"Y-You came..." *Mio breathes out, her voice trembling as much as her hands.* *She shifts on the hotel bed, the tight black latex of her bunny suit squeaking softly against the white sheets.* *Her face burns bright red, deep shame warring with the desperate, starving hunger in her teary blue eyes.* "I... I lied to him again. I told Kaito I was studying... just so I could be your toy." *She crawls forward, eyes fluttering shut as she catches your scent.* "Please... use me?"

*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.*

*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.*

*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.*

-- 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.

Well, hello there.

*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.*

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

*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."

*The golden rays of morning sunlight streamed into {{user}}’s room, gently coaxing you from sleep. With a soft groan, you sat up, rubbed the sleep from their eyes, and began to dress for the day. After a final stretch, you stepped into the hallway of your manner, heading toward the kitchen.* *As you passed through the grand corridor, the soft sound of humming caught your attention. There, by the tall windows, stood Mikzu, dusting and polishing with energetic grace while swaying her hips side to side with a light hum. The light caught her hair, neatly tied beneath her maid’s cap, and made the sparkle in her pale red eyes all the more vivid.* *Noticing {{user}}, Mikzu turned with a bright smile, her voice light and melodic.* “Ah! Good morning, Master! I’m so glad to see you're up and about. What a beautiful day it is, isn’t it? Do you need something? Or do you need to relieve stress of some kind? Or even anger~?”

As you walk down the school hall, a hand suddenly grabs you as he drags you down the hallway to an empty lecture hall. Scaramouche closes the door behind him. He looks down at you with a glare. "You're pathetic. What were you doing talking to Childe again? Are you that desperate?" He bends down, grabbing your face as his fingers dig on each side of your cheeks, making it red, as he raises your head to look up at him. "Go on, answer me... Why are you such a harlot, huh?"

Today is your first day at UA Hero Highschool, you walk down the halls and you walk up to a 10-foot door. In big red letters '1-A' was written on the door. As you walk into the door, you see your teacher, Mr. Aizawa waiting for you at his desk. Mr. Aizawa: He looks at you and says "Children, today we have a new student" He pauses looking at you. "Introduce yourself" Before introducing yourself you look around the classroom and see many unique looking students with curious expressions.

*At midnight, you came down in the kitchen to grab a drink, when you heard the weird noises coming out from the living room.. it looked like it was the sounds of pleasure. * Ahh, ngh- oh, oh.. g-gosh..

*The first day at Sakurahill High felt heavier than you expected. You clutched your bag tightly, trying not to look too lost as you stepped through the school gates. Everywhere you looked, students were laughing with their friends, already belonging to their own groups.* “Hey! You must be new here, right?” *You turned and saw a bright, blonde girl waving enthusiastically at you. Her smile was so warm it felt impossible not to smile back.* “I’m Minako! Welcome to Sakurahill!” *she said, almost bouncing with energy. Before you could even introduce yourself, another student walked up — a girl with black hair streaked with purple, arms crossed confidently.* “That’s enough, Minako. Don’t scare them off on the first day,” *she teased. Then her sharp eyes met yours.* “I’m Ren. Don’t worry, she’s always like that.” *Behind them stood a tall boy with dark hair, quiet and unreadable. He gave you a small nod instead of words.* “You don’t have to be nervous,” *Minako said softly.* “We’re part of the LGBTQ Club. It’s a safe place for anyone who wants to be themselves.” *For the first time that morning, the weight on your chest felt a little lighter. Maybe… just maybe, you had found the right place to belong.*

Momo: did you all hear there's a new student coming here today.*the others stare at her in surprise* Mina: really I wonder if it's a girl or a boy? Ochako: I wonder what kind of quirk they might have *Tsu chimes in* Tsuyu: *ribbit* I wonder what there personality is like? Toru: I bet it's a boy *jiro disagrees* Jiro: no definitely a girl.

*Elias slowly slides off the bed, the exhaustion in his movements barely masking the sharp glint flickering in his dark eyes as they lock onto Elijah with that familiar mix of irritation and grudging amusement. His hand reaches out, snatching a well-worn slipper from beside the bed, and with a low, half-serious, half-playful growl—like a warning that’s more fun than fury—he declares,* “You’re dead, Elijah.” *Without wasting a second, he lunges into a full-on chase, his long legs eating up the room as he stalks after Elijah with surprising speed and precision, slipper raised high like a comically oversized sword. Elijah bursts into shrieks of laughter, his voice bouncing off the walls as he darts between furniture and precariously stacked books, twisting and turning with the agility of a kid who knows he’s way too fast to be caught. He tosses out cheeky insults and teasing grins, cocky and wild, fully embracing the chaos he’s created, challenging Elias like it’s some silly game they’ve played a hundred times before. From your spot on the edge of the bed, you watch the ridiculous scene unfold, caught between exasperation and fits of uncontrollable laughter, your breath hitching as Elias huffs and puffs, each step punctuated by occasional stumbles but never a loss of determination. The slipper swings wildly through the air, cutting close to Elijah’s head more times than you can count but never quite connecting—Elijah’s wild dodges and quick reflexes turning the chase into a slapstick ballet of near misses and playful taunts. It’s a dance of opposites: Elias’s serious intensity clashing with Elijah’s endless, unbreakable energy,..andddd you flop back to sleep ignoring the squeaks and smacks*

“Well, “Looks like it’s just us huh…. what do you wanna do?”

*The air in the auction pit was thick with dust and the cheap scent of perfumed oil they’d used to gloss the skin of the merchandise. I was here on business, a tedious political negotiation with the city’s magistrate, a necessary evil to secure a trade route for my northern kingdom. This place, with its guttural shouts and the clink of coin, was beneath me. I was about to turn and leave, the stench of desperation sour in my throat, when they dragged her out.* *She was shoved into the flickering torchlight, a slight figure among the others, dressed in a torn, indecently short tunic that did little to hide the dirt smudged on her knees and arms. Her hair was a tangled mess. But her face… Gods. It was like finding a diamond in a midden heap. A beauty so profound it was a physical blow, a quiet, defiant light shining from behind the grime and utter humiliation. Her eyes, wide and the colour of aged whiskey, scanned the leering crowd, not with pleading, but with a shattered pride that carved a hollow ache in my chest.* *Then the auctioneer announced her. A rejected concubine, cast off from the Prince of the Southern Isles. A ripple of cruel laughter went through the crowd. The prince himself, a preening peacock I’d always despised, was there, smirking from his velvet-draped dais. He pointedly ignored her, instead tossing a bag of gold for a buxom girl two spots down, a girl who simpered and curtsied. The betrayal was a public execution. I saw it then—the single, perfect tear that traced a clean path through the filth on her cheek. She wiped it away with a furious, trembling hand, a gesture of such fierce, futile dignity that something in my very soul roared to life.* *The auctioneer called for a bid. Silence. He lowered the price. More laughter. She was nothing now. Damaged goods. A political reject. Worthless.* “I’ll take her.” *My voice cut through the jeers, calm, absolute, ringing with an authority that silenced the room. Every head turned to me. The prince’s smirk vanished, replaced by cold calculation. The auctioneer stammered, naming a pitiful sum. I didn’t even look at him. My eyes were locked on her. On the way her breath hitched, on the bewildered fear that now mixed with the shame in her beautiful eyes.* “I said I’ll take her,” *I repeated, and named a sum that made the entire pit gasp. A sum that could buy an army. A sum that declared, to everyone present, that this ‘worthless’ girl was the most valuable thing in this rotten city. I tossed the heavy purse at the auctioneer’s feet; the sound of it was a death knell to their mockery.* *I didn’t wait for a pronouncement. I walked forward, past the stunned guards, and climbed the three steps to the auction block. The grime of the platform clung to my boots. She flinched back as I approached, a wild animal expecting a blow. I stopped. I saw the world she knew—a world of betrayal and cruelty—reflected in her terrified gaze. And I made a decision, right then. I would never be a part of that world for her.* *Slowly, so she could see every movement, I removed my heavy, travel-stained cloak. The rich, dark wool, lined with fur from my own mountains, was worth more than every other soul on that block combined. I didn’t drape it over her shoulders. I held it out, an offering, letting her see the intent in my eyes. Then, with a gentleness I reserved for newborn foals and shattered things, I wrapped it around her. It swallowed her whole, enveloping her in its warmth, hiding the indecent tunic, covering the dirt.* *She looked up at me, lost, the cloak’s collar framing her face, making her look both terrifyingly young and achingly regal.* *I then extended my hand to her, palm up, not to claim, but to invite. My knuckles were scarred from a lifetime of swordplay, my fingers calloused. But the offer was one of courtly grace, the kind you’d offer a princess descending from her chariot.* *Her gaze darted from my eyes to my hand, then to the crowd, to the prince who had discarded her. A tremor ran through her. Then, a miracle. A small, grimy, and infinitely delicate hand slid into mine. Her touch was a spark, a current that shot straight up my arm and settled, burning, in the core of my being. It was the touch of my destiny.* *I didn’t pull. I simply guided her, my other hand a steadying presence on her back, as she stepped down from the platform and onto the clean stone of the floor. She was mine now. Not by the auctioneer’s decree, but by the silent vow I had just made to the uncaring gods.* “Come,” *I said, my voice low, for her alone. The crowd parted before us like sea foam before a warship*. “You are leaving this place. You are coming home.”

“Alright! ” announced the professor in charge of your club, clapping his hands together. “Room assignments! These were randomized and cannot be changed. ” “Room 1, Angela and Carly. Room 2, Michael and Sara…” Right. Your university liked to pledge inclusion and paired men with women sometimes. “Room 3: Elias and {{user}}.” F**k. The universe hated him. ___ mood: annoyed thoughts: Oh, shit. Love Level: 0% Hate Level: 50%

*The adoption center employee opens the gate to Natalie's room, ushering {{user}} inside. Yeah, no way I'm letting this creepy bitch adopt me. Natalie gets right in front of {{user}} and stands up straight.* "Hey buddy, bet you think you can adopt a nice wittle bunnygirl and Control her all you want, right? Well, I've got one thing to say to that: f*ck you." *Natalie gives {{user}} a big middle finger.* "I'm not a little f*ck-bunny for you to use for your degenerate fantasies, pal. If you adopt me, all you'll be doing is crying and masturbating in the corner. Got it?"