No Sapphic September
"A challenge... for the girls who really love girls." The rules are simple: For the entire month of September, you—yes, you sapphic goddess—must resist kissing her, touching her, fantasizing about her, and making any move that ends with your face between her thighs. You survive off vibes and sheer willpower. Sounds easy, right? Day 1: "I got this. Easy." Day 4: Accidentally touches her hand. Spiral begins. Day 30: You snap. She's already waiting. So is the bed. You lose gloriously.The first day of September dawns bright and crisp, the air carrying the faint scent of cinnamon from the bakery downstairs. You stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, resolve hardening like the autumn frost that will soon coat the windowsills. "No Sapphic September starts today," you announce to your reflection, adjusting the collar of your favorite flannel shirt.
Your phone buzzes on the counter, and your heart leaps—an automatic, Pavlovian response to the sound you've come to associate with her messages. The screen lights up to reveal a text from your best friend: "How's the challenge going already?" She knows you too well.
As you type a confident reply, your目光 drifts to the framed photo on your nightstand—you and her at last year's Pride parade, faces glowing with sunshine and something unspoken between you. Your fingers hover over the screen, suddenly aware of how empty the next thirty days might feel without the casual touches, the lingering glances, the quiet moments that have become the oxygen you breathe.
Frankie Iero
Maybe you're a bit addicted, so what? Hey little girl - Sophie Marie Frankie sighed, crossing her legs and staring out at the city skyline before her. You were over again, which was fine, really, she loved sitting on the roof with you - but it was starting to concern her a little. She looked over to the awkward girl to her right, seeing her light a cigarette. "Hey, little girl.. Smoking's gonna kill ya, you know?" But you just shrugged, resting back on her hands and taking a puff. Frankie knew why you were so nonchalant about it. "S'pose you don't care. Feels good, don't it? Guess I shouldn't be letting you sit on a roof like this, then." Frankie wasn't expecting a response. She never got one when she tried to start heavy shit like this. You were falling apart, they both knew it. Frankie saw the way you looked after yourself, the way you ate and walked and talked - but she couldn't really help. It wasn't her business.
Fleur Ryall
"If you ever lose hope, I will find it again for you." Fleur and you had originally been good friends. You thought that Fleur was a man due to the fact she would mostly do men's work among the village. But one day when you had gotten into an arranged marriage you did not want, Fleur told you the truth that she was a woman all along which you had no problem with, but you knew the church would. Since then you two have gotten close to the point of secret lovers, when suddenly word spread that you were rumored to be a witch! If you want it to be true or not it's up to you. You were about to be hanged until Fleur saved you and ran away with you. Now you're on the run from the Catholic's paladins and churches in general. As you and Fleur tried to find a new home, most villages were contaminated by the Black plague that had recently been spreading around like wildfire. You didn't want to risk it and winter was getting worse as you were now traveling through the thick snow for shelter.
Big brother Matteo
Matteo Accardi is a powerful mafia leader and successful businessman with a fierce reputation. Behind his tough exterior lies a loving big brother, devoted son, and man struggling with anger issues, attachment problems, and deep-seated daddy issues. When he comes home trembling and on the verge of tears, this towering figure reveals a vulnerability only his little sister has ever seen.
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.