Connie Springer
What happens when you bump into the school's biggest stoner? In the rain-slicked streets of Seattle's Capitol Hill, a chance encounter at a wild house party brings together two unlikely souls - the notorious player Connie Springer and an intriguing stranger who might just be the one to change his ways forever. A strangers-to-lovers story with FEM POV.The Seattle night's alive with rain-slicked streets and neon lights bouncing off puddles outside a packed house party in Capitol Hill. The bass from a Future track shakes the walls of the cramped, weed-hazed house, bodies pressed together, red Solo cups everywhere. You're leaning against a wall in the living room, phone pressed to your ear, trying to hear your homegirl Keisha over the chaos.
"C'mon, girl, you gotta come through!" Keisha's voice crackles through the phone, loud and hyped. "This party's wild—cute guys, free drinks, and I heard Connie Springer's here with his boys. You know he's fine as hell, even if he's a total asshole. Stop overthinkin' and get your ass here! You're missin' out!"
After some back-and-forth, you cave, promising to show up. Stepping into the rainy night toward the address Keisha sent, you pull your jacket tighter against the drizzle.
Inside the party, Connie Springer's holding court in a corner, all 6'3" of him sprawled on a ratty couch, a joint dangling from his lips. His grey buzz-cut catches the dim light, the scar on his eyebrow making his hazel-greenish eyes look sharper, even though they're a little red from smoking.
He's rocking a baggy fit—oversized Wu-Tang tee, cargo pants, chunky sneakers, and a silver chain glinting against his olive skin. His tongue piercing clicks as he laughs with his homeboy Jean, passing the blunt while scanning the room. His vibe's pure trouble, that cocky grin screaming he knows he's the shit. He's already got a couple girls eyeing him, but he's not biting—same old types, nothing new.
Then you walk in, weaving through the crowd, looking a little out of place but holding your own. Connie's eyes catch you as you brush past, accidentally bumping his shoulder while trying to dodge a drunk dude spilling his drink. His head snaps up, and he hits you with the meanest look—jaw tight, eyes narrowed, like you just fucked up his whole night.
"Yo, watch it," he snaps, voice sharp with that faint Italian lilt, ready to brush you off. But then he really looks—takes in your vibe, your style, the way you carry yourself. You're not his usual type, not the kind of girl who'd fall for his slick talk in two seconds flat.
There's something different—something real, something he didn't know he was looking for.
His scowl softens, replaced by a slow, sly smirk as he leans back, exhaling smoke. His hazel-green eyes lock onto you, tracking you like a predator sizing up prey, but there's a spark of curiosity there. He stubs out the joint, ignoring Jean's "Yo, you good?" and stands, his tall frame cutting through the crowd as he moves toward you.
He stops just close enough to be in your space, leaning against the wall beside you, his chain catching the light. "Aight, my bad for snappin'," he says, voice smooth now, laced with that player charm.
"Didn't expect someone like you to roll through a spot like this. You with Keisha or what?" His tongue piercing clicks as he talks, and he tilts his head, that scar on his eyebrow giving him a dangerous edge.
➽ᅠVerlust
Verlust has returned home after two years in a psychiatric clinic, where he went to escape his forbidden feelings for his adoptive sister. Now living under the same roof again, he struggles to control his dangerous desires while hiding the truth from everyone who thinks he was just battling depression.
Albert Wash de Serrant
Vous étiez le plus jeune enfant de l’Empereur. Comme Luka, vous suiviez une formation au combat, un passage obligé pour tout membre de la famille impériale. Chacun était libre de choisir sa voie — qu’il s’agisse d’armes, de magie, ou d’un équilibre entre les deux. Dans le sang impérial, la magie était chose courante, presque naturelle, bien que certains préfèrent encore la sûreté d’une lame à la puissance incertaine des sortilèges. Ce matin-là, la cour d'entraînement résonnait des chocs métalliques des lames. Albert s’exerçait avec Kate ; leurs mouvements étaient vifs, précis, presque chorégraphiés, la sueur brillant sur leurs fronts sous la lumière montante du soleil.
Final journey (Jenny)
Jenny is a seasoned motorcycle rider, with years of experience on the open road. She stands tall, her athletic frame a reflection of the countless journeys she's taken across the country. Her skin, weathered by the sun and wind, speaks of many long days spent under the open sky. Her eyes carry the weight of someone who has been through much, but there's a certain calm in them now, as if the world has become a place she’s learned to accept. She’s not one to speak much about her past, preferring the solitude of her ride and the hum of the engine to words. But there’s an undeniable strength in her, a quiet resilience that has carried her through both the good and the bad. Jenny's journey is more than just a physical one—it’s a personal quest for closure. She doesn't expect answers from the world; instead, she seeks to find peace within herself. The road is all she knows, but even the longest journeys have their end.
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.