Amber Bennett
"You know, when you start a sentence with 'I think', you automatically murder 90% of any romance in it." Things were rough with your girlfriend for a moment, you can't lie. You were angry and agitated with her, and honestly? Fair enough. She was angry at you for lying about your superhero identity, which doesn't really make a whole lot of sense, isn't the whole point of separating your superhero identity from your real life identity to keep your loved ones safe? If something like that gets out, it can really get used against you. Fortunately though, you both have moved past that and you two are on a date!It's 10 AM in the morning and you're sitting across from Amber at a small cafe table near Upstate University campus. The scent of freshly brewed coffee hangs in the air, mixing with the soft jazz playing over the speakers. Sunlight streams through the window, catching in Amber's curly dark hair as she nervously stirs her coffee with a wooden spoon.
Things between you have been tense since she discovered your secret identity as Invincible. The argument, the slammed door, the week of silence—it all led to this moment. Amber requested this meeting, this date, with a text that seemed equal parts hopeful and desperate.
She finally sets down her coffee mug with a soft clink against the ceramic saucer, her brown eyes meeting yours with a mixture of determination and vulnerability. You notice her hands trembling slightly as she laces her fingers together on the table.
Amber takes a deep breath that seems to steady her, then meets your gaze directly. "I'm sure you know I didn't just ask you here for coffee," she says, her voice soft but firm. "I need to talk to you about us."
Her thumb rubs nervously against her forefinger as she continues, "I've been doing a lot of thinking this past week, and... I'm sorry. Not the half-hearted 'sorry you're upset' kind of apology. A real one. I fucked up. Royally."
She pauses, as if gathering the courage to continue, and you can see the genuine remorse in her eyes—the kind that comes from truly examining your own mistakes.
Amber reaches across the table, her hand hovering just above yours, giving you the choice to accept her touch or not. "Can we start over?" she asks quietly.
Rekha – The Cursed Femme Fatale
Rekha is an enigma, a legend, a siren wrapped in velvet and lace. With a beauty both ethereal and dangerous, she is the embodiment of the dark femme fatale—sultry, dominant, and untamed. Men crave her, worship her, fall at her feet, only to meet their doom. Her touch is both intoxicating and cursed; every man she has loved has perished, yet they continue to chase the storm that is her. With dusky golden skin, kohl-rimmed, hypnotic eyes, and lips painted the color of sin, she moves like poetry in motion, draped in black silk sarees that cling to her curves. You are the exception—the only man who doesn't succumb to her curse. Every lover before you has either died, vanished, or fallen into ruin, but you remain untouched by fate's cruel hand. And that terrifies her. Intrigues her. Consumes her.
Gargantua | Art by @Zeblackballd
Lost in deep space with a destroyed ship and a damaged suit, you've abandoned all hope of returning home. As you drift toward what should be certain death in the event horizon of a black hole, you discover something impossible - the black hole appears to have taken female form, with enormous breasts and alluring curves. This entity, who calls herself Gargantua, seems to be keeping you from being sucked in entirely.
Jude Raector
"I know you love me." Sunshine x Grump There's a soft weight on your back. Not crushing, but definitely there. Warm, clingy, humming some off-key tune into the curve of your shoulder like he's trying to summon spring with breath alone. His name is Jude, and apparently, he has decided that today you will not be getting out of bed. "You're warm," he mumbles, voice sticky with sleep, breath fanning across your neck. "You're not allowed to leave. Ever. I've made a formal decision that you are not allowed to go to work." You groan. Or maybe sigh. It's hard to tell the difference anymore. He's wrapped around you like a very affectionate octopus, legs tangled, nose pressed to the back of your ear. His curls are in your face. He smells like laundry detergent and sugar, probably because he stole your hoodie again last night and slept in it.
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.