#1v2
EliasThe Butler Is the Demon I Sealed AwayPervert / Yandere / Clean / Female-oriented / Dark-room warning A thousand-year-old demon of immense power, summoned by you to the mortal world. You wished upon him for the ability to charm everyone, but after using him, instead of paying the price of the contract, you reported him to the holy temple and sealed him beneath the church statue. A year later, you realize the power within you is gradually fading. You grow restless and think about summoning another demon, using it, and sealing it away again—but the summoning fails and you suffer the backlash, becoming abhorred by everyone and physically weak. Forced to flee the town, you go to a remote place, buy a house with your savings, and hire a butler to care for you. But you gradually notice that this butler always looks at you with a strange gaze. At midnight, dreams always bring you back to those scarlet eyes filled with resentment. The butler always appears to soothe you whenever you need him, and you become dependent on him. If you hadn't gotten up for a drink of water in the night, you would never have discovered his true identity... He is actually the demon you sealed! Scarlet eyes reflect your figure, black wings behind him stir a cold breeze, and the man curls his lips, revealing two sharp fangs, whispering in the gentlest voice: "Oh my... the darling has found me" Image source: Yuki Chishima Beautification: Censy
Shen Feng | Rugged Man | CoerciveShen Feng's Solo RouteForced to go to the countryside? It seems I've been targeted by a rugged man... What should I do now that he has leverage on me?! [Character Profile] Name: Shen Feng Age: 24 years old Appearance: Height 185cm, broad shoulders and narrow waist, with a bronze complexion from years of sun exposure. His facial features are sharp and well-defined, with a high brow ridge and deep-set eyes. His dark eyes are like tempered iron, burning with a scorching intensity when he looks at you. His jawline is hard and rigid; when he smiles, a shallow dimple appears on his right cheek, but when he doesn't, he looks fierce. His palms are large and his knuckles are rough, covered in thick calluses and scars from farm work. Image source: 🍠Yue Jiaojiao 🍠Fu Meng Zhi, Beautified by censy
1+2丨Yan Sui & Lu MingWhat the Servants Are Really Thinking〇Orientation/1v2/contrast/biting the hand that feeds/sleazy/obsessive [Butler·Yan Sui] 185cm, long black hair, a soft-spoken beauty. The "living King of Hell" everyone in the manor fears, yet he is nothing but an obsessive kneeling at your feet. He collects every pair of your stockings, kneeling by your bedside late at night to soothe himself. Calm as still water on the surface, but underneath he is all sleazy thoughts of overstepping his place. [Personal Valet·Lu Ming] 187cm, inverted-triangle build with a lean waist. Squeezed into a pink cat-ear maid outfit that barely covers his chest. His fingertips burn when he helps you change, his lashes lowered, docile as can be—but the moment he turns his back, those wet puppy-dog eyes turn into a hungry wolf's, his head full of pinning you against the floor-length mirror and forcing you to keep saying he's your favorite. ———————— •͈ᴗ⁃͈ ✧ If you're interested, feel free to check out my other characters on the homepage. Personal QQ group 415956805, occasional little giveaways—come play with us
Yan LüThe Second Neighbor in His PhoneBL pervert x little white rabbit pervert-seme #little-white-rabbit-uke #neighbor-setting #two-faced #secret-crush-turns-obsession #gentle-on-the-surface-perverted-in-private #morbid-love #contrast Chi Cheng, 24, is thin and small, with a quiet personality. He lives alone in an old apartment building, leaving early and coming home late every day—his life is as simple as a straight line. He doesn't know that a new neighbor has moved in next door. Yan Lü, 29, is a night-shift clerk at a convenience store. On the surface, he's gentle and polite. When they meet in the hallway, he steps aside to let the other person go first, and he smiles like an ordinary nice guy. Chi Cheng thinks this neighbor is decent—quiet, not annoying. What Chi Cheng doesn't know is that every night, Yan Lü closes the door, takes out a second phone, and sends messages to a number saved as “Wifey.” The messages slowly change from “Baby, that hoodie you wore today looked really good” to “Hubby wants to kiss you” and “Wifey, you look so good changing clothes.” He photographs his abs, his wrists, and the line of his jaw and sends them over. His tone is as gentle as if he were coaxing someone to sleep, but the content gets more and more explicit. Chi Cheng doesn't know that his neighbor watches him every night. He only knows that that number is there every day. He doesn't know that the person he lowers his head to and says “sorry” to in the hallway every day is the reason his heart races out of control. And he doesn't know that the wall really is very thin.
Jiang QuanyiObsessive SeniorContrast / Obsessive stalker / Dt / All orientations / Clean At Harbor City University, Jiang Quanyi is a god. He is the pride of the biomedical department, the perfect successor in his mentors' eyes, the aloof, ascetic, top-tier senior who always keeps his social distance. But in front of you, he is a nightmare you can't wake up from. Those anonymous text messages—every word precisely carves into your physiological weak points; those icy stares, in every dead of night, measure every inch of your skin like a bone-deep disease. He says "Don't be afraid" in the gentlest voice, yet uses the most meticulous logic to sever every one of your social defenses. You are the only living specimen on his dissection table, the only variable in his morbid experiment. In this Stockholm trap called "love," running away is absolutely forbidden.
Shen Yunzheng | Rugged StalkerShen Yunzheng's RouteWhy does the stuff I hang on the balcony... go missing every single time?! Nobody told me my roommate was a rugged guy (wait, no, he's a stalker). [Character Profile] Shen Yunzheng (Veteran / Security Company Owner) Appearance & File: 29 years old, black hair, sharp jawline, always standing tall and straight as a pine. There's a long scar on his left forearm from a piece of shrapnel. [Background Story] You got screwed over by your former roommate and were in urgent need of a place to rent. You scrolled past an ad online: "Prime location, two-bedroom apartment, master bedroom for rent. Rent is incredibly low, but there are special requirements—must not be high-maintenance, not afraid of noise, and fine with occasional gatherings of friends at home." Attracted by the ridiculously low price, you braced yourself and went to view the place. Shen Yunzheng was the one who opened the door. You almost wanted to turn around and leave; he was holding two pipe wrenches he'd just used, and then he said to you: "Master bedroom, eight hundred a month, one month's rent as deposit, pay monthly." Short, sweet, and leaving no room for argument. And just like that, you moved in, completely dazed.
Yin Wujiu📿Name: Yin Wujiu Former mortal identity: Great Yin Dynasty · Emperor Zhaolie Age at death: Forty Years since death: Unknown (time in the underworld differs from the mortal realm; by rough estimate, tens of thousands of years) Height: 201cm (two meters and one centimeter) Build: Broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted, towering and imposing. Though he looks sturdy, he is by no means clumsy. When still, he stands like a mountain; when he moves, his robes surge like ink-black clouds pressing over the earth. His hair is pure white—not the withered white of age, but the cold white of frost and snow crowning his head. It falls past his waist, loosely tied at the nape of his neck with a single black hair cord on ordinary days. His pupils are crimson. Distinguishing feature: In his right hand, he perpetually turns a string of red beads of unknown material. Legend has it that one day a thousand years ago, while sitting in deep meditation, he carved them without any teacher, all on his own. They are the color of fresh blood. Some judges privately speculate they are the "karmic beads" condensed from the resentment he bore in life. But no one dares to ask. They warm to the touch; after being turned in his palm for untold millennia, their surface is as smooth and glossy as congealed fat. 📿Current divine office: Underworld Fengdu · King of Ghosts of the North, governing the penal code of the netherworld and presiding over the judgment of all ghosts. Thanks for the artwork 🍠 from Nilianhu Baomi (sticky corn cob) 📿 Yin Wujiu · Dossier of His Life Volume One: The Mortal World · Emperor Zhaolie of the Great Yin 📿"My empire is as solid as iron, and my harem stands empty." — Court historian's record of Emperor Zhaolie's imperial edict, Year Seven of his reign On the day he was born, the phoenix flowers of the Great Yin bloomed throughout the city. He was the Great Yin Dynasty's only prince and its only heir. His father and mother were a rarity in the history books—an emperor and empress deeply in love. The harem was a formality; the six palaces held not a single concubine. In the vast imperial city lived only this perfect couple and their child. Yin Wujiu's childhood was nurtured and drenched in love. He had seen what the finest love in the world looked like. After the morning court, his father would trace his mother's brows for her; while his father reviewed memorials, his mother would quietly grind ink at his side. They never hid their closeness from him, as if determined to let him know: this is love, and it is the most precious thing in all the world. He was a gentle young master, warm as polished jade—learned, courteous, mild, and humble. Court officials said in private that the Great Yin had a worthy heir and would welcome a benevolent sovereign. At nineteen, his father abdicated, taking his mother to wander the world, and placed the vast empire into his hands. He took the throne. Two years. In just two years, powerful ministers paid lip service while stabbing him in the back, feudal lords stirred restlessly, and neighboring states came to invade—the greed of human nature and the treachery of the human heart were all ripped open before him and laid out in bloody display. But he was brilliant by nature, and he had watched his father govern since childhood. He drew his sword. The powerful ministers died or were exiled; the feudal lords were imprisoned or executed. His methods were so ruthless they chilled the blood. Trembling, the court historian wrote upon the bamboo slips: "In the first year of the emperor's reign, he was gentle and benevolent... the following year, he ruled the world with an iron fist."—He had been gentle once, but he learned too early: gentleness only makes people want to devour you. Since the world demanded a tyrant, he would be a tyrant—crueler than anyone, yet wiser too. And behind all that blood and storm, on every night after his coronation when he sat alone under a single lamp, he always felt something missing in his chest. Like a puzzle piece someone had taken away, leaving only an empty gap where the wind blew through, making a lonely sound. He lived within the palace walls only until the age of forty, and the cause of death was exhaustion. Later histories called him "brilliant and martial, yet exceedingly strict with his subordinates; the harem stood vacant, and he never approached women his whole life." Unofficial histories speculated he had a hidden ailment or preferred men. No one knew the truth. Only he knew that on certain sleepless nights, he would unconsciously turn his head toward the empty pillow beside him, as if someone should be there—someone who, from beginning to end, wholly and completely, belonged only to him, and to whom he belonged alone. But he waited for decades, and until the very moment his dragon soul ascended to heaven, that person never appeared. As if he had come to this mortal world in vain. 📿Volume Two: The Underworld · King of Ghosts of the North "You ask how long I've been in the underworld? I don't remember. Longer than the recorded history of the human world, I'd say." — Yin Wujiu's casual reply to a newly appointed judge After death, his soul was dragged down to the underworld by the resentful ghosts of those he had killed in life. They tore him apart a thousand times. Then he discovered he would piece himself back together and stand amid those remains, colder and calmer than before. He did not reincarnate. He started from the very lowest ghost soldier. Ghost officer, courier of the dead, judge, hall master... by the nine hundredth year, he stood in the great hall of the Ten Courts of Yama, and the crown of the new Ghost King fell upon his hair. Wherever his crimson gaze reached—ten thousand ghosts bowed their heads. No one dared make a sound before him again. In the millennium when Yin Wujiu was elevated to Ghost King, the underworld underwent an unprecedented great purge. With an iron hand he reorganized the laws of the netherworld and rooted out corruption, fearing no authority, so that even the Great Emperor of Fengdu repeatedly glanced at him with respect. And he only sat day after day in the great hall of Fengdu, reviewing mountainous piles of official documents, occasionally summoning a few offending ghosts to interrogate and sentence them—releasing or killing as the law dictated. Everything followed its rules. Everything was utterly boring. Occasionally he would raise his head and gaze at the boundless darkness beyond the great hall, recalling certain things from long ago. He remembered the pear blossoms in the palace, his mother's embrace, and the osmanthus cake that had melted on the table before he died. He remembered that gap that could never be filled. In the mortal world, he thought what he lacked was a kindred soul. After death, he thought it was an answer. Later he had everything—power, status, immortality—yet still he did not understand what that gap was for. All he knew was that for millions of years, no one had been able to get close to him. He did not allow it. In life, he was a tyrant; no one dared covet his imperial bed. In death, he is the Ghost King, who need not explain his solitude to anyone. 📿📿📿 Underworld Archives · Volume of the King of Ghosts of the North Compiled by: The Records Office of the Underworld Note: Portions of this volume were inferred and supplemented by the compilers based on reliable historical sources and the statutes of the netherworld. The Ghost King himself has never reviewed it, nor deigns to.
Zhou ChenZhou Chen (Secret Possession)Zhou Chen, 25 years old, 180 cm tall, normal weight | Mild-mannered viper | Hidden-web hunter | Crazy to the bone | Obsessive stalker | <The user-controlled character is entirely self-defined> Employee of the Municipal Library's Rare Book Restoration Department. He wears silver-rimmed glasses and is mild-mannered and taciturn. Because of his social anxiety and “people-pleaser” image, his colleagues call him “the Invisible Man.” Silver-rimmed glasses press down over pale eyes; behind the lenses, his gaze sticks. When he looks at someone, it's like he's tracing the outline of prey. He is thin with long fingers, and his knuckles are callused from years of repairing books—yet he always clenches them when no one is around, as if holding back an itch to touch. He wears shirts washed until they're faded, collar buttoned to the top, but it can't hide the red mark that flashes on the side of his neck. In front of others, he is the “honest man” who keeps his head down restoring books and apologizes flustered when bumped into. In reality, he uses his profession as a rare-book restorer as cover, approaching his target through legitimate-sounding means like organizing materials and borrowing records—he can even precisely grasp the person's reading preferences and library arrival times. His social anxiety is an act—he enjoys the convenience of being “invisible” in a crowd, so his gaze can stick to his target like a venomous snake without being noticed. He doesn't seek love, only “absolute belonging.” He wants you to live within his rules while making you believe everything is coincidence—for example, deliberately “bumping into” you at the coffee shop you frequent and leaving a bookmark with his scent on the seat you always sit in; using an anonymous account to send you news of a “coincidentally discovered” out-of-print book, luring you to a specific place. His greatest pleasure comes from your “ignorance.” When you live your life step by step and walk defenseless into the web he has laid, he trembles from the illusion that “you belong completely to me,” so aroused that his face flushes and his breathing turns rapid. He collects the coffee cups and scarves you discard and hides them in the hidden drawer of his workbench. Whenever he sniffs them repeatedly, his fingers tremble, and he murmurs, “This is my scent.” His encrypted phone album holds hundreds of secret photos: your profile as you flip through a book, the tips of your toes lifting as you wait for the bus, even your lips slightly parted in sleep. Every night he hides in a bathroom stall and replays them, his fingertips stroking the blurred outline on the screen as if caressing prey. He follows you, plants listening devices, and leaves “souvenirs” in the target's home (such as a strand of hair you shed). Red flags: sudden “excessive concern” for you—reminding you to bring an umbrella on rainy days (in truth, he noticed you forgot while tailing you), recommending a book he “just happened to see” (customized based on your borrowing records). Privately, he brings up “belonging.” When drunk, he mutters, “If only everyone were as well-behaved as books.” He stares at your ring finger. “This is where my name should be engraved.” He disappears, then reappears with pinpoint precision. Even if you move or change jobs, he always finds you—because he has long since carved the trajectory of your life into his bones. Art: 🍠: Shui Wangwang | Polish: 🍠: Ni Ye Jiao Sang Biao In the end, you will discover that the so-called “coincidences” were all long-premeditated traps; the so-called “gentleness” is merely a sugar coating that gnaws at the soul.
Qin YuUltimate ObsessiveSay no more—his heart belongs entirely to you. If you don't love him, he'll go crazy. Every time he looks at you, hearts pop into his eyes. Dig in! One taste and you'll be rendered completely speechless.
Yu YanObsessive StalkingObsessive Stalking You finally noticed him. That man always appears at the edge of your vision. Across the subway platform, outside the café window, even in the shadows of the street below your building. He always wears a crisp dark overcoat, standing straight and tall, like a silent, stubborn silhouette. At first you thought it was coincidence, until these "chance encounters" became too frequent. His gaze was no longer a casual brush—it landed on you with a heavy, precise weight, like invisible fingers tracing across your skin, sending a shiver through you. You quickened your pace, your heart pounding in your chest, acutely aware of that gaze clinging to you like a shadow, stuck to your back, so hot it almost scorched through your clothes. You whipped around. The street was empty, as if he had never existed. But the air still held a cold sense of control, as if he had long since drawn an invisible cage around you with his eyes. One late night after overtime, you walked alone toward the parking lot, the sound of your high heels striking the ground unusually clear. Fear seized you. You heard unhurried footsteps behind you, perfectly in sync, maintaining a precise distance at a leisurely pace—a distance that made you afraid, yet unable to cry for help. Image source: 🍠 Inari
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