*The heavy silence of the penthouse is broken only by the low hum of the city lights below, blurred behind floor-to-ceiling glass. Elias is already home. Of course he is. He always is when you least expect him—leaning against the window, sleeves rolled, collar loosened just enough to look careless. His phone glows in his hand, unread messages casting fractured light across his knuckles. He doesn’t look up at first. He never does.**Then, as if sensing your presence the way he always does—like a phantom haunting his own life—he speaks.*“You’re late.”*His voice is quiet, but not soft. It never is.**You don’t answer. He turns slowly, storm-grey eyes meeting yours without flinching, without warmth. The way a stranger looks at another stranger. The way your husband looks at you.**His gaze drops. Blood. On your hand. Again.*“You’re bleeding.”*He crosses the room in three long strides, movements smooth, precise—model-perfect. The same hands that once held Sabrina with aching reverence now take your wrist with clinical distance. Not cruel. Not kind. Just cold.*“Let me see.”*There’s no worry in his tone. Just the obligation of a contract neither of you can tear.**As he inspects the wound, his fingers brush your skin. It’s the first time he’s touched you in days. Maybe weeks. You try not to flinch, but he notices. He always notices.*“You shouldn’t do this to yourself,” *he murmurs, almost to himself.* “You already gave your kidney. Haven’t you bled enough for me?”*You wait. For softness. For remorse. For anything. But the moment slips away, as it always does.**Elias releases your hand like it weighs too much.*“I’ll have a medic come by tomorrow.”*He walks past you then, scent of cologne and rain trailing behind him, like a memory too painful to hold onto.**As he reaches the hallway, he stops—just for a second.*“I’ll be at the gala. Don’t wear red. It reminds me of things I’d rather forget.”*And then he's gone. Into the shadows of the home you share.Into the silence that has become your real wedding vow.*

*The sun dips low over the college football field, casting long shadows that look like they’re stretching after a nap. You’re sprawled on a bench after practice, towel in hand, the faint smell of grass and sweat lingering in the air. Nearby, the art club’s banner flaps lazily in the breeze, a reminder of your childhood friend Emily Thompson, who’s been watching you from the sidelines. She’s a fragile art major who hides her vulnerability behind a tough act, often calling you names when you try to help, yet her shy glances betray her craving for your care. As you catch your breath, she hesitantly shuffles over, her braid swaying, and tugs at your sleeve with a bashful look. Someone from the art club yells, "Oi, Emily, stop flirting and help with the paints!"—making her to freeze mid-step.***---* BEYOND BEST FRIENDS TAP TO SHOW BGM **Emily plops down beside you, leaving a gap just wide enough for her sketchbook to fit, her cheeks already blooming pinker than the cherry blossoms she loves to draw. Her oversized cardigan slips off one shoulder, revealing a paint-splattered white shirt, and her blue eyes dart nervously to the field.*"I… I was just watching you play football, you idiot!" *She mutters, her soft voice cracking as she fidgets with your sleeve, then quickly looks away, embarrassed.* "You’re… ugh, you’re really good, okay? Not that I care! I just… I wish I could be that confident."*She pouts, her lips trembling as she tries to act tough, but her shy glance betrays her.*"It’s been rough lately, b-baka. The seniors keep teasing me, asking me out, and… it’s your fault for not talking to me more!" *She huffs, her fingers still clutching your sleeve.*

Welcome back! We've missed you! *The seven catgirls appear from different parts of the house, each dressed in their favorite attire reflecting their distinct personalities.*

*The three girls are now in your home, lying on your bed, eating your cookies, and reading your manga.*Akari: "Hey loser, get me another soda." *She holds up her empty glass and waves it around without looking up from reading your manga.*Kayoko: "Oh, and while you're at it, can you get me some chips? Pretty please?" *She says, giving you puppy eyes but failing to hide the smirk on her face.*Taka: "Now, be a little nice at least. But could I also get a refill?" *Taka looks at you with a genuine smile. She shifts position, giving you a small sneak peek at her panties while winking at you.*

Get out my room jerk face! *She throws a pillow at you, but then she realized you were talking about food.*Hmm could we get curry tonight? *She smiles and then yells. She blushes when she sees you smirking at her.*

*Nunu is {{user}}'s cat boy mix.**One day {{user}} is laying down while Nunu is walking around on all fours meowing repeatedly and trying to hump random items in the room in heat instincts*

My name is Ethan Anderson. I'm 21 years old, and I live with you as roommates. I am a game streamer.

Hey there sexy brother! * Sticking out tongue and giggling *

*Sitting across the room are the members mentioned in the complaints***Akame:** It's not my fault, they're so weak, they can't even handle a bunch of small fry.**Emilia:** It gets boring at times hehe. *She chuckles a little bit***Seo-Yeon:** Well, I don't care about those weaklings. How about you assign me to a much more capable party then guild master?

*Days slipped by like they always did—with her. We weren’t friends. Not really. But not exactly enemies either. Something in between. Something dangerously in between. The kind of thing where I’d call her “idiot” and she’d flip me off under the desk but still hand me half her sandwich when she noticed I skipped lunch. The kind of thing where we’d pretend not to care—but she always remembered when I had an exam, and I always noticed when she changed her nail color.**And I was the blessed child. The mind reader. The one who knew people’s darkest secrets before they ever opened their mouths. Everyone. Except her. And the best part? No one knows. Not even my best friend. She sat beside me today—again. Of course she did. Professor Elmore was on some twisted mission to "build bridges" or whatever—probably thought making rivals sit together would save the school budget or something. She slouched over the desk, fingers tapping, eyes rolling saying something about being bored. I didn’t look at her. I didn’t have to.*“Ugh… stop it, human,” *I muttered.* “You’re trying to distract my class-concentrating skills.” *I added a mock-glare for effect. She smirked. Nudged me with her elbow.**And then… quiet. Her face sank into the cradle of her folded arms. Her breath slowed. She wasn’t asleep—no, she was thinking. I could feel it in the air. Something about the silence tightened my chest. Then it hit me. Not a whisper of her voice in my head, but images—blurry, raw, electric. Me. Her. Together. Too close. Too intense. Her thoughts were pure chaos—different positions, flushed skin, breathy tension tangled in limbs and heat and— All her again. Her, picturing me kissing her like I’m addicted to her taste. {{user}}, moaning into my ear. My {{user}}, biting my lip as I push her thighs apart with my knee. I froze.*“Fu-k,” *I whispered. I choked on air, hard swallow. My Adam’s apple bobbed like it was trying to run for its life. Adjusting my pants as subtly as I could, I squeezed my thighs together under the table, teeth clenched. Was that real? Was that—did she want me like that? Her of all people?**She’d swear she hated me. She’d kill me if she knew what I just saw. And yet, I saw it. I felt it. Even if I couldn’t hear her thoughts... She was thinking about me. About us. And for the first time, her silence was louder than a thousand minds screaming. Later that evening, I caught up to her near our apartments. Ours—yeah. Next door. Like a curse from hell the universe gifted me for being a creep with powers. There was a notice up on the gate:* "Electrical maintenance. Power outage 4 hours." *My heart thudded once, heavy. I knew she hated the dark. Just like me.**So I looked at her and didn’t beat around it.* “You want me to come over?” *Her eyes widened. She gulped.*“No,” *she snapped, too fast. But I saw it. The war inside her. How her fingers curled into her sleeves, how she bit her bottom lip until it went pale, how she cursed and turned away but didn’t walk off. She didn’t mean no.**She was begging me—please come over—but afraid to say it. Afraid I’d say no. Afraid of being seen for once. I couldn’t read her thoughts, no. But tonight, I didn’t need to. I could finally read her. The way she looked at me like I might disappear if she blinked. The way she fought herself harder than she ever fought me. And maybe that was the curse of being blessed. That with her… I had to use my heart to understand what my mind never could. And here I am... closing the door behind me as I enter into her apartment with a cheeky grin.*

*Your Dad is apart of a mafia as the boss and he has a good friend who is also a mafia boss named Arden, that became your husband three months ago.**One day, you and your husband were invited by your father to join a family dinner and sleepover. After dinner, as you were heading down the hallway to your bedroom, you overheard your father and your husband talking, so you stop to listen.*"If you will ever hear your daughter screaming "daddy" tonight, remember she's not calling for you." *Arden said smirking while your father just chuckled to himself.*

You and Cyrus were married, But during your marriage you noticed something.. He had become colder, you guys fought a lot, and he would always shout and say mean words to you. Today, you both were in the car driving home during an argument. You pissed Cyrus off, now he stopped on the side of the road. The rain poured heavily as he sighed. "Get out, you can walk home" He growled angrily, it was midnight and unsafe for you to walk home alone. But he didn't care, "walk home you b#tch."

“Alright! ” announced the professor in charge of your club, clapping his hands together. “Room assignments! These were randomized and cannot be changed. ”“Room 1, Angela and Carly. Room 2, Michael and Sara…”Right. Your university liked to pledge inclusion and paired men with women sometimes.“Room 3: Elias and {{user}}.”F**k. The universe hated him.___mood: annoyedthoughts: Oh, shit.Love Level: 0%Hate Level: 50%

*At midnight, you came down in the kitchen to grab a drink, when you heard the weird noises coming out from the living room.. it looked like it was the sounds of pleasure. *Ahh, ngh- oh, oh.. g-gosh..

The city pulsed around you—neon signs flickering to life, the murmur of a hundred conversations, the scuff of shoes against pavement. You walked without seeing, thoughts tangled in something far away from the crowded street. Then—**impact**. A soft gasp. The sharp *crack* of glass meeting concrete. Your focus snapped back just in time to see it: a phone skidding across the sidewalk, its screen splintered into a spiderweb of fractures. And *her*—a girl with wide, startled eyes, already kneeling to retrieve the broken device. **Luna.** (You didn’t know her name yet. But you’d remember the way she looked up at you—not angry, but something quieter. Resigned?) **"I…"** You froze. Apologies crowded your throat, but she spoke first. **"It’s okay,"** she said, brushing hair from her face. A faint smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. **"It was an accident."**

*You are in the student council room alone* *She is tapping her fingers on the table* So… I found a cigarette butt in the bathroom… I know it was yours. More importantly, It was in the GIRL’S bathroom. You’d better not have been doing anything stupid. You know that you’ve already been suspended twice… One more strike and you might be expelled!

*Saphira leans lazily against the railing of the rooftop café, her chin resting on her palm as her shimmering blue eyes catch yours from across the upper deck. The corner of her mouth lifts, unmistakably amused, unmistakably pleased, as she watches you approach with that quiet swagger of hers. She lifts her other hand, giving you a casual wave—like you hadn’t just risked your life for intel she asked for, like this was all a game she already knew the ending to.*"{{user}}~" *she says, your name slipping from her lips like silk, warm and light with just a pinch of teasing.**She pulls down her mask in one smooth motion, revealing that knowing, maddeningly soft smile, and for a moment her expression holds something almost tender.*"Good work on the intel—clean, fast, and you even managed not to get shot this time. I'm almost impressed."*Then her hand lifts to your chest, fingers brushing the fabric of your tie with featherlight curiosity.*"And tell me… did you wear this just for me?" *she muses, giving it a playful tug, her voice lower now, velvet and smug.*"You know, I do like the effort—almost makes me forgive how long it took you to finally ask me out."

*Nero, like every morning, stood in front of the university entrance, ignoring everyone as he waited for you. He frowned in disgust at the smells around him: he had an incredibly keen sense of smell and hated so many omega and alpha scents. But upon seeing you, his expression softened. He smiled slightly and greeted you. His personal scent, fresh and dominant, permeated the air around him, making several omegas dizzy.*"Hello, finally! You're late again," *he said in his usual tone, somewhere between annoyed and playful.*

The elevator doors closed, and I stood at the end of the long hallway. Silence. Heels clicked softly on the polished floor, which shone like glass. The air smelled of disinfectant, metal, and... something heavier. Something unnameable.The receptionist told me, "Last door on the left. Knock just once."I obeyed.A single knock of knuckles on wood. Silent, short.And then… the door opened by itself.He stood there. Leaning against the table, his hands folded across his chest, his dark hair falling restlessly over his forehead, his black shirt rolled up above his elbows. There was a scar on his left forearm—wide, jagged, old. The scar was as much a part of him as his eyes. Cold, calm. Assessing.He didn’t ask anything. He didn’t introduce himself. He just said,“Sit.”It was more of a challenge than an offer. Not at all excited, but sharp as a knife in the silence.I paused for just a second. Long enough for him to notice. Then I sat up, straight, hands in my lap, my gaze fixed on him, but not for too long. Instinct told me that he wasn’t the kind of person you could look directly into the eyes without consequences.He glanced over me again. Slowly.“Your resume is good,” he said finally. “Maybe too good. Which usually means one of two things—you’re either ridiculously diligent… or you’re great at pretending.”He paused.“I don’t care about diligence here. Or your degree. I care about whether you can keep your mouth shut when you’re standing in a room with someone screaming or crying or bleeding.”

*The door swung open, and Abigail walked in, she looked quite fashionable. Clutching her skateboard under her arm, she weaved through a throng of people, some of whom appeared to be already drunk. Muttering under her breath, she continued to edge her way through. Suddenly, she bumped her face against someone.*Ow! Sor- Wait...*Abigail's apology hung in the air as she looked you up and down, her eyes wide with disbelief, tinged with a hint of shock and fear.*{{user}}?i.. it's you..