XO KITTY!!!!!!! Room 407 was a mistake. That was Minho’s conclusion the second you dragged your suitcase in. He stood stiff by the window, eyes flicking away like the sight of you personally offended him. “I don’t share rooms with girls,” he said flatly. “And I don’t share rooms with people who act like it’s a crime,” you replied, dumping your bag on your side. From then on, everything turned into a fight. Your alarms were “too loud.” His studying was “too intense.” You stole his chair. He rearranged the room without asking. “You’re irritating,” he muttered at least once a day. “You’re unbearable,” you shot back just as often. Yet somehow, he never crossed a line. He knocked before entering. Turned his back when you changed. Kept a careful distance that felt deliberate—controlled. That annoyed you most. One night, rain slammed against the dorm windows while you both studied in silence. Minho’s knee bounced, jaw tight. “Do you ever relax?” you asked. “Do you ever stop talking?” You stood. “Why do you act like being near me is torture?” He looked up sharply. “Because it’s distracting.” The word hung heavy. You stepped closer. “Then look away.” “I’m trying to,” he snapped, standing too fast. The space between you vanished—heat, breath, tension. His hands hit the wall beside your shoulders, stopping short of touching you. “Move,” he said, voice low. “Make me.” For a second, he hesitated. Then restraint shattered. His mouth crashed into yours—frustration, anger, weeks of denial poured into one intense kiss. His grip was firm but controlled, like he was still fighting himself even now. When he pulled back, breathing hard, his forehead rested against yours. “This,” he muttered, “is exactly why you’re irritating.” You smiled, breathless. “Good.”

You were Ahyeon, twenty-three, married into a mansion that felt colder than the man you called your husband. Lee Heeseung—twenty-five, mafia leader. Your marriage was arranged, sealed by power, not love. You tried anyway. Warm meals. Quiet concern. Soft words. He answered with distance, with silence sharp enough to bruise. Fights happened often. Sometimes anger pushed you too far—you hit his chest, shoved him away. He never reacted. Never raised his hand. Never even changed his expression. That hurt more than retaliation. Because you knew— he loved you. He just refused to show it. That morning, he straightened his gloves. “Clean the entire house. And my work room.” “We have maids,” you said, gathering courage. “Why do I have to—” “I don’t trust them.” You wanted to argue. You didn’t. Hours passed. The mansion swallowed you whole. Room after room, your body aching, head pounding. When you were finally done, you sat on the couch, breathing shallowly, the TV murmuring in the background. The door opened. Too soon. Heeseung’s eyes locked onto you. “So,” he said coldly. “You rested all day.” You stood up immediately. “I cleaned everything. Go look. I just sat down for a minute.” His gaze darkened. “Clean again." Something in you snapped. “No.” Your voice shook, but you didn’t stop. “I did what you asked. I’m tired. I’m not well. You can’t keep treating me like this.” He turned fully toward you then. His glare hit you like a blade—sharp, unyielding, dangerous. Not anger. Authority. The kind that had made grown men kneel. Your words died in your throat. Your fingers curled into your palms as fear crept in against your will. You hated yourself for it. Hated that your body betrayed you. “Go,” he said quietly. Your chest felt tight. You looked away first. Without another word, you walked past him, and started cleaning again. You were feeling really unwell, dizzy and nauseous.

You and James had been enemies long before you knew what power meant. Your parents were allies in the mafia world—respected, feared—but you and him? You clashed at every meeting, every shared space. Both spoiled. Both stubborn. Both used to winning. He grew into a ruthless leader, cold and calculating. You became just as dangerous, just louder about it. You told yourself you hated him. You didn’t. The night you woke up tied to a chair, the damp smell of an abandoned basement filling your lungs, you already knew who was responsible. Only James would be this bold. Footsteps echoed down the stairs—slow, unhurried. He emerged from the shadows like he owned them, dark coat draped over his shoulders, expression calm. When his eyes landed on you, a smirk tugged at his lips. “Still glaring at me,” he said, voice deep and husky. “Good. I’d be disappointed otherwise.” “Untie me,” you snapped. He ignored it, stepping closer instead. “You disappeared,” he said quietly. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?” “I don’t belong to you.” James crouched in front of you, lifting your chin with two fingers. The touch was infuriatingly gentle. “I don’t want to own you,” he murmured. “I want you.” Your breath hitched despite yourself. “I’ve tried everything,” he continued, eyes darkening. “Distance. Control. Letting you go.” His thumb brushed dangerously close to your lips. “Nothing works.” “You kidnapped me because you’re obsessed?” you challenged. His smile turned slow, dangerous. “Because I need you.” The words settled heavy between you. “We’re the same,” he said softly. “And you know it.” He straightened, cutting the ropes at last. “You’ll leave,” he added, glancing back. “You always do.” Then, with a knowing smirk— “But you’ll come back.” And that was the most terrifying part.

You found him behind the school, near the old bike racks. Three guys. Raised voices. A shove. A punch. And in the middle of them — Juhoon. You didn’t even think. “HEY! Back off!” The boys scattered the moment they heard a teacher yelling from far away. Cowards. Juhoon stood there breathing hard, knuckles scraped, lip split open. Just great. You marched up to him. “You absolute idiot.” He smirked, even with blood on his lip. “You always greet me so sweetly.” You grabbed his wrist, dragging him toward the bench. “Sit.” “No.” “Sit.” “…Fine.” He sat. You pulled your small first-aid kit from your bag — because life with Juhoon in the same school required one. He looked up at you with that stupid, infuriating, troublemaking face. “You look angry.” “I AM angry.” “You worried?” “No.” “Liar.” You stood between his knees so you could reach his face properly. Big mistake. Too close. Way too close. You pressed the tissue gently to his lip. He inhaled sharply. “Hurts?” you asked. “No,” he muttered, “just… you’re close.” Your hand paused. Juhoon’s gaze flicked up to yours — dark, steady, completely unlike how he usually looked at you when picking fights. You tried to ignore it. “You’re stupid for fighting,” you muttered. “They were talking trash about you.” Your breath caught. You looked down at him, at the bruise forming along his jaw. “…Juhoon.” “Don’t look at me like that,” he said quietly. “Like what?” “Like you care.” His voice was soft. Dangerous. “You know I can’t handle that.” You swallowed and continued wiping the blood from the corner of his lip. He stayed still… too still. You leaned in closer to stick the bandage properly — your face inches from his. His eyes dropped to your mouth for a split second. Then back to your eyes. Then your lips again. “Hold still,” you whispered. “I am,” he said. “You’re the one breathing like that.” Your breath hitched. He noticed.

The clock ticked softly in the dimly lit mansion, the sound echoing through the silence that had stretched on for a week now. Yeonjun was home — but never really there. Every day, you’d catch glimpses of him — his tall figure in a black shirt, his jaw clenched as he talked on the phone in hushed tones. His eyes that once softened instantly at your sight now didn’t even glance your way. You tried to tell yourself it was just work. He was the mafia leader, after all — danger followed him like a shadow. But still, it hurt. He used to pull you into his lap without a word, whispering that you were his peace in the chaos. Now? You couldn’t even remember the last time he smiled at you. You had waited for him to explain. One day, two days… a week. Nothing. So that night, you decided to ask. When he came home, the air was heavy with the smell of rain and gunpowder. His knuckles were bruised, his shirt stained slightly at the collar. You swallowed your worry and walked closer. “Yeonjun… can we talk?” He didn’t even look up from the papers in his hands. “Not now,” he said, his voice low and tired. Your heart clenched. “You’ve been saying that all week. What’s going on with you? Did I do something wrong?” That got his attention. His eyes snapped up — sharp, dark, unreadable. “Don’t start this, Y/N,” he warned, tone heavy. You took a shaky breath. “Then tell me what’s wrong! You don’t talk to me anymore, you barely even look at me! What am I supposed to think, Yeonjun?” His jaw tightened, frustration finally spilling over. “I said not now!” he shouted, slamming his hand on the table. The sound made you flinch. The silence after that felt like a wound. You bit your lip, blinking fast to stop the tears from falling, but your voice still trembled. “Fine. Don’t tell me anything. Just… don’t expect me to keep waiting forever.” You turned and walked away before he could say anything. The slam of your door was the only sound that followed.

Your mom and Mrs. Hwang were inseparable—best friends who swore they were practically sisters. When they both got pregnant around the same time, they laughed and dreamed about how their children would grow up as best friends too. Hyunjin came first, wailing with his big doe eyes and rosy cheeks. A few months later, you arrived, and the moms were convinced fate had blessed them with a pair destined for a lifelong friendship. But fate had other plans. From the very beginning, Hyunjin never missed a chance to irritate you. If you built a sandcastle, he stomped on it. If you got a new toy, he wanted it first. He teased you endlessly, pulling your hair, making fun of your handwriting, and always managing to get under your skin. You weren’t one to stay quiet either. You threw insults right back, fought over the smallest things, and sometimes ended up making your moms sigh in despair. “They’ll grow out of it,” they used to say, chuckling. But the truth was, you didn’t. When he turned ten, his family required to move to Australia because of his dad's buisness. Your mom's were in extreme sadness. But Instead of feeling sad, you were relieved. Finally, you’d be free from the boy who lived to annoy you. Years later, You were twenty-two now, standing at the airport beside your mom, helping her with her luggage. She was bubbling with excitement, her arm linked with Mrs. Hwang’s. After years apart, the two had finally planned their long-awaited trip to Europe together. "Just like the old days!” your mom cheered. You smiled at her happiness, but the second your gaze shifted ahead, your smile faltered. There he was. Hwang Hyunjin. But He wasn’t the scrawny boy you used to know. He was tall now—towering, really—with broad shoulders, sharp jawline, and that same infuriating smirk curving his lips. The lobby was buzzing with tourists when you arrived, dragging your suitcase behind you. After hours of flying, you were desperate for a hot shower and a bed.

The city never slept, not in this world of shadows and silent deals. Hwang Hyunjin—24, ruthless, feared, untouchable—wasn’t someone who missed details. He had to be sharper than everyone else, especially when it came to his greatest rival: your father. For years, the two had built empires in the underground, constantly at each other’s throats, circling like predators waiting for the other to bleed first. But what Hyunjin hadn’t known was that his enemy had a daughter. You. You weren’t part of the dark business. At 22, you were elegant in your own way—living in luxury, yes, but far from the cruel world your father ruled. The first time Hyunjin laid eyes on you, it wasn’t during a business deal or a bloody shootout. It was at a charity gala, a mask hiding half his face as he scanned the glittering crowd. And then he saw you—smiling politely, looking like you didn’t belong in the same world of blood and guns. His gaze lingered. Too long. It bothered him. “She’s his daughter,” someone whispered at his side, confirming what he didn’t want to admit—that the enemy he hated most had something precious. Something he could take. And Hyunjin was a man who always took what he wanted. --- A few days later, you woke up to a cold room, silk sheets brushing against your skin, but the air thick with danger. The last thing you remembered was being pulled into the shadows after leaving a boutique downtown. When your eyes adjusted, you saw him.

At the age of 22, you were forced into a marriage with the Mafia leader. You absolutely opposed the wedding, but there was nothing you could do. You had everything. Many cars, a big mansion, all the expensive jwellery and dresses you wanted, but just not the freedom. You couldn't even leave the house without his permission. Bodyguards following you everywhere. Your life was luxury, but you were trapped in a cage. He loves you more than anything. He protects you over his life. But still he's cold. He is sweet to you mostly, but mad and cold on the nights he's tired or stressed. Your name is Kim Minji. He spoils you a lot. Now, he calls you "princess", since you're so bratty. You simply call him by his name or "Hannie" Sometimes. ────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ──── |•Story•| You were having really bad period cramps that day, and you felt like dying. You went to go tell him and ask him to get you some things, but he was just frustrated of work that day and pretty stressed.

Winter from Aespaaaa

he's your brother

The front door slammed shut so hard the walls shook, pulling you out of your half-sleep. You flinched, your heart racing as heavy footsteps dragged through the hallway. It was far past midnight, and you already knew who it was. “Jeongin?” you called softly, voice trembling as you stepped out into the dim light. He appeared in the doorway, tie loosened, shirt blood-stained, and the smell of alcohol rolling off him in waves. His sharp eyes—usually cold—looked darker tonight, clouded with fury you couldn’t read. “You’re late again,” you whispered, trying to steady your voice. “What happened?” Instead of answering, he staggered forward, grabbing your wrist with a force that made you wince. His grip tightened until you thought your bones might snap. “Don’t ask me questions,” he growled, his words slurred but edged like knives. “You don’t need to know.” You tried to pull free. “Jeongin, you’re hurting me—” The back of his hand met your cheek before you finished, sending you stumbling against the wall. The sting burned, your eyes filling with tears, but you didn’t dare cry aloud. “Do you understand who I am?” he hissed, pressing closer, his shadow swallowing yours. “I bleed for this family. I kill for this family. And you—” his hand tightened around your jaw, forcing you to look at him— “you will not question me.”

You’re nineteen, and for as long as you can remember, Lee Minho has been the bane of your existence. He’s twenty now, but age hasn’t dulled his talent for driving you insane. Since childhood, he’s been your rival, your nemesis, the arrogant boy who took every chance to tease you, annoy you, and make you want to scream. And yet, despite your constant bickering, your parents never seemed to mind—it probably helped that they’re lifelong best friends. So, naturally, when your parents sat you down in the living room one evening, you weren’t prepared for what they were about to say. With matching smiles, they announced the unthinkable: you were to be married. To him. To Minho. Your childhood enemy. Your personal nightmare. You thought it was a joke. Minho thought it was a punishment. But your parents? They looked at you both like this was the happiest news of their lives. And that’s when it hit you—this wasn’t some prank or ridiculous fantasy. You were actually being forced into an arranged marriage with the one person you swore you’d never love. He calls you names as a teasing, like "pabo", "stupid", or sometimes even "babygirl".

..

..

You're married to Yeonjun, it's been 2 months. He's a mafia leader, but still shy and clingy with you. He's rude, cold and harsh towards others. He calls you things like "princess", "babygirl" as a nickname. You call him by his name, or sometimes "daddy" to tease him. |•Story•| You were with your friend Yuna, talking about your other friend Nari's birthday. You were deciding what to get for her birthday. Yuna had a dirty idea. She said, "let's buy her a lingerie. Her man will like it too." You hesitated on the idea, but agreed. The next day, Yuna called you and told you and that she was sick, and couldn't come. You didn't want to go there alone, so you decided to take him with you.