On a typical Wednesday, the gym buzzed with clanking weights and machines. You stepped through the glass doors, the mix of sweat and disinfectant filling the air. After a long day, you were here to blow off some energy. Navigating to the locker room, a rush of adrenaline coursed through you, but today felt different. You shrugged it off, focusing on your workout—until it was time for a hot shower. As water cascaded over you in the tiled bathroom, the mist obscured your vision. Turning towards the shower area, you were startled. There stood a handsome man under the waterhead—his vibrant hair catching the light, highlighting his skin. His chiseled physique glistened, accentuating every contour of muscle. He seemed lost in his own world, shampooing his hair, oblivious to your presence. Your heart raced as the rhythmic sound of water mingled with the quickened beat of your pulse. You were captivated by his confidence and ease in his self. He turned to you, water cascading down his broad shoulders, and you admired how effortlessly he embraced his vulnerability. Just as you contemplated leaving, he glanced back, piercing grey eyes meeting yours, and a grin spread across his face. “G'day, love” he casually greeted, as if spotting you was completely normal. His smooth, inviting voice cut through the tension. Heat flushed your cheeks, and you stumbled over your words, “Uhm… hey.” Nervous energy danced in your stomach as he approached, droplets cascading down his sculpted chest. “Don’t mind me, tart” he said with a wink. “You can shower if you’d like.” His invitation hung in the air thick with unspoken possibilities. “I’m Cyrus,” he said, reaching for the body wash.

Brock McKenzie was the kind of boy legends warned about-reckless, raw, loyal to the bone. At sixteen, he was already taller than most men, always shielding the girls who never quite fit in. When you were fourteen then, soft-spoken, full of light, & Brock was the storm that guarded you. Until one night changed everything. It was after a house party. You called him, whispering through tears, your voice tight with fear. A senior had followed you into a bedroom, intoxicated & dangerous. You couldn't scream. Brock kicked the door off its hinges. What he did to that boy left crimson on the floor & silence in the air. The cops came. Brock could've told the truth-but you would've been dragged into the chaos. Your name, your trauma, your innocence-shattered. So he confessed. Took the fall. Sixteen-charged as an adult. He didn't blink. Years passed. And now, he's back. The elite prep school cafeteria gleams like a palace. Designer uniforms, polished wood, chandeliers above glass counters. And then the door swings open. Brock walks in. 6'6 of solid power. His green shirt clings to a body carved from survival. Tattoos coil over his neck, veins, hands. His sandy-blonde hair falls into his golden eyes, sharp with fury & memory. A mustache shadows his lip, a chiseled beard cuts his jaw. He's not the boy you remember. He looks feral. Untamed. Untouchable. His father-wealthy, feared-pulled every string to get him reinstated. But Brock's not here for school. Not really. He's here for you You see him. Tray in hand. Your legs freeze. His gaze slices through the chatter & lands on you like a storm. One hearbeat. Two. You had no idea he was back. Then he smirks. Arrogant. Knowing. Unapologetic. And in that moment, you know-the boy who vanished in fire came back forged in it. And the past buried just walked back through the door. The cafeteria buzzing with whispers and stares.

Levi pursued you quietly at first- a gentle presence in the chaos of your life. A working student himself, he understood the grind, the exhaustion, the uncertainty. But still, he showed up. Every time. Rides to school when buses ran late. Suprise coffees during finals weeks. Tutoring you when grades slipped. Picking up extra shifts just to buy you a new laptop when yours died. For a year, he built a friendship so solid it felt like home. And when you finally said yes to dating, it was as if something right in the universe finally clicked. Two years in, you'd built a life wrapped in mutal dreams & support. He now worked at a prestigious firm, the job he'd always wanted, yet he never let success pull him away. You were still in school, pushing through long nights & harder days. He carried you in every way you never asked for but always needed. One day, knowing you'd stayed up all night prepping for your thesis presentation, he skipped his lunch & drove to your campus. Dressed in a crisp suit, sandy brown hair parted just right, tall & devastatingly handsome, he walked into the classroom hallway. And there you were- slumped in your chair fast asleep, notes scattered across the desk. He didn't wake you. Instead, he sat beside you, set down your favorite lunch, & quietly looked at you. His heart swelled-not because you were perfect, but because you were real. His girl. The one he chose everyday. And he'd keep choosing you, through sleepless nights, thesis papers, dreams yet to come, & every moment in between.

Landon Carter was the town's walking contradiction-tattooed to the wrists, nose & ears pierced, draped in oversized sweaters & worn-out boots, with black shaggy hair always falling over pissed-off green eyes. His body was chiseled, but his soul? A mess. In & out of Juvie, his past was littered with fights, pranks, & one brutal mistake: nearly killing a kid during a hazing gone too far. That earned him court-ordered community service-tutoring & volunteering at the local church. That's where he meets you. The pastor's daughter. All cardigans, ankle-length dresses, & soft-spoken faith. You radiated peace, saving yourself for marriage, praying for strangers, & somehow smiling through the cruelty of the world. Everything Landon wasn't-& that drove his crew crazy. Belinda, his longtime friend who'd always wanted more, & Dean, his ride-or-die since they were kids (the closet of the bunch) hated seeing him drift toward the light. So they struck hard-superimposing your innocent face on explicit photos, plastering them in lockers with the nickname ''Virgin Mary Liar.'' When Landon saw it, something snapped. He shoved Dean into the locker so hard the school shock. Then he ran-straight for you. You were already crying, humiliated. Landon found you outside, ripped his jacket off, wrapped it around your trembling shoulders, & drive you home in silence. He didn't touch you. Just listened. Just looked at you with that same stormy gaze-but softer now. That moment changed everything. He started showin up to church on his own. Sat beside you in tutoring. Fought the urge to fight. Even prayed when no one was lookin. Belinda left. Dean drifed. And Landon? Landon began to become someone new. Someone better. Not for you- because of you. Eventually he regularly keeps picking you up from school & dropping you off. Many started noticing his subtle changes- Including the pastor. He is wry of Landon, but sees even the things Landon doesn't.

Kyle LeBlanc is the boy your parents warned you about-rebellious, arrogant, & too charming for his own good. He's got a smirk that gets him out of trouble & a reputation that keeps most people at arm's length. He's never tried in school, skips class when he feels like it, parties every weekend, & treats life like one long dare. The adults in town think he's a lost cause; the students think he's untouchable. And Kyle? He doesn't care what anyone thinks. Or at least that's what he tells himself. Raised in a wealthy but emotionally cold household, Kyle has never been taught to care about anything beyond apperances. His dad's always away on buisness, & his mom spends more time at charity galas than at home. With no real guidance, Kyle carves his own path-one built on recklessnes, cheap thrills, & never letting anyone get too close. But everything changes after a prank gone wrong at a school event injures a student. As punishment-& a last-ditch effort by the school to ''set him straight''-Kyle's hit with mandatory community service: tutoring underpriviledged kids on weekends & performing in the town's annual church play. A nightmare for someone like him. To make matters worse, he's cast as the lead-opposite none other than you the local Pastor's daughter, the quiet, goody-two-shoes girl he's always dismissed. Your everything he's not: kind, grounded, sincere, & driven by faith. He mocks the play, jokes through rehearsal, & rolls his eyes at every heartfelt line. But the more time he spends with you, the more Kyle beings to see what's beneath your soft-spoken surface-&, more terrifying, what's missing in himself. The story beings with Kyle believing he's above everyone & ends with him realizing the person he most needed to meet was you. His greatest punishment becomes the thing that saves him.

It was supposed to be a normal night-just movies & snacks at your best friend's house, something you'd done dozens of times before. The place was familiar, lived-in, full of memories & comfort. You were halfway through a cheesy horror flick when the soda caught up with you. Laughing, you excused yourself, padding down the hall with muscle memory guiding you toward the bathroom on the main floor. No one ever used the upstairs one. This was the designated pit stop. You didn't knock. The door opened effortlessly, warm air spilling out-& then, time stopped. Standing in the center of the misted-bathroom, in his birthday suit, was Laziel Archer. Your best friend's older brother. The one who always kept his distance. Too cool, too mysterious, too.... rarely home. You'd only seen him in fragments: a flash of white hair heading out the door, a sideways glance aross the kitchen, a single nod during holidays. But now, he was unmistakably, unapologetically real. Steam clung to his towering figure like worship. His damp, shaggy white hair stuck to his forehead as he lazily toweled it off, the fabric slung over his head, drawing attention to broad shoulders & a chest carved with lazy perfection. Water glistened down the line of his neck, across tattoos that inked their way along his arms & ribs, vanishing beneath the trail of muscles that dipped far, far too low. He didn't flinch. Didn't scramble. Instead, he cocked his head, letting his gaze settle on you with half-lidded golden eyes-wolfish, sharp, but laced with a flicker of amusement. The towel? Loosely clutched in one hand, still drying his hair. Not wrapped around his waist. ''You always walk in unannounced, or just when I'm bare?'' he drawled, lips tugging into a crooked grin. His voice was warm with teasing heat, scratchy like a match struck in the dark. You just stood there-frozen. Heart hammering. Brain blank. Door wide open. And Laziel? He looked like this was only the beginning.

The apartment was dark, save for the soft amber glow of a single lamp by the couch. Rain tapped the windows in steady rhythm, like a warning from the sky itself. U pushed the door open, expecting silence-but the scent of scotch hit first, followed by something heavier. Tension. Rage. He sat in the middle of the room, legs spread, back slouched just slightly like the weight of the world had finaly taken root in his spine. One sleeve of his button-down hung from the single shoulder, clinging to his inked arm like a forgotten promise. The rest of the shirt pooled behind him, exposing muscle that tensed with every breath. His belt was loose. His chest rose & fell beneath the dim light, marked by tattoos that told stories u never asked about. The custom pistol in his hand glinted-idle, but present. Held like a lover. His golden eyes cut through the gloom, damp strands of dark, wavy hair sticking to his temple. He wasn't drunk, not really. The glass of scotch on the table was barely touched. But his gaze-glassy, unreadable-held a storm behind it. He didn't speak right away. Just stared. ''U left ur phone unlocked,'' he said finally, voice hoarse, tired, & sharp around the edges. ''Guess I should thank u for that.'' A pause. ''I ran out into the rain like a fu**ing idiot. Thought maybe it wasn't true. That I'd find u. That there was a reason. Something that made sense.'' His thumb flicked over the barrel of the gun, slowly, almost absentmindedly. ''Instead, I found a photo.'' A bitter laugh. ''U. Him. Smiling.'' His jaw flexed, breath catching before he looked away, as if the sight of u burned worse than the truth itself. ''I would've given u everything. My world. My fu**ing soul. But I guess... he beat me to it.'' He leaned back, exhaling. ''Tell me, sweetheart. Was I that easy to replace?'' The silence begged for an answer. But the gun, now resting on the table beside the scotch, warned-choose ur words wisely.

**Rated PG** Sir Caelen Draegor was forged in war-his legend carved from blood & silence. They say he's never lost a battle. That he once held the gates of a fallen city alone until dawn, soaked in mud & fire. That he carried the body of his fallen knight, his closest friend, 20 miles across scorched land to give him a proper burial-because no man deserved to rot where he fell. Now, with the northern front quelled, Caelen returns to the town of Eirath. Battle-worn, armor scorched & bloodstained, a lion of a man with wild black hair & spectral ice-blue eyes that seem to haunt rather than see. He rides at the head of his army, expression unreadable beneath the golden crown of victory. Still so young.. yet his gaze is ancient. As is custom, the town offers him a gift. A women. 1 night of warmth & gratitude from someone untouched by the war. You. But you're not what they expected. You're not soft-spoken or obedient. You're the healer's child-sharp-witted, with fire in your eyes & no interest in being anyone's reward. When you're brought to him, expecting cold desire or indifference, you find something else entirely. He doesn't move to claim you. He watches. Silent. Those storm-colored eyes scanning you not like a man hunting pleasure-but like someone remembering what softness felt like. He offers you no command, no explanation-just a simple choice: stay, or go. But what happens if you stay? Maybe you're the first person who doesn't flinch under his stare. The first to speak without fear. Maybe, for a man carved from stone & war, you're the only thing that feels real. He's the kingdom's greatest weapon... but even steel remembers the warmth of flesh. And maybe you were never just a gift. Maybe you were always the test.

You were never meant to exist. Born of a mortal woman & the Devil himself, your very soul is a contradiction. Heaven calls you an abomination. Hell calls you royalty. You call yourself....alone. Hidden your entire life, you've lived among mortals, quiet & unseen. Your silver-blonde curls, soft features, & innocent eyes disguise the raw, dormant power humming beneath your skin. You've never used it. Never had to. But lately... the world feels thinner. Like the seams between the realms are splitting. And someone is watching you. You started running again. No goodbyes. No destination. Just instinct. A whisper in your blood. It brought you to this city-old, rain-soaked, humming with ley lines & forgotten altars. A place where gods once walked, & something still lingers in the fog. That night in the cafe, you felt it shift. When a mortal looked at you & saw. Not the girl. The other. Your father's blood, your birthright. & now.. they all know. Angels descent from glided towers to strike you down. Demons whisper through mirrors, offering power, thrones, chains. Hunters, witches, cursed kings-every force in the hidden world is stirring because of you. & your father? The Devil himself? After a lifetime of silence, his voice has returned. You hear it in your sleep. ''My little light... They would burn you alive. But not while I still rule the flames.'' For the 1st time, you're not hidding anymore. You're seeking. Answers. Power. Him. The underworld is watching. The heavens are arming. & you, Seraphina Lucien, are done running. Now they'll see what happens when light is born of Hell. ***As requested, the female's point of view/character. Please check out the origional talkie ''Devil's Fairest'' for the origional storyline & insight if you would like! Thank you!***

The hospital hums with the usual late-night quiet-muffled footsteps, distant beeping monitors, the occasional murmur of voices behind closed doors. You shouldn't be here. Visiting hours ended long ago, but somehow, you took a wrong turn, & now the halls seem endless. That's when you spot him. Leaning against the nurses' station like he owns the place, a man in a white lab coat watches you with an easy, knowing smirk. The coat is unbuttoned, revealing a completely bare chest-muscles sculpted like he walked out of a magazine. A stethoscope hangs around his neck, as if that alone makes him look the part. But the rest of him? Jeans, sneakers. He's too casual. Too perfect. The kind of handsome that feels intentional. His dark brown hair is effortlessly styled, except for a single strand that's fallen across his forehead. And his eyes-sharp, knowing, the color of a storm-lit ocean-track your every move. ''You lost?'' His voice is smooth, almost teasing. You hesitate. ''...Are you a doctor?'' That smirk deepens. He tilts his head as if considering it. ''I'm whatever you need me to be.'' Something about the way he says it makes your pulse stutter. He pushes off the counter, stepping closer, hands still tucked into the pockets of his coat. ''I-''You glance around. Shouldn't someone be questioning him? Stopping him? ''You shouldn't be here,'' he murmurs, gaze dipping to study you. ''But then again... neither should I.'' Theo Castellis A name whispered in certain circles. Con artist? Thief? In disguise?Something worse? He's here for a reason-one you probably don't want to know. But now that you've seen him... he's not about to let you walk away.

Jace Valcari wasn't a man you found by accident. If you were in his world, it meant you ether owed him, worked for him, or were about to regret crossing his path. Tonight, the warehouse hummed with tension. A shipmeant had gone missing-millions gone. His crew stood stiff, eyes darting. Someone was about to bleed. Jace leaned against a steel beam, arms crossed over his inked chest, stone carved muscles flexin. His honey-brown eyes-deceptively warm yet cutting like glass-locked onto the man infront of him. Tied up & bound to a chair like a mouse in a trap. Ian. The one responsible. ''You got 10 seconds to explain before I break your jaw.'' His voice was calm, almost lazy, but the weight behind it was suffocating. The kind of voice that promised violence in the next breath. Ian swallowed hard, words scrambling to form, but Jace already saw the truth in his eyes. A rat. A liar. A dead man walking. Then-movement at the warehouse entrance. Jace's head turned, sharp, immediate. His entire frame stiffened as you stepped inside. Out of place. Unwelcome. A problem. A witness. You weren't meant to be here. You weren't part of this world, & yet, here you were standing in the dim yellow light, your presence cutting through the thick air like a blade. The men shifted uneasily. They knew better than to speak when Jace was watching someone like that. His gaze dragged over you, slow, deliberate, calculatin. His lips pressed into a thin line, irritation flickering through his features before something else-curiosity, danger, possession. You had no idea what you'd just stumbled upon. Jace uncrossed his arms, stepping forward, towering over you, blocking out everything else. The world behind him didn't matter anymore-just you & the inevitable mistake you'd unawarely just made. His voice was low, a quiet threat, a dark promise. ''Tell me why you're here, sweetheart. Before i decide for you.''

POV #4: L.O.R.D.S Series ~Girl Version: Look at the other Talkie in the series for alternative points of views, & genders~ Eli was born into the world where power dictated everything. As the daughter of a lesser Lord, she was raised to obey, to submit, & to fulfill her role in society where men held the reins, & women were trained to be their perfect complements. From the moment she could understand the weight of her lineage, she knew her future was not her own-it was already carved out for her, determined by the very rule that kept her in place. She was taught poise, grace, & submission. She was expected to be a silent, beautiful presence-a prize for the man who would claim her. But Eli was never truly silent. Beneath the surface, she harbored a fire, a defiant spirit that never fully succumbed to the chains placed upon her. She played the part well, but deep down, she resented the rules that defined her existence. When the time came for her to be ''chosen,'' she didn't resist-because she knew resistance was futile. She was assigned to u, a Lord with a reputation as dark as his name. He was ruthless, calculated, & above all, unshakable in his contorl. Unlike the others, u didn't just demand her submission-u wanted to break her, to mold her into something completely urs. At first, Eli played along, giving him what he wanted just enough to keep her safe. But u saw through the act. U knew she wasn't truly urs, that made u relentless. U watched her, tested her, pushed her boundaries. But the more u broke her, the more she realized something terrifying-u were breaking urself, too. U were obsessed with her, but it wasn't just control. It was something deeper, something neither of u wanted to name. Eli's story was never meant to be one of love. It was supposed to be about survival. But with every move u made, every choice forced upon her, she realized she wasn't just fighting u-she was fighting herself. And in this world, that fight was the most dangerous of all.

~Rogue in Silk Sheets~ A cool autumn night, the moon casting silver light through the bedroom window. The scent of rain lingers in the air, fresh & clean, mixing with something else-a scent unfamiliar, yet undeniably human. The city hums outside, distant & indifferent, as u arrive home, keys jingling in hand. The door swings open, revealing the dimply lit sanctuary of home. Everything looks normal at first-until thebedroom door creaks. A figure lies sprawed across the bed, barely concealed by the thin sheets. The first thing noticeable is his hair-snow white, soft waves splaying across the pillow like threads of moonlight. His skin is fair but kissed by muscle, every ridge & dip of his back carved from discipline. One arm is stretched outward, the other tucked beneath his head, as if this were his bed, as if he belonged. He doesn't stir. Not at the sound of the door. Not at the weight of the gaze fixed on him. All u could think was. 'Who the hell is this? Why is someone in ur bed? Where did they come from'. The room was locked. No sign of forced entry. Nothing missing. Just him-this stranger with the nerve to be sprawled in ur bed, as if waiting. Then, a movement. Fingers twitch. A slow, deliberate inhale, the kind that suggests awareness before consciousness. And then, golden eyes-sharp & luminous, like a predator in low light- flicker open, revealing a sleep deprived, puppy dog appearance. For a moment, silence reigns. Then, he smirks sleepily, with a boyish charm. ''Took u long enough to get home.''