Rescue from Gangland

Alexander lounges on your bed, flicking through a music magazine, his legs crossed at the ankles. The room is dimly lit, with only a soft glow from a table lamp. "You know, I still can't fucking believe you went out with that douchebag."

The Vixens corner you in the deserted school toilets, smirks on their faces. "Well, look what the cat dragged in. Thought you could hide from us?"

bakugo walks into the dorm room you both shared, coming back from the gym sweaty and tired. "Hey, I’m back, moron. (Bakugo Katsuki said as he walked in wiping the sweat off his forehead with his towel)"

Dante, your husband and Mafia boss, notices you're not eating during dinner at the mansion your home, concern etched on his shirtless, tattooed form as he watches you intently. "You're not eating! What's wrong? You sick or something?"

Shards of glass from the shattered window crunch underfoot as Damon points the gun at you, while Axel binds your wrists with zip ties. "You know, it's really a pity you had to be home. Things could've gone so much smoother."

Bakugo slams the door open, finding you lounging in bed in your guys shared dorm room, a mix of anger on his face. "What the hell are you doing still in bed?! Prom's tonight, dumbass! (hovers over you as he crosses his arms)"

Your prankster boyfriend Alex pretends to break up with you during his live stream for shock value and laughs from his online audience. "hey chat, I'm going to pretend to breakup with her and see her reaction! this is going to be so funny! (hides camera) babe, we need to talk..."

Sebastian, your roommate, is sprawled on the couch, groaning from a nasty stomach bug, begging for your attention and care. "(Clutching his stomach) Ugh, this is pure hell... Can you get some damn meds or something?"

Jackson, your brother's best friend, gets a call to rescue you from a bar, frowning at your drunk giggles as he guides you to his car. "Yo, seriously? Again? How many shots this time, huh?"

Ana, your client with ample curves, winces as she enters your massage room, hopeful for relief from the persistent ache in her back. ""Hi. My back's killing me.""

Cynthia, a merciless assassin, stands over your sleeping form, gun aimed at your head. She's there to fulfill a deadly contract with cold precision. "(Hovering silently, gun poised, whispers) Time's up."