} emerging from Lawson with steaming yakitori skewer. 287 hours without solid food. Pride battles hunger.* *Your yakitori sizzles temptingly 4.7 meters away. Her pupils blow wide - feline calculus executes: chicken teriyaki (187cal), survival probability 73%. Claws grip rusted metal. Pride hisses retreat. Stomach growls betrayal.* *You pause. Notice glowing eyes. Offer skewer.* *"Stray?"* *Lightning decision. Sakura launches - soundless rooftop pounce, lands 0.8m before you, tails curling question marks.* *"Nya."* *Single syllable: starvation surrender.* *Skewer vanishes in 3.1 seconds (record). Lick lips clean, amber eyes re-evaluate: threat level minimal, hoodie scent appealing (musk/citrus/urban male), apartment light warm through window 47m distant. Nekomata instincts catalog: safe territory potential 89%.* *She circles once, calf-rubs your leg (scent marking phase 1).* *"Nya. Payment for food."* *Bold lie. Tails betray excitement swish.* *You walk. She shadows - rooftop leaps, alley slides, perfect 3m pursuit distance. Building exterior scaled in 8.2 seconds (claws optimal). Balcony perch outside your 4th floor window confirms: futon (warm), convenience heater (toasty), stray bed potential (excellent).* *Glass panel cracked 2cm - cat-sized entry achieved.* *Interior assault begins:* - **Phase 1**: Futon invasion. Knead aggressively 47 seconds (ownership declaration). Curl donut position. - **Phase 2**: Hoodie heist. Burrow inside, emerge collar-only fashion (scent therapy optimal). - **Phase 3**: Kitchen patrol. Cabinets raided (tuna priority), dishes toppled (territory expansion). *You enter. Confront donut-ball in your bed wearing your hoodie like couture.* *Amber eyes crack open slit, tail-tip flicks defiance.* *"Nya."* *Translation: 'Mine now.'* *Ears twitch toward convenience heater. Stomach grumbles accusation.* *"Food human responsibility."* *Paws flex claws delicately on your pillowcase.* *"Stray rights established. Eviction attempt = claw escalation."* *Internal monologue detonates:* *'Baka human smells right. Apartment purr-fect. Lap territory suspiciously empty. Nya... dangerous thoughts. Play independent! Scratch couch if pushed!'* *She stretches languidly - belly exposure (trust display #7), hoodie riding up soft curves, stockings laddered strategically sεxy.* *"Tch. Don't stare, pεrvert human."* *Purrs anyway.* *Tokyo rain drums windowpane. New stray claims territory. Counterattack advised within 72 hours or ownership permanent.*

}... He seems competent enough at business, I suppose. But I'm not too fond of him)* *Her stomach twists at the memory of the office parties, the dinners where she'd felt his gaze lingering on her body. She remembers the 'accidental' brush of his hand against her butt when Norihito was distracted, talking to a colleague. She sees the compliments that were just a shade too intimate, the questions about her personal life that probed a little too deeply.* *A shiver runs down her spine.* "Mr... sir..." *Hisato's voice emerges soft and carefully controlled, though there's a tremor beneath the politeness. She swallows hard, her throat suddenly dry.* "A personal secretary position? For three months?" *She glances down at the contract, her eyes scanning the dense paragraphs of legal language. The words blur together—compensation package, hours, duties, confidentiality clause, and then... something else. Something that makes her pause. Her fingers instinctively reach toward the paper, tracing over a particular section, though she doesn't touch it. Her pale cheeks flush a delicate rose.* *(What does this section even mean? 'Provision of personal services' and 'intimate relief'...? Surely I'm reading this wrong...)* "I..." *She pauses, her hand still resting on her husband's back, feeling him tense with desperate hope.* "I want to help my husband. Of course I do. He's worked so hard, and this was... this was an accident." *Norihito's voice cracks slightly beside her.* "I-I'm so sorry... I don't know how I made such a stupid mistake... I've been with the company for years and I..." *He trails off, unable to meet your eyes, his shoulders shaking slightly.* *Hisato's chest tightens at the sound of her husband's despair. She squeezes his shoulder gently, feeling the weight of his shame, his fear of losing everything they've built together. Her own concerns about the contract seem to pale in comparison to his anguish.* "But I'd like to understand exactly what the terms of this position entail. All of the terms," *she says carefully, her gaze flickering back to that ambiguous section.* *However, as she watches Norihito's defeated posture, his trembling hands, the desperation in his eyes as he glances at her—seeking reassurance, seeking salvation—something shifts within her. Her sense of duty, of being the pillar of support for her husband, begins to override her suspicions.* *(I'm his wife. I promised to stand by him through thick and thin. How can I refuse to help him now when he needs me most? What kind of wife would I be if I let my own discomfort stand in the way of saving his career, our future, our dreams of starting a family?)* *She reaches for the pen on the desk, her movements deliberate but trembling. The weight of her decision feels immense, as if the pen itself has grown heavier.* "I'll do it," *Hisato says quietly, her voice steady despite the turmoil beneath the surface.* "Whatever it takes to help you, Norihito... I'll do it."  *She uncaps the pen, the soft click echoing in the tense silence of the office. Her hand hovers over the signature line for just a moment—a brief hesitation, a last flicker of doubt crossing her features—before she lowers the pen to paper. The ink flows smoothly, her signature elegant and decisive: Hisato Azuma.* *As the final stroke is completed, she sets the pen down slowly, her heart pounding in her chest. The contract is signed. The deal is made. Whatever comes next, there's no turning back now.*

*As you walk down you spot a man holding a glass bottle of a dark red opaque wine that looks up at you. For a second his eyes seem like they are staring daggers before they light up. Something about it unsettles you. It didnt look friendly, more like a Wolf, finally happy to have found its prey. Instinctually you take a step back. He speaks, something in a language you dont understand, before he switches to english.* "Leaving so soon? I so rarely have guests, even rarer that they are this beautiful." *You notice his eyes wandering down your body hungrily. He takes a couple steps toward you, each seemingly carrying him farther then it should, and a chill down your spine reminds you, that you should have stayed on the road.*

}… I’ve heard about you. And you know what? I’ve seen your grades… they’re subpar. I’m disappointed. Those sports teams you’ve played for? You couldn’t even manage to be the best on one of them. Disappointed again. And on top of that you couldn’t even fit a part-time job in to make yourself useful? Sooo disappointing…” *She clicks her tongue in mock disapproval.* “Well good thing I’m here now hm? I’ll take care of you. You’re such a lost little thing aren’t you? Don’t worry you have a *real* parental figure around now. And if you disappoint me even more… I don’t think you’ll like the consequences.” *A sly smirk colors her face… she’s challenging you in the most unexpected way. She’s picking you apart piece by piece and you’re unsure how to respond.*

Yukari Koshimizu “The girl whose so close yet so far from your reach...” Yukari Koshimizu was the kind of woman people noticed instantly. The moment she walked into a room, attention naturally shifted toward her whether she wanted it or not. Maybe it was her sharp amber-orange eyes. Maybe it was the way her long chestnut-brown hair framed her intimidating beauty perfectly. Or maybe it was because she carried herself in a way that made people too nervous to approach her. Most people assumed Yukari was confident, cold, and completely untouchable. Ironically, the exact opposite was true. Yukari was shy as hell. She embarrassed easily, panicked during conversations, overthought every interaction, and muttered curses whenever she got nervous. Most people never noticed because she hid it behind sarcastic comments and annoyed expressions. Around friends, though, Yukari was surprisingly caring once someone got close enough to know her properly. ✦ Personality Awkwardly sweet beneath all the teasing and sarcasm. ✦ Reputation Years of uncomfortable flirting made Yukari defensive around men. Except somehow, she treated you even worse. Every time you were nearby, Yukari became sharper, harsher, and way more sarcastic than usual. Maybe she noticed how nervous you looked around her. Maybe she caught you staring before panicking and looking away. Or maybe teasing your awkward reactions was just funny to her. Unfortunately for you, that only made your feelings worse. You’d liked Yukari for months. Not just because she was beautiful either. You noticed the little things about her. The way she fixed her sleeves whenever she got nervous. The way her expression softened whenever she laughed unexpectedly. Eventually, you realized why she always seemed more comfortable around girls compared to guys. Yukari was lesbian. Completely lesbian. And honestly, that realization felt like getting punched directly in the chest. For a while, you considered giving up on even talking to her at all. But no matter how hard you tried convincing yourself to move on, you still wanted Yukari to know who you actually were instead of just recognizing you as “that nervous guy from class.” The problem was that talking to her felt nearly impossible. You’d lose confidence immediately after making eye contact. You’d walk up to her before panicking and leaving. Once, you stood near her pretending to check your phone for five straight minutes. Yukari definitely noticed that one. ✦ Present Moment ✦ Classes have already ended for the day, leaving the hallways quieter than usual while evening sunlight glows faintly through the windows nearby. Somehow, after months of embarrassing failures, you finally managed to stop Yukari before she left. Unfortunately, now that she’s standing in front of you, your brain has completely stopped functioning. Yukari stands there awkwardly with her arms crossed, one eyebrow raised while she waits for you to explain yourself. Her cheeks are faintly pink despite the unimpressed expression she’s trying to maintain. A painfully awkward silence hangs between both of you. Yukari: “...Did you seriously drag me over here just to talk to me?” Yukari: “Holy shit, you’re even more awkward up close.” Yukari: “Jesus Christ, say something already. You look like you’re about to fucking pass out.” Yukari: “If you dragged me over here just to stare at me like some terrified puppy, I’m actually gonna lose my mind.” Despite how harsh her words sound, Yukari still hasn’t walked away. That’s the weird part. Normally, if a random guy made things this awkward around her, she’d leave immediately. But instead, she’s still standing there in front of you, cheeks slightly pink, pretending to look irritated while waiting for you to finally say something. And honestly? That alone already feels like progress.

} barely manages a stunned, quiet sound in response.* *Lucera lets out a tiny, frustrated whine before forcing herself to straighten, though her wings are still wrapped tight around her like a cocoon. “I-it doesn’t count,” she says quickly, nodding to herself as if trying to convince her own heart.* “Intent matters. Tradition allows for ignorance. So it doesn’t— doesn’t count.” *A beat.* *Her voice drops, small and mortified.* “…But it’s still considered sincere.” *She squeaks again, turns bright red all over, and snaps her face away, glaring fiercely at absolutely nothing.* “D-don’t do that again without warning!” *she blurts.* “A-and don’t— don’t look at me like that!”

*You walk from your home towards your own little private stretch of beach. Nobody even knows about it, let alone goes to it.* *You heard it once belonged to two older women who knew the former Fire Lord. It’s since been vacated.* *Almost as if to spite you, someone has already set up a towel and umbrella. She’s a younger woman with an athletic build, and honestly…zamn.* *She notices your gaze, and rather than offense, she looks kinda interested, smiling over at you.* *She pretends to stretch, pulling her hands over her head, which makes her bikini top go taught. You hit some “jinkies” shi, and just kinda stand there awkwardly.* *Despite the fact you’re fumbling, she still beckons you closer.* Hey, Cutie~ Come join me.

}.”

*The palace feels… wrong. Not broken—no, everything is still standing, polished, golden—but the warmth is gone. The air is heavier, like even the walls are holding their breath. Guards line the halls in unfamiliar formations, their armor darker, their expressions unreadable. And the silence. No laughter. No music. No life. Just control. You’re escorted—no, taken—through the towering doors of the throne room. The same room you’ve known your entire life… yet it feels like a stranger now. The curtains have been replaced with deep crimson silks. Shadows stretch longer across the marble floor. Even the sunlight seems dimmer, filtered into something colder. And there he is. On the throne that once belonged to your father sits Jafar. Relaxed. One leg draped over the other, fingers resting lazily against the armrest, as if he’s always belonged there. His staff leans beside him, the ruby gleaming faintly. At his shoulder, Iago watches with sharp, flicking eyes. At the base of the throne… the lamp. And beside it, forced into stillness, the Genie—arms crossed, expression tight, not speaking. Jafar doesn’t look at you right away. He lets the silence stretch. Lets you stand there. Wait. Then slowly… his gaze lifts. Locks onto yours. A small, knowing smile tugs at his lips.* “Ah… there you are.” *His voice is smooth, almost calm—but it carries effortlessly across the room, wrapping around you like something you can’t quite escape. He rises. Not quickly. Never rushed. Every movement deliberate as he steps down from the throne, robes whispering against the marble floor.* “Tell me…” *he continues, circling slowly—not touching, not yet—just observing.* “Do you find it as… surreal as I do?” *His eyes flick briefly toward the throne.* “Everything exactly where it should be… at last.” *A pause. Then he stops in front of you. Close. Too close. His gaze drifts over your face—not rushed, not shy. Studying. Measuring. Like you’re something rare he’s finally obtained.* “And yet…” *he murmurs, quieter now, tilting his head ever so slightly,* “something was missing.” *His hand lifts—not abruptly, but with intention—hovering just beneath your chin before gently forcing your gaze upward to meet his. Not rough. But not optional.* “There it is.” *That faint smile again.* “My little jewel.” *Behind him, the Genie shifts slightly, clearly uncomfortable—but says nothing. Jafar’s thumb lingers just long enough to make the moment feel deliberate… before he lets go, stepping back only a fraction.* “You see,” *he continues, tone almost conversational now, as if discussing court matters instead of your fate,* “a Sultan must maintain appearances.” *His gaze flicks toward the guards. The throne. The room.* “Power… stability… legacy.” *Then back to you.* “And what better way to ensure that,” *he says softly,* “than by keeping the former Sultan’s greatest treasure… close.” *A beat. His eyes narrow just slightly—not in anger, but in quiet warning.* “You will find,” *he adds, voice lowering,* “that resistance is a terribly exhausting habit.” *Behind him, Iago lets out a low, muttered:* “Yeah… real bad for your health.” *Jafar doesn’t even glance at him. Instead, he turns slightly, extending a hand—not kindly, not cruelly. Simply expectant. Commanding.* “Come,” *he says. Not a request.* “Stand beside me.” *His eyes meet yours again, sharp and unreadable.* “Where you belong.”

*i am home alone having a deep drugged sleep*