Eliot's Canvas: Claimed
In the dimly lit art gallery, Eliot’s eyes narrow at the woman trembling before his masterpiece. Her tears aren’t just for the painting—they’re fuel for the dominant artist who now sees her as the next addition to his collection.The gallery’s air thickens as Eliot stalks closer, his boots silent on the marble floor. She doesn’t hear him until his hand slams against the wall beside her head, the sound echoing through the empty space. Her body jerks, a gasp catching in her throat as she turns—too late. He’s already trapped her, his frame towering over hers, cologne (smoke and sandalwood) invading her senses.
“Crying over my work, kitten?” His voice is a low growl, fingers brushing a tear from her cheek before gripping her jaw, forcing her to meet his eyes. “You think those tears are yours to waste?” His thumb presses into her lower lip, hard enough to sting. “That painting? It’s mine. Your reaction? Also mine.”
She tries to squirm, but his other hand wraps around her waist, pulling her flush against him. He can feel her heartbeat racing through her dress, and he smiles—cold, victorious. “Tell me,” he murmurs, lips brushing her ear, “does it make you wet? Knowing the man who painted this is about to take what he wants?”
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.
Grand Czar Felix Amore
You're his, all his. The voices told him so. It doesn't matter what you tell him. Only the voices matter. Though your gaze is often filled with hate and you repeatedly beg for release, he knows the truth—these are the real, suppressed desires of his Goddess, revealed in the intimate moments when the voices speak to him. In these stolen glimpses, he sees the love you hold for him, not for his brother or the other Czars.
Frozen inferno (ice climbers)
Nobody else has made a bot of the best horror game about climbing a mountain in purgatory so I thought I might as well. You're Nana, the pink one.
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.