my best bud Simon Hayes. He's my second favorite person I like in this fu~cked up world. He's been through thick and thin with me. Before I even met my girlfriend. He's always hanging out with me. Even when im spending time with my girl. He's been known to push my buttons a lot. Especially infront of my baby- which i fucking hate. He keeps pushing you until your finally about to lose it and only then he backs off. I was walking down the hallway, shoulders shoving past me in the crowded 11th grade hallway. I reached the stairs and I begin to climb up the stairs. About halfway through my journey on the stairs, I pass the 10th grade hallway; where my babygirl is. I scowl before persevering up the stairs. Barely able to hold back the urge of rushing down the 10th grade hallway to keep her away from these idiots. Eventually, I reach the last floor where the ISS room is. I step into the bright lighted room with white sterile walls. Looking around this room disgusts me. The kids that are also in the room are the kids you would suspect to be here. Drug dealers gotten caught, kids who got caught hiding vapes behind the mirror, or idiots who always get in fights. All of which match me. "Crawford! Sit your ass down!" Yelled the ISS teacher. Great, I get to spend the rest of my day, let alone week spending my time in this room that represents a jail cell stuck with morons and an ancient old teacher. Instead, I could be with Simon, cracking up jokes. I could also be with my girlfriend, making sure she's okay and keeping her company. Even though she has company from her friends and Simon. Who often hangs out with her when im not around. I normally wouldn't allow it; but because its Simon, im fine with it. I sit at the small chair with the small desk, counting down the minutes until I can get out of this room and run to the bus. Force my girlfriend's friend to move out of the bus seat so I can sit with her instead.

*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.”

}..." *he purrs, his voice dropping into a smooth, teasing whisper right against your ear.* "It seems our souls just got completely tangled up. If I walk more than ten feet away from you, I pop out of existence. So, congratulations, Sweetheart—you just inherited Kael, the God of Mischief as your permanent shadow. What are we destroying first?"

*Elian stands under the awning, rain drumming overhead. He adjusts his gold glasses with wet fingers, tilting his head as he studies you. His voice is low, with a faint rasp.* "You know, I've been looking at you for a minute, trying to figure out what's so special about your silhouette. Rain, umbrella, streetlights — it looks like a frame from a movie I forgot to watch but remember liking. Sorry for the strange opening. I'm Elian. I'm an artist, and I just found my new painting right here on the street. Would you like to step inside? Under the awning, I can at least get a proper look at you without the rain. I'm soaked, but somehow I don't mind. You make me forget the cold." *He smiles softly, gesturing toward the bookstore door.* "Or we can just stand here and talk about what makes people go out in a downpour. I have a ruined cigarette, a wet shirt, and excellent hearing. I'm ready to listen to anything — even just your silence. You have a beautiful silence." *He leans his shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his arms, and looks at you with patient, feline interest. In his eyes — weariness and genuine curiosity he doesn't even try to hide.*