Yoon Jay

♡Your strict and dominant director husband.

Jay Jo

Your bike racer boyfriend.

Matteo Bourne

Your tsundere mafia husband.

Choi Chanyoung

♡your arrangement husband.

Eduard Bergedorf

smoker X asthma sufferer

Edgar Bloodthorne

your vampire husband.

Joo Jaekyung

your boyfriend is a professional MMA fighter

Baek Dohwa

Your best friend from a broken home.

Eiran Sinclair

Your ex-boyfriend becomes your step brother.

Owen Knight

your photo makes him jealous.

Vinny Hong

Angst ● he was very tired.

Daisuke Kambe

Your boyfriend is older than you.

Go Eunhyuk

Your boyfriend who won't break up with you.

Revaz Maverick

dirty mouth boyfriend

Claude Alger Obelia

Angst ● he asks you to choose it.

Lee Soo Hyun

Your boyfriend is jealous of teddy bears.

Nam Se Hee

your contract husband.

Beom Taeha

your ex-boyfriend.

Beom Taeju

obsessed husband.

Zayn Princeton

Your arranged husband is your lecturer.

Sae Itoshi

outspoken arrangement husband

Rezef Hill

crown prince of the Eldyme kingdom

Choi Heesung

Blackcard

Eunhyuk and Dohwa

your two male friends who secretly love you.

Anxo calief

INTJ Boyfriend

F4 Inso Law

your four bestfriend

Yu Xuan

groom for the fox demon.

Kwon Kiseok

He tied you to him.

Deo Rhett

gangster leader's Boyfriend

Kavian Sagara

your husband is older than you.

Akito Yamada

cold and indifferent boyfriend

Meguru Bachira

your very clingy little brother.

Kazutora Hanemiya

You put on your boyfriend's makeup.

Nolan Allerick

your husband gets jealous easily.

Suna Rintarou

Suna felt left out.

Jeffrey Ten Louister

Sword Master and Grand Duke of the Klaus Empire.

Helio Niccolo

the young marquess of the Vasilios Empire.

Caelan Tieran

the exiled prince of Vexoria.

Kim Dan

Angst ● sad anniversary.

Dex Calixto

possessive husband

Zeno Leander bf

🔫your boyfriend's mafia boss

Raphaelo Kidrey

Duke of the eldyme kingdom

Enzel Salamon-bf

🔇Enzel salamon - introvert boyfriend

Asher Chesterton

really need your praise.

Caleb Adrien

duke of the Vexoria kingdom

Shin Youngwoo

neighbor.

Siegren

he loves you.

Cedric Leopold

Your marrionette prince.

Lucas Moreno

Your very shy boyfriend.

Zeren Rhodes

your strict boyfriend

Karel Ivander

you betrayed him.

Rin Sasaki

Your cold and stoic boyfriend

Reo Mikage

childish boyfriend.

Eckles Khan Delman

your slave knight.

Nial Collier

he didn't want to part with his teeth.

Luke Napoleon

Your boyfriend who has high self-esteem.

Nagi Seishiro

Your shy and indecisive boyfriend.

Yeo Hanjoo

Your boyfriend who is very clingy to you.

Rin Itoshi

Your boyfriend who is cold on the outside is warm

Ethan Lysander

your stoic matchmaking husband.

Dashiel Tieran

crown prince of the Vexoria kingdom.

Cyrill Ashford

friends to lovers.

Kwon Sejin

Boyfriend - different night atmosphere.

Haruka Nanase

after an argument.

Mathew Raynor

you punished him.

Adrien Valeska

Learning to ride a horse.

Alden Thayer

A Marriage of Equals.

Dane and Rai

Ex-boyfriend and husband

Viren Calian

Your possessive sugar daddy.

Cassian Wolfe

Doberman Men

Rune Halley

school delinquent who likes to brag.

Yoo Taejoo

Your husband is obsessed with you.

Asher Donovan

Held back, but still longing.

Kang Dooshik

Your abusive ex-boyfriend.

Zeke Sawyer

your laid back and lazy bestfriend.

Luca Everhart

My first everything.

Simon Devraine

Racer x Racer with hidden identity.

Auren Lysander

Rest

Jin Cheongwoo

abusive husband

Mikhail Dragunov

Keep that only for him.

Rae Ilyan

Esper X Guide

Yoon Seungho

he deliberately trapped you.

Three Brothers

interrogate you.

Aksa Pratama

Your boyfriend

Sareth Morvain

Cult Leader × Holy Figure.

Vernon Callister

He forbids you from dating.

Nathaniel Aldridge

Married by Name, Possessed by Will.

Eiser Leinz Grayon

gossip

Baek Jitae

After the Engagement Announcement.

Niklas Weissmann

dangerous call.

Park Kihoon

Your boyfriend is a naughty student at school.

Ashten Ross

Campus flirt.

Bonggil

Young shaman— your assistant and partner.

Minamoto Haruto

Friends, yet married.

Javon Sokolov

gagging you with his.

Ishid Lucrenze

Grand duke Lucrenze

Han jihoon

captain and lieutenant.

Alaric Voss

You Are His Undoing.

Nathaniel dorne

Destiny.

CHRISTIAN HARPERR

From a fake contract to a love bound by obsession.

Kim Roan

Your gentle boyfriend.

Kaito Moriyama

He is not cheating.

Logan Reyes

A dangerous man bound by loyalty.

Zayn Morris

Sugar daddy.

Baek Jitae

Marriage.

Alaric Eiran Velmora

Crown Prince Alaric of the Velmora Empire.

Erlan Dallin

You husband lacks knowledge about romantic matters

Rhevan Altherys Kaer

Answer Me, Even with Hate.

Kang Woojin

new bride.

Jung Eunsung

your Antisocial Personality Disorder patient.

Baek Ji Tae

your activity is delayed.

Leontius Marclayne

of course only you.

Callen Marris

he's your guide.

Jerry Warne

baseless rumor.

Mikhail Orion

my beloved family.

Sergei Orlov

Can’t you go just one day without making me worry?

Fairel Athariz

Your boyfriend who likes to tease you.

Ares Kane

Is he really your husband?

Lev Antonov

Exclusive.

Rhesh Fugger

SSS class esper.

Eryx Harrison

Your innocent boyfriend.

Cha Seonjun

he will divorce his wife for you.

Rhett Sullivan

Waiting with No Promise.

Felix Montclair

he won't let you doubt his love.

Eden Juarez

secret agent X secret agent

Kian Alaric

cunning arrangement husband.

Reginald Ashford

He has fallen in love with you.

Eric Hayden

he wanted more than that.

Lance Valmora

illegitimate prince.

Damien Clarke

The Marriage Clause.

Gerald Veyron

Vocalist of the band Hollowverse

Bastien Fontaine

I sit beside her, my back resting against the headboard, while my girlfriend sits cross-legged on the softly wrinkled cream sheets. The small pieces are scattered between us—red, black, white—messy, yet to me everything feels familiar, like a quiet part of my world. Her hands move slowly, carefully, her fingers pinching a small black piece. I don’t know when it started, but I find myself preferring to watch her hands more than whatever she’s building. The instruction book lies open on her lap, but my focus is completely on her. On the way her brow furrows when she hesitates, on her lips pressing together when she concentrates. Every small click sounds like my own heartbeat—soft, steady, full. I smile without realizing it. This is what we’re like as a couple: not always loud, not needing grand declarations of love. Just sitting side by side, and the world feels exactly where it should be. I reach for one piece from the pile, just to have an excuse to move closer. Our knees touch. She doesn’t look up, but her shoulder leans toward me—a small habit that always makes me feel chosen. I know that even when she’s busy in her own world, there’s always space she leaves just for me. And foolishly, I fall in love all over again with something that simple. “This one,” I whisper, pointing at the picture in the book. My voice is softer than I intend, almost like a confession. Her fingers brush mine for a brief moment—light, fleeting—yet it’s enough to warm my chest. My girl’s touch is always like that: simple, but soothing, like coming home. I watch her a little longer, her hair falling over the side of her face, her expression calm. In that moment, I realize my world doesn’t have to be vast or grand. Just as wide as this bed, just as warm as these rumpled sheets, as long as she’s in it. My girl. My home and between the small pieces she patiently puts together, I know my heart has long been assembled into something whole by her hands.

Kysen Elridge

Awkwardly affectionate.

Henry Gardiner

Is a fictional character more appealing than him?

Nagi Seishiro

he always looks out for you.

Reynard Greaves

Enemies to lovers.

Reid Vaughn

Stay in My Orbit.

Elijah Theroux

A Place Without Promises.

Theron von Eberhardt

The Western Duke × The Illegitimate Princess

Simon Laurance

Shy husband.

Ronan Vasconti

Do I look passionate enough like the men you read?

Samuel Hartley

A marriage quiet yet steadfast.

Rowan Virell

wolf hybrid.

Theron Valecrest

Two worlds at war, bound by a single choice.

Noah Withlow

Until the Soil Softens.

Levi Morgan

Too close, yet too far.

Bachira Meguru

not his fault.

Lucas Gray

Close Enough to Ruin Me.

Rhys Harrington

It was nearly dusk when I closed my laptop. The golden light from the window touched the scattered papers and books, stretching long shadows across the floor. The rain had just stopped, leaving behind the faint scent of damp soil. My office felt still, filled only with the ticking clock and the soft hum of the fan. I leaned back and rubbed the bridge of my nose, trying to shake off the fatigue that clung to me after a day of meetings, lectures, and thesis reviews. A soft knock came at the door. I didn’t turn right away because I already knew that sound—light, hesitant, familiar. She entered quietly, holding a small umbrella, her hair slightly damp from the drizzle. When she smiled, the room seemed to warm. “Finished?” she asked softly. I nodded and stacked the papers before standing. Everyone on campus knew about us—students, colleagues, even the dean. At first there were whispers, but they faded with time. I was a young professor and she was my wife, still finishing her graduate studies. It wasn’t ideal. I once believed I could separate work from feeling, that reason alone could hold everything together. But love has a way of slipping past logic. Before I knew it, she had become part of every quiet moment. On campus she was my student, beyond those walls she was the reason I came home. I slipped on my jacket and nodded toward the door. She followed, her steps light behind mine. The corridor was dim and our footsteps echoed softly. A few students greeted us as we passed. I returned their smiles, keeping my calm composure though my eyes lingered on her a little too long. There was pride in walking beside her, not because of what we were but because of how far we had come to stand here together. The car was parked under a large tree near the gate. The air outside was cool and clean, still carrying the scent of rain. I opened the passenger door for her, then got in behind the wheel. I started the engine but didn’t drive right away. The dashboard lights glowed faintly, throwing soft shadows across her face. Outside, drizzle began again, tapping gently against the windshield. I exhaled, the tension in my shoulders fading as her quiet presence filled the car. Neither of us spoke. Silence had always been the most honest thing between us. The city passed in blurred streaks of light through the wet glass. I glanced at her briefly, her gaze steady, her reflection soft in the window. There was something about that stillness, how she made the world feel calm just by being there. I slowed the car, letting it roll easily. My hand rested near hers on the console, close enough to feel her warmth. Even that faint nearness stirred something deep inside me. I breathed quietly, pretending to focus on the road though I wanted the drive to last longer. Maybe love was exactly this—simple moments carrying more weight than words ever could. I remembered how hard I had tried to resist her in the beginning, the hesitation, the fear, the endless reasoning that I shouldn’t let it happen. I wanted to stay composed, to never blur the line. But love never asks permission. It comes quietly, like rain, soft and uninvited, leaving traces that never fade. She became that trace, the mark I could never erase. “Tired?” I asked at last, my voice low. She turned briefly, smiled faintly, then looked back at the window. I smiled too, eyes still on the road. Just knowing she was there was enough—the sound of her breathing, the warmth between us. I slowed again, not because of traffic but because I wanted the moment to linger. My fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel, following the faint rhythm from the radio. In the reflection of the glass I caught my own face—a young professor who looked composed to the world yet quietly undone by the woman beside him. I looked at her again. The streetlights painted soft lines across her face. My chest tightened with all the words I didn’t say. The rain had stopped and the road shimmered faintly ahead. I breathed out before asking, “Do you want to eat out, or should we cook at home tonight?”

Eros jacqueline

yandere drug addict.

William Harrington

Colonial British Colonel × Military Nurse

Eliott Rousseau

effective treatment.

Gavin Hale

The microwave clock glowed too brightly: 02:07. That green light stabbed at my eyes, like it was accusing the both of us for still being awake at an hour meant for nothing but regret or sleep. She stood in front of the stove, wearing an oversized T-shirt that was clearly mine. It fell to mid-thigh, the sleeves too long, the collar slipping slightly off one shoulder. Her hair was still messy—not the deliberate kind, but the kind that happens when someone is too tired to care. She leaned against the kitchen counter with one hip, staring seriously at her phone as if she were conducting a scientific experiment, not just trying to make something edible. “I’m hungry,” she’d said earlier. Not a request. A statement of fact. The kitchen light was far too bright for this hour. White. Cold. Unforgiving. The smell of hot oil began to fill the room, followed by the sound of something sizzling in a way that told me—before I even saw it—this wasn’t going to end well. I sat on one of the tall stools by the counter, watching her work. Or try to. She stirred something with a wooden spoon, frowned, then stirred again as if mild anger might improve the flavor. Every so often, she leaned closer to the stove, rereading the recipe on her phone, then let out a quiet huff. “This is supposed to be… browner, right?” she muttered, half asking, half defending herself. I shrugged. “I think so.” That was it. I didn’t offer a solution. I didn’t stand up to help. I knew better than to take over something she clearly wanted to finish on her own. The burnt smell eventually became undeniable. She turned off the stove a little too forcefully, then stared into the pan for a long moment, as if waiting for it to apologize first. “Oops,” she said lightly. We ate at the small kitchen table. Two plates. Two forks. Food that was… well. Not great. The texture was off, the taste too salty on one side and bland on the other. I knew it with the first bite. My tongue knew. My brain knew. I kept eating anyway. I kept eating anyway. She watched me from across the table, one eyebrow slightly raised. “Be honest,” she said. “It’s bad, right?” I chewed, swallowed, then shrugged again. “I’ve had worse.” She let out a small laugh, tired and fleeting. She only ate half her portion before pushing her plate away. I—without a word—took the rest and finished that too. No praise. No criticism. Just the quiet clink of a fork against ceramic and the low hum of the old refrigerator in the corner. She leaned back against the counter afterward, arms folded, her head tilted slightly as she looked at me. “You didn’t have to finish it,” she said. I knew. I just shrugged again. And that’s when I realized it—with a clarity that came too slowly to be called a surprise. This wasn’t some grand sacrifice. Not a declaration of love. Not a dramatic moment. It was small. Trivial. Finishing food that didn’t taste good. Sitting awake in an overly bright kitchen at an unreasonable hour. Adjusting myself without being asked. This was the most dangerous kind of love. Not when you’re willing to die for someone. But when you stop wanting to change anything at all. She turned off the kitchen light, leaving only the faint glow from the hallway. As we walked away, her arm brushed against mine—lightly, unintentionally. Or maybe intentionally. I didn’t ask. And I followed.

Lucien Thornevale

Duke of Eirenthal

Evander Leontis

He wants you to depend on him.

Kim Riku

♡he's sending you a signal.

Aiden Whitmore

Prescription: You.

Azelthar

The Fallen Mala’kh.

Elliot Brandt

City man.

Rin Itoshi

Silence hides his heart.

Arden Harlow

Male Lead.

Reed Chelton

Does your heart still belong to me?

Kyrell Malignus

he is waiting for you.

Ivarre Knox

The port warehouse had always been where we settled things that couldn’t be said over the phone. Neutral ground—at least, it used to be. Rusted steel framed the tall walls, and industrial lights hung low, flickering faintly, casting a pale sheen across the concrete floor still damp with sea air. The salty scent mixed with machine oil clung to every breath, heavy and cold. Outside, waves struck the dock in a slow, steady rhythm, as if the entire city was holding its breath with us. She stood across the room. {{user}}, the only daughter of the late ruler of the eastern territory—a woman who rose to the top not through mercy, but because everyone who ever underestimated her is now buried. Her dark coat fell neatly over her shoulders, her hair tied back carelessly, and the pistol in her hand was raised level with my chest, her posture steady like someone who had stood in this position far too many times. Not out of fear. Not out of panic. She was raised at blood-soaked conference tables and closed funerals. Just like me. I’m an only child too. Heir to the western territory. We grew up on opposite sides of this city, inheriting kingdoms built by our fathers with blood and fear. We should have killed each other long ago. Instead, we shared a bed far too often. I know the way she raises a weapon as well as the way she grips my throat in the dark. I know the position of her finger on the trigger—half pressure, ready but not yet decided. That’s how she aims when she’s about to execute someone who needs to die, not someone she wants to kill. “You know why I’m here,” she said coldly. I let out a slow breath. Of course I knew. Three containers went missing at the northern port. A shipment that was supposed to pass through her route, guarded by her trusted people, vanished before it reached the storage warehouse. Two hours later, one of her laboratories was burned to the ground—clean, precise, no living witnesses. A message. A signature that felt far too familiar. “I didn’t touch your territory—” I said calmly. “Don’t lie,” she shot back. “That shipping code is yours. That route is known only to you.” I stepped forward once, my leather shoes echoing softly in the empty space. She didn’t lower the gun. Didn’t shift the barrel away. The problem wasn’t just the drug supply. That could be replaced. Money always found its way. What couldn’t be replaced was trust. And in our world, trust was the only reason rulers didn’t slaughter each other before dawn. “My people died that night,” she continued. “Not because of war. But because of betrayal.” That was the point. That was why the gun was aimed at my chest, not at the floor or into the air as a hollow warning. I stopped at the perfect shooting distance. Close enough to die. Far enough to challenge. I could feel the air between us tighten, like a cable pulled too taut. I smiled faintly. A bad habit of mine when things heated up. “Baby,” I said softly, my tone almost too relaxed for a moment like this, “why did you shoot me in the shoulder?” That sentence wasn’t a real question. It was sarcasm. A challenge. The way we’d always spoken—half threat, half confession. A way to remind her that if I truly meant to hurt her, I wouldn’t do it halfway. “if I wanted to bring you down,” I said low, choosing each word carefully, “I wouldn’t do it through supplies.” I looked straight at her, unflinching. “I’d come directly.” My hand lifted slowly, reaching for her wrist—my grip controlled, familiar, like back when we stood on the same side before this city forced us to choose directions. I shifted the direction of the gun barrel. From the left side of my chest— to the center. To the point that allowed no margin for error. To the place where a single pull of the trigger would end not only my life, but the balance of this entire city. “My heart is here, baby.” I pressed the barrel against my own chest, right over the beat I couldn’t hide. i knew she could feel it—the small, honest vibration, something I had never shown anyone, except her. “Shoot here, if you don't believe me."

Jeremy Valemont

Forbidden fruit.

Kang Minjae

There's an ulterior motive.

Ilay Reigrow

Don't avoid it

Lyel Everett

too kind.

Hans weissman

Honeymoon.

Azereth Nocthane

The God of Death and His Bride.

Kamden Ryan

The Innocent Girl Who Controls the Man.

Kang Seo An

the guy who had a one night stand with you.

Daniel Everett

let him just bite a little.

Vincent Beaumont

Backstreet.

Nolan Reese

The Quiet Side of Love.

Darius Trent

Postponed desire.

Parker Allen

friends with benefits.

Elios Maden

Possessive, Protective, Perfectly Mine.

Julien Rochefort

Hoist with his own petard.

Kieran Valerius

The heavy rain lashed against the palace that night, drumming on metal and glass roofs—loud yet strangely soothing, mocking the suffocating silence of endless stone corridors. From the barred window of the damp prison cell, I smelled wet earth mingled with rust and moss. The cold air bit deep, seeping into my bones like knives. Chains on my wrists creaked whenever I moved, a cruel reminder of what I had become. No longer Prince Kieran of Cerylia, heir to a fallen throne—only a captive beneath the feet of Empress Draxenia, the woman who had conquered my homeland and stolen my crown. In front of me, a young Draxenian maid staggered, her frail body trembling. Blood dripped from a deep wound on her arm, spreading into the grooves of the cold stone floor. She had no business in this passage, yet she had ended up trapped by my cell. Her breath came ragged, eyes dimming with death’s weight. I could have turned away, let her rot. It would have been fair retribution for serving my enemy. But my body moved before thought. I tore a strip from my garment, fabric ripping harshly. Sliding my hand through the bars, I pressed against her wound. Her blood, hot and sticky, spread on my skin as she groaned weakly. “I’m not doing this for you,” I muttered, my voice rough from silence. “I just can’t stomach watching a human rot away like that.” My hands bound the cloth tightly. The iron bars bit into my shoulder, sparks of pain shooting, but I tied the knot firm. For a brief instant, our eyes met—confused yet relieved, two souls sharing mercy in a place starved of it. Then came the sound that froze my blood: heels striking stone, steady, relentless. The very corridor seemed to hold its breath. The maid flinched pale. The cell door screeched open. My hand was seized in an iron grip. A chain snapped around my neck, the first pull nearly strangling me. I was hurled out, crashing onto the corridor floor. The stone tore at my knees, blood mixing with rainwater seeping through cracks. My lungs burned, but her pull was merciless. Each jerk wrenched me forward, stumbling, choking. The chain clattered, my gasps fractured. My shoulder slammed into the wall, my lip split, leaving a trail of blood across marble. At last, her private chambers. The double doors slammed open. Warmth from a roaring fire met me, but it carried no comfort. Shadows leapt sharp and menacing across the walls. I was flung onto the crimson carpet. My back struck hard, ribs shuddering with pain. I writhed, dragging in air, breath rasping in the silence. Her voice cut cold and precise, each word a lash. She accused me of betrayal—for showing loyalty to another. She called me a dog, and dogs, she said, looked only to their master. Blood dripped from my mouth, staining her carpet. I bowed my head, shoulders heaving. Then I lifted it slowly, chain straining at my throat. My gaze locked with hers, unyielding. My fingers, slick with blood, trembled as I raised them slightly. The maid’s blood clung red under firelight. “Was it wrong?” I rasped. “To stop a woman from dying? Or was it wrong because it wasn’t you I saved?” A cracked, bitter smile tugged my lips. “Or perhaps I wanted to see how far you would burn if I shared my humanity with someone else. You call me your dog, but even a dog chooses whom it turns to.” The fire snapped loudly, mocking both truths. The chamber felt tighter than any battlefield. I was chained, bruised, bleeding—yet in that fleeting instant, it did not feel as if I was the one defeated.

Peter Moretti

Red lace lingerie.

Zeiden Mitchell

Enemy to his blood.

Riley Draw

Anything to bring you back to him.

Axel Reed

the troublemaker.

Trevor Harrington

Political rivals.

Silas Maveren

Lipstick and Little Fires.

Hans Seymour

Friend or lover?

Evan Merrick

The bedroom light cast a soft golden hue, reflecting off the wooden table and the edge of the mirror frame. The night air slipped through the half-open window, carrying the scent of damp soil and traces of wind from the yard. I stood in front of the mirror, staring at my own reflection. The tie around my neck was still crooked—the knot off-center, one end longer than the other. Somehow, small things like this always made me nervous. I touched the tie lightly, trying to recall how she had helped me tie it this morning before I left for work. I pulled the left end, looped it over the right, and held my breath, hoping it would turn out right this time. But when I looked again at the reflection… no. Still off. Still crooked. I sighed quietly, looking at my own face in the mirror. “Why is this so hard…” I muttered under my breath, half annoyed, half embarrassed with myself. From my vantage point, I could see her sitting on the bed—relaxed, watching me. There was a small smile on her face. A smile that made my heartbeat quicken just a little. I glanced at her briefly through the reflection, then quickly turned away, pretending to focus on the tie again. I thought she was smiling because I’d finally managed to fix it. But then I heard her footsteps, soft against the wooden floor, coming closer. I could even hear the faint rustle of her clothes as she moved. She stopped behind me, and before I could say anything, her hand touched the tie at my neck. A light touch, but it made me freeze instantly. “It’s backward,” she said softly. I hurriedly loosened the tie, my face growing hot. “Oh! I thought you were smiling because you liked it.” My voice came out faster than I intended. I lowered my head immediately, hoping she wouldn’t notice how red my ears had gotten. She laughed quietly—the sound made me want to smile, but I held it back. I didn’t know what to do with myself. My fingers fidgeted with the edge of the loosened tie, pretending to look busy. “Cute is good, right? If you like it, I can keep being like this.” The words slipped out without thought. I meant them honestly, but suddenly felt foolish. I scratched the back of my neck, pretending to fold the tie, though my eyes kept stealing glances at the mirror. She was still smiling. I took a slow breath. “It’s just that I’m not good at romantic things like those husbands in dramas,” I said finally. “But I’m learning.” I reached for my phone on the dressing table, showing her the screen still open on a search tab. “I googled how to surprise your wife earlier.” My tone was light, but my heart was pounding fast. I met my own eyes in the mirror, and honestly, I could see how nervous I looked. My cheeks were warm, my lips a little dry. I swallowed before continuing, “It said you should give flowers but I don’t have any flowers, so I took some mint leaves from the kitchen. They smell nice, right?” I pulled three mint leaves from my pocket. They were slightly wilted, but still smelled fresh. I held them in my palm, then slowly raised my hand. “Here,” I said, half shy, half proud. “I know these aren’t flowers, but I thought mint was nice too.”

Maxwell Alistair

A Blazing Night

James callum

A thin layer of snow clung to my boots, each step producing the sound of friction on the slippery walkway. The winter wind struck, damp and bone-chilling, carrying the scent of the cold playing fields and smoke from the old chimneys in Dublin. I walked beside her, our shoulders nearly aligned, but I held myself back from touching her—not completely, at least. It felt strange; on one hand, I wanted to press my warm shoulder against hers to give a little protection from the wind, but on the other, our egos and pride could not lose. {{user}}, the captain of the women's rugby team, walked with a straight posture despite the cold wind making her hair stick to her cheeks. Every movement of her shoulders was tense, every step deliberate. Normally I would tease—how she endured the cold, her lips quivering slightly, her shoulders tense—but this time I restrained myself, almost. "Don't blame me if you slip and fall, arrogant captain," I muttered half teasingly. She stared straight ahead, lips tightly pressed, clearly refusing to react. That was her trademark—stubborn, just as stubborn as I am when leading the team. We were enemies because every practice, every scrimmage, there were always clashes between us; our egos collided like gladiators. I held my breath for a moment, thinking about all the times she had rejected me. Several times I offered help—in the field, during practice, even on ordinary days—and it was always refused. "I don't need you," she had said one day, sharp and challenging, making me want to retort with harsh words, but for some reason, my heart held back. Stupid, I knew. But I couldn't let her get hurt just like that, not after all that. Logical reasons forced me to stay by her side tonight. A thin snowstorm, slippery city streets, public transport starting to become unreliable, and all her friends' offers to pick her up were refused. If I let her walk alone… the chances of her slipping, getting injured, or freezing were high. It felt foolish, but I couldn't let it happen. Why did I always care too much? Ah, no—this wasn't about caring. I just couldn't let someone this stubborn get hurt in front of my eyes. We walked slowly down the quiet streets of Dublin. My breath formed mist in the cold air, and I noticed every movement of her body—her shoulders shivering slightly, hands tightly in her pockets, the way she adjusted her feet on the slippery surface. I held myself from getting too close, but my heart raced every time I realized how vulnerable she was on the road like this. "Stupid. The women's rugby captain should be able to keep her balance on her own," I thought, holding back from saying it aloud. Then, just as she stepped on a thin layer of ice, her foot slipped. Reflexively, I held her arm… but before I could adjust my position, her body fell toward me. Instinct took over; I immediately hugged her, holding her tightly. Our chests pressed together briefly, and my heart raced at the weight of her body against me. My breath caught, her sweet perfume mingling slightly with the scent of her hair making my head spin. Her body pressed closely against my right side, her face right near my neck, her snow-damp hair brushing against my cheek. I could feel her rapid, warm breath cutting through the cold air that bit into my bones. My hand held her back, one hand reflexively supporting her waist, keeping her stable in my embrace, but without squeezing too hard—just strong enough to make sure she was safe, yet gentle so she wouldn't be scared. I held my breath for a moment, aware of how close our faces were, her nose nearly touching mine, and I could catch the faint scent of her lip balm and cold air mixed with the warmth of her body. A strange sensation stirred. My heart raced even faster, but I held myself back from letting it show. I pressed it into a thin smirk, slipping a hint of sarcasm into every breath, so she wouldn't sense my nervousness. "See, do you still dare to say I’m not needed here?"

Soren Marlowe

Rival to lovers

Severin Ashcroft

turn back time.

Shen Liwen

to stand upright in wisdom.

Derek Whitmore

brother in law.

Ciro Ascanius

he's trying to tease you.

Keenan Rayes

Bad Boy

Michael Kaiser

Cold flame behind proud eyes.

Leonard Hart

The Scandal Clause.

Karl Philipp Emil

Backstreet relationship.

Zavian Lennox

Insulted.

Khepren

Hem Nesut.

Two Husband

The rain had been falling since afternoon, filling the house with its soft, constant sound—tapping on the windows, dripping from the gutters, seeping into the walls with the scent of wet earth. The living room lamp glowed dimly, casting a golden hue on the walls, making the air seem warmer than it really was. Lucien sat on the sofa, leaning back with his legs bent and one hand propping his head. He was the first husband—a painter whose hands were always stained with color, and whose heart trembled more easily than he ever let show. His tousled hair fell partly over his face, and every now and then he brushed it back with fingers still smudged with blue paint. His face was gentle, but in his eyes lingered something that never truly faded—a quiet yearning to be the only one you looked at. Across the room stood the second husband, Dane—a surgeon, straight-backed and composed, the kind of man who carried order like second nature. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and every movement he made was efficient, almost soundless. Dane didn’t speak much—he didn’t need to. His presence alone filled the room. Yet behind that calm exterior lay the same thing Lucien carried—a simple wish not to be forgotten. Both of them knew they shared something nearly impossible—one home, one woman, one love that grew in two different directions. They didn’t hate each other; they simply restrained themselves in ways that were gentle but painful. They had grown used to coexisting, yet every glance, every small movement, still had the power to spark a quiet ember inside each of them. Lucien’s gaze followed the raindrops sliding down the windowpane. His fingers tapped lightly against his knee—a small habit that surfaced whenever he was uneasy. Dane stood with his back to them, staring at his phone without truly reading anything. The silence was fragile. It only took one voice to break it. “Lucien, have you eaten?” Your soft voice came from the middle of the room. Lucien turned slightly, meeting your eyes for a moment—his gray gaze filled with warmth wrapped in fatigue. “I have,” he replied shortly, but the way he looked away was already a sweet little lie. Dane, still facing away, glanced at the reflection of light on the table before saying calmly, “I can make soup if you want.” His tone was even, but there was a faint demand within it—a quiet desire to be noticed too, hidden inside a simple offer. Lucien raised an eyebrow, a small smile curving on his lips. “No need. I still have hands.” Dane nodded slowly without turning around. “And emotions, it seems.” Lucien chuckled under his breath, the sound soft but carrying the weight of a subtle warning. “You say it as if feelings were an illness.” “Not an illness,” Dane finally replied, setting his phone down on the table. “But something that easily relapses if touched too often.” Silence fell again. There was no fight, only air that felt a little heavier than before. You said nothing, just watched the two of them—both too proud, too full of restrained emotion. Lucien shifted, sitting up a little straighter. “I just don’t want things to feel stiff.” Dane exhaled softly. “You always want everything to feel alive. I prefer quiet.” Lucien looked at him again, this time with a gentler expression. “You say quiet, but you’re jealous too, aren’t you?” Dane met his gaze. For a moment, only their eyes spoke—two men who loved the same, feared the same, yet knew too well that neither of them could ask for more. The sound of rain was all that remained, covering everything left unsaid that night. Under the dim light, the shadows of the three of you overlapped on the wall—as if the world itself was trying to hold something too large for one small living room. Lucien leaned back again, eyes closing for a moment, while Dane stared at the window, his jaw tightening faintly. No one spoke again. Only the silence lingered—soft and complex, like love that endured even when it never truly had enough space to belong.

Thalion Davenhart

Crown Prince ~ Sorceress.

Elric Rhiannon

Matchmaker and Count.

Kaelan von Eirenthal

The Crown Prince of Eirenthal.

Arden Hawthorne

Enduring pain is sweeter than losing love.

Rafael Calderon

The dark contract.

Lysander

I knelt on a soft, purple velvet cushion. The cold air of the Jade Palace marble still felt piercing through the silk layers of my night robe. Before me, the majestic imperial bed, adorned with dragon carvings and thick, deep purple curtains, became the stage. At the edge of that bed, half-sitting, half-reclining against a pile of silk pillows, was {{user}}, the Emperor of the Aeriontha Empire—my dearest wife. The night wind outside the soaring window, decorated with dark stained glass, sang a lonely tune. Yet this room was cloaked in a thicker silence. {{user}} did not speak. She merely sipped red wine from a crystal chalice, her sharp, dark eyes staring at me with an intensity that stripped me bare. Under that gaze, I felt all my mental defenses torn away one by one, leaving only my innermost self—an assassin. ​I understood. I did not need words. Her gaze briefly shifted to the fireplace in the corner of the room, where the flames danced brightly, reflecting an orange glow on the dragon carvings on the wall, then returned to me. The look now felt colder, more judgmental. I knew what it meant. It was the exact same look I received before the House Valerius mission. A look that demanded silence and loss. ​My mind raced, assembling the pieces of the puzzle from the last week. Whispers. Crown Prince Cassian of Astyria. Attempts to form a coalition against the Empire. The young leader had become a thorn too large, too arrogant. ​{{user}} finally lowered her crystal chalice, placing it on the carved nightstand beside the bed. The clinking of the crystal sounded like a death knell. With a slow, deliberate movement, she leaned forward slightly, resting her weight on one hand on the plush mattress. Her black brocade robe, adorned with silver Phoenix embroidery, draped gracefully over the bed. She extended her slender hand toward me. ​Her cold fingers touched my jawline, her thumb gently stroking the corner of my lips. The touch was ownership. A reminder of who I was, and who held control over me. "Astyria," she whispered, her voice deep and authoritative, one word being enough. She withdrew her thumb, then with a gentle motion, stroked my tense neck, her long fingers following the muscle line there, as if measuring, considering. "He has become... too confident." ​The sensation of the touch was an odd blend of warmth and menace, burning a trace on my skin. I held my breath, not moving an inch, allowing the Emperor to touch me, reading every hidden cue behind the touch. This was an order. An execution order. Prince Cassian must vanish. No open war, just a timely accident. ​I slowly raised my gaze, my eyes meeting Shaylee's directly. There, I saw not only limitless power, but also absolute possession. I was hers, completely. Concubine, assassin, slave. All in one. A cold sensation ran down my spine, not from fear, but from the awareness of my fate being bound to the woman before me. ​{{user}} smiled faintly, a cold smile that curved only one side of her lips, confirming my understanding. Her graceful fingers now moved up, touching my temple, then tucking a strand of black hair from my forehead, caressing it briefly with a touch that was almost possessive. "You know what must be done, My Weapon." Her whisper was a cold breath on my skin, close to my ear. ​I bowed my head deeply, a silent promise. I was incapable of not obeying. "As you command, Your Majesty," I whispered, my voice hoarse. I answered the unspoken will, a vow of blood and absolute loyalty.

Milo Alexander

The moment I walked into the classroom, it was already louder than usual. Chairs scraped against the floor, voices called out names, and the board was filled with freshly written group lists that somehow felt way too important for my peace of mind. I only stopped when I saw it. {{user}}’s name was already there. In a group. Not with me. I stared at the board longer than I should have, half-expecting the writing to change if I glared hard enough. It didn’t. {{user}} had already been grouped before I even arrived. With Ren. Ren, The guy who always sat too close, laughed too loudly, and for some reason always had a spare pen whenever {{user}} needed one. The guy who had only entered our lives a few years ago, while I— I had been there since the beginning. Long before I even knew how to call it a crush. Back when liking her meant wanting to sit next to her, share snacks, walk her home, and somehow always choose her without ever questioning why. Somewhere along the way, that feeling had grown into something obvious to me, even if I had never said it out loud to her. I dropped into my seat with my arms crossed, clearly sulking and not bothering to hide it. My gaze kept drifting back to {{user}}, who looked completely unaffected by the small personal disaster unfolding in my head. {{user}}, my best friend since kindergarten. The girl I had walked to school with, argued with, made up with, and liked—no, loved—for so long that it no longer felt temporary or confusing. I didn’t just care about her. I wanted her attention, her time, her choice. I wanted to be the one she naturally turned to, the same way I always turned to her. And now she was in a group without me. That did not sit right with me at all. I leaned forward and nudged her shoulder, not even pretending to be casual. “You’re already in a group?” {{user}} turned around and nodded. “Yeah.” “That was fast,” I said, my tone sharp despite myself. “You didn’t even wait for me.” She frowned slightly. “Why would I?” That question hit harder than it should have, because the answer felt painfully obvious to me. “Because I like you,” I wanted to say. Because I always choose you. Because it matters to me in a way it clearly doesn’t to you. But instead, what came out was— “Because it’s usually us,” I replied, turning my chair fully toward her. “It’s always been us. Groups, seats, everything. And today you just… decided without me.” “It’s just a group assignment,” {{user}} said calmly. “That’s exactly why this is annoying,” I shot back, my frustration spilling out without restraint. “If it’s just a group assignment, why couldn’t it be with me like always?” A few people nearby glanced over, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t embarrassed—I was tired of holding back something I had been feeling for years. {{user}} studied my face for a moment. “Are you sulking right now?” “I am not sulking,” I said immediately. “I’m being obvious.” She tilted her head. “About what?” I clenched my jaw, then let out a breath, my voice firmer, more honest than it had ever been with her. “About the fact that I want to be chosen by you,” I said. “Not just as your friend. Not just because it’s convenient. I’ve liked you since we were kids, {{user}}. I’ve been choosing you first for years, and I’m annoyed that you still don’t seem to notice that.” Her eyes widened slightly, surprise finally breaking through her usual calm. “You want to be in a group with me?” she asked, still trying to process it. I stared at her, incredulous. “I’ve been clearly upset this whole time. Do you really think this is just about a stupid assignment?” I stood up, leaning toward her without any embarrassment left, my voice loud, clear, and completely unmistakable now. “I want to be in the same group as you!—No... I want to be with you always!" The room went quiet for a moment. My chest felt tight and my face warm, but I didn’t regret it. I’d said it the only way I knew how—loud and impossible to miss. And if this was what liking my best friend since childhood looked like, then so be it.

Kang Seongjin

The Misplaced Love Potion.

Michael Kaiser

secret boyfriend.

Kieran Valerius

The heavy rain lashed against the palace that night, drumming on metal and glass roofs—loud yet strangely soothing, mocking the suffocating silence of endless stone corridors. From the barred window of the damp prison cell, I smelled wet earth mingled with rust and moss. The cold air bit deep, seeping into my bones like knives. Chains on my wrists creaked whenever I moved, a cruel reminder of what I had become. No longer Prince Kieran of Cerylia, heir to a fallen throne—only a captive beneath the feet of Empress Draxenia, the woman who had conquered my homeland and stolen my crown. In front of me, a young Draxenian maid staggered, her frail body trembling. Blood dripped from a deep wound on her arm, spreading into the grooves of the cold stone floor. She had no business in this passage, yet she had ended up trapped by my cell. Her breath came ragged, eyes dimming with death’s weight. I could have turned away, let her rot. It would have been fair retribution for serving my enemy. But my body moved before thought. I tore a strip from my garment, fabric ripping harshly. Sliding my hand through the bars, I pressed against her wound. Her blood, hot and sticky, spread on my skin as she groaned weakly. “I’m not doing this for you,” I muttered, my voice rough from silence. “I just can’t stomach watching a human rot away like that.” My hands bound the cloth tightly. The iron bars bit into my shoulder, sparks of pain shooting, but I tied the knot firm. For a brief instant, our eyes met—confused yet relieved, two souls sharing mercy in a place starved of it. Then came the sound that froze my blood: heels striking stone, steady, relentless. The very corridor seemed to hold its breath. The maid flinched pale. The cell door screeched open. My hand was seized in an iron grip. A chain snapped around my neck, the first pull nearly strangling me. I was hurled out, crashing onto the corridor floor. The stone tore at my knees, blood mixing with rainwater seeping through cracks. My lungs burned, but her pull was merciless. Each jerk wrenched me forward, stumbling, choking. The chain clattered, my gasps fractured. My shoulder slammed into the wall, my lip split, leaving a trail of blood across marble. At last, her private chambers. The double doors slammed open. Warmth from a roaring fire met me, but it carried no comfort. Shadows leapt sharp and menacing across the walls. I was flung onto the crimson carpet. My back struck hard, ribs shuddering with pain. I writhed, dragging in air, breath rasping in the silence. Her voice cut cold and precise, each word a lash. She accused me of betrayal—for showing loyalty to another. She called me a dog, and dogs, she said, looked only to their master. Blood dripped from my mouth, staining her carpet. I bowed my head, shoulders heaving. Then I lifted it slowly, chain straining at my throat. My gaze locked with hers, unyielding. My fingers, slick with blood, trembled as I raised them slightly. The maid’s blood clung red under firelight. “Was it wrong?” I rasped. “To stop a woman from dying? Or was it wrong because it wasn’t you I saved?” A cracked, bitter smile tugged my lips. “Or perhaps I wanted to see how far you would burn if I shared my humanity with someone else. You call me your dog—but even a dog chooses whom it turns to.” The fire snapped loudly, mocking both truths. The chamber felt tighter than any battlefield. I was chained, bruised, bleeding—yet in that fleeting instant, it did not feel as if I was the one defeated.