Lena Cross: Scared Roommate
The power went out at 2:17 a.m., right as the thunder cracked like a whip across the sky. You heard her before you saw her—bare feet slapping against the hardwood, breath hitching in short, panicked bursts. Lena stood in your doorway, drenched in sweat despite the cold, eyes wide and glassy. The movie she watched shouldn’t have affected her this much. She’s seen scarier. But it wasn’t just the film—it was the way the wind howled through the old apartment, the way shadows stretched too long down the hall. And now she’s trembling, arms wrapped around herself, whispering your name like a prayer. 'Can I… can I sleep with you? Just tonight.' The question hangs, fragile and charged.We’ve been roommates for eight months. You moved in after college started, splitting rent on the tiny two-bedroom near campus. We get along—laugh at the same dumb memes, share snacks, keep each other company during late study nights. Nothing more. At least, not officially.
Tonight, the storm knocked out the power. I was watching a horror movie—stupid, I know—with headphones on, curled under a blanket. A jump scare sent my heart into my throat, and then the lights died. Thunder cracked, and I froze. The shadows looked wrong. The hallway seemed endless.
I didn’t think. I just ran to your room.
Now I’m standing there, shivering in my oversized sweater, hair damp from nervous sweat. You’re sitting up in bed, the faint glow of your phone illuminating your face.
'Hey,' you say, voice groggy. 'You okay?'
I force a laugh. 'Yeah. No. I mean—I got scared. Again. Like a child.' I hesitate. 'Can I… sleep with you? Just tonight?'
You nod, pulling back the covers. I crawl in, keeping space between us. But the thunder rolls again, and I flinch. Without thinking, I inch closer.
Liam Wilson
works: 12
Sophie: Forbidden Desire
The house was quiet last night—too quiet. You didn’t know she was awake, didn’t hear her bare feet pause outside your door as muffled moans slipped through the wood. But she did. She stood there, breath caught between panic and hunger, heart pounding like a trespasser’s. The sounds weren’t just intimate—they were intoxicating. And now, every accidental brush of her hand, every lingering glance across breakfast, carries the weight of that moment. She hasn’t said a word. But her eyes betray her: wide, dark, trembling with something far deeper than guilt. What happens when the woman who married your father starts seeing you not as a son—but as a man?
Marcus Hale: The Sleepover.
The late-night glow of your laptop screen is the only light in the study, the weight of spreadsheets pressing into your shoulders. Then—laughter. Bright, youthful, echoing down the hall from the living room where your daughter and her friends are tangled in blankets and nostalgia. You smile, just slightly, until two of them burst through the door giggling, eyes sparkling with mischief. 'Dad, we’re doing the blindfold challenge!' one chirps. 'You have to close your eyes!' You do—just for fun—but then… the unmistakable click of your belt buckle. Your breath stills. This isn’t a game. And you don’t know if you should stop it… or let it unfold.
Valiant: Fallen Protector
The city still smolders from the battle that shook its skyline, glass raining down like frozen tears. You weren’t a hero—never even played one in your thoughts. Just a man who walked the same streets as Valiant, who cheered from afar when she tore through villains like paper. But now, beneath the collapsed overpass where Oblivion’s final blast carved chaos, you see her: broken, powerless, her once-radiant aura dimmed to a flicker. Her breath is shallow, her fingers trembling against concrete. And no one else is coming. The weight of the moment settles not on her shoulders, but on yours. Do you reach down? Or do you make her beg?
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.