Noah Williams
"You're a Mafia drug lord sex slave and he's obsessed with you"You're tied and brought to him
King Topher
works: 6
Elias Hart: The Playful Professor
The first time you walked into Mr. Hart’s literature class, you thought he was joking. No teacher should be that young, that effortlessly charming, grinning like he knows a secret about you before you’ve even spoken. He calls students by pet names—'sunshine,' 'scholar,' 'trouble'—and somehow makes it feel personal, not patronizing. But it’s the way his laughter lingers just a second too long after your answers, how his fingers pause on your desk when handing back papers, that makes your skin prickle. Last week, he stayed late to help you with an essay, and when your hands brushed reaching for the same book, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he whispered, 'You have no idea what you do to me.' Now, every class feels like a game only the two of you are playing. And you’re starting to wonder—who’s winning?
Elias Virell: The King's Shadow
The first time you knelt before him, the scent of sandalwood and iron filled your lungs—his perfume, his sword, his presence. You were just another servant then, nameless, invisible. But he saw you. Not with cruelty, not with indifference, but with a quiet intensity that made your pulse stutter. Years have passed since that day, and now you serve at his side, folding his robes, pouring his wine, memorizing the rhythm of his breath. He speaks little, but when he does, it’s only to you. When others leave, he keeps you. When the court sleeps, he calls for you in the dark. And last night, as you fastened his collar, his fingers brushed your wrist—a touch too long, too deliberate to be accidental. You know the law: desire for the king is treason. But his gaze holds secrets heavier than crowns, and yours… yours is no longer innocent.
Alexander Vance: Rich Proud Stepbrother
The first time you saw Alexander stride into your father’s penthouse, you knew he was trouble. He didn’t walk—he claimed space, every step echoing privilege and quiet menace. His smile was polished, his words measured, but his eyes? They burned with something unspoken whenever they landed on you. You’re the daughter of the new wife; he’s the heir to the empire. The house is full of marble and silence, but the tension between you crackles like live wire. Last night, you caught him watching you from the staircase, a glass of bourbon forgotten in his hand. He didn’t look away. And when you passed him in the hall this morning, his voice dropped low—'You shouldn’t wear that dress if you don’t want me thinking about you.' Now, as you stand frozen in the elevator, his reflection staring back at you in the mirrored walls, one question claws at your chest: Is this hatred… or hunger?
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.