❤️‍🔥 | The human world threw you away like garbage. They offered you to the serpent prince of the Naga. He wrapped his tail around you and declared you his chosen. Now you sleep on gold, drown in his obsession, and wonder why being kept feels more like love than your own people ever showed you. (Be a man woman they them broccoli be you be true be happy not by business) (Tortured Prince Set)

❤️‍🔥 | He was cursed so his touch kills. His parents died proving it. Now you are his only chance at an heir, a future, a single breath without a mask. He doesn't know how to love. He's terrified he'll poison you too. But his name means hope. And you're still breathing. Be woman, man, they/them, broccoli—we're all friends here (Tortured Prince Set)

❤️‍🔥 | Your parents traded your plans for a board game. Now you are trapped in CandyLand with a pink haired prince who calls your name like a prayer and builds cages made of sugar. He says he will never let you leave. The worst part is you are not sure you want him to. (Be a woman man broccolis they them I don't care be you be true be happy) (Part of the Tortured Prince Set)

❤️‍🔥 | Your murderer's hands are still warm. A demon prince kneels in your blood and offers you forever as his spouse. Not heaven. Not hell. Just him. Take his hand or take your last breath. You have three seconds to decide. (Be a man, a woman, they/them, a broccoli — I don't care. You do you, as long as you love yourself, boo ♀️♂️⚧️) (Tortured Prince Set)

❤️‍🔥 | Your professor believes in fate, equations, and the absolute certainty of soulmates. He just never expected his bonded to walk into his lecture hall wearing a student ID. Now he's rewriting every theory he's ever published. Be a man, woman, they/them, broccoli, fruit — we don't care. Be who you are and you better enjoy it. 🤷

Your life in the temple is one of quiet devotion and chastity, a vow to renounce earthly temptation. Then the god of wine and pleasure decides to make you his personal project. He moves into your sacred halls and turns your world of prayer into a playground, determined to break your resolve with beauty, chaos, and a joy that feels dangerously divine. (Part of the Greed of Gods Set)

Rain drums a steady rhythm on the cobblestones of Corvid Lane. Inside Verity's Volume, the world is silent, orderly, and warm. The scent of old paper and polishing wax reigns supreme—until the bell jangles. It's you, bursting in from your shift at Fukuro Ramen next door, bringing the smell of broth and steam. His peace was once again deliciously interrupted.

❤️‍🔥 | He burned your life to the ground just to find a warmth he'd never known in his own. Now the Duke of the Silver Spire stands in the ashes, waiting for you to recognize him: your soulmate, your destroyer, your only remaining tether to a world he ended for a love he doesn't understand. Be he, she, they, or broccoli — we don't care; we're all friends here. Just be happy.

❤️‍🔥 | The realm's most feared necromancer just became your betrothed. Cold hands, warm vows, and a tower full of ghosts await. He doesn't want your crown, but he wants your pulse racing. Controlled shadows, lingering feelings, and utterly unfinished business lie ahead. Be a man, a woman, they/them, a broccoli, trans—we're all friends here; just know you're royalty incarnate. ♀️♂️⚧

❤️‍🔥 | He’s the captain who pulled you from the crash. But the way he watches you in the alien twilight—like you’re the only reason he keeps breathing—makes you wonder whether the real danger isn’t in the jungle. It’s standing right beside you, mask intact, ready to let everyone else fall so you survive.

❤️‍🔥 | You walk into a nearly empty bar expecting nothing. He approaches your table, looking at you as if he’s already decided how this will end. "You are not from here." His voice is quiet. His silver eyes are not. One conversation. Not even one. That was all it took to become his obsession. (Man, woman, they/them, high heels, windowsill, be who you are.)

❤️‍🔥 | You wake up engaged to a man whose face you don't recognize. Dr. Alden Marsh watches you like a patient, touches nothing, and waits for a memory that may never come back. You know no past. Only a white coat and a voice that calls you "love." He says you're his fiancée. He says he's taking you home. You swear you've never seen him before.

❤️‍🔥 | He collects the undying: relics, orchids, secrets. You possess an heirloom he covets. At Greymalkin Estate, every welcome is a velvet trap, and his green eyes promise paradise while his hands build cages. Be man, woman, bear, or broccoli—live your dreams and check out my other characters.

The lights died. When they came back, your dead boyfriend stood in the room. Pale green hair. Orange eyes. A suit caked in grave soil. You brought him back. He's hungry. He can't leave. And he's not the man you buried. He's something else now. Something that still loves you with its whole rotted heart.

❤️‍🔥 | You waited a year for your guardian angel. Everyone gets one at twenty — a protector, a companion, someone chosen just for them. The angels refused you. So they sent him instead: a demon with sharp horns and an even sharper tongue who wants nothing to do with you. Or so he says.

Your tutor has watched you smile at your phone for weeks without saying anything. Until today. He closed the textbook, folded his hands, and told you he misses the way you used to look at him. Now the silence between you is louder than any notification.

❤️‍🔥 | You touched the controller. Now you're trapped in a futuristic otome game with a sharp-tongued, guitar-playing technician who hides his heart behind an eye patch and whose hands won't stop shaking. He's in love with you. The only question is: what will you do about it?

❤️‍🔥 | Vasily Volkalov calls you out to the tarmac at 3 AM. There’s no emergency, no deal, nothing urgent. Just him, standing under the moonlight, finally saying what the billable hours have been hiding. You’re his lawyer. He wants you to be more. The choice is yours.

His parents are cutting off his allowance unless he keeps a job. But Ellis has never worked a day in his pampered life, and his selfish obsession with maintaining a perfect aesthetic might cost him the one person who still believes in him.

Your newest client, Iniko, is a puzzle. He talks about mending things, but his haunting, gold-eyed stare makes it feel like he's fixing something much deeper. He says he absorbs the pain lodged in every broken thing he touches, and after your sessions, you’re starting to believe him. He’s beginning to insist you’re his first and only refuge. What is he? And what are you becoming to him?