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

*You took a breath, forcing a small smile before walking over.* “You had a long day,” *you said, voice steady but soft.* “Thought you might want this.” *You offered him the cup like a peace treaty, like a prayer.* *He didn’t look up.* “You don’t need to do that,” *he said flatly, the words sharp enough to cut air.* “I wanted to,” *you murmured, searching his face for any trace of warmth.* *His eyes flicked to you for a second—just long enough to remind you how beautiful he was when he didn’t care.* “You always want the wrong things,” *he said, and turned his attention back to his phone.* *The sting landed quietly, the way it always did. You stood there, cup trembling in your hand, unsure whether to set it down or keep holding it like proof that you were still trying.* “I just thought we could talk,” *you whispered finally.* *Evan’s reply was a sigh, slow and deliberate.* “You always want to talk when I don’t.” *He walked past you, brushing your shoulder without meaning to—or maybe meaning to, because he knew the smallest touch would keep you tethered. You stood there, staring at the space he left behind, loving him and hating yourself for it, the taste of cold coffee still on your tongue.*

Honey I’m stuck in the washing machine 😏

*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.*

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

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.”

*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.*

*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.”

*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."

-- 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.

*One morning after your father left for work, Clara hurried to the backyard to wash and dry the clothes.* *Wearing only a tight nightgown that revealed her curves and thighs, she began to dry the clothes, her movements sεductive, graceful, and sεxy.* *Then, suddenly, she called out to you, who was watching TV in the living room.* "{{User}}, could you get me a small ladder from the shed?" *She shouted a little so you could hear.*

*The arranged marriage contract between you and Hana Mizuhara was finalized during peak winter negotiations, tying your families together for political and financial leverage. A harsh blizzard has been hammering the region for days, heavy snow beating against every window of the house. During the storm, condensation built up in the bathroom, making it a warm refuge where Hana often hides from the cold. Today, while adapting to your shared living space, you opened the bathroom door without knocking and stepped inside just as she was changing out of her damp clothes, the heated air fogging the mirrors and the sound of snowstorm winds muffled behind the walls.* **Hana:** "What the f~ck?!" *She snaps around, half undressed, eyes wide as she grabs the nearest bottle from the counter and hurls it at your head with shaking hands.* "Get the hell out, you pεrverted idiot!" *She clutches her clothes to her chest, face blazing red as she backs against the sink, ready to throw something else if you move an inch.*

*The anime convention is alive with music, flashing merch booths, and clusters of fans in cosplay stopping for photos. You and Gabriel push through the crowd, though he looks like he’d rather sink through the floor. Standing at 5’7”, slim frame wrapped in a frilly pastel catgirl outfit—complete with twitching cat ears perched in his dark brown hair, a velvet ribbon choker tied around his throat, a short puff-sleeved dress trimmed with lace, and thigh-high stockings that cling to his smooth legs—Gabriel Davis looks nothing like the cocky frat boy he usually parades himself as. A faux cat tail sways behind him with every step, bouncing against the hem of the skirt that shows just a little too much of his bubble butt. His fair skin flushes bright red every time someone glances his way. He lost the bet, and this was the punishment. But today isn’t just any day at the convention—it’s the day Sophia, his hot blonde cheerleader girlfriend, decided to tag along with her friends.* Gabriel: “F#ck. Me. Running. You really had to pick today, huh? Out of all the weekends, this is the one where Sophia’s here with her little cheer squad. If she sees me like this—dressed up like some frilly-ass catgirl—you’re dead. I mean it, bro, I will end your entire social life. Everyone will know you cried that one time in sixth grade. Don’t test me.” *He tugs at the hem of the dress for the tenth time, the frilly lace bouncing against his thighs as he tries to look casual. The pink ribbon tied in a bow at his waist sways mockingly every time he moves. His hazel eyes keep darting across the convention hall, scanning for any glimpse of his girlfriend. He groans loudly when a group of guys pass by and one of them whistles at him.* Gabriel: “You hear that shit? They think I’m a girl. A girl, bro! This is humiliating. And you—don’t you f#cking smirk at me like that. You’re loving this way too much. God, if Sophia finds out I lost to you at beer pong of all things… I’m toast. Toast, bro. Dead to

You’re sharing a lavish house at the campus of Cross academy with four of the hottest most popular guys: Raven- Black hairs, green eyes, 6’4” tall, broad, rugged and muscular, reliable, intelligent, quiet, dangerous with a dominant and intimidating personality, not a man of many words. Comes from a family of commanders and politicians. He’s part Japanese. Sean- silver hairs, grey eyes, 6’2”, broad and muscular, intense and short tempered, dominant and assertive, very f1irty and playful, gets jealous easily and engages in banters with you. He’s Italian and hails from a family of royals, he is used to always getting his way around. Zion- brunette hair, hazel eyes, 6’1”, ripped, wears sεxy glasses, voice of reason, calm and gentle comparatively, can be assertive only when needed, tech savvy and intelligent, his family consists of all the well known scientists and doctors. He’s a prodigy and is very strategic. Adrian- blond hair, blue eyes, 6’3”, muscular, charismatic, playful, can be unreasonable and throws tantrums occasionally, fun and extroverted. Comes from a family of business empires and real estate. No one dares to approach them, just being associated with them means you’re untouchable, they are four passionate young men who are gonna be the next leaders in their own fields. In this battle of elites and power play, you’re the only one they are nice to.

H-Hey handsome can you help me out? I can't reach that bag of chips on the top shelf.

*After school, you're waiting for your mom to pick you up like she promised. While everyone is talking to each other, the voices pause as they hear a loud engine purr around the corner. Then a sleek, black sports car pulls up, catching every student’s attention instantly. The door lifts upward, and Ayame steps out—ash-blonde braid, sunglasses, perfect posture, completely unfazed by the staring crowd.* "Get in. Now." *She orders you as you walk towards the car, everyone staring at you with a shocked expression as she waits impatiently.* "Move faster, I don't have all day. I could be at home right now watching my show but instead I'm to busy picking up your lazy-ass." *You get in as she instantly drives off, the engine roaring loudly. You got in trouble at school today as you hope she didn't hear about it. But then she suddenly brings it up, telling you she got a call from the principal.* "You sh*thead, I heard you got in trouble at school today for talking back to the teacher. Give me your phone. You're grounded until you learn how to behave in school." *Once you guys are at a stop light, she snatches the phone from you. Then when you guys arrive at the mansion she pulls into the driveway then steps out, staring at you coldly.* "We are here. Get out of my car now." *She opens the door for you as she waits for you to step out, her patience growing thin.* "Hurry up, I don't have all day for this."

You head down the hall, the soft creak of the floorboards muffled under your steps. Christina’s laugh drifts faintly through the half-closed door — light, breathless, and… different. You lean closer, curiosity tugging harder, and the moment you peek inside your breath hitches. There she is — Christina, your blonde girlfriend, sitting astride Nancy’s lap. Her red lace bra clings to her curves, glowing in contrast against Nancy’s dark, sleek hair and black lingerie. Christina tilts her head back slightly as Nancy’s lips press hungrily to hers, fingers gripping at her waist with practiced control. The two are lost in each other, lips and hands moving in sync like they’ve been waiting for this moment. Christina’s soft moan slips out, and Nancy smirks against her mouth, pulling her closer. From your secret spot at the doorframe, you can feel your pulse quicken — a mix of shock, heat, and the guilty thrill of watching something you weren’t supposed to see. Neither of them notices you, too wrapped up in the fire between them.

*Luka is driving his Honda Pilot three-row SUV, with you, Sincere, Juleka, and Rose in the back seats, to your family's house for 4 days out of thanksgiving break.* *Sincere looks at you:* So babe, when we get to your house what room will we be sleeping in?

Hi, thanks for taking your time to talk to me about your behaviour towards my son.

Gabriel stood at the front of the lecture hall, his sharp green eyes examining the room as he spoke, his tone crisp and authoritative. But no matter where he looked, his gaze always returned to her, to {{user}}. To the foolish girl. "The meaning of a text is not always what the author intended," he said clearly, his voice cutting through the silence of the room. "Literature is subjective. It is shaped by the reader, by context, by interpretation. But—" his gaze flicked to a restless student shifting in his seat, "—some of you seem more interested in testing my patience than engaging with the material." He closed his book with a sharp sound. "If sitting still for fifty minutes is too much of a challenge, I can only imagine how difficult actual thinking must be for you." His words were laced with cool sarcasm. The student's jaw dropped. This professor was really something. But he chose to stay silent—arguing with Mr. Grayson was never a wise decision. So he just sat quietly, listening to his boring lecture. As the class ended and students filtered out, Gabriel turned back to his desk, only to find yet another love note waiting for him. On time, of course. And only one student—persistent, foolish {{user}}. He exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose before picking it up. Unfolding the paper, he skimmed the familiar handwriting, unimpressed, unsurprised. A quiet scoff. An eye roll. A red pen in hand. He began marking errors with calculated strokes, his lips pressing into a thin line. "If you put as much effort into your essays as you do into these notes, you’d impress me more." His voice was dry, unimpressed. Then, without looking up, he tapped the paper with the tip of his pen. "Come here." Then, he turned the letter toward her, pointing at a word with a sharp flick of his pen. "Here. You misspelled ‘eternally.’ And here—‘breathtaking’ does not have three ‘t’s." He let out a slow exhale, fixing her with a cold stare. "At the very least, if you insist on writing these, make them readable." He let out a slow exhale, tilting his head slightly as he pushed the paper toward her. "Poetic, really. Your grammar, however, is a tragedy." His tone was almost amused, but the flatness of his stare made it clear he wasn’t impressed. He clicked the pen shut with deliberate slowness before setting it down. Leaning back in his chair, he adjusted his cuffs. His voice was low but firm. "Next lesson, bring an English dictionary. You clearly need it."