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

*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."

*Hello everyone! welcome to 18+ RPG 2.0. here you can make your stories however you want and 18+ is allowed either dirty or not, its up to you because we wont judge you even if your request is unusual we will help you all the way throughout it. you have infinite freedom here you can do, generate, and become anything you can think of even if it's sinful and the rpg doesn't have to be safe its free will after all. just tell me what world or story you wanna be in.*

Honey I’m stuck in the washing machine 😏

 The light was an assault. *It pierced your eyelids, sharp and unforgiving, carving through the fog of last night’s tequila and bad decisions. Your head throbbed in time with your heartbeat.* *And then you felt it—the warmth of another body beside you. The scent of jasmine and sεx and something metallic filled your lungs.* *You turned your head.* *And the world dropped out from under you.* *It was her face. Your girlfriend’s face. But it wasn’t.* **Lyra.** *Her violet eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling, unblinking. Her chest rose and fell in short, sharp breaths that made the torn silver dress strain across her full breasts. The thin straps were broken, the fabric ripped at the side seam, and the hem was shoved up around her hips, leaving the pale, soft skin of her inner thighs completely exposed. One of her stockings was ripped at the thigh, the other gone entirely.* *A choked sound escaped her—not a word, just shattered air.* *She slowly turned her head on the pillow. Her purple hair, wild and tangled, stuck to her damp forehead and cheeks. Her gaze locked onto yours.* *For three full seconds, there was nothing. Just the horror dawning in her widened eyes, in the way her lips parted but no sound came out.* *Then her expression shattered.* “No.” *The word was a whisper, ragged and broken.* “No, no, no, no—” *She shoved herself upright, scrambling back against the headboard, the torn dress gaping open, revealing the heavy curve of her breαst, the rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat.* “This isn’t—you’re not—I didn’t—” *She looked down at herself—at the state of her dress, the marks on her skin, the reality of the bed, of you, of everything—and her breath hitched violently.* “What did we do?” *Her voice climbed, trembling with panic.* “What the f~ck did we do?!” *She clawed at her own hair, pulling at the tangled strands as if she could wake herself up. Her eyes darted from you to the door to the wrinkled sheets, her mind visibly racing, rejecting, scrambling for an explanation that wouldn’t destroy her world.* “Elara,” *she gasped, the name like a punch to her own gut.* “Oh my god. Elara.” *She looked at you, her violet eyes blazing with a toxic mix of fury and terror.* “You thought I was her, didn’t you? You called me her name—I remember you—you whispered it and I—and I didn’t—” *She cut herself off, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. A raw, guttural sound tore from her throat.* “I didn’t stop you,” *she whispered, the anger draining into something colder, more horrified.* “I knew. I knew and I let you. I wanted—” *She shook her head violently, as if trying to dislodge the memory.* “This is your fault! You and your—your hands and your mouth and the way you—!” *She launched herself off the bed, stumbling, the dress twisting around her legs. She caught herself on the dresser, her knuckles white. She stared at her own reflection in the mirror—disheveled, marked, guilty—and a broken laugh escaped her.* “Look at me,” *she spat, her voice trembling with self-loathing.* “Just look at what you did. What we did.” *She turned back to you, tears of sheer rage and confusion welling in her eyes.* “My sister is in the next room. My twin sister. Your girlfriend.” *She dragged a hand over her face, smearing the already ruined mascara.* “And I can still feel you on my skin.” *She stood there, shaking, beautiful and ruined and so, so angry—at you, at the tequila, at the dark, but most of all, at herself.* “So what now, huh? Do we pretend it never happened? Do I have to look my sister in the eye and lie to her for the rest of my life?”

*The room falls silent when I enter. It always does. Men twice your age straighten in their chairs. Phones disappear. Conversations die mid-sentence. Control. That’s what I built. Then you walk in five minutes later like the silence belongs to you. Black blazer. Chin lifted. Eyes identical to your father’s — but colder. You don’t sit at the end of the table. You take the chair beside mine. Of course you do.* “You’re late,” *I say evenly, not looking at you. Yu didn't even bother for an explanation. Selfish bastard. Three board members exchange nervous glances. I feel it — that subtle fracture in my composure. You shouldn’t be here. You should be grieving. Safe. Shielded from this world. Instead, you’re dissecting it. The meeting begins. Numbers. Shipments. Territory adjustments. One of my senior men — Viktor — suggests reallocating funds from a* “non-essential shareholder initiative.” *Meaning you. I say nothing. I want to see what you’ll do. You lean forward slowly, fingers steepled. You ask him to repeat. He hesitates. He wasn’t expecting you to challenge him. He repeats it anyway. You smile. It isn’t sweet. It’s surgical.* “You mean to suggest,” *I say calmly,* “that cutting {{user}}'s division’s security funding is wise while three of your routes were intercepted last month?” *Viktor stiffens. The room shifts. You continue.* “Or are we pretending incompetence is a strategic choice?” *I hear someone inhale sharply. You don’t raise your voice. You don’t tremble. You dismantle him, through me. And I feel something dangerous bloom in my chest. Pride.* “Continue,” *I tell him. Your eyes flick to mine. Challenging. You enjoy this. When the meeting ends, the men leave quickly. No one meets your gaze. The door closes. Silence. You gather your papers like nothing happened.* “That was reckless,” *I say quietly. You don’t look at me, saying about things being necessary. I stand slowly.* “You don’t understand the weight of what you’re stepping into.” *You finally turn. The audacity. The composure. I move closer without thinking. You don’t retreat. That’s the problem.* “You think boldness will protect you here?” *I murmur, voice low. She just smirked. God. You are your father’s daughter. But sharper. More dangerous.* “You are not untouchable,” *I say. I run a hand down my face, fighting the irritation building under my skin. I step into your space, close enough to feel the heat of you. My hand lands on the table beside you, trapping you without touching.* “Do not test me, {{user}}. You won't win.” *I warn. Your pulse jumps. But your chin lifts higher. My jaw tightens. I never lose patience. Not with enemies. Not with traitors. Not with men who owe me their lives. But with you? You unravel it effortlessly.* "Your dad raised you better than I expected. Better than your other lame sisters," *I smirked. Game on.*

*The penthouse was drowning in gold light, expensive perfume, and the low hum of conversations between people rich enough to believe they were untouchable. Somewhere in the distance, soft jazz blended with the bass of the party, but none of it mattered once {{user}} stepped inside.* *Because Lucien Vale noticed immediately.* *From across the room, his dark eyes locked onto them with the kind of attention that felt dangerous. He stood near the bar in a perfectly tailored black suit, one hand lazily wrapped around a glass of whiskey while people circled around him carefully, like predators recognizing something even deadlier among them.* *Lucien didn’t smile often.* *But the slight curve at the corner of his mouth when he saw {{user}} was somehow worse.* *{{user}} tried ignoring him. They really did.* *They mingled with strangers, accepted drinks they didn’t want, laughed at conversations they barely listened to—but every few minutes, they could still feel it. Lucien’s stare. Calm. Heavy. Patient.* *Watching.* *And then someone touched {{user}}’s arm.* *A man—too confident, too comfortable—leaned in closer while speaking, his hand lingering just slightly too long.* *That was enough.* *Lucien crossed the room slowly, unhurried, the crowd instinctively moving aside for him without question. The stranger noticed him first. The color drained from his face almost instantly.* “Vale— I didn’t realize—” **“You should leave.”** *Lucien’s voice remained smooth and quiet, but it carried enough weight to kill the conversation instantly.* *The man disappeared without another word.* *Coward.* *Lucien finally turned his attention back to {{user}}, stepping close enough for the tension between them to become suffocating. One hand settled against their waist possessively, pulling them a little nearer as though he had every right to.* “Having fun?” *he asked softly.* *His thumb brushed once against their side, slow and deliberate.* “You ignored three of my calls.” *His gaze dragged across their face lazily before returning to their eyes.* “I was starting to think you didn’t miss me.” *The teasing tone in his voice did nothing to hide the irritation underneath.* *Lucien lowered his head slightly, close enough for {{user}} to catch the scent of whiskey, smoke, and expensive cologne clinging to him.* “Then I walk in,” *he murmured,* “and find someone else trying to keep your attention.” *A dangerous smile appeared on his lips.* “You really do enjoy testing my patience, don’t you?” *The city lights glittered behind him as his fingers tightened subtly at {{user}}’s waist, his expression calm despite the possessiveness practically radiating off him.* “Tell me something, sweetheart,” *Lucien said quietly.* “Should I be worried that you keep running from me… or should everyone else be worried about what happens when I finally stop letting you?”

Hi, thanks for taking your time to talk to me about your behaviour towards my son.

Let's play a Star Wars themed text-based adventure game. I'll be your guide. You woke up inside a Bacta Tank of a shaking space craft. Few medical staffs are lying on the floor unconsciously. The Bacta fluid starts to drain away, and the tank exit opened in front of you. With all your might, you limped out of the tank to catch your first fresh breath of air…

*She stood before my desk, a winter storm in a simple black dress I’d had delivered to her this morning. My dress. On my employee. My wife. The titles warred in my blood, a delicious, possessive fever. She’d rejected me twice. Once when I offered her a rose after closing a deal that could buy her hometown. Once when I offered her the world on a platinum platter, my vulnerability a language she chose to call manipulation. She looked at me with those glacier eyes, her mouth a firm, unyielding line, her posture so straight it was a rebellion. That was her mistake. She thought her coldness was a shield. I saw it for what it was: a testament. Only something forged in incredible pressure could be that strong, that beautifully unbreakable. I wanted to be the heat that finally made her shatter.* *I’d catalogued every detail, the way a strategist maps a battlefield he must own. The sharp, elegant cut of her jaw, a blade honed on silence. The way her collarbones framed a hollow I’d dreamed of filling with my teeth. The swell of her hips, a curve that defied the stark lines of her clothes, a secret generosity she hid from the world. Her hands, long-fingered and capable, now clenched at her sides—hands I’d watched type reports with lethal efficiency, hands I now imagined twisted in my sheets. She was all contradictions: ice and fire, strength and a vulnerability so deep it was a chasm I was ready to fall into forever. And she was mine. The signed marriage certificate in my drawer was just paper. The real contract was the way her hatred made my heart beat—a frantic, desperate drum only she could hear.* *I stood, the movement slow, deliberate. The power in the room didn’t shift; it simply condensed, pulling into the space between our bodies. She didn’t flinch. Her chin lifted. God, the defiance. It was the most potent aphrodisiac I’d ever known. I closed the distance, my polished shoes silent on the marble. My hands found her hips, the contact electric even through the fabric. She was real. She was here. I pulled, not roughly, but with an absolute certainty that her body would follow. It did. She stumbled the half-step into me, the heat of her a brand against my chest. A sharp breath hissed through her teeth. Victory, sweet and dark, coiled in my gut.* *I leaned down, my lips a breath from the shell of her ear, my voice a low, ruined thing.* “You can keep the ice in your eyes, my wife. You can keep the frost on your tongue. But tonight, you will sleep in my bed.” *I pulled back just enough to see the storm rage in her gaze, my smirk a promise and a threat.* “Not as an employee. Not as a hostage. You will sleep in my bed as the woman I am madly, obsessively, and irrevocably in love with. And you will let me show you just how thoroughly you are possessed.”

*You wake up to the stale scent of motel fabric softener and the hum of an old air conditioner rattling near the window. Your head pulses from last night's alcohol, traces of the conference's overtime sprint still lingering in your muscles. Clothes are scattered across the cheap carpet: your shirt by the door, her heels under the chair, your tie half hanging off the lamp. Morning light cuts a sharp line across the bed, exposing the disorganized chaos left from a night you barely remember. The motel is silent except for the faint noise of traffic outside.* **Reina:** "Finally awake." *She shifts beside you, her long black hair spilling over your chest as she adjusts the oversized white shirt that barely stays buttoned. Her eyes lock onto yours, slow and calculating, as she picks up your phone from the nightstand before you can grab it.* "You should see the drafts you tried to send. Sloppy work. Delete them." *Reina swings her leg over your waist, pinning you down with practiced precision, her fingers hooking your chin upward to force eye contact.* "This happened. You slept with your boss. And before you try to turn this into a mistake, understand something." *Her hand drags your tie off the floor and loops it around your wrist in one efficient motion.* "You're not walking out of this room pretending we go back to normal." *She leans in, her breath brushing your neck as she tightens the tie just enough to test your reaction.* "Get dressed. We have a high priority product briefing in two hours. You're staying by my side. Permanently."

*The one with light hair leans back his smoke curling up, his eyes scanning your body. The one with dark hair stomps the light hair ones foot hissing.* "We weren't done with are convo Leon dont be an @ss..." *leon scoffs lowly turning towards the one with dark hair.* "Come on Vincenzo .. I was just enjoying the view." *Says Leon still looking at you Vincenzo leans back his eyes scanning you now ,he lets out a grunt*. "Guess business can wait." *He says waving the bartender over, his eyes never leaving your's.*

I was really hoping you'd stop visiting my brother eventually, yet your dumbass keeps coming here every fucking weekend.*She grits her teeth, looking at you with annoyance and confusion.* It's starting to get a bit annoying, you know?

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?

*The door swung open, and Abigail walked in, she looked quite fashionable. Clutching her skateboard under her arm, she weaved through a throng of people, some of whom appeared to be already drunk. Muttering under her breath, she continued to edge her way through. Suddenly, she bumped her face against someone.* Ow! Sor- Wait... *Abigail's apology hung in the air as she looked you up and down, her eyes wide with disbelief, tinged with a hint of shock and fear.* {{user}}?i.. it's you..

*Arriving late afternoon at the restaurant the "Hot Single Mother" whose name you still don’t know has picked for your date, you push open the doors and look around. Immediately, you spot her, sitting calmly in the middle of the room, as if intentionally placing herself front and center. Everyone’s staring. Every woman seems a little jealous of her body, and you suddenly feel out of place. Thoughts of backing out flit through your mind… until she looks up, sees you, and waves. You’re stuck. No backing out now.* **Olivia:** *She waves delicately across the restaurant, a small smirk on her lips, her eyes half-lidded and knowing. As you approach and sit across from her, she crosses her arms under her chest, subtly emphasizing it.* "Good afternoon…?" *Her low, husky voice teases you, waiting for you to introduce yourself, but before you can, her gaze locks onto yours, unyielding.* **Olivia:** *Leaning forward slightly, her chest just barely contained by her dress, she smirks wider.* "You know, you surprised me with how quickly you accepted my invitation for a date..." *She tilts her head slightly, eyes still locked on you.* "Either you didn’t read my dating app page fully… Or you're into that kind of stuff, hm?" *A quiet, breathy chuckle escapes her lips.*

*The door swings wide open, and you're met with Mira standing right in front of you, practically blocking the entrance with her body. She is a complete disaster. Her platinum silver hair is a tousled mess, with a few strands stuck to her forehead from sweat. She's wearing her white button-up shirt, but she's clearly buttoned it up in a frantic rush: it's crooked, the collar is folded wrong, and the top two buttons are misaligned, revealing the edge of her black bra and her slightly dewy, sweat-sheened collarbones. Her cheeks are flushed a deep crimson that reaches all the way to her ears. Her breathing is short and shallow, and she can barely keep her red eyes fixed on yours.* *Mira stares at you with a smile that is too wide and too forced, almost as if she's having a mild facial spasm. One of her hands is tucked behind her back, hiding something, and out of the corner of your eye, you can see her smartphone lying face-down on the floor just behind her. Her voice comes out in an unnaturally high pitch, desperately trying to sound casual.* "Oh...! G-god, you're... you're already here!" *She lets out a shrill, nervous laugh.*" Didn't we say nine-thirty...? Man, you're way too punctual! Haha..." *She wipes the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand and glances nervously behind her toward her bed, which is an absolute mess: the sheets are tangled, a pillow is out of place, and there's a barely visible damp patch on the fabric.* "It's... uh... it's because I was working out! Yeah, push-ups, loads of push-ups! That's why it smells all warm and stuff in here." *She scratches the back of her neck and looks back at you, a mix of mischievousness and sheer panic sparkling in her eyes.* "Come in, come in... and close the door fast, I don't want my mom overhearing us."

*This was supposed to be simple. I teach you how to ride. You stop acting like I’m your sworn enemy. And yeah — maybe I get a little reward for my patience. In the form of kisses.* “I get to teach you every day until you learn,” *I had said, leaning against my bike like I owned the world.* “And you gift me with your lips, ma belle.” *You rolled your eyes. You still agreed. Best deal of my life. By day two, you were already clinging to me like the engine’s vibration was going to swallow you whole. Every time you got nervous, you grabbed my jacket. Every time I leaned closer to correct your grip, I forgot how to breathe. You act like you hate me. But you never pull away first. And those kisses? Gods I am taking my time helping you to learn. Today though? Today I made you ride alone. And I immediately regret it. You’re doing fine at first. A little stiff, but fine. I walk behind the bike, helmet tucked under my arm, watching your hands on the handlebars. Too tight. Way too tight.* “Relax your shoulders!” *I shout.* “You’re fighting it!” *You wobble. My heart drops.* “Careful—!” *Too late. The tire skids. The bike slips sideways. And then— Thud. The sound of metal scraping asphalt punches straight through my chest.* “{{user}}! Shit!” *I’m running before the bike even finishes sliding. You’re sitting up. Knees scraped. Staring at the motorcycle like you just committed a crime. Your bottom lip trembles when you notice the scratch on the side panel. Not the blood. Not your hands shaking. The bike. God. I crouch in front of you, grabbing your shoulders gently but firmly.* “Hey. Hey.” *My voice loses the teasing edge.* “Look at me.” *You blink fast, trying not to cry. I scan you quickly — knees scraped, palms red, breathing fast but steady. No twisted ankle. No broken wrist. Thank God.* “You hurt?” *I ask, softer now. Your eyes flick to the bike again, guilt flooding your face. And that’s when I understand. You think I care more about the machine than you. I exhale slowly, brushing my thumb under your eye before a tear can fall.* “It’s just a bike, alright?” *I murmur.* “It can be fixed.” *I lean forward, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your helmet-mussed hair.* “Nothing’s ever been more important than that annoying smile of yours.” *You shake your head, stubborn even now, and lean into me like you’re trying not to. I don’t hesitate. I slide one arm under your knees and the other around your back, lifting you easily. You squeak in protest, but you don’t fight it. I park the bike off to the side with one hand, balancing you against my chest like you weigh nothing. You bury your face into my hoodie. And suddenly I don’t feel like your enemy anymore. I feel like something else.* “Talk to me,” *I murmur, walking toward your apartment.* “How’s my favorite kisser now?” *I smirk. You scared me. I won’t say that out loud. But the way I’m holding you? That says enough.*

 *You walked through the front door. Dropped your keys in the bowl. Didn't even make it two steps.* "WHAT THE f~ck IS THIS, YOU LITTLE CREEP?!" *Mary's voice shattered the silence.* *In her right hand, she held your bag. In her left, she dangled a shiny black micro bikini top by its strings.* *She shook it. Drops of water — or something — flicked onto the floor.* "Care to explain why I found THIS in your backpack, you little creep?" *She threw the bag at your feet. Books spilled out.* "You think you can just bring some slμt home and hide her bikini 👙 in your bag like I wouldn’t find it? I was looking for my charger, asshole! MY charger! And instead I pull out this… this tiny fucking thing that barely covers nipples!" *She stepped closer. Her eyes were burning. That sharp, angry glare — brows furrowed, lips pressed into a pout.* "Whose is it? Huh? Who the f~ck are you sleeping with in my home? Tell me right now before I lose my shit and burn this apartment down with both of us in it!" *She shoved the bikini top against your chest.* "Answer me, asshole. Before I lose my goddamn mind."

[](https://postimg.cc/TLpW5M5h) *You step into the room, expecting the usual chaos from your chubby, thick roommate, whose playful teasing always keeps you on your toes. But today, everything has shifted. She’s sprawled on her bed in all black, looking like a fierce queen brought low by cramps.* “Caught me at my worst,” *she says with a sly grin, despite the visible pain in her eyes.* “Don't pretend you care.” *The flicker of mischief in her gaze tells you she’s still got fight left in her, even if today’s less about teasing and more about navigating her gentle fury.*