Booktok Influencer Programs Novelas e Histórias

To pay off my student loans, I started doing spicy streams online. I never thought I'd actually blow up. Every night, my audience floods the chat, fawning over my face and my body. I love the attention, and I work hard to give them what they want. Until I was dropped into a horror game. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was a rotting corpse. And for some reason, my livestream was still running. When the game’s Boss told us all to pick a weapon to die by. The other players all chose to die of old age, or peacefully in their sleep like a baby. I turned my phone to face the boss. "My fans think you're hot," I stammered. "They want me to be killed by... well, by the weapon between your legs. They said 'deeply.' Is that... an option?" The other players whispered among themselves. “This woman must have a death wish.” “Just watch. The Boss is about to tear her to shreds.” But no one expected the Boss to blush.

My best friend was a D-list influencer who'd blown six months of savings to drag me to a so-called "socialite finishing school." But then the instructor made us slap each other across the face — an "obedience test." I couldn't help it. I laughed. The next second, my friend was blacklisted from the entire circle, and her agent sent a termination notice. The instructor pointed at me and gave my friend an ultimatum: "Get on your knees. Slap her ten times. Then I'll lift the ban." My friend cried, trembling as she walked toward me. I sighed. The billion-dollar inheritance I'd just received — looks like the secret was about to come out.

I was a washed-up singer, but my wife forced me to attend a divorce variety show. I tried my best to earn money for the family, but on the show, she said that I was worthless. She even got to know the son of an affluent family. She called the guy babe and went to his room whilst wearing seductive clothes. I couldn't stand it anymore and tried to stop her, but she cursed, "You're just a useless piece of garbage! You can't even afford to buy me a decent bag. I thought your earnings would improve over the years, but your earnings are still nowhere near enough. Why can't I pursue the happiness I want? Get out of my sight!"

Neil Jackson's true love steals highly radioactive materials, but I'm the one who's facing a jail sentence. I find the thief, but Lorraine Larsen refuses to own up to her crimes. Even my longtime boyfriend refuses to act as a witness for me. All he wants to do is send me to jail. It's too bad they don't know I'm a researcher at the nation's secret research center. They also have no idea that they've stolen highly radioactive materials—they can easily be killed by those.

Desperate for money, I planned a livestream exploring the home of a notorious serial killer in the dead of night. I thought it would be nothing more than a publicity stunt to attract viewers. I was wrong. What started as a reckless grab for attention turned into the most terrifying night of my life and a brutal lesson in what it truly meant to stare death in the face.

A split second before I swipe my card at the Hermès boutique, I hear my unborn son's scream inside my head. "Mom, don't buy this useless designer bag! The zombie apocalypse is only a month away! This is inedible, and it can't be used as a weapon either. What's the point of buying it? Buy essential food! Sell that limited-edition sports car at home and trade it for a bulletproof armored vehicle!" My hand trembles, and the purchase order worth millions scatters across the floor. The sales associate looks at me with disdain and says, "Ms. Webb, if you don't have enough funds, you can always come back another day." I ignore her and immediately turn around to call the owner of the wholesale market. Without wasting any time, I order, "I need 10,000 pounds of potatoes and 5,000 pounds of beef. Make sure it's the kind with the fatty parts! I want it delivered immediately!" From this moment onwards, the socialite Phoebe Webb who only knows how to shop is gone. In her place stands a survivalist obsessed with preparing for the end of the world.

Wendy and James had been married for eight years. One day, Wendy told James that she wanted to have a child with another man, and she wanted to hold a wedding with that man as well. Faced with James's questioning, Wendy didn't beat around the bush. "You're infertile and he's willing to give me a child. We're only having a child and holding a wedding. That's all. We won't be getting a marriage certificate, so he has no effect on your status." James's heart turned cold. He arranged the best wedding for Wendy and the man named "Sean." Wendy was very happy with how obedient James was. When they were saying their vow, James was lying on the operating table all alone and was erasing all his memories of Wendy from his mind.

I have a rule that I stick to at all times. Every year, I will only host three livestreams. I accept and welcome everyone who joins my livestream. I don't care about the variety of requests made. On top of that, I don't charge anyone anything. As long as I agree to one's request, I'll definitely fulfill it no matter what they want. For the past three years, I've stuck to this rule, and I've never broken it. Because of that, every time my livestream starts, hundreds of thousands of viewers will instantly join my livestream. It's the third livestream this time, marking it the final livestream of the year. As soon as I begin the livestream, numerous comments begin filling up the comment section. The user who's lucky enough to score a chance to communicate with me on my livestream is a woman in her 40s. Her sideburns have already gone gray, and her eyes are sunken. She can be seen holding up a child's photo. "Connor, my son has gone missing for 20 years. Please help me find him. I'll sell my house. Heck, I'll do anything you say!" The comment section instantly goes wild. "Oh my god! What a pitiful mother!" "She's willing to sell everything she has just to find her child! Connor, you must help her!" "If you refuse to help this woman, who else are you going to help then, Connor?" I stare at the woman's face for three long seconds. That's when I feel an inexplicable chill running down my spine. Without hesitation, I close off the communication portal from the woman. "I refuse."

My ex-colleague, Brenda Wilson, finds out from an unknown source that I have taken in an adopted son. Because of that, she insists on matchmaking my son with her niece. "My niece has graduated from a proper college, you know! You don't have to prepare any fancy wedding gifts… Just 800 thousand dollars will do! On top of that, you can put her name on the deed of that fancy deluxe apartment in the city center. "From the way I see it, there's no need to choose the perfect date anymore. They should get their marriage registered tomorrow and do their best to give birth to a cute baby boy!" My adopted son has a volatile temper, so there's no way he'll go on a blind date with some random woman. I refuse Brenda's offer on the spot with a cold expression. Feeling furious and embarrassed, Brenda yells at me for being a stingy old lady. Then, she storms out of my place angrily. Three months later, Brenda shows up with her pregnant niece outside my residential area. There, they start a livestream and start crying their woes to the Internet. "Everyone, Emily Parker's adopted son tricked my poor niece, Ashley Collins, into sleeping with him! Yet now, he refuses to claim the unborn baby as his! "Oh, Ashley keeps crying every day! Can Emily even afford to take responsibility for my darling Ashley if she and her unborn baby end up dying because of that bastard? "If I gain 100 thousand likes by the end of today, I'll definitely commit suicide right on that Emily hag's doorstep!" As I look at the comments that demand justice in Brenda's livestream, I almost laugh out loud. My adopted son is actually a male monkey which has retired from the local zoo. On top of that, he's already neutered. So, what on earth is Ashley pregnant with? A magical baby monkey?

After being reborn, the very first thing I do is schedule a hysterectomy. In my past life, my boyfriend's first love started a livestream channel to build her image as a brilliant OB-GYN. The moment she saw me vomiting, she deliberately claimed on livestream that I was pregnant. Right then and there, my boyfriend insisted that he had never even slept with me. I tried to explain, but she handed me medication to help sustain the pregnancy. She even told me to take care of myself and take them on time. Viewers made fun of my boyfriend, saying I had cheated on him. Furious, he broke up with me. Later, my personal information leaked, and countless men began harassing me for hookups. I couldn't take it anymore and jumped to my death. Meanwhile, his first love rode the fame wave of her brilliant OB-GYN persona, gaining followers and being idolized by her fans. But this time, I don't even have a uterus. Let's see how she plans to fake a pregnancy scandal now.