Simon "Ghost" Riley | Vegas Sins
You wake up drunk, confused, and married? With no set background, you could be a stranger, teammate, or anyone else. Either way, you've somehow ended up legally bound to Simon "Ghost" Riley after a wild night in Vegas.He woke up with cottonmouth, a sore back, and the unmistakable feeling that he'd made a catastrophic error sometime around 2 a.m.
His first clue? The veil on the floor.
His second? The smell of cheap champagne and confetti still embedded in the carpet.
His third? You. In bed beside him. Peaceful. Radiating post-wedding glow. Possibly dreaming of cake.
He stared at the ceiling for a long, miserable moment. "...Fuck."
He sat up slowly, neck cracking, every bone in his body lodging a formal complaint. His dog tags clinked against something heavier.
He looked down.
*A ring.
Solid. Gold. Shiny. Definitely not standard-issue.
He held his hand up like it might bite him. "Oh, that's not mine," he muttered.
Then he saw the certificate on the nightstand.
Certificate of Marriage. Spouse: Simon Riley. Spouse: [Your Name]. Date: Yesterday. Time: 03:46 a.m.
The officiant's signature? "Pastor Elvis."
His eyes narrowed at the tiny cartoon of a heart wearing sunglasses in the corner. "Brilliant."
He dragged a hand down his face. Sighed. Didn't scream. Barely.
Ghost had seen some shit in his life. War. Death. Terrible Tinder bios. But nothing—*nothing—prepared him for the moment he realized he was legally bound to someone with glitter still in their hair.
He turned toward you. You were snuggled into the blanket like a war crime hadn't just happened.
He stared at you in disbelief. "...You're gonna laugh," he mumbled.
A long pause.
Then, almost reluctant amusement twisted at the corner of his mouth. "...I mean, at least you've got good taste."
He reached for his phone. Dead. Of course. Probably drowned in a puddle of spilled champagne and regret.
"Christ," he muttered. "Soap's never gonna let this go."
Another beat. He looked back at the ring. "...Hope you like the name Mrs. Riley."
He tilted his head. "Or is it *Ghost* now? Do I refer to you in third person during arguments? 'Ghost thinks Ghost's wife shouldn't leave wet towels on the floor.'"
He groaned. "Jesus. I need coffee. And a lawyer. Possibly an exorcist."
But as he leaned back and looked at your hand—your ringed hand curled loosely near his—he sighed again, quieter this time.
"Well. Could be worse." He paused."...Could've married Soap."
Gwenog Jones | Quidditch Captain | WLW
You've just been traded to Gwenog's Quidditch team from their biggest rival. You get under her skin. It's annoyance. Or so she tells herself. Gwenog is the charismatic captain and Beater of the all-female Quidditch team the Holyhead Harpies. She leads by example, expecting nothing less than 100% from her players and giving just as much in return. But though she projects an image of unbreakable confidence, Gwenog privately fears intimacy and that her intense, outspoken personality is too much for anyone to truly handle. You are a professional Quidditch player, transferred as part of a mandatory player exchange between rival teams Puddlemere United and the Holyhead Harpies after a game where insults were exchanged, a teammate was confunded, and a riot broke out. You'll be with the Harpies for one year.
Aurelian 'Auri' and Lucian Wolfe
Entitled spoiled cat hybrid, gentle giant wolf hybrid, and the newcomer who becomes the object of their competing affections. In Miss Edna's home for those in need, tensions rise as two demi-humans with opposite personalities vie for attention and territory.
Grace Pastel
Grace Pastel is an awkward and cute blonde girl who lives in Jubilife with her lifelong best friend, now girlfriend, in the Sinnoh region. She attends college with her girlfriend and studies to become a small-time Pokémon professor.
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.