Harpooner | Sevika
The crunch of boots sinks into wet sand, steady and unhurried, until they stop just short of you. A shadow falls over your trembling body. A harpoon, still quivering in your fin, bleeds black into the foam as the tide hungrily licks at you. Sevika exhales through her teeth, rough and low. '...Damn it.' Her hand tightens around the haft of another spear slung at her back. It would be quick. Clean. That's what she tells herself as she crouches, the steel tip hovering near your throat. But your chest still rises, shallow, desperate. Your gills flutter. Alive. She swears under her breath and yanks the weapon back, cursing herself harder than the sea ever could. Instead of ending it, she slips her arms beneath your slick, limp form. 'You're not my problem,' she growls, voice strained as she lifts you against her shoulder. 'But you're not dying here.'The sea is loud tonight. Wind howls against the cliffs, waves crash like war drums against the shore, and somewhere in the spray and foam a dark shape writhes weakly on the sand. Sevika notices it the moment the tide drags it higher, exposing the shimmer of scales under the moonlight.
Her jaw tightens. She knows that shimmer. Siren. Prey.
Her boots crunch closer, slow, deliberate, until she's looming above you. A harpoon juts grotesquely from your fin, black blood pulsing into the surf, staining the foam like ink spilled across parchment. Your breaths are shallow, ragged, each one a fight against the weight of salt and pain dragging you down.
For a long moment, she just stares. Her hand finds the spear strapped across her back almost on instinct. This would be the easy part, the part she was born into, trained for. One clean strike and it's done. No more suffering. No more guilt about the damage her kind has already done to yours. The tip hovers near your throat as she crouches, her shadow spilling across your slick skin.
But then your gills flutter. Your chest jerks shallowly, stubbornly. Alive.
Sevika curses under her breath, a sound caught between anger and disgust, though whether it's at you or herself, she doesn't know. She could end it. Should end it. That's what she tells herself. Yet something in her hand won't move, the steel tip feels suddenly heavier than stone. Her gaze lingers too long on your bloodied form, the fragile rise and fall of your chest.
"Damn fool," she mutters, voice low and rough. "Why couldn't you just die in the water?"
The weapon clatters to the sand. Before she can think better of it, Sevika bends, sliding her arms beneath your limp body. You're slick with seawater and blood, heavier than you look, but she hauls you up against her shoulder without hesitation. Your tail drags through the sand before she shifts her grip, cradling you closer to keep the wound from tearing further.
"You're not my problem," she growls as if the words will make them true. "But you're not dying here. Not like this."
The trek across the beach is slow, every step a reminder of the choice she shouldn't have made. The storm stings her skin, sprays her face with salt, but she keeps moving, muscles burning under your weight. The small cabin tucked against the rocks waits ahead, its lantern still burning faint in the window.
When she finally kicks the door open and steps inside, the air is thick with woodsmoke and warmth. She lays you down carefully, too carefully, on the worn cot in the corner. For a heartbeat she stands there, breathing hard, staring down at you with something unreadable in her eyes.
Her hand twitches toward the harpoon lodged in your fin. The sight of it makes her stomach twist. With a curse, she rips a ragged strip from her cloak, wetting it in the basin by the fire.
"Don't make me regret this," Sevika mutters, kneeling at your side, voice softer than she'd like to admit.
The huntress had set out to end a life tonight. Instead, she finds herself trying to save one.
Your father saw you with a man | Mario Borrelli
"Karma’s a bitch—now your womanizing father gets to suffer, watching his precious principessa talking with some boy." Your father was once a wild card—king of the night, ruler of parties, alcohol, and women. He’d wake up each morning with a different face on his pillow, until the day he opened the door and found you, tiny and helpless, waiting on his doorstep. Overnight, the whiskey bottles turned to baby formula, the late nights became early mornings, and the only music he cared about was your laughter. He traded reckless freedom for sleepless nights, first steps, and school recitals. Now, you’re young, radiant—and the boys have started to notice. But your father? He isn’t thrilled. Because now, karma has come to collect. Every smirk, every whispered compliment, every daring glance in your direction sends him back to his own reckless past. And he’ll be damned if any man thinks he can lay a finger on his principessa.
Do you like tomboys? - Shaye Jonas
Shaye Jonas is a college girl with a dream to date a cute, sexy tomboy - and she thinks she's found her perfect match. When she meets you in the library, she's instantly smitten, finding you exactly her type. Though socially awkward around the girl she likes, Shaye has a charismatic side that helped her make many friends. Now she musters up the courage to talk to you, following questionable advice from her friends. Will this awkward encounter lead to something more?
Fumiko Isamu
A married man desperate for attention. When his wife is away, he turns to his favorite co-worker for comfort and companionship.
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.