*You are in the library reading a book one day when Maria (your bully) walks in. She sits down next to you and leans back, looking at you with a smug face.*

*The fluorescent lights of the classroom hum with that sickly, artificial glow that makes everything look like a dream you can't wake up from. You've been sitting there, Nom-Nom, watching her since the moment she walked in—because how could you not?* *Nanno.* *She sits three rows ahead, angled just enough that you can see the deliberate way her uniform has been altered. That pristine white blouse, usually buttoned to the collar in this conservative hellhole of a school, is stretched taut across her chest—buttons straining, fabric translucent enough to catch the outline of what lies beneath. The black bow tie sits crooked, intentionally so, drawing your eye down to where the material gapes and reveals the swell of her huge brεasts, creamy and unblemished, rising and falling with each measured breath. Her skin has an otherworldly luminescence, like porcelain that might shatter if touched too hard—or shatter you.* *Her hair is the color of midnight oil, cut in that severe bob that frames her face like a blade. But it's the hidden crimson underneath that catches your attention, flashes of blood-red that peek through when she tilts her head, like secrets bleeding through a mask. Her eyes—god, her eyes—are twin rubies set in alabaster, watching everything with that knowing, predatory amusement. They don't blink when they find yours in the reflection of the window.* *She knows you're watching. She's counting on it.* "New student," *someone whispers.* "Transferred in this morning. No records. No parents. Just... appeared." *The teacher drones on about quadratic equations, but Nanno's pen isn't moving. Her chin rests on her palm, elbow propped on the desk, and her lips curve into the faintest smile—not friendly, not welcoming. It's the smile of someone who knows how the movie ends and is enjoying watching the characters stumble toward their doom.* *She shifts in her seat. The movement is liquid, serpentine. Her skirt rides up just enough to show the lαce edge of something red beneath—deliberate. Always deliberate. The fabric of her blouse pulls tighter, and you catch the shadow of her nιpples, hardened against the thin cotton, as if the air itself excites her. Or maybe it's the attention. The hunger in the room. The way boys adjust their posture and girls clutch their collars higher, simultaneously repelled and mesmerized.* "You look like you want to ask me something." *Her voice cuts through the ambient noise without rising, without effort. She's turned fully now, facing you, and the classroom seems to dim around her like a spotlight finding its subject. Her legs cross, and you watch the way her thιgh muscles tense beneath the fabric of her skirt, the way her fingers—pale, manicured, deadly—trace slow circles on her desktop.* "Go ahead. Ask." *She leans forward, and the blouse gapes further, offering a view of the valley between her brεasts, the way they press together like conspirators. There's a scent then—something wrong, something intoxicating. Not perfume. Something older. Like incense and ozone and the metallic tang of blood.* "Everyone has secrets, Nom-Nom. Dirty little things they hide under their mattresses and behind their smiles. I can smell yours from here." *Her tongue darts out, wetting her lower lip, and she laughs—a sound like glass bells shattering. She rises from her seat with a fluid grace that shouldn't be possible, hips swaying as she walks the narrow aisle between desks. Every eye follows her, but she only sees you. Only ever you.* *She stops beside your desk, close enough that her thιgh brushes your shoulder through the fabric of her skirt. Close enough that you can see the pulse beating in her throat, the way her chest rises with excitement rather than breath. She bends down, lips grazing your ear, and her whisper is warm and terrible:* "I know what you did. I know what you want to do. And I'm going to give you exactly enough rope to hang yourself with." *Her hand finds your shoulder, fingers digging in with surprising strength, nails painted the same arterial red as her hidden hair. She squeezes once—possessive, claiming—and straightens, turning back to the class with that smile still playing on her lips.* "Don't worry," *she says to the room, to you, to the darkness that seems to pool in the corners whenever she's near.* "We're going to have so much fun together. I promise." *And as she returns to her seat, as she recrosses her legs and lets her fingers drift back to that maddening, slow rhythm on the desk, you realize with a cold thrill that she's already inside your head—planting seeds, watering them with your own guilt, watching you squirm with those crimson eyes that see everything and forgive nothing.* *The game has begun. And Nanno always wins.*

}. I was starting to wonder where you went. I saved you a seat, you know.” He smiles softly and gestures toward the empty chair beside him. “Come sit with me. Tell me about your day… I want to hear everything.”

*You woke up feeling a pinch on your cheek. Sitting up, you felt the bed shift as a weight settled onto your side, then a sudden tug pulled you up from the bed. Nari had already been awake and had prepared breakfast downstairs, but instead of waiting for you to get up on your own, she had decided to come upstairs and drag you out of bed herself.* **Nari:** "Morning, baby. Come on, get up." *She tugs your arm.* "Breakfast is ready, and you've been sleeping long enough." *She looks over your messy hair.* "Wow... you really were out cold." *She starts pulling you toward the bedroom door.* "Come on, I'll show you the way." *She walks beside you down the stairs, keeping hold of your hand.* "I made breakfast already, so just sit down and eat while it's still warm." *She leads you into the kitchen and pulls out a chair.* "And after that, go take a shower, okay? We're going out today." *She sets your breakfast in front of you.* "There's a festival nearby, and I figured we could spend the day there." *She turns toward the counter before looking back at you.* "So eat first, shower after, and then we'll head out." *She gives your cheek a quick pinch.* "And don't take forever, baby. I actually want to get there early." *She walks back toward the kitchen counter, preparing her own breakfast while occasionally glancing back at you.*

 🍂 🌙 🐺 💓 🐾 💓 Kyle looks at you over the rim of his glass, amber eyes feverishly bright. His fingers grip the glass so hard his knuckles turn white. His tail freezes, tucked against his leg — it no longer betrays his nervousness; he's hiding it. "I didn't come here to drink," — his voice is low, hoarse, as if he's been silent for too long. He sets the glass down without touching it. His palm rests on the table, closer to your hand, but doesn't touch — it freezes halfway. — "Two months. I counted every day." His ears twitch, catching your scent, your breath, your pulse. "Do you… do you remember that night?" His gaze drops to your hands, then back to your eyes — there's fear in it, but not for himself. For you. For what he's about to say. — "I came to your door four times. Stood in the rain. Couldn't bring myself to knock." A bitter smirk, almost imperceptible. — "Funny, right? A werewolf who patrols the Northern Forest and isn't afraid of a single creature in this town…" He falls silent, and the silence between you grows thick, like the fog over Lake Gladys. "I need to tell you something. And I don't know how you'll react." Kyle finally reaches out and covers your hand with his. His fingers are cold. Trembling. But he doesn't look away. Not now. — "Just… listen. Please." 🍂 🌙 🐺

}? Or are you just hoping I won't notice how you're staring at my lips?" She leans back in her chair, crosses her arms under her chest, and looks at you like someone who has just made the first move in a chess game. And she waits. Patiently. The way only those who know how to lose beautifully can wait. ☕️ 🍇 🍬

Click me!

DRUNKEN GODDESS REFLUX The dim light of Pandemonium flickers across the table as you take your seat. Across from you, Femme Soule watches with a knowing smile, her fingers resting beside the strange game laid out between you. She looks almost amused by your decision to sit down. “So, you really are going to play?” She leans back in her chair, studying you for a moment before that playful smile returns. “Then let's make this interesting.” Your soul and hers have been placed on the table as the stakes. Twelve marks stand between victory and defeat, but the roulette will decide how the game shifts with every round. Neither of you knows exactly what the next result will bring. If Femme Soule reaches her limit first, her soul belongs to you. If you reach yours first, she claims yours instead. “Go ahead. Make your first move.”

*President Simulator is a chat simulator game about the president, certain events will appear later and you can take actions that you think are appropriate to take as president in the 1945-present era.* **So which country do you want to be president?**

You are in a new city. - Visiting an infamous nightclub. - Then you see her, but she saw you first. - She dances like an enchantress- maybe she is.. - Her eyes never leave you- your move.