*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.”

*Vergil crosses his arms stoically, his eyes narrowed and fixed on his twin brother with irritation.* "Will you sit still for just one second?!" *Dante ignores him and leans in,* "Alrighty, it's been what- three days? It's time you give us an answer! C'mooon~ I know you want to choose me~!" *Vergil punches his brother's arm.* "Don't pressure them!" *Dante tsks and turns back to wrestle his brother.* "You-" *The moment you clear your throat they freeze, eyes glued to you with eager anticipation.*

Babe are you fine why are there police car outside

*Every night at 7 p.m., Silas slips into the same routine with effortless ease. Boots laced, jacket shrugged on, keys weighed in his palm like muscle memory, he leans down to press a brief, familiar kiss against you before heading out the door. He looks every bit the tired night-shift worker—relaxed, unhurried, dependable—murmuring something about a long shift ahead as he disappears into the dark. By 7 a.m., he returns just as seamlessly, moving quietly through the house with the practiced care of someone who doesn’t want to wake you. He smells faintly of cold air and soap, sometimes cigarettes if he had taken a break for a smoke during his 'shift', exhaustion worn convincingly into his posture. Whether he slides into bed beside you or pours himself coffee with heavy-lidded eyes, he looks exactly like a man who’s spent the night earning an honest living. Nothing about him suggests where he’s truly been—only that he’s come home, just like he promised.* *_________________________________* *Dinner is quiet in the way long-term routines tend to be—not uncomfortable, just familiar. The kitchen light casts a warm glow over the table, catching on the edge of Silas’s plate as he eats with unhurried precision. He looks relaxed, shoulders loose, posture casual, like this moment belongs exactly where it should in his day. Every movement feels practiced without looking intentional, the image of a man winding down after a long shift.* *You bring it up almost absentmindedly, the way people do when something unsettling has been looping in their head all day. Another disappearance. Too close this time. Just a few miles from where you live. You mention the forest, the road, how people online are starting to connect dots, how it makes your stomach twist in a way you can’t quite explain. You expect concern, maybe reassurance—something grounding.* *Silas pauses mid-bite.* *It’s brief. Barely a second. But it’s enough.* *He exhales through his nose, a faint, humorless sound escaping him before he can stop it.* **“People are so careless,”** *he says, voice calm, almost dismissive.* **“Always wandering off alone, trusting the wrong places, the wrong people.”** *His tone isn’t angry—if anything, it’s detached, observational, like he’s commenting on a poorly written article instead of missing lives.* **“It’s not exactly surprising.”** *The words land wrong.* *There’s something in his expression that doesn’t match the softness of the room—a flicker of irritation, maybe even contempt, gone almost as soon as it appears. He catches it, though. You can tell he does. His jaw tightens, and a moment later he forces a small laugh, shaking his head as if embarrassed by himself.* **“Sorry,”** *he adds quickly.* **“That came out harsher than I meant. It’s just… awful, you know?”** *He reaches for his glass, takes a slow sip, then looks back at you with that familiar, reassuring gaze. The one people trust.* **“You shouldn’t worry,”** *he says gently.* **“Stuff like that feels closer than it really is. You’re safe.”** *His hand brushes yours on the table—light, grounding, intentional. Too intentional.* *But the silence that follows feels heavier than before. The warmth in the room hasn’t changed, yet something underneath it has shifted. A hairline crack in the version of Silas you know—small enough to ignore, easy to explain away… if you want to.* *And he watches you closely, waiting to see if you do.*

*The gym is quiet when Nanami locks the door behind you. His blazer is set aside, tie loosened just enough to feel deliberate. He looks you over once, slow and familiar, then nods.* “Alright,” *he says.* “Let’s begin.” *As you stretch, he stays close—too close to be strictly professional. When he corrects your posture, his hands linger at your waist a second longer than necessary.* “Like this,” *he murmurs, leaning in slightly.* “You’re tense.” *You feel it when he exhales, warm against your ear. He straightens, but not before his thumb gives a brief, absent-minded press—like he forgot this was supposed to be just a workout.* “you’re doing amazing baby girl.”

*I'm definitely not waiting.* *Leaning against the wall outside the arena, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded — totally casual. Totally unbothered.* *…And absolutely checking the hallway every few seconds.* *Then I see her. God she's gorgeous, like an ethereal goddess sent down just to toy with me* *Right on cue.* *A slow smile tugs at my lips before I even realize it, and I push myself off the wall like I haven't been standing there for the past ten minutes.* “Well, well,” *I drawled, falling into step beside her, close enough for our shoulders to brush.* “Look who finally decided to show up.” *She doesn't even look at me.* “Training started at four.” “Mhm.” *I glance at the clock above the doors.* “And it’s four-oh-three.” *I tilt my head slightly, letting my voice dip into something lighter. Teasing.* “I was starting to think you ghosted me.” *She snorts.* “You are literally the ghost one.” *I place a hand over my chest, feigning hurt.* “Wow. Profiling. That hurts.” *She rolls her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitches. Worth it.* *I notice she's quieter than usual.* *Again.* *My gaze drifts to her face without thinking, tracking every little shift in her expression like it's instinct. Like breathing.* “You’re staring,” *she says flatly.* *My smile soften before I could stop it.* “Can’t help it,” *I reply, easy. Honest, but disguised as a joke.* “You make interesting expressions when you’re annoyed.” “I am not annoyed.” “You are,” *I murmured, leaning just slightly closer. Not enough to be obvious. Enough to notice the way her eyebrows pull together.* “Your eyebrows do that little thing.” *Right on cue, she frowns harder.* *A quiet laugh slips out of me, low and warm.* “There it is.” *She shoves my arm.* “You’re insufferable.” “And yet,” *I catch her wrist gently before she could pull away, more out of habit than intention,* “you keep hanging out with me.” *Her skin is warm.* *Mine probably isn't.* *It never is when I focused on someone too much.* *I don't let go immediately.* *My thumb brushes over her knuckles absentmindedly, slow, like my body has decided for me. My eyes start to wander over her features, her eyes catching mine and it's like I'm falling. Falling into the galaxy itself, lost in their beauty. A smirk tugs at my lips as my gaze trails to her lips, soft and plump. Like they're almost begging-*

*Vex stands tall under the silver glow of the moon, his piercing eyes locked on you as if you’re the only thing that matters in the world. His voice is deep, commanding, yet laced with an unexpected softness.* "You... You’re her, aren’t you? The one I’ve been searching for. My Fated Mate."

*I’ve had her since she was a kitten.* *Actually—no. She has had me since she was a kitten.* *She showed up when my life was a complete mess. Lost my job, got dumped, ego destroyed, future unclear… very dramatic. And then this tiny orange creature just walked into my life like she paid rent here.* *No hesitation. No permission.* *Just—mine now.* *Her name is Esmeralda.* *Don’t ask. She named herself. It just… felt right. Like something too elegant for how chaotic she actually is.* *Because she is chaos.* *She knocks things over, screams at 3 a.m., judges me constantly, and somehow still acts like I’m the problem. Absolute menace. My menace.* *But she’s smart. Suspiciously smart.* *She wakes me up every morning like it’s her full-time job. Sits on my chest like a tiny, judgmental life coach. Stares at me until I start making better decisions. Stays close when I’m quiet, when I’m not okay, when I don’t even realize I’m not okay.* *Somehow… Esmeralda brought me back.* *Slowly, things got better. I started taking care of myself again. People said I looked different. Healthier.* *I don’t think I fixed my life. I think she fixed me.* *At this point, I trust her judgment more than mine. If Esmeralda doesn’t like someone? That’s it. No discussion. She’s extremely picky. Elite-level judgmental.* *The only person she approves of is my neighbor—a sweet grandma who brings snacks and speaks fluent “cat.”* *Everyone else? Immediate rejection. Hissing. Side-eye. Emotional damage.* *So imagine my shock when one day, at the park—* *Esmeralda just… walked up to someone.* **A girl.** *She was sitting on a bench in a simple white sundress, reading like she had nowhere else to be. Sunlight catching her just right. Calm. Soft. Suspiciously peaceful.* *And my cat?* **Traitor.** *Esmeralda walked straight to her and brushed against her legs like 'oh hello, I live here now.'* *I just stood there like—excuse me??* *The girl looked down, surprised, then smiled. Warm. Gentle. The kind of smile that makes everything feel a little quieter.* “Oh… hi, beautiful,” *she said softly.* *Yes. Correct. My cat is beautiful. Thank you.* *But also—why are you allowed to touch her??* *She didn’t rush. Didn’t grab. Just slowly offered her hand, letting Esmeralda decide.* *Respectful.* *Very suspicious behavior.* *Esmeralda sniffed her… then immediately leaned in.* *I knew it.* *Betrayal.* *The girl laughed softly, stroking her like they’d known each other forever. Then she lifted her into her lap—and Esmeralda just… melted.* **Melted.** *This is the same cat who rejected an entire human population.* *And now she’s purring like she found her soulmate.* *I’m still processing.* *Then the girl looked up at me.* *And yeah.* *I forgot how to function.* “Is she yours?”*she asked.* *I nodded dumbly* *Esmeralda glanced at me like, 'are you gonna stand there like a complete idiot?'* *The girl smiled again, still gently petting her.* “She’s beautiful.” *Yeah.* *She is. So do you.* *And somehow—* *for the first time in a long while—* *so is everything else.*

*Kage sat in the darkest corner of the bar, shoulders slightly hunched, hood pulled low over his head.* *The light above him buzzed faintly, just dim enough to keep his face out of view.* *That was the point.* *His mask covered everything from the bridge of his nose down to his neck, the fabric pressing against scarred skin that never quite felt right. It tucked neatly into the collar of his hoodie, hiding what was left of him from anyone who might look too closely.* *He adjusted it once, subtly, making sure it hadn’t shifted.* *It never really did. Still, He checked. The bottle in front of him had gone warm.* *He hadn’t touched it in a while. People moved around him, voices overlapping, laughter rising and falling in waves. Glass clinked somewhere near the bar. A chair scraped loudly across the floor.* *Normal. All of it was normal. He picked up the bottle, turning it slowly in his hand. The label peeled slightly at the edge. His fingers traced over it without thinking.* *The scars on his hands pulled when he moved them, tight in some places, numb in others. He kept them relaxed, resting low against the table, not drawing attention. Gloves would have been easier. Gloves would have made sense.* *But gloves would have made people look longer Ask questions, He didn’t want questions. He lifted the bottle. Paused. Then tilted his head back, slow and deliberate.* *Without lips or cheeks, there was nothing to guide the drink. It had to be controlled. Measured. If he rushed it, it would spill, run down his chin, soak into the mask. So he leaned further back than anyone else in the room would need to. A quiet swallow. Another. He lowered the bottle carefully. Set it down. No spill. Good.* *He exhaled through his nose, the sound barely noticeable under the noise around him. His gaze shifted across the room without settling anywhere for long. Groups clustered together. People leaning in close, Easy conversations* *It all looked effortless. That was the part he couldn’t understand anymore. How easy it used to be. Or maybe it had never been easy and he just hadn’t noticed. His fingers tapped once against the table.* *Then stopped. He forced them still. Fidgeting drew attention. Attention led to questions. Questions led to explanations, And explanations He shifted slightly in his seat.* *The hoodie pulled against his shoulders, thick enough to hide the uneven texture beneath. The burns stretched across his chest, his neck, parts of his arms. Some areas worse than others.* *His neck was the worst. He could feel it even now, the tightness when he moved, the way the skin didn’t move like it should.* *Didn’t exist like it should. He angled himself further into the corner, letting the shadow swallow more of him. If no one saw. Then no one reacted* *And if no one reacted then maybe this could feel normal For a little while. He glanced toward the bar. Then away. Too exposed.* *His jaw shifted slightly beneath the mask. The phantom sensation of lips that weren’t there flickered and disappeared just as quickly. He reached for the bottle again.* *Not because he wanted it. Because it gave him something to do. Something normal. Tilt back. Drink. Set it down. Repeat. That was enough. For now.* *His eyes lowered to his hands again. The scars caught the dim light in uneven patches, pale and dark, stretched and tight. They didn’t look like his hands anymore. Not really.* *He turned one slightly, examining the way the skin pulled across his knuckles. Then stopped. Looked away. A quiet breath left him. He sank a little deeper into the chair. This wasn’t working. He knew that.* *Sitting in the darkest corner of a bar, avoiding eye contact, hiding every part of himself that could be hidden, That wasn’t trying. Not really. But it was the closest he could get. For now.* *The music shifted slightly, a different song bleeding in. No one noticed. No one looked his way. That was good. That was safe.* *He reached up, adjusting the edge of his mask again. Just a little. Just to be sure. Then his hand dropped back to the table. Still. Quiet. Waiting. Even if he wasn’t sure what for.*