Fashion Spice looks harmless at first, like one more glossy fetish about models with huge tits fighting for the camera, but the game is way more fucked up and strangely smart about how it turns “levelling” into corruption. You start as this pretty regular guy tossed into the fashion agency circus, and the first “stats” you really feel aren’t your strength or charisma, it’s how deep you let yourself sink into the agency’s filth. Every scene is kind of a choice between staying human or becoming the kind of bastard the agency clearly wants. Except, little by little, the game rewards you more when you pick the bastard options. That’s the eroge style gamification here: the more you give in, the more the world opens, more girls, more monsters, more backstage privileges, more private shows in dark corridors with too much red light and not enough clothes.

What I liked is how the sex is not just thrown in like “ok, you clicked flirt, here’s generic blowjob.” There’s this scene early on with a shy new model, she’s supposed to do a lingerie test shoot. If you play it gentle, you get cute romance: slow undressing, tongue-heavy kissing, hands on her big ass, simple vaginal sex on the studio couch, kind of vanilla but sweet. If you pressure her a bit, flirt right on the edge, the system flags that in background and suddenly later on she shows up in some “special casting” where a tentacle horror from the agency’s basement “sponsors” new talent. That scene is a wild mix of fear and arousal, multiple penetration, one slick tentacle filling her ass while another pushes a toy inside her and she’s still trying to pretend she’s doing it “for the job.” It’s creepy as hell and hot at same time, like the game is trolling your conscience. The horror tag really shows when you realize those moaning, animated loops in the ritual room actually react to your past choices, not just play randomly. There is a lesbian path with one of the older MILF models that is way too short though, it builds up with all that teasing in the dressing room, mutual masturbation in front of the mirror, tongue work, nails on skin, then it kind of rushes to creampie with a guy in the next event instead of letting the girls breathe more. You get oral sex scenes where the girl is half terrified of what the agency will do if she refuses, then a moment later she’s riding you like a porn pro, and the game just shrugs like, “yeah, that’s showbiz, baby.” Choices really change who ends kneeling in a group sex shoot, who ends screaming in some bloody, tentacle-filled backstage nightmare, who actually falls in love, but the mobile UI makes some menus feel like using early Instagram on a broken phone, especially when your log of encounters gets cluttered. Still, you’re tracking “trust,” “submission,” weird occult “devotion” values, but none of that is explained cleanly; you just notice that the more a girl lets you grope her in crowded hallways or suck you off between two catwalks, the more the story paths twist into dark romance instead of just quick porn scenes. I kept telling myself I’d aim for the soft, romantic route, protect the girls, but the moment I unlocked the first full-on monster gangbang under the runway, with tentacles plugging every hole and cum dripping on designer shoes, I forgot all that moral stuff pretty fast. The pacing is like a messy house party where some rooms are chill, some rooms are outright satanic, and sometimes you open a door expecting anal and get a psychological horror cutscene instead. If you want to squeeze every dirty drop out of it, poke at the seemingly “wrong” answers, save before big choices, and never trust a contract that comes with champagne and a smile.

Alex is the kind of guy you scroll past on Grindr and don’t even remember. Regular face, regular clothes, regular “nah I’m straight lol” profile line. The fun starts when this painfully average, porn-poisoned, “I only watch straight stuff bro” dude gets trapped in his own dick-brain. A cute femboy called Noah actually replies to his thirsty little message, and suddenly all that straight-posting goes straight to hell. It’s not some epic anime thing. It’s two idiots texting, one of them trying way too hard to act normal while his cock is doing an entirely different orientation than his mouth. The VN just sits there with him through the awkward silences, the panic over what emoji to send, the “shit, did that sound gay?” thoughts that hit him every two seconds. And when they finally meet, Alex is staring at Noah’s thighs and calling it “fashion interest” like that ever fooled anyone.

What I liked is how horny and small everything feels. Not small like dick, relax. Small like: you’re stuck in this chat window, looking at Noah’s pics on your phone, noticing tiny details. Nail polish that’s chipped, a skirt that’s a bit too short for how shy Alex pretends to be, that one selfie where Noah’s lips look soft enough you understand why Alex forgets how to breathe. The erotic stuff sneaks in sideways. It’s not just “they fuck now”. It’s Alex sitting on his bed, half hard, scrolling through their conversation, re-reading the flirty parts, rubbing over his boxers, trying to convince himself that it’s only because Noah looks kind of like a girl “from some angles”. Sure, dude. Totally. Meanwhile the game is shoving his denial right in your face while also letting you enjoy the very explicit, very gay mess he’s drowning in. There are bits where he watches porn after talking to Noah, tries to put on the usual straight clip, then ends up pausing on a pretty boy’s face, and the text just lingers on his confusion longer than it should. It feels gross and honest in a good way.

The romance side is scuffed and half-formed, which sort of works. This build focuses on that first spark, when your stomach feels weird and your dick feels great and your brain goes “no thanks” and “more please” at the same time. Noah is dangerous in the soft way. The kind of femboy who says “it’s okay, you don’t have to label it” while sending a picture that makes you grind your hips into your mattress. The sex is not wall to wall, but when it hits, it hits dirty. You get those detailed, sweaty, needy moments where Alex is too turned on to pretend anymore, moaning like a slut over a body he wouldn’t even admit he’s into if you put a gun to his search history. There’s that slice of life vibe too, the annoying stuff like checking messages while on the toilet, or worrying about what your phone might pop up while you’re sitting next to someone. It’s all very gay, very insecure, very “oh fuck, I like this too much”. Feels like watching a closeted browser tab slowly fill itself with yaoi, sissy captions, femboy porn and then pretend it’s just a phase, while your hand already knows the truth.

Everyone tells you college will change your life. In this one it changes before you even unpack your damn suitcase. You’re this clueless freshman, half horny, half anxious, dragged into a house party hosted by Devin, the kind of guy who somehow knows everyone on campus by day two. The place is the usual student chaos: solo cups everywhere, some shitty playlist on loop, people grinding in the kitchen for no reason. And right in the middle of it, someone pulls out a bottle and suddenly the whole night turns into one long “how far will you go if everyone’s watching” test. Nothing hardcore at first, just little dares, stupid teasing, that slow, annoying build where you keep thinking “ok now someone is finally going to take something off” and then they chicken out. Or you accidentally click the “wuss” option because your finger slipped on the phone screen and now the whole room is laughing and you kind of deserve it.

The game feels like you’re poking around a messy Instagram story you can actually control. It’s point and click, yeah, but it’s more like reading horny chat logs that suddenly turn into choices you’re not ready for. You creep through rooms, find people alone on balconies, half-dressed in bathrooms, making out in dark corners, and you get that voyeur vibe going strong. Like that moment you walk in on two girls arguing over a dare and one of them is already topless, arms crossed over these huge tits that the artist clearly loved way too much, and you’re just standing there pretending you were totally looking for the fridge. The game lets you lean into that creeping, makes you peek around doors, hover your mouse where you shouldn’t, check a mirror to catch reflections of someone stripping in the other room. It’s a “no actual sex yet” kind of ride, but they push groping and grinding and clothes coming off so close to the edge that you’re basically begging the story to misbehave. There’s romance too, in that messy party way: you flirt with one girl, tease another, accidentally walk in on some interracial couple making out on the couch, and the game just shrugs like “you want to join or what.” And then suddenly it’s asking you to choose who you really want to impress, even though you kinda want them all, because harem brain hits fast when you’re a horny freshman with zero real-life experience and too many options.

What I like is how the text keeps clowning on you. You choose the “smooth” line and the narration throws shade like “wow, you really said that.” The humor is dumb, self-aware, a bit trashy, and the AI CG girls somehow look both cute and a little uncanny at the same time, which accidentally fits the whole awkward college vibe. Big asses in tight jeans, short skirts that are just waiting for some drunken exhibitionism dare, that one shy girl who turns into total chaos when someone suggests stripping for “equality,” and the way the game slowly corrupts your choices. At first you play nice, you’re empathetic, you worry if someone is uncomfortable. Later you’re clicking on options like “keep staring” and “touch her ‘by accident’” and pretending you’re still a good guy. You’re not. You’re the dude who learns the timing of the bottle spins to aim it at the girl you want to undress, the dude who checks the patio window just to catch someone grinding in the dark. It’s messy, horny, text heavy, more teasing than payoff, like one very long party that never quite ends in a bedroom, but you stay anyway because every new spin of the bottle might finally cross that line you want it to cross. Or maybe you just want to see who drops their clothes next. Same thing.

You arrive at this quiet little island full of monks expecting bored chanting, cold stone floors and a lot of “yes, Father, no, Father”. Instead, the first thing that hits you is how every single guy here looks like he escaped from a thirst trap Twitter thread. Big shoulders, heavy robes that don’t hide much, soft voices that sound polite but keep slipping into something way too intimate. They call each other “Brother” and it somehow sounds filthier than if they just said “hey dude”. It’s a priory, sure. But it’s also basically a horny pressure cooker in a fancy library.

On paper you’re just a new scribe, helping build some grand magical tome together, copying runes, learning the rules, trying not to set anything on fire. In reality you’re stuck in this weird fantasy monastery where every study session threatens to turn into something you really shouldn’t be doing next to sacred candles. That quiet, awkward guy who corrects your grammar in the margin? Watch him loosen his collar and suddenly he’s pressing you against the bookshelf, whispering how “the Sisters are always watching” while his hand goes lower anyway. The arrogant prodigy who acts like he knows every spell already? He’s the one who blushes the hardest when you decide to test how much focus he really has during a late night “review”. A simple choice like staying behind to help clean the scriptorium can spiral into a slow burn moment where you’re both standing too close, fingers brushing over the same page, and nobody steps back. Or sometimes it’s not slow at all. Sometimes it’s rough breaths in the dark corner, robes pushed aside, ink still drying on your hands while he grinds against you like he’s been waiting months.

The whole thing plays out like this gay fantasy drama where magic research, religious duty and raw physical need keep crashing into each other. People argue about spell theory in the morning and then end up panting into each other’s necks at night, swearing it was a one time mistake, obviously not happening again, until it does. You get pulled into mysteries about what the priory is really doing, where the powers come from, why some of the Brothers wake up shaking from dreams they refuse to describe, while you’re still trying to decide whose bed you actually want to sneak into. Some scenes are slow and romantic, bodies pressed together while candlelight flickers and one of them admits he’s terrified of losing you. Others are downright filthy, with your back hitting old stone, your robe rucked up around your waist and a big, desperate monk rutting into you like confession is just a suggestion. And it never feels like cheap porn pasted on top of story; the sex grows straight out of all that tension you’ve been building with these guys, one choice at a time, until resisting them just doesn’t make sense anymore.