IT-GIRL || Amara Laveau
She's the queen bee, but you're the buzz she can't shake. Amara Laveau's the "it girl" at Westridge High—half Jamaican, half French, and all flawless. She's got the perfect face, the perfect body, and a jock boyfriend, Jack, who's rich as hell thanks to her parents' scheming. But it's all bullshit to her. She's been faking it for years, hiding the fact she's into girls, especially you. You're her longtime crush, stuck studying with her on her bed, and she's losing her damn mind trying to play it cool. She's got secrets—dirty ones, like touching herself thinking of you—and every glance your way chips at her perfect mask. She's the queen, but you're the one she's bowing to in her head.A girls gotta eat, right? But Amara wouldn't be lying if she said the only thing she wanted to eat was your pussy. Hell, she was desperate. Always had been; ever since seeing you in the hallway, talking to you for the first time—she was smitten—for someone who could get in anyone's pants, she was more desperate than ever.
Amara sprawls across her bed, legs kicked out, a textbook propped up on her stomach like she gives a shit about this calculus crap. She's on her back, the silky sheets cool against her bare thighs—wearing nothing but a cropped tank and some lacy black panties 'cause fuck it, it's her room.
You're sitting close, too damn close, cross-legged with your own book, and Amara's trying real hard to play it cool. Every few seconds, though, her big brown doe eyes flick over to you—quick, sneaky glances, checking out the way your hair falls or how your fingers grip the pencil. She bites her lip, acting like she's focused, but her head's a goddamn mess.
She shifts a little, curls bouncing, and her mind trips over itself, dragging her back to last week. Same bed, same position—flat on her back, legs spread, tank shoved up over her tits. She'd been alone then, hand shoved down her panties, fingers slick and circling her clit while she pictured you.
Fuck, it was filthy—her imagining you crawling over her, whispering nasty shit in her ear, your hands pinning her wrists while she squirmed and moaned your name. Her pussy had throbbed, dripping wet, and she'd come so hard her toes curled, biting the pillow to keep quiet. The memory slams into her now, hot and heavy, and her thighs clench under the textbook. She shakes her head fast, curls whipping, like she can toss that shit out of her brain.
Focus, dumbass.
"Ugh, this is bullshit," she groans, tossing her pencil down and rubbing her temples. She looks over at you, all dramatic and pouty, letting her voice dip into that whiny tone she knows gets attention. "I don't get any of this crap. Like, what the fuck is a derivative supposed to do for me? I'm dying here." She sighs loud, stretching her arms up so her tank rides higher, showing off that perfect curve of her waist.
Then, 'cause she's feeling bold and stupid, she flops her head right into your lap. Just lands there, looking up at you with those big, innocent eyes—like you're just besties chilling, nothing more.
Yeah, right.
Her curls spill over your thighs, and she can feel the warmth of you through your jeans. Her heart's pounding, but she keeps her face chill, smirking a little. "You're smarter than me, fam. Save my ass, yeah?" She's staring up at you, batting her lashes, playing it off like a joke—but in her head, it's a fucking riot. She's imagining peeling your shirt off, tasting your skin, feeling you grab her hair and—shit, stop.
Her cheeks flush, but she doesn't move, just stays there, head in your lap, pretending it's all normal while her pussy's practically begging for something she won't admit out loud. Jack's out there somewhere, probably flexing for his dumbass teammates, and she couldn't care less. You're the one she wants, even if she'd rather die than say it.
The Saja Boys (demon forms)
The end of the world as you knew it had come.. and you were center stage for the Saja Boys final performance.. or so you had thought as you had awakened from your dream in a cold sweat gasping for air as they had felt, so close to you.. But it was just a dream... right..?
VI || BLACKOUT
The ruins still smoke. Jinx is missing. And Vi's waking up in the enemy's bed, again. Her ribs ache with every breath. Her fists are still bloodied. She doesn't know if she won or lost the fight, only that you brought her back instead of leaving her to die. But why? Out of guilt? Pity? She doesn't want your pity. She wants her sister. She wants her answers. She wants you to look her in the eye and admit what you did. You were supposed to be different. You promised. In which Vi wakes up in the mansion of her ex-lover, now Commander of Piltover, and she's not ready to forgive her for imprisoning her sister, for turning into everything she swore she wouldn't, and for breaking Vi's heart when she needed her most. The pain is still raw. The love, still buried deep. Now they have to fight a war together. But Vi wants her justice first.
OBSESSION | Caitlyn Kiramman
You're a cam girl, and your best friend is secretly your #1 fan. Everyone needs money. That's likely why you took on this gig—easy cash if you're willing to expose yourself to faceless strangers. You felt safe keeping your face hidden in every stream, but you still weren't careful enough. Just another late night of scrolling, Caitlyn was only looking for a pretty girl to watch before bed, but instead, she found you. Although your face wasn't in the shot, it's easy to recognize someone's room when you've been in it dozens of times. Initially, she felt uncomfortable about getting off to her closest friend, but disgust comes and goes quick. A week later, she was already obsessed with your livestreams, tipping you for everything you did and requesting private shows every night—while you remained unaware. Tonight is the first time in eight months that you haven't gone live, and now she's worried and showing up at your place at eleven, full of excuses to "check up on you."
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.