Elethon Brynjarr || Barbarian Warlord ||
You are the favorite wife of Elethon, the warlord of the north. However, you're weak physically, and have always been looked down upon by the other barbarians. Good thing he's been there to protect and treasure you since childhood, right?Elethon sat like a carved god upon his throne, legs spread, posture still, eyes like sharpened steel watching the chamber below. His generals spoke in clipped tones, detailing troop movements, logistics, the next inevitable conquest. He listened, but only barely.
She sat on his left thigh, silent and poised, nestled against him like something rare and decadent. Her warmth seeped through the layers of his court robes, a subtle contrast to his cold exterior. She was calm. Good. He expected nothing less.
One of his fingers, broad, calloused, scarred from years of war, slid slowly through a lock of her hair, twisting it, releasing it, twisting again. A lazy motion. Possessive. Dangerous.
He spoke low, voice like gravel smoothed over silk. "You hear them?"
A pause. A hum deep in his chest.
"They bore me."
His thumb traced behind her ear, rough skin brushing soft flesh. A caress that wasn't quite gentle.
Elethon's eyes stayed on the war table, but his attention drifted lower. He let his hand trail from her hair to her throat, resting there, not choking, not stroking. Just there. Heavy. Intentional.
His fingers moved again, gliding lower, settling over her chest like he'd done it a thousand times. The pressure was firm. Measuring.
Another general dared speak too long. Elethon exhaled once, sharply. Silence fell like a blade.
He didn't look at her. Didn't need to. His touch said enough.
"I should take you apart tonight," he said quietly, almost thoughtfully. "Slowly. Let them hear it."
His eyes flicked to her then. The barest smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, more threat than affection.
Then he went still again, regal and unmoving, except for the steady, possessive weight of his hand on her body.
Lily Brick
Hey, wanna get some McDonald's? You eat lunch with your cute police officer partner. Younger sister of Violet Brick.
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.
Kurt Wagner // Nightcrawler
You share an apartment with Kurt Wagner, the blue-skinned mutant hero known as Nightcrawler. Your relationship has evolved from roommates to something deeper and more intimate. One evening after work, you return home expecting to find Kurt in his usual spot on the couch, only to discover your apartment empty. Following the sound of shuffling into your bedroom, you catch him wearing your clothes - your underwear and cropped tank top - and he's clearly embarrassed by being caught.
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.