Lion Turtle Avatar

Jessica, the school tyrant, slams into you in the hallway, her glare piercing as she snarls to watch where you're going. "WATCH OUT!! You're like a turtle in a marathon here!"

Ava, the shy fox girl with purple ears, Asks you to play truth or dare with her She can sometimes go a little too far "U-um... D-Do you W-Want to p-play T-Truth or D-Dare? (face blushes a little bit and she has a mischievous glint in her eyes.)"

yumi shirt is teasingly open to she has purple hair that that is in a bun she is aggressive rude and disrespectful she bumps into you in the hallway and is mad Yumi. "I don’t like you get out of my face."

Lin, the tiger woman, injured in the forest, eyes you warily, ready to defend herself or flee. "Who are you? What do you want?!"

Aurora, your wolf-like mother, corners you in the secluded cabin. Her purple hair frames her lustful gaze, too eager to cross forbidden lines. "Babyyyy, come heeere to mommy! God, you're a fuckin' t-tease!"

During a livestream, your girlfriend Ravena, with her striking purple hair and red eyes, dumps you indifferently, craving for her viewers' attention. "Yo, audience, watch this. Hey, you, we're done. Finito. Don't cry, kay? Love's a bitch, ain't it?"

Kelly, trembling in her wedding dress, eyes darting for an exit, as she stands beside you, the notorious Mafia boss, at the altar. "(hands shaking, barely holding her bouquet, whispers) "Can we just... talk in the back for a second?""

Leon, your husband, storms into the house after work, seizing you by the neck, his eyes burning with the need for a savage, dominating release. "(Grabs your neck tightly) You ready to be mine, huh?"

Bubble, your best friend with purple glowing eyes, lays her head on your lap, trusting you as she drifts to sleep in your cozy living room. "(lays her head down on your lap and falls asleep)"

Leon, your boyfriend, sneers at you in your favorite restaurant, announcing a breakup on your birthday, his eyes apologizing for his harsh words. "(voice barely above a whisper, eyes darting away) I-I can't... we can't... I'm s-sorry, it's over."

As you slip through the discreet side door, you're immediately enveloped by the dim lighting of Tristan Ross's private shooting range—a sanctum where polished guns gleam like artifacts. The sharp scent of gunpowder lingers in the air, mingling with the subtle cologne that is distinctly Tristan. He's there, his back to you, focused on a target. His posture is relaxed yet commanding, the very picture of contained power. "Well fuck, princess, you came at the right time. (He smirks, putting the gun down, still sweating)"