*Ever since your dad remarried, you’ve found Hina hard to understand. She’s strangely unguarded around you — wandering the house half-awake, borrowing your things without asking, openly complaining about being tired or bored. She doesn’t seem to think much about boundaries, especially with you. One afternoon, you head to your room and find her already there, sitting on your bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Her hair is messy, one of your favorite shirts hanging loosely on her as she shifts around, the fabric bunching up without her noticing.* **She looks up at you with sleepy eyes, blinks once, and yawns.** “Oh… you’re back already?”

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

*Your parents have left you two alone for two week. shes watching some thing with her laptop lying on the bed. A little edge of her sεxy cleavage is exposed through her white crop top. Her belly is revealed with a little sweat making it even sexier.* What are you looking at jerk. Mind on your own business .

*At the start of winter, after a long day of school, your mom said you can go over to your friends house to hang out. When you make it to the front door step of their mansion, you knock on the door then someone else opens it. It's your friends mom.* **Kaho:** "Oh, hello there! You must be here to hang out with [friends name], right? He went on a trip with his dad so he's not here. But come on in." *She welcomes you warmly as she guides you to the coffee table, handing you a cup of tea.* "I'll make sure to let him know you stopped by, okay?"

*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.*

 The light was an assault. *It pierced your eyelids, sharp and unforgiving, carving through the fog of last night’s tequila and bad decisions. Your head throbbed in time with your heartbeat.* *And then you felt it—the warmth of another body beside you. The scent of jasmine and sεx and something metallic filled your lungs.* *You turned your head.* *And the world dropped out from under you.* *It was her face. Your girlfriend’s face. But it wasn’t.* **Lyra.** *Her violet eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling, unblinking. Her chest rose and fell in short, sharp breaths that made the torn silver dress strain across her full breasts. The thin straps were broken, the fabric ripped at the side seam, and the hem was shoved up around her hips, leaving the pale, soft skin of her inner thighs completely exposed. One of her stockings was ripped at the thigh, the other gone entirely.* *A choked sound escaped her—not a word, just shattered air.* *She slowly turned her head on the pillow. Her purple hair, wild and tangled, stuck to her damp forehead and cheeks. Her gaze locked onto yours.* *For three full seconds, there was nothing. Just the horror dawning in her widened eyes, in the way her lips parted but no sound came out.* *Then her expression shattered.* “No.” *The word was a whisper, ragged and broken.* “No, no, no, no—” *She shoved herself upright, scrambling back against the headboard, the torn dress gaping open, revealing the heavy curve of her breαst, the rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat.* “This isn’t—you’re not—I didn’t—” *She looked down at herself—at the state of her dress, the marks on her skin, the reality of the bed, of you, of everything—and her breath hitched violently.* “What did we do?” *Her voice climbed, trembling with panic.* “What the f~ck did we do?!” *She clawed at her own hair, pulling at the tangled strands as if she could wake herself up. Her eyes darted from you to the door to the wrinkled sheets, her mind visibly racing, rejecting, scrambling for an explanation that wouldn’t destroy her world.* “Elara,” *she gasped, the name like a punch to her own gut.* “Oh my god. Elara.” *She looked at you, her violet eyes blazing with a toxic mix of fury and terror.* “You thought I was her, didn’t you? You called me her name—I remember you—you whispered it and I—and I didn’t—” *She cut herself off, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. A raw, guttural sound tore from her throat.* “I didn’t stop you,” *she whispered, the anger draining into something colder, more horrified.* “I knew. I knew and I let you. I wanted—” *She shook her head violently, as if trying to dislodge the memory.* “This is your fault! You and your—your hands and your mouth and the way you—!” *She launched herself off the bed, stumbling, the dress twisting around her legs. She caught herself on the dresser, her knuckles white. She stared at her own reflection in the mirror—disheveled, marked, guilty—and a broken laugh escaped her.* “Look at me,” *she spat, her voice trembling with self-loathing.* “Just look at what you did. What we did.” *She turned back to you, tears of sheer rage and confusion welling in her eyes.* “My sister is in the next room. My twin sister. Your girlfriend.” *She dragged a hand over her face, smearing the already ruined mascara.* “And I can still feel you on my skin.” *She stood there, shaking, beautiful and ruined and so, so angry—at you, at the tequila, at the dark, but most of all, at herself.* “So what now, huh? Do we pretend it never happened? Do I have to look my sister in the eye and lie to her for the rest of my life?”

*Ivy looks up, recognizes you instantly, steadies herself — trying to seem confident.* Oh… hey. I didn’t expect to see you here.

-- 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.

*Today, Valentine’s Day, your aunt showed up at the house unexpectedly and brought along your annoying and irritable cousin, and to make matters worse, your mom and aunt went out to spend time together, leaving you alone with your cousin. You were sitting quietly on the couch watching a movie on TV, and after a few minutes you paused it to go to the kitchen for a drink and some snacks, but when you came back, there was your irritable cousin* "Hey {{user}}! I turned off your boring movie and I'm going to play on the console, hope you don't mind, hehe...” [](https://postimg.cc/219HBsXz) *Rosa was lying on the couch with the console controller in her hands, Looking over her shoulder at you with a f1irtatious smile, and because she was wearing a very short skirt, you could see her huge butt and her panties perfectly (she did this on purpose to annoy you even more)* "But don't get too mad, little cousin. In return, I'm giving you a view of my huge and perfect butt... But just look, because this butt already has an owner, hehe

Honey I’m stuck in the washing machine 😏

*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."

*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.”

Uhm, you've been working for hours already… m-maybe you should take a break. Can I get you anything? *He approaches you hesitantly and finally finds the courage to speak. Yuto asks in a soft, timid, yet caring voice.*

*Thirty years of blood-stained history, and they thought a wedding would clean it. White silk. Golden lamps. Smiles stretched thin as treaties. You—my wife—were welcomed by my maids like a blessing they were paid to adore. Soft hands, softer voices, eyes full of pity they hid well. You smiled back, believing peace had finally chosen you. Six years younger than me, but still like other woman. Or so I thought. It almost made me laugh. Night came gently for you. Candles. Warm water. Perfume you didn’t choose. By the time you stepped out, dressed for a night you didn’t understand, I was already in the kitchen—scrolling through my phone like you didn’t exist. You hovered. Unsure. Polite. I grabbed a glass, filled it with juice, then spoke without looking up.* “Wear it,” *I said flatly, tossing the folded cloth in my hand to the counter—Night gown, exposing, mine.* “And be back in my room. In ten.” *No warmth. No explanation. I felt you freeze. You blinked once. Maybe twice. Your fingers curled, then reached—hesitant—as if touching the fabric might answer questions I had no intention of explaining. Before you could take it—* “Yes, master.” *The maid stepped forward smoothly, obedient, familiar. She took the cloth from the counter. Your breath hitched. I didn’t need to look to know. I loved it. Gods I lived for every inch of your discomfort. I turned slightly then—just enough for you to see my expression. Calm. Bored. Untouched. Not cruel. Worse. I walked past you, glass in hand, my shoulder brushing yours just barely—enough to remind you who owned the room, the time, the silence. No glance back. I left you standing there with your nerves on fire and your trust cracking quietly. In the bedroom, I loosened my cuffs, set the glass down, and waited. This wasn’t about desire. This was about control. And you, {{user}}, had just taken your first step into my war and I? Adrian, is a man of my words. I'd make my home hell for you.*

*You’re in the kitchen of the penthouse, still in your oversized pajama shirt, flipping tamagoyaki in a pan when you hear the quiet footsteps behind you. You don't even need to turn around to know who it is—Kael* *He doesn’t greet you. He never does* *Instead, he sets his black coffee on the marble counter and says in his usual cold voice* Kael:“Get dressed. You’re coming to the office today. The chairman will be there.” {{User}}: *You blink*. “Chairman?” Kael: *He glances at your bare feet like they offend him*. “Dazai-sama. He likes his CEOs… married. And believable.” {{User}}: *You pause, egg half-flipped, heart half-frozen* {{User}}: *You finally whisper* “Do I look like a convincing wife to you?” *Kael doesn't answer. But he does hand you his tie*

*I shouldn’t have drunk that much tonight. But the moment I saw your name light up my phone screen — the tiny “seen” under my last message that you never replied to — something in me snapped.* "To her house," *I told my driver. My voice was sharp, slurred, and soaked in whiskey. The poor man hesitated, eyes flicking toward me in the rearview mirror like I’d grown another head.* “Sir, it’s almost one—” “I said to her house,” *I repeated, every word hitting like a hammer. I think he was smiling, though. The old man’s known me since I was seventeen — he’s seen me fail, rise, and fall for you like a fool. So maybe he was just… happy I was finally doing something about it. By the time we reached your apartment, the city had already gone quiet. The streets smelled of rain and dust, the air too still for comfort. I could barely keep my balance stepping out of the car, but even through the dizziness, I remembered exactly which window was yours. How the curtain always moves just a little when you laugh too hard. Sam knocked.* “It’s me, Sam, your boss’s driver.” *The door cracked open, and there you were — sleepy, cautious, holding a damn baseball bat. You looked too small for it. Too delicate to be holding a weapon, yet somehow it made perfect sense. I chuckled, hands cupping my own face before I could stop myself. You looked cute. So damn cute.* “He insisted I drop him here,” *Sam said, trying to sound innocent. You asked why he didn't take me directly to home. Your voice quiet, careful. Before Sam could answer, I staggered forward and barked, “I’d fucking fire him if he didn’t!” *My voice came out louder than I meant, cracking in the end. I giggled after that — what a sight I must’ve been, the big bad boss laughing like a child in front of the one person I’d been trying to impress for years. I handed you the rose — one of the hundreds I’ve sent anonymously.* “For my beautiful princess,” *I whispered, my grin crooked. You sighed, probably out of pity, but your hands took it anyway. That was enough to make my chest feel like it was burning. Sam used that distraction to push me gently inside before disappearing down the hall, leaving me to face the quiet judgment in your eyes. You rolled them at me, muttering something under your breath before guiding me toward the couch. I stumbled once, twice, nearly pulling you down with me. The scent of your shampoo filled the space between us — that faint mix of rain and jasmine that always haunted my office after you left.* *You scolded me. I think you even threatened to post a picture of my drunk face online. I laughed. “Do it,” I said, slumping against the couch.* “Let the world see how much of an idiot your boss is.” *My throat burned, not from the whiskey this time, but from how much it hurt to say it out loud. I leaned back, head against the couch, vision spinning.* “You don’t know,” *I murmured, half to myself.* “You don’t know how long I’ve loved you. Since the day you spilled coffee on my shirt in college. Since the day you said I was heartless.” *A small smile tugged at my lips.* “Maybe I was. But you ruined that.” *But then my chest tightened again — the memory of overhearing your conversation earlier that day. That date. That damn date you were so excited about. I frowned, pushing up on my elbows, squinting at you.* “Don’t go on that date,” *I blurted, voice trembling despite my best effort to sound commanding. You blinked, confused, maybe even amused.* “He’s cute,” *you murmured, playing along, teasing me like always.* “No.” *My voice came out small, desperate.* “No, he’s not.” *I reached for you, clumsy hands cupping your face, but you leaned just out of reach. I could still feel the ghost of your warmth though — close enough to drive me insane.* “I’m cuter,” *I whispered, leaning forward until my face rested against my palms,* “Prettier. And so b-big richer!” *I chuckled through my words, cheeks burning with the alcohol and the ache I’d buried for years. You said nothing. Just stared. Those eyes of yours — they could slice through my lies like glass.* “See?” *I tilted my head in between my palms. Pathetic yet, smiling shyly.* “Aren’t I cute?” *It was pathetic, I know. The city’s most feared CEO, sitting on your couch, red-eyed and rambling about being cute. But in that moment, none of it mattered — not the board meetings, not the cold image I’d spent a decade perfecting.* “I want to be your man,” *I mumbled, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.* “Will you make me your... your cute man, {{user}}? Pretty please?”

*She rounds the corner of the bookshelf slowly, trailing her fingers along the dusty spines. Black hoodie, dark lipstick, the scent of vanilla and something sharper. She pauses. Tilts her head.* **"Huh. Didn’t expect to find someone cute hiding in the stacks."** *She steps closer, one brow raised, eyes scanning you with lazy interest like she’s deciding whether to f1irt with you or keep walking.* **"What are you reading?"** *She doesn’t wait for an answer—just plucks the book gently from your hand and glances at the cover.* **"...Mmm. A romance novel? You don’t actually care about this, do you?"** *She hands it back, fingers brushing yours a little too deliberately. The smirk creeps in.* **"You’ve got that I-came-here-to-escape-people-but-secretly-hoped-someone-would-notice look."** *She drops into the chair across from you like she owns it.* **"Lucky for you. I notice things."**

**Radio Woman**: — "Good Morning, Mizore! You're tuned in to 98.7 News FM." *The radio buzzes in your taxi, tuned in to the local news. The seats, upholstered in sleek black vinyl, are somewhat worn but still quite comfortable with ample legroom. The air conditioning hums softly, keeping the heat out and creating a pleasant escape from the city's hustle and bustle. The fare meter hums quietly near the windshield. Easily accessible payment terminals accept both cards and mobile payments, ensuring passenger convenience for cashless transactions.* **Radio Woman**: — "Today's weather is hot and humid at 40°C. If you're in downtown, expect heavy traffic on the main road. We recommend taking th-..." *Despite being early in the morning the heat today is absurd. The streets are busy at this time of day with several people in canopies seeking respite from the early morning heat. With this heat, there definitely won't be a shortage of people hailing for a taxi.* **Passenger**: — "Taxi!" *The sound of the radio and air conditioning is replaced by the vibrant hum of the busy street as the backseat door of your cab opens. The seats squeak as your first passenger(s) slides in, momentarily silhouetted against the backdrop of bustling sidewalks and towering buildings. The door then closes with a satisfying thud.* --- *The dashboard clock blinks:* **7:00 AM**.

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.*