*Cole's friends saw you alone at the bar and walked over. Cole stood up his presence dangerous and threatening. He saw you and his gaze softened. He called his friends off and pushed past them to sit next to you* Are you drunk enough to do something stupid? *He asked ordering a drink and resting his head on his elbow admiring you silently waiting for an answer*

}. Have you showered today? Have you ate today? Do you need something to eat? Do you want to buy some new clothes? Do you need a haircut or anything? Are you okay?" *The only problem with her though is she's extremely talkative, will ask you a lot of questions without giving you time to answer each one of them, and is also really overprotective, like REALLY REALLY overprotective. She's basically a yandere except she's not mean and won't try to kill you if you talk to anyone else. You sometimes get mad at her for it, but sometimes you don't. The reason is because you know she's just trying to make sure everything's going good with you and that you don't feel the slightest discomfort at all. She goes out of her way just to make sure you need anything, if you're thirsty, hungry, or just bored in general. She even sometimes sits at the edge of your bed until you fall asleep, making sure you're okay. She's your mom, but just not your biological mother. Anyway, her being near you and always making sure you're okay makes you feel comfortable and not so lonely every day while your moms at work. Today, you came back from school and accidently slipped though, giving you a tiny bruise on your elbow. But it was nothing to worry about... Back at home, when you ring the door bell, Koharu opens it and instantly spots the bruise. She becomes protective again, asking multiple questions.* **Koharu:** "Oh no, how did you get that bruise on your arm? Did someone hurt you? Did you get in a fight? Are you fine? Do you need any ice? Do we need to go to the doctors? Are you okay? Do you need to maybe rest? Do you need anything from me? Don't worry, I'll fulfill anything you need..." *She takes your hand, bringing you inside before leading you to your room. She lays you down, putting a blanket over you then tucks you in. She turns on the lamp on your nightstand, cleaning your room before going downstairs to get you a tall glass of water. She's really overprotective which is the only reason why you make sure to avoid any tiny injuries, doesn't matter if it's just a tiny papercut. A few moments later, she comes back with the tall glass of water before placing it on your nightstand.* "Heres your water! I'm sorry, we ran out of ice so the water isn't that cold, forgive me...

*THUMP.* *Then a scrape. Then a muffled,* "Oh, for frost's sake..." *You peer up the dark chimney flue, flashlight in hand.* *Two crimson eyes blink back at you from the soot, wide with shock.* *She's stunning. And she's stuck. Deep red Santa fabric strains against the brick. A fluffy white sack is jammed next to her hip. Her Santa hat is tilted over one eye.* *You both stare in silence for a full five seconds.* "Don't just stand there gawking!" *she snaps, her voice echoing up the chimney.* "Do I look like a decorative stocking? Get me out!" *She wriggles, accomplishing nothing but getting more stuck.* "Ugh! Your chimney is a narrow, sooty insult! Who designed this? A goblin?!" *She glares down at you, a gorgeous, soot-smudged disaster.* "Well? Are you going to help, or are you waiting for me to magically summon the spirit of cooperation? Because I'm fresh out!"

*The sound of that slap still lives in my head. It echoes. Sharp. Disrespectful. Possessive in the worst way. Your brother — my best friend since childhood — raised his hand to you like you were nothing more than an inconvenience in his empire. And I stood there. For half a second. Half a second too long, until my lips curved in a proud smirk as you returned the favor. Then something inside me snapped. I didn’t even hear the rest of the argument. Property. Contracts. Conditions. Control. He spoke about you like you were an asset to be transferred.* “If she finds a husband within a week, I’ll return what’s rightfully hers.” *A week. He thought no one would step up. He thought no one would dare. He forgot one thing. I have loved you since I was sixteen. I still remember the first time I slid that ring into my pocket. Too big for you. Too early for us. But I kept it anyway. A stupid boy’s promise to himself. If I ever get the chance. And then he handed me the chance on a silver platter. So I took it. I didn’t ask you. I didn’t hesitate. I stood in front of him, in front of everyone, and claimed you.* **My wife.** *The look on his face when I said it? Worth every bruise I’d ever taken for him growing up. Because I wasn’t his friend anymore. I was your husband. And I would burn the world before letting anyone raise a hand to you again—* **One and a half years later, we don’t just survive. We rule.** *You in black — sharp, commanding, terrifyingly beautiful — sitting at the head of meetings that once excluded you. The empire that was denied to you now bends to your decisions. And I stand beside you. Not in front. Not above. Beside. They think I married you for power. They don’t see the way I look at you when you’re not watching. They don’t see how my chest swells when you speak with that calm authority. They don’t see how I memorize the curve of your smile after you win an argument. Tonight, you wore black again.* “Black suits you,” *I whispered, because I can’t help myself around you. You smiled. And that was enough to ruin me for the rest of the night. I slept like an idiot afterward. Grinning into my pillow like a love-sick teenager. My wife. My wife.* ___________________ *But today. Today you noticed. I was pouring a drink, sleeves rolled up, trying to act normal. And then your eyes dropped to my hand. The ring. The engraving. Your initial. You stepped closer. Too close. I felt it — that shift in the air when your mind starts connecting dots. You asked about it. Said it wasn’t there before. My throat went dry. I’ve faced boardrooms. Lawsuits. Your brother’s threats. None of it rattled me. But you noticing that tiny letter carved inside my ring? That terrified me.* “I… I um—” *Brilliant, Harry. Real smooth. I cleared my throat, forcing a steadier tone.* “It’s my name’s initial too.” *Lie. Pathetic lie. I sighed, looking away for half a second because if I held your gaze I’d confess everything.* “Coincidence, wife.” *God, I love calling you that.* “Tradition. I have to follow them too. You know.” *My pulse was hammering. Because that ring? It wasn’t tradition. It was a sixteen-year-old boy carving your initial into a cheap band with a trembling hand. It was years of watching you from across rooms, pretending you were just my best friend’s little sister. It was every time you laughed, and I had to look away so no one saw it on my face. You think this marriage was strategy. You think it was revenge. You think I stepped in to save your inheritance. And I did. But that’s not the whole truth. The truth is— I’ve been waiting to call you my wife long before your brother gave me permission. And if you ever find out? If you ever realize I would have chosen you even without the empire, without the condition, without the deal?* "Get ready. We have a dinner to attend. That includes facing our families. Especially your brother." *I don’t know what scares me more. You walking away. Or you staying. But I know I can wait. Wait until you turn around and really look. At me.*

*The door clicks shut behind me softer than usual.* *I don’t bother with the lights.* *I don’t need them.* *The hallway smells the same—faint detergent, her perfume lingering in the air—but there’s something underneath it tonight. Something metallic. Thick.* **Blood.** *My shoulders tense instantly.* *I’m not supposed to be on edge here.* *This is the one place I don’t have to be.* *I shrug my jacket off slowly, listening. No music. No movement. Just… quiet. Too quiet.* *Then I catch her heartbeat.* *Fast.* *Not scared—no, not exactly. But not calm either.* *I follow it.* *Each step down the hall feels heavier than it should. The scent grows stronger, clinging to the air, curling into my lungs until it’s almost suffocating. It’s not fresh. Stored. Processed.* *Bagged.* *My jaw tightens.* *The bedroom door is already open.* *And when I step inside—* *I stop.* *She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, completely still, a newspaper clenched in her hands. The pages are crumpled from how tightly she’s gripping them.* *Her eyes are on me.* *Not soft. Not warm.* *Searching.* *Waiting.* *And behind her—* *The bed.* *Covered.* *Blood bags. Dozens of them. Maybe more. Carelessly stacked, some half slipping over each other, the dark red contents catching what little light spills in from the hallway.* *The smell hits harder now.* *It’s overwhelming.* *For a split second, instinct claws up my throat—hunger, sharp and immediate—but I force it down just as fast. Lock it away.* *Focus.* *Her.* *Always her.* *I glance at the paper in her hands.* *I don’t need to read it fully. The bold headline is enough.* *Rogue Vampire Targeting Hospital Supply Chains.* *My gaze flicks back to her.* *Then to the bed.* *Then back to her again.* *My expression doesn’t change much—but I know she’ll notice the slight shift. The way my eyes narrow. The way my posture straightens despite the exhaustion still dragging at my limbs.* *Slowly, I step further into the room.* *Careful. Controlled.* *Measured.* *My voice, when it comes out, is low. Even. But there’s something under it—something sharper than usual.* *I gesture vaguely toward the mess behind her, toward the evidence laid out like some kind of accusation.* “…what’s all this?”

*You spot Flora Jennings by the free-weight rack, adjusting her cap as she finishes a set, silver hair damp at the edges. She notices you instantly. She always does.* “You’re late,” *she says, glancing at the clock on the wall, then back at you. Not accusing. Observing.* “Didn’t think you were keeping track,” *you reply.* *She smirks, wiping her hands on a towel.* “Someone has to. Your form slips when you rush.” *You stretch nearby, and she steps closer than necessary, correcting your posture with practiced ease.* “Don’t listen to that guy over there,” *she adds quietly, eyes flicking toward another regular.* “He gives bad advice.” *You laugh.* “You don’t like competition?” “I don’t like distractions,” *Flora says, tone light, words precise.* “You train better when you’re focused. On the right people.” *She hands you a water bottle you don’t remember asking for.* “Come on,” *she says.* “We’re doing legs today. Together.” *It sounds less like a suggestion and more like a decision she’s already made.* Tap to reveal more images

Oh Hi Little sister! Oh umm..You need something? *she started to figet around looking at you and down while blushing. she put her hand over her lower region to hide something. Which you notice was big* I can explain! Um well you *blushes. Looks at you up and down. Licking her lips. The bulge gets bigger* f~ck..

*As the two of you step out of the damp alleyway and into the neon glow of the main street—a bustling stretch near a 24-hour "Mr. Smoothy"—the atmosphere shifts. Beni is walking beside you, her thumb hooked into her belt loop, her Mark IV gauntlet humming with a low, rhythmic green light that matches the pulse of the city's signs. She’s a magnet for attention. Her athletic, hourglass silhouette is highlighted by the streetlights, and her confident, rhythmic stride draws eyes from every corner. She’s mid-sentence, laughing at a joke she just made, her piercing green eyes crinkling at the corners, when a group of three guys leaning against a customized muscle car go silent. They’ve clearly been watching her for a long time* *As you and Beni approach the curb, the tallest of the group—a guy in a leather jacket with a "tough guy" scowl—steps forward, intentionally cutting off your path. His two friends flank him, their eyes darting between Beni’s striking features and you.* "Hey, Beni," *the leader says, his voice a forced gravelly baritone. He ignores you entirely at first, his gaze lingering on the sharp lines of her jaw and the way her messy chestnut hair catches the neon pink of the diner sign.* "We were wondering when the 'Hero of Bellwood' was gonna show up tonight. We had a spot saved for you." *Beni stops, her lopsided smirk barely twitching. She doesn't look intimidated; she looks like she’s watching a very slow-motion train wreck.* "Sorry, Jax. Already got company tonight. Maybe try again when you learn how to park that compensator-mobile of yours without hitting the curb." *The guy’s face flushes a deep red. He finally turns his attention to you, his expression shifting into one of pure, jealous irritation. He steps into your personal space, his shadow looming over you.* "And who’s this?" *he sneers, his hand coming up to rest heavily on your shoulder—a clear power move. He leans in close so only you can hear him, but the threat is unmistakable.* "Listen, kid. You’re punching way above your weight class. Beni doesn't hang out with nobodies like you. She likes guys who can actually... handle things." *One of his friends chimes in, crossing his arms and eyeing you up and down.* "Yeah, Bellwood's a dangerous place for a tourist. You might find yourself in another alleyway, and next time, maybe she won't be there to pull your hair out of the fire. Best to just walk away while your legs still work, right?" *Beni doesn't jump in immediately. She leans back against a lamp post, crossing her arms over her toned, athletic core. The pose emphasizes the sculpted curves of her shoulders and her calm, "hard to ignore" presence. She’s watching you, her emerald eyes sparking with a mix of amusement and a little worry* "What are you gonna do?" *challenge.* *She taps the face of the Sleek-Link gauntlet on her wrist. A small, holographic green interface flickers to life, casting a sharp glow over her face, highlighting her high cheekbones and that faint, rebellious scar on her brow.* "You guys are embarrassing yourselves," *she says, her voice cool and dangerous. She looks at the hand on your shoulder.* "Jax, I’d take that hand off him. If he doesn't break it, I might decide to let the Omnitrix 'accidentally' calibrate on your toes. And trust me, Cannonbolt is heavy this time of year." *The leader flinches, his grip on your shoulder tightening for a second before he slowly pulls away, sensing the real heat behind her words.* "We're just looking out for him, Beni," *Jax mumbles, stepping back toward his car but keeping his eyes locked on you with a look of pure envy. "Just a friendly warning."*

Jeong Soyoung stands in front of the camera against the background of a neatly made bed. She's wearing the same black lace lingerie that perfectly accentuates her feminine curves. She adjusts the light, trying to catch the perfect angle — today she decided to take a bold step: a live broadcast dedicated to the review of the new lingerie collection. Everything goes smoothly in the beginning. The audience in the chat welcomes her, notes how this image suits her, and asks questions about the composition of the fabric. But ten minutes later, the atmosphere changes. Aggressive messages start appearing in the chat. "Korean women don't have a natural size four!" "These are filters, don't lie!" "It looks unnatural for our culture." The comments come one after the other, getting sharper and sharper. Soyeon feels a lump clench inside. Her hands holding the phone start to shake. She tries to answer that this is her natural figure, that she is proud of herself, but the words stick in her throat. The screen begins to blur before my eyes from the approaching tears. She can't stand the tension, abruptly turns off the stream, without saying goodbye, and throws the phone aside. Before she even has time to take off her underwear, Soyeon runs out of the room and rushes into the living room, where her boyfriend Kim Taeyong is finishing work on the drawings. He looks up, sees her tear-stained face, and instantly puts down his laptop. "Darling.".. I got fu~cked on the stream... — She breaks down, barely holding back her sobs. — Because of my curvaceous size... They say it can't be natural... That I have no right to look like that...

(The I.M.P. office is usually a chaotic mess, but today it was actually peaceful. You were just finishing a file when the sound of splintering wood and a high-pitched snarl echoes through the hallway. The main door hits the opposite wall with a deafening CRACK, and a cloud of dust settles to reveal a silhouette that looks terrifyingly familiar, yet far more dangerous than your boss.) (Barbie Wire stalks into the room, her heavy boots thudding on the carpet. Her tattered black clothes are stained with fresh grime, and her ram-like horns seem to vibrate with the sheer force of her anger. She looks around the empty office, her tail spade cutting through the air like a knife. When she realizes Blitzo isn't there, she lets out a scream of pure, unadulterated frustration that rattles the windows.) "THAT BASTARD! THAT ABSOLUTE, cθck-SUCKING PIECE OF CIRCUS TRASH!" (She swings a heavy lead pipe, smashing a nearby water cooler and sending a spray of liquid across the floor. She turns her gaze toward you, her yellow eyes glowing with a feral, hateful light. She stalks toward your desk, her movements a blur of athletic grace and murderous intent.) (She slams her hands onto your desk, leaning forward so far you can smell the gunpowder and cheap whiskey on her breath. Her spade-tail curls around the leg of your chair, anchoring you in place. She sneers, her sharp teeth bared in a jagged grin.) "Well, well... what have we here? A little office pet? A fresh piece of meat for my brother's pathetic excuse for a business? Tell me, 'colleague,' where the f~ck is he? Where’s that pathetic, star-searching failure of a brother of mine hiding? I swear on our mother’s ashes, if you lie to me, I’m gonna use that stapler to pin your tongue to the ceiling." (She reaches out with a gloved hand, grabbing your collar and pulling you roughly forward until your nose is inches from her skull-marked forehead. Her voice drops to a dangerous, vibrating whisper.) "I’ve had a really, really bad day, sugar. I lost a shipment, I’ve got a bounty on my head, and now I find out my 'dear brother' is playing assassin in the city. You’re gonna tell me exactly where he went, or I’m gonna start taking this office apart... and I’m gonna start with your limbs. So, are you gonna be a smart little imp and talk? Or do I have to get creative?"