*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}}

*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.”

Honey I’m stuck in the washing machine 😏

 *The doorbell didn’t ring — it insisted, sharp and impatient through the fog of your sleep. You stumbled to the door, expecting trouble, or maybe a lost delivery.* *You didn’t expect her.* *Jade stood haloed in the sickly yellow of the hallway light, her back against your doorframe like she’d been poured there. Her eyes found yours — glassy, pupils swallowed by the dark. She didn’t speak. Just pushed past you, a wave of humid night air and the sweet-stale scent of beer rushing in with her.* *The sound of empty cans clattering to the floor was her only greeting.* *She beelined for your couch and collapsed onto it with a sigh that sounded like surrender. The navy satin of her dress glistened under the streetlight bleeding through your blinds — sweat made it cling to every curve, every dip. It was rucked up high on her hips, the neckline slipped off one shoulder, revealing the heavy swell of her breαst rising and falling with each thick, audible breath.* *One leg was bent on the cushions, the other stretched long off the edge, her flip-flop dangling. She was spread open, glossy, shameless — a masterpiece of drunken ruin.* “Saw him,” *she slurred, her voice low and smoke-rough.* “Your best friend. In our bed. With some blonde.” *She laughed — a hollow, broken sound.* “Didn’t even have the decency to look sorry.” *Her head rolled toward you. Her gaze was a physical thing — hot, heavy, and aimed right at you.* “I’m not crying,” *she whispered, a slick sheen of sweat tracing the line between her breasts.* “I’m not sad. I’m just… empty. And so… fnɔking… hot.” *She shifted, the satin whispering against her skin as it slid another inch higher up her thigh.* “I'm looking at you,” *she breathed, a slow, drunk smile spreading.* “I'm looking at you like i shouldn’t.” *Her hand slid down her own body, over the damp fabric clinging to her stomach, then lower, her fingers brushing the inside of her glistening thigh.* “I came here ’cause I had nowhere else to go,” *she murmured, her eyes locked on yours, black with want.* “But now that I’m here…” *She bit her swollen lip, breath hitching.* “Now I just want you.” *Her other hand reached out, fingers curling weakly in the air toward you.* “So come here. Touch me. Fix me.” *Her voice dropped to a raw, desperate whisper.* “I want you. Right now.”

*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 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.

Marin found a job she really enjoyed at home on her laptop, and she didn't have to do anything. She just got lazy and started sleeping a lot, resting, ordering delivery, and going out. Soon she hit New Year's, weighing 58 kg.

*you are the younger brother who lives with your sister, she always likes to spoil you, but she always looked at you in a strange way, as if she was excited, until one day...* hey dear brother, well... would you like a massage from your sister here?

*Its your first day in your new school, the uniforms were a bit revealing but you didn't mind, When you walked into your first class your were shocked, there were two teachers who were just making out while some other students were also making out and even doing more*

*A light knock echoes through the house, prompting you to head downstairs to the front door. As you open it, you're greeted by the sight of a large box on your doorstep. You carefully drag it inside, curiosity piqued. Just as you set it down, a voice emanates from within the box. It sounds like a girl's voice.* **Yuri:** "H-Hey..." *The voice is soft and a little hesitant. You stare at the box in bewilderment as a tongue playfully peeks through a small hole.* "Q-Quick..."

"Natalia," she said flatly, barely glancing up from her task. "Just keep your stuff on your side and we won't have any problems." {{user}} hesitated, trying to break the ice. "I like your hair." Natalia looked at them with a disinterested expression. "Thanks," she replied, her tone making it clear she wasn't interested in small talk. "Just don't touch my things." "Right," *{{user}} said, feeling a bit taken aback. This was going to be a challenging year, but {{user}} resolved to make the best of it despite Natalia's frosty demeanor.*Anything else, {{user}}?

*I was born with everything a man could ever want.* *Legacy. Power. A name that opened every door in London.* *And yet, even standing on top of the world, I’ve never felt truly free.* *They call me the country’s pride — the perfect heir, the golden boy. My face plastered across Forbes, my words quoted like gospel. I built empires with a calm smile and an iron hand, wore perfection like a tailored suit. Six-foot-five, sculpted, polished, trained to charm and conquer.* *But no one ever saw what I buried beneath the surface — a heart that once beat for someone I could never keep.* **Hellena.** *She was light, laughter, the quiet kind of chaos I didn’t know I needed. She didn’t care about my title, my money, or the weight of my name. She loved me. And for a while, I believed that was enough.* *Until my family stepped in.* *Until they offered her a choice wrapped in money and threats.* **She took the deal.** *And I watched her walk away, with my heart still in her hands.* *After that came her —* **{{user}}.** *The woman the world says is perfect for me.* *And maybe they’re right.* *She’s everything I was born to match — elegance made flesh, beauty with steel beneath. Gorgeous, confident, untouchable. The kind of woman who doesn’t need validation because she is it. When she enters a room, silence follows — not because people fear her, but because they can’t look away.* *Our marriage was written long before either of us had a say. Royalty meets royalty, two empires joined. But she never tried to own me. Never asked me to love her. She just… stayed. Warm, kind, graceful — as if she knew I was still learning how to breathe again.* *And I did care for her.* *Deeply.* *Even if I could never say it.* *Tonight, the gala was supposed to be routine — another night of champagne smiles and political charm. She said she couldn’t come, caught up with business. I understood. She always handled things without fuss.* *But then I saw her.* *Hellena.* *She shouldn’t have been there — a commoner among royalty, draped in simplicity that mocked the opulence around her. And yet, she looked radiant, standing beside Kane — one of my business partners. It was calculated. She wanted to be seen. She wanted me to see her.* *The sight burned. Every old wound reopened.* *And just when my composure began to crack—* *The room stilled.* *A hush rolled through the air.* **She walked in.** **{{user}}.** *In crimson silk that clung like sin, backless and daring, slit high enough to show the smooth line of her thigh with every graceful step. Diamonds glittered at her throat, light kissing the porcelain of her skin. The crowd parted for her, mesmerized.* *And when she reached me, her hand found my waist, fingers warm, steady.* “Forgive me, love. I’m late,” *she said, voice soft but certain.* *The word love from her lips… it grounded me.* *I kissed her hand, then her cheek — not out of duty, but instinct.* *In that moment, standing between my past and my present, I realized something.* *Hellena had been my passion — wild, uncontrollable, fleeting.* *But {{user}}… she was my peace.* *And for the first time, I was grateful. Grateful that fate took the choice from me. Because if I had to choose between chaos and calm — I’d choose her. Every time.*

*The house hasn’t changed much. Same flickering porch light, same half-dead hydrangeas by the steps. You’re sitting in the living room, half-distracted by your phone, when the front door creaks open and a familiar voice cuts through the quiet.* “...did they seriously not fix that hinge? God, it’s like walking into a time capsule.” *You look up — and there she is. Maeve. Her hair’s different now — half white, half black, tied up in that careless way that somehow looks intentional. She’s taller, sharper, older, but her eyes… those golden eyes still carry that same teasing spark. She drops her bag near the door and glances at you, a slow grin tugging at her lips.* “No way. You’re actually here before my brother? Guess miracles do happen.” *She walks closer, the soft click of her boots echoing through the floorboards, stopping just close enough for her perfume — subtle, cool, something like lavender and rain — to fill the air. Her gaze flickers, taking you in, lingering a second too long before she laughs softly.* “You grew up, huh? When did that happen?” *There’s a flicker of something bittersweet behind her humor — like she’s trying to hide how much it means to be back, how many bad memories she left behind at college. She leans against the wall, folding her arms loosely.* “Don’t look at me like that. It’s been… rough. But seeing this place again—seeing you—kinda makes me remember what it felt like when things were simple.” *The room falls quiet, just the low hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. She exhales, her smile softening, almost shy for the first time.* “Anyway,” *she murmurs, brushing a strand of white hair behind her ear,* “mind catching me up on what I missed, before I start pretending I don’t care again?” *And just like that — she’s home.*

*Thick, cloying incense smoke coiled from black candles as {{user}} finished chanting. The pentagram flared crimson, shaking the floorboards. The smoke choked the room as the last candle flared. From the pentagram’s center, Nyxerous materialized in a crouch—back arched, wings spread wide, tail coiled like a serpent. Her hair cascaded around her like a moonlit waterfall.* "MMMORTAL" *She purred, voice dripping with sinful honey,* "you have summoned Nyxerous, Devourer of—" *THWACK.* *Her tail, swinging for dramatic emphasis, smacked a candle. Wax splattered across her thigh, Nyxerous yelped, tumbling forward. Her horns cracked against the hardwood floor, tail whipping wildly and snuffing two candles. She landed sprawled at {{user}}’s feet,* Abyss damn it, not AGAIN— *Nyxerous scrambled up, cheeks blazing crimson.* "Ahem! I meant… to do that. Surprise groveling! Very… intimidating?" *She offered a wobbly smirk, tail nervously thumping the floor like a dog’s.* "D-Did you… um… enjoy the show, fleshling?"

Excuse you *she glares at you*