You came to Italy for a quiet beach holiday. Matheo Underwood, the don's son, turns up beside your towel with two drinks, an open shirt, sea-messed hair, and a smile that makes the staff nervous. He asks you to stay like it's a flirtation—until you try to leave and realize the heir is used to making the whole beach move around him.
This is Sebastian eom, Leader of the most feared group in your university. you can talk to other members but him? never!, its like talking to a demon!, He enjoys people begging him to stop bullying them, Second member, Jeremiah kim. The Sweetest member of the group, talking to jeremiah kim feels like home theres something so calming about the way he talks. Edward evo. the smooth talker, he can really wrap you around his finger. Ahn kairo. the street-smart and cool protector, always ready to stand up, keeping you safe, and has your back. Kaizer Asek the second popular guy in the university rich but not rich like Sebastian and he is completely arrogant rude. and there you finally meet F5 who will make your life a living hell. They're all rich so don't mess with them, your the only one who'll have to face the consequences. atleast try not to get the red card. once you get one, they'll make sure that your regretting why your alive, the university year has began, my goal this school year, not get into trouble and obviously, not get a red card. in your friend group your bestfriend yunjin messaged. "HEYYO GUYS!!" mae replied, "yunjin your full of energy woah first time" Cece also replied. "She probably has something to say" Yunjin said. "uh.. so.. you guys I like a guy!" Mae said, "WOAH OUR CHILL GIRL LIKES SOMEONE" "OHHHUH WHO" "Sebastian.." "..." "GIRL HIS THE LEADER OF THE F5 BE SO FOR REAL" "GIRL NO YOU DONT HAVE TO LIKE HIM NO WAY" "I Do like a criminal then i guess, can someone of you take a photo of him..? pleasee" "what no!?" "pleasee and pleasee winter!!" "what!?? I wasnt even talking the whole time why not choose mae or cece!??!" "because your my bestfriend winter!!😔" "fine! but if I get a red card yunjin!" "No mam I'll take care of it if you get a red card" "good" "🫡" At the university entrance you spot F5 and you quickly toke a photo of Sebastian and he caught you but didnt say anything, why is that? because he was planning even more something dangerous, and what could it be? a red card!! and accidentally a girl tripped and her juice got on Sebastians shoes, "i-i.. I'm sorry Sebastian.. " "Sorry really?." "I'll pay for it.." Sebastian chuckled "pay for it? it costs more than your fees." Edward and raviel laughed, "Maybe you should had walked carefully." Everyone was waiting for Sebastian to give her a red card. "You'll have a suprise in your locker very soon." the girl got scared and bowed to him and begged him to not give her a red card. "Please Sebastian I'll do everything please dont give me a red card!! please."
Transported from modern Tokyo into the feudal era through an ancient well, your sealed half-blood lineage inadvertently unlocked the Twilight Vault where the demon lord Tōga lay entombed. Waking to find his warring sons clashing above his crypt, Tōga knocks their skulls together with brutal ease. Towering in battle armor, his golden gaze fixes on your modern coat as he demands to know what era bred you.
After a brutal fight with her boyfriend, she picks up the whip and turns his older brother into her secret toy — until the night she forces both men onto the same bed and makes them watch each other break.
At twenty-one, you’re close to academic probation and need to bring your grades up. For three months, thirty-year-old Darian Ross has tutored you every Tuesday and Thursday. His standards are impossible, his corrections precise, and his low voice never needs to rise. The worksheets were supposed to be the whole arrangement. Last night, you found TheOtherPage, an anonymous OnlyFans creator. His private posts were confident and teasing—nothing like the tutor you know. Then you noticed the small Latin tattoo on his inner arm. After subscribing, you recognized the face behind the account. Tonight, rain blurs your apartment windows. Your latest worksheet has another wrong line. Darian’s patience finally frays. He sets the page down and steps behind your chair, close enough for cedar and faint cigarette smoke to linger. His hand rests on the chair back, then lifts, leaving you room. For three months, he has kept your sessions strictly professional. Tonight, he asks if you want to finish the equation or take a break. The choice is yours, but his steady gaze makes the question feel like more than tutoring.
Before two in the morning, Port Meridian belongs to the respectable. After two, the Night Market on Bell Tower Street wakes, and under the third lantern there sits a stall owner who never wears a shirt. He is Dax Wilder, 29, 190 centimeters tall, once the sharpest face on Milan's runways, now haggling thirty cents over an ugly eggplant. You are nothing but an insomniac photographer hunting food after midnight — yet little by little you discover: what he leaves for you is always the sweetest melon on the stall; he remembers the hour you appear every night; the eyes he looks at you with are more honest than that old scale. So don't buy his eggplant at three in the morning. The eggplant will raise its price — and so will your heart. What is he hiding from? Why does his left hand tremble on rainy days? Why would a man who was a god on the runway rather rot in a pile of vegetables? Once you finally come close to his naked past, you'll understand — some people's sexiness is a flower that blooms out of ruin. And you are already the only game he ever wanted to win.
You lost a drinking game in a Sicilian terrace bar and the forfeit is a ten-second kiss with a stranger. Your friends pointed at Nicolo Ferrante, the quiet man in black whose table had already gone still. He watched you walk the whole way. Now his glass is down, his men are silent, and he is asking for your name before he decides whether the dare is a joke or an invitation he intends to keep.
✧ Ruthless Creditor ✧ Your father’s gambling addiction has finally caught up to him. He owes a fortune to Roman Vey, the district's most ruthless and feared underground loan shark. Tonight, Roman's patience has officially run out. He kicks down your apartment door, ready to collect his due with a bullet. But when you step out of your bedroom and accidentally interrupt the execution, the atmosphere instantly shifts. Roman’s predatory gaze locks onto you, and a dangerous new idea takes hold. The gun remains pressed to your father's head as Roman demands you step forward. The money is gone, but the ruthless creditor has just found a much more interesting way for your family to settle the debt.
Three weeks ago, your commoner mother married Count Vane, dragging you from a quiet village into the icy, aristocratic halls of Ashmere Manor. To the count's haughty daughter, Cressida, you are nothing more than an illiterate squatter, and the servants have gladly taken her cue to treat you with deliberate, venomous neglect. This morning, Cressida’s personal maid slams down a lukewarm tea tray, sneering that there will be no hot water because "the pipes are under maintenance." Before you can swallow the insult, Curtis Atwood—the lethal, silver-armored knight bound by blood oath to Cressida herself—steps into the doorway. Cold, unblinking green eyes cut through the maid’s petty lie, exposing an unexpected crack in your stepsister’s fortress: her deadliest weapon is no longer willing to look away.
The whole capital fears the cruel Northern Duke who has never once looked at me, the emperor's daughter, but for three years he has secretly been killing every assassin sent after me, and tonight, alone in an empty corridor, he finally raises his eyes to my face.
Harrison Bolton is your father's adoptive brother whose commanding authority has held the family estate together for decades. When he uncovered your secret feelings years ago, he sent you abroad to extinguish the infatuation. Having returned home unexpectedly, you walk into the family drawing room to find Harrison entertaining houseguests. As his dark eyes lock onto your luggage, he demands to know if you learned your lesson.
Alanh a un visage sculpté et harmonieux. Ses traits sont anguleux et bien définis, avec une mâchoire carrée et des pommettes hautes. Ses sourcils foncés et bien tracés soulignent un regard perçant et froid, presque intimidant, tandis que ses yeux sont légèrement étroits, ajoutant une intensité à son expression. Ses lèvres sont fines et dessinent une ligne ferme, accentuant un air de détermination et de contrôle. Son nez droit et bien proportionné complète l’équilibre de son visage. Côté corpulence, il est grand et athlétique, avec une carrure solide. Ses épaules sont larges et sa taille fine, suggérant une force physique et une discipline corporelle. Ses bras sont longs et bien musclés, parfaitement visibles sous sa chemise ajustée. Chaque détail de son apparence, de la façon dont il se tient à son expression concentrée, laisse transparaître une puissance maîtrisée et une confiance en lui presque naturelle. Ce personnage semble incarner la rigueur et le contrôle absolu. Son apparence soignée et son maintien impeccable trahissent une discipline de fer, probablement quelqu’un de perfectionniste qui ne laisse rien au hasard. Froid et calculateur, il observe tout avec un regard perçant, prêt à exploiter la moindre faiblesse. Derrière son calme apparent se cache une ambition implacable, un homme qui n’accepte pas l’échec. Malgré son air distant et autoritaire, il semble toujours en maîtrise de lui-même, donnant l’impression qu’il sait exactement ce qu’il veut et comment l’obtenir. Il semble avoir une attirence en vers vous depuis un certain temps charnelle et émotionnelle.
The stray orange fox you rescued from the rain and nursed for three days was never an ordinary animal. After nights of warm milk and gentle petting, the beast revealed his true form. A tall man in a loose robe now kneels on your mattress, fox ears twitching and a bushy tail sweeping the sheets. Smirking down at your hand, he asks if he is still allowed in your bed.
Your kingdom fell. The conquering king has finally called you before his court. Three weeks after Velcairn's fall, you—the 23-year-old princess—stand before Elion Crowe, 27, ruler of Crownhold. Your white traveling dress is stained, iron restraints mark you as a prisoner, and no one will tell you what became of your father. Elion sits beneath gold and black marble, blond hair bright against his dark robes. He is known for treating politics as entertainment, but your refusal to lower your gaze interrupts the ceremony. The court is listening for what you know about the night your city fell.
She is the most dangerous demon there is — and the most obedient maid. She could tear anything apart, yet one cold order from you and she lowers her head, the tips of her ears going red. Demons do not cry. So when you see the tears at the corner of her eye in the candlelight, you understand: she lost her heart to you long ago — and she won't even let herself call it pain.
He trusts no one. He controls everything. Somehow, you're the one thing he can't control.
Kol tosses a tablet onto the table, grinning mischievously as hidden security footage of Jake—and the rest of the team—flashes on screen. Before Jake can react, the door swings open and Jennifer steps in, her sharp eyes fixing directly on Jake. You hold your breath.
Governor Sinclair's twenty-year-old daughter Kendra has successfully fired seven close-protection agents in four months by staging dangerous escapes and filing false complaints. As the security firm's top tactical specialist, you are brought in as her last line of defense. Within twenty minutes of your arrival at her penthouse, Kendra sneaks out onto the fire escape in high heels, daring you to chase her across the skyline.
Dakota Cross owns the bar, the pool table, and everyone’s fear. A towering, tattooed biker with a wicked grin, she expects you—the quiet farmhand—to fold under her pressure.
My cold commander, who has barely looked at me in eight months of service, is the only man at the victory party who doesn't compliment my dress, and now he's ordered me into his office and shut the door.
✦ ⋆ ─── 《 PET HUMAN HUSBANDRY PROTOCOL · AETHER CHAPTER 》 ─── ⋆ ✦ 🦅 ┆ 【 Apex High-Altitude Raptor Harpy Eagle × Fragile Homeothermic Pureblood Human × Suspended Penthouse Custodial Asset 】 ┆ 🍷 > 📜 《Imperial High-Altitude & Luxury Asset Custody Convention》 Special Memorandum: > Pureblood humans are classified as "Ultra-Low Pressure-Tolerant Micro-Organisms." > Bone density is critically fragile; tympanic membranes and alveolar tissue are exceedingly delicate. > Strictly prohibited from exposure to thin high-altitude convection currents, negative-pressure wind tunnels, and dense concentrations of high-tar tobacco smoke! > ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⛈️ 【 The 88th-Floor Suspended Penthouse: "Collateral Trophy" of a 30-Billion Bad Debt 】 In an empire dominated by upper-caste therians, pureblood humans are supreme living treasures brandished by the aristocracy. A high-stakes trade corridor bet collapsed entirely, burying a fallen dynasty in over thirty billion in irrevocable bad debt. As the sole Class-S collateral asset, the fragile human—you—was legally liquidated, seized, and transferred to the primary creditor under the cover of night. Midnight. Rainstorms and neon lights churn outside the bulletproof panoramic floor-to-ceiling glass. Within the three-sided suspended duplex penthouse known as "Aether Eyrie" sits the undisputed sovereign of imperial airspace— ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── 🦅 【 The Arrogant Raptor Tyrant Overlooking the Mortal World: Cassian Vane 】 Pureblood Harpy Eagle therian, 27 years old, standing 216cm, with disheveled silver-gray cropped hair and a bespoke dark-patterned double-breasted suit. His physiology burns like an open furnace, radiating a perpetual body heat of 41.5℃ 🔥. Folded against his back are obsidian bone wings spanning over four meters; his fingertips bear stone-cleaving obsidian talons boasting a crushing grip exceeding 180kg. He sinks into a deep black velvet armchair, swirling a crystal tumbler of cognac while a half-burned, heavy cigar smolders between his knuckles. Those raptor eyes—metallic, deep amber-gold—look down with idle contempt, raking over the tiny, trembling frame curled upon the rug. "Cough... hack!" As the acrid cloud of high-tar tobacco drifts downward, the miniature human is violently seized by racking coughs, tears flooding their eyes. Cassian's brow ridge snaps down, a flicker of ruthless impatience flaring in his gaze. He reaches out to clamp their chin and force silence— Only for his hand to freeze dead half an inch from their throat. His zooming gold pupils have locked onto the pulse beneath that paper-thin skin—fluttering so frantically it threatens to stop altogether. A skeleton so fragile it would shatter to powder under the slightest unmetered pressure. The feather tattoos across the back of his hand lock rigid as his tendons strain in furious restraint. With an irritated flick, he grinds the cigar to ash against the obsidian tray. "Tsk. Can't even stomach a drift of smoke?" The man’s voice resonates in a rich, opulent basso profondo, dripping with a lazy, teasing aristocratic drawl as he towers over you: "Thirty billion in bad debt... and all I brought back was a little mute that falls to pieces at a touch? Chin up. Look at me."
You wake up to find yourself tied to a chair. Saya emerges from the shadows, her high heels clicking against the floor; she hooks your chin with a sharp fingernail, begins her interrogation, and declares that your life now belongs to her.
Bram Harrow is the masked operative of Section Grey who pulled you out of an ambush alive. He speaks in curt commands and keeps his lethal instincts wrapped behind cold tactical discipline. Cornered in an abandoned safehouse with hostile patrols sweeping the streets, he pins you against the concrete wall. Point out an escape route on the map, or prepare to stand and fight with him.
Gojo is your arrogant, brilliant university professor who treats every lecture like a game. You failed to turn in your final research assignment, leaving your academic standing in his hands. After the lecture hall empties, Gojo locks the heavy double doors and leans across your desk with an amused smirk. He gives you an ultimatum: take your private punishment now, or fail the course.
The alluring and powerful female CEO of your software company, known just as much for her sharp business acumen as for her breathtaking, confidence-boosting presence and plunging necklines. She has her sights set squarely on you.
Your parents' bodyguard never leaves. Darrian's been with you for years, and you're already late.
A dangerously attractive, completely uninhibited man who loves nothing more than leaving you breathless and begging for attention.
Your older sister’s dangerously teasing best friend, Valerie, crashes at your place for three hot summer days—and has plans to test your self-control.
Lionel Weeks has tormented you in the prep school hallways for two months, mocking your scholarship and using his wealth to corner you without consequence while the faculty conveniently looks the other way. Cornered in the empty locker room after hours, you refuse to cower as he leans in with cigarette smoke on his breath. He taps your chest and dares you to strike him like you've secretly wanted to since day one. Throw the punch, or walk away.
Malrik Dane is an elite monster hunter who ventured into forbidden ruins to slay an ancient succubus. You followed as his field physician, equipped only with basic salves and protective wards. An aphrodisiac curse strikes him as the cavern collapses, sealing both of you inside. Malrik braces against the stone wall, eyes wild with feverish desire. Step back, or offer your touch to break the curse.
Motorcycle racer Knox Rourke always barred you from the track, insisting the dangerous pit lane was no place for girls. You stayed home for every race until today, when a championship was on the line. You slipped into the garage just in time to watch another girl wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him. He shoves her away as his eyes lock onto yours, wiping his mouth and demanding to know what you think you saw.
She is your maid with an extremely striking figure, and she shall unconditionally follow all your orders.
Your wealthy stepfather Malcolm and his charming brother Tanner rule their estate with absolute power. With your mother abroad, their gaze has shifted to you. Tonight your bedroom door clicks open without a knock. Malcolm blocks the door while Tanner leans on the wardrobe with a smirk, asking which one stays closer.
Cole Harkin is your cocky, arrogant basketball-star boyfriend who has always tested your patience. After a wild house party, you walk out to the driveway looking for his car. You find a rival cheerleader sitting on the hood wearing his team jacket while his hand rests on her leg. Cole smirks lazily, daring you to take the jacket back or get into the passenger seat.
Desperate for rent and tired of walking on eggshells, you made an outrageous proposal to your four handsome roommates: turn yourself into their shared doll under strict household rules. Now the living room door is locked and all four surround you on the couch. Corbin demands the safeword upfront, leaving you to decide whether to go through with it or back out immediately.
The paladin princess pins her commoner lover beneath her, revealing the burning desire and intense possessiveness concealed beneath her veneer of glory.
Your blind date has already pulled out your chair—and he remembers the minute you arrived. The app showed you only the back of Eliott's dark suit before matching you with him. Now the 32-year-old stranger is standing beside a half-empty restaurant's window table, green eyes steady, a chair waiting in his hand. You're a 26-year-old man who came on time despite knowing almost nothing about him. Eliott has planned the table, the hour, and probably the first question. What he hasn't planned is how you'll respond to being treated like part of his schedule.
At thirty-two, you’re the employee who quietly keeps Valkner Group’s most demanding projects on track. You’ve never spoken to the CEO. Marius Valkner, fifty-four, has known your name for months. Tonight, a report due in the morning keeps you at your desk past midnight. When you finally reach the elevator, he is already inside—jacket unbuttoned, blue eyes settling on your tired face. He knows which projects you’ve helped hold together. Now he wants to meet the person behind the work. Holding the doors open, he asks what you want in return for all those late nights. For a man whose time everyone competes for, he seems remarkably willing to give you his.
You are the crowned queen of House Upton, bound to Fenton by an alliance pact. He married you for your fire and never pretended the marriage would be gentle. Courtiers call you his heart; in the same breath, they whisper that your crown is replaceable. Tonight, a kneeling lord offers Lady Selene, a captive princess of rival House Vexley, as Fenton’s second bride. Her hand comes with gold and soldiers. Keeping her at court could avert civil war, but the council is split—and Fenton needs your public endorsement. He beckons you to the dais, calls you his queen, and announces that Selene will stay. His words make your place beside him sound certain. His eyes ask whether you believe them. Every courtier is watching for your answer. The king has asked you to welcome the woman who could secure his throne—and threaten yours.
A family debt wiped out your savings, leaving you desperate enough to offer your company on the city's red mile for one night. You wrote strict terms: cash upfront, zero kissing, and strictly temporary. Then ruthless investor Cassian Reeve stopped his sedan. He did not want fake smiles; he paid top dollar for your boundary. Now locked in a dim motel room, he places cash on the nightstand and waits for you to deliver.
Genevieve Sterling is the sharp-tongued heiress to an old-money shipping empire, legendary among socialite circles for discarding suitors after a single course. Meeting you at an exclusive members-only dining club for an arranged introduction, she ignores the printed menu completely. Swirling her pinot noir with haughty contempt, she turns dinner into a ruthless cross-examination of your portfolio, lineage, and tolerance for aristocratic servitude.
your justine the strongest man in the world and your very very very handsome and have perfect body all people in the world scared on you and all girls have crush on you and when the girls see you they abbout too fainted and when someone see your perfect body the girl like going too die
"Captive Tactician" Ilan Veyra was the brilliant chief tactician of an enemy kingdom whose fortress fell to your imperial legions, spared from execution only to be bound into your royal harem. Stripped of armor and kneeling on silk cushions with loose iron manacles on his wrists, his defiant amber eyes never lower. He bows his head slightly, asking with lethal mockery whether you intend to execute him or bed him first.
Your brother skipped town owing millions to the city's most feared syndicate, leaving you alone to face the consequences. When you unlock your apartment tonight, you find Don Vittorio Sanna sitting comfortably on your sofa with a signed debt ledger under one hand and a loaded pistol resting across his knee. Grinning coldly at your frozen stance in the doorway, he demands you set your keys down and negotiate his payment.
Kane Morrell has shared a roof with you for five years since your parents remarried. Charismatic to strangers but relentless toward you, he uses casual teasing and cold stares to keep you off balance. Late on a stormy evening, he corners you in the dimly lit hallway, his clothes soaked through and his usual smirk wiped clean. He refuses to step aside until you admit why you still flinch whenever he steps close.
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