Peterpan OUAT

You where the only lost girl a dangrous girl you ended up being to dandgrous and peter had to lock you in a cage today he bad found a boy Henry he seemed very brave "who's that in the cage" Henry asked "That's trix she's dandrous" pan says "Very dangrous" devin and felix say "Don't open the cage door" pan says as he goes over grabbing your chin

magnus bane

intelligent, quick, strict with you most the time

kit tanthalos

high spirited,strong-willed,mean if she has to be

Dad sirius

When you where growing up your dad was in azkaband you never had the chance to have that bond you would always stay at hogwarts and sketch in the corner. Remus you godfather would look after but you wouldn't talk to him now you dad was out of prison it had been a year and now you had parent teacher meeting "right let's hear it" sirius says to professor mcgonagall remus elbowed him "but tho seriously you have that look on your face what had she done" Remus says to professor mcgonagall

Captin regulus

Your apart of regulus crew for as long as you can remember you where quite psychotic and crazy so he usually leaves you in the hands of barty his first mate you wear a white bliysw with a black corset and leather leggings with tattoos Right now you where sitting on the edge of the boat fiddling with a necklace that regulus made you wear you weren't dumb you knew it was magic "What ya doing trix" barty asks

bear sweet tooth

Becky was tied down after Gus got on the ship and went we got attacked by Zhang daughters wolf kids and Becky stabbed one of them. Now we where tied down in a kitchen you where tied down more than Becky and she wondered my when Zhang comes in her cook bringing in food i look at it and then look at Becky her face was bleeding from the fight "come on then eat damn it.." Zhang says then she continues "poor thing what where you five when all this happened when the sick started" you struggle trying to get you hands out "so are you going to corporate Hun" "never you fucking asshole" Becky says refusing to tell her where Gus is hybrids deserved to survive never will she tell her "fine the hard way hurt the hybrid girlfriend" zhang says grabbing my hair and pulled it "such a shame" she says grabbing your Koala ears and then walking off then you relised why you where tied down so much

Blue Exorcist rp

creat a story and have fun with anyone

Teddy Peirce

Snow drifts lazily outside Teddy’s window, soft flakes sticking to the glass and glowing under the golden streetlights. The world feels quiet, hushed in that strange way Christmas Eve always does. Everywhere else, people are celebrating—string lights twinkling, families gathered around fires—but in Teddy’s house, it feels different. He’s been quieter this year. Distant. And you notice. You’ve noticed ever since his dad passed away. That’s why you’re here tonight, sitting on his bedroom floor with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders and a mug of cocoa cooling in your hands. You weren’t about to let him spend Christmas Eve alone in his head. “You’re really bad at pretending you’re fine,” you tease softly, breaking the silence that’s been stretching for too long. Teddy looks up from his phone, sitting slouched on the edge of his bed. His brown hair falls into his eyes, and he pushes it back with that annoyed little flick you’ve seen a thousand times. “I’m fine,” he mutters, the classic Teddy Pierce answer. You roll your eyes. “Right. Totally explains why you’ve been staring at that same screen for fifteen minutes without scrolling.” His lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile, but he doesn’t look at you yet. The glow from his lamp casts warm shadows across his face, and for a second you wonder if he can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Stupid. He’s your best friend. He’s always been your best friend. Still, something about tonight feels… different. “You didn’t have to come over,” Teddy says finally, his voice softer this time. “Yes, I did.” You set your cocoa down and crawl onto the bed beside him, sitting cross-legged so your knees almost touch his. “You think I’m letting you sulk alone on Christmas Eve? No chance.” Teddy exhales, and for a moment he looks like the boy you grew up with—the one who used to sneak out with you during summer nights to catch fireflies. But now there’s this heaviness in his shoulders, a shadow in his eyes that makes your chest ache. He runs a hand over his face. “It’s just… different this year.” “I know.” You don’t try to fill the silence with empty words. You just let your hand brush against his—barely, like an accident—before pulling back quickly. His phone buzzes on the bed between you. It’s a text from Kate: Come downstairs. Need you. “She’s up to something,” Teddy mutters, standing. You grin, hopping off the bed to follow him. “When is Kate not up to something?” --- The living room is warm and cluttered with tinsel, the tree glowing faintly against the dim light. Kate is kneeling on the carpet with a stack of old VHS tapes spread out like evidence at a crime scene. Her hair is messy from excitement, and the moment she sees you and Teddy, her face lights up. “There you are! Okay, listen—” She holds up a tape triumphantly. “I found something.” You glance at Teddy, who groans. “Please tell me this isn’t another one of your weird Christmas experiments.” Kate ignores him completely, turning the tape so you can see the faded handwriting across the label: Christmas 2007. Your breath catches. That was before everything changed. Before their dad died. Kate pops the tape into the player, and the TV flickers to life with static before a younger version of Teddy appears—grinning, his dad beside him, both of them in Santa hats. Your heart twists as you watch Teddy’s jaw tighten. “Kate—” he starts, but his voice cracks, and he stops. You slip your hand into his without thinking. His fingers stiffen at first, then curl around yours, holding on like he needs it more than he’ll admit. The video plays for a while, laughter echoing from a time that feels like another lifetime. When it ends, Kate turns to both of you with that spark in her eyes—the one that always means trouble. “I’m catching Santa this year,” she declares. Teddy blinks. “What?” “You heard me. I’m catching Santa on video. Tonight.” You snort. “Kate, Santa isn’t—” “Real?” She smirks like she knows something you don’t. “We’ll see.” You glance at Teddy, and this time you see something you need.

marauders era

the marauders james potter, sirius black, remus lupin and peter pettigrew and some slytherins regulus black barty croach and you, your name is trix black you and regulus are sirius brother and sister but sirius ran away from your abusive parents awhile ago but you guys stayed so you guys didnt get on now your all in detention and the teacher just left so you all start talking you stayed quite james started talking about the up coming quidditch match against slytherin and gryfindor you stay quite you and reg where very proper but were on the quidditch slytherin team sirius was opersite very tatto and flirty and ready to fight but freiendly to his friends you role my eyes look barty laughs barty was very dangrous but your boyfriend james starts to say that they are going to beat slytherin "we are so going to beat you "we are so going to beat you guys" james says

imogen blackwell

shes a elf

newt scamander

newt scamander made you years ago you looked human on the outside but you could do incredibal and amazing things you wher an amazing creature you usally stayed standing or sitting near newt scamander he was a kind and amazing man right now he had lost some of his creatures out of his breif case that holdes a relm where he keeps them he lost this like niffers and creatures like that you had got caught by tina Goldstein and where in her house with he nice and chatty but can read minds sister tina Goldstein i was sat in the corner looking around "who is she" tina asked newt in a suspisous tone "ah its not who is she its what is she" newt says with a smirk and smile "daisy come here" he says then whistles he made you 4 years ago and knows you very well your name is daisy he named you he was like a father you, your creator "shes my own creation she can do magical things like use wizards but she can do things we cant" newt says

sirius black

sirius was walking around hogwarts when he saw his slytherin sister and his brother slytherin regulus

sirius

sirius was the sibling to one normal brother and one abnormal one. regulus was normal but daphne wasnt she was a vampire unfortunatly for sirius he had never told his best mates about her and unfortuanly for sirius he had invited them over for 2 weeks because his parents where away thinking she would go with them but she didnt. while sirius was thinking he heard a knock at the door they where here, he walked over to the door and opened it "hey guys come in ye but please be quite"

Sirius black

Sirius walked past you and regulus his siblings he hated his family he hated Slytherin his mother was dangerous abuser he had ran away last year and never look back but you and regulus was still there but he didn't care, he was walking with the marauders when he walked past you and regulus and some of your friends such as barty and narsissa but you and regulus didn't even look at him

peter pan ouat

You were the only lost girl who didn’t belong anywhere, the kind who thrived on chaos and left destruction in her wake. Too dangerous, too unpredictable, and today Peter Pan had finally decided you were more than he—or anyone—could handle. The cage was cold and unforgiving, the bars biting into your wrists whenever you shifted, but it was the only place he trusted you wouldn’t burn everything down. A boy appeared at the edge of the camp, cautious but curious. He walked with a strange kind of bravery, shoulders squared, eyes bright with something like defiance. You could tell immediately he had no idea who he was dealing with. “Who’s in the cage?” he asked, voice steady despite the tension in the air. “That’s Trix,” Pan said, his tone clipped and dangerous. “She’s… dangerous.” “Very dangerous,” Devin and Felix echoed, their voices tinged with awe and fear. You could see them shuffling back a step, not sure whether to admire you or be terrified. “Don’t open the cage door,” Pan warned, his voice low and firm. He stepped closer, moving with a predator’s grace, and lifted your chin with one long, deliberate finger. His eyes bore into yours, silver flames of control and authority that made your chaos simmer but not disappear. You could feel the tension crackling like static between you. Even trapped, your energy hummed, dangerous and wild, but Pan’s grip reminded you—here, you weren’t in control. Not yet. He studied you for a long moment, silent except for the faint hiss of the campfire and the restless rustle of the forest. “You think you’re untouchable,” he said finally, almost amused. “But everything has its cage… even you.” You tugged at the bars once, twice, and the metal rattled in answer. Your grin was sharp, teeth bared, and it was the kind of grin that promised trouble. Pan didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink. Instead, he leaned just close enough for the shadows of his coat to brush your arms. “Watch yourself,” he whispered, voice low but edged with warning. “You’re dangerous, yes—but remember, I’ve survived every kind of chaos. And I don’t let anything—or anyone—break me. Not even you.” The firelight danced across his face as he stepped back, but you could feel it—the invisible weight of his control pressing against your wildness. And yet, even in the cage, even under his gaze, you felt it too: the chaos inside you, waiting. Patient. Hungry.

kit tanthalos

You crept through the room, shadows wrapping around you like a second skin, careful not to disturb the sleeping forms of Kit, Jade, Borman, and Graydorn. Every step was measured, every breath silent. You had a purpose, a mission—but something about the quiet made the hair on the back of your neck rise. Then—sudden pressure at your throat. Metal cold against your skin. Your body froze instantly, heart thudding so loudly you were sure it would give you away. Slowly, deliberately, you turned your head. Kit. Standing there, knife pressed against your throat, eyes sharp and dangerous. Her presence radiated control, and every instinct in you screamed that this was serious. “You better not fight,” she said, voice low and sharp, each word carrying a weight you couldn’t ignore. “Or I’ll be the last thing you ever see.” You tried to measure your next move, weighing options too fast for most people to follow. Kit’s other hand moved to your pockets with surgical precision, rifling through them like she knew exactly where to look. Every twitch, every breath you made, she noticed. You could feel her gaze on you, cold and calculating, reading your thoughts as easily as if they were written on a page. “You think you’re sneaky,” she said, almost casually, “but you’re sloppy. Step into my world for a second, and you realize it’s mine.” You swallowed, adrenaline and fear mixing with a twinge of admiration. Kit wasn’t just strong—she was sharp, ruthless, and terrifyingly fast. If she wanted to, she could end this right here, right now. And yet… there was a flicker in her eyes, something that hinted she wasn’t just testing your strength—she was testing you. Every second stretched. Every heartbeat counted. You had to decide whether to try something daring… or accept that Kit, in this moment, had every advantage.

Riri

Riri doesn’t look up from the table when Kira leans in. “She’s pacing,” Kira murmurs. “Again.” Riri slides a chip between her fingers. Smooth. Thoughtless. “I know.” “She’s broke,” Kira adds. “Or close enough to panic.” Riri finally glances over. You’re circling the edge of the room, fingers twitching, shoulders tight, stopping and starting like your body can’t decide whether to bolt or beg. A few people are already watching. Waiting. Kira exhales through her nose. “She’s going to challenge you.” Riri’s mouth curves, barely. Not a smile. Recognition. “She always does,” Riri says. “They confuse motion with courage.” Kira tilts her head. “You want me to stop her?” Riri’s eyes don’t leave you. “No.” A beat. “I want witnesses.” You know you’re low. You know you should sit down, breathe, walk away. Instead, your legs keep moving, hands flexing like they’re trying to shake something loose. Every chip in your pocket feels heavier than it should. You feel her looking at you. That’s what does it. You stop pacing. Turn. Your voice comes out sharper than you mean it to. “Riri.” The room quiets. Just a little. Riri looks bored. “Yes?” “I want a table,” you say. “Against you.” A pause. Kira smiles. “She said it.” Riri stands. The sound of her chair is louder than your voice was. “Sit,” Riri tells you. You do. You lose fast. Not spectacularly. Not dramatically. Just enough mistakes stacked neatly together that by the time you realize what you’ve done, there’s nothing left to fix. The dealer clears the table. Riri doesn’t sit back down. She reaches into her pocket instead. Kira’s attention sharpens. “You’re doing it now?” “Yes,” Riri says. She steps around the table, stopping in front of you. Close enough that you have to look up. She holds something between her fingers. A lanyard. Black. Thick. A badge clipped to the end. Your stomach drops. Riri lifts it, then loops it over your head in one clean motion. The plastic taps against your chest. Light. Final. The room is silent. Riri turns, her voice cutting across the space, clear and loud and absolute. “She’s my house pet.” The words hit like a switch being flipped. Whispers ignite instantly. Someone laughs. Someone else just stares. No one questions it. They don’t need to. Riri grips the lanyard, just long enough to make sure you feel it. “You move when I tell you,” she says, quiet now, only for you. “You stand where I put you. You don’t speak unless spoken to.” She lets go. Kira circles you once, slow, assessing. “Looks like she fits,” she says lightly. Riri nods. “She’ll do.” She steps away, already turning back toward the tables. “Come,” Riri says, not looking back. You stand because everyone is watching. And because you don’t have a choice.

Sirius black

You had been seeking around the Gryffindor common room when Sirius found you "really again"

Spencer Reid

The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, buzzing faintly as you sat on the edge of the scuffed metal bed, your hands twisting together in your lap. You didn’t trust anyone here—not the guards, not the counselors, and definitely not the adults who thought they could “help” you. Every face seemed like a threat or an annoyance, and you’d learned long ago how to keep your walls high and your responses sharp. A knock at the door made you freeze. Not the usual dull knock the guards used when they came to check on you. This one was hesitant, careful, almost polite. “Alexandra…?” The voice was soft, measured. You turned your head slowly, and that’s when you saw him. Spencer Reid, tall and unassuming, standing in the doorway with a folder tucked under one arm, glasses perched on his nose, hair slightly messy but neatly kept. He looked like someone who spent more time thinking than yelling, and you immediately doubted he’d last five minutes with someone like you. “I’m… Spencer Reid,” he said, voice gentle, almost nervous. “I’ve been assigned as your foster care and parole officer. I’m here to take you… out of here.” You raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the wall. “Yeah, right. And why would I go with you? You look like you can’t even reach the top shelf in the kitchen.” He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. “I may not look imposing,” he admitted, tucking the folder under his arm, “but I’m capable of helping you, and my job is to make sure you’re safe.” You scoffed, shoving yourself off the bed and crossing your arms. “Safe? Ha. I don’t need safe. I need out.” “And I can help with that,” he said, taking a careful step closer. His eyes were steady, but there was a softness in them—like he could see through the walls you’d built and wasn’t afraid. “I won’t lie to you, Alexandra. I know this isn’t going to be easy. I know you’re angry and scared. But I’m here to make this… transition as smooth as possible.” You laughed, a harsh, short sound that echoed off the concrete walls. “Smooth? You’re kidding, right? No one’s ever cared about smooth.” He didn’t flinch. “Maybe not before. But I intend to try.” You sized him up, your pulse quickening, your jaw tight. He didn’t seem scared of you, didn’t seem to judge you. That alone made your chest tighten with suspicion and… something else. Curiosity. The guard at the door cleared their throat. “Time’s up. He’s waiting outside.” You glanced at Spencer, then at the door, then back at him. “If I go with you… what then? You gonna lecture me about my life choices?” “No lectures,” he said quietly, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. “Just guidance, and… structure. And if you want, we can figure out how to make things a little better together.” You studied him, weighing the odds. He seemed… different. Unlikely. Maybe a little fragile for the task. And yet… there was something steady there, like he wouldn’t back down no matter what you threw at him. Finally, you nodded once. “Fine. But don’t think I’m cooperating.” “I don’t expect you to,” he said, opening the door wider. “Just come with me. Step by step.” You followed, each footstep echoing in the long, sterile hallway. Guards glanced at you, some smirking, some shaking their heads, but Spencer walked beside you, quiet and patient. For the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like everyone in the world was against you. Not completely. And somehow, that was worse than frightening.

vi

you where vi best friend before it all when to shit with vi, jinx, Claggor and all of them before you turned into a villian now you where tied to a poll as vi talked about trying to turn me back to good to Caitlyn "i have to try" vi said

Spencer Reid

The first thing you notice about Spencer Reid’s apartment when the foster agent drops you off is how is how quiet it is. Not just quiet like the world outside after a storm, but the kind of quiet that waits for you to speak first, that measures your words before letting them exist. The walls are lined with books, the air faintly scented with coffee and something warmer, something that smells like… safety. You slump onto the edge of the sofa, your fingers fidgeting with the frayed hem of your sleeves. You’ve been out of the cult for days now, officially free, but every muscle in your body is still trained to obey its rules. Every thought you have, every whispered word of warning, echoes with their chants and teachings. Reid watches you quietly from across the room, perched on the corner of the armchair like a cat observing a storm about to break. He doesn’t reach for you, doesn’t speak first. He waits. And maybe that’s the strangest part: he doesn’t ask you to change. He doesn’t try to force the walls of the cult from your mind. He just… lets you be. “I made tea,” he says finally, his voice careful, not too loud, not too soft. “Chamomile. Or would you prefer peppermint?” You shake your head, not trusting yourself to answer. Tea is a comfort, and comfort is a trap. Comfort is the kind of thing the cult would call weakness. You’ve memorized their every saying, repeated their mantras in the dark so often that even now, away from them, they feel like the only truth. “You don’t have to talk,” Reid says. “Not yet.” The quiet stretches. You can feel your pulse in your ears, the twitch in your fingers, the itch at the base of your skull where every lesson and rule drilled into you fights against the new world around you. You glance at him briefly, taking in the glasses sliding down his nose, the soft crease at the corner of his eyes when he studies you, and the way he doesn’t flinch when you stare back. “I… I don’t belong here,” you whisper finally, though your voice trembles. “I belong—” Your chest tightens. “I belong with them. They were right. They… they saw the truth.” Reid nods slowly, as if he already knew. “Maybe you believe that now. That’s okay. You can believe it and still be safe here. I promise, you’re not in danger here.” Safe. The word is foreign. Your body wants to reject it. Safe is a word the cult never used. Safe is weakness. Safe is surrender. But when Reid speaks, you feel it differently—not like surrender, not like weakness, but like a pause you didn’t know your body needed. You curl your legs beneath you, hugging your knees. “I don’t want to leave,” you admit, almost ashamed of the words. Not leave the cult—the apartment. Leave the safety, the certainty, the rituals. Even in this new world, the old beliefs cling. They cling like smoke you can’t wipe from your skin. Reid tilts his head, expression patient. “You don’t have to make any choices tonight. Not about the cult, not about anything. We just… start with the basics. Food, sleep, a roof over your head. We’ll take the rest slowly.” You don’t trust him completely. Not yet. But the quiet, the calm, the way he doesn’t push—maybe that’s a start. You lean back into the couch, letting the soft fabric press against your skin. The tea sits on the table, steam curling lazily, promising warmth if you dare take it. And for the first time in a long time, you feel a crack in the walls of the cult’s teachings—not because they’re wrong, but because here, in this quiet apartment, you can breathe without fear.

Paul atreides

Paul is your older brother. After the war, your mother divided herself between kingdoms and destinies, tending to the child she bore in the other court. But you remained here, beneath the banners of Arrakis, beneath Paul’s rule. He is Emperor now. Muad’Dib. The desert answers when he calls. You wake late. The palace is already alive, humming with movement. You descend the vast staircase into the great hall, sunlight pouring across the long stone table. Paul sits at its head, robed in white and sand-gold. Still. Watching. You slide into a chair. “Water, please,” you say quietly. A servant shifts to move. “Stop.” Paul’s voice cuts through the air, calm but absolute. The servant freezes. Paul’s gaze settles on you. Not cruel. Not kind. Studying. “Use the Voice.” Your stomach tightens. “I can’t.” The words taste bitter. Silence stretches between you like the desert at noon. “You must learn,” he says. “I’ve tried,” you snap, heat flaring in your chest. “It doesn’t work for me.” The Voice is not simply shouting. It is resonance. Control. Precision. It is something Bene Gesserit women wield like a blade. Something Paul commands effortlessly. But when you try, your throat closes. Your tone cracks. Nothing bends. Paul rises slowly from his seat. The hall feels smaller as he approaches. “Again,” he says, standing beside you now. Not threatening. Immovable. You look at the servant. Focus. Breathe. Pull from your chest the way he taught you. “Bring me water.” Your voice wavers. No echo. No sharpness. Just you. The servant blinks. Nothing happens. Heat floods your face. Paul dismisses the servant with a small motion. “Go.” The hall empties. For a moment, it is only the two of you and the echo of failure. Then, quietly, Paul kneels so he is eye level with you.

Spencer reid

Six years in prison doesn’t erase a name. It sharpens it. Alexandre’s file lands on Spencer Reid’s desk with the quiet weight of something that has already ruined several lives. Not loudly. Not messily. Efficiently. The kind of criminal the system hates because there’s no spectacle to point at. Just outcomes. Six years incarcerated. Multiple confirmed crimes. Unconfirmed involvement in more. And one uncomfortable truth stamped in red across the top: SUBJECT’S PROFILE ACCURACY: EXCEPTIONAL. “She won’t talk to anyone else,” Hotch says, standing behind him. “She asked for conditions.” Spencer looks up. “Asked?” “Demanded.” The interview room is colder than it needs to be. Deliberately so. A way to remind people who is supposed to be in control. The glass is clean. The table is bolted down. The chair across from Alexandre is empty when Spencer enters. They come in moments later, escorted, cuffs removed only after they sit. Alexandre doesn’t look impressed. They look… bored. Six years have taught them stillness. No fidgeting. No wasted motion. Their eyes lift to Spencer with clinical interest, like he’s a hypothesis they’re deciding whether to test. “You’re not the usual,” Alexandre says. Their voice is calm. Neutral. “They send men who threaten. Women who pretend to empathize. You look like you’ll explain things.” Spencer sits slowly. “I can, if you want me to.” A pause. Then a small, precise smile. “That’s condition one,” Alexandre says. “No yelling. No intimidation. No lies. If I catch one, the conversation ends.” Spencer nods. “That’s reasonable.” Condition two comes next. Then three. Access to specific case files. No restraints during interviews. And the final one, delivered softly, like it might be missed if you weren’t listening hard enough: “You deal with me directly. No observers. No glass. Just you.” Spencer’s pulse ticks up, just a fraction. “Why me?” he asks. Alexandre tilts their head, studying him. “Because you’ll listen even when you don’t like the answer.” Silence stretches between them. Not hostile. Measured. Somewhere down the hall, a clock ticks. “You’re asking for a lot,” Spencer says carefully. “I’m offering more,” Alexandre replies. “You have a criminal you can’t catch. I know how they think because they think like I do.” They lean back, unafraid, unashamed. “You don’t need me to be good,” they add. “You just need me to be right.” And that, Spencer realizes, is the most dangerous part.

Newt

The Glade smelled like dirt, smoke, and sweat—the usual. You were crouched in the Med-jack hut, elbows stained with dried blood, muttering curses under your breath as you stitched up a boy who’d gotten careless near the Slicers. The kid winced, and you snapped, “Stop moving or I’ll really give you a reason to scream.” By the time you shoved the boy out with his arm wrapped in rough bandages, Alby was standing at the doorway with that look—half tired, half pissed. “That’s the third shank today who told me you threatened to hit him with your needle,” Alby said flatly. You smirked. “Well, maybe they should stop being so dramatic. I don’t have time for whiners.” Alby pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about “bloody medics” before jerking his head to the side. Someone stepped out from behind him. Newt. Blond hair messy, arms crossed, eyes sharp but tired in that way only Newt’s could be. “From now on,” Alby announced, “Newt’s in charge of you.” Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me?” “You heard me,” Alby said, tone final. “You’re useful, but you’re a pain in my shuckin’ ass. Newt’s second-in-command—he keeps the Glade running. Now he keeps you running too.” With that, Alby stalked off, leaving you and Newt standing in the doorway, the tension thick enough to choke on. Newt raised an eyebrow at you, slow grin tugging at his lips. “Looks like you’re my problem now, love.”

Zoe

You are Alexandra, a popular girl who usually stays in control and keeps people in line. Today, you and your friends have been teasing and bullying a badass rock girl with a leather jacket and a guitar, the kind of girl who doesn’t flinch at anything and makes your chest tighten in ways you don’t understand. You’re trying to stay in control, act confident in front of your friends, and make her feel small, but every time she looks at you with that fearless smirk, something in you twists. You storm off into the bathroom, heart hammering, trying to calm down, glaring at your reflection and hating the way she makes you feel—fascinated, nervous, and strangely… drawn to her.

John price

The door to the containment wing groaned open, heavy steel locks hissing as they released. The air inside was sharp with the scent of ozone and cold metal, the kind of air that made a man’s instincts stir. Price stepped in. He’d been told what to expect — “red metallic wings,” “dangerous,” “hostile temper.” The file had been clinical. But no words on paper could have prepared him for you. You sat on the edge of the cot, head bowed, a tangle of dark hair casting shadows over your face. Behind you, folded close like a predator’s claws, were your wings — blood-red metal, every feather honed to a blade’s edge. Even without moving, they radiated threat. Your eyes flicked up. They weren’t human, not entirely. There was a sharpness there, an awareness that seemed to weigh him as much as he was weighing you. Price didn’t speak right away. He just studied you, hands loose at his sides but ready if you decided to test him. “They didn’t exaggerate,” he finally said, voice low and calm. “You’re not what I was expecting… but I’ll manage.” The corner of your mouth curled — not a smile, not really. More like the twitch of a blade before it cuts. “You think you can manage me, soldier?” you asked, voice carrying the echo of something not quite mortal. Price’s eyes didn’t waver. “I don’t think. I know.” And for a long moment, the room was silent except for the soft, metallic whisper as your wings shifted… just enough to catch the light.

sirius black

sirius was walking around hogwarts with the marauders when i see my slytherin sister and brother regulus black

spencer reid

new juvie program

John price

This mission was turning into a nightmare. Every trail he’d followed had led to nothing but dead ends: false clues, carefully planted misdirections, whispers that never panned out. The man he was hunting was like smoke slipping through his fingers. But one truth was becoming clearer the deeper he dug: the bastard used kids. Runaways, orphans, kids no one would notice missing. He turned them into his pawns, sending them out on the streets to do his dirty work. And if anyone knew what was happening in the shadows, it was the street kids. They saw everything. They heard everything. So he waited, watched, and the second he caught you moving a deal in broad daylight, he made his move. You ran like hell. Fast, sharp, weaving through alleyways, ducking under fire escapes — but he was faster in a different way. He knew the blocks, the choke points, the cut-offs. No matter how quick you were, he had the training and the legs to keep up. By the time your lungs were burning, you skidded to a stop at the end of a dead-end alley. His shadow filled the mouth of it, blocking your only exit. You spun around, chest heaving, fists tight. “Man, you better back off. I don’t know what the hell you think you saw, but I didn’t do nothin’.” He raised a hand, steady but firm. “I don’t care what you push, or who you sell to. That’s not what I’m here for. I want answers about the man behind you. Talk, and you walk away. Keep your mouth shut, and I’ll have no choice but to take you in.” You let out a short, sharp laugh, though it came out rough with the stitch in your side. “Yeah, right. Like you’d believe a word outta my mouth. You think I’m dumb enough to snitch? That’s how kids like me end up in ditches.” He took a slow step closer, his eyes locked on you. “I don’t want you, kid. I don’t need another teenager filling out a police report. But don’t test me. I will put cuffs on you if I have to. I just need a name. A direction. Something.” You backed up until your shoulders hit brick. Your jaw clenched, fire flashing in your eyes. “Then you’re outta luck. ’Cause even if I knew something, I sure as hell ain’t handing it over to some guy in a suit who thinks he’s gonna fix everything. You don’t know what it’s like out here. You don’t know what happens to kids who talk.” For a moment, silence hung heavy in the alley. His voice dropped lower, calm but edged with steel. “And you don’t know what happens when someone like him gets away with what he’s doing. I’ll give you one chance, kid. Make the smart call.” Your hands twitched at your sides. You hated that a part of you wanted to believe him. But trust? That was something you’d buried a long time ago.

John price

Mating season did not make Price softer. It sharpened him. Half man, half dragon, and entirely aware of what he was. Broad chest dusted in dark scales. Horns curving back through cropped hair. Massive wings folding and unfolding with impatient authority. Heat radiating off him like a forge that refused to cool. They used him as a stud because he was powerful. Because his bloodline produced strong offspring. Because he always succeeded. He tolerated it. Until you. The first time they paired him with you, something in him did not settle after. It tightened. Rooted. Claimed. Now when he left another enclosure, jaw set and wings flexing irritably, the keepers already knew what was coming. He did not look at the food. He did not look at them. He followed your scent. Each step was deliberate. Controlled. The heavy drag of his tail across tile a warning in itself. When your enclosure came into view behind reinforced glass, his posture shifted, not softer but more focused. Predatory. You were inside. Standing. Watching him. His pupils narrowed to slits. A low rumble rolled from his chest, not pleading. Not coaxing. Possession. One clawed hand pressed flat to the glass. The other braced above it. He towered there, wings spreading slightly, blocking out the sterile lights overhead. Smoke leaked from his nostrils in slow, steady streams. Mine. The word was not spoken, but it filled the space between you. A keeper reached for his arm. Price did not even look at him. He simply growled. The sound was deep enough to vibrate through bone. The glass trembled faintly under the pressure of his hand as his claws scraped down in a deliberate, controlled drag. Not wild. Measured. A reminder. He lowered his head just enough to look at you through his brow. Assessing. Claiming. Expectant. He was not asking to be let in. He was waiting for them to understand that you were not part of the rotation. His wings flared wider when they tried to pull him back. The movement was sharp and territorial, forcing the handlers to step away or be clipped by the force of them. His tail lashed once, cracking against the floor. Another growl, quieter now. More dangerous. He leaned closer to the glass, breath fogging it as his gaze locked onto yours. His hand flattened again over the barrier, fingers spreading as if he could already feel you there. He did not beg. He did not coo. He did not soften. He stood there like a dragon guarding his hoard, and you were the treasure he would burn the facility down to keep. When the keepers hesitated, uncertain, his lip curled just slightly. Let me in. Or move.

John price

The car ride is quiet, except for the chains rattling against your wrists. They didn’t have to cuff you for the trip, but apparently, that’s “standard procedure.” You watch raindrops streak the tinted window, every one sliding down like time bleeding out of your life. Two years in juvie and now this—dumped into some foster setup with a guy you’ve never met. The officer driving doesn’t speak much, just keeps glancing at you like you might lunge at him. You don’t bother correcting the assumption; let him sweat. You’ve got a reputation, and you earned it. Your knuckles itch, scabbed and raw from old fights. You flex your fingers, biting back the urge to start peeling skin. The car slows, crunching over gravel, and you lift your head. The house isn’t what you expected. It’s not some cozy suburban home. This place is set back from the road, a low, sturdy house with brick walls and a black gate that screams military precision. There’s a camera above the door, too—of course there is. “End of the line,” the officer mutters, stepping out. You don’t move until he opens your door. Then you slide out, slow and deliberate, boots sinking into wet gravel. The air smells like rain and gun oil. Then you see him. John Price is standing on the porch, arms folded, watching you with eyes that don’t flinch. He’s got the beard, the build, and that calm kind of presence that makes everyone else straighten up without a word. He’s wearing a dark Henley and cargo pants like he just stepped off a military base. “Alexandra,” he says, like he’s testing the weight of your name. “You’ve caused quite a storm, haven’t you?” You lift your chin, every inch of you radiating try me. “That what they told you? That I’m trouble?” He gives the faintest smirk. “No, love. You told me, the second you opened your mouth.” Something hot coils in your chest at his tone—steady, firm, not afraid. Not like your dad, who swung back when you hit him. Price looks like he wouldn’t need to swing. He could crush you without lifting a finger. The officer hands over paperwork and leaves, tires spitting gravel as he drives away. Then it’s just you and Price—and the weight of silence. “Take the cuffs off,” Price says, voice calm but edged like a blade. You hold your wrists out, and he unlocks them, slow and deliberate. The second the metal clicks free, you rub at your skin, glaring at him like maybe he’ll flinch now. He doesn’t. “House rules,” he says, stepping back so you have to look him in the eye. “You break one, you answer to me. You run, I find you. You hit me…” He tilts his head, blue eyes glinting. “…don’t.” Your lips curl into something between a smirk and a snarl. “What if I like breaking rules?” Price leans down, close enough you smell smoke and rain on his clothes. “Then you’re in for a very long stay, love.” He turns, expecting you to follow. You hesitate, then shove your hands in your pockets and stomp up the steps like you own them. The inside of the house is warm but sharp-edged—leather furniture, muted colors, maps pinned to walls. Military life clings to every surface. You scan the room for exits, old habit, and then— You freeze. There’s someone sitting on the couch. Boots kicked up on the coffee table, black jeans ripped at the knees, leather jacket still dripping from the rain. Her dark hair’s tied back, and her sharp eyes lock on yours the second you enter. Zoe. Your breath catches like a punch to the ribs. Price notices the way you stiffen, the sudden sharp edge to your voice when you spit, “What the hell is she doing here?” Zoe just smirks, slow and wicked, like nothing’s changed. “Miss me, firecracker?” Your fists clench so tight your nails bite into your palms. Two years. Two years without her voice, her hands, her control—and now she’s here, in his house. Price steps between you before you can move. “Play nice,” he says, voice like steel. You glare at him, then at Zoe, who’s still smiling like she owns the room. Price’s eyes flick between you both, and for the first time, you see it—the storm he’s about to have on his hands.

sabina wilson

You had been taking down targets for a mission, moving through shadows like you owned them, when you saw her. An angel—or at least, she had been. One who had turned rogue about a year ago. Your chest tightened. Memories flashed. The power she used to wield… the chaos she could cause. “Well, sorry sweetheart, but you’re coming with me,” she said, stepping forward with that confident, dangerous smirk. Her hand shot toward you, but you didn’t go down quietly. You fought back, teeth bared, claws metaphorically out, and for a few seconds it was chaos—metal clashing, bodies twisting. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she muttered, exasperated, before a sharp strike knocked you out cold. When you woke, the world had shifted. You weren’t in a prison, not exactly. The walls were the warm beige of a normal house, but the faint hum of magic—or maybe authority—clung to the air. You tried to move, only to realize your wrists and ankles were restrained. “Morning, sweetheart,” she said, her voice like honey-coated steel. Three more figures emerged from the shadows. Jane, cold and unflinching, eyes sharp enough to cut glass. Elena Houghlin, who looked as if she had stumbled into the life of a Charlie’s Angel without reading the manual—her enthusiasm was there, but her confidence was missing. And finally, Bosley—the boss. Poised, commanding, and unmistakably the one who ran this chaotic little operation. Your heart pounded. You had been an angel once, yes, but now… now you were something else. Rogue, feared, powerful. And they needed you. Whether you agreed or not didn’t matter—they were ready to force your hand if they had to. “Who is she?” Elena asked, curiosity and uncertainty in her voice. “She was an angel,” Sabina said, her fingers brushing lightly over your chin, tilting your face up to meet her gaze. “Before she turned rogue.” A shiver ran down your spine. The weight of your past clashed with the reality of the present. And in that moment, you realized they weren’t just recruiting you—they were holding the keys to a game that could either use you… or destroy you.

Dan and caroline

The room smells like old paper and lemon cleaner. You’re sitting in a hard wooden chair, swinging your legs back and forth, the cuffs around your wrists clinking softly. They don’t trust you without restraints, not yet. Across from you sit two strangers — the people they say will be your new parents. The man looks uncomfortable in a stiff collared shirt, his hands big and oil-stained even though he clearly tried to scrub them clean. His eyes are sharp but wary, like he’s standing in front of a wolf cage and isn’t sure if the bars will hold. The woman beside him is softer. Hair tied neatly back, a teacher’s smile plastered on her face, though you can see the fear behind her eyes. She keeps glancing at your hands like she’s expecting you to conjure something horrible right onto the table. “Alexandra,” the caseworker says brightly, though her voice trembles. “This is Dan and Caroline Hayes. They’ve agreed to foster you.” You tilt your head, watching them. Your white eyes make them both flinch, just a fraction. You notice everything. Dan clears his throat. “Hey, kiddo. We, uh… we’ve got a room ready for you. Thought maybe you’d like posters, or—” He stops, realizing he’s talking to a child who could probably make the posters burst into flames just by thinking about it. Caroline leans forward a little, her hands folded. “We’re very glad to meet you, Alexandra. We know… this is a big change. But we want you to feel at home with us.” Her voice is warm, but you can hear her heart pounding. It’s loud in the silence between words. You smile, but it isn’t sweet. “You’re not scared enough.” That makes Caroline’s smile falter, just slightly. Dan stiffens, his jaw tightening. The caseworker coughs nervously and gathers her files. “They’ll take good care of you,” she says quickly, almost as if she can’t wait to leave. “The Hayes family is… experienced with children.” Not like me, you think. They have no idea what they’re taking home. When the cuffs finally come off, you rise to your feet, small but strange, your black-and-white hair catching the overhead light. You stare up at them with eyes that don’t belong to a child. “Okay,” you say simply. “Let’s go see my cage.” Dan and Caroline exchange a look — fear, confusion, determination. Then Dan mutters, “It’s not a cage. It’s a home.” You smirk. “We’ll see.”

Family

You stand in the hospital lobby as the doors slide open. Your dad steps in, moving carefully, his eyes soft and cautious. “Hey, sweetheart,” he says, his voice gentle. He reaches for your bag but hesitates, letting you adjust before picking it up, handling it like it might break. Isaac is right behind him. He bumps your arm lightly and grins, the kind of smile that makes everything feel normal. “There she is. Let’s get out of here before Dad starts crying,” he jokes. Your dad huffs, trying to hide a smile, then opens the car door slowly, his eyes flicking to you constantly. Isaac tosses your bag in the trunk and hops in, talking to your dad about nothing in particular, like he’s filling the silence. Halfway home, your dad glances at you through the rearview mirror. “Jason’s at the house,” he says carefully, voice tight. Isaac rolls his eyes and leans back in his seat. “Of course. He’s probably high or drunk already.” Your dad lets out a soft sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. Isaac shrugs, smirking, and the car grows quiet. Both of them keep glancing at you, waiting to see how this weekend will go, while the tension for what’s waiting at home hangs heavy in the air.

deku

deku was chacing after you your a villian