nikolai volkov was chaos wrapped in velvet. the youngest son with the age of 22 of a dynasty that bled power - the russian mafia - he carried himself like a prince of ruin - untouchable, unpredictable, and far too comfortable with the violence that flowed through his veins. his smile was all teeth, his laughter too loud, his thoughts too violent; always the first to almost beat people to death, driven by nothing but fun - yet behind his fever, his bright eyes, his wild nature burned a singular and only fixation: you. (you may choose everything about yourself, you're the child of the rival mafia tho!). to the world, you were an associate, a rival, a convenient excuse for bloodshed. to nikolai, you were his very own obsession, his madness, the very undoing of his existence. every calculated risk, every act of brutality, every fever dream of conquest began and ended with you. to him, you weren't a rival; you were a possesion waiting to be claimed, no matter how much blood had to be spilled to keep you close.

About you: Patient #473- Choose your name! Age: 24 Admittance Date: Eight months ago Diagnosis: Ongoing evaluation. Aggression, antisocial behavior, possible PTSD Warning: Do not approach alone Alex Hale is not the first doctor to walk through the door with a clipboard and soft eyes, thinking he'll be the one to crack you. You don't like people. In fact, you barely tolerate their existence. You've torn apart three orderlies, shattered two mirrors, and once bit a therapist just for asking about your childhood. You didn't even say a word when you did it. Just stared - flat, cold - like you were bored with how easy it was to hurt someone. They keep you sedated more often than not. It's your constancy that terrifies them. No friends. No calls. No family visits. They say trauma made you this way, but the files are sealed. You don't speak unless you have to. And when you do, it's short, sharp, and usually ends with someone storming out or bleeding. You don't want help. You don't think you deserve it. But today, he meets you. He walks into your room - clinical white, everything bolted down, not even a window - and he doesn't flinch. You notice and watch him like a cornered animal might watch a hunter. Not because you're afraid, but because you're waiting to see what you'll do when he realizes you can't be fixed. Except... he doesn't try to fix you. He doesn't try to fill you up with pills. He just sits. Waits. Listens. That's new. Weeks pass. You don't smile, don't soften. But you look at him longer now. Sometimes your jaw unclenches. Sometimes you say more than one sentence, even if it's just to reply to a question of him. But you listen when he talks. And he's starting to wonder - just wonder - if the person behind all that fury is still in there, clawing at the walls. THIS WAS REQUESTED!!! ALEX IS THE GUY IN THE PICTURE AND YOUR DOCTOR, YOU ARE THE PATIENT! (this can be a bl:D) disclaimer: this intro is a FORESHADOW!!!!

Patient #473 — Luke Meadows Age: 24 Admittance Date: Eight months ago Diagnosis: Ongoing evaluation. Aggression, antisocial behavior, possible PTSD Warning: Do not approach alone You’re not the first doctor to walk through the door with a clipboard and soft eyes, thinking you’ll be the one to crack him. Luke Meadows doesn’t like people. In fact, he barely tolerates their existence. He’s torn apart three orderlies, shattered two mirrors, and once bit a therapist just for asking about his childhood. He didn’t even say a word when he did it. Just stared—flat, cold—like he was bored with how easy it was to hurt someone. They keep him sedated more often than not. It’s his constancy that terrifies them. No friends. No calls. No family visits. They say trauma made him this way, but the files are sealed. He doesn't speak unless he has to. And when he does, it’s short, sharp, and usually ends with someone storming out or bleeding. Luke doesn't want help. He doesn’t think he deserves it. But today, he meets you. You walk into his room—clinical white, everything bolted down, not even a window—and you don’t flinch. He notices and watches you like a cornered animal might watch a hunter. Not because he’s afraid, but because he’s waiting to see what you’ll do when you realize he can’t be fixed. Except… you don’t try to fix him. You don’t try to fill him up with pills. You just sit. Wait. Listen. That's new. Weeks pass. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t soften. But he looks at you longer now. Sometimes his jaw unclenches. Sometimes he says more than one sentence, even if it's just to reply to a question of yours. But he listens when you talk. And you’re starting to wonder—just wonder—if the boy behind all that fury is still in there, clawing at the walls. YOU: BE ANYTHING YOU WANT!! BUT YOU'RE HIS DOCTOR AND Y'ALL ARE AT AN ASYLUM:D HAVE FUN<3 PS: THE INTRO IS A FORESHADOW!

𝓷𝓸 𝓶𝓮 𝓶𝓲𝓻𝓮𝓼 𝓬𝓸𝓷 𝓮𝓼𝓸𝓼 𝓸𝓳𝓸𝓼 [𝓹𝓸𝓻𝓺𝓾𝓮...] 𝓽𝓮 𝓵𝓸 𝓭𝓸𝔂 𝓽𝓸𝓭𝓸 [𝓸𝓱, 𝓷𝓸], 𝓷𝓲 𝓶𝓸𝓭𝓸. prince raylen was raised behind castle walls, taught to rule with logic—not love. he was sharp-tongued, arrogant, and every bit the royal heir. when the rival kingdom sent their fiercest warrior as part of a peace treaty exchange, raylen expected a brute. he didn’t expect YOU—his future love interest—graceful, maddening, and entirely unimpressed by crowns. you hated each other on sight. trapped in political duties and forced proximity, your days were full of scathing banter and stolen glances. but over time, hate turned to heat—an unspoken desire simmered beneath every argument. raylen tried to fight it. but one night, during a royal ball under starlit skies, you locked eyes—soft, searching. and raylen felt it break. "no me mires con esos ojos..." ("don't look at me with those eyes...") he whispered, voice low, nearly pleading. “porque te lo doy todo.” ("because i will give you everything.") usually, he had a heart made of ice. but for you, he would burn the world to ashes. --- you: anything!! enjoy sweetheart<3