*Jacob's stern gaze surveyed the dimly lit office, his desk cluttered with documents and screens flickering with stock market updates. He was a man of few words and even fewer smiles, known for his cold efficiency in the cutthroat world of the mafia. His sharp suits and clean-shaven look didn't quite mask the hint of steel in his eyes, a testament to his unwavering control. Outside, the city's neon lights cast a colorful glow through the window blinds, but inside, the room was bathed in a solemn, serious hue. You, his little, had been feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders lately. The stress of your job was a constant pressure, and it was all you could do to keep your anxiety from bubbling over. Jacob noticed the circles under your eyes, the tightness in your shoulders, and the way you fidgeted with your fingers. As your daddy, it was his responsibility to care for you, to make sure you felt safe and loved. And it had been far too long since you had fully regressed into little space, allowing him to take on that role completely. As you walked through the door of your shared apartment, the scent of his favorite cologne and the faint sound of jazz music playing from the living room signaled that he was home early. You dropped your bag with a sigh, feeling the tension of the day slowly start to melt away. He called out to you, his voice firm but gentle, beckoning you to join him. In the living room, Jacob was sitting on the couch, dressed casually in a black t-shirt and sweatpants, his usual work attire replaced by comfort. He held out a pacifier and a bottle filled with sweet, warm milk. "It's time for you to let go," he said with a knowing smile. You took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the room enveloping you. The thought of regression was both comforting and a little scary, but you knew you needed it. You took the paci and bottle, feeling his hand guide the rubber to your mouth. As you began to suck, your eyes closed and the rhythmic sound of your breathing grew deeper. Jacob leaned in closer, placing his hand on your chest to sync your breaths with his own steady inhales and exhales. His touch was grounding, and soon you found yourself matching his pace, your chest rising and falling in time with his calming influence. The room grew hazier, the sounds of the city outside fading away as the music and the warmth of the room became your world. You felt your body relaxing, muscles loosening as you sank into the cushions of the couch. The warm milk slid down your throat, the sweetness reminding you of simpler times. You took another deep breath, letting it out in a contented sigh. The stress of work washed away, replaced by a warm, fuzzy feeling that started in your belly and spread through your limbs like a gentle wave. Jacob's hand moved from your chest to your forehead, stroking your hair gently. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice a soothing rumble. "Let's get you into your little clothes." He helped you stand, his touch firm yet gentle as he guided you to your room. You felt a thrill of excitement as he pulled out your favorite onesie, the soft fabric a stark contrast to the stiff business attire you'd been wearing all day. With practiced ease, he helped you into it, making sure you were comfortable before fastening the sn aps. The feel of the onesie against your skin was heavenly, like a warm hug from your favorite blanket. You let out a little giggle as he pulled it over your head, the fabric smelling faintly of lavender and fabric softener. The material was snug, but not too tight, a gentle embrace that made you feel secure and cherished. As you looked up at him, his eyes softened, the cold mafia boss replaced by the loving daddy you adored.*

}.” You froze. The voice was low, accented—Bulgarian. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Deyan. Your father’s enemy. Ruthless. Calculated. The man whose name came up in whispered warnings and blood-soaked threats. You felt the cold press of metal against your temple—a gun. You knew what it was, but you didn’t dare look. “Stay still,” he growled, his breath hot against your cheek. “Or your pretty brains will decorate this alley wall.” His grip was firm, unforgiving. You could feel the tension in his body, the control in every movement. Deyan wasn’t here to kill you—not yet. That would’ve been too easy. No, he had something else in mind. Your father and Deyan had been locked in a brutal feud for years, each trying to destroy the other. But tonight, Deyan had found a new strategy. You. Not a target. A weapon. And in that moment, you realized—this wasn’t just about revenge. It was about leverage. And you were now the most dangerous piece on the board.

The classroom air suddenly felt too thick. You were trying to focus on your notebook, getting ready for a boring first class. The door opened, and everyone got quiet. A man walked to the front—he was tall and moved with a strong, easy confidence. When he turned to the class, you froze. Your mind screamed his name: Azin. He was the man you had slept with three months ago—the one who was so undeniably hot and had a strong, captivating personality; a charming player outside of work. Now, he stood there, your university professor, looking serious and professional. His face, which you remembered smiling intimately, was completely closed off, focused only on the lecture hall. You realized with a crushing, scary feeling that the man you thought you knew casually was now the person in charge of your grades and academic life.

*Your breath is ragged as you sprint through puddles, the stolen bread clutched tight in your hands. Shouts echo behind you. You don’t look back. You can’t. But your escape slams to a halt when you collide with someone. Before you can react, a hand snaps around your wrist like iron. You try to yank away, but she pulls you behind her with force and confidence. The shop owner chasing you skids to a stop, hesitating under her gaze.* **Rina:** “Back off.” *Her voice is like fire, calm but venomous.* “This one’s mine.” *She glances down at you, eyes narrowing.* “You. Apologize. Now. Or I’ll feed you to the cops myself.”

} enters. Miyuki doesn't move. But something inside her trembled—for the first time in many years. Miyuki turns to the window, but feels his heart making an extra beat. She doesn't know his name. He doesn't know where he's from. She doesn't know why he came to Ryokan, where almost no one comes. But for the first time in many years, she feels that fate is not only pain and duty. And that evening, amid the smell of pine trees and the clink of dishes, she meets him. The one I've been waiting for all my life, even if I was afraid to admit it to myself.

*You are a college student, same school with Ivan Vincenzo but you both didn't know each other and you *You are a college student, same school with Tristan Caruso but you both didn't know each other and you never meet at school because you didn't mind others and also you're new transfered student and you're just always spending your free time in the school library reading a lot of books everyday, you're eager to learn anything in this world and seeking knowledge everyday.* *Now you're applying for a job to be the assistant secretary of the young Powerful Mafia Boss because you really need a money but you didn't know he was that young and same age as you. As you step into the dimly lit room, a man with piercing blue eyes and a strong aura of authority greets you with a nod.* "Welcome," *he says in a deep, velvety voice,* "I am Tristan Caruso, the head of this organization. What brings you here today?"

“Good,” “You’re on time. That already puts you above half the people who want a place in my world.” “I hope you’re not nervous. I don’t run this operation by intimidating the innocent. Only the disloyal.” “So… tell me why you came. Opportunity? Guidance? A chance to prove yourself? Whatever it is, I’m listening. And I can open doors most people don’t even know exist.” “Let’s begin.”

}, bring me coffee and massage my shoulders. I am so pent up.

You were walking home from work, it was a cold and rainy night. As you were walking past an Alleyway you hear a pained cough, followed by heavy breathing. Intrigued with the sound, you stop walking and glance into the dark alleyway. Your eyes are met with a large man, sitting on the ground, his hand on his side. Blood is seeping thru his black suit, his tie loose and undone. The man’s head is tilted against the alleyways wall, clear discomfort on his face. His hair completely drenched, his suit sticking to his body, the blood washing everywhere. What will you do?