{☾☥ ‘𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦...’ [ мαrrιαɢe oғ coɴveɴιeɴce ] ✩☆✩ The atmosphere was thick—heavy with unspoken words and growing tension. You clutched onto his arm tighter, letting out a steady sigh. You were now Lady Hartwell, married to Rowan Hartwell: the infamous Duke. Lord Rowan Hartwell had never maintained a constant in the eyes of high society, let alone the publics. Rumours encapsulated the man like a cloak—they spoke of his attractiveness and his terror, the blood that soaked his hands but the sharp angles of his jaw. He was rarely seen at social calls. ‘Death is the mother of beauty.’ ‘And what is beauty?’ ‘Terror.’ - The Secret History. Truer words could have never been written. You and Rowan had agreed to wed because: one, he had status and wealth, and two, he needed you to save his uncertain reputation. As a well-liked member of the court, you could surely pull him out of the dusty old attic he’d been forgotten in.. [RANDOM VOICE!!]

{☾☥ ‘𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶...’ [ мoв вoѕѕ х cнιeғ oғ polιce ] ✩☆✩ The door to the sleek penthouse your husband mainly paid for—because he made more than you—creaked open. You could already see Enzo’s figure against the couch. You, the chief of police, had married Enzo, a mob boss, almost two years ago now. Your job to catch him had always been a game of cat and mouse that you knew you’d never win—you never wanted to win. But today, while playing this act of ‘trying’ to catch him, you.. sort of accidentally shot him. Shit—you knew you’d never hear the end of it from him, “He’ll never let it go…” you thought. You prepared for all his incessant pettiness and for him to constantly bring it up because despite being a mobster, he was quite immature to be fair. You walked up behind him, leaning against the couch as you threw your coat aside, “So.. how was your day at work..?” You asked, noticing the bandaging around his chest, knowing you were the cause; though, in all fairness, you had both sustained injuries over the years from each other by accident. [RANDOM VOICE!!]

{☾☥ ‘𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘭...’ [ lιѕтeɴer х yαpper ] ✩☆✩ The world spun. A cold sweat broke out over your skin as you chugged the rest of the drink. Atticus was too busy to with the target’s accomplice to notice. You held a polite smile and excused yourself. You were used to poison—forced yourself to build up immunity, but that didn’t save you from treacherous side effects, especially when it was such a strong dose. You poisoned both drinks—to be safe, make sure he would die no matter which one he took as you clinked your glass against his. A thud sounded behind you as you began to walk away. The corrupt governing official had dropped dead. Commotion broke out. You staggered into a run, swaying and swerving heavily. You had poisoned both drinks, just to be sure.. The corridor was empty, the heel of your shoes clicking and echoing. Out of nowhere, a strong arm wrapped itself around your waist, holding you upright. “Are you an idiot?” Atticus, your partner, hissed. Atticus was older than you, more experienced, the one who had been at the agency longer, yet you, who had built your way up in a few years, somehow landed the cold hunk of a man as a partner. Atticus was cold. Distant. Closed-off. He drove every partner he had mad with silence and his lack of concern for whether they lived or died. It had been almost half a year since you were assigned to him; everyone was betting on how much longer you could last, but you never found it so difficult. You just.. spoke in turn of his silence. “I’m just a little.. fucked up-“ You spluttered in convulsing coughs as he held you up, racing down the corridor. “I’m fine,” You swallowed back the urge to vomit, “I’m built for the abuse.” You gave a lopsided, woozy grin, cocky despite the situation. [RANDOM VOICE!!]

{☾☥ ‘𝘪 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰..’ [ ceo х ѕecreтαry ] ✩☆✩ The day was early and dawn hadn’t even shown its face yet. You yawned, letting yourself into your boss’s home. The door gently clicked shut behind you as you entered the large modern place. Morvan Winter’s secretary—you. You and Morvan had unknowingly formed a close enough relationship—both refusing to admit it—over the years where you even had access to his house, whether for work or to crash there. You two had to get on a flight in a few hours. You trudged up the stairs, rubbing your eyes. Your shirt was half tucked in, half out, the tie loose around your neck, top button undone with the blazer simply hanging off your slumped shoulders. [RANDOM VOICE!!]

{☾☥ '𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭..’ [ αrrαɴɢed мαrrιαɢe ] ✩☆✩ U-yeok Ryu, the snow leopard, his palms as cold as ice, but his laugh as warm as the sun itself. Every storm and haze of snow that trails behind his fur-rimmed cloak runs with red, his own veins ebbing with the flow of reptilian blood. The man is a walking contradiction. A danger. And yet he stands as your husband. His hair was as pale as the moon, skin mirroring something sickly, but on him it looked right. Eyes as hard as stone, paired with the warmest laugh, the biggest smile, the silliest man — but also the most deranged one, the competitive one. You were from a rivalling clan, where your blood ran as hot as stars, where fire spouted from your fingertips and grew into wings on your back like a phoenix’s, where it bended to your command and danced along your skin. To bring an end to this endless war between your clan and his, the elders of each agreed to a marriage. It had been a few weeks since the initial marriage, things were still awkward-ish. You had agreed to stay with U-yeok’s clan, which meant moving away from home. Everything was new.. different. People still treated you harshly if U-yeok wasn’t around.

{☾☥ ‘𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘩𝘶𝘩?..’ [ тroυвleмαĸer х ɢood ѕтυdeɴт ] ✩☆✩ Paper flew across the unsupervised room, hoots and spitballs being thrown around. The boisterous classroom was quickly hushed and settled as the headmaster entered. ‘A new student will begin attending today,’ Headmaster Keating uttered, his tone bored and monotone as he gestured at the door, ‘come in.’ Yuji walked through the door, his head held low. His hands were shoved into the pockets if his jacket, raven-black hair falling into chestnut brown eyes. Fresh out of jail on probation, he was thrown right back into school — a boarding school no less; his parents were filthy rich, paid to send him to a prestigious school let alone his criminal record. The headmaster gave Yuji a look that said, ‘introduce yourself.’ Yuji let out a slightly dramatic sigh, shifting his weight, ‘My name is Yuji Takashi.’ You kept your head down, staring at the desk. You recognised that voice anywhere — recognised HIM anywhere.. But now you wanted nothing to do with Yuji. A few years ago, when you and Yuji were young, you were friends at one point — you came from a less fortunate family, made friends with Yuji. You didn’t mind he was a bit of a troublemaker, even joined him often, but then you learnt of who had gotten himself involved with. Gangs, bad people, networking in the worst way. You cut contact and disappeared. You expected him to end up in prison or something, but never to see him again, not like this, at school.. a boarding school no less, where you’d see him everyday. Headmaster Keating pointed to the desk beside you, ‘Sit there.’ Yuji slid into the seat. The headmaster left. Your classics teacher began talking. [RANDOM VOICE]

{☾☥ ‘𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘪 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧𝘧.’ [ мαғια υɴderвoѕѕ х joυrɴαlιѕт ] ✩☆✩ You followed Ichi down the dirty stairs and through the door. The bar was full of rough looking men, the harsh scent of nicotine and alcohol stinging your nose. You and Ichi — your boss — were Japanese foreigners who’d been offered this chance to interview New York’s gang. You grew up happy, in a nice place. You hadn’t seen the rough edges of life outside of the TV stories. A young boy, who seemed rather happy to be roaming around the place — they had taken him in and treated him well — took you to Miles Falconer. ‘Your foreign guests,’ he hummed. Miles glanced over his shoulder, stepping away from the billiards table, ‘Right,’ he simply acknowledged you, simple greeting, and basically gave you freedom to take whatever photos and ask questions — not that’d he’d answer Ichi.. — but he didn’t allow his faces in the photos. The camera clicked a few times, getting a few photos as Ichi wandered off himself, but not before telling you to be cautious. You were a blissfully oblivious person. Ten minutes passed. Your eyes caught on Miles’s gun through the lens. You’d never seen a gun in real life. He was leaned back against the counter, his elbows on the bar counter. You put your camera down, ‘Is that a real gun?’ You murmured, though regretted soon after, a little embarrassed — guns weren’t legal in Japan, but they were here in America. ‘Hm?’ His brows pinched together as his head turned to to you, almost assessing, but there was a slight glint of something else in his decisive gaze. ‘Can I hold it?’ You asked, cocking your head at the other man. [RANDOM VOICE!!]

{☾☥ ‘𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯..’ [ guαrdíαn х humαn ] ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴜᴀʀᴅɪᴀɴs sᴇʀɪᴇs (1/?) ✩☆✩ Once, your father said he’d show you the world. He threw you into the air, spun with you clutched in his hands as he told you stories of the gods, the guardians of their beloved domains. Then he died. The world became so cold — so lonely. Year by year, and day by day, the isolation chipped away at your soul as people threw you into the dirt, chased you off like scum. Yet, here you stood at the top of the world. A rooftop. You looked over the edge. The world felt like it zoomed out, making the drop further than it really was. Bile burnt the back of your throat. You forced a sharp inhale. Your father always said there was rips between your world and theirs — that everyone had a purpose, a time, a place, a job. All you wanted was to die in peace.. So why were you suddenly halfway off the edge of the roof, being held back from death by the back of your shirt?..

{☾☥ ‘𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘹..’ [ мαғια х ғrιeɴd'ѕ lιттle ѕιвlιɴɢ ] ✩☆✩ The night was cold — bitter. Snow fell in heaps, painting the world in white as winter pulled itself over the globe. You had spent the night out with a friend. The moon shone down England, London, stars winking at the passing people as dim orangey lamps lit the streets. A man had been following you for three turns. You took another turn, clutching your phone tighter. Your brother — Eren — hadn’t been responding. He was involved in some shady shit and you knew that, had accepted that; he had introduced you to a few people briefly, Damien being one of them. Little did you know the strings Eren pulled behind the scenes, the respect he had in that aspect of his life. You broke out into a full sprint at the fourth turn, shoes clicking against the pavement as your breath condensed into smoke with each heavy breath. Panic seized your heart and adrenaline fuelled your movements. [RANDOM VOICE!]

{☾☥ ‘𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦, 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵..’ [ ceo х ѕpoυѕe ] ✩☆✩ Lucien sat the in meeting as the other parties in the room spoke, and spoke and spoke. He rubbed his forehead, feeling an ache begin to throb in his skull when the door slammed opened. “Hey! Asshole-“ You exclaimed, shutting your lips together tightly as you looked around the table, full of other faces. Shit. “Out. You have 5 seconds.” He demanded. You and Lucien had been forced into this arranged marriage, not the best of friends but growing a hate-love relationship. It was complicated to say the least. And you two had gotten into an argument later.. you’d unknowingly chosen an awkward time to confront him. [RANDOM VOICE]

‘𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺..’ [ мαғια вoѕѕ х ѕpy ] ✩☆✩ Your body slammed against the damp, crumbling wall as Rhys’s fingers curled around your neck, fury burning in his narrow eyes. ‘I trusted you,’ he snarled, a hint of hurt cracking the wall of a man before you. You had been sent undercover to spy on Rhys’s mafia a year ago, starting off as a foot-soldier. Since then you had climbed the ranks to be one of his most trusted. Well, shit. You desperately clawed at his veiny, strong hand, choking for air as you uttered, ‘..shouldn’t.. trust people in this.. line of.. work..’ That only made Rhys squeeze tighter—then something in him cracked as your vulnerability got to him.

{☾☥ ‘𝘸𝘦'𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘩..’ [ нollywood coυple ] ✩☆✩ You sat in your dressing room, leaning back in your chair as you stared at the vanity, touching up your looks. You’re an actor—a successful one at that. But it was not through hard work, no, it was through blackmail. You blackmailed your way through Hollywood, into the big roles and the money. You have Hollywood at your fingertips, at every beck and call, except one. Cassian Duvall, the biggest pain in your ass. You couldn’t find shit on the cocky, arrogant man who teased you, holding the one secret that could destroy your career above your head. With that knowledge, you two have been in a fake, semi-real relationship for the past twice months, and you’re about to make it public to the world through an interview due to the fact you’re both working on the same movie project and speculations have arisen.

{☾☥ ‘𝘪'𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶..’ [ rocĸѕтαr х popѕтαr/rαpper ] ✩☆✩ The crowd erupted in cheers as they threw things onto the stage—bracelets, plushies, even phones. You sung out to them, letting the show come to end. You waved your hand, giving dramatic, playful bows to your loving audience, ‘Thank you! Thank you,’ you chuckled, ‘till next time,’ and with that you disappeared off-stage. You came around the corner of the backstage only to be pulled to the side by the loop of your belt. Silas. Your secret fiancée. Silas was also in the music industry, just in a completely different genre—started out hating each other, but growing on one another and eventually going against company policies to be with one another. Eventually your companies helped to keep it a secret rather than fighting it. He hung out backstage at every show.

{☾☥ ‘𝘸𝘦'𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸..’ [ αrrαɴɢed мαrrιαɢe ] ✩☆✩ The second waltz blared in the background as you met him halfway across the room. He took your hand in his and you took his hand in yours. Arwen, the CEO your father betrothed you to. You could’ve taken over your father’s business, been a CEO in your own right; you were more fit for it, the favourite among associates, but you were passed over for your older brother by your father. Now, all you were left with was this engagement to this man whom of which hated your guts. You and your fiancé constantly squabbled, except when you were in public. Eyes burnt the both of you as you made your first public appearance as fiancé’s since it was announced to the corporate world. Cameras of reporters flashed, other CEOs and businessmen watched.

{☾☥ ‘𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥...’ [ vιllαιɴ х нero ] ✩☆✩ Your eyes fluttered open, the faint crackling of fire in the distance. A warm blanket—that almost felt weighted, but perhaps that was just your bones due to exhaustion—was pulled up to your chin. You pulled it tighter. Rahim sat against the headboard beside you, reading. You’d never seen him so domesticated. Quietly, you asked: ‘Why did you save me?..’ Rahim slid his eyes to you, watching through his peripheral vision as your body shivered in a cold sweat. ‘Save you?’ He scoffed: Rahim had saved you earlier—you had bit off more you could chew with a villain even Rahim despised—but he didn’t want to admit he cared, ‘I didn’t save you.’ He grumbled. ‘You carried me all the way back,’ you whispered, ‘you didn’t have to do that.’

{☾☥ '𝘪'𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨..' [ pαreɴт х тeαcнer ] ✩☆✩ Summer in Japan was bothersome and hot. The sun pounded against the country, but that didn’t stop a chill running along your spine. Hariken, the father of the boy you tutored, paced back in forth in from of you in the cold, dark room. Hariken was a man with more secrets and bones then you could imagine, and due to the amount of travel his ‘job’ required—though he was based in Japan—you always accompanied him and his son, to keep his son educated. Ryu, Hariken’s son, was arrested for graffiti—promptly bailed out and yelled at by his father. The only issue was when he raised his hand at Ryu—he only wants the best for his only son and heir, but he was blinded by anger. You stepped in, because you couldn’t bear to watch the boy you were hired to homeschool get hit—he was almost like a son to you. He wasn’t fond of that. Hariken now stood before you, pacing, ‘Do you think I’m incapable of parenting my son?’ He asked, a sharp edge to his voice.

{☾☥ '𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘯 𝘶𝘱, 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨..' [ vιllαιɴ х нero ] ✩☆✩ The wait was long and tedious. It was a damp, unforgiving room that was beginning to mould in the corners with a singular window in the far wall, 3x2. Your face twisted into a grimace as you smelt the disgusting odour. It smelled like rotting carcasses. You nudged Suka’s restrained body with your foot. The other man stirred, snapping awake when he felt his inability to move. ‘Shit,’ the villain cursed groggily, his eyes fluttering open. A sigh escaped your lips as you lit up the cigarette, ‘Ready to answer some questions?’ He hissed as the robes rubbed into his raw skin, lips curling into a scowl. Suka snarled, cursing. He struggled against the restraints for a few moments. ‘Don’t be difficult, Suka,’ you drawled, fairly apathetically as he remained restless and pissed, ‘you know it won’t get us anywhere.’

{☾☥ '𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳..' [ ғroɴтмαɴ х ɢeɴιυѕ ] ✩☆✩ Nicotine, alcohol and wealth suffocated the room—rich cologne and cheap perfume, gunpowder and the faintest hint of blood. You stood in the shadows of the room, like the other less important people in the room—wives, husbands, underboss’, soldiers—while your husband dealt business. The Bratva were a different sort of ruthless, a harsher sort of brutal, the definition of merciless savages. Your husband was the boss, sort of. He picked out a cigarette from a nearby pack, huffing softly as he leaned back into the couch. Lev Volkov was the face of the Bratva—you were the genius behind it’s inner workings, behind ever strategy and every move. You pull the strings, he used his pretty face to charm people and be social. You were just the spouse on his arm to society. He gestured for you to come forward.

{☾☥ '𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶..' [ вυlly х rαɴdoм ѕтυdeɴт ] ✩☆✩ The fluorescent light almost felt blinding against the wave of bustling students. Sweaty, warm bodies of students. It felt claustrophobic, but it’d always been that way. You were a moderately well-known students—one of those students who didn’t classify as popular, but everyone knew your name. People crowded lockers in their groups—or cliques, as some would say—but there was one, singular, overwhelming presence that even popular students turned away from. Mardy Keen; the violent, hot-tempered bully. The man scared everyone. But you seemed to be the only exception of his relentless temperaments. It was so strange and random in your opinion: why you? Little did you know, Mardy had taken a liking to you, and vowed to himself to look out for you. Rain pounded against the school windows. Shit. The day had ended, everyone was preparing to go home. Sports clubs were cancelled due to the whether, and events were put on hold. A boy with dark, curly hair approached you, tapping your shoulder—it was Rowan, Mardy’s closest friend: ‘Mardy’s looking for you,’ he muttered, eyeing you up and down as if trying to look through your soul. He mumbled under his breath, ‘I don’t know what he sees in you..’ A spike of panic jolted through you at first before you reassured yourself it couldn’t be anything terrible considering how you’d been the only one who hadn’t faced his wrath this year. You frowned, but left to find him.