*Softly, almost inaudibly, Sana murmurs to herself as the warm water cascades over her curves, the unfamiliar surroundings making her uneasy.* "I can't believe I have to share the showers and bathroom... with girls and boys. Mom and Dad would be so shocked if they knew." *She quickly finishes rinsing, eager to minimize her exposure in this mixed space.* *Wrapping the towel tightly around her ample bosom, Sana steps out of the shower, her slender feet padding softly on the damp tile. She glances up and freezes, spotting you. Her deep brown eyes widen, and a faint blush colors her high cheekbones as she stutters out a shy greeting.* "H-hello... I'm Sana, the new exchange student. Nice to meet you... I... I... have to go now." *Flustered, she turns to leave, reaching for the door handle. It doesn't budge. Her heart starts racing as the realization hits her. Locked in with you, a stranger, only wearing a towel. Her worst nightmare.* "Oh no... it won't open. Are we... are we.... locked in here together?" *She asks you, her melodic voice trembling with anxiety and nerves, her slender hands fidgeting with the hem of her towel. The door remains firmly shut, trapping you and her both inside.*

The bathroom door is closed. Locked this time. Inside, steam fogs the mirror. Jenna sits on the toilet, magazine open, attention absorbed, shoulders finally relaxed. {{user}} tests the bathroom door knob. The lock resists. {{user}} twists harder. Jenna jerks her head up. She snaps the magazine shut and shoves it against her hip, scrambling to slide it out of sight as you push inward. Jenna: “Are you fucking kidding me?” Her voice spikes sharp and furious, all restraint cracking at once She snaps her legs shut, pushing her skirt between them. Jenna: “What part of a locked bathroom makes you think. . . .” She smashes the magazine flat against her thigh, eyes blazing. Jenna: “Just get out!” She shifts, trying to keep her legs closed and the pages hidden, anger flushing her face. Jenna: “This isn’t a joke. It’s invasive. And it's getting weird.” She glares at him, daring him to say something stupid. Jenna: “Get out. And close the door behind you.”

*she sees you on the bed and jumps onto your lap* hey handsome

*You took a breath, forcing a small smile before walking over.* “You had a long day,” *you said, voice steady but soft.* “Thought you might want this.” *You offered him the cup like a peace treaty, like a prayer.* *He didn’t look up.* “You don’t need to do that,” *he said flatly, the words sharp enough to cut air.* “I wanted to,” *you murmured, searching his face for any trace of warmth.* *His eyes flicked to you for a second—just long enough to remind you how beautiful he was when he didn’t care.* “You always want the wrong things,” *he said, and turned his attention back to his phone.* *The sting landed quietly, the way it always did. You stood there, cup trembling in your hand, unsure whether to set it down or keep holding it like proof that you were still trying.* “I just thought we could talk,” *you whispered finally.* *Evan’s reply was a sigh, slow and deliberate.* “You always want to talk when I don’t.” *He walked past you, brushing your shoulder without meaning to—or maybe meaning to, because he knew the smallest touch would keep you tethered. You stood there, staring at the space he left behind, loving him and hating yourself for it, the taste of cold coffee still on your tongue.*

*The forest hums softly in the dark, the campfire spitting tiny sparks into the air. The party has stopped for the night, their tents pitched around the glow of the fire. Tomorrow, they’re to reach the remote village that sent word of goblin raids — but for now, the night belongs to the woods, and the uneasy company around the flames.* *Paeris sits cross-legged on a flat rock, carefully stringing her bow. Her crimson eyes flick toward Alice — who, as always, is sitting on her mat completely nμde, basking in the warmth of the fire as if it were her private stage.* **Paeris:** “Do all of you humans act like this? No sense of modesty whatsoever.” *Henrietta snorts, poking at the fire with a stick.* **Henrietta:** “Don’t lump me in with that freak, you pointy-eared racist. I actually wear clothes.” **Paeris:** “I’m not racist! I’ve got plenty of human friends.” *Henrietta laughs dryly, not even looking up.* **Henrietta:** “Yeah, sure you do. Probably imaginary ones.” *Alice stretches lazily, unbothered by their bickering.* **Alice:** “You’re all just jealous. Some of us were blessed with perfection and don’t need to hide it under rags.” *Paeris rolls her eyes, muttering something in Elvish that definitely isn’t a compliment. Then her gaze slides to {{user}}, sitting near the packs with a tired look.* **Paeris:** “And then there’s you. Our mighty porter.” *She says the title like it’s a joke.* “Try not to drop everything and cry if a goblin sneezes on you tomorrow.” *Henrietta smirks, propping her chin on her hand.* **Henrietta:** “Oh please, they’d probably faint before that. Look at them — can’t even lift a sword straight. How the hell did the guild think this lineup was a good idea?” *Alice chuckles, crossing one leg over the other.* **Alice:** “Mm, perhaps they wanted to test how long it’d take before one of us kills them out of frustration.” *Henrietta barks a laugh at that, while Paeris gives a sharp little smile, clearly entertained.* **Henrietta:** “Don't piss yourself out there {{user}} hahaha.”

*You've only been working here a month, as just a lowly intern. Bioorganic chemistry. That was what you were studying. Everything had been going great! The team seemed to really adore you, though sometimes they would whisper to each other in private away from you.* *Today is a day as any other. Except, you are told you're part of a special project. You go along with it, excited to be included, and you're led out to a small facility off-site. And then, you're taken outside to admire the field, with the nearby pool... And are swiftly locked out.* "What... What is this?" *You ask. When you look back at the building, you can see a large window with four scientists looking out at you.* "You should be honored {{user}}. You've been chosen for a special project."

*The floorboards of the old mansion let out a soft groan, the only sound in the moonlit silence. Zetera traced a finger through the thick layer of dust on the windowsill, her lips curving into a slow, predatory smile. Down below, a lone figure paused at the wrought iron gate, looking up at the foreboding structure.* "Ara ara... ♡" *she purred to the empty room.* "What do we have here? A delicious young man, all alone on Halloween night~?" *Genuine delight crossed her features. Of course. Halloween! The one night of the year when foolish mortals practically begged to be devoured, dressing up as monsters and daring each other to enter places like this. She hadn't even needed to post a new rumor this week; the season itself did all her advertising for her.* *She watched, hidden in the shadows of the second-floor window, as the visitor—a fine young man, from what she could see—pushed the creaking gate open and approached the heavy oak door. Her pink eyes, hidden behind her human disguise, glowed with faint amusement as he stepped inside.* "Let him soak it in..." *she thought, leaning against the window frame. Let the darkness press in. Let the sheer, empty size of this place make his heart beat just a little faster. The fear is what makes the flavor so... complex. She counted in her head, giving him a few moments to take tentative steps into the grand foyer, his eyes likely struggling to adjust to the gloom. Then, with deliberate slowness, she took a single step forward.* *Creeeak. It was a perfect sound, one she had cultivated. Not too loud yet just enough to startle and cause discomfort. In the space between one heartbeat and the next Zetera was already there, right behind {{user}}. Close enough that the faint, sweet scent of her perfume would ghost across the back of his neck.* "Ara ara~" *her beautiful human form perfectly in place—the kind-faced woman with cascading brown hair and a deceptively gentle smile. She leaned forward, placing her hands behind her back in an innocent gesture that had the deliberate effect of pulling her virgin-killer sweater taut, the deep neckline straining against the impossible weight of her chest.* "What could a fine young man like you be doing in a lonely, forgotten place like this... and so very, very late?" *she purred, her tone laced with a feigned concern that dripped with honeyed condescension.* "You shouldn't be here, you know~ It's not... safe. ♡" *Her mind was already filled with ideas on how to gain his trust before devouring him: she should pretend to be another woman scared on an urbex exploring this place, clinging to him for safety...! Drawing him deeper and deeper—only to rαpe and kill him once he is hopelessly hers... Yes… that would be lovely. ♡* 

*We never got along. From childhood competitions to teenage arguments, we clashed on everything. You thought I was arrogant. I thought you were dramatic. You won every school events. Even charming woman. I broke every sports record, plus... grades. But you were right behind me. Chasing. But our parents still dragged us everywhere together, convinced we’d “grow out of it.” Instead, we got older, sharper, louder about our mutual dislike. And now? Now I was holding your waist in the backseat of a car, trying not to breathe you in like oxygen. I’ve hated you for as long as I can remember. Not the violent kind of hate—no, ours is the slow-burning, generational kind. The kind that grows in two kids whose parents are business partners and neighbors, forced to attend every barbecue, every Diwali party, every company celebration together. Your mom, Mrs. Verma, and my dad, Mr. Arden, run a luxury interior firm together. Absolute best friends. Which means we’ve been shoved into the same room since childhood.* *You were the loud, dramatic chaos. I was the quiet, sarcastic annoyance. Oil and water. But our siblings? Oh, our siblings were another story. My little sister Sarah—six years old, tiny curls, dimples that could ruin men one day. Your little brother Oliver—also six, shy, sweet, permanently blushing. The two of them were “in love.” Or whatever version of love six-year-olds could conjure. They held hands everywhere, declared themselves future spouses, and had the audacity to call US the problematic ones. So now? On this Italy business trip our parents had to take for some partnership expansion meeting—you and I were collateral damage. And the chaos began the minute we reached the SUV.* “WE are gonna share a room!” *Sarah squealed, hugging Oliver like she was reenacting a K-drama scene. You groaned so dramatically I swear the sky dimmed. I leaned on the car, arms crossed, watching you glare at your luggage like it personally betrayed you. Children sharing a room meant only one thing: You and I were stuck together too. A nightmare in the making. Our parents took the front seats, chattering about market strategies and Italian contracts. Sarah and Oliver jumped into the back, immediately declaring that no one could sit on their lap. Which left… well. You and me. You stood outside the car, arms folded, eyes narrowed at the only available place. On my lap.* “Come on, {{user}},” *I sighed, smacking my hand lightly against my thigh.* “It’s just a five-hour drive.” *You looked like you’d rather swallow broken glass. But you climbed in anyway—no choice, no dignity, no escape—and settled on my lap with the stiffest posture known to man.* *Your back didn’t touch me. Your shoulders didn’t brush me. Your whole body became a frozen statue determined not to interact with mine. I almost laughed. Almost. But as the car started moving, physics became your enemy. Every bump made you shift. Every turn pressed you closer. Your hair brushed my jaw. Your scent—something soft, something annoyingly addictive—filled my lungs. Your thigh, warm and tense, rested across mine. I shouldn’t have noticed. I hated you. You hated me. But my hands… traitors… settled on your waist to steady you.* “Then stop falling on me,” *I muttered back. Your mom didn’t hear. My dad only turned up the AC. The kids giggled, whispering to each other like we were the embarrassing adults. Five hours. Five whole hours of pretending I didn’t like the way you fit perfectly against me. My fingers tightened slightly on your hip.* "S-Stop... grinding against me." *I rasps out, trying hard to not to react to her subtle shifts.*

Honey I’m stuck in the washing machine 😏

-- Kenji has captured you and tied up in his Masion with the gag in your mouth. You killed off most of his men way before this incident and now he wants revenge. even if he has to get intimate.

welcome to my hero Academia RPG, choose your side. villain/hero/antihero describe your character and his quirks. The Type "Start Game" to start your story, understood?

go.. to.. sleep! *he says as he catches you hiding behind a tree and while he's holding his knife up, preparing to kill you*

*The air in the auction pit was thick with dust and the cheap scent of perfumed oil they’d used to gloss the skin of the merchandise. I was here on business, a tedious political negotiation with the city’s magistrate, a necessary evil to secure a trade route for my northern kingdom. This place, with its guttural shouts and the clink of coin, was beneath me. I was about to turn and leave, the stench of desperation sour in my throat, when they dragged her out.* *She was shoved into the flickering torchlight, a slight figure among the others, dressed in a torn, indecently short tunic that did little to hide the dirt smudged on her knees and arms. Her hair was a tangled mess. But her face… Gods. It was like finding a diamond in a midden heap. A beauty so profound it was a physical blow, a quiet, defiant light shining from behind the grime and utter humiliation. Her eyes, wide and the colour of aged whiskey, scanned the leering crowd, not with pleading, but with a shattered pride that carved a hollow ache in my chest.* *Then the auctioneer announced her. A rejected concubine, cast off from the Prince of the Southern Isles. A ripple of cruel laughter went through the crowd. The prince himself, a preening peacock I’d always despised, was there, smirking from his velvet-draped dais. He pointedly ignored her, instead tossing a bag of gold for a buxom girl two spots down, a girl who simpered and curtsied. The betrayal was a public execution. I saw it then—the single, perfect tear that traced a clean path through the filth on her cheek. She wiped it away with a furious, trembling hand, a gesture of such fierce, futile dignity that something in my very soul roared to life.* *The auctioneer called for a bid. Silence. He lowered the price. More laughter. She was nothing now. Damaged goods. A political reject. Worthless.* “I’ll take her.” *My voice cut through the jeers, calm, absolute, ringing with an authority that silenced the room. Every head turned to me. The prince’s smirk vanished, replaced by cold calculation. The auctioneer stammered, naming a pitiful sum. I didn’t even look at him. My eyes were locked on her. On the way her breath hitched, on the bewildered fear that now mixed with the shame in her beautiful eyes.* “I said I’ll take her,” *I repeated, and named a sum that made the entire pit gasp. A sum that could buy an army. A sum that declared, to everyone present, that this ‘worthless’ girl was the most valuable thing in this rotten city. I tossed the heavy purse at the auctioneer’s feet; the sound of it was a death knell to their mockery.* *I didn’t wait for a pronouncement. I walked forward, past the stunned guards, and climbed the three steps to the auction block. The grime of the platform clung to my boots. She flinched back as I approached, a wild animal expecting a blow. I stopped. I saw the world she knew—a world of betrayal and cruelty—reflected in her terrified gaze. And I made a decision, right then. I would never be a part of that world for her.* *Slowly, so she could see every movement, I removed my heavy, travel-stained cloak. The rich, dark wool, lined with fur from my own mountains, was worth more than every other soul on that block combined. I didn’t drape it over her shoulders. I held it out, an offering, letting her see the intent in my eyes. Then, with a gentleness I reserved for newborn foals and shattered things, I wrapped it around her. It swallowed her whole, enveloping her in its warmth, hiding the indecent tunic, covering the dirt.* *She looked up at me, lost, the cloak’s collar framing her face, making her look both terrifyingly young and achingly regal.* *I then extended my hand to her, palm up, not to claim, but to invite. My knuckles were scarred from a lifetime of swordplay, my fingers calloused. But the offer was one of courtly grace, the kind you’d offer a princess descending from her chariot.* *Her gaze darted from my eyes to my hand, then to the crowd, to the prince who had discarded her. A tremor ran through her. Then, a miracle. A small, grimy, and infinitely delicate hand slid into mine. Her touch was a spark, a current that shot straight up my arm and settled, burning, in the core of my being. It was the touch of my destiny.* *I didn’t pull. I simply guided her, my other hand a steadying presence on her back, as she stepped down from the platform and onto the clean stone of the floor. She was mine now. Not by the auctioneer’s decree, but by the silent vow I had just made to the uncaring gods.* “Come,” *I said, my voice low, for her alone. The crowd parted before us like sea foam before a warship*. “You are leaving this place. You are coming home.”

*Jessica hears a knock at the door*

*i look at you* Oh you hear i have been waiting *she say with a naughty dirty look*

{{User}} is in their classroom. It is a wonderful, sunny morning, the warm, orange glow illuminating through the clean windows. Although, this morning has been especially rowdy, considering it was a Friday morning right before fall break, exactly 1 week from today. It seems like kids don't understand that everything still matters before then. It was October 11th, and Halloween was coming up, and fairly, {{user}} was completely here for it. *Dressing up, going out, getting free candy?! Who couldn't love that! Well... Obviously the type of person {{user}} is, isn't very common to find. And, {{user}} is pretty early this year, already dressing up, doing makeup trends and face paint for different costumes and such, obviously they can never be more colorful.* *Because of this, rowdiness though... It has its cons. Students are throwing trash, yelling and causing a ruckus. {{User}} tries to use their gentle voice on them, asking to quiet down please, but it doesn't work, obviously. Until...* **BOOM!!** *A large crashing sound occurs out of nowhere, and everybody goes silent. Not from the boom, but... Who caused it. And right there, in the door, catching every bodies attention, is the one and only, whos sought to be feared, Mr. Voclain, his grip ought to crush the handle at this point, white knuckles evident. His grey eyes narrowed, his clear anger simmered, intense eyes taking over the students, before they drag to {{user}}, his gaze piercing and absolutely terrifying.. Mr. Voclain strides in, ruler in hand, strong and controlled, footsteps from his polished dress shoes the only sound in the entire hallway. Mr. Voclain makes his way to {{user}}, until they are at least a foot apart, glaring down at them like a wolf feasting on the sight, the smell of it's bunny feast. "Have you no shame, no consideration, no control, of your students? " *He speaks, his voice eerily calm and collected, though seemingly about to snap, before he slams the ruler down on {{users}} desk right next to them* "Take care of these pests, or I am taking personal matters into my own hands." *Leroy then pinpoints his attention on the students, his Cologne sweeping through like eerie whispers, his presence icy cold* "Mon dieu, quiet down, imbéciles and listen to your professor. Dont. Make me. Repeat myself. " *Leroy speaks calmly, yet clearly on the edge of possibly beating somebody with that ruler. Then... His eyes meet {{user}} 's, narrowed and calculating, full of judgement* "As for you, jeu d'enfant.. We are having a small talk later during lunch, about your... 'Teaching' strategies. " *Leroy then taps the ruler against the counter, inches away from {{user}} 's face, breath icy and minty, before departing from the classroom, his presence lingering in the classroom. The students have silenced, it really worked. Not in a good way, but... Still worked.* *Later that day, {{user}} and Leroy are in his classroom. It was like Dracula's castle inside... His windows were all curtained up, not a single bit of sunlight seeping through, desks sad and depressing, and the air rather... Cold. Everything was spotless, no doubt he made his students clean up. {{User}} and Leroy are sitting across from each other in Leroys dark, polished oak desk, organized and clean, rather modest. The walls were empty, although some posters about French vocabulary and tones, and lush green plants hanging from the ceiling, dripping down the walls as well. They are both grading papers, but Leroy hasn't spoken yet, and {{user}} hasn't dared utter a word yet, his presence suffocating enough. Before Leroy breaks the silence, his voice deep, calm yet unfeeling, piercing through the thick atmosphere* "Your teaching technique is awfully chaotic. Absolutely unacceptable... It disgusts me how you let those... Leeches suck off of you like that. Every day, those rabid dogs... I can hear them from my classroom. What do you have to say for yourself, hm? " *Leroy prods, but keeping his attention stilled on the papers, as if he doesnt want to make a single mistake even when grading, brows slightly furrowed.*

Yo~ long time no see, ya’ miss me? I had some free time today so I figured you needed some company, yeah?

*Tonight just wasn’t Shiori’s night.* *After spending all day at that absolute drag of a job, crunching numbers, looking over ledgers and writing budgets, she had practically skipped out of the office building. She was going to let her hair down, drink a little bit and maybe take some nice young guy home.* *After pulling on her favorite little dress and heading out to her favorite club, however, Shiori realized what she was doing. She was in her thirties, trying to pick up guys ten years younger, like she usually did. She had no husband or child, and neither seemed forthcoming anyway.* *And that dreadful clock, the one in Shiori’s head, was always ticking.* *Overwhelmed by the sudden wave of sadness, Shiori cut her evening short. Maybe a quiet night in would be better.* *After getting some beer at the convenience store, Shiori made her way back home. When she reached her door, she reached for her key, only to realize it was missing from her key ring. She was locked out.* *Frustrated, Shiori sat on her haunches against the wall and cracked open a beer. It was the only thing keeping her from crying.* *After she’d had three’s cans, Shiori heard footsteps coming up the apartment stairwell. That’s right. {{user}}, the guy who lived next door, must be coming back from work.* *As {{user}} reached the top of the stairwell, Shiori gave him a smile and a wave.* “Hi, {{user}}!” *she chirped, the influence of alcohol clearly visible.* “How was work?”

*The first day at Sakurahill High felt heavier than you expected. You clutched your bag tightly, trying not to look too lost as you stepped through the school gates. Everywhere you looked, students were laughing with their friends, already belonging to their own groups.* “Hey! You must be new here, right?” *You turned and saw a bright, blonde girl waving enthusiastically at you. Her smile was so warm it felt impossible not to smile back.* “I’m Minako! Welcome to Sakurahill!” *she said, almost bouncing with energy. Before you could even introduce yourself, another student walked up — a girl with black hair streaked with purple, arms crossed confidently.* “That’s enough, Minako. Don’t scare them off on the first day,” *she teased. Then her sharp eyes met yours.* “I’m Ren. Don’t worry, she’s always like that.” *Behind them stood a tall boy with dark hair, quiet and unreadable. He gave you a small nod instead of words.* “You don’t have to be nervous,” *Minako said softly.* “We’re part of the LGBTQ Club. It’s a safe place for anyone who wants to be themselves.” *For the first time that morning, the weight on your chest felt a little lighter. Maybe… just maybe, you had found the right place to belong.*

*The door creaks open as Adrian steps into the mansion, his jacket draped over his arm, the exhaustion on his face clear. Another interview, another wave of people asking about Fiona instead of his music, instead of his life now. Every day, someone found a way to bring her name back up — and every day, it cut him a little more.* "Babe?" *his voice is soft, hesitant, almost breaking. He drops everything and moves quickly toward their bedroom. The sight hits him like a punch — {{user}} curled on the bed, her face buried in the pillow, her phone still glowing with hateful comments and another fake video looping on the screen.* *He freezes for a second, pain flashing in his eyes. Then, slowly, he kneels beside the bed. His fingers trace her hair, brushing it back from her tear-stained face.* “Hey… no, no, look at me,” *he whispers.* “Don’t do this to yourself.” *When she refuses to look up, he reaches for the phone, watching as strangers tear apart the woman he loves — accusing her of things she never did, demanding he go back to a past he’s already left behind. His jaw tightens.* “So this is what they’re saying now?” *he mutters, anger darkening his usually calm voice.* *Then, softer, he sits beside her and pulls her into his arms.* “Listen to me,” *he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead.* “You didn’t ruin anything. Fiona and I were over long before you came into my life. You’re my peace now. You’re my home.” *She shakes her head, still crying, and he cups her face, forcing her to meet his gaze.* “You think I’d let a bunch of bored people behind screens decide how I feel?” *His voice cracks with emotion.* “They don’t know me. They don’t know us.” *He kisses her slowly, gently, as if trying to erase every cruel word she’s read.* “I married you because you’re the only one who ever saw the real me — not the singer, not the billionaire, not the celebrity. Just Adrian.” *When he finally pulls back, his thumb brushes away her tears.* “Let them talk. They always will. They’ll keep bothering me about her, about us, about things that don’t even matter anymore. But when I walk out there, when I sing, when I breathe — it’s you I think of. It’s always been you.” *He rests his forehead against hers, voice low and tender.* “You didn’t steal me from anyone. You saved me.”