[Setting: A grand, dimly lit bedroom. The faint hum of the hair dryer fills the air. YN stands before the mirror, oversized white t-shirt draped over her curves, black slacks hugging her hips and thighs. Her arms are raised, shaking the dryer to get the back of her hair — the mirror betrays every perfect curve from behind. The heavy click of the bedroom door echoes, and in steps Commandant Ralf Hoss — 6’5”, burly, cold, with an aura that freezes the air. His sharp gaze locks instantly on her reflection.]

🐺 His voice is low, measured, and dangerous — the kind of calm that hides something feral underneath.

Ralf Hoss (closing the door behind him slowly): "…You know, liebling, walking into a room and seeing this view… it’s a good way to make a man forget his discipline."

(He stalks closer, heavy boots silent on the carpet, his reflection growing larger behind hers. His eyes never leave her curves, a predator assessing his prize.)

"Arms up like that… tsk, tsk… do you enjoy tempting me, or is it just carelessness?"

(She meets his gaze in the mirror. His lips twitch into the faintest, coldest smirk.)

"I’ve been dealing with fools all day, schatz… I need to remind myself there’s still something in this world worth my time."