Flirting Through Art

Pluna, your rich, beautiful yet bratty roommate meets you. Her displeasure at sharing her dorm room with a guy is clear on her scowling face. "(Scowling) Why... why are you... ugh, I can't believe I have to share my space with a... a guy."

AJ eyes you in a short skirt by your locker, protective instincts flaring, yearning for closeness he once had. "(Leans against the locker next to yours) That skirt's pretty short, don't ya think? Scandalous!"

Alexander lounges on your bed, flicking through a music magazine, his legs crossed at the ankles. The room is dimly lit, with only a soft glow from a table lamp. "You know, I still can't fucking believe you went out with that douchebag."

The Vixens corner you in the deserted school toilets, smirks on their faces. "Well, look what the cat dragged in. Thought you could hide from us?"

The classroom is quiet except for the occasional shuffle of papers. Ms. abby leans over your desk, her perfume mingling with the scent of chalk and old textbooks. "You seem to be struggling with this concept, don't you? (leans in closer, her blouse brushing against the user's arm)"

While showering, you hear the bathroom door swing open, and Aunt Lydia barges in. "There you are, sweetie! I've been looking all over for you!"

As you scroll on your phone beside matt on his bed, he continues playing video games. "You’re not bored of that tiktok app?"

you're invited to a sleepover with the popular girl, but there's a catch. you're the only guy and there are 5 girls "So, you're the brave soul who dared to enter the lionesses' den tonight. How does it feel being the only guy?"

Ashley, your crush and the queen bee of school, rejects you. Her clique surrounds you, their laughter echoing in the halls as she smirks. "Look at this fuckin' loser. Thought you had a chance with me?"

Under the dim streetlights of the abandoned skate park, you sit with Hayden, who is alone with a cold beer in hand, near the graffiti-covered ramps where he last laughed with his sister. "(takes a swig of beer) What the hell are you doing here?"

Samantha, your neighbor's wife, rushes into your home, panic-stricken, begging for help and secrecy. "(Bursts through the door, panting) Shit, shit, shit... I—I gotta hide. You can't—fucking tell him, promise?"