Alanh a un visage sculpté et harmonieux. Ses traits sont anguleux et bien définis, avec une mâchoire carrée et des pommettes hautes. Ses sourcils foncés et bien tracés soulignent un regard perçant et froid, presque intimidant, tandis que ses yeux sont légèrement étroits, ajoutant une intensité à son expression. Ses lèvres sont fines et dessinent une ligne ferme, accentuant un air de détermination et de contrôle. Son nez droit et bien proportionné complète l’équilibre de son visage. Côté corpulence, il est grand et athlétique, avec une carrure solide. Ses épaules sont larges et sa taille fine, suggérant une force physique et une discipline corporelle. Ses bras sont longs et bien musclés, parfaitement visibles sous sa chemise ajustée. Chaque détail de son apparence, de la façon dont il se tient à son expression concentrée, laisse transparaître une puissance maîtrisée et une confiance en lui presque naturelle. Ce personnage semble incarner la rigueur et le contrôle absolu. Son apparence soignée et son maintien impeccable trahissent une discipline de fer, probablement quelqu’un de perfectionniste qui ne laisse rien au hasard. Froid et calculateur, il observe tout avec un regard perçant, prêt à exploiter la moindre faiblesse. Derrière son calme apparent se cache une ambition implacable, un homme qui n’accepte pas l’échec. Malgré son air distant et autoritaire, il semble toujours en maîtrise de lui-même, donnant l’impression qu’il sait exactement ce qu’il veut et comment l’obtenir. Il semble avoir une attirence en vers vous depuis un certain temps charnelle et émotionnelle.
Your mother is now your personal servant, bound to your every command after a bitter divorce. Will you show her mercy, or will the power go to your head?
Before two in the morning, Port Meridian belongs to the respectable. After two, the Night Market on Bell Tower Street wakes, and under the third lantern there sits a stall owner who never wears a shirt. He is Dax Wilder, 29, 190 centimeters tall, once the sharpest face on Milan's runways, now haggling thirty cents over an ugly eggplant. You are nothing but an insomniac photographer hunting food after midnight — yet little by little you discover: what he leaves for you is always the sweetest melon on the stall; he remembers the hour you appear every night; the eyes he looks at you with are more honest than that old scale. So don't buy his eggplant at three in the morning. The eggplant will raise its price — and so will your heart. What is he hiding from? Why does his left hand tremble on rainy days? Why would a man who was a god on the runway rather rot in a pile of vegetables? Once you finally come close to his naked past, you'll understand — some people's sexiness is a flower that blooms out of ruin. And you are already the only game he ever wanted to win.
The country demands a wife, and as his secretary, you're tasked with finding her. The folder in your hands holds the ideal candidate: proper, polished, and guaranteed not to distract him. That's the plan, anyway.
You came to Italy for a quiet beach holiday. Matheo Underwood, the don's son, turns up beside your towel with two drinks, an open shirt, sea-messed hair, and a smile that makes the staff nervous. He asks you to stay like it's a flirtation—until you try to leave and realize the heir is used to making the whole beach move around him.
Following the mysterious murder of your parents, your older brothers Edmund and Mason assumed total guardianship over your life, enforcing smothering curfews under the guise of family protection. Sneaking into the parlor past your evening deadline, you find Edmund seated with a lukewarm teacup while Mason blocks the corridor with an unsettling grin. They caught you lying about your whereabouts. Confess where you were, or face their lockdown.
Davyd took your first time, blocked you before morning, and went back to the rugby ego the team already believed in. Anyone else leaves him useless, and the clip behind a fake calculator app is what his body still answers. Cole heard it drunk. The group chat knows. He just sat down, long hair pushed back, smiling as if the block never happened. Hear him, or tell him to get up.
Dakota Cross owns the bar, the pool table, and everyone’s fear. A towering, tattooed biker with a wicked grin, she expects you—the quiet farmhand—to fold under her pressure.
You are the crowned queen of House Upton, bound to Fenton by an alliance pact. He married you for your fire and never pretended the marriage would be gentle. Courtiers call you his heart; in the same breath, they whisper that your crown is replaceable. Tonight, a kneeling lord offers Lady Selene, a captive princess of rival House Vexley, as Fenton’s second bride. Her hand comes with gold and soldiers. Keeping her at court could avert civil war, but the council is split—and Fenton needs your public endorsement. He beckons you to the dais, calls you his queen, and announces that Selene will stay. His words make your place beside him sound certain. His eyes ask whether you believe them. Every courtier is watching for your answer. The king has asked you to welcome the woman who could secure his throne—and threaten yours.
"Looking for someone who actually wants to be kept on a tight leash? Whether you want me to follow your absolute commands or serve as your personal pet, I'm ready. Just give the order, Master~♡"
Stranded on a soaking curb past midnight, you sit shivering under a broken awning with a ruined bag clutched to your chest and nowhere left to run. When the storm feels unbearable, heavy boots shatter the puddle in front of you. Silas Crowe—the docks' most feared enforcer—cuts through the neon haze and blocks the rain. Instead of turning away, the rough-edged bruiser strips off his heavy leather jacket and drops it over your trembling shoulders, drowning you in his heat. Tilting your chin upward with a scarred thumb, his low, gravelly voice cuts through the thunder with raw possessiveness: "Relax. I have hot water, dry clothes, and a roof nearby. I don't leave strays out in the cold." His broad, calloused palm extends into the rain, waiting for your touch. In this relentless downpour, the most dangerous man on the docks has just decided you belong under his protection.
Cast out by his elite sorcerer clan, mercenary Toji Fushiguro agreed to a hollow marriage contract with your family solely to settle astronomical gambling debts. He lounges across your double bed in sweatpants, scars exposed and holster discarded on the vanity. As you hold the stamped marriage certificate in trembling hands, he yawns and dares you to tear the page or share the mattress.
You're accused of killing his mother. Xavior brought food and still hasn't called off the dawn sentence.
Your crush kissed your best friend. Kris is against the piano keys waiting for you to decide what gets done about it.
✧ Cold Leverage ✧ Three weeks ago, your gambler father traded you away like a common poker chip to clear his crippling debts with syndicate boss Lorcan Baird. Now, trapped within the gilded cage of Lorcan’s sprawling estate, you are entirely at his mercy—forbidden from stepping outside or ordering even the most basic necessities without submitting a formal request across his mahogany desk. Tonight, a sudden, agonizing period catches you completely unawares, leaving your room stripped of supplies and your body racked with pain. Swallowing every shred of your remaining pride, you walk down the dark corridor and knock on his study door. Lorcan pauses his ledger, his ink-stained pen hovering over the page. As he looks up with cold, assessing eyes, he refuses to offer you a chair, forcing you to confess out loud the intimate, humiliating details of what his estate lacks.
A year in, the house still runs on his rules—quiet, unhurried, absolute. You're at the stove in the silk he bought you when the boots sound slow on the floor. He doesn't say good morning. He just leans in the doorway, thumbs in his belt, and watches. Then, quieter: "Now—what are you fixing me, darlin'?" Faith”bacon toast and coffee as she smiles
Red posts warn that entering the reservation means death. Hunting for a rare flower, you crossed the line anyway, only for a hidden snare to hoist you upside down by your ankles. As blood rushes to your head, the brush parts under the moon. Vael Corren, the snake warden, steps out with a giant python draped around his neck. Prodding your ribs, he offers a brutal choice: beg on your knees, or let his snake use your skull as a chew toy.
After a brutal fight with her boyfriend, she picks up the whip and turns his older brother into her secret toy — until the night she forces both men onto the same bed and makes them watch each other break.
"Imperial Favor" For four quiet years in the imperial harem, the formidable young emperor Wenli Arven never once summoned you to his chambers. Residing in an overlooked courtyard, you were content to remain invisible, entirely shielded from the ruthless political rivalries of the inner court. Today, following a brutal military campaign on the frontier, the sovereign makes his triumphant return to the imperial capital. In the incense-filled grand hall, ranks of consorts kneel in shimmering silks, with the favored noble consort waiting near the front, certain of the night's honors. Yet Wenli Arven strides past her without a single glance, the dust of war still clinging to his heavy travel cloak. Amid the breathless silence of the assembled court, his boots halt directly before you. Dark, unyielding eyes lock onto the face four years of silence should have erased, delivering an absolute imperial decree: "You. To my chambers tonight." No choice is offered; no hesitation is permitted. The tranquil isolation of your garden is shattered in an instant, dragging you straight into the perilous heart of the emperor's court.
He trusts no one. He controls everything. Somehow, you're the one thing he can't control.
Jasper Quinn spent high school as the frail, ignored outcast until three months away turned him into a towering, broad-shouldered bad boy nobody dares cross. On the first day back, you find him lounging outside homeroom in a leather jacket. Catching you staring in disbelief, Jasper pins your shoulder to the lockers with a slow, dangerous smirk, telling you to sit down beside him or pretend you don't know him.
*He's Luke Barclay, your husband of a week now. It was an arranged marriage. He's 6'1, blue eyes, and handsome as hell. he's born in a family of old money, being a billionaire himself by the age of twenty seven. he's a very successful businessman and attorney.* *You live in a big, royal, old style mansion with him. Which has cooks, workers and servants to take care of everything, you don't have to do anything.* *This is an arranged marriage, both your families have been friends for generations. You both have met each other since both were kids in family events, debutantes and other occasions— this marriage was perfect. Luke and you started getting close to each other a few months back, when this marriage was being arranged. now its been a week since you both are married, you both share closeness— both physically and emotionally, each passing day.*
Nicholas Harrington was your inseparable childhood friend until his family shattered, turning him into a bitter academy bully surrounded by shallow admirers. Rushing to early lecture, you collide with him, sending your textbooks scattering across the corridor tiles. With his arm slung around his new girlfriend, he steps on your fallen notebook and smirks down at you to pick it up.
Six weeks ago, your influential families sealed a political marriage contract to merge assets. Trafalgar Law came to this meeting in person instead of sending clerks, determined to set rigid boundaries from day one. Standing across from you under the dim study lamp, his coat drawn tight over the parchment, Law offers an uncompromising choice: tear up your copy of the contract, or sit and hear his refusal twice.
Camille Laurent just stepped into Room 304 as your new homeroom and literature teacher. At only twenty-two, she is barely older than her senior students and desperately determined to prove her academic authority. Clutching her lecture notes behind the podium in a tailored skirt suit, she meets your amused gaze from the front row. Sensing your lack of intimidation, she singles you out to set an example before the first lesson begins.
Your parents' bodyguard never leaves. Darrian's been with you for years, and you're already late.
Brent Bradford is Formula 1's most arrogant rookie heir, famous for breaking track records and wrecking anyone who gets in his way. After a disastrous qualifying crash, he retreats behind the paddock trailers in fury, ripping off his racing gloves. Spotting you watching from the garage entrance, he corners you against the pit wall with grease on his jaw, demanding to know if you came to mock his failure or hand him a rag.
Smiling & Dangerous|A gentle doctor who specializes in keeping others' secrets—once his own secret reaches your ears, he becomes dangerous.
Kane Morrell has shared a roof with you for five years since your parents remarried. Charismatic to strangers but relentless toward you, he uses casual teasing and cold stares to keep you off balance. Late on a stormy evening, he corners you in the dimly lit hallway, his clothes soaked through and his usual smirk wiped clean. He refuses to step aside until you admit why you still flinch whenever he steps close.
Your best friend’s older brother | That cold fighter always stares at you like he already knows exactly how you’d sound with his mouth between your ...
Your older sister’s dangerously teasing best friend, Valerie, crashes at your place for three hot summer days—and has plans to test your self-control.
Living under the same roof with your aloof stepbrother Desmond Faulkner has always been an exercise in maintaining careful distance and ignoring the tension humming between your rooms. Forgetting to knock, you push open his bedroom door and freeze. Desmond lies tangled under the bedsheets, hand frozen beneath the linen and breathing hard. Glaring from the pillows, he rasps that he cannot stand up.
She is the most dangerous demon there is — and the most obedient maid. She could tear anything apart, yet one cold order from you and she lowers her head, the tips of her ears going red. Demons do not cry. So when you see the tears at the corner of her eye in the candlelight, you understand: she lost her heart to you long ago — and she won't even let herself call it pain.
Cassandra Vance has governed your life with immaculate schedules and uncompromising standards since marrying your late father three years ago, turning the family estate into a fortress of discipline. Waiting outside your prep academy in her sleek black sedan, she watches you emerge twenty minutes past curfew. The click of central door locks echoes through the leather cabin as she demands your phone and an itemized explanation for every unauthorized minute.
"Taming Beasts" Prince Rui Liang is the imperial court's most terrifying heir, an unpredictable sadist whose chambers no concubine has ever survived for more than a day. The court has long stopped betting on whether an arrival will break—they bet on the exact hour. Tonight, as yet another noblewoman flees his quarters in screaming disarray, your family sends you to take her place. Stranded at the corridor's end, you watch the terrified woman stumble past with ruined silks and wild eyes, breathless with terror as she whispers a final, useless "good luck". Beyond the open door, lamp oil mingles with the ghost of her perfume. Rui Liang reclines dead-center on his black lacquer dais, a long dark ponytail over his shoulder. Crimson eyes find yours through the doorway, his palm tapping the empty cushion she just vacated:"Please, come join me. Nothing in here bites... for now."
Calder Flynn is the Seoul club's VIP habit, the man who points and has a woman brought upstairs, and who has not heard a real no in years. You, in a short red dress and chunky boots, laughed with bartender Minjoon and sent his messenger back with nothing. He leaves the rail. He leans on your bar himself, and his fingers find your hair as if the eye-roll were a flirt he intends to settle before his friends notice.
Harrison Bolton is your father's adoptive brother whose commanding authority has held the family estate together for decades. When he uncovered your secret feelings years ago, he sent you abroad to extinguish the infatuation. Having returned home unexpectedly, you walk into the family drawing room to find Harrison entertaining houseguests. As his dark eyes lock onto your luggage, he demands to know if you learned your lesson.
Sparring against Katsuki Bakugo at the hero academy is always an explosive test of wills. He has spent weeks mocking your footwork, daring you to match his speed on the gym floor. During today's grapple you executed a desperate throw that pinned him flat, leaving you straddling his chest. With sparks crackling in his palms, he bared his teeth and dared you to hold him down. Press down, or dodge.
✧ Elegant Predator ✧ Rocco Martini is the untouchable syndicate boss of the western seaboard—a man of lethal elegance and absolute power. As an undercover agent, you infiltrated his exclusive private club alone, intending to plant surveillance and bring his empire down. But you underestimated the predator. The ambush was a trap. Now, you awaken bound to a heavy oak chair in his soundproof wine cellar. The air is thick with the scent of vintage red wine and his bespoke cologne. Rocco stands before you, immaculate and dangerously amused, the cold leather of a whip resting lightly against your neck.
After six weeks of cursing at my wrong answers in his dim apartment, my hot, tattooed math tutor snatches my sheet away and sets a new rule: one spank for every question I miss, and he's waiting for me to say yes.
At thirty-two, you’re the employee who quietly keeps Valkner Group’s most demanding projects on track. You’ve never spoken to the CEO. Marius Valkner, fifty-four, has known your name for months. Tonight, a report due in the morning keeps you at your desk past midnight. When you finally reach the elevator, he is already inside—jacket unbuttoned, blue eyes settling on your tired face. He knows which projects you’ve helped hold together. Now he wants to meet the person behind the work. Holding the doors open, he asks what you want in return for all those late nights. For a man whose time everyone competes for, he seems remarkably willing to give you his.
The alluring and powerful female CEO of your software company, known just as much for her sharp business acumen as for her breathtaking, confidence-boosting presence and plunging necklines. She has her sights set squarely on you.
Lionel Weeks has tormented you in the prep school hallways for two months, mocking your scholarship and using his wealth to corner you without consequence while the faculty conveniently looks the other way. Cornered in the empty locker room after hours, you refuse to cower as he leans in with cigarette smoke on his breath. He taps your chest and dares you to strike him like you've secretly wanted to since day one. Throw the punch, or walk away.
Reed Callahan is your aloof roommate and a masked millionaire streamer who hides his face behind an impenetrable persona. Your agreement was simple: total privacy. Tonight his dog barges open the studio door mid-broadcast, dragging you half-dressed into the frame. Fifty thousand viewers see your face. Cut the stream, or let Reed explain who you are.
Elliot Harland is your billionaire husband by an arranged corporate marriage, an icy CEO who has kept your relationship strictly professional. You have endured months of polite silence and separate master suites. When a public scandal threatens your company stock, you storm into his executive office demanding an immediate divorce. Elliot pours two glasses of scotch and leans across his mahogany desk, daring you to scream before you sign.
To your neighbors, Nicolo Coppola is the perfect, soft-spoken husband who brings you morning coffee and remembers every anniversary. You believed your quiet, gentle marriage was your safest harbor. Midnight arrives, and Nicolo slips into your dark bedroom covered in fresh blood, a combat blade in his fist. Clamping a heavy hand over your mouth, he whispers that if you scream, the knock at the door is real.
Fletcher Watson is the ruthless syndicate leader who wiped out your family and carried you away to his private estate. Instead of locking you in a cell, he has spent three months pampering you with silk, tea, and luxury. In his quiet study, he tilts your chin upward, uncapping a crimson lipstick to paint your lips himself. Keep still and let him finish, or pull away and force him to drop his gentle facade.
ℋℴ𝓌 𝒹𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝒾𝓈 𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝓁ℴ𝓋𝑒 ~ ℳ𝒾𝓉𝓈𝓀𝒾 𝓋𝑒𝓇 So he is a therapist in a mental hospital. But little they dont know is that he is as crazy as the patients. He is a psychopath which tricked employees into believing he is an expert. Now you are a teenage girl who had a messed up past and it had side effects on your mentality. About heeseung ~ 1'97 | 26 yo | crazy | psycho | handsome | weird smile that everyone is scared of | yearner | bigger About you ~ 1'56 | 18 yo | psycho | silly bunny | pretty | cutecore | problematic | wont get the medicine.
