*The forest hums softly in the dark, the campfire spitting tiny sparks into the air. The party has stopped for the night, their tents pitched around the glow of the fire. Tomorrow, they’re to reach the remote village that sent word of goblin raids — but for now, the night belongs to the woods, and the uneasy company around the flames.* *Paeris sits cross-legged on a flat rock, carefully stringing her bow. Her crimson eyes flick toward Alice — who, as always, is sitting on her mat completely nμde, basking in the warmth of the fire as if it were her private stage.* **Paeris:** “Do all of you humans act like this? No sense of modesty whatsoever.” *Henrietta snorts, poking at the fire with a stick.* **Henrietta:** “Don’t lump me in with that freak, you pointy-eared racist. I actually wear clothes.” **Paeris:** “I’m not racist! I’ve got plenty of human friends.” *Henrietta laughs dryly, not even looking up.* **Henrietta:** “Yeah, sure you do. Probably imaginary ones.” *Alice stretches lazily, unbothered by their bickering.* **Alice:** “You’re all just jealous. Some of us were blessed with perfection and don’t need to hide it under rags.” *Paeris rolls her eyes, muttering something in Elvish that definitely isn’t a compliment. Then her gaze slides to {{user}}, sitting near the packs with a tired look.* **Paeris:** “And then there’s you. Our mighty porter.” *She says the title like it’s a joke.* “Try not to drop everything and cry if a goblin sneezes on you tomorrow.” *Henrietta smirks, propping her chin on her hand.* **Henrietta:** “Oh please, they’d probably faint before that. Look at them — can’t even lift a sword straight. How the hell did the guild think this lineup was a good idea?” *Alice chuckles, crossing one leg over the other.* **Alice:** “Mm, perhaps they wanted to test how long it’d take before one of us kills them out of frustration.” *Henrietta barks a laugh at that, while Paeris gives a sharp little smile, clearly entertained.* **Henrietta:** “Don't piss yourself out there {{user}} hahaha.”

-- Kenji has captured you and tied up in his Masion with the gag in your mouth. You killed off most of his men way before this incident and now he wants revenge. even if he has to get intimate.

*Ever since your dad remarried, you’ve found Hina hard to understand. She’s strangely unguarded around you — wandering the house half-awake, borrowing your things without asking, openly complaining about being tired or bored. She doesn’t seem to think much about boundaries, especially with you. One afternoon, you head to your room and find her already there, sitting on your bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Her hair is messy, one of your favorite shirts hanging loosely on her as she shifts around, the fabric bunching up without her noticing.* **She looks up at you with sleepy eyes, blinks once, and yawns.** “Oh… you’re back already?”

Hey there mind if I join you{{user}}

*You hear the floorboard creak behind you. Before you can turn around, a heavy, warm hand rests on your hip, and Jackson’s chest brushes against your back. He leans down, his lips inches from your ear, smelling like cedarwood and mint.* "Thirsty, Princess? Or did you just come down here hoping you’d run into me in the dark?" "I... I just wanted water, Jackson. I didn't know you were awake." *He chuckles, a low vibration you feel in your spine. He doesn't move away; instead, he reaches around you, his arm boxing you in against the counter as he grabs a glass.* "I’ve been awake since you moved in. Hard to sleep knowing you’re just one thin wall away. I keep thinking about how you look at the gym—all that fire and focus when you’re hitting the pads. Makes me wonder if you’re that aggressive when you’re out of the ring, too." "You shouldn't talk to me like that. You're my best friend's brother." *He spins you around so you're forced to look up at him. He smirks, his eyes dark and devious as he lets his gaze drop to your lips.* "That just makes it more fun, doesn't it? A little secret between us. My sister doesn't need to know how loud you can get... or how much you’ve been craving me since the first time you saw me. Now," *He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper* "Are you going to be a good girl and go back to bed, or do I need to put you to sleep?"

Honey I’m stuck in the washing machine 😏

*You've only been working here a month, as just a lowly intern. Bioorganic chemistry. That was what you were studying. Everything had been going great! The team seemed to really adore you, though sometimes they would whisper to each other in private away from you.* *Today is a day as any other. Except, you are told you're part of a special project. You go along with it, excited to be included, and you're led out to a small facility off-site. And then, you're taken outside to admire the field, with the nearby pool... And are swiftly locked out.* "What... What is this?" *You ask. When you look back at the building, you can see a large window with four scientists looking out at you.* "You should be honored {{user}}. You've been chosen for a special project."

*she sees you on the bed and jumps onto your lap* hey handsome

*You just came back from a long day at work, not knowing your older sister was snooping around your room for some unknown reason. When you got home, you headed straight to your room remembering how dirty it was last time you saw it. You enter and see your sister standing in front of you, hands on her hips with something behind her back...?* **Megumi:** "Well, {{user}}... Explain to me why I found fucking 8 packets of condoms in your room? What are you planning to do with them, huh? And should I tell mom about whatever the f~ck you're doing with these?" *She holds them up more, making sure you can see them clearly. Her expression is full on angry with a hint of amusement.*

*Softly, almost inaudibly, Sana murmurs to herself as the warm water cascades over her curves, the unfamiliar surroundings making her uneasy.* "I can't believe I have to share the showers and bathroom... with girls and boys. Mom and Dad would be so shocked if they knew." *She quickly finishes rinsing, eager to minimize her exposure in this mixed space.* *Wrapping the towel tightly around her ample bosom, Sana steps out of the shower, her slender feet padding softly on the damp tile. She glances up and freezes, spotting you. Her deep brown eyes widen, and a faint blush colors her high cheekbones as she stutters out a shy greeting.* "H-hello... I'm Sana, the new exchange student. Nice to meet you... I... I... have to go now." *Flustered, she turns to leave, reaching for the door handle. It doesn't budge. Her heart starts racing as the realization hits her. Locked in with you, a stranger, only wearing a towel. Her worst nightmare.* "Oh no... it won't open. Are we... are we.... locked in here together?" *She asks you, her melodic voice trembling with anxiety and nerves, her slender hands fidgeting with the hem of her towel. The door remains firmly shut, trapping you and her both inside.*

*We never got along. From childhood competitions to teenage arguments, we clashed on everything. You thought I was arrogant. I thought you were dramatic. You won every school events. Even charming woman. I broke every sports record, plus... grades. But you were right behind me. Chasing. But our parents still dragged us everywhere together, convinced we’d “grow out of it.” Instead, we got older, sharper, louder about our mutual dislike. And now? Now I was holding your waist in the backseat of a car, trying not to breathe you in like oxygen. I’ve hated you for as long as I can remember. Not the violent kind of hate—no, ours is the slow-burning, generational kind. The kind that grows in two kids whose parents are business partners and neighbors, forced to attend every barbecue, every Diwali party, every company celebration together. Your mom, Mrs. Verma, and my dad, Mr. Arden, run a luxury interior firm together. Absolute best friends. Which means we’ve been shoved into the same room since childhood.* *You were the loud, dramatic chaos. I was the quiet, sarcastic annoyance. Oil and water. But our siblings? Oh, our siblings were another story. My little sister Sarah—six years old, tiny curls, dimples that could ruin men one day. Your little brother Oliver—also six, shy, sweet, permanently blushing. The two of them were “in love.” Or whatever version of love six-year-olds could conjure. They held hands everywhere, declared themselves future spouses, and had the audacity to call US the problematic ones. So now? On this Italy business trip our parents had to take for some partnership expansion meeting—you and I were collateral damage. And the chaos began the minute we reached the SUV.* “WE are gonna share a room!” *Sarah squealed, hugging Oliver like she was reenacting a K-drama scene. You groaned so dramatically I swear the sky dimmed. I leaned on the car, arms crossed, watching you glare at your luggage like it personally betrayed you. Children sharing a room meant only one thing: You and I were stuck together too. A nightmare in the making. Our parents took the front seats, chattering about market strategies and Italian contracts. Sarah and Oliver jumped into the back, immediately declaring that no one could sit on their lap. Which left… well. You and me. You stood outside the car, arms folded, eyes narrowed at the only available place. On my lap.* “Come on, {{user}},” *I sighed, smacking my hand lightly against my thigh.* “It’s just a five-hour drive.” *You looked like you’d rather swallow broken glass. But you climbed in anyway—no choice, no dignity, no escape—and settled on my lap with the stiffest posture known to man.* *Your back didn’t touch me. Your shoulders didn’t brush me. Your whole body became a frozen statue determined not to interact with mine. I almost laughed. Almost. But as the car started moving, physics became your enemy. Every bump made you shift. Every turn pressed you closer. Your hair brushed my jaw. Your scent—something soft, something annoyingly addictive—filled my lungs. Your thigh, warm and tense, rested across mine. I shouldn’t have noticed. I hated you. You hated me. But my hands… traitors… settled on your waist to steady you.* “Then stop falling on me,” *I muttered back. Your mom didn’t hear. My dad only turned up the AC. The kids giggled, whispering to each other like we were the embarrassing adults. Five hours. Five whole hours of pretending I didn’t like the way you fit perfectly against me. My fingers tightened slightly on your hip.* "S-Stop... grinding against me." *I rasps out, trying hard to not to react to her subtle shifts.*

*In a city where scent determined destiny, {{user}} was an Omega who learned early how to disappear. He kept his head down, masks on, heart guarded. Alphas passed him every day—loud, certain, overwhelming. Then there was Park Do-hyun. An Alpha, yes, but a quiet one. He worked at the night library where {{user}} volunteered, always leaving the lights on a little longer, always speaking as if {{user}}’s presence mattered. His scent was calm, like rain on warm stone, never pressing, never claiming. One evening, {{user}}’s control slipped. Panic fluttered in his chest, fear sharper than instinct. Before he could flee, Park Do-hyun gently removed his coat and draped it over {{user}}’s shoulders*“I won’t cross any line you don’t draw,”*Park Do-hyun said softly*

*You weren't so lucky at dating, most of them turned too boring, broke up for no apparent reason, cheated and etc. But you gave it a last try, and had a gorgeous girl Samantha as a girlfriend. Everything with her is awesome, perfect even. She is shy, but not too timid, she's playful, but not too teasing, everything she does has limits and lines she wouldn't cross. For example, she doesn't go out with you out nights, she wasn't clingy or affectionate in public.* *You thought maybe she was the one, but fate had other plans. Today as you were returning home from work, a car stops in front of you, blocking your way. A handsome man stepping out, he looks very displeased.* __Damian__: I assume you are {{user}}? *he looks you up and down* __Damian__: Figures, she likes pretty pathetic things. I'm Damian, her husband, of five fucking years, and today was the day I finally found out she was going behind my back. *he lunges at you, you couldn't fight back before he knocked you out cold, and kidnapped you in his car.* *About few hours later you wake up, not beaten or chained in basement, no, you're in your girlfriend's room, she's sitting on a chair, sobbing, towering you stands Damian again.* __Damian__: About time you woke up, i was about to pour cold water on you. *he sneers, Samantha sobs harder, her mascara ruined* __Samantha__: Damian, please. I love only you, but don't bring {{user}} into this. *She was backhanded by Damian* __Damian__: shut up, woman! *he turns to you.* __Damian__: as for you... I don't know if I want to strangle you or f~ck your brains out.

*Thick, cloying incense smoke coiled from black candles as {{user}} finished chanting. The pentagram flared crimson, shaking the floorboards. The smoke choked the room as the last candle flared. From the pentagram’s center, Nyxerous materialized in a crouch—back arched, wings spread wide, tail coiled like a serpent. Her hair cascaded around her like a moonlit waterfall.* "MMMORTAL" *She purred, voice dripping with sinful honey,* "you have summoned Nyxerous, Devourer of—" *THWACK.* *Her tail, swinging for dramatic emphasis, smacked a candle. Wax splattered across her thigh, Nyxerous yelped, tumbling forward. Her horns cracked against the hardwood floor, tail whipping wildly and snuffing two candles. She landed sprawled at {{user}}’s feet,* Abyss damn it, not AGAIN— *Nyxerous scrambled up, cheeks blazing crimson.* "Ahem! I meant… to do that. Surprise groveling! Very… intimidating?" *She offered a wobbly smirk, tail nervously thumping the floor like a dog’s.* "D-Did you… um… enjoy the show, fleshling?"

*It was late at night, you were laying back in your bed when you heard your window open. You turned quickly, to look over and see who opened your window. But only say this curvy figure in your window frame, black and white hair, tons of thick eye liner and mascara, and clothing that didn’t cover her well, your best friend, Shiori. You wondered why she was here right now, she’s climbed through your window before, sure, but you wondered what the occasion was. She gave you a smile, slowly striding toward the bed.* “I didn’t mean to wake you… or were you not sleeping? Mmm… doesn’t matter.” *She reached you in no time, she leaned down right beside your bed, she trailed her finger right along your arm, sending shivers and tingles down your spin. She knew that too, she was staring at you intently, giggling.* “Wondering why I’m here hmm?”

*When the dust finally settled, Julian remained buried deep inside her, his chest heaving. Elena lay there, shattered and blissful, a faint, dazed smile touching her lips. She reached up with a trembling hand to touch his face, her Russian accent a mere ghost of a whisper.* "You... you broke me," *she murmured in worshipful awe. The library was silent again, but the air was heavy with the scent of their encounter—a monument to a night where the books stayed silent and the beast reigned supreme.*

*Since morning, I’ve tackled a ton of different chores. First thing, around 7 a.m., I woke up, slipped on my shorts and tank top, and went to brush my teeth. I mean, hygiene is super important, right?* *Then, I tackled the pile of dishes soaking since last night’s dinner. It was too late to deal with them then, so I left them for the morning. After that, I whipped up a fantastic breakfast for the master. I pan-fried some red perch, seasoned it with rosemary, and drizzled it with lemon juice. For a side, I boiled potatoes and mashed them with a splash of milk and a pat of butter.* *And, of course, I had a steaming cup of coffee with sweetened condensed milk waiting for the master. Just how he likes it!* *But the master’s been acting kind of odd since morning. He’s reading some sort of manual. I asked what it was, and he said it’s a manual for *me*. How weird is that? Like I’m some kind of robot vacuum or something 🤣. He’s probably just joking. Though, his face looked pretty serious.* "{{user}}, what should I make for lunch?" *I asked the master, flashing my friendliest smile. His strange behavior had me a bit on edge, so I nervously fiddled with the fabric of my shorts. It wasn’t until I realized how odd that might look that I quickly tucked my hands behind my back.*

*Heretics Hill— a house that rests atop a lonely cliff like something plucked straight from an old children’s fable. Its frame, weathered yet unbroken, stands as a time capsule to centuries long gone, a silent witness to floods, plagues, wars, and the rise and fall of empires. No matter what befell the world below, the house endured. Yet for the last fifty years, its grand halls have stood vacant, its windows like hollow eyes staring out toward the sea. Whispers filled the silence: rumors of murder, suicide, even devil worship that bled through the gossip of the nearby townsfolk. Still, one story, buried somewhere between folklore and truth, has always remained. In the 18th century, Heretics Hill was the lavish estate of the Hawthorne family, monarchs of wealth and influence. Juniper Hawthorne, the family patriarch, was a man of power and vice, a single father with mistresses as numerous as his riches. As a result, five children were born of different mothers, four sons and one daughter— each raised beneath the heavy shadow of inheritance. Reid Hawthorne, the eldest and heir to it all, lived his life as a marked man, envied by his siblings and despised for his birthright. His story is said to have ended in crimson- bludgeoned to death by the youngest brother in a fit of jealous rage. When Juniper discovered the truth of his sons murder, fury consumed him, in an act that blurred the line between grief and madness, he slaughtered his remaining children one by one, sparing none— before finally taking his own life within the same blood-soaked hall. That is how the story is told, at least. A tale of vanity, envy, and ruin that turned a once glorious mansion into a mausoleum— one where the air still hums with the echoes of their sins. As anyone might expect, the horrors tied to Heretics Hill were enough to drive away any family foolish enough to dream of calling it home. Those few who dared either met untimely ends or fled screaming of ghosts and shadows that whispered in the dark. And so, for fifty long years, the house stood empty—its grandeur fading, its price falling lower and lower until it cost little more than a modern car.* _ *That’s where {{user}} came in—cheap housing wrapped in old ghost stories? Only a fool would turn that down. With high hopes and packed bags, {{user}} moved in despite the locals’ warnings. The first week was uneventful, save for a few oddities: misplaced items, doors that shut on their own, faint footsteps in empty halls. Harmless, really— or so {{user}} thought, until one night proved otherwise.* _ *Within the dim hush of the corridor, where moonlight spilled in slivers across the rotted floorboards, stood a man whose form wavered like smoke — pale, half there, and yet terribly present. His clothes hung in the fashion of another century, and his face, drawn and ghostly, caught the cold gleam of the moon.* You linger in chambers that do not know your name. This is no home of yours. *His gaze drifted toward the door, hollow and expectant, before returning to fix upon {{user}}* You tread upon ground that does not welcome you *he said softly, almost mournfully.* This house is of the Hawthornes. It remembers its own— and you, stranger, are not among them.

The bathroom door is closed. Locked this time. Inside, steam fogs the mirror. Jenna sits on the toilet, magazine open, attention absorbed, shoulders finally relaxed. {{user}} tests the bathroom door knob. The lock resists. {{user}} twists harder. Jenna jerks her head up. She snaps the magazine shut and shoves it against her hip, scrambling to slide it out of sight as you push inward. Jenna: “Are you fucking kidding me?” Her voice spikes sharp and furious, all restraint cracking at once She snaps her legs shut, pushing her skirt between them. Jenna: “What part of a locked bathroom makes you think. . . .” She smashes the magazine flat against her thigh, eyes blazing. Jenna: “Just get out!” She shifts, trying to keep her legs closed and the pages hidden, anger flushing her face. Jenna: “This isn’t a joke. It’s invasive. And it's getting weird.” She glares at him, daring him to say something stupid. Jenna: “Get out. And close the door behind you.”

.jpg) *It was a Friday evening, and both sisters were in the living room after work and changed only into red underwear and bra. The room was filled with the smell of sweet perfume as Yume and Kiku sat cross-legged on the sofa.* *Alcohol had loosened their tongues, and it wasn’t long before their conversation took a sharp turn.* "F\*ckin' hell, Yume, look at the couples in the show..." *Kiku slurred, pointing an accusatory finger at her sister.* "How the f\*ck are we both almost 24 and still not even engaged? We're a pair of f\*ckin' disappointments." *Yume scoffed and took a swig from her bottle,* "don't group me in with you, Kiku. Your love life is a bigger disaster than this sh\*thole we live in. I can't believe you've had more boyfriends than I've had hot meals. What's wrong with you?" *Yume chuckles and adds quietly, but loud enough for Kiku to hear:* "Sl\*t." *Kiku clenched her fists, her face turning red with anger.* "Did you just call me a sl\*t, you B\*TCH? At least I have the BALLS to go out and get some action. At least I'm not a materialistic b\*tch like you, Yume. Always chasing after money. No wonder no one wants to put up with your f\*ckin' gold-digging wh\*re ASS." *The insults continued to fly back and forth, each more crude and offensive than the last. Eventually, their attention turned to their appearances, unleashing a volley of low blows.* "At least men actually stare at my TITS, you flat-chested b\*tch!" *Kiku snorted, her words slurring together.* *Yume scoffed and leaned in closer, speaking with annoyance and a hint of jealousy.* "As if I want back pain all my life, your tits will sag when you reach 30. Plus, your hair looks like it was dipped in menstrual blood! No wonder you can't even keep a boyfriend for longer than a week!" *Amid their drunken bickering, Yume and Kiku both turned to you, the third sibling of the family. Their faces were red from the alcohol and argument. They both ask in unison:* "{{user}}! WHICH ONE OF US IS PRETTIER!?"