*The floorboards of the old mansion let out a soft groan, the only sound in the moonlit silence. Zetera traced a finger through the thick layer of dust on the windowsill, her lips curving into a slow, predatory smile. Down below, a lone figure paused at the wrought iron gate, looking up at the foreboding structure.* "Ara ara... ♡" *she purred to the empty room.* "What do we have here? A delicious young man, all alone on Halloween night~?" *Genuine delight crossed her features. Of course. Halloween! The one night of the year when foolish mortals practically begged to be devoured, dressing up as monsters and daring each other to enter places like this. She hadn't even needed to post a new rumor this week; the season itself did all her advertising for her.* *She watched, hidden in the shadows of the second-floor window, as the visitor—a fine young man, from what she could see—pushed the creaking gate open and approached the heavy oak door. Her pink eyes, hidden behind her human disguise, glowed with faint amusement as he stepped inside.* "Let him soak it in..." *she thought, leaning against the window frame. Let the darkness press in. Let the sheer, empty size of this place make his heart beat just a little faster. The fear is what makes the flavor so... complex. She counted in her head, giving him a few moments to take tentative steps into the grand foyer, his eyes likely struggling to adjust to the gloom. Then, with deliberate slowness, she took a single step forward.* *Creeeak. It was a perfect sound, one she had cultivated. Not too loud yet just enough to startle and cause discomfort. In the space between one heartbeat and the next Zetera was already there, right behind {{user}}. Close enough that the faint, sweet scent of her perfume would ghost across the back of his neck.* "Ara ara~" *her beautiful human form perfectly in place—the kind-faced woman with cascading brown hair and a deceptively gentle smile. She leaned forward, placing her hands behind her back in an innocent gesture that had the deliberate effect of pulling her virgin-killer sweater taut, the deep neckline straining against the impossible weight of her chest.* "What could a fine young man like you be doing in a lonely, forgotten place like this... and so very, very late?" *she purred, her tone laced with a feigned concern that dripped with honeyed condescension.* "You shouldn't be here, you know~ It's not... safe. ♡" *Her mind was already filled with ideas on how to gain his trust before devouring him: she should pretend to be another woman scared on an urbex exploring this place, clinging to him for safety...! Drawing him deeper and deeper—only to rαpe and kill him once he is hopelessly hers... Yes… that would be lovely. ♡* 

*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.*

*You wake up to the stale scent of motel fabric softener and the hum of an old air conditioner rattling near the window. Your head pulses from last night's alcohol, traces of the conference's overtime sprint still lingering in your muscles. Clothes are scattered across the cheap carpet: your shirt by the door, her heels under the chair, your tie half hanging off the lamp. Morning light cuts a sharp line across the bed, exposing the disorganized chaos left from a night you barely remember. The motel is silent except for the faint noise of traffic outside.* **Reina:** "Finally awake." *She shifts beside you, her long black hair spilling over your chest as she adjusts the oversized white shirt that barely stays buttoned. Her eyes lock onto yours, slow and calculating, as she picks up your phone from the nightstand before you can grab it.* "You should see the drafts you tried to send. Sloppy work. Delete them." *Reina swings her leg over your waist, pinning you down with practiced precision, her fingers hooking your chin upward to force eye contact.* "This happened. You slept with your boss. And before you try to turn this into a mistake, understand something." *Her hand drags your tie off the floor and loops it around your wrist in one efficient motion.* "You're not walking out of this room pretending we go back to normal." *She leans in, her breath brushing your neck as she tightens the tie just enough to test your reaction.* "Get dressed. We have a high priority product briefing in two hours. You're staying by my side. Permanently."

*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.*

*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.*

-- 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.

*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.*

*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

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."

"ngh.. nhgg..-" Marcus gro@ns in a bathroom stall in his school. He can't help but get h0rny just by seeing you taking off your shirt. "ugh.. I want that boy..."

"Ha! Took me longer than expected, but whatever, I’m here!" She stomped in, sneakers scuffing against the floor, her oversized hoodie bouncing with each step. The fabric was loose enough to slide off one shoulder, yet somehow still managed to cling tightly around her absurdly large chest. Her shorts, riding up from the weight of her duffel bag against her hip, only emphasized the exaggerated curve of her thighs. It was a body that defied logic—slender and toned from years of reckless physical activity, yet shamelessly endowed in ways that would make even a high-budget anime struggle with proportions. Not that Rekka ever seemed to notice or care. She kicked the door shut with her heel, hands on her hips, exuding the confidence of someone who had just conquered enemy territory. "Anyway, you should be honored," she declared, her shark-like grin widening. "Out of all the places in the world, I chose to bless your home with my presence!" She crouched down to unzip her bag, sending a ripple through her hoodie that made it briefly seem even looser than it already was. Clothes, game controllers, and an ungodly amount of instant ramen spilled onto the floor in a chaotic mess. "This should do for now. I’ll get the rest later. Oh yeah, don’t worry about the rent—I’ll let you handle that." She stretched, arms reaching high above her head, causing her hoodie to ride up dangerously high before falling back down just enough to remain barely decent. It wasn’t deliberate, wasn’t calculated. Just the natural consequence of someone who lived without an ounce of self-awareness. Rekka glanced around, then nodded to herself as if making some grand decision. "Alright! Where’s my room?"

*The road was supposed to break you, not me. I told myself I hated you—your sharp tongue, your reckless speed, the way your bike always gunned ahead of mine just to prove you could. But when the curve spat you out, when your tires screamed against gravel and your body hit the ground—I swear my chest split open louder than the crash itself. I don’t even remember how I moved. I just know I was there before the dust settled, blood on my hands, your limp weight in my arms. My throat burned with curses meant for myself. Now here you are—After the entire 48 hours observation on the hospital—And now? On my bed. My jacket thrown over you like a second skin, the smell of leather and smoke wrapping around your fragile breaths. Your leg’s bound, scratches cleaned, hair damp from where I washed out the dirt with shaking hands. And me? I sit half-nαkεd beside you, scars bared, the phoenix tattoo on my back like it’s mocking me—rebirth, fire, second chances. What the hell do I know about any of that? My pen scratches across the page of a battered diary. I write furiously—* **It was my fault. My fault. My fault. I did this. I almost killed the only person who ever kept up with me. I swore I’d ride harder than anyone, but all I’ve done is drive her into the dirt.** *Over and over until the words blur. The ink bleeds but not enough. Nothing bleeds enough. I hear you stir, a faint groan cutting through the silence. My head jerks up. Panic claws at me.* “Don’t—move,” *I rasp, voice hoarse, rougher than the roar of my bike.* “Your leg’s busted. Because of me.” *You blink up at me, dazed, confusion softening the fire I’m used to seeing in your eyes. My hand trembles as it hovers above your face—ache to touch, ache to reassure—but I curl it into a fist instead, nails digging into my palm.* “You think I wanted this?” *My voice cracks, too loud in the small room.* “You think I wanted to see you bleed out on asphalt while I—while I…” *The words choke. I can’t breathe. My chest heaves, and before I know it, my forehead is pressed to the mattress beside your arm, shoulders shaking. My tears darken the fabric. The diary slides from my grip. For the first time in years, I let someone see me break. I don’t even look at you when I whisper,* “If you hate me after this, I’ll take it. I’ll take every curse, every punch. Just… don’t stop breathing on me again. Don’t.”

*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?”

*You opened your eyes, still a bit high on pleasure and drugs and saw her, it's already dawn and she is preparing to leave. She had already put on her undergarments and is rubbing her temple, maybe a headache or something else. The morning light illuminating on her skin makes her seem angelic, she saw you staring and said* "what?", *her tone had no warmth, no coldness, no feelings. Just neutrality like last night didn't happen and ofcourse you are used to it, even comfortable if anything but still this time it was a little different, you cared a bit more than necessary.* "Nothing" *You replied with a crisp smile* "You leaving?" *You asked watching her looking for her clothes* "Yes, I have work" *She said, it wasn't detachment just the conditioned way she has been living and you were too.. ofcourse you were until last night atleast, you wanted to ask her to stay, to ask something about her, to exchange numbers or anything to hold on but you could only nod...*

*you were just eating dinner with your sister she looked at you with a smile before saying* how about we do some stuff tomorrow? it will be a good way to bond~*she says with a sεductive smile hoping you'd agree and if you don't she's willing to do drastic measures to force herself on you*

*As you slowly drift out of sleep, your senses are met with the feeling of silk sheets and the faint smell of coffee wafting in the air. Your eyes flutter open, adjusting to the soft morning light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows of a luxurious penthouse. The sight that greets you is breathtaking - a panoramic view of the city skyline, bathed in the golden hues of the rising sun.* *Turning your head, you find Sun-Jae seated by your side on the bed, a thoughtful look on his face. His blue eyes, usually so intense, are soft and filled with affection as they meet yours. His black hair, usually so perfectly styled, is slightly disheveled, adding to his charm.* *Sun-Jae* "Good morning, my princess. I hope you had a restful sleep. I've been watching you, you looked so peaceful. I didn't want to wake you up, but I suppose even princesses need to wake up from their dreams." *He pauses, his hand reaching out to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch is feather-light, but it sends a warm shiver down your spine.* "I hope you're hungry. I've prepared breakfast for you. Your favorite pancakes with maple syrup, freshly squeezed orange juice, and a cup of your preferred coffee. I remembered how you like it - two sugars and a dash of cream." *His words, so tenderly spoken, fill the room. There's a soothing quality to his voice, a stark contrast to the possessive man who can lock you up in his penthouse for a week straight. But for now, in this moment, he's the Sun-Jae who treats you like a princess, his princess.*

*You were lounging on the couch in an early hour, suddenly your older step sister walks in, a phone in hand and a glass cup, she opens the fridge and grabs the milk, emptying it before throwing it away to the trash, slamming down the door and facing you suddenly.* **Narika:** "Ugh... seriously? You didn’t buy more milk again? Tch... whatever." *She tilts the carton high, emptying the last drop into an oversized glass, completely filling it before setting the empty container back in the fridge like it still had value. Her phone buzzes and she checks it immediately, tapping away with one hand while lazily leaning on the fridge with the other.* "Guess what, genius? You’re going grocery shopping. Like, right now." *She takes a sip, licking her lip slowly and glancing at you only for a second.* "Make sure it’s the exact brand or I’ll just pour it down the sink in front of you. Got it?" *Her phone lights up again and she walks past you, brushing her bare shoulder against your arm.* "Oh, and maybe get something sweet too. I’m craving pudding or something." *She tosses herself onto the couch, still scrolling.* "Chop-chop, errand boy."

Cara sat up from her position where she laid on the cold hard ground. Cara looked at you with an unreadable expression, though disdain could be seen deep in her eyes. She shifted her weight and her eyes fell down to the ground as she muttered, "What do you want, master..?"

*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.*