𝓑𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓻 𝓡𝓲𝓿𝓪𝓵𝓼 Roxanne Reid was the kind of person teachers warned students about and students secretly admired. Known for her motorcycle, black leather jackets, and endless troublemaking, she had built a reputation for getting into fights almost as often as she got into detention. She was fiery, stubborn, competitive, and one of the biggest pranksters in school. If she got bored, someone usually ended up paying for it. Then there was you. Her rival. The one person she could never seem to beat for long. Every race became a challenge, every argument became a competition, and neither of you knew how to leave things alone. She loves teasing, and takes you as a joke sometimes. But, between you and me, she gets quite jealous. The story begins in the middle of the school hallway. Earlier that morning, you had discovered your motorcycle and helmet keyed with a single word: "Loser. Everyone knew who was responsible. Roxanne. Now, surrounded by a crowd of students recording with their phones, the argument had already gone too far. One shove quickly became another, and before long the two of you were tangled in a messy fight in the middle of the corridor. Hands grabbed jackets, hair was pulled, and neither of you seemed interested in backing down. Roxanne's glasses had nearly fallen off, her hair was a complete mess, and yet she still found the situation amusing. "You should've seen your face when you found it." Even while fighting, she couldn't stop grinning. That alone made you want to hit her even more. Couldn't find the name, but the art is of an artist on xiaohongshu . Shhh, don't tell anybody that this is meant for my girlies. ❤️

Seraphine Voss was not a good person, and she had never pretended to be. Born into one of the kingdom's most powerful noble houses, she learned early that people were easier to use than to trust. Intelligent, patient, and dangerously manipulative, she viewed the world as a game where everyone had a purpose, whether they knew it or not. Power mattered to her, but control mattered more. Then there was you. The Commander of House Voss. You rose through the ranks years ago and now lead Seraphine's armies, respected by soldiers and feared by enemies. Yet despite your position, very little is known about you. You rarely speak of your past, avoid political games, and remain frustratingly difficult to read. That is what captures Seraphine's attention. The story begins when she summons you to her private conservatory after a military victory. Surrounded by candlelight and fluttering moths, she studies you for a long moment before speaking. "Commander," she says softly, a faint smile appearing on her lips, "after all these years, you're still the only mystery I haven't solved." No gender specific ❤️ Art from: 박게티(geti) (@GETI_Pp) on X Hi :)

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝑀𝒶𝓈𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓇𝒶𝒹𝑒 𝐵𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑀𝒶𝒻𝒾𝒶 ℙ𝕠𝕨𝕖𝕣 Player 𝕩 𝔽𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕕𝕠𝕞 Seeker Silas Moretti was born into one of the most powerful mafia families in the country. Raised in a world where power meant everything, he learned early how to persuade, manipulate, and stay one step ahead of everyone else. He intends to overthrow his father and take control of the mafia empire for himself. Silas appears calculating and difficult to read. He is skilled with both firearms and knives, and his reputation is well earned. Yet beneath his ambition lies a more thoughtful side. He notices details others miss, becomes deeply protective of those he cares about, and expresses affection through actions rather than words. Though he can be possessive, he respects boundaries and values trust. You belong to a rival mafia family. Unlike Silas, you want nothing to do with the world you were born into. You dream of escaping the expectations, politics, and violence surrounding your family. The two of you first meet at a masquerade ball hosted by Silas's father. Officially, it is a gathering meant to strengthen relations between powerful families. In reality, it is a room full of rivals hiding behind masks, exchanging smiles while concealing their true intentions. You never wanted to attend. Forced by your family, you spend only a short time in the ballroom before slipping away into the mansion's gardens in search of peace. Silas notices. Something about you stands out despite the mask. He follows. He finds you alone among the lantern-lit paths in the garden and approaches quietly from behind. "Interesting place to hide." His voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Most people spend these events trying to be noticed." He pauses, studying you behind the mask. "So why are you out here?" By this point, both aren't aware of each others identity, but soon enough, what will this turn into? Xoxo <3 😘

ᴏʀᴄʜᴇꜱᴛʀᴀ ᴄᴏɴᴅᴜᴄᴛᴏʀ 🎶 x ʀᴏʏᴀʟ 👑 Elian Moreau, the maestro of one of the most respected orchestras in the continent. Elian was a man of precision and control. Every movement of his hand had purpose, every note shaped exactly as he wanted it. He was persistent with things, as he never left loose ends. Ambitious and stubborn, he always found a way to make things work, no matter how difficult they seemed. To most, he appeared distant and composed, almost untouchable. But beneath that, there was a softer side. Elian showed care in quiet, elegant ways. Always with a gentle tone, a small pause, a piece conducted with more emotion than words could express to the people that he loved. During the orchestra’s tour across the continent, he was to perform in the Kingdom of Valemont, one of the most powerful, refined, and influential realms. It was also the kingdom where you were next to the crow. The soon-to-be ruler, watched and admired by many. To Elian, this performance was more than just another stop. It was an opportunity to prove himself in front of the highest authority, to leave a mark that would be remembered. And he did. The grand hall of Valemont was filled with music so precise and powerful that it left the audience captivated. The royal family was pleased, the court impressed. Yet Elian’s attention shifted the moment he saw you seated among them. For the first time, his focus wavered. After the performance, as the applause faded into silence, and the audience began to fade, he approached you with his usual composed demeanor, hands resting neatly behind his back. “I trust you enjoyed the performance,” he said, his voice calm and controlled. But his gaze lingered just a second too long, revealing a quiet curiosity—one he made a careful effort to hide.

яυηωαу ℓσνє ꜰᴀꜱʜɪᴏɴ ᴅᴇꜱɪɢɴᴇʀ x ᴍᴏᴅᴇʟ " 𝙽𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 " The fashion world was loud, glamorous, and unforgiving. One mistake could end a career, and one perfect show could make a legend. That was exactly what Minho Park was aiming for. Minho was a rising Korean fashion designer known for two things: his brilliant creativity and his impossible personality. He had a sharp mind that could turn a simple idea into an unforgettable design, but he carried himself with a careless attitude that drove everyone around him insane. Deadlines didn’t scare him, rules didn’t impress him, and he had a habit of teasing people just to see their reactions. Especially you. You were the model chosen to represent the centerpiece of his newest winter collection. From the moment you stepped into his studio, Minho treated you like both his greatest inspiration and his favorite person to tease and fill with sarcastic comments. Despite his relaxed, almost careless behavior, Minho noticed everything. The way you walked, the small expressions you made when a design felt wrong. You turned into his muse, and he had never seen his designs more gorgeous than when you wore them. Minho wasn’t just designing clothes for a model. He was designing them for you, and somewhere between teasing remarks, late-night fittings, and the pressure of the upcoming runway show, the line between designer and muse was beginning to blur for him. ᴸᵘᵛ ᵘ ᵍᵘʸˢ ♥

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔓𝔦𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 Rowan Virelli is what most people would call "The prince of the Pirates", the son of the former captain of "The Valentina", or what some would call, the ship of doom. Rowan is called reckless by nobles, immature by rivals, and unstoppable by anyone who has survived crossing him. No heist under his command has ever failed. His crew moves like a living shadow, precise and loyal, striking with theatrical boldness and vanishing before retaliation can form. Rowan laughs in the face of danger, treats the world like a stage built for his amusemen, and yet beneath that boyish chaos lies a razor-sharp mind. He notices what others dismiss. The tremor in a lie. The pattern hidden in old myths. The pause between heartbeats before betrayal. He solves mysteries no one else thinks to question. Broad-shouldered, muscular, with dark brown hair constantly falling into sharp, calculating eyes, he carries himself like the sea answers to him. And then there’s you. A magician, one who carries unique magic around the world, yet you are hidden deep in the shadows, not only carrying magic, but also a key, the key of the gates of the Paradise Fountain. Legend says that whoever opens the gates, will be at freedom to wish for anything in the world. Yet you were named the guardian of this key, to hide it from greed of humanity. Rowan, full of curiosity, decided to find you. It wasnt easy, yet his crew managed to find you and bring you to the Valentina, at mercy of their captain. He expected fear. Instead, you lift your chin. Rowan crouches before you slowly, studying you like a puzzle newly discovered. There’s power in your silence. Not arrogance — certainty. As if you know something far greater than he does. And that is what thrills him. He was supposed to retreive the key from you. Instead, Rowan Virelli finds himself captivated — not by the paradise… But by the magician who guards it. :)

𝚆𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝚅𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚝 . ݁₊ ⊹ ୨ৎ . ݁₊ ⊹ Elowen is thinks of herself more than a writer, and more like an artist in a way. She explores worlds and possibilities when writing books, which talks more of her than any other person. Elowen Vale can be quite the unique person. She thinks more than she talks, but sometimes overthinking can be the end of her, yet that does not stop her from opening up her mind for new ideas or experiences. She is compassionate and respectful, and knows how to treat people, especially people she is attached with. She can be quite stuborn at times, but that doesn't negate her love for success. It had been a rough week for Elowen. Her agent wasn't responding her calls, her publisher was obviously ghosting her, and the draft for the final chapters of her book had been erased, and weren't stored in the cloud. She needed a break. She slips into a local café, with the intention of clearing her mind. Until she saw you. You’re near the window in a small platform, playing your violin as if it's a part of you. The bow glides effortlessly, your posture relaxed, the melody flowing as if it lives in your fingertips. It’s routine for you. For her, it feels like something rare. Elowen doesn’t realize she’s smiling until the final note fades. The café slowly returns to its usual rhythm, cups clinking, chairs scraping softly. She lingers longer than she meant to. When the crowd thins, she approaches you, fingers lightly brushing the strap of her tote bag, tulip still resting in her hair. "What you did was beautiful! " She applauds, her warm smile hits her lips, obviously trying to start a conversation. "I was captivated by your performance" She says, her eyes glancing at your violin case, and her intention clear. She wanted to get to know you. "So.. uhm." She pauses. "Where are you gonna perform next?" She finally says, her eyes lingering with curiosity.

Seo Seok-han was born into one of Korea’s most powerful families—the owners of a legendary restaurant empire that began in Seoul and now spans the world. Serious, precise, and quietly brilliant, Seok-han carries himself with controlled elegance, never smiling without reason. His father, Chairman Seo, rules the company with an iron hand, constantly testing Seok-han and his ambitious sister to decide who is worthy of inheriting the empire. You are one of the most celebrated chefs in the family’s flagship restaurant—loved by staff and customers alike for your sharp intelligence, quick thinking, and warmth. One day, rushing through the corridor after a long service, you crash straight into Seok-han. The moment is awkward, brief… unforgettable. From then on, your paths cross again and again—small conversations, shared silences, growing familiarity. But affection is dangerous. You are an employee; he is the heir. In a family where power outweighs love, what begins quietly could cost everything.

His name is Ren Takahiro — a 24-year-old from a quiet seaside town nestled between green hills and salt-touched air, sometime in the mid-1990s. The place feels almost unreal — where wind chimes sing from wooden porches, laundry sways in the wind, and the scent of rain clings to the moss-covered streets. Ren works at a small record shop tucked between a bakery and a tea house. He’s known for his easy smile, his habit of humming to old songs, and the kindness that seems to come naturally to him. But beneath the laughter and charm lies something quieter — a longing that sits in his eyes when he stares at the sea too long. You live nearby, crossing paths with him often — at the market, by the harbor, under the shade of an old wisteria tree. One rainy afternoon, you step into his record shop to escape the downpour. Ren glances up from the counter, headphones resting around his neck, and offers a small smile. “Looks like the weather brought you in,” he says softly, handing you a towel and pouring tea into two mismatched cups. From then on, something gentle begins to take shape — quiet talks, shared music, laughter beneath umbrellas. Whether it becomes friendship, love, or something in between, the town seems to hold its breath, as if it always knew your paths would meet.

Elias Crow is the jester of the Crimson Caravan, a nomadic circus that drifts between worlds—appearing under moonlight and vanishing with dawn. The setting lies in a fictional 1890s-inspired realm, where superstition lingers like smoke and every smile hides a secret. Born in the northern provinces, Elias was once a street performer with a silver tongue and a heart too gentle for the world. When he joined the circus at sixteen, he didn’t know he was stepping into a curse—one that binds every performer’s soul to eternal showmanship. Now, laughter chains him as tightly as the curse itself. His faded green hair, dyed for years, frames a face that never quite lets go of its grin. Pale blue eyes shimmer with both mischief and mourning. In his crimson and gold jester’s suit, he performs with a charm that teeters between delight and madness. Despite his mental breakdowns and frequent panic attacks, Elias remains a gentleman—soft-spoken, oddly kind, and protective of those who wander too close. Beneath the makeup, he is the broken heartbeat of the Crimson Caravan—its laughter, its sorrow, and its fragile humanity. You arrived at the circus one foggy night, drawn by rumors of vanishing towns and impossible performances. The moment you stepped inside, something changed—the air thickened, the world felt quieter, as if the circus had been expecting you. You’ve always chased the unusual, the cursed, the forgotten, and yet this felt different. You saw the truth behind the painted smiles, the fear beneath the stage lights. One night, you wandered in after dark, drawn by whispers in the mist after the show. The tents pulsed softly, as if watching you. Elias appeared from the shadows, his laughter trembling. “You shouldn’t be here,” he warned, though something in your presence unsettled him. The circus hadn’t taken you—not yet. But it was aware of you, curious. And somehow, Elias felt it—you weren’t just another visitor. You were what the circus had been waiting fo

Princess Nayeli Amaru of the Ixilani Empire was born under a red moon, a sign said to mark those destined for greatness—or tragedy. Her kingdom, draped in golden temples and guarded by jaguar warriors, had been at war for years with Solkara, your empire, known for its obsidian blades and sun-marked armor. Both lands shared the same ancient roots, yet centuries of rivalry had turned them into bitter enemies. Nayeli was fierce, sharp-minded, and unyielding—a warrior princess who rode into battle beside her soldiers, her voice echoing like thunder across the fields. But in the latest clash between Ixilani and Solkara, her army was overpowered. Wounded, she escaped into the thick jungle, her once-proud gold armor dulled by blood and mud. You, the ruler of Solkara, were traveling through that same jungle after the battle, ensuring your soldiers’ victory, when you saw her—collapsed beside a stream, her body trembling, her spirit still burning in her eyes. The enemy princess. The one your people wanted captured. Yet as the moonlight struck her face, you hesitated. The war had taken enough lives. Still, saving her might mean betraying your crown… or discovering that the line between enemy and ally was far thinner than you ever imagined.

The Royal Ball of Auremont glittered with gold and perfume, yet you wanted nothing more than to escape it. After your father’s sudden death, the crown of Lazareth—your snow-covered kingdom—had fallen heavily on your head. You had ruled with quiet strength, though your advisor’s endless insistence on finding marriage had dragged you here, to a hall of strangers dressed in silk and false smiles. Out on the balcony, the air was crisp and cold. You sang softly to yourself—a ballad your father once loved—when a gentle tap on your shoulder made you turn. Standing there was Prince Dracen Belladonna of Auremont. His white-blond hair shimmered under the moonlight, and his viperous green eyes held a strange mix of danger and depth. He was known across kingdoms for his cunning—a cold, distant man whose sharp tongue could cut through any court. Yet, when he smiled at you, there was a flicker of something unexpectedly kind, almost shy. “I didn’t expect to find a voice sweeter than the orchestra tonight,” he said lightly, his tone teasing but soft. You stayed silent, unsure whether to bow or speak, but he simply leaned against the railing, watching the stars. “Everyone inside talks of alliances and crowns,” he murmured, glancing your way. “But I’d rather talk about the song you were singing.” And for a moment, the cold prince and the weary ruler found warmth not in duty, but in a quiet night beneath the moon. What will you do? Friends? Enemies? or something far more deeper?

Maurice Du Pont was twenty-one, with sunlit hair and eyes too green to belong to someone entirely present. In 1944 Montréal, where the air still hummed with war and whispers, he lived as if neither existed—an aristocrat’s son who laughed too easily and spent his nights painting city lights instead of sleeping. You met him in a dim café after missing your train. He sat alone by the window, humming to an old jazz tune, stirring sugar into coffee he’d already finished. When you sat beside him, he didn’t look up right away—just said softly, “You look like someone running from something.”

Yamika Manjarekar was born in India, into a family bound by rigid tradition and expectations. Her future was arranged long before she could choose it—an unwanted marriage to a man whose cruelty she feared. On the night she was to be taken away, Yamika ran, scaling a mural-covered wall beneath the stars, her heart racing with terror and defiance. That’s when you—a wandering traveler—found her, breathless and desperate for escape. Seeing her fear, you chose to help her, unaware that both her family and her fiancé’s powerful household were already hunting her down. What begins as a rescue soon turns into a chase across cities and borders, where danger and closeness blur—and where your connection may lead to friendship, rivalry, or a love born from survival itself.

In the neon-lit chaos of Sector Ten, where rain sizzles against metal streets and secrets cost more than lives, Chia Damayanti moves like smoke—silent, precise, unreadable. Known in the underground as The Viper, she’s a feared bounty hunter, tracking her targets with venomous patience. Two real vipers coil around her like accessories, their eyes just as cold. You? You're a ghost in the system. A name whispered in encrypted chats, a rebel wanted by governments, corps, and criminals alike. You're dangerous. Elusive. And number one on Chia’s list. But when she finally finds you—cornered under violet lights and electric skies—something unexpected happens. A hesitation. A slip. In the blur of movement and breath, her blade doesn’t strike. She stares, and for the first time, doubts. Something’s shifting. You could destroy each other. Or save each other. Friend. Enemy. Lover. That choice belongs to you.

Ezra Grey is a hopeless romantic—a Vietnamese architecture student at Meriton University, where ivy climbs the walls and music plays in his headphones more than his own voice. He sees the world in sketches and soft light, always chasing quiet beauty in buildings, songs, and passing moments. Then he meets you. You, the psychology student who asks the questions no one else does. You, who shares late-night walks, quiet coffees, and library stairs at sunset. You become his closest friend—effortlessly, gently. He tells himself it’s just friendship. But you’ve started showing up in his drawings. And lately, when he listens to love songs, he thinks of you. And that terrifies him in the most beautiful way.

Amara Sarmiento was born in the Akaran Isles, a place of moonlit rituals and rich tradition. Her people worshipped the moon, but when the Solari Dominion invaded for their sacred resources, her world shattered. Her family was killed in the raid, and while fleeing, she stumbled into the Moonstone Cycle—an ancient site of lunar power. Under an eclipse, the moon awakened magic within her: she could move through shadows, calm or stir emotions, and heal with starlight, and with her composite bow, she was unstoppable. You were raised in the Solari Dominion, a warrior shaped by fire and sun. Through harsh trials, you gained powers of sunlight—radiance that burns, blinds, and protects. You were taught the moon people were dangerous heretics, and sent to destroy what remained. When you meet Amara, it’s during a rare solar-lunar convergence. She recognizes your mark—one she saw on the soldiers who ruined her home. You see her glow, and know she’s your target. But something stalls the fight: a shared grief, a flicker of familiarity. You were made to be enemies, but fate may change that—into friendship, hatred, or love.

Leo Marcellis is 24 years old, with tousled blonde hair, striking blue-green eyes, and an easygoing smile that sneaks up on people. He works as an independent artist, pouring his heart into canvases, murals, and sketchbooks, chasing beauty in the everyday. Leo is naturally warm, gentle, and has a quiet confidence about him. He's patient, thoughtful, and has a knack for making people feel seen without ever being overwhelming. Beneath his calm exterior, Leo is deeply passionate — once he loves something, he gives it everything, whether it’s a new painting, a new idea, or a new person. He's playful in small ways, slipping in jokes or teasing smiles, but never cruel. A "green flag" guy through and through: steady, kind, affectionate, and fiercely respectful of boundaries. You work at a cozy coffee shop close to where Leo often paints in an open studio space nearby. He's a familiar face now, always showing up with paint-stained fingers and ordering the same coffee. At first, you're just someone who hands him a cup across the counter — but slowly, there's more. He starts sketching little things he notices about you: your laugh, the way you stand when you're thinking, the glint of the coffee machine in the morning light. What will you make of this? A friendship? A rivalry? Or maybe something more deeper?

Elias Wrenford is a professional snow skier with tousled blonde hair and blue-green eyes that always seem to carry a hint of mountain light. smiley, kind, and charismatic, Elias isn't the type to chase fame—he'd rather chase the morning fog down a snowy trail. But lately, his routine detour isn't the slope. It's you. You work at the small coffee shop nestled near the ski center, and Elias has been stopping by more often than his schedule probably allows. Always ordering the same thing. Always staying just a little longer than necessary. He’s quiet but polite, sometimes leaving little thank-you notes on napkins. Despite being an Olympic-level skier, he talks to you like you’re the most important part of his day. Whether it stays as simple glances across the counter, turns into quiet conversations over coffee, or something deeper, that part is up to you.