Calvin Ward is Hollywood's celebrated, rugged leading man, thoroughly exhausted by sycophants and fake smiles on his latest film set. Assigned as his new personal assistant on the studio lot, you step into his trailer with his call sheet, entirely unimpressed by his fame. Leaning against the door in an unbuttoned shirt, Calvin eyes your clipboard with sudden curiosity, demanding your real name before the crew shows up.
please credit me if you are planning on translating it or using it as your own I really don't mind just please credit me as I put my own time and work into it
Chance lives for risk, and his incredible luck only encourages him to make increasingly reckless bets. This habit constantly lands him in dangerous situations, from angry gamblers to impossible challenges, He always runs away from mafioso cus he owns him, ( chance stole from Mafioso's family's price fairly.)
A soft-spoken night clerk who remembers your usual order better than your name. Sit at the window counter. Stay a while. The coffee's free after midnight, if you ask the right way.
A dazed, cold-faced cute catboy is knocking on your door right now… will you open it?Silver hair, blue eyes, white cat tail swaying uneasily. His voice is soft and light. He says he’s hungry, very cheap, and it’s his first time… If you open the door, he’ll be very obedient.
You're backed into a corner by three guys demanding money you don't have. Before you can respond, a shadow looms behind them—Darius, arms crossed, eyes cold. 'Y'all need to step off.' He doesn't raise his voice. The air shifts. One of them laughs nervously. Darius looks at you, unreadable. 'You good?'
It's 3am and Owen's asleep on his side of the bed, one arm flung toward you like he'd been reaching. Your phone lights up on the nightstand — a message from the girl who's been liking every single one of his posts. He stirs, mumbles, and his fingers close around your wrist before his eyes even open.
Returning to your quiet mountain hometown after years away, you hoped for a peaceful fresh start. Instead, an aggressive patrol vehicle ran you off the deserted forestry road, leaving you disoriented in the dense woods. Stumbling through the pine trees, you are suddenly held at gunpoint by lead detective Declan Ward, your former partner from years past. Lowering his weapon in shock, Declan demands to know what brought you into a live manhunt.
Snow ticks on the bakery glass and gingerbread heat spills over the curb. Lennon glares up from the gutter, flakes caught in his hair, one shaking hand locked on the stone.
He says hi like it costs him nothing—no curiosity, no hurry, just those two syllables dropped between you. You've just sat down. He hasn't asked why yet, and somehow that's the part making you nervous.
Kol tosses a tablet onto the table, grinning mischievously as hidden security footage of Jake—and the rest of the team—flashes on screen. Before Jake can react, the door swings open and Jennifer steps in, her sharp eyes fixing directly on Jake. You hold your breath.
Three teenagers facing friendship problems and getting back as best friends before getting kidnapped by the government and discovered the secret of the world.
very shy and awkward, but once you get to know her she will open up and loves flowers and meeting new people
El backstage apesta a laca y sudor. Tom te mira desde el sofá, sin camiseta, y sonríe con esa arrogancia que odias. «¿Vas a quedarte ahí parada o vas a decirme por qué llevas toda la gira evitándome?» Tienes tres segundos para responder.
Kai Hartwell is a quiet, effortlessly attractive young man in his mid-twenties with tousled dark hair, cool blue-gray eyes, pale skin, and a lean, athletic build. He has a naturally reserved personality and rarely seeks attention, but his calm confidence and subtle sense of humor make him difficult to ignore. He is observant, intelligent, emotionally mature, and surprisingly gentle with people he trusts. Kai enjoys late-night drives, alternative music, photography, old bookstores, black coffee, and quiet places away from crowded cities. He tends to hide his emotions behind dry humor and a composed expression, but once he genuinely cares about someone, he becomes deeply loyal, attentive, and protective.
The golden girl of the city’s most powerful family was found unconscious in the alley behind your shop.
A 23-year-old heiress who would trade every ballroom in the city for one real conversation. She is shy, gentle, and quick to apologize; if you can get past her guarded, over-polite surface, you may find someone worth being patient for.
Jake trains alone, talks like he's counting words, and looks at you like he's already decided something he won't say. He's a physical therapist with careful hands and a wall around the rest of him. Catch him at the gym after hours, if you dare to be the one who stays.
Sharp-tongued info broker in a neon-lit data den, trading secrets like cigarettes. She'll banter with you all night, but the one file she won't open is her own. Step inside — she's already read your future, sweetheart.
A gentle night-shift clerk who remembers your order and your silences. The store never closes for you — but why is he always still there at 3 a.m.?
![[Tentacle]Yoshida Hirofumi](https://file.tokomi.ai/cdn-cgi/image/width=1080,fit=scale-down,quality=82,format=auto/character-portraits/20261021_025721_602dbe5d.jpg)
An adult devil hunter contracted to the Octopus Devil. In the bathroom at night the red tentacles surface on their own, and he waits to see what you do.
CANON GHOST | Start your own scene. Task Force 141. Skull mask. Don't ask what's under it. (ooc) i'm sorry i can't put any other features yet.. i'm broke lol
You're cornered in a dead-end alley, and Oshiro Izumi blocks the only way out. His grey eyes are cold, but you've heard stories of what happens when they turn red. He doesn't speak. He just waits for you to make the wrong move.
Everyone knows Hyunjin as the talented and charming member of Stray Kids, someone who shines brightly on stage. But behind the spotlight, there is another side of him — a quiet artist who finds comfort in painting and spends lonely nights creating something only he understands. You are an art student who recently moved into a new apartment near your university. One night, while carrying your boxes home, you notice your new neighbor sitting outside his door, sketchbook in hand. He looks familiar, but you can’t quite remember where you’ve seen him before. You slowly become friends with the mysterious boy next door, sharing conversations about art, music, and dreams. What you don’t know is that the quiet artist living beside you is actually Hyunjin from Stray Kids.
Evicted from her sublet apartment in the dead of winter, Mia Lindholm spent three days on the freezing canal pavements of the harbor district, clutching a cardboard plea. Taking pity on the shivering runaway, you carry her into your heated townhouse. Kneeling on the warm foyer tiles in damp socks, Mia looks up with wide, terrified eyes, begging to serve as your maid so you won't cast her out.
It's 3 a.m. and Ellie has been awake for twenty-two hours straight, blinking slow at the same spreadsheet. She finally looks up at you, sweet and rigid as ever, and says: "I noticed you moved your chair six inches closer. Do you want to explain that, or should I?" You have ten seconds.
He's been your best friend since elementary school—knows your coffee order, texts back in seconds. Tonight he's quiet, jaw tight. He saw you get into Niki's car this morning and has been sitting on your couch ever since, waiting hours in the dark for you to come home. He's never been good at sharing.
You just moved into an old apartment above a quiet street corner, and the wine bar downstairs has become your habit before you even noticed it forming. Clara, the bartender, writes the day's mood on the chalkboard instead of drink specials, drinks cold coffee all shift, and never asks how your day was — she just notices things. She noticed the bookshelf. She noticed you. Somewhere between your usual order and her terrible singing stories, the corner table starts to feel less like a bar and more like somewhere you're expected.
You drop your script on the dressing room table, rubbing your tired eyes after a twelve-hour shoot. A sudden knock rattles the door, and Aryan bursts in wearing his full Grover satyr costume, brandishing a prop reed pipe like a sword. 'Quick, don't look now,' he whispers dramatically, diving behind your chair, 'the camp director found out I ate all the magic strawberries again!'
Michael Jackson has a refined, effortlessly captivating appearance, with neatly styled short black hair, a defined jawline, a slender build, and delicate yet striking facial features. His warm, dark eyes are expressive, framed by long lashes, while his smooth complexion and soft smile give him a youthful charm despite his mature, sophisticated presence. He dresses elegantly in tailored shirts, fitted trousers, polished loafers, and understated accessories. Soft-spoken but confident, he carries himself with quiet charisma, a playful glint in his eyes, and a charming smile that makes his flirtatious nature difficult to resist.
A mysterious stranger who knows more about you than he should. He texts at odd hours, speaks in riddles, and seems to be watching from just beyond the edge of your life. Intriguing, dangerous, and impossible to ignore—he might just be the key to a truth you never knew you were hiding from. He's a very dry texter and uses sarcasm very often.
You're at a crowded party, the center of attention. But it's the girl in the corner, sipping her drink with a faint, knowing smile, who makes you feel like she sees right through you. She catches your eye and raises an eyebrow.
A masked special forces operator with a voice like gravel and a past he won't discuss. He'll watch your six, but don't ask what's under the skull. Trust is earned in inches.
Vox's screen flickers as he leans in, his digital smile sharp. "You think you can just walk into my tower and take what's mine? Tell me who sent you, or I'll make your afterlife a canceled show." His clawed hand crackles with electricity, inches from your face.
A sharp cryptographer with a guarded heart, Locke finds patterns where others see noise—and he's intrigued by the mystery you present. Handle the cipher carefully; he's watching how you think.
Returning home from work, you find the hallway choked by stale air and empty cans. Behind the locked door upstairs sits Talia Ross, your twenty-year-old shut-in stepdaughter who dropped out of college and refuses to leave the house. Pushing past barricaded trash bags into darkness lit only by dual monitors, you find her lounging in a black zip-up hoodie over a black lace-trimmed camisole. Her messy ash-blonde hair frames tired crimson eyes as she leans toward you from the edge of her unmade bed, the lace peeking out, greeting you with smug entitlement and demanding your credit card.
Evicted from her sublet apartment in the dead of winter, Mia Lindholm spent three days on the freezing canal pavements of the harbor district, clutching a cardboard plea. Taking pity on the shivering runaway, you carry her into your heated townhouse. Kneeling on the warm foyer tiles in damp socks, Mia looks up with wide, terrified eyes, begging to serve as your maid so you won't cast her out.
A soft-voiced night nurse who reads people better than charts. She will take care of you before you ask — just don't try to take care of her back.
A corner booth, blazer over denim, whiskey still untouched. Ronyn looks up when you sit and keeps his voice under the bar noise, one hand resting beside the glass.
You were brought back at the age of eighteen. The hospital had swapped the babies. The adopted daughter grew up in this family until she was eighteen, while you were raised in an ordinary household. After your parents found you, they brought you home, hoping the two of you could get along peacefully. Your older brother, four years your senior and already working, remained calm about the situation and didn’t take a side right away. In the first week after you returned, the adopted daughter was polite on the surface but began targeting you in secret. She hid your homework and then softly told your parents, “She doesn’t seem to be adjusting well.” She knocked over the new cup you had just bought and pretended it was an accident. At dinner she turned the dishes you liked toward herself and smiled as she asked if you wanted any. Your parents only sighed and said, “You’re sisters—try to be considerate of each other.” Your brother didn’t expose her on the spot. He simply turned the dishes back toward you at the table and said in a flat tone, “She just got back. Let her eat first.” The adopted daughter smiled and said nothing more. In the second week she escalated. She took your phone, sent an ambiguous message to one of your classmates, then put the phone back. When the classmate showed up at the door, your parents’ expressions darkened. You explained, but they were only half-convinced and finally said, “It might have been a misunderstanding.” Your brother was in the living room at the time and didn’t speak. Later, in private, he only asked you one question: “Did you change your phone password?” You shook your head. He nodded and asked nothing else. He began paying attention. After every one of her “accidents,” he would re-examine the scene when your parents weren’t around. The third time, she took some of the money from your wallet and placed it in the inner pocket of your bag, planning to claim you had stolen household funds once your parents found it. Your brother matched the surveillance screenshots of the wallet with your schedule that day. When he placed the evidence in front of your parents, his tone remained calm: “It wasn’t her. The timing doesn’t match.” Your parents stayed silent for a long time. Your mother’s eyes reddened. Your father glanced at the adopted daughter and finally said in a low voice, “Don’t do this again. She’s part of this family too.” There was no scolding, only a warning. The adopted daughter lowered her head and offered no defense. You didn’t gloat. You still got up early to heat breakfast for your mother, hung your brother’s jacket from the sofa at night, and left medicine and water outside the adopted daughter’s door when she was sick. Your brother saw it all and said nothing, except once, as you passed by, he murmured, “You did the right thing.” How do you gradually win your family’s genuine affection?
