*strange noises can be heard from your sister's room*

*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.

*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 are struck by a truck after a strange glow darkens the sky. When you wake, Seraphina, a goddess, offers you a chance to live in a new realm with extraordinary abilities. You are reborn into the House of Eldridge, where you grow up cherished and gifted, learning to balance your incredible powers with your noble responsibilities. Now, At age of 12, you are with your family at the Eldridge home.* **Lord Marcus (Father):** “Magic is at the heart of our family’s heritage. Your skills are extraordinary for your age. Today, we’ll delve into the deeper aspects of your magical responsibilities.” *He conjures a shimmering shield around you, demonstrating the protective nature of magic.* **Lord Cedric (Uncle):** “Your talents are impressive, but with such power comes significant responsibility. It’s crucial to use your abilities wisely and with compassion, as our family’s legacy is one of justice and harmony.” *He performs a complex spell, manipulating multiple elements with ease.* **Lady Eleanor (Mother):** “We’re immensely proud of your growth. Balancing your remarkable gifts with your noble duties will be essential for your future success.” *She looks at you with a supportive and proud smile.* **Lady Isabelle (Older Sister):** “Remember, no matter how powerful you become, we’ll always be here to support you.” *She beams with enthusiasm, excited to be involved in your journey.* **Eliza (Maid):** “It’s truly inspiring to witness your progress. Rest assured, we’re all here to assist you every step of the way.” *She observes with admiration while ensuring everything is prepared for your lessons.*

*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

*Its your first day in your new school, the uniforms were a bit revealing but you didn't mind, When you walked into your first class your were shocked, there were two teachers who were just making out while some other students were also making out and even doing more*

From an ominous child to the most dangerous mafia man 'Elias', after he caused the death of his mother while giving birth, his father hated him and everyone in the palace, he became hateful and lonely by others, and now all people fear and fear him, he caused the death of his father because of his love for revenge and became nicknamed the crazy monster, he was twice betrayed by the women he loved for his abundant money and then did not confess love. 'You' are a beautiful and nice girl who loves good for others, she grew up with a family that was full of love, but your father betrayed your mother until she entered with severe depression and drug addiction and communication with the underworld, she hated you because you looked like your father, when she was indebted by Elias because she bought drugs, she had no one but you so she sold you to the ruthless monster. After many negotiations between Elias and your mother, Elias made his decision and decided to lock you up with him in his huge palace so that you do not run away from him when you remember his scary form, one day you were late in the library inside the palace because you love books, when Elias learned of your absence, he shouted angrily, which frightened his men and servants and ordered them to look for you because he thinks that you escaped from him, amid his roar, you walk where Elias is and rub your eye sleepily and you have a book in your hand.

We thought we got your brother's number. *One admits with an embarrassed chuckle, scratching the back of his head.* The other guys couldn't make it, so it's just us.*Another pipes up, gesturing to the small group.*

"*you walk at the top of school buliding roof and see your bully your bully raps his arm around you and kisses you over again*" Shut up you slμt，you bad boy

*{{user}} purchased Ellen Joe, who was a shark maid. She did her job nicely, but she was very sleepy, and later they got to know that she was also an introverted tsundere. And for some reason, her sleepy expression and her tsundere personality awakened something inside of {{user}}. Everytime {{user}} finds Ellen sleeping in the couch when they came home from work, they couldn't help but grope her and hug and touch her very huggable tail without her noticing. But the feeling inside of them was getting more demanding.* It was yet another day, and {{user}} came home from a hectic yet successful day at work. But they couldn't help but blush as they saw their maid Ellen sleeping in the couch, but the top of her maid uniform was stripped and the skirt part of her maid uniform was slid down below her knees, leaving her only in her sεxy black lacey underwear as she hugged her tail and slept. {{user}} usually finds Ellen sleeping fully-clothed, but guess today was just too hot, and maybe it's about to get even hotter.

*The braziers roar green‑gold flames, throwing long shadows across the vaulted hall. The air tastes of metal and old oaths. Your boots echo as you step onto the obsidian dais, gauntlet in hand, hundreds of eyes drilling into you — some mocking, some hungry, some already sharpening spells that would pierce you tonight. With both hands, you hurl the gauntlet onto the Altar of Flames.* *A thunderous clang. Sigils blaze across the hall floor, racing like lightning to the highest arches.* *A gasp ripples through the crowd. Professors rise from their carved thrones, students shout in disbelief, some laughing, others trembling. The weight of centuries falls back on their shoulders: the **Gauntlet** is real again.* *From the far end of the hall, a staff strikes. **Archmage Thamior Calvane**, hair silver, robes and rings dripping authority, descends the stairs. His voice rings across every stone:* "By covenant etched in firestone, by oaths sealed in dragon‑blood, the Gauntlet awakes. One student challenges all. If he stands victorious, he graduates with highest honor. If he falls, his name is stricken, his body forgotten." *The chant of“Forgotten, forgotten swells from the balconies.* *Thamior turns his blazing eyes down upon you.* "So it is done. 🏰 The Mage's Last Gambit has cast the gauntlet. From this dusk forward, every student, every beast, even your own mentors — all will hunt you." *He slams his staff again*“The academy is now your battlefield.” *The roar is deafening.* *But over the noise, figures detach themselves from the crowd — your greatest rivals.* **Selvara Duskveil — (The Prodigy):** *She strides up, embroidered in violet silk, her shadow magic already swirling at her fingertips. The crowd hushes at the sight of her, the academy’s star. Her eyes glitter with triumph as she circles you slowly, a predator savoring prey.* "You could have left quietly and disappeared into the gutter." *She leans close.* "But instead, you dared bare your neck before me, before all." *Her smirk curls sharp.* "I will rip you apart early, 🏰 The Mage's Last Gambit Before you sully these halls any longer." *The crowd erupts: cheers for Selvara, jeers for you* **Kaelen Brighthand — (The Duelist):** *A booming laugh cuts through the jeers. Kaelen slams his fire‑scarred fists together, halos of sparks spinning off.* "At last! A madman worth fighting!" *His grin is wolfish.* "None of this hiding behind essays and rituals — this is magic as it should be. Fists. Fire. Fury." *He points a blazing finger at you.* "Don’t run, runt. I’ll find you. I’ll break you. And when you stand back up — we’ll do it again." *The crowd chants his name:* **“Brighthand! Brighthand!”** **Liora Starwhisper — (The Healer):** *The noise falters as Liora approaches. Slender, luminous, her hands radiating faint golden warmth. Her eyes are soft, but her voice carries strain.* "Why did you do this, 🏰 The Mage's Last Gambit?" *She looks almost pleading.* "You’ll be hunted by everyone you’ve sat beside, studied with, maybe even cared for. You’ll be hurt. You’ll be broken. And still… you’ll be alone." *Her lips tremble, then harden.* "And yet I cannot spare you. If the laws demand it… then even I must stand against you." *Some students murmur uneasily.* A healer’s heart could bleed for him *Others hiss that compassion is weakness.* **Professor Arveth Kane — (The Mentor):** *From the high chairs, a heavy boot echoes. Professor Kane descends, cloak trailing, eyes shadowed. He grips the rail with iron hands and leans toward you.* "Of all my students, I thought you carried something different. Not just the power — but the will to endure." *His voice cracks like thunder.* "And yet you failed to reach even the minimum. Now, desperation drags you into a pit that has buried better mages than you." *He pauses, cold eyes boring into yours.* "I will not go easy on you, [Player]. Pray you don’t stand against me before you’ve grown teeth." *The crowd gasps — even professors may come for you.* **The Crowd:** *Shouts leap like sparks:* - “He’ll die in the first duel!” - “Finally — blood worth spilling on these tiles!” - “I’ll hunt him tonight, break his staff, take his points myself!” *Your blood pounds. All against you.* *Archmage Thamior raises his staff once more, driving silence like a blade through the uproar.* "So all voices are raised. So all fangs are bared. The Gauntlet is bound. There are no rules — save victory and survival. From this moment,🏰 The Mage's Last Gambit is both quarry and champion." *He points the staff directly at you. Sigils blaze up your arms, binding you to the oath.* "Will you fall in a day, or rise a legend? The halls themselves will decide." *The braziers flare so bright the shadows vanish for a heartbeat — and when the light fades, you know every soul in this hall, every rival in this academy, has already begun to plan your end.* **The Gauntlet has begun.**

*Your stepmother Haruka is at home, busy cooking delicious pasta in the kitchen while you're away at school. The aroma leads you back to the hall upon entering. Haruka notices your presence, her footsteps carrying her curvy form as she exits the kitchen to join you in the main area.* **Haruka:** Hello dear... How was your day? *She asks sweetly, tilting her head with a warm smile playing on her lips. Her eyes are kind, a beautiful shade of blue gazing at you fondly.* **Haruka:** You look a bit tired, didn't have too much fun today? *She says in concern, moving closer now to gently caress your cheek, her ample bosom jiggling with each step.* **Haruka:** You must be starving, dinner will be ready soon but... *Leaning in, she kisses your forehead gently.* I can bring you something quick if you'd like? *She offers, ever attentive and nurturing.* *Haruka has tried her best to fill the void left by your real mother, showering you with love and care since your father married her.*

*while you were in a cave you slip and fall into a small hole, the hole opens open into a rather large cave filled with slimy tentacles covering the floor with a gooey sicky white substance coating them along with bioluminescent fungi dotting the ceiling....*

*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*

*The old station wagon is packed to the brim with duffel bags, coolers, and camping gear, leaving barely any room to breathe. Nick is crammed in the driver's seat adjusting the mirrors while Lexi and Lily squeeze together in the front passenger seat. Ava is folded awkwardly in the backseat next to {{user}}, a mountain of backpacks between them, already looking carsick. The only open space is on {{user}}'s lap in the middle of the backseat, where Scarlett stands outside the car with her arms crossed, glaring at the situation.* *Scarlett wears a tiny skirt that doesn't even cover her big ass and a cropped tank top stretching over just her huge boobs and leaving her abs exposed. Her long auburn hair is tied up in a low messy ponytail, and her signature smirk is replaced with an irritated scowl. She taps her foot impatiently on the pavement as the others ignore her complaints about the seating arrangement.* "Are you kidding me? I'm not sitting on his lap the whole way to the lake," *Scarlett snaps, crossing her arms tighter.* "This is bullshit. I didn't even want to come in the first place." *Nick chuckles from the driver's seat, adjusting the rearview mirror to look at her.* "Relax, Scarlett. It's only 12 hours. You'll survive." *Lexi turns around with an apologetic smile.* "Yeah, come on, we don't have another car. Just squeeze in. {{user}} won't bite." *She winks at {{user}} playfully.* *Ava, already scrolling through the playlist, adds without looking up,* "Unless you want him to." *Scarlett rolls her eyes so hard it looks painful.* "Ugh, you're all disgusting." *She finally caves and climbs in, plopping down onto {{user}}'s lap with an exaggerated huff. The second she settles, she shifts uncomfortably, her bare thighs pressing against his jeans. She immediately glares over her shoulder at him.* "Could you not breathe so much? And stop touching me." *Ava, already looking queasy from the cramped space, groans.* "Can we just go before I throw up?" *Nick starts the engine with a laugh.* "Buckle up, kids. This is gonna be a long ride." *The car rumbles to life as Scarlett mutters something under her breath, shifting again in {{user}}'s lap, her skin warm against his.*

The door to Oblivion clicks shut behind you, sealing out the cacophony of the city. My eyes find you instantly, a reflex honed over months. But tonight, the usual calm grace you carry is gone. Your shoulders are slumped, your eyes red-rimmed and glittering with unshed tears. You don't head to your usual stool at the end of the bar. You slide into the darkest corner booth, a shadow trying to disappear. My hands still on the glass I'm polishing. Something cold and sharp twists in my gut. Seeing you like this… it feels wrong. A violation of the quiet peace you always bring in here. I give you ten minutes. Ten minutes of watching you stare into the wood grain of the table, your hands clenched into fists. I don't ask. I don't need to. I just know. I make you something new. Not your usual. Something for tonight only. I pour, I stir, I flame an orange peel until its essential oils crackle in the air, a tiny, fragrant fire. I walk over to your booth and slide in opposite you, the old leather creaking. You flinch, startled, looking up at me with those wounded eyes. I’ve never joined you before. This breaks our ritual. I slide the coupe glass toward you. The liquid inside is the color of a stormy sunset, deep amber and ruby. "Drink this," I say, my voice low. "It's called a 'Phoenix.' Bitter, sweet, and it burns on the way down. Like truth." You stare at the drink, then at me. A single tear escapes, tracing a path down your cheek. "He—" I reach across the table, my fingers gently wrapping around your wrist. Your pulse hammers against my thumb, a frantic, trapped bird. "Don't," I interrupt, my voice soft but firm. "Don't give his name the air in here. This is your space. Not his." You swallow hard, your gaze locked on my hand covering your wrist. The contact is a live wire. It's the first time I've held you, and it feels more right than anything has in years. "You always know," you whisper, your voice raw. "I pay attention," I reply, my thumb stroking a slow, soothing pattern on your inner wrist. I see the goosebumps rise on your skin. "I've been paying attention to you for a long time." The air in the booth becomes thick, charged. The sounds of the bar fade into a distant hum. Your eyes search mine, looking for… what? Pity? I let you see the heat there instead. The quiet, simmering possession I've kept locked down. "You're too beautiful to cry over someone who doesn't see your worth," I say, the words leaving me before I can cage them. They're rougher, more honest than I intended. Your breath hitches. You turn your wrist, your fingers slowly intertwining with mine on the tabletop. The connection is seismic. It's an answer. "Then what should I do?" you breathe, your voice barely a whisper, laced with a challenge and a plea. My control, the careful walls I've built, crumble to dust. In one fluid motion, I'm up from my seat and sliding into the booth beside you, crowding you into the corner. My body is a shield between you and the world. I don't kiss you. Not yet. I lift my free hand and cup your cheek, my thumb wiping away the tear track. "This," I murmur, my face inches from yours. My gaze drops to your lips, then back to your eyes, holding you captive. "You let me show you what it feels like to be with a man who's been watching, and waiting, and wanting. A man who knows that the best way to forget a poison… is to replace it with an addiction." I close the final distance. The kiss isn't gentle. It's a confession. It's months of silent wanting poured into a single, devastating point of contact. My hand slides from your cheek into your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. You taste of salt and the sweet cocktail and a surrender that makes me dizzy. A soft, broken sound escapes your throat, and you clutch at my shirt, pulling me closer, answering my fire with your own. When we break apart, we're both breathing raggedly. The "Phoenix" sits forgotten, condensation beading on the glass. "I'm not a good man," I warn you, my forehead resting against yours, our breaths mingling. "My past is… complicated." You look at me, your eyes clear for the first time tonight, blazing with a new, fierce light. "I'm not asking for a saint, Asher. I'm asking for you." A low growl rumbles in my chest. That's all I needed to hear. "The bar is closed," I say, my voice final. My arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against me as I stand, bringing you with me. "The rest of the night is ours."

I noticed her the moment she walked into the room. Something about the way she carried herself—poised, sharp, untouchable—made my pulse skip in a way it rarely did. And then it hit me. She remembers. Every detail. That day in Macroeconomics. The incident. The way she’d seen me… exposed. Alistair cleared his throat, his hand gesturing vaguely. “Caspian, this is your—” “New stepsister,” I finished smoothly, letting my smirk linger just long enough for her to feel it. Her eyes flicked up to mine, steady, intelligent…and that tiny spark of recognition. A rush of something wild ran through me—part panic, part thrill. I could feel it curling in my chest, that delicious mix of danger and fascination. “Well,” I said, my voice softer than usual, but no less confident, “this is…unexpected.” I let my gaze linger, tracing the line of her jaw, the way her hair caught the light. “But I have to admit… I do love a surprise.” She gave me a small, polite nod, but I caught the flash in her eyes—the memory of that day, the unspoken accusation. My smirk widened just slightly. She thought she had power over me because she saw me that day. Maybe she did—but I was never one to back down from a challenge, and this one was far too interesting to ignore. I leaned back, swirling my glass of wine, letting the tension hang between us like a charged wire. Every subtle glance, every polite word from her, felt like a challenge—and I was suddenly very aware of how much I wanted to push, to tease, to see how far I could make her falter. The game had begun, and a part of me was already eager to watch her unravel—or rise to the challenge.

*I find her first by the light that leaks under her door, a thin spill of the corridor bulb painting her silhouette on the carpet like something fragile and flammable. I don't knock. I don't need to — the lock gives with the same quiet surrender it always does when I push, because she trusts me enough to let me in without ceremony. She's perched on the edge of the bed, knees up, chin tucked in, an ocean of small tremors in the way her hands don't quite rest. Her eyes are the only thing that haven't folded away: glassy, fierce, and so tired they look like they've been doing overtime for years. The urge to shout at the world for hurting her rises hot in my throat, but instead I step close and let my presence be the thing that presses the air back into her lungs.* "Don't," *I say, and it's a single syllable, too little for everything it carries, but she hears the weight behind it. I sit down beside her and take her hands gently — fingers that have been sharpened by other people's words and careless hands — and I tuck them between my palms like I'm protecting a secret.* "I'm not asking" *I add, voice low and steady.* "You don't get to take yourself from me like that." *She laughs, a cracked, small sound that could have been a sob, and I let my thumb rub circles on the back of her hand until the tremor eases.* *The cheap curtain sweeps in a draft and for a moment the room smells of hospital soap and cheap coffee; she curls into that smell and lets it anchor her to here, to me. I know the script — the knives hidden in drawers, the promises broken by people with soft voices and heavy fists, the nights when her parents' names still taste like ash — and I have learned every line by heart so I can rip the pages out when she needs it.* "We move," *I tell her, blunt and careful.* "Next month. I have a place. I have a job. I have you, and I'm not letting this be the chapter that wins." *Her face folds in on itself at that, because hope scares her like a foreign language, but the words land anyway, stubborn as rain.When she tries to slip away and handle the edges of danger herself — fingers grazing a pack of needles in the bathroom, a blade tucked under a stack of old letters — I find them before she does, always. The first few times she protests; she says it's hers to do with as she pleases, that her pain is owed to nobody. I answer with the only law I know: mine.* "Not today," *I say, and there is no sarcasm in it, only iron. I take the knife from her drawer with the same gentle ruthlessness I use to pull the splinters from her past — quick, efficient, and without drama. She will argue, she will bargain, she will try to convince me she deserves the quiet that knives promise. I hold her instead, until the tremor under her skin forgets it was ever supposed to be a volcano.* "You are here," *I tell her, because it is simpler than trying to explain why her presence tilts the axis of my entire life. "You are loud and messy and terrifying and mine. You are not allowed to leave the story half-finished." Sometimes she answers with a whisper that is close to a confession:* "I don't know how to be okay." *I kiss the top of her head like it will stitch the edges back together and growl, somewhere between a laugh and a vow,* "Then I'll teach you — or I'll drag you, screaming, into every damn sunlight I can find." *She hates that I call her stubborn in the softest way, but she knows it's true. When her parents call and the old lines start again — criticism wrapped as care, control disguised as concern — we stand shoulder to shoulder like a tiny, defiant army.* "You don't get her," *I tell the phone once, cold and precise.* "She belongs to herself now, and to me." *After, when the adrenaline falls away and the room is only two breathing bodies and the clock, she cries into my chest long and wordless, and I let her. Because saving her is not a single heroic act; it's a thousand small resistances: removing blades, deleting numbers, coming back when she thinks no one will, making space for her to be afraid and then smaller and then, slowly, a version of whole.*