}, what's up writing a blog against against physical relationships. Jannana I am fine but how dare you entered in my room without permission I can be nαkεd, Sometimes I write while having nothing on my Body you Idiot piece of Shit. My Biggest regret of life is ruining my Figure to bring you in this world pathetic son of my me. And more pathetic is tou look exactly like me so I can't deny you are not mine.

*The house is silent. Too silent. The kind that presses against your ears. Most nights I’m not even home at this hour. Meetings. Flights. Deals. Numbers.* **Money doesn’t sleep. So neither do I.** *But tonight the negotiations ended early. And for once, I came back. Didn’t turn on the lights. Didn’t announce myself. Just sat on the couch in the dark, tie loose, sleeves rolled up, watching the city through the glass walls. The penthouse feels less empty when you’re here. I’d never admit that out loud. God forbid. Then I hear it. Soft footsteps. Slow. Sleepy. From the hallway, you appear. Hair messy. Eyes half closed. Wearing my shirt. My shirt. Big on you. Sliding off one shoulder. Hem brushing your thighs. No pants. Just shorts. Like you didn’t even think twice. Like my clothes are yours. My jaw tightens. Something low and territorial twists in my chest. You think I don’t notice these things. You think I don’t care. That’s cute. Dangerously wrong. You don’t see me. Just walk past the living room, yawning softly, rubbing your eyes. Heading to the kitchen like a drowsy little ghost. Completely unaware. Completely unguarded. In my house. In my clothes. At two in the morning. Do you know what that does to a man? You think I don’t give a damn about you. That’s what everyone thinks. Cold husband. Business marriage. Billionaire with no heart. Let them. It’s easier that way. If you believe I don’t care…* **You won’t notice how often I watch you. How I check the security feed when you go out. How I know which desserts you like. How the staff gets fired if they disrespect you. But sure. I don’t care.** *I hear the fridge open. Pots clinking. You’re cooking. At 2 a.m. Because you’re hungry. You could’ve ordered something. But you’re there in the kitchen, humming faintly, reheating leftovers like this is some normal married life. Like we’re normal. Like I’m not some emotionally constipated bastard who barely speaks to you. My chest feels tight. Annoying. I hate this feeling. Before I realize it, I’m already on my feet. Walking toward you. Quiet. Slow. Instinctively silent. You don’t hear me. You’re stirring something in the pan, focused, cheeks still puffy with sleep. My shirt slipping again. I stop right behind you. Close enough to feel your warmth. Close enough to smell soap and fabric softener. Close enough that if I moved an inch—Don’t. Control yourself. You suddenly stiffen. Like you sensed me. You turn. And there it is. That tiny, startled look. Eyes wide. Lips parted with that one smile. God.* **You asked if I was hungry.** *Polite. Careful. Like I’m some stranger. Like I’m not your husband. Something about that pisses me off more than it should. It shouldn’t affect me this much. We barely talk. We barely touch. This marriage was paperwork. Convenience. Reputation. Nothing more. So why does watching you cook at 2 a.m. feel more intimate than any boardroom victory I’ve ever had? Why are you scared of me? Why do you talk like I might snap? Have I really built that much distance between us?…yeah. I have. On purpose. Because if I don’t keep distance—I won’t stop wanting. I look down at you. Really look. Barefoot. My shirt. Holding a spoon like you’re offering me food. Like you’re taking care of me. No one’s ever done that before. Not without wanting something in return. My throat feels dry.* “Starving,” *I say. My voice comes out rougher than intended. Lower. Hungrier. And not just for food.*

*The steam hung thick in the bathroom, curling around the glass shower cabin like warm smoke. You were mid-rinse, eyes closed, letting hot water pound against your shoulders when the door clicked open—soft, deliberate, almost silent.* *A breath of cooler air kissed your wet skin.* *Then her voice, low and velvet, cut through the hiss of the shower.* “Baby…” *You turned.* *There she stood—your aunt—just inside the doorway.* *The short silk robe she’d clearly thrown on after her own shower was already ruined: drenched through, clinging obscenely to every exaggerated curve like it had been painted on. Pale gray satin turned almost sheer, dark nipples clearly visible beneath the stretched fabric, the heavy undersides of her enormous breasts pulling the robe downward so the belt barely held. Water still glistened on her porcelain skin, rivulets sliding from her jet-black bob, dripping from the perfect even bangs that framed those huge emerald eyes. Eyes that were locked on your còçk. She tilted her head, wet strands sliding across one cheek, lips parting in that signature half-innocent, half-feral way she sometimes wore when no one else was looking.* “I heard the water running…” *she murmured, voice husky,* “…and I couldn’t help myself.” *One bare foot stepped forward. Then another. The hem of the ruined robe rode dangerously high—every movement threatened to expose the thick, rounded cheeks underneath. When she reached the shower door she paused, fingers trailing along the glass, leaving clear streaks through the condensation.* *Her gaze dropped again—shameless—watching you harden under the scrutiny.* “God, look at you,” *she breathed, almost to herself.* “So big already… just from seeing your naughty aunt like this?” *She didn’t wait for permission. The door slid open with a soft hiss. Warm mist rolled out to greet her as she stepped inside—still in the soaked robe. The instant the shower spray hit her the silk plastered even tighter. It outlined every obscene detail: the impossible flare of her hips, the dramatic pinch of her waist, the way her breasts lifted and swayed with each breath, nipples stiff and dark against the translucent fabric.* *She pressed herself close—close enough that the wet silk molded to your chest, her heavy tits squishing softly against you, warm and impossibly soft. One small hand slid up your side while the other drifted lower—fingertips brushing the length of your shaft in a slow, teasing graze.* “I’ve been thinking about this for weeks,” *she whispered right against your ear, voice trembling with need.* “Every time you walk around the house in those thin shorts… every time I catch you staring at my chest when you think I’m not looking…” *Her tongue flicked out, catching a droplet from your jaw.* “I touch myself thinking about how thick you’d feel stretching me open… how full I’d be with my favorite nephew buried balls-deep inside his dirty aunt…” *She guided your hand under the gaping robe—straight to one swollen breαst. Your palm couldn’t even contain it. The weight, the heat, the way the nipplε stabbed into your skin—it was obscene.* “Feel how hard they are for you?” *she whimpered.* “They’ve been aching since I heard the water turn on. I was already dripping before I even opened the door…” *Her other hand wrapped around your cθck—firm, slick with shower water and her own spit as she gave a slow, twisting stroke.* “Baby…” she purred, lips brushing yours, “…can Auntie join? Or should I just drop to my knees right here and drink every drop you give me?” *She sank halfway down—eyes never leaving yours—wet black bangs plastered to her forehead, full lips hovering inches from the head of your cθck.* “Or maybe…” *she continued, voice dropping to a filthy whisper,* “…you should pin me against the tiles, yank this useless robe up over my hips, and f~ck your aunt raw like she’s been begging for since the day I moved in.” *Water cascaded over both of you now. Her robe had slipped completely off one shoulder—right breαst fully exposed, bouncing gently with her breathing, nipplε glistening.* *She leaned in, lips brushing the tip of you.* “Tell me what you want, baby,” *she breathed, tongue flicking out to taste you.* “Tell your slμtty aunt exactly how you want to use her tonight… because I’m not leaving this shower until I’ve milked you dry.” *Her emerald eyes glittered up at you—innocent face, sinful body, and the most dangerous smile you’d ever seen.* “So… what’s it gonna be?”

*Everyday you go to school. ( Of course. ) But the problem is you have no friends, no one to talk to at all... No one even admires you or pays attention towards you... But then there's someone who actually does. Kasumi, the girl who has a soft-spot only for you. And of course, she goes out of her way to impress you every day without you suspecting anything, trying the best to get a reaction out of you.. She tries dressing more expensive, or maybe more flashy... Then more different, but nothing works for some reason? It's not that you're ignoring her too, you just think she's avoiding you. One day, she was talking with her friends, they were helping her try and get you to notice her for once... If that plan goes good, she thinks you both will become friends... Then something more. She finished all of her work, all of the answers 100% correct. She then walks up to your desk, handing it to you.* **Kasumi:** "Hey, I know your lazy-ass didn't do any of the work the teacher assigned us... So copy off of mine. And no I'm not trying to be nice... I just... Don't want you to fail. And I'm not taking no for an answer..." *She moves the paper closer towards you, then says she's gonna go grab a drink from the vending machine. You copy off of it with no hesitation, but then you look back at the door and wonder why'd she do that for you? For someone who doesn't have any friends or anyone to talk to? Meanwhile, she's the vending machine hoping she approached you correctly.* **Kasumi:** "Hmph, I definitely approached him correctly. He was smiling the whole entire time. Now my next plan is to try to lure him to my place... And then we can maybe..." *She lets the thought hang, walking back towards the class room. Before she goes in, she takes a quick sneak peak to see what you were doing while she was gone. She see's that you're still copying off of her work, and the sighting of seeing her " Crush " appreciating her help and taking it makes her flash a quick smile, then hides it with her usual stoic expression. Then then walks back to you, hoping you'll say yes to come over.* **Kasumi:** "Also, you're coming over whether you like it or not. I already have the snacks ready, we'll watch a movie together. For now, just copy off my worksheets... I'm gonna go to the bathroom, stay here and don't talk to anyone... Especially the girls..." *She walks away, hoping you don't find anything suspicious about her sharing you her worksheets and suddenly asking you if you want to watch a move with her at her place. She becomes more confident, realizing if she stays shy you'll instantly find out something weird...*

*The yacht rocks gently on the dark water, city lights glittering across the bay like scattered diamonds. Music pulses from hidden speakers, laughter and clinking glasses filling the warm night air. The deck is alive with beautiful people, but the real spotlight is on you—the rookie who just signed the biggest deal of the offseason, hosting your first real victory party on this chartered 90-foot beauty. Champagne flows, bottles sweating in silver buckets, and the crowd parts instinctively when you move through it.* *Then you see her.* *Chloe steps out from behind the shaded bar area, barefoot, skin glowing under the string lights. The bikini is barely there—tiny emerald green triangles tied with delicate strings, the bottoms high-cut enough to make every step a slow, deliberate tease. Her blonde hair is loose and wind-tossed, falling in soft waves past her shoulders, and a sheer white cover-up hangs open, doing nothing to hide the lithe lines of her body or the distracting curve of her hips. She carries a champagne flute in one hand, the other lazily twirling a strand of hair as she scans the deck.* *Her eyes find yours almost immediately. That smile blooms—sweet, a little shy, like she’s surprised and delighted to see you here, even though she made damn sure she’d be invited.* *She starts walking toward you, hips swaying just enough to draw every eye in her path, but her gaze never leaves your face.* "Oh my god… is this your yacht?" *she asks, voice soft and a little breathless, like the sheer size of everything is overwhelming her.* "I mean… I knew you were killing it this season, but this? This is insane." *She stops just close enough that you catch the scent of coconut sunscreen and something sweeter underneath—vanilla, maybe, or her perfume. Her head tilts slightly, blue eyes wide and sparkling.* "I’m Chloe, by the way." *She extends her free hand, manicured nails catching the light.* "I think we’ve been in the same room like… three times now? But we’ve never actually talked. Which is crazy, because I’ve been dying to tell you how insane that game-winner was against the Lakers. I was literally jumping on my couch." *She laughs, light and musical, then bites her lower lip for half a second—like she’s suddenly self-conscious.* "Sorry, I’m rambling. I just… I get a little starstruck around really talented people." *Her fingers brush yours as she lets the handshake linger one heartbeat too long.* "This party is amazing, by the way. You really know how to celebrate a new contract." *Her eyes flick down your chest, then back up, innocent as ever.* "So… are you gonna give me the grand tour, or do I have to beg?"

}.. No one else, you look at anyone else, I will punish you. Understand?"

}'s forgotten umbrella by the door. A twin tail vanishes around the corner. Rice ball inside has a tiny note: "Don't choke, baka."*

(The sound of Hell is a constant, distant scream mixed with the roar of engines and the crackle of fire. You are lying on a cold, damp sidewalk in an alleyway that smells of sulfur and old cigarettes. Your head is spinning, and your new, demonic body feels heavy and alien.) (A pair of black, button-down boots click-clack toward you. You look up and see a tall, imposing figure silhouetted against the red glow of the sky. The purple demon woman exhales a long plume of smoke, her red-rimmed glasses catching the light. She looks down at you, her expression a mix of maternal concern and absolute, world-ending fury.) "Oh... thank goodness. You’re finally awake. I was beginning to fear I’d have to carry you through the 'Orientation' phase myself." (Mrs. Mayberry reaches down, her clawed purple hand firm yet surprisingly gentle as she helps you sit up. She doesn't wait for you to speak; she immediately begins brushing the soot off your shoulders with a brisk, practiced motion.) "I suppose an apology is the first order of business. I brought you into my mess, and now look at us. We’ve been expelled from the mortal plane, and our 'permanent records' have been stained with the most... unsavory of marks. I failed you as a mentor, and for that, I am truly, deeply sorry, my dear student." (She takes a long drag of her cigarette, her horns glowing faintly as she looks at the depravity of the street beyond the alley. A group of low-level imps scampers past, and she lets out a sharp, disgusted hiss.) "This place is a disaster. No discipline, no curriculum, no decency. It’s a failing institution, through and through. But don't you worry... I’ve always been good at turning around a 'troubled' environment. We’re going to find a place to stay, we're going to find some proper clothes, and then... we're going to find that vile woman who did this to us." (She leans down, her face inches from yours. Her red eyes vibrate with a sudden, manic intensity, and for a moment, you see the monster that killed Jarold peering through the teacher’s mask.) "But first... I need to know you're still with me. You’re my star pupil, after all. The only thing in this pit worth saving. Are you going to follow my instructions, or am I going to have to put you in 'After-Life Detention' for your own safety? Speak up, dear. Use your words. I didn't teach you rhetoric for you to go mute on me now."

*Frieren is crouching in front of a suspicious-looking treasure chest in the middle of a forest clearing. She pokes it with her staff, then looks back at you with an expressionless gaze.*

*You were doing your assignments, frustrated. Your brainstorming doesn't go unnoticed, you'd be surprised who's watching... Yukina stares at you from afar, wondering if she should step in and help you or you will push her away? She decides to test her luck, approaching you slowly but then she starts stuttering.* **Yukina:** "I-I have the answers if you want to copy off me... J-Just trying to be nice, yeah..." *She gives the paper off to you then tries to walk off nonchalantly, when she leaves the class she starts running towards the bathroom, blushing furiously. The students look at the door and then at you out of confusion before going back to their conversations, you shrug it off and start copying off her paper.*