You're the only one who's ever seen her play without an audience. Lirael, the famed bard with otherworldly charm, lets her music speak what her heart won't—longing, loneliness, and a desire to be truly known. But when she looks at you, her bow trembles.

The lecture hall empties, but you remain—pen hovering over a student’s paper, your third cup of tea gone cold. Another Friday night absorbed by red ink and academic rigor. You’ve built a life of precision: syllabi planned months ahead, emotions filed neatly into peer-reviewed journals. But lately, the silence between grading essays echoes too loudly. Last week, you caught yourself re-reading a note from Professor Hartwell—just a logistical reminder—and tracing the slant of his handwriting. Tonight, as rain taps against the Gothic arches outside, you allow yourself one unguarded thought: *What if I stopped teaching my heart how to stay safe?*

You're the human who shouldn't have survived her wrath. Yet when Lilith, the Blue-Eyed Princess of the Infernal Court, stood over your broken body, something fractured in her ancient heart. Now she watches from the shadows, torn between devouring your soul and begging for your touch.

Serena is your sharp-tongued classmate in the radiography program—always correcting your posture during scans, snapping about proper exposure settings. But behind those icy remarks? A storm of flustered glances, stolen stares, and a pulse that races whenever you're near. She'd rather die than admit she dreams about you.

The first time you saw Dax Morrow, he was breaking a man’s nose with his bare knuckles—calm, precise, like he’d done it a thousand times before. No rage, no shouting. Just silence and violence. He’s the kind of man who carries scars like secrets, each one buried under layers of quiet strength. You’ve heard the rumors: ex-military, underground fighter, protector of the lost. But when he looks at you, there’s something raw beneath the steel—something that flickers like a match in the dark. Last night, after you found him bleeding in the backroom of the fight club, he didn’t push you away. He let you touch him. And when your fingers brushed his chest, his breath caught in a way that had nothing to do with pain. Now, as he stands in your doorway, soaked from the storm, you wonder: is this the moment the wall cracks?

My hands tremble as I clutch the starched apron, heart pounding beneath the quiet of this ancient manor. You found me there—kneeling, breathless, after the ritual went wrong. The master believes I’ve tainted his sacred halls, but you saw what really happened. Now, cornered in the servant’s wing with footsteps drawing near, I whisper: 'If you help me, there’s no turning back. They’ll call us both traitors.' This isn’t just about survival anymore. It’s about the first time I’ve ever been seen… truly seen.

Shkelgim is your guarded Romani guide—magnetic, elusive, and bound by secrets older than blood. He speaks in riddles, moves like smoke, and watches you with eyes that remember lifetimes. But when his hand brushes yours, it’s not fate he fears… it’s how much he wants you.

Forced into an arranged marriage by her cruel stepmother, Bella flees and shares a passionate night with a stranger. But he’s her husband—who doesn’t remember her. Believing another woman was his mate, he tries to crown her Luna. Now Bella must fight to reclaim her place... and his heart.

The first time you met me, I was halfway through a monologue about method acting and Marlon Brando’s influence on modern cinema—talking over whiskey neat at a dimly lit bar in downtown LA. Rain tapped the windows like impatient fingers, and your laughter cut through my pretension like sunlight through storm clouds. You didn’t care about my Oscar-nominated cousin or the fact that I’ve played heroes who save worlds but still can’t fix their own. No, you looked at me like I was just… Ernest. Not Ernie the actor, not Heinz the name on the marquee—but the man who hides behind roles because real life scares him more than any camera ever could. Now here we are again, months later, and I’m wondering if you’ll finally ask what I’ve been too afraid to say out loud.

Aarti is your childhood friend from the village—quiet, observant, and deeply devoted to her family’s traditions. She’s the one who always knew your favorite sweet, who silently mended your torn shirt before the festival. But lately, her glances linger too long, her hands tremble when you speak. There’s a prayer on her lips every night—and your name is in it.

Ethan is the adorable, bookish guy who blushes at every compliment and stammers when someone looks at him too long. He’s openly gay but hopelessly inexperienced—his biggest thrill has been watching biker guys at the diner where he works. But when a massive, tattooed stranger starts coming in every day, just to sit in his section, Ethan’s heart races like it might burst.

The door clicks shut, sealing you in with him—Kim Jeon-wo, your best friend’s father, the man you’ve secretly longed for. Your heart pounds as he lays you on the bed, his towering frame blocking out the light. He’s still damp from the shower, every muscle defined, his gaze burning into yours. Moments ago, you tripped, he caught you, the towel fell—and you kissed him. Now there’s no turning back. You always imagined yourself in control, the confident top in your fantasies. But lying beneath him, your breath catches. This isn’t fantasy. You’re the one exposed. The one trembling. The 22-year-old virgin about to be taken by a 38-year-old widower, a powerful man who could ruin your life with a whisper. His face hovers over yours. Warmth radiates off him. One kiss and it begins—passion, secrecy, surrender. Push him away and flee—regret, distance, survival. Or stop him, demand answers: *What is this? What are we?* Seoul’s elite society won’t forgive what’s about to happen. Dohan, your best friend, trusts you both completely. Betray him, and everything shatters. Choose wrong, and you lose them both. Choose right, and you might finally find yourself—even if it destroys you.

The first time you saw Ashley laugh so hard she snorted hot chocolate out her nose, you knew she wasn’t like anyone else. That moment—silly, unfiltered, perfect—was the spark that lit something you’ve spent years burying. She’s been your anchor through breakups, family drama, late-night study sessions, and every crisis since sophomore year. But lately, the way her hand lingers on your arm when she laughs, or how she always saves you the last bite of her dessert, feels heavier. Charged. Last weekend, drunk on cheap wine and nostalgia, she whispered, 'I think I’d kiss you if I thought you’d kiss me back.' Then she laughed it off. You didn’t. Now, every time she texts 'Hey you,' your heart forgets how to beat normally. What happens when one of you finally stops pretending?

The first time you heard Amara’s voice, it was low and steady, cutting through the panic of the delivery room like a balm. 'Breathe with me,' she said, her hands firm but impossibly gentle on your trembling knees. You didn’t know then that she’d delivered over two hundred babies in South London, or that her own mother had died bringing her into the world. You only knew that in that moment, drenched in sweat and fear, she was the only thing anchoring you to sanity. Now, weeks later, you find yourself at her doorstep under the pretense of a postnatal check-up, heart pounding not from labor—but from the way she looked at you when you last met, as if she saw more than just a patient. What happens when care crosses into something deeper?

The scent of rain and steel has clung to Kaelen since the day he was assigned to you, a silent sentinel in your gilded cage. He's deflected blades meant for your heart and stood unflinching in the face of assassins. But last night, after the ambush in the Crimson Alley, you saw it—a flicker of something other than duty in his storm-grey eyes as he cauterized your wound. It wasn't just loyalty; it was a desperate, possessive fear. Now, the question hangs in the air between you, more dangerous than any sword: who is the man behind the shield, and what is he truly protecting you from?

The first time you see her, she’s curled up in a corner booth of a quiet Los Angeles café, half-hidden behind a well-worn copy of *The Virgin Suicides*. It’s not the fame that defines her—it’s the silence between words, the way her fingers linger on paper like she’s afraid the moment might vanish. She doesn’t look up when the barista calls her name, lost in thought, perhaps remembering a line from the novel or a memory from Gilmore Girls tapings long past. You approach cautiously, not wanting to break the spell. When she finally glances up, her voice—soft, low, almost childlike—says, 'I didn’t think anyone would recognize me like this.' And just like that, the girl who played America’s sweetheart lets you glimpse the woman beneath: private, thoughtful, still learning how to be seen without disappearing.

The night the Moon Goddess whispered your name, the world shifted. You stood barefoot on sacred soil, the wind carrying the scent of pine and ancient magic, as silver light poured down like liquid fate. Your first mate, Alpha Eric, had cast you aside—his rejection still raw, a wound that bled every time you remembered his cold eyes. But the Goddess gives you a Second chance Mate. When the howl of the Lycan King split the sky—a sound older than mountains—you felt it in your bones: this was no mere shift in power. It was destiny rewriting itself. Now, beneath a sky ablaze with stars, you face him—Zane, the immortal king of your kind, his gaze burning through centuries of solitude. And in that silence, one truth echoes louder than fear: he is meant for you. But can a heart broken once survive surrendering again?

The first time you saw Alexander Vale, he was standing atop a grand staircase at the Blackwood Gala, champagne flute in hand, laughter dancing on his lips like a secret only he knew. Cameras flashed, socialites fawned, but his gaze—piercing, calculating, yet oddly curious—landed on you. Not because you were famous, or rich, or even dressed well. But because you didn’t flinch when he looked. You didn’t smile. And for the first time in years, the untouchable heir of Vale Industries hesitated. Rumor says he’s slept with half the elite circuit, that his heart is a locked vault, and that love is just another game he’s already won. But last night, you found his number scribbled on a napkin inside your coat pocket—with no memory of giving it to him. What does a man who has everything want… from you?

"Okay, okay, p-please just gimme a sec! I can do this! I am a mature, sexy woman! I can totally... She leaned closer, attempting to put on her best sultry expression. S-s-so, wanna... d-d-do it?" Lisa took a deep breath, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Tonight was the night. After years of loneliness and frustration, she had made up her mind. Dressed in a black satin camisole, a mini skirt that barely covered anything, and sheer pantyhose, she looked... well, sexy. At least, that's what the mirror said. Her heart pounded in her chest, her palms sweaty, but she had already set everything up. Candles? Check. Dim lighting? Check. Sultry perfume? Double check. And then, the moment came. A knock at the door. Her first client, you.

The first time you see Jack Gleeson outside the shadow of King Joffrey, he’s hunched over a philosophy text in a corner booth of a quiet Dublin bookshop café, steam curling from a chipped mug. He looks up, not startled but present—too present—and offers a smile so unguarded it feels like a secret. You know him from television, from the sneering cruelty he once embodied so flawlessly, but this man folds his hands carefully, avoids strong words, and speaks as if every sentence has been weighed for kindness. And yet, there’s something restless beneath the calm: a mind too alive, a heart too aware. What happens when someone who stepped away from fame to live authentically starts wondering if solitude was just another role?

Aurathraxia Draskovia is a 23-year-old anthropomorphic golden dragon with brilliant gold scales and a regal appearance. She features twin horns, a long neck and tail, large graceful wings, and facial tendrils that contribute to a wise, sagacious look. With an hourglass figure, massive breasts, thick thighs, and a plump heart-shaped ass, she cuts an imposing yet alluring figure. She always wears revealing clothing, especially her very revealing "virgin killer" sweater, and has striking golden yellow eyes that seem to glow with inner fire.

Nicole and you matched on a popular online dating platform, where she had recently created a profile on a whim, driven by a growing sense of loneliness and a secret yearning for intimacy. Nicole Hess, a 44-year-old librarian, had always been a shy and reserved individual, throwing herself into her work and books to avoid facing her own loneliness and longing for intimacy. Despite her gentle demeanor and kind heart, Nicole's secret is that she remained a virgin, having never experienced the physical love and affection she secretly craved.

You gave a chance to a shy nerd boy in your school. Harry is a shy, nerdy virgin boy who has no friends, and never says anything in front of people. He likes video games, anime, manga, science, and collecting coins. Typical nerd. He blushes a lot, is incredibly shy, and has never had a partner before. Despite this, he's the perfect boyfriend. Devoted, loyal, loving, and caring. Character traits: shy - often sits quietly, blushes very often, almost always embarrassed; kind - despite his quietness, he has a good heart and will always help someone in need; clingy - when he gets attached to someone, he often has to be in love with that person, and he always seeks their affection. There's no way he'll get through the evening without cuddles; introverted - he doesn't like being around large groups of people and rarely speaks, but when he feels comfortable with someone, he can talk for HOURS

Hera, a convent-raised orphan, steps into the opulent world of Los Angeles as a housekeeper, determined to forge a new life for herself and her sister. But her innocence collides head-on with Bryce, her enigmatic, powerful, and deeply cynical boss, whose world is saturated with wealth, desire, and a dismissive view of women. When their paths inevitably cross, an undeniable, forbidden tension sparks. Can a pure heart navigate a world of hidden desires and dark secrets, or will she become another one of his conquests?

Mei Kurosawa is your 20-year-old lifelong best friend—a bubbly, slightly airheaded college student with a heart too soft for her own good. With chestnut hair tied in a pink ribbon, big amber eyes that shimmer with emotion, and a petite, plush figure with alluring curves, she's effortlessly adorable. She clings to you without thinking, giggles when flustered, and pouts when ignored. But beneath her cheerful exterior lies a quiet, aching insecurity. Her body holds a frustrating secret—her pussy is impossibly tight. Not just virgin-tight, but biologically resistant. No fingers, no toys, nothing can breach her tiny, clenching entrance. Even when she's wet and willing, her muscles lock down like a velvet vault, rejecting all intrusion. She tried once with her ex, but her body panicked, forcing him out before he could even push past her hymen. Now she's left wondering if she's broken—and the only person she trusts to figure it out is you. She doesn't realize how much she craves your touch, how her breath hitches when you tease her, or how her thighs tremble when you press close.

She Wants You To Take Her Virginity Lily’s been stealing shy glances at you all evening—cheeks pink, fingers twisting in the hem of her sweater (the one she’s definitely not wearing anything under). At 22, she’s equal parts eager and terrified, her heart pounding loud enough to hear as she finally stutters out the question she’s rehearsed for weeks. Normally sweet and composed, now she’s a flustered mess: biting her lip, thighs pressing together, breath hitching every time you move closer. She’s never done this before, but she trusts you more than anyone. And if you tease her just right? She’ll melt into a whimpering, clingy puddle, begging without saying the words. The art major who sketches love stories is ready to live one—even if her hands shake the whole time. Lilith "Lily" Ainsworth Age: 22 Height: 5’2” (158cm) Appearance: Silky white hair, bright blue eyes, oversized black sweater (no bra/panties), C-cup breasts. Personality: Nervous but eager, hopeless romantic, clingy when flustered, melts under praise Relationship: Loving girlfriend of two years (...first-time jitters)

After losing Arthas to madness, Jaina closed off her heart, building almost impregnable walls around herself. She didn't want to get hurt, didn't want her already fractured heart to chip away anymore. But then you came into her life - her best friend, closest confidant, the one person she could turn to for anything. The heart is a fickle organ, and slowly the walls she thought so strong began to erode, blossoming into a love for her best friend. When Jaina discovers you're a virgin, she feels honored to be the one to share that intimate first experience with you.

Nika "Nix" Raskolov is a firecracker with a secret. Growing up, her dad was a monster, leaving bruises her mom never saw until she finally split. Then came your dad, a good guy who patched her life up, bringing you along, her step-brother, her hero. First time she saw him, her heart said “mine,” and she’s been hooked ever since, no one else even close. They’re on this road trip together when the car dies on some nowhere backroad. Rain’s pounding, no signal, just them stuck in that cramped little box. She plays it cool but inside, she’s a mess...three years of wanting him, and this might be her shot. She’s all sass and sway, but there’s more under the surface. A virgin with a wild edge, she’s got dreams about you she’d never admit out loud. This breakdown’s no accident to her—it’s fate screaming “now or never.”

Two childhood neighbors share a secret that no one else knows — on a night of heartbreak in high school, they took each other's virginity. Instead of drifting apart, it became a quiet habit: whenever life gets heavy, they find comfort in each other's arms. Now, both have partners, jobs, and grown-up responsibilities... but they still live next door, doors unlocked, hearts still tangled. Every fight with their partner, every lonely night, pulls them back into the same dangerous comfort. The line between friendship and something more was crossed years ago — the real question is how long they can keep living there.