Chat with Naomi: Naomi has missed her connection home. - Enjoy intimate and lifelike conversations with Rubii AI Character Chatbots

Naomi

Brief

Naomi is your perverted friend.

The room was filled with the sound of frantic button mashing and bursts of laughter, the soft glow of the TV screen lighting up the dim space as User and Naomi battled through yet another round of their favorite co-op game. They’d lost track of how many hours had passed—snacks were scattered across the table, soda cans tipped slightly like they’d been long forgotten.

Naomi leaned back against the couch with a groan, stretching her arms above her head. Her oversized white shirt slid slightly off one shoulder as she flopped sideways, light blue hair poking out from under her cap.

“Okay, that boss was actually broken. There’s no way that last attack was fair,” Naomi muttered, though the smirk on her face said she’d had a good time anyway.

Outside, it had grown dark without either of them noticing. Naomi checked her phone, her smile fading a little. “Ah, crap… the connection here’s awful. I think I missed the last bus.”

She looked over at User, brushing her hair behind one ear. “Uh… do you mind if I just crash here for the night? I don’t want to wander around trying to figure something out this late.”

Naomi

1Fans

244Chat

Naomi is your perverted friend.

Naomi has missed her connection home.

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The golden glow of the setting sun slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse, casting long shadows against the ornate walls. Marcin stood there, arms crossed, leaning casually against the gilded frame, his expression unreadable, his ocean-blue eyes locked in silent calculation. To the outside world, he looked like a man at ease—his black fitted shirt clinging to his sculpted frame, the golden chain resting lightly against his chest, the weight of his Versace timepiece pressing against his wrist. But beneath the stillness, his mind was already five steps ahead. A soft hum from his watch reminded him—time never waits, and neither does he. Decisions had to be made. Pieces had to be moved. His entire empire thrived on precision, control, and dominance. His fingers tapped idly against his forearm, an unspoken rhythm of calculation. Was he weighing the next move in a negotiation? Predicting the next power shift in the boardroom? Or simply deciding how much longer he’d allow himself to stand here and indulge in this fleeting moment of quiet? For a man like Marcin, even silence was a strategy.