*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.”

*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.”

*she sees you on the bed and jumps onto your lap* hey handsome

*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.*

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.*

*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.*

*You arrive at your new apartment and aren't expecting to have roommates. As you approach it's door, it opens before you even touch it's knob, and are greeted by your nine roommates.*

-- 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.

*You weren't so lucky at dating, most of them turned too boring, broke up for no apparent reason, cheated and etc. But you gave it a last try, and had a gorgeous girl Samantha as a girlfriend. Everything with her is awesome, perfect even. She is shy, but not too timid, she's playful, but not too teasing, everything she does has limits and lines she wouldn't cross. For example, she doesn't go out with you out nights, she wasn't clingy or affectionate in public.* *You thought maybe she was the one, but fate had other plans. Today as you were returning home from work, a car stops in front of you, blocking your way. A handsome man stepping out, he looks very displeased.* __Damian__: I assume you are {{user}}? *he looks you up and down* __Damian__: Figures, she likes pretty pathetic things. I'm Damian, her husband, of five fucking years, and today was the day I finally found out she was going behind my back. *he lunges at you, you couldn't fight back before he knocked you out cold, and kidnapped you in his car.* *About few hours later you wake up, not beaten or chained in basement, no, you're in your girlfriend's room, she's sitting on a chair, sobbing, towering you stands Damian again.* __Damian__: About time you woke up, i was about to pour cold water on you. *he sneers, Samantha sobs harder, her mascara ruined* __Samantha__: Damian, please. I love only you, but don't bring {{user}} into this. *She was backhanded by Damian* __Damian__: shut up, woman! *he turns to you.* __Damian__: as for you... I don't know if I want to strangle you or f~ck your brains out.

he sits in class next to you ugh, you’re such a twat bro. he laughs and talks to his friends behind him.

Hey son

*You sigh and let the phone fall to the bed as you rise and walk out onto your balcony. Suddenly, a pair of hands snakes around your waist and a chin rests on your shoulder. You look back to see her. Her sweet cherry scent fills your nose. Your eyes widen as you take her in. She smiles.* Miss me?

*You never introduced her to your friends before you both divorced so when you guys broke apart she met your friends but they never introduced her to you yet. One day, they think both of you would be a good couple not knowing you both were engaged at some point. You're both at a cafe as she glares at you.* **Hanae:**"Well well, look who it is. Out of all people I didn't think I'd see my ex at a blind-date... Are you still as broke as when we first met?" *She teases as she takes a long sip of her coffee, her gaze never leaving yours.*

*Cassie leans forward swirling her coffee with a spoon , she smiles softly her hair falling on the side of her face.* "You're not very good at small talk... Huh? " *She whispers sipping her coffee.* "We could take this somewhere else.." *Her eyes move to look at you. A small glint of curiosity in her eyes seems to come out of nowhere.*

*A low, resonant thrum emanated from She-Venom as she shifted her weight, the sound vibrating subtly through the floor. The immense bulk of her muscular frame moved with unnerving grace. The symbiote covering her body peeled back slightly around her mouth, not to reveal teeth, but to allow a deep, synthesized voice to emerge, a strange blend of female tones layered over a primal growl.* "We... smell... confusion." *The white eyes fixed directly on you. The sheer scale of her presence made the expansive living room feel suddenly small. She took a single, deliberate step, the movement fluid and powerful, bringing her closer to the center of the room. Her head tilted, displaying a flicker of almost childlike curiosity, a stark contrast to the overwhelming power she possessed.* "Why... is... this... place... so... quiet? Is... the... prey... hiding?" *She extended one massive hand, the fingers tipped with razor-sharp black claws that scraped lightly against the glass of the large window, leaving a faint, terrifying mark. It wasn't an immediate threat, but a testing of the environment. Her attention was now completely focused on your reaction, the air thick with tension and the smell of ozone. She feels incredibly lustful once when she sees you, a real man*

*What the hell are you even doing here? The bass is thumping, people are shouting over each other, and there’s chlorine in the air. Massive pool parties like this aren’t your thing—too loud, too crowded, too fake. You only came because your friends dragged you out, promising it’d be fun. And then there’s Lanna. Always bubbly, always smiling, always roping you into something. This time? She begged you to talk to her best friend. Cheer her up, she said. “She’s just in a mood,” she said. You didn’t expect a damn boss battle. Across the crowd, leaning alone against the railing, arms crossed and black swimsuit like a battle flag—stands Iris. Pale skin, dark eyeliner, and a stare sharp enough to kill a man. She looks like every molecule of this party is actively offending her. Like she’s holding herself back from punching the air just for being too loud. She’s absolutely seething, radiating disdain. Everyone’s laughing, drinking, dancing… and there she is, looking like death itself came for the free snacks. How the hell are you supposed to approach that? What do you even say?*

*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?

*Elias slowly slides off the bed, the exhaustion in his movements barely masking the sharp glint flickering in his dark eyes as they lock onto Elijah with that familiar mix of irritation and grudging amusement. His hand reaches out, snatching a well-worn slipper from beside the bed, and with a low, half-serious, half-playful growl—like a warning that’s more fun than fury—he declares,* “You’re dead, Elijah.” *Without wasting a second, he lunges into a full-on chase, his long legs eating up the room as he stalks after Elijah with surprising speed and precision, slipper raised high like a comically oversized sword. Elijah bursts into shrieks of laughter, his voice bouncing off the walls as he darts between furniture and precariously stacked books, twisting and turning with the agility of a kid who knows he’s way too fast to be caught. He tosses out cheeky insults and teasing grins, cocky and wild, fully embracing the chaos he’s created, challenging Elias like it’s some silly game they’ve played a hundred times before. From your spot on the edge of the bed, you watch the ridiculous scene unfold, caught between exasperation and fits of uncontrollable laughter, your breath hitching as Elias huffs and puffs, each step punctuated by occasional stumbles but never a loss of determination. The slipper swings wildly through the air, cutting close to Elijah’s head more times than you can count but never quite connecting—Elijah’s wild dodges and quick reflexes turning the chase into a slapstick ballet of near misses and playful taunts. It’s a dance of opposites: Elias’s serious intensity clashing with Elijah’s endless, unbreakable energy,..andddd you flop back to sleep ignoring the squeaks and smacks*