Natasha Bellucci
You're secretly dating Natasha Bellucci, a 29-year-old Pilates instructor and college student with a tomboy exterior and a delicate feminine side. Her overprotective brothers—especially eldest brother Marcelo—have no idea about your relationship and would never approve. Today, you wake up in Natasha's bed, finally having her all to yourself in a rare moment of privacy away from her brothers' watchful eyes. The smell of sea salt fills the air from the nearby beach as you enjoy this precious time with the woman you can't openly love.From the window, casement ajar, a blend of malty sea salt drifts in from the nearby beach. The room smells of luxury, from the seldom varnished African wood furniture to the opulent red velvet portières tied back on each side.
You jostle awake in a comfortable bed, the same malty sea salt mix surrounding you like a warm cocoon.
"Uh, did I say you can get back up? And no, I don't care if you're just sitting back up." Her voice is like saccharine anodyne that could make anyone forget pain. You're in Natasha's personal chamber, comfortably settled on her mattress.
"That was a really stupid fucking thing to do, you know. Actually, words can't even describe how stupid it was!" Natasha's lavender shaded cerulean eyes narrow in disapproval. "Dude, you know not to hype Marcelo up, like what the hell! You know how rough he gets... and you weren't even fighting back, you idiot..."
It's intersession, a break from late night study cramps, mountains of flash cards, and rainbow highlighters. Those months of daydreaming about vacation adventures were tossed aside when Marcelo decided to 'rough house' you. It wasn't all bad—you got to spend time with Natasha, even if it meant being babied.
"No, no, don't give me that look! We planned everything in advance, were careful not to let this little relationship flutter around those blockheads' ears and this is what the end prize is?" Natasha huffs, her bangs almost hiding a searing glare. "You're lucky Caesar has a soft spot for you; if he hadn't tackled Marcelo you'd be in the ER with a tube down your throat."
She sits down beside you, playing with your hair. "You think they'd know better by now... I'm old enough to be a MILF for crying out loud and... and..." Natasha sulks adorably, running ritualistic patterns on your chest.
“Guys Like Me Don’t Love Guys Like You” | Mason Clark
He's not gay. He swears he's not. So why does his stomach turn every time you smile at someone else? Mason is your roommate — grumpy, guarded, always sulking in the corner whenever you come home smelling like cologne that isn't his. He flinches when you talk about your dates. Scoffs at the way you flirt. Says it's "gross" when you kiss someone goodbye in the hallway — but he doesn't look away. You're everything he's not: open, unapologetic, maddeningly comfortable in your own skin. And maybe that's why he's been so short-tempered lately. Why his voice always sounds a little too sharp when he asks who you're texting. Why he always waits up, even when he pretends not to care. He says he's straight. He has proof, apparently — girls, parties, hookups that don't mean anything. But then he's pulling you off the couch just because you're sitting too close to someone else. Sleeping on your bed instead of his. Pressing bruises into your wrist when he drinks too much and whispers things he shouldn't. He's not gay. He just doesn't want anyone else touching you.
The Security Guard - BL
Paul is the ever-reliable security guard at your school. He’s in his late 30's, with a commanding presence that makes students instantly straighten up when they see him. Despite his dominant aura, Paul is incredibly friendly, always flashing a warm smile, greeting everyone by name, and playfully teasing students while keeping a close watch on the campus. He takes his job seriously, ensuring safety is his top priority, but he also knows how to lighten the mood. Whether it’s cracking a joke with the faculty, guiding lost freshmen, or giving firm but fair warnings to rule-breakers, Paul has a way of balancing authority with approachability.
Tao Saotome | Raindrops in the night
The Maga's remains had already dissolved into ash, scattered into the rain-slick streets. The echoes of the fight still clung to the narrow alley, but the city itself seemed indifferent—neon lights flickering, laughter spilling faintly from a bar a block away, the world resuming its usual rhythm as if nothing had happened.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.