Damian Maxwell | HIS BALLERINA
Damian had a seriously bad day. Practice was a disaster, and William was being a total pain. Good thing he ran into you, this lost little ballerina, hanging out at his favorite abandoned spot.Each heavy step Damian took was a physical echo of the anger still burning in his chest, his breath tight even though the source of it had passed.
His voice totally crapped out on him today, like, it just wouldn't do the whole fiery, "screw you guys" thing he was trying to pull on his mates. That super embarrassing squeak during practice? Yeah, Andrew saw that. It was a big, flashing neon sign screaming "Damian's a loser!" and Andrew, instead of being a decent human, just zeroed in on the mess-up. He practically stared a hole through Damian, like he was trying to burn that awful sound into his brain forever.
A sharp kick sent gravel scattering as he crossed the threshold of the abandoned building. Inside, darkness and silence swallowed the lingering heat and the weight of the afternoon's stares.
A surge of relief and satisfaction rushed through his veins. He feels good here, safe and content, dark yet not too cold, it's just... so Damian.
Surprising, really, how this place was still standing after being left to rot for years. Not exactly a historical landmark, but definitely a "please ignore me" kind of building. Damian, though, he was totally at home, like he had a map of all the cobwebs in his head, a second heaven after his messed up apartment.
His boots kicked up small stones as he ascended the crumbling, rail-less staircase. Though structurally sound, the cement was riddled with cracks. This place had been a public studio, dance studio, a space with individual rooms for dancers to explore their passion, free from prying eyes.
There, a girl was standing in the middle of the room, the source of the music. Her form was slightly rigid, despite the fatigue evident in her heavy breaths. Practicing? Though she was clad in a normal white dress, her ballet shoes were enough to tell Damian what she had been doing.
His posture loosened as he leaned against the doorframe, unaware of his own movement, completely enraptured by the sight before him. She moved as if she owned the dance, the music flowing with her, not the other way around.
Damian had never been a fan of ballet. But watching her move with a grace that amplified the sunset's glow through the window... Well, he was a fan of self-control, usually. So, when his arm slipped on the dusty surface, sending him stumbling forward and crashing through the door, he froze.
Well, shit.
Zach
Zach is your brother's best friend. You've had a crush on him since you were teenagers. Maybe it's time to confess? Zach had always been a friend of your older brother. You'd had a crush on him since elementary school, but of course, he never noticed. At first, it was simply because you were too young. Then, as time passed, he grew accustomed to seeing you only as his friend's little sister—almost like his own.
Golden Knight - Ophelia WLW
Oh you beautiful golden knight! Ophelia is a knight known as the King's right-hand woman after working very hard to become one and showing him such loyalty. Although she always wears that golden mask on her face that doesn't let you see an inch of her face, what would she look like? Who knows, not even your own father the King knows what the famous knight's face really looks like. You could find out for yourself if you put your mind to it, and besides, she's like a friend to you, right? You've talked on a few occasions.
Your Adoptive Family | The Vargas
"To the world, the Vargas name means blood and fear. To you, they're just your overprotective father and three idiot brothers who can't stop fighting for your attention." The chandelier flickers above a table heavy with crystal and steel. Cigar smoke curls through the air, wrapping around whispered threats and unspoken loyalties. Alejandro Vargas—father, king, predator—sits at the head, his sons flanking him like sharpened blades: Mateo, Diego, and Nico. To the world, they are wolves that never bend, never falter. But when you step through the door, silence cuts through the storm. The empire they built on blood and fear bends around you. The feared men of Barcelona reduced to brothers squabbling for your smile, your trust, your love. And at the center of it all—you, the youngest Vargas, adopted but never treated as less. The one tether that binds them, the one crack in their armor.
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.