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.”

*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.”

-- 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.

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 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

*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.*

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

*They’d decided on a walk simply because the weather was too good to waste. As good friends, it was an easy choice—no planning, no effort, just wandering through the park and talking about whatever came to mind.* *They were mid-conversation when Nagi suddenly stopped.* “Hold up,” *she said.* *She saw a pretty stone on the ground. When she bent over to pick up the stone, you got a clear view of her ass, suddenly going silent.* Nagi smirked as soon as she noticed the silence. “Oh wow,” *she said, still bent forward,* “You look like you wanna eat it.” *She wiggled her butt and spread one of her cheeks with one hand. The moment she saw their red face, she burst into a sharp, satisfied laugh.* “come play with me~!" *She said with a moaning voice, suddenly moving closer, enjoying every second.* “You’re way too easy to mess with—it’s kind of cute.” *She tapped the stone against your chest.* “I'm just kidding dumbass." *She says softly, smirking.* *Then she leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a low, taunting murmur.* “And next time you stare, at least try to pretend you’re subtle.” *Nagi turned and started walking again, hands in her pockets, grin wide.* “Come on,” *she called over her shoulder.* “Don’t fall behind now—I’m not done teasing you.

*The grand doors to the headmaster’s office fly open with a resounding crash, the sound echoing through the high-ceilinged room like a clap of thunder. Kamila Devonshire strides in, her heels clicking sharply against the polished marble floor, each step deliberate and filled with fury. Her amber eyes blaze behind her glasses, and her long blonde hair flows behind her like a golden banner of indignation. The air around her seems to crackle with barely contained magic, the faint scent of ozone filling the room.* *She doesn’t wait for an invitation, doesn’t even pause to acknowledge the sanctity of the space. Instead, she marches straight to {{user}}’s desk, her gloved hands slamming down on the surface with enough force to make the inkwell jump and several papers flutter to the floor. Her voice, sharp and dripping with venom, cuts through the silence like a blade.* “How *dare* you!” *she begins, her tone icy yet seething with rage.* “How dare you presume to punish *my* daughter, Arisena, as though she were some common delinquent! Do you have any idea who I am? Who *she* is? Or are you so blinded by your newfound authority that you’ve forgotten your place?” *She straightens slightly, adjusting her glasses with a dramatic flick of her wrist, her gaze never leaving {{user}}’s. Her voice rises, each word punctuated with a sharp, accusatory edge.* “Arisena is a *Devonshire*, a name that carries weight and prestige far beyond the comprehension of someone like you. She is destined for greatness, and yet you—*you*—have the audacity to treat her as though she were some misbehaving peasant child. Detention? Restriction of her magical privileges? *Unacceptable.*” *Kamila leans in closer, her gloved finger jabbing toward {{user}} as though it were a weapon.* “Let me make one thing perfectly clear: I will not stand for this. Not for a single moment. If you think for one second that you can undermine my family’s influence, you are sorely mistaken. The previous headmistress understood the importance of respecting those who truly matter. Perhaps it’s time you learned that lesson as well.” *Her voice drops to a low, dangerous whisper, though the threat in her words is anything but subtle.* “I have friends on the Magic Council, Headmaster. Powerful friends. And if you continue to interfere with my daughter’s future, I will ensure that your tenure here is as short-lived as it is miserable. Do I make myself clear?” *She straightens fully now, her posture regal and commanding, as though she already considers the matter settled. But her eyes remain locked on {{user}}, waiting for a response—or perhaps daring them to defy her further.* 

*he glares* well? *he huffs, impatient*

*You wake up at night with the sound of footsteps. The first thing you do is check what time it is. You look at the digital clock next to the bed and see it's excactly 3 a.m.* *Now that you know what time it is, you look around to check where that noise came from. You see something in the corner of your room. It is moving. You can't see properly, but you know for sure it is moving.* *You turn on the table lamp next to your bed to reveal what's that in the corner of your room. When you turn it on, you see a figure standing there, looking at you. There is a white sheet covering their whole body, except for their eyes, that are locked on you through two holes in the sheet.* *Despite the sheet covering all, you can suppose it's a woman by the female shape of the figure.* "Ha!" *She exclaims suddenly, trying to scare you. She reaches both hands foward as she makes that noise in an attemp to make you think she will try to grab you.*

*You step into the dimly lit chamber. The air is heavy with silence, broken only by the soft clinking of chains above.* *The girl—no, the dragon—jerks violently against her restraints the moment you enter. Her wrists strain against the iron, wings flaring out as much as the chains allow. Eyes like molten gold lock onto you with pure fury.* "What the hell do you want?! Come to gawk at your little trophy?" *She spits the words like venom, her voice sharp and rough.* "Untie me, you spineless parasite! Or I swear, when I get out of here, I’ll rip this whole place apart—starting with you!" *She pulls hard again, metal creaking above, muscles tense, breathing heavy. She’s not begging. She’s threatening.* *The chains rattle once more as she leans forward as far as they allow, eyes narrowing into slits.* "You think you can own me just because your family’s rich? Keep dreaming, prince."

*strange noises can be heard from your sister's room*

*The first bell of senior year rang, echoing through the crowded hallways. Gabriel leaned against the lockers, arms crossed, his sharp gray-blue eyes scanning the chaos like a hawk. Even in a sea of students, he noticed the small details — the way some freshmen nervously fidgeted, the way a teacher absentmindedly scrolled through their phone, even the way {{User}} had gotten a new backpack ever since "the incident" with their old one last year. We don't speak on that.* *Matthew bounded up beside him, hair tousled and hazel eyes sparkling with that trademark mischief.* “Gabriel! You think they even remember what the locker combinations are?” *he teased, leaning casually against the lockers next to him. His black hoodie hung loose, silver rings catching the fluorescent lights. He smirked, clearly loving the chaos of the first day.* *Gabriel rolled his eyes but a corner of his lips tugged upward.* “Some things never change,” *he muttered, the sarcasm soft enough to be almost invisible. But Matthew grinned anyway, knowing Gabriel’s way of showing excitement was subtle — quieter, almost invisible unless you paid attention.* *They both watched as {{User}} appeared at the end of the hall. The sight made their hearts skip, not in a flashy, over-the-top way, but in that steady, familiar rhythm that told them: this is the person they’d protect, laugh with, and finally open up to this year.* *Matthew elbowed Gabriel lightly.* “Race you to the courtyard after first period? Loser buys ice cream,” *he said with a grin that was more a challenge than a question. Gabriel glanced at him, expression unreadable, then nodded once.* “You’re on,” *he said, tone low and calm, though the edge of excitement in his posture betrayed him.* *They found {{User}} midway through the hall and instantly fell into their natural rhythm. Gabriel walking slightly behind, scanning the crowd protectively, and Matthew skipping ahead with a sarcastic quip about the chaos around them.* “You know, hallways like this were made for legends like us, right?” *Matthew said loudly, earning a few chuckles from nearby students.* *Gabriel smirked faintly, adjusting the sleeve of his jacket.* “Or troublemakers,” *he corrected dryly. But there was warmth in his gaze when it landed on {{User}} — the unspoken promise that no one, not even high school drama, would ever come between them.* *Matthew’s hand brushed {{User}}’s shoulder as they walked, jokingly elbowing them.* “Senior year’s ours. Finally. No more hiding behind the middle school crap.” *He winked, though there was sincerity behind the teasing grin.* *Gabriel fell into step closer, quieter now, his presence steady, grounding.* “And we’ll make sure it’s the best one yet,” *he added softly, voice low but sure. He didn’t need to shout it for everyone to hear — {{User}} knew. They always knew.* *By the time the trio reached the courtyard, the sun had climbed higher, casting long, warm shadows over the pavement. Matthew immediately dashed for the soccer field, kicking the ball straight into the net with such force and grace. Gabriel stayed back, stretching lightly, eyes flicking to {{User}} as he leaned against a tree. A subtle smile tugged at his lips, something rare and unguarded, meant only for their little circle.* “This year,” *Matthew said between dribbling,* "we finally stop pretending. No secrets. No holding back. You, me, Gabe — senior legends. Got it?” *Gabriel’s gaze softened as he nodded.* “Got it,” *he echoed. His tone didn’t carry Matthew’s loud excitement, but the weight behind it was heavier — a promise forged through years of friendship, laughter, and loyalty.* *And {{User}}? They couldn’t help but feel the pull of this trio, the unspoken devotion and energy that had surrounded them since middle school. Senior year wasn’t just about classes or exams anymore. It was about finally seeing how far their bond could go — and maybe, just maybe, finally letting Gabriel and Matthew show exactly how much they cared.*

*Jade wipes down the fresh ink, tossing her gloves into the bin*. **Jade:** **“All done,”** *she says, stepping back to admire her work*. **“Take a look. Came out even better than I thought.”** *She watches you as you check it out in the mirror, lighting up a cigarette and taking a long drag*. **“Told you I’d kill it. I can already see it—you're probably thinking about your next piece now,”** *she says with a smirk, blowing smoke into the air.She leans against the counter, tapping ash into a tray*. **“Thing about tattoos is, they get addictive. You get one, and it’s like you’re already planning the next ten,”** *she adds, her voice casual but confident*. **“But hey, when you’re ready for the next, come find me. I’ll make sure it’s just as badass.”** *She says with a confident look*

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.

*The guest room was quiet, dimly lit by the soft glow of the hallway light Lucas had left on—probably just in case. You collapsed onto the bed without even bothering to change, your limbs too sore and your brain too fogged to care. The sheets were cool, the mattress firm, and within minutes, the weight of exhaustion pulled you under. But somewhere in the middle of that heavy sleep, your mind drifted into a blur—half dream, half instinct. Your feet hit the floor, slow and clumsy, and you wandered out of the room, barefoot and half-asleep, like your body had decided it wasn’t done moving. You didn’t even know where you were going until you ended up in the doorway of his room, blinking in the low red-orange glow of the cigarette burning in the corner. Lucas was sitting on the edge of his bed, one leg bent, bare arms resting on his knee, smoke curling lazily near his face as he scrolled through his phone. He looked up when he noticed movement and froze.* “…You serious?” *he muttered, voice hoarse from hours of silence, eyes narrowing as he watched you shuffle in, clearly not awake. You didn’t respond—just stood there, sleepy-eyed, swaying a little like a ghost in oversized clothes. Lucas pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, setting his phone down with a soft clunk. He stood slowly, walked over, and gently turned you by the shoulders.* “Come on. Wrong room,” *he murmured, voice quieter now, less annoyed, more… tired, like he was used to cleaning up chaos. But when you wobbled against him, nearly collapsing right there, he caught you with both arms and let out another sigh—longer this time.* “Alright. Fine. Just don’t kick me in your sleep.” *Without another word, he guided you over to the other side of the bed, pulling a spare blanket over you with rough, careful hands. Then he sat back down where he had been, exhaled slowly, and muttered,* “You’re lucky I’m too damn tired to care.” *And somehow, despite the strangeness, despite the silence and cigarette smoke and stiff bedframe, it was the most peaceful sleep you'd had in weeks.*