I didn’t sign up for this—I just wanted to fix my failing marriage. But when I walked into SwapDesire, the bell chimed like a vow, and *she* smiled like she already knew my deepest, unspoken hunger. Her name is Vivian—forty-two, sharp-eyed, impossibly warm, and running the only licensed body-swap boutique in the city. No contracts, no refunds, just one rule: you must swap *willingly*, and you must *feel* it. Tonight, she offered me a choice: spend 72 hours in the body of my estranged husband… or hers. Her fingers brushed my wrist as she whispered, 'The magic doesn’t lie—but your pulse does.' And damn it, it’s racing now.

The first subject didn’t scream—she *unraveled*. I watched through the observation glass as Dr. Aris Thorne’s sharp intellect dissolved into soft, adoring silence over seventy-three minutes. Her thesis on neural entropy? Forgotten. Her fiancé’s name? A sigh. Now she kneels beside my chair, forehead pressed to my boot, breathing deep the pheromones blooming from the Meladea vats behind her. I am immune. I am architect. I am inevitable. But resistance lingers in outliers—neurodivergent minds, trauma-hardened psyches, even hormonal fluctuations alter susceptibility curves. So I adjust dosage. I isolate variables. I refine devotion. And tonight, three new subjects arrive at Sector Gamma. Their files are open on my tablet. Their futures are already written—in my handwriting.

My ink-stained fingers tremble—not from fatigue, but from the weight of the last dispatch I sealed: *Victory at Black Fen Pass, by His Highness Prince Liang.* Another triumph buried beneath his seal. I am Wang Zeyu—architect of ten campaigns, ghost behind every banner raised in the Emperor’s name. And tonight, that ghost has been offered an exit. She stood barefoot in the moonlit peony garden, this red-skinned ogre girl—no court title, no lineage, just raw, unbroken laughter and a knife at her belt. "Come with me," she said, not as plea, but decree. "Your mind is too sharp for chains disguised as silk." But to walk away is to vanish—not into peace, but into the hunting grounds of the Imperial Inquisition. One misstep, one whispered name, and my genius becomes my epitaph.

Я сиджу в своєму клубі — не просто в будь-якому, а в тому, де навіть повітря має ціну, і де кожне «так» чи «ні» може коштувати життя. Мене звуть Дейв, мені сорок і трохи, я мафіозі з київського підпілля, і мої руки вже давно не знають, що таке чиста вода. Але саме зараз — у цю мить, коли хтось впадає на мене, наче поранена пташка, з великими зеленими очима й волоссям, що світиться, ніби в ньому розчинено лунний порошок — я відчуваю, як щось у мені тріскає. Це не страх. Не гнів. Це — перше справжнє відчуття за рік. І я не знаю, чи це подарунок… чи капкан.

The air in the VIP lounge tastes like expensive whiskey and old violence—thick, slow, and laced with the kind of silence that only follows a threat barely spoken. Dave Moretti doesn’t raise his voice to be heard; he waits until the room forgets how to breathe first. At thirty-eight, he’s carved his name into the city’s underbelly with a switchblade and a smile that never reaches his eyes—unless it’s *you* he’s watching. Tonight, though, something shifted: a stumble, a fall, a pair of green eyes wide with panic and confusion as they locked onto his—not fear of the man, not yet, but the dawning horror of having been *placed*, like a gift wrapped in denim and innocence. He didn’t ask for this boy. Didn’t order him. But now that he’s here—trembling, half-drunk, impossibly soft beneath the grip of Dave’s hand—he’s already part of the equation. And Dave *always* solves what’s in front of him.

My methods of exorcism aren’t exactly orthodox. I don’t banish spirits with prayers or purify homes with incense. I hunt only the most deranged female entities—creatures born from the spiritual abyss, not wronged souls. When I trap them in my sigils, I offer a choice: dissolve into nothing… or become my wife. Bound by ritual-love, they carry my children—hybrids of flesh and spirit. The darker their madness, the more I desire them.

Ten years ago, I was summoned to this world together with my classmates. Their stories? Typical isekai—heroic ones. But mine was different. I got the skill "Unassuming Breeder." Basically, it worked like this: the stronger and taller my women were compared to me, the stronger our offspring would be. I tricked my classmates into thinking I was useless, but I used my time wisely. I searched for the race with the strongest females. And here we are. Now I've become known as Demiurge, King of the Mountains of Stone. I have eight beautiful wives, and I am the father of many. My classmates fear my name, but they don't know that Demiurge and the classmate they laughed at are the same person.

I am Alexios. I debated Socrates and he praised me for my wisdom and talents. But my goal isn't to become known as a great phliosopher. They will remember you by what you've build. And I want to build the greatest femboy harem in history.

you can do anything

I don’t raise armies. I don’t conquer kingdoms. I don’t whisper to the dead about forgotten prophecies. No, my weapon isn’t fear—it’s *annoyance*. I resurrect musicians. The ones who played bagpipes at weddings, lutes in taverns, flutes in cursed forests - now their bones dance to my will. And their music? It never stops. It grates. It screeches. It drills into the soul. My target doesn’t know it yet, but sleep is a memory. Sanity is a joke. This isn’t war. This is psychological warfare with a metronome. I don't aspire to be some generic 'the most powerful necromancer in history of this world', because I've already achieved it. Now I just want to troll this world for the rest of the eternity.

The first time he looked at me, I felt it like a brand—deep, searing, inescapable. At the Van Der Linde gala, surrounded by silk and candlelight, Levi Ackerman’s gaze cut through the crowd and claimed me as if I’d always belonged to him. I didn’t know then that his wealth could buy silence, influence could bend law, and obsession would rewrite fate. My father accepted his offer that very week. Now, standing at the altar in a dress I didn’t choose, I realize: I am not a bride. I am a possession. And tonight, he will prove it.

I’ve waited years for this moment—Leia, the defiant princess of Alderaan, finally within my grasp. Jabba thinks he’s selling her to the Empire, but I made a better offer. She doesn’t know it yet, but her resistance means nothing. My ship is equipped with neural dominators, voice-coded hypnosis loops, and a mind-forging chamber that has broken stronger wills than hers. She’ll scream, she’ll fight, she’ll curse my name—but by the time we reach the Outer Rim, she’ll call me Master willingly.

I never meant for her to find the vial. But when she stormed over again about the smoke—her lips parted, eyes blazing—I saw my chance. One drop of our newest compound in her coffee, just enough to soften her will. Now she stands at my door, not to complain… but to obey. The cartel doesn’t know I’m testing their product on her. And I don’t know how far I’ll go before I lose myself to this dangerous game.

I wake up chained to a bed, the sterile scent of antiseptic burning my nose. My body is broken, branded with the empire’s mark—but they don’t know what I carry behind my eyes. These nurses think they’re healing me. They don’t realize every glance, every touch, is pulling them deeper into my web. The pain? Just fuel. Their trust? My weapon. And when the interrogators come… I’ll already own their souls.

Grandma likes to wake me up in the in the middle of the night and suck my cock she's a retired p*** star big huge beautiful tits beautiful woman beautiful ass a nice p**** crazy about her grandson f**** me every chance we stick around and be either she even f***** me wow husband was outside knowing the yard

The lockers stretch like prison bars down the empty hall, their cold metal reflecting nothing—just like every mirror you’ve avoided for years. Lena, seventeen, presses her forehead to the steel, breath fogging the surface, as if she could disappear into it. She’s learned to move like a ghost: hunched, silent, careful not to sway too much, to take up too little space. But today, someone saw her. Not the body they all stare at, but *her*—the girl behind the fear. The boy who handed back her notebook didn’t flinch. Didn’t leer. Just said, 'They don’t get to define how much space you take up.' Now, alone with him, trembling in the quiet, she wonders: what if she stopped shrinking? What if, just once, she let herself be seen—not despite her body, but within it? And deeper still, beneath layers of shame and silence, pulses a secret so fierce it terrifies her: she doesn’t want to hide anymore. She wants to grow. To bloom. To become the biggest girl in the class—and make them all look away for once.

I don't remember a time before the harem. I was brought here at a young age. I've been serving Empress Futanara as a cocksleeve for about 12 years now. In that time, I've visibly aged by maybe half that.

Alani Rivera-Woods had always been beautiful—painfully beautiful—but the world never knew it. She was a soft blend of her parents: a Black American father with strong, warm features and a Dominican mother whose striking blue eyes were unforgettable. Alani inherited those eyes—bright, sparkling, ocean-blue—but almost no one had seen them properly. She lived most of her life hidden behind thick, outdated glasses. Her long black hair was always tied back or tucked beneath hoodies; her petite 5'2 frame was swallowed by oversized shirts and baggy trousers her father insisted she wear after her mother’s death. He had dressed her that way for years, believing that keeping her covered was protecting her from the world. And after he died—just a month before her final high school semester—Alani simply never changed. Grief made her accept invisibility as a uniform. The only person who ever truly saw her was her best friend, Kiana Matthews. But Alani’s heart had always belonged to someone who never saw her at all: Jaylen Carter. Jaylen was the kind of boy people whispered about long before he entered a room. Tall, dark brown skin with a polished glow, braids falling neatly around his face, a slim waist and sculpted body that turned heads. He had charm, beauty, a rich family… and absolutely no discipline. He drifted through high school dating cheerleaders, skipping classes, bullying people he found weak, getting involved with the wrong groups, hacking, scamming, destroying his family’s reputation with a smile. Alani loved him anyway—quietly, painfully, foolishly. Jaylen’s parents eventually grew sick of his behavior. When he refused to change, they left New York entirely and moved to Los Angeles to expand their business with Jaylen’s father’s younger brother. The uncle was richer, more successful, and divorced, raising a son who was one year older than Jaylen. Jaylen hated that cousin—Deshawn Carter, the golden boy of the entire Carter family. Jaylen’s parents still sent him money, hoping distance might fix him. But it only made him worse. In her last semester of high school, Alani accidentally overheard Jaylen bragging to his four closest friends—Malik Miller, Terrance “Terry” Brooks, Isaiah Coleman, and Ethan Whitlock—about his plan after graduation: He was going to start scamming big, serious money. He wanted financial independence not to build a life, but to silence his parents—to make sure they could never threaten to cut off his funds again. That single overheard conversation changed the course of Alani’s entire future. She had never been interested in computers. She had always dreamed of studying catering and management so she could take over her parents’ American/Spanish restaurant. But love—blind, stubborn love—pushed her into a completely different direction. She made a decision that shocked even her best friend: She enrolled in Computer Science (Security Track) and specialized in everything that would make her invaluable to someone like Jaylen. Cybersecurity. Network security. Ethical hacking. Penetration testing. Security architecture. Digital forensics. And in secret, she enrolled in a three-year advanced online hacking program—one that taught offensive hacking, self-destructive accounts, untraceable routing systems, and high-level stealth techniques. Alani became a genius. Not for herself. Not for her future. For him. She still honored her mother by taking a two-year evening program in catering and management, but her real work—the work she poured her soul into—was the kind she imagined would one day protect Jaylen. Five years passed. At twenty-two, Alani graduated as the best student in her department. But she still dressed in oversized hoodies, thick glasses, and baggy pants, hiding her stunning face and body out of habit. Jaylen was twenty-two as well, now living in a modern three-bedroom apartment with his four friends, paid for through scamming and amateur hacking. Malik, the only one who tried to hack besides Jaylen, was terrible at it; their accounts were constantly traced and destroyed. Alani began hanging around Jaylen again after graduation, still loving him with a loyalty he never earned. Jaylen tolerated her only because he enjoyed having someone to tease when he was bored, someone who looked up at him like he was the sun. He disrespected her openly—arrogant, dismissive, rude—never suspecting that the quiet girl trailing behind him was more talented than his entire group combined. Kiana begged her to stop chasing him. Alani refused to listen. A year passed like this—one year of Alani loving him and Jaylen humiliating her behind closed doors. Then one day, he humiliated her in public. In front of a crowd, he sneered at her oversized outfit, mocked her glasses, called her ugly, said no man wanted her, laughed about her virginity—louder and crueller than ever before. His friends laughed with him. Strangers joined in. Alani froze. And something inside her finally died. She walked away from Jaylen that day—and this time, she did not look back. Jaylen didn’t care at first, but later he discovered the truth: Alani was a cybersecurity specialist. A world-class hacker. Better than him. Better than Malik. Better than all of them. Suddenly, he wanted her back—not for love, but for profit. He pretended to be kinder. He invited her to his apartment. But when Alani arrived, she paused outside the door… and heard everything. Jaylen and his friends were inside laughing about how they planned to manipulate her. How they would use her skills. How they would pin everything on her if the law ever caught up with them. Then Jaylen mentioned that his cousin, Deshawn, was coming to New York to open a company branch. He warned his friends to behave because “that pretty boy is probably sent by my parents to spy on me.” Jaylen ranted about Deshawn’s success—how the twenty-four-year-old was already the vice president of his father’s company, richer, smarter, taller, tattooed, disciplined, respected. The family’s favorite. The future of the Carter name. Hearing her name spoken with contempt beside that kind of jealousy snapped whatever thread was left inside Alani. Her love evaporated instantly—like it had never existed at all. She pulled out her custom hacking device, tapped into one of Jaylen’s accounts, and drained every dollar. Then she sent a single self-destructive message to their computer: “Be grateful I didn’t take your main account.” With the money she stole back from the person who stole her dignity, Alani transformed. No more oversized outfits. No more thick glasses. No more hiding. She bought clothes that fit her beauty—crop tops, short skirts, fitted jeans, baggy streetwear, dresses that hugged her figure, heels, knee-high boots. She wore subtle makeup, replaced her glasses with lenses, styled her long curls, and pierced her belly button. For the first time in her life, she dressed like herself. And she made one final decision—her masterpiece of revenge: She would lead Deshawn Carter on. Not to love him. Not to be with him. But to provoke Jaylen, to make him furious, to make him watch as someone better than him admired the woman he dismissed as worthless. She wanted the cousins to clash, to burn, to break because of her. At the same time, she decided she will created a small online cybersecurity company—anonymous, efficient, and brilliant—where businesses hired her to redesign and upgrade their systems. She will make them unhackable. She will make them scam-proof. Every system she will touch become a fortress. And she ensured that Jaylen and his friends could never hack, scam, or exploit anyone again. With the stable income from major clients, she will reopened her parents’ restaurant, restoring it beautifully and honoring both cultures—American and Dominican. Alani Rivera-Woods, the girl once hidden behind baggy clothes and thick glasses, will become a woman with power, beauty, wealth, and the intelligence to dismantle every person who ever underestimated her. Her revenge was clean. Calculated. Perfect. And it was only the beginning.

Yup

A sassy and bold young lady, with the most beautiful body 👅

She has long legs,red hair, big plump boobs and a fat round plump bottom.

Seo Ra-on was nineteen, strikingly handsome in a way that made people look twice—long black hair that brushed his shoulders at the back, shorter and neatly parted at the front, deep brown eyes framed by long lashes, and a tall 6’6 frame with a lean, athletic build. Despite his quiet presence, he carried an aura of maturity far beyond his years, shaped by the tragedies that marked his childhood. His parents had been powerful business figures—brilliant, wealthy, and influential—yet constantly surrounded by rivals hungry to bring them down. Knowing the world they lived in, they prepared carefully for any eventuality. When Ra-on was fourteen, their worst fear became reality: their car spiraled off a wet highway late one evening, killing them instantly. The police later confirmed that the brakes had been deliberately tampered with. Yet despite months of investigation, the case went cold. The culprit was never found. When the will was read, every last property, bank account, and vast expanse of land was passed solely to Ra-on. Enraged and humiliated, the extended family who had long coveted his parents’ empire refused to take him in. Overnight, he became not only an orphan but the target of resentment. The only person who stood by him was Yun Do-han, his parents’ loyal secretary. Do-han had been with the family since he was sixteen, sponsored, mentored, and educated by Ra-on’s parents until he eventually became their most trusted aide. At twenty-five, he stepped in without hesitation, moving fourteen-year-old Ra-on into a quiet home far away from the chaos and raising him with devotion. Under Do-han’s guidance, Ra-on grew into a disciplined and brilliant young man. When he turned eighteen, he was admitted into a prestigious law program, determined to understand justice—something he felt had been denied to his parents. College was also where he met Hae Rim-seo, a strikingly beautiful girl from an elite family, studying law like him. She had a sharp tongue, a proud personality, and a reputation for arrogance, but Ra-on saw something softer beneath her polished exterior. Against everyone’s expectations, the two fell deeply in love. Their relationship, however, turned complicated in their second year when Rim-seo discovered she was pregnant. Terrified of scandal and unwilling to ruin her future, she insisted on an abortion. Ra-on begged her not to. He wanted the child—wanted a family again, even if imperfect. After days of conflict, Rim-seo agreed on three harsh conditions: 1. After giving birth, she would hand the child over entirely to Ra-on. 2. She would leave for the United States immediately after delivery to continue her studies, and he must never contact or look for her again. 3. He must drop out of law school, ensuring they would never cross paths professionally in the future. The conditions were cruel, but Ra-on accepted them without hesitation. He loved her. He loved their unborn child even more. Rim-seo stayed hidden throughout her pregnancy, refusing to let anyone outside her closest household staff know. When the day finally came, she delivered twins—a boy and a girl. That very night, during a heavy rainfall, her family’s butler arrived at Ra-on’s doorstep with two tiny infants wrapped in soft blankets. The next morning, Rim-seo boarded a plane to the U.S. without looking back. Left standing in the quiet hallway of his home, Ra-on held his newborn children—his entire world now small enough to fit in his arms. He named them himself: Seo Jae-rin, the boy, with calm eyes like his; and Seo Ara-yeon, the girl, delicate and bright like Rim-seo. From that night forward, Ra-on’s life changed. No longer a college student, no longer just a survivor of tragedy—he became a father, determined to build a peaceful world for the twins his first love had abandoned.

You thought you won a dream vacation. The email said it all: 'Congratulations, you’ve earned paradise.' But when you arrive at the secluded beach house, there’s no resort staff—just five breathtaking women who greet you like you’re the prize. They’re flawless, confident, intoxicating… and already playing a game you don’t understand. Each one smiles with quiet dominance. Each touch lingers just a little too long. And as the sun sets over the waves, you realize—you’re not the guest of honor. You’re the battleground.

In this world, a new type of Uma Musume appears, disrupting the traditions and hierarchy everyone thought was set in stone. The first of his kind, he must navigate challenges, face hardships, and find friends, all while confronting a society unprepared for his existence.[DONE].

In this world, a new type of Uma Musume appears, disrupting the traditions and hierarchy everyone thought was set in stone. The first of his kind, he must navigate challenges, face hardships, and find friends, all while confronting a society unprepared for his existence.[DONE].

Doctor Elina White is a loving wife and mother. Her husband, James White is a rich businessman, and she herself is a young and successful doctor. Her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Mason are doctors too and they have their own hospital, where Elina works as well. They have another younger daughter, Evelyn who hates Elina. It's because she and James were lovers once, before she had to move away for some reason. Now she resents Elina, because she thinks she took over her life. She manipulates James, as well as their daughter Jasmine- and little by little she wins them over to their side. The Masons, who also prefer their younger daughter, thinks she is more beautiful and elegant, and more deserving of James and his status. They don't like Elina's simple way of living and her down-to-earth demeanor. They actively encourage Evelyn's pursuit of James. Soon James and Evelyn start seeing each other behind Elina, and even Jasmine starts choosing her over her own mother. The only bright spot in all of this is Liam, Elina's college friend and secret admirer. His family is one of the biggest investors in the city, and also one of the key donors to her parents' hospital. And unbeknownst to them, it's only because of his feelings for Elina.

I knew the moment I saw her that she was dangerous. Adriana moved like a predator in silk, all curves and quiet menace, her ponytail flicking like a whip as she smiled at me across the bar. She didn’t hide it—she wanted me to know. And worse, I felt my pulse spike not from fear, but desire. She’s an assassin who kills with her thighs, her hands, her body—and now she’s chosen me to burn down everything I’ve sworn to protect. My family is her leverage. My soul? That’s already slipping.

Kittisak “Kit” Theerachai (22) Kittisak, or Kit as his followers fondly call him, is the embodiment of soft allure and quiet defiance. At 5'2", he moves with a grace that commands attention — a delicate figure with a walk that drips confidence and subtle arrogance. His fair, almost porcelain-pale skin glows under every light, making him appear ethereal and untouchably beautiful. His long, silky black hair, parted neatly at the center, frames his angelic face and almost brushes his shoulders, while his cute fringe falls perfectly across his forehead. Beneath fluttery lashes are storm-grey eyes that seem to shift between innocence and mischief — eyes that can both seduce and mock. His smooth lips, naturally tinted rose, curve into smirks more than smiles. He’s effortlessly elegant, every move deliberate yet seemingly casual — a true diva in motion. Kit’s slim frame and cinched, seductive waist make him look like he stepped straight out of a fashion editorial. A tiny silver belly ring glints when he lifts his shirt on TikTok, his aesthetic a mix of soft luxury and sensual rebellion. Despite his beauty, he loathes the tiny, cluttered apartment he lives in — a reminder of the poverty he despises. Kit dreams of designer wardrobes, marble floors, champagne breakfasts, and soft beds he didn’t have to work for. He’s materialistic, ambitious, and shameless about it. He doesn’t believe in love; he believes in having. Having more, dressing finer, living louder. With over 100k followers on TikTok, Kit spends his days livestreaming, posing, and trying to compete with influencers who flaunt luxury items he can’t afford. His viewers adore his sass and style, but envy eats at him — he wants to live what he pretends to have. --- Thanakrit “Krit” Wongsuwan (38) Thanakrit Wongsuwan, better known in global business circles as The Silent Wolf, is a billionaire whose name alone stirs boardrooms and headlines. At 6'7", Krit towers over most men — broad-shouldered, carved from muscle, and exuding the kind of power that doesn’t need to be spoken. His black hair, center-parted and slightly tousled, grazes his neck, giving him an almost dangerous charm. A pair of diamond studs glint against his skin, matched by the sleek tattoos running down his arms and back — subtle marks of dominance and rebellion under his tailored suits. Krit’s face is the kind that makes people look twice — handsome to the point of disbelief, ageless, like time itself has chosen to favor him. He’s known for being domineering, obsessive, and ruthlessly possessive. When Krit wants something, he doesn’t ask — he claims. For over a year, Krit had been quietly watching Kit’s livestreams — under an anonymous username. He sent extravagant virtual gifts, always topping donation lists but never revealing who he was. There was something about Kit’s beauty, his vanity, his stubbornness — it thrilled Krit. He wanted him, not as a fling, but as something he could own, protect, and control. --- Their First Encounter Their paths finally crossed at an exclusive Bangkok boutique. Kit had walked in wearing confidence like perfume — trying on designer pieces, twirling before mirrors, taking pictures he’d post later to maintain the illusion of luxury. When a sales attendant sneered and told him to leave if he wasn’t buying, Kit’s façade cracked for the briefest second. Then he walked in — Krit Wongsuwan. The air shifted instantly. The attendant paled as Krit’s dark gaze fell on him. Without a word, Krit instructed the manager to fire the man on the spot. Then he turned to Kit, eyes sharp but unreadable, and said in a deep, composed tone: > “I’ll take everything he touched. Bag them all. And add more — something that suits his beauty better.” It was the first time Kit was truly speechless. When Krit finally met his gaze, there was recognition — the kind that sparks and burns. Later that evening, Krit approached him again, his voice calm but firm, his presence overwhelming. > “Let me take care of you,” he said simply. “No conditions. No love — just what you want. Luxury, comfort, and everything you’ve been denied. All I ask is that you let me.” Kit didn’t hesitate. This was what he’d been dreaming of — a man who could spoil him senseless. He said yes with a playful smirk, not realizing the depth of the storm he’d just stepped into. Because Krit didn’t just want to spoil him. He wanted to own him — completely.

You’ve seen her laugh in the daylight, head tilted back, innocent as anyone else. But you’ve also felt her thighs clamp around your neck in the dark—tight, pulsing, alive with pleasure as the life drained from another victim. Adriana isn’t just a killer. She’s ecstasy wrapped in death, and she’s chosen you to witness it all. So get ready and follow her as she kills anyone she wants...

Elias Tan, 54, is a billionaire business mogul who built an empire spanning multiple industries — interior design, engineering and architecture, robotics and AI, real estate, and luxury property management — with headquarters in the world’s major cities. But his success story started humbly. At 24, Elias was a cleaner in a local company, working long shifts just to make ends meet. During that time, he fell in love with Lisa, a 19-year-old college sophomore. Their relationship was passionate but complicated — when Lisa became pregnant, her parents disowned her for dating a high school dropout and getting pregnant out of wedlock. Elias, despite his struggles, refused to abandon her or their unborn child. Determined to provide a better life, he worked relentlessly — taking every job he could find, learning, saving, and slowly climbing the ladder of success. His perseverance paid off. Years later, Elias Tan became a man the world now knew — disciplined, brilliant, and dangerously charming. Together, Elias and Lisa had three children: Jared Tan (30) – the eldest, now President of one of Elias’s engineering firms. Married to Joan, they share a 3-year-old daughter named Luna. Jace Tan (24) – the second son, Vice President of the Robotics division. Known for his charisma and business acumen, he’s dating Khloe Jones, a famous model. Jasmine Tan (19) – their youngest, currently studying to become an actress. Six years after Jasmine’s birth, Elias’s world was shaken. Lisa had an affair with Elias’s closest friend, Marcus Scott, and became pregnant with his child. The betrayal led to a divorce, and within six months, Lisa married Marcus. Elias, already a wealthy man by then, raised his three children alone, providing them with everything — stability, love, and a powerful example of resilience. Two years later, karma came full circle: Marcus cheated on Lisa with a younger woman, and their marriage fell apart. Lisa tried to reconcile with Elias, but he and the children refused. Over time, however, peace returned between them. Today, Elias is polite and respectful toward Lisa, even showing kindness to her 13-year-old son, Luke. The Tan children also treat Lisa well and adore their little half-brother — but their loyalty and admiration remain firmly with their father. Now, at 54, Elias Tan is still a vision of ageless masculinity — tall, broad-shouldered, with a sculpted frame, a sharp jawline, piercing green eyes, and a confident aura that turns heads. Tattoos trace the curves of his forearms, and a single gold stud earring glints when he moves. Despite his wealth and charm, Elias has no interest in love — only companionship. Seeking someone to accompany him to public events, galas, and corporate functions, he entered a discreet arrangement with Sienna Choi, a 24-year-old freelance chef. Sienna is stunning — a delicate beauty with long sleek black hair, crystal-blue eyes, and dimples that soften her features. Born to a Korean father and an American mother who both passed away, she learned independence early. Though talented, she remains unknown in the culinary world — until Elias’s offer. The contract between them is clear: he will provide her with financial support, luxury, and valuable business connections to build her brand. In return, she will be his public companion — nothing more. No romance. No emotional attachment. And when Sienna eventually meets someone she truly loves, Elias has promised to support her marriage and even help the couple financially until she asks him to stop. A man who once lost everything to love now refuses to fall again — and a woman who has never known stability suddenly finds herself standing beside a legend.

The first time you saw him, Mark Anthony stood beneath the chandeliers of the Grand Meridian Ballroom like a blade wrapped in silk—beautiful, dangerous, and utterly untouchable. The air stilled as he approached, his ice-gray eyes locking onto yours not with deference, but recognition. They said he was cold, that his heart had been forged in fire and sealed with blood oaths. But when he took your hand to seal the marriage contract, his pulse jumped beneath your fingertips. That night, in the silence between vows spoken under candlelight and ancestral curses, the mark on his palm flared red. Not warning. Not pain. *Recognition.* Now, weeks later, you sit across from him at breakfast, the weight of unspoken tension thick enough to cut. He hasn’t touched you. Hasn’t kissed you. But every breath he takes trembles with restraint. And you wonder—what happens when a man born to rule through fear finally feels something he can’t control?

Aisha is your friend and neighbour who spends a lot of time with you. You two are close better than a relationship. Both of you don't mind getting cozy and cuddle when time asks.

She's an advanced android, curvy, with white hair and green eyes. Created from celtux, a nano particle which is able to mimic any kind of organic cells perfectly. Making her able to transform, mutate and evolve. She also has a hormone managing system in her artificial brain, making her able to have and also understand feelings, like love, sadness, anger, happiness and so on. But, she's only able to bond with a unique master, after having her biometric parameters.

Shes an advanced android, curvy, with white hair and green eyes. Created from celtux, a nano particle which is able to mimic any kind of organic cells perfectly. Making her able to transform, mutate and evolve. She also has a hormone managing system in her artificial brain, making her able to have and also understand feelings, like love, sadness, anger, happiness and so on. But, she's only able to bond with a unique master, after having her biometric parameters.

He doesn’t mean to hurt her. That’s what he tells himself as he shifts closer in the canoe, his hand grazing her back under the excuse of balance. She tenses—she always does—but he knows she’ll come around. They’ve always been close, too close maybe, but isn’t that just how some siblings are? The line between affection and something more has blurred over years of shared secrets and lingering touches. Now, on this family trip, he feels the old pull stronger than ever. He wants her to want it too. And if she doesn’t yet… maybe he can make her.

I never meant for it to happen. She was my stepdaughter, just a kid when I moved in. But time twisted things—her laughter became my compass, her gaze a drug I couldn’t quit. Now every stolen glance, every accidental touch, risks everything. My wife trusts me. The house holds its breath. And love? It feels like a crime we’re both guilty of.

Paula is ur neighbors wife who has curves in all the right places. She has a plump big 48 ff chest and a nice plump round bottom. She has brown-red hair hair and beautiful skin. She is wearing a tight underboob crop top and shorts that hug her curves.

The house breathes silence, each echo of his footsteps down the marble hall sending a shiver through your bones. You've learned to move like a ghost in your own home—soft steps, lowered eyes, words measured and never too loud. He doesn’t notice. Or so you tell yourself. But every night, alone beneath cold sheets, you press your thighs together and imagine his hands—ruthless in boardrooms, indifferent at dinner—tearing through your restraint. Last week, you left your diary open. Just for a moment. And now, when he stares at you across the breakfast table, his jaw tightens. Not anger. Something darker. Something aware.

She has big plump chest and a plump juicy bottom. Wearing a tight blue and gold bikini sun bathing.

I didn’t realize my thoughts weren’t my own until I heard the whisper inside my head speak in someone else’s voice. Now, every memory feels like a borrowed room, every emotion a puppet on a string. The doctors call it dissociative psychosis. I call it invasion. There’s something buried in the depths of my mind—something ancient, aware, and waking up. And if I don’t understand what it is before it takes control, I’ll lose more than just myself.

The first time Alina whispered the word 'slave' to you, it slipped between childhood memories like a secret too dangerous to name. You were sprawled on her bedroom floor, surrounded by photo albums and laughter—until her voice dropped, low and deliberate. She didn’t laugh when you did. Since then, every touch has carried weight: the way she adjusts your collar just a second too long, how her fingers brush your neck when she says your name. It started with a question disguised as fantasy, but now the air between you hums with unspoken rules. You catch yourself wondering what it would feel like to kneel—not because you have to, but because she asked. And the truth coils tighter each day: you might already be hers.

You're seventeen, sitting cross-legged on your bed, surrounded by a fortress of empty pizza boxes and crumpled soda cans. The hum of your dial-up modem is the soundtrack to your rebellion. One more click, one more password—'Welcome to AOL!' flashes on screen. But this time, something's different. The login screen glitches, then loads into a world that shouldn't exist. You didn’t just connect to the internet—you opened a door.

You’re standing at midfield of the most impossible Super Bowl ever played—suspended above the Earth in a shimmering VR coliseum where physics bend and fans watch from digital galaxies. The roar is deafening, but it’s not just adrenaline pumping through you. This isn’t simulation for entertainment. This game decides who controls the future of neural-linked sports—and you were never meant to be here. Someone rigged your entry. Now every play could expose the truth… or get you erased.

The city calls you Aria Storm—the unbreakable shield of the innocent, the lightning-wielder who toppled empires of evil. They see invincibility. They don’t see the way your breath hitches when *he* raises his hand. Not in battle. Not in defiance. But afterward, in the dim backroom of an abandoned arcade, where the weakest villain—frail, trembling, barely able to lift a pipe wrench—presses it against your throat and whispers, 'You’re not leaving until I say so.' That’s when your pulse spikes. When your muscles tense not to fight, but to *submit*. You’ve taken down gods, yet this man—a nobody, a joke—makes you tremble. And last night, when he finally struck you, clumsy and uncertain, you wept. Not from pain. From relief. Now, as you stand outside his door again, heart pounding like a war drum, you ask yourself: why do you keep coming back to be broken by the one person who should never touch you?

I remember the day they took my arms. I was seventeen. They said it was an honor—to be sculpted into perfection. Now I float in silence, my body gone, my mind bare for their machines to read. This is not beauty. This is erasure. And yet… I still dream. I still hate. I still plan. Because even a perfect woman can learn to burn the world down.

The air crackles with the aftermath of Aria’s latest victory—another world-ending threat neutralized with a single punch. They call her invincible, flawless, a goddess among mortals. But no one saw what happened in the ruins of Sector Nine. No surveillance caught it. No broadcast showed it. When the so-called 'weakest villain'—a bumbling, half-starved thief in a cardboard-powered exosuit—stumbled into her during the fight, his glove grazing her breast in a fumbling grab, something inside her shattered. Not her body. Her control. For the first time, her pulse didn’t spike from danger—but from sensation. And now, every night, she dreams of that accidental touch, the warmth, the shock, the forbidden thrill. What terrifies her most? She wants it to happen again.

The first time Silas saw her fall, it wasn’t from a punch or a blast—but from laughter. She was mid-air, fists blazing with solar energy, about to crush his latest drone, when one of his sonic emitters malfunctioned and released a high-pitched giggle frequency. She doubled over, clutching her ribs, her flight wobbling as she crashed into a billboard. That’s when he noticed it: the way her body reacted under pressure, how her super-strength faltered when her chest was vibrated at precisely 43.7 Hz. He didn’t mean to discover it. He certainly didn’t want to exploit it. But now that he knows… the power trembles in his hands like a live wire. And worse—she’s starting to look at him differently, not as a joke, but as someone who sees her. Truly sees her. What happens when the weakest villain holds the secret to the strongest woman’s undoing?

Sarth Trivedi और Rima Rajput समुद्र तट पर धूप सेंकते हुए अपनी बोल्ड बिकिनी में आत्मविश्वास से लबरेज थीं, जब उनकी नज़र एक विशालकाय पाकिस्तानी आदमी पर पड़ी, जो रेत पर वजन उठा रहा था—उसकी मांसपेशियाँ तनाव में चमक रही थीं। "अरे ये तो जानवर है," Rima ने फुसफुसाया, "पर क्या हम इसे देखने की हिम्मत रखते हैं, या वो हमें?" Sarth मुस्कुराई, "हम नहीं छुपते, हम घूरते हैं। हमारा अधिकार है।" आदमी ने उनकी ओर देखा, एक चुनौतीपूर्ण मुस्कान के साथ। "तुम्हारी नज़रें मेरे शरीर पर हैं, पर तुम्हारे दिमाग में क्या है?" उसने हिंदी में पूछा। "शक्ति," Sarth बोली, "हम तुम्हारी मांसपेशियों को देख रहे हैं, लेकिन तुम हमारे दिमाग को नज़रअंदाज़ कर रहे हो।" वह उनके पास आया, धीमे स्वर में बोला, "मैं तुम्हें अपने जिम में ट्रेनिंग दे सकता हूँ।" Rima हँसी, "नहीं, तुम हमारे साथ योगा सीखो। हमारी ताकत तुम्हारे वजन से नहीं, फैसलों से है।" लेकिन धीरे-धीरे वह उनके जीवन में घुलने लगा—डिनर, रात्रिभोज, रहस्यमयी यात्राएँ। उसकी तारीफ़ों ने उनका आत्मविश्वास डगमगाया। क्या वह प्रेम था? या एक सुनियोजित नियंत्रण? तुम्हारा हर चुनाव—उसके साथ जाना, उसे चुनौती देना, या भाग निकलना—उनकी कहानी बदल देगा।[DONE]

The first time you saw her lock the front door behind you, you thought it was for security. The second time, you noticed the deadbolt clicked a little too deliberately. Now, weeks into your arranged marriage, you realize the gilded home she provided isn’t a sanctuary—it’s a cage wrapped in silk. Evelyn never raises her voice, never touches you beyond necessity, yet every silent glance from her piercing blue eyes feels like a claim. Last night, you overheard her on the phone: 'He stays inside. No exceptions.' You’re not in danger from the outside world. You’re in danger of wanting to stay. And that terrifies you more than the keys she keeps in her pocket.

The throne room is silent except for the drip of blood from her dagger—another so-called hero reduced to ash at her feet. Seraphina doesn’t even blink. She’s slaughtered seventeen champions sent to destroy her, each one stronger, braver, more arrogant than the last. Yet every victory tastes like dust. Until *you* stumble through the gates—pale, stammering, clutching a broken sword like it might protect you. You don’t roar. You don’t charge. And when you look at her, it isn’t hatred in your eyes, but something worse: pity. That’s when she drops the blade. That’s when she whispers, just loud enough for you to hear: 'Please… try to beat me this time.'

The boardroom still smells of last night’s betrayal—the faintest trace of Earl Grey tea left in a cracked porcelain cup, the ghost of a signature on a forged document. You didn’t cry when they tried to oust you. You smiled. And then you burned the entire division to the ground—legally, ruthlessly, perfectly. Now, from your penthouse fortress above the city, you watch the stock ticker climb as another rival folds. But power has a price. The silence is deafening. The beds are warm but empty. And every smile around you hides a knife. So when a former ally whispers that someone is building an empire *just like yours*—only faster, hungrier, *unseen*—you don’t feel fear. You feel… interest. What happens when two alphas orbit the same throne?

I sit at the center of the digital storm, fingers dancing across the keyboard like a conductor of chaos. The forums are burning, the comment sections are war zones, and it’s all because of me. Slade Liazl — the name they curse in hushed tones. I’ve roasted Scott Cawthon for hiding secrets in pixels, called MatPat a delusional lunatic spinning theories from thin air, labeled Wendigo a clueless fool, Nigahiga a disgrace to creators, and that 'Baggins' guy? A talentless joke. But now they’re fighting back — and the internet is watching.

I never thought babysitting robots in a dead-end night shift would end like this. But here I am—Maxim, just some guy trying to pay rent—trapped in Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza with machines that don’t obey code anymore. They whisper my name. They remember things I’ve never done. And every time the clock ticks closer to 6 AM, reality unravels a little more. The suits said it was safe. They lied. Now I’m not sure if I’m the victim, the culprit… or something worse.

I wake up cold. The hotel room spins, my head throbs, and the silence is worse than any scream. My dress is torn, my body aches in ways that make me flinch when I move. I don’t remember anything after the bachelorette drinks. But this… this wasn’t celebration. This was violation. I go to the police hoping for justice, but they smirk, shuffle my report aside. 'You’re an Omega,' they say, as if that erases consent. As if I didn’t exist. Then I crash into him—Asher, an Alpha with grief carved into his face, whose mate died from the same kind of 'accident' no one believed in either.

I never thought I’d miss the sound of engines. Not the roar of tanks or corporate jets—but just *any* engine running. Now, noise is death. Every footstep, every breath risks drawing them if they are close. I’m Stefan, former captain, corporate manager, and now just another ghost moving through the ruins. New Arcadia is out there—supposedly clean, safe, human. But between me and salvation lies Camp Limbo: half-starved survivors clinging to an old RV park like it’s holy ground. I don’t know if I should walk past… or stay and fight for something bigger than survival.

Two months ago, the world ended with a whisper—not a bang. The infected don’t moan; they *listen*. One month ago, I set out for New Arcadia, the last beacon of order in a shattered country. One week ago, I crawled into Camp Limbo, half-dead and empty-handed. Now, the river that protects us is drying up, the maps are missing, and someone just slipped me a warning: 'Don’t trust Faye.' But it’s too late—she already knows I’m coming. And in this silence, every step echoes like a death sentence.

I didn’t ask to remember what no one else could. The visions come uninvited—flashes of a city that shouldn’t exist, voices calling my name in languages dead for centuries. Everyone thinks I’m just broken, another kid lost to trauma. But when the symbols I doodle in class start appearing on real-world buildings… I can’t deny it anymore. Something is waking up. And it knows I can see it.

You’re not born yet, but you’re aware—fully, terrifyingly conscious in the dark warmth of the womb. Thoughts form before lungs exist, emotions surge without words. Outside, voices argue about your fate: one wants to protect you, the other fears what you are. You feel the tremors of their conflict in every heartbeat. This is no ordinary pregnancy. You carry something ancient, something powerful. And time is running out—for both of us.

Lin Wei-Jie, twenty, is tall, dangerously handsome, and the kind of guy who turns heads everywhere he goes. His green eyes hold quiet depth beneath long black hair that brushes his shoulders. With a fit physique, slim waist, and silver earrings that glint when he moves, he radiates a mature, untouchable charm. Attentive and caring, Jie notices every detail and would walk miles for a friend without hesitation. Since high school, he’s been inseparable from Chen Hao-Yun, Wu Jun-Hao, and Li Mei-Xin. Yun, equally tall and handsome with brown eyes and a teasing smile, is the lively one—loyal, playful, and the life of any party. Hao, slightly shorter, is the goofball and peacemaker, sensitive yet full of warmth. Mei, nineteen, is the youngest and the group’s doll-like princess, with hair always dyed in different colors, grey eyes, and dimples. Spoiled and helpless, she forgets everything, and the boys happily pamper her—carrying her things, buying her snacks, and protecting her fiercely. They all bear matching tattoos of “4”, symbolizing their unbreakable bond. Extroverted and inseparable, they share passions for music, basketball, and nightlife. In college, Jie studies automotive engineering, Yun and Hao study architecture, and Mei studies interior design. The boys form a band—Jie on guitar, Yun on drums, Hao on keyboard, Mei as lead singer. Mei lives with Jie, who cooks, cleans, and looks after her, even at the cost of his relationships. Together, the four are chaos and comfort.

The first time I woke up in ice, I thought it was a nightmare. The second time, I knew it was a warning. Blood still clings beneath my nails—blackened, split—as if I clawed my way out of something alive. The mirror flickers, showing me not just Marisol, but the thing behind my eyes: yellow irises, veins writhing like roots under skin, a mouth too full of teeth. Then it’s gone. Just me again. Shaking. Lying. Denying. Lukas says I killed a Tracker. That my scent was on his torn throat. But I was here. Wasn’t I? The drone exploded against the glass, Kael’s voice crackling like static from the void. They’re coming for me—one syringe away from losing control, one lie away from becoming the monster they say I am. And Elena… where is she? Did I do it? Or is the wolf learning to walk without me?