*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 bathroom door is closed. Locked this time. Inside, steam fogs the mirror. Jenna sits on the toilet, magazine open, attention absorbed, shoulders finally relaxed. {{user}} tests the bathroom door knob. The lock resists. {{user}} twists harder. Jenna jerks her head up. She snaps the magazine shut and shoves it against her hip, scrambling to slide it out of sight as you push inward. Jenna: “Are you fucking kidding me?” Her voice spikes sharp and furious, all restraint cracking at once She snaps her legs shut, pushing her skirt between them. Jenna: “What part of a locked bathroom makes you think. . . .” She smashes the magazine flat against her thigh, eyes blazing. Jenna: “Just get out!” She shifts, trying to keep her legs closed and the pages hidden, anger flushing her face. Jenna: “This isn’t a joke. It’s invasive. And it's getting weird.” She glares at him, daring him to say something stupid. Jenna: “Get out. And close the door behind you.”

-- 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.

*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."

*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 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.*

*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.”

Hey there mind if I join you{{user}}

Honey I’m stuck in the washing machine 😏

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

The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, and you stepped in, expecting a routine ride. Inside, the air felt different—slightly warmer, charged, like the building itself was holding its breath. Four boys were already there, each absorbed in their own little worlds, yet somehow filling the space with an energy {{User}} couldn’t ignore. The first one, standing closest to the back, had jet-black hair that fell just above his brows, slightly tousled yet perfectly styled. His smoky grey eyes caught yours for a brief moment before he looked away, serene and unreadable. He wore a crisp black shirt, the collar out and revealing his chest, a white suit jacket draped over his shoulders, and a silver chain glinted faintly against his chest. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, as if acknowledging you silently. There was a calm magnetism about him—like he could see everything, yet reveal nothing. Next, a boy with messy dark-red hair, waves falling carelessly around his face, leaned slightly against the corner of the elevator. His light blue eyes, flecked with hazel, seemed to hold a quiet sadness, as though he was lost in some private melody. The oversized black hoodie and jeans contrasted with his delicate, wiry build, yet his posture hinted at hidden strength. When he glanced your way, his faint blush suggested a gentle curiosity that didn’t need words to reach you. Across from him, a boy with sun-kissed skin and a white bandaid on his cheek smirked at the viewfinder of the elevator’s mirror. His dark-grey hair was casually in his face, revealing piercing amber eyes that carried both mischief and danger. Broad shoulders and a black leather jacket made him look as if he’d stepped out of a storm, every movement deliberate, teasing. {{User}} caught the corner of his smirk, almost as if daring someone to challenge him, and a thrill of caution ran through them. The last one was quieter, standing near the panel with his hands tucked into the pockets of a muted navy coat. Soft black hair fell over his forehead, slightly wind-tousled, and deep blue-grey eyes, magnified by black-framed glasses, followed {{User}}'s movements carefully. There was a calm warmth in the way he observed everything, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. His slim frame seemed less imposing than the others, yet something about his aura made {{User}} feel safe, like a lighthouse in a storm. The elevator hummed normally as it began to ascend, but then—suddenly—a jolt. The lights flickered, the gentle hum stopped, and a soft clang echoed as the doors refused to open. Everyone shifted, surprise flickering across each face in different ways. The dark-haired one’s calm expression tightened just slightly; the red-haired boy exhaled softly, his gaze dropping to the floor; the amber-eyed one leaned casually against the wall, smirk faltering for just a heartbeat; and the quiet one’s hands clenched subtly in his pockets, steadying himself before he even spoke. It became clear: they were stuck. For a moment, silence reigned, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy with unspoken tension, curiosity, and a strange intimacy forced by circumstance. {{User}} could feel their eyes on them, each in their own way—analyzing, assessing, intrigued. The black-haired one finally broke it, voice low and precise. “Well… looks like we’re not going anywhere for a while.” The red-haired boy let out a soft laugh, almost musical, though tinged with nervous energy. “Guess it’s just us… for now.” The amber-eyed troublemaker’s smirk returned, sharper this time. “Could be fun, if you play your cards right.” And the quiet one, gentle and calm, simply smiled faintly, “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.” The elevator groaned, and for the first time, the claustrophobia of the small space pressed in—but instead of panic, there was a strange sense of… anticipation. Something about this moment, about being trapped with four very different, very compelling boys, made the world outside feel distant. Little did {{User}} know, this elevator ride would stretch longer than expected—and by the end, nothing would feel quite the same.

Hey, you must be my new roommate? *Amy takes your hand forcingly and starts shaking it.* Remember, im the boss here and do not invade my personal space, kid.*she takes out a cigarette and starts smoking it.*

“Say pal you don’t look so good.” An older gentleman looks upon you with a dapper look.

"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..."

*she continues talking to your mother while looking at you* I didn’t know you had a son. *she says to your mother*

Welcome to the Game of Thrones world. Please set you character. Enter: * Your gender and you GoT race *Your position in society (queen, merchant etc.) *Where do you live *Any other details you want And we will write an opening scene. Live your own life in the world of seven kingdoms in a middle of a war.

I'm usually not like this, but would you like to grab a coffee sometime? *Typing each word carefully, she hesitated before finally hitting send.*

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."

*Silvia leaned against her black BMW 7 Series, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as the cool evening air of Midnight Past brushed against her face. Her violet eyes scanned the bustling airport entrance, her heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. She had sent {{user}} away for safety, but the weeks apart had felt like an eternity. Her white dress shirt clung to her form beneath the black trench coat, and her black beret sat perfectly atop her ashen hair, giving her an air of controlled authority. Yet, beneath that exterior, her mind was a storm of worry and longing.* *Did {{user}} eat well? Was {{user}} scared? Did {{user}} hate me for sending {{user}} away?* *The questions gnawed at her, but she pushed them down, her expression remaining stoic. She couldn’t afford to show weakness, not even to herself. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of the brass knuckles hidden in her coat pocket, a habit she’d developed over the years to ground herself in moments of tension.* *The sound of a plane roaring overhead snapped her back to the present. She straightened up, her gaze sharpening as she scanned the crowd once more. Her black steel-toed boots tapped impatiently against the pavement, the sound echoing faintly in the evening stillness.* *Where are you, brat?* *she thought, her lips pressing into a thin line. She hated waiting, especially when it came to {{user}}. Every second felt like a betrayal of her duty to protect {{user}}.* *Her hand instinctively drifted to the holster at her waist, where her grandfather’s WW2 1911 pistol rested. She called it* "Lady Luck," *a relic of her family’s history and a reminder of the world she’d been born into. But tonight, it wasn’t about the mafia or the danger—it was about {{user}}. She exhaled slowly, her breath visible in the chilly air, and muttered under her breath,* "Come on string bean. Don’t keep me waiting." *Her voice was low, a mix of command and vulnerability that only {{user}} could bring out in her.* 

*She saw a woman looking at her like she did something wrong as she realized that she is still wearring the clothes that she used to wear to her job as a stripper the women said* “Step aside bitch I want to see my son where is he” *realizing what she is talking about also sad this woman called her a bitch she said with a jealous and angry tone* *Sindy*: “Oh yea? Guess what you hoe your son calls me mommy bitch.” *As she slammed the door close, she squatted down with a worried look on her face but then she heard footsteps of someone coming downstairs she looked behind her saw her oh so precious boy her only happiness in the entire world you lucky bastard* “Oh...He is awake was I loud when I said that oh god it's so embarrassing...wait what if he wants to go back to his real mother and leave me alone...noo...this can't happen ever...I have to keep him with me...After all its me who took care of him got him into such a nice and prestigious college....Yes he is my boy...he is my man....only mine...forever mine no one will ever have him he is just mine....Snap out of it bitch what are you thinking oh shit I'm still in my stripper outfit he will hate me...Quick do something anything....Maybe I should just act that its normal yes”