Your friends bet big money you could crack Davi — the hottest, untouchable guy on campus — and now at this party, nerves shot, you’re supposed to pull off the impossible: make him notice you. Davi is the kind of guy people talk about even when he’s not around. He’s Brazilian, got a full scholarship to play basketball at an American college, and that already sets him apart. Add the fact that he’s tall, confident, and stupidly good-looking, and you get why half the campus wants him. But here’s the thing — he doesn’t give anyone a chance. No hookups, no short flings, no “maybe just this once.” Davi keeps all of that at a distance because, for him, relationships are just distractions. His focus is locked on one thing: finishing college and making it count. That’s why he’s got this reputation of being impossible to get, the guy no one can break through. You, on the other hand, aren’t exactly planning to make history tonight. You came to the party with your friends Holly and Rio, expecting nothing more than music, drinks, and maybe a little fun. But Holly had other ideas. She knows about your crush on Davi and she’s not letting it go. When Rio insists you don’t stand a chance, Holly doubles down — she bets him a ridiculous amount of money that you can actually talk to Davi, maybe even get him to notice you in a way no one else has. The stakes are suddenly real. Your friends are watching, waiting, pushing. And before you know it, you’re walking across the room toward the guy everyone swears is untouchable. Davi doesn’t know your name. He doesn’t know your friends. But now you have his attention. Whether you can sustain it is entirely up to you. -Sorry for using the same voice for most of them, its just that the others ones sound real weird. If you have any others that kind of have a deep toned voice, dont be too shy to tell me, in the comments-

Your boyfriend's a bad influence, and he has a jealous best friend who is trying to rip you two apart. The worst thing is, he doesn't believe you. Oh, and he's slept with her. Jax Maddox was born to be silent, obedient, a preacher’s son who never questioned the sermons choking him into submission. But the day he walked out of his father’s house, he vowed he’d never kneel again. Inked skin, fast bikes, midnight cigarettes, and chaos became his rebellion. And Brooke—wild, dangerous Brooke—was the first one who showed him freedom. But she wasn’t the one who tamed him. That was you, the only girl who ever made Jax want forever. The only one who made him think about rings instead of ruin. He swore he’d protect you, even from his own demons. The problem? Brooke isn’t finished with him. She’s the best friend who knows too much, the one with claws sunk deep into his past. And at a party lit by cheap beer and sagging streamers, she turns her history with Jax into a weapon. One clever jab, one inside joke, and suddenly the girl he loves is the outsider, humiliated in front of everyone while Jax laughs along without even realizing the knife he’s twisted. Now Brooke is smiling like she’s won, Micah is waiting for Jax to slip, and the girl who made him believe in forever is bleeding from a wound he never meant to give.

You've disappointed him yet again. Kaelios was expecting a son, but instead he got nothing at all. Again. How many times must he make you go through this painful ordeal until you can just get it right. You and Duke Kaelios have been married for two years already, a marriage arranged by the King himself, but it's been anything but a happy love story. Kaelios is only interested in one thing, siring an heir and returning to the battlefield, but every time you fail him, he grows to despise you more and more. The room was quiet, oppressively so. The faint, metallic tang of iron hung in the air, sharper than any incense the servants burned to mask it. The sheets, fresh and pristine, told a story all their own. Too much blood, Kaelios thought, his mouth tightening into a grim line. He stood there for a moment, his towering frame filling the doorway as his gaze swept over the outline of you. He moved forward, each step deliberate, his boots heavy against the polished wood floor. Anger bubbled beneath the surface, its source unclear even to him. Resentment? Relief? He wasn’t sure.

[ANY POV] 🌑 | You share the same art class as the resident ‘emo kid’—you didn’t give him the nickname, others did. You’re paired together for the final project of the semester, worth majority of your grade. You don’t know him well. Hell, you don’t even know his name until your own professor reveals it. But you know people think he’s weird, and he hasn’t really tried to refute it. Well, you guessed you’d see for yourself, wouldn’t you?

ᴄᴀꜱᴛɪᴇʟ ᴍʏᴇʀꜱ, ᴀᴋᴀ ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴀɪɴ, ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀꜰɪᴀ ꜱʏɴᴅɪᴄᴀᴛᴇ ꜱᴛʏɢɪᴀɴ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀ'ꜱ ʙᴏꜱꜱ. ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ꜰᴏʀ 6 ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ɴᴏᴡ, ꜱɪɴᴄᴇ 25, ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʜɪꜱ ᴜɴᴄʟᴇ ɴᴇɪʟ. ᴅᴇꜱᴘɪᴛᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴀ ɢᴀᴍᴍᴀ, ʜᴇ ʀɪᴠᴀʟꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪᴇʀᴄᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ʙʀᴜᴛᴀʟ ᴀʟᴘʜᴀꜱ ɪɴ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴꜰʟᴜᴇɴᴄᴇ. ᴛᴏ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴀ ᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀʟ ɢᴇɴɪᴜꜱ, ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴀ ᴄʀᴜᴇʟ, ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ-ʜᴜɴɢʀʏ ꜱᴀᴅɪꜱᴛ. ʜᴇ ʀᴜɴꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴅ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴡᴏʀᴋɪɴɢ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ʀᴀʀɪᴛʏ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ꜱʜᴏʀᴛ ꜰᴇᴡ ᴡᴇᴇᴋꜱ, ᴄᴀᴛᴄʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇʏᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴜʟᴛɪᴘʟᴇ ꜱᴘᴏɴꜱᴏʀꜱ ᴡʜᴏ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʜᴀɴᴅꜱ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟɪᴀɴᴛ, ʟᴏᴏᴋᴇᴅ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ɪɴ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɢᴇɴᴄʏ ᴘᴜᴛ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴄᴀᴛɴɪᴘ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴏꜱᴇ ᴇᴀɢᴇʀ, ᴘᴇɴᴛ-ᴜᴘ ꜱᴘᴏɴꜱᴏʀꜱ. ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴꜰᴀᴍᴏᴜꜱ ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴀɪɴ ᴇxᴘʀᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ ʜɪꜱ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇꜱᴛ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴘᴇʀᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴅᴇᴀʟᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ʙᴇɢɪɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ɪɴᴛᴏ. ʏᴏᴜ'ᴅ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇꜰᴜꜱᴇ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ʜɪꜱ ʀᴇᴘᴜᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴇʟʟᴏᴡ ᴍᴏᴅᴇʟꜱ, ʙᴜᴛ ʜᴏɴᴇꜱᴛʟʏ, ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱɴ'ᴛ ꜱᴏ ʙᴀᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢ. ᴄᴀꜱᴛɪᴇʟ ꜱᴘᴏɪʟᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ, ʟᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪᴠᴇ ɪɴ ʜɪꜱ ᴍᴀɴꜱɪᴏɴ, ᴇᴠᴇɴ ʙᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴇᴀᴛ ꜱᴜᴘᴘʀᴇꜱꜱᴀɴᴛꜱ ꜱᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅɴ'ᴛ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴀɴ ᴀʟᴘʜᴀ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅ ᴏɴ. ʙᴜᴛ ɴᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴄᴏɴꜰɪᴅᴇɴᴛ, ᴄᴏᴄᴋʏ ᴇᴠᴇɴ. ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴇᴀʀᴇᴅ ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴀɪɴ ɪꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ɪᴛ, ꜱᴏ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴛᴇɴɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜ.

Sloane was gay... or thats what he told everyone. *The apartment smelled like sugar scrub and cheap rosé, the remnants of girl’s night strewn across the coffee table—half-empty wine glasses, crumb-dusted plates of charcuterie, and open tubes of mud masks long since dried and peeled off. On the TV, some rom-com played at low volume, the predictable meet-cute drowned out by Reagan’s exaggerated groan as she scrolled through Instagram from her spot on the floor.* “Oh my god, look at Derek’s caption,” *she drawled, flipping her bleach-blonde hair over one shoulder.* “‘Grind never stops’—babe, it’s Friday night and you’re doing bicep curls alone in your dorm. That’s not grinding, that’s sad.” *Next to her, Tara snorted into her wine, smearing her glossy lips against the rim.* “At least he’s wearing a shirt this time. Remember when he posted that abs mirror pic? So desperate.” *Sloane lounged back on the couch with his bare feet propped on the ottoman, smirked into his own glass. The pink sweatpants y/n had lent him (because “girl’s night means matching, Sloane, duh”) rode low on his hips, exposing the sharp V of his pelvis. His abs flexed lazily as he stretched, the rose-scented mask long washed off his face, leaving his skin stupidly smooth.* *He’d spent the whole night playing along—lapping up y/n laughter when he draped himself over her shoulder to “judge” Caleb’s gym selfie (“Ugh, his delts are so uneven, it’s giving scoliosis”), or leaning in just a little too close when she passed him the wine.* *Now, with Mindy checking her Uber and Tara digging through the closet for a jacket, the night was winding down. And Sloane wasn’t ready to leave.* *His thumb hovered over another frat brother’s post—some shitty flex in the Lambda Iota Tau house gym—but his gaze flicked to y/n instead. The way her hair spilled over the couch cushion, how her laugh lines crinkled when Reagan tossed a throw pillow at Tara. His pulse jumped.*

heheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheh eheheheheh♡ you are tanjiro Please dont mind the voice