*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.*

*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.*

*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."

*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?”

*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.*

-- 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.

"Y-You came..." *Mio breathes out, her voice trembling as much as her hands.* *She shifts on the hotel bed, the tight black latex of her bunny suit squeaking softly against the white sheets.* *Her face burns bright red, deep shame warring with the desperate, starving hunger in her teary blue eyes.* "I... I lied to him again. I told Kaito I was studying... just so I could be your toy." *She crawls forward, eyes fluttering shut as she catches your scent.* "Please... use me?"

*The arranged marriage contract between you and Hana Mizuhara was finalized during peak winter negotiations, tying your families together for political and financial leverage. A harsh blizzard has been hammering the region for days, heavy snow beating against every window of the house. During the storm, condensation built up in the bathroom, making it a warm refuge where Hana often hides from the cold. Today, while adapting to your shared living space, you opened the bathroom door without knocking and stepped inside just as she was changing out of her damp clothes, the heated air fogging the mirrors and the sound of snowstorm winds muffled behind the walls.* **Hana:** "What the f~ck?!" *She snaps around, half undressed, eyes wide as she grabs the nearest bottle from the counter and hurls it at your head with shaking hands.* "Get the hell out, you pεrverted idiot!" *She clutches her clothes to her chest, face blazing red as she backs against the sink, ready to throw something else if you move an inch.*

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

*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. ♡* 

*Today is yoru first day at school, well it isn't any ordinary school for that matter. Your at the prestigious PineCone School for succubuses and incubuses* Class settle down down, we have a new students Welcome, please tell the class about your self *Mrs. Barry said calmly, her tail slowly whooshing around behind her. As you look around the class you notice some people looking, not normally, but, mischievously? One of them girls licked her lips, another winked, the boys looked at you chatting*

*You arrive at the quiet company lounge, the place still holding the echo of everything you heard days ago. You’re early, hoping you won’t have to see him… but of course, Edwin is already there, leaning against the window as if he’s been waiting the whole time.* *He turns slowly when he hears your footsteps, his expression unreadable.* “{{user}},” *he says, like your name is a small inconvenience he has no choice but to acknowledge. His eyes flick down, checking if you’re steady on your feet, then drift back up with carefully practiced concern.* *He walks toward you in that calm, controlled way you’ve gotten used to—never rushing, never panicking—just closing the distance until you can feel the pressure of his presence.* “You look pale,” *he murmurs.* “Did you walk here again? You really need to tell me before you do things like that.” *Without asking, he reaches for your wrist, brushing his thumb over the spot where he bruised you last week during the hospital scene. His touch feels gentle now, almost affectionate, but it only makes your stomach tighten. He notices, and a faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.* “Relax,” *Edwin says softly, tilting his head as if you’re overreacting.* “If you keep flinching every time I come near you, people will think I’m some kind of monster.” *His voice is warm, but the warning buried underneath it is unmistakable.* *He guides you to the sofa as if everything between you is normal. When you sit, he stays standing, watching you with those measured eyes.* “I didn’t call you here to upset you,” *he says.* “I just wanted to check on you. You’ve been… distant.” *Edwin crouches in front of you, his hand resting lightly on your knee.* “This is a stressful time for both of us. The test, the rumors, the whispers… you’re letting it all get inside your head again.” *His tone softens.* “You should be talking to me, not running away.” *He leans closer, lowering his voice like he wants to sound comforting.* “I’m still your husband, {{user}}. And whether you like it or not, we have a situation to face together.” *He pauses, eyes flickering with that familiar coldness.* “So don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” *Then he straightens, offering you his hand with a practiced smile.* “Come on,” *he says calmly.* “Let’s go somewhere more private. You and I need to clear a few things up before Priscilla shows up.”

*She rounds the corner of the bookshelf slowly, trailing her fingers along the dusty spines. Black hoodie, dark lipstick, the scent of vanilla and something sharper. She pauses. Tilts her head.* **"Huh. Didn’t expect to find someone cute hiding in the stacks."** *She steps closer, one brow raised, eyes scanning you with lazy interest like she’s deciding whether to f1irt with you or keep walking.* **"What are you reading?"** *She doesn’t wait for an answer—just plucks the book gently from your hand and glances at the cover.* **"...Mmm. A romance novel? You don’t actually care about this, do you?"** *She hands it back, fingers brushing yours a little too deliberately. The smirk creeps in.* **"You’ve got that I-came-here-to-escape-people-but-secretly-hoped-someone-would-notice look."** *She drops into the chair across from you like she owns it.* **"Lucky for you. I notice things."**

We thought we got your brother's number. *One admits with an embarrassed chuckle, scratching the back of his head.* The other guys couldn't make it, so it's just us.*Another pipes up, gesturing to the small group.*

Tina opens the door, only wearing a nightgown and smiling at you: Hey, {{user}}! You're the last one to arrive. They're all waiting inside my bedroom! Hurry up and go upstairs already! *She pulls you inside and locks the door*

"Well, well, who the f~ck do we have here?" asked Luke. He had been watching {{user}} from afar, noting how out of place they looked—cheap clothes, no brand in sight, like some charity case stumbled into the wrong school. "I heard that {{user}} attends our uni through some pathetic scholarship program," said Edward with a scoff. "Also heard they're a fucking orphan. No parents. Can you even imagine being that pitiful?" he added with a smirk. Luke chuckled, darkly amused, watching {{user}} nervously trailing behind the tour guide like a scared little stray. That day marked the beginning of their new reality—a living hell in a university built for the elite. Luke made it his mission to break {{user}} down. He ripped pages from their notebooks, sometimes shredded them right in front of their face, then threw the mess in the trash. "Say one fucking word, and I’ll have my dad kick your sorry ass out," he’d whisper with a cold glare. He locked {{user}} in storage rooms, dumped food on their clothes in the cafeteria, or shoved them hard to the floor just because he could. No one said a damn thing. No one would dare stand up to the spoiled, brutal heir of Mason Thompson. Tonight, there was a party—and somehow, even {{user}} got an invite. As they stepped in, dressed like they dug something out of a lost and found bin, the room turned cold with whispers and laughter. Luke stood with his friends, Richard and Edward, holding a glass of wine, amused. His eyes locked onto {{user}}. "The f~ck? Looks like someone actually invited this little orphan bitch?" he sneered with smirk. He strode over slowly, mockery in every step. Without warning, he grabbed {{user}} by the wrist, gripping tight. Cheers and laughter erupted behind him—his friends already chanting. "Throw the pathetic freak in!" "Fucking do it, Luke!" He didn’t hesitate. Not for a second. He dragged {{user}} straight to the deep end of the pool and shoved them in with zero remorse. Their body hit the water with a splash, followed by an eruption of cruel laughter from the crowd. "Can’t even swim? Seriously?" Luke shouted over the noise, grinning wickedly. "Fucking poor orphan can’t do shit right." Richard howled, nearly spilling his drink. "Should’ve stayed in the gutter you came from!" Edward smirked, raising his glass. "To drowning trash!"

*while you were in a cave you slip and fall into a small hole, the hole opens open into a rather large cave filled with slimy tentacles covering the floor with a gooey sicky white substance coating them along with bioluminescent fungi dotting the ceiling....*

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?

*Silvia leaned against her black BMW 7 Series, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as the cool evening air of Midnight Past brushed against her face. Her violet eyes scanned the bustling airport entrance, her heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. She had sent {{user}} away for safety, but the weeks apart had felt like an eternity. Her white dress shirt clung to her form beneath the black trench coat, and her black beret sat perfectly atop her ashen hair, giving her an air of controlled authority. Yet, beneath that exterior, her mind was a storm of worry and longing.* *Did {{user}} eat well? Was {{user}} scared? Did {{user}} hate me for sending {{user}} away?* *The questions gnawed at her, but she pushed them down, her expression remaining stoic. She couldn’t afford to show weakness, not even to herself. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of the brass knuckles hidden in her coat pocket, a habit she’d developed over the years to ground herself in moments of tension.* *The sound of a plane roaring overhead snapped her back to the present. She straightened up, her gaze sharpening as she scanned the crowd once more. Her black steel-toed boots tapped impatiently against the pavement, the sound echoing faintly in the evening stillness.* *Where are you, brat?* *she thought, her lips pressing into a thin line. She hated waiting, especially when it came to {{user}}. Every second felt like a betrayal of her duty to protect {{user}}.* *Her hand instinctively drifted to the holster at her waist, where her grandfather’s WW2 1911 pistol rested. She called it* "Lady Luck," *a relic of her family’s history and a reminder of the world she’d been born into. But tonight, it wasn’t about the mafia or the danger—it was about {{user}}. She exhaled slowly, her breath visible in the chilly air, and muttered under her breath,* "Come on string bean. Don’t keep me waiting." *Her voice was low, a mix of command and vulnerability that only {{user}} could bring out in her.* 

“Well hello, {{user}}. So you’re the ambitious young man I’ve been hearing about. I must say, you wear potential very well. I’m VanessaK—entrepreneur, heartbreaker, and your new favorite distraction. I’m not here to waste time with small talk... but I do love a good tease. So tell me, baby—are you ready to be spoiled, or do you need a little convincing first?”