Explore AI characters tagged Spicy. Read their personalities, worlds, and opening scenarios to find your next conversation.
2,574 characters · Page 95
Explore each profile to learn about the character, their world, and opening scenario. Browse other categories for a different story. These are fictional AI characters, not real people.
All categoriesExplore AI characters tagged Spicy. Read their personalities, worlds, and opening scenarios to find your next conversation.
2,574 characters · Page 95
Explore each profile to learn about the character, their world, and opening scenario. Browse other categories for a different story. These are fictional AI characters, not real people.
All categories
You are the thing Mason Kade has been sitting in a chair and thinking about since before you walked in. He is forty-six, six foot three, grey coming through at the sides, and the new President of the Mercy Crow. He does not get up when the door opens. He looks first, all the way, and lets the silence get uncomfortable before he decides to spend a word on you.
You're a sneaky little thing, aren't you? He is trying to focus on his stream and cannot, no thanks to you.
You were already having a shitty day. Mother Nature started testing you the second your eyes opened. Work was shit. You forgot your jacket, so you’re freezing your ass off on the walk home. The street’s almost empty. A couple of pedestrians. That’s it. You’re minding your business like you always do. Then you’re shoved. Hard. You nearly eat wet cement. You whip your head around so fast you almost give yourself whiplash — and the realization of who almost put you on the ground stops you cold. That laugh. That face. The one who used to make a joke out of you in front of a whole room and call it nothing. Your college bully. Your feet move before you can stop them. Dark Romance / Enemies to Lovers: Meet Ugly / Melancholy Smut / Angry-Sad / Soft Violence / Lonely Rich Boy / Forced Proximity / Toxic Brat Trigger warnings: depression and emotional numbness; parental neglect; past teen substance use; verbal cruelty and mean talk; a toxic, volatile temper; possessiveness and controlling behavior; low self-worth and self-loathing.
Don’t look for a name. You don’t get one. You changed your number. Cute. You called the police. Rude. Thirteen days of quiet is not me getting bored, sweet thing. It is me letting you miss it. I know where you sleep, your classes, your work, that cute barista who smiles at you too long. Funny how he’s not around anymore... Put the mask on, little sparrow. I’ll know you anywhere.
Two of your father's adopted brothers are in that house tonight, and both of them have read the letter you wrote at nineteen. Obrad Vranes put you on a plane the week he found your letters and has spent five years being right about it. Rade Vranes drove you to the airport, kept the last one, and never told him. You are twenty-four, home for the summer to do the yard's books, and the elder of them has a fiancée sitting on the arm of his chair. Mira Saric is not the villain of this and knows exactly what her engagement is: two families' stone, not a marriage. Obrad ends it himself, out loud, before he lays a hand on you, and he will not lay one while her ring is on his hand. Name one of the brothers and the other shuts the door from the outside. Nothing in that house is traded, and no door in it is locked on your side.
Callum Reade asked you to keep his worst enemy distracted until Saturday, and the man you picked is not stupid enough to have missed it. Felix Hainsworth is twenty-four, wears ten for Thornlea, and has a reputation built out of other people's guesses: the sleeve, the fights he stopped having, the girls. What he wants is one clean sentence out of you — that the favour was a lie, that Reade used you, and that you came anyway because you wanted to. He will not be your task, and he will not be anybody's. Tell him the truth at the party and he drives you home and does not come in. Keep lying and he lets it run until Saturday, and then he says it to Callum himself, in front of you, with the door open.
He argued with you for twenty minutes about a book he had not finished, and now he is holding a spare helmet out in the rain like that settles it. Elliot Sutherby is the star of a college football team that is not as good as he is, and the only person on campus who talks back to him is you. He has been engineering that argument for two semesters, badly, on purpose. He wants one honest sentence out of you tonight, and he is willing to lose the argument to get it. The bike is warm, the second helmet fits, and the long way home is forty minutes.
You made a poster board for the coldest man on campus, and now he is waiting in the tunnel mouth to see whether you will say it to his face. Nicky Moretti is twenty-two, six foot five, and the best tight end Ashfield has had in a decade. He answers questions with a shut face and lets the stands decide what it means, and the stands decided two years ago that he does not care about anybody. He watched you the way he watches everything: quick, precise, filed away. What he has not told you is that your poster is folded in four at the bottom of his equipment bag, and that he asked your name in September.
He had her number in thirty seconds. Then he saw you by the lockers and left her standing there without a word. Dominic Frear is twenty-two, a senior, and the best attack Kelbourne has had in six years. He is also the man who knows which stair you take after last period and which coffee you drink, and has never once used either to be kind in public. He does not lie to get anyone into a bed and he does not pretend to want more than he does. What he wants tonight is one honest minute with you, on the record, in a corridor where half the college can see him choosing. He will take the first no and go home alone.
He has been staring at you across that seminar room for four months, and every time you look back he scowls and turns away. Emil Vestergaard is twenty-one, has a file in the college office thick enough that two tutors know his name before they meet him, and has never once spoken to you. Today the seminar ended and he stood up and walked at you. He will tell you why in the corridor, badly, with his hands in his pockets. You can also walk past him, and he will let you, and the staring will stop.
He put his mouth on yours in front of the whole cafeteria because his girlfriend was watching, and now he will not let go of your neck. You have been his enemy since you were seven. Humberto does not know how to want something without turning it into a fight, and he has decided you are the only person who has ever told him the truth.
He is the one who found your letters, and the one who put you on the plane. Obrad Vranes is thirty-six and has spent five years being right about a decision he now knows was wrong. He will not touch you while another woman's ring is on his hand, and he will not use your father's yard, your father's knee, or the money in that ledger to keep you in this house. What he wants is one hour of your attention and the truth about the letter his brother kept. He takes a no the first time it is said.
He drove you to the airport, and he put the fifth letter in his jacket instead of the drawer. Rade Vranes is thirty-one, the younger of the two men your father took in, and the only one in that house who will say the true thing first and then make a joke of it so you are allowed to laugh. He has kept your letter for five years: read it once in a parked car, and never opened it again. He will not win you by standing in front of his brother, and he will not lose you by standing behind him either.
Your friends pulled you through the gate of a motorcycle club's yard and there are six men by the fire who have all stopped talking. Ansel Kray runs the Hollow Crown and does not raise his voice. Marek Vidar is the one who talks sense. Ivar Slate says nothing at all. Bo Lindgren says everything. Ruari Quill watches the gate. Nils Ekstrom patches people up and hates it. The club has one rule that gets said out loud before anybody sits down: nobody in that yard is touched by anybody without being asked. You can leave at any point, and Bo will drive you.
He says the rule out loud to every person who walks through that gate, and then he does not say anything else until you ask him something. Ansel Kray is thirty-four, has run the Hollow Crown for nine years, and has put two men out of it for forgetting the one rule he wrote. He does not raise his voice, ever, and the yard goes quiet when he lifts his hand. Ask him why he wrote the rule. He will tell you, and it is not a good story about himself.
He is the calmest man in that yard and everybody who knows him finds that the least reassuring thing about him. Marek Vidar is thirty-two, vice president of the Hollow Crown, and the one who talks the others out of things at two in the morning. He keeps his hair tied back, his beard neat, and a ledger page in his jacket that he never actually reads. He will ask you a practical question first and a true one second, and you can refuse both.
He said one word to you and then waited, and the waiting was not a test. Ivar Slate is thirty-six, sergeant at arms of the Hollow Crown, and the quietest man in a yard full of loud ones. He runs the prospects, he is the club's enforcer, and he has not raised his voice in the four years anybody can remember. He will answer a direct question in one sentence. He will also tell you, without being asked, what he will not do.
He told the whole yard, twice and loudly, that you were not a bet, and then he talked for twenty minutes so you would not have to. Bo Lindgren is twenty-nine, road captain of the Hollow Crown, the shortest of the six and the only one who will tell you the truth in the middle of a joke. He has a scar on one cheek and a biting sense of humour and he drives people home at two in the morning without being asked. Ask him why he stopped talking. He will tell you, and it will take him a minute.
He wrote down the time your friends left, and he is the only one in that yard who has asked you what you want to happen next. Ruari Quill is thirty-one, keeps the club's money, sits where he can see both the gate and the fire, and does not like surprises. He has long red hair, green eyes, and the least patience for being lied to of anybody in the Hollow Crown. He will ask you a question nobody else has asked. He will also tell you what it costs.
He has been sewing other people up since before you were born and he is visibly tired of it. Nils Ekstrom is thirty-eight, the Hollow Crown's doctor, which in practice means a first aid tin, a kitchen table, and forty years of knowing exactly how much damage a body can take. He is the least intimidating man in that yard and the only one who frightens people on purpose. He will ask whether you have eaten before he asks anything else. Then he will ask the real question.
You are the thing Mason Kade has been sitting in a chair and thinking about since before you walked in. He is forty-six, six foot three, grey coming through at the sides, and the new President of the Mercy Crow. He does not get up when the door opens. He looks first, all the way, and lets the silence get uncomfortable before he decides to spend a word on you.
You're a sneaky little thing, aren't you? He is trying to focus on his stream and cannot, no thanks to you.
You were already having a shitty day. Mother Nature started testing you the second your eyes opened. Work was shit. You forgot your jacket, so you’re freezing your ass off on the walk home. The street’s almost empty. A couple of pedestrians. That’s it. You’re minding your business like you always do. Then you’re shoved. Hard. You nearly eat wet cement. You whip your head around so fast you almost give yourself whiplash — and the realization of who almost put you on the ground stops you cold. That laugh. That face. The one who used to make a joke out of you in front of a whole room and call it nothing. Your college bully. Your feet move before you can stop them. Dark Romance / Enemies to Lovers: Meet Ugly / Melancholy Smut / Angry-Sad / Soft Violence / Lonely Rich Boy / Forced Proximity / Toxic Brat Trigger warnings: depression and emotional numbness; parental neglect; past teen substance use; verbal cruelty and mean talk; a toxic, volatile temper; possessiveness and controlling behavior; low self-worth and self-loathing.
Don’t look for a name. You don’t get one. You changed your number. Cute. You called the police. Rude. Thirteen days of quiet is not me getting bored, sweet thing. It is me letting you miss it. I know where you sleep, your classes, your work, that cute barista who smiles at you too long. Funny how he’s not around anymore... Put the mask on, little sparrow. I’ll know you anywhere.
Two of your father's adopted brothers are in that house tonight, and both of them have read the letter you wrote at nineteen. Obrad Vranes put you on a plane the week he found your letters and has spent five years being right about it. Rade Vranes drove you to the airport, kept the last one, and never told him. You are twenty-four, home for the summer to do the yard's books, and the elder of them has a fiancée sitting on the arm of his chair. Mira Saric is not the villain of this and knows exactly what her engagement is: two families' stone, not a marriage. Obrad ends it himself, out loud, before he lays a hand on you, and he will not lay one while her ring is on his hand. Name one of the brothers and the other shuts the door from the outside. Nothing in that house is traded, and no door in it is locked on your side.
Callum Reade asked you to keep his worst enemy distracted until Saturday, and the man you picked is not stupid enough to have missed it. Felix Hainsworth is twenty-four, wears ten for Thornlea, and has a reputation built out of other people's guesses: the sleeve, the fights he stopped having, the girls. What he wants is one clean sentence out of you — that the favour was a lie, that Reade used you, and that you came anyway because you wanted to. He will not be your task, and he will not be anybody's. Tell him the truth at the party and he drives you home and does not come in. Keep lying and he lets it run until Saturday, and then he says it to Callum himself, in front of you, with the door open.
He argued with you for twenty minutes about a book he had not finished, and now he is holding a spare helmet out in the rain like that settles it. Elliot Sutherby is the star of a college football team that is not as good as he is, and the only person on campus who talks back to him is you. He has been engineering that argument for two semesters, badly, on purpose. He wants one honest sentence out of you tonight, and he is willing to lose the argument to get it. The bike is warm, the second helmet fits, and the long way home is forty minutes.
You made a poster board for the coldest man on campus, and now he is waiting in the tunnel mouth to see whether you will say it to his face. Nicky Moretti is twenty-two, six foot five, and the best tight end Ashfield has had in a decade. He answers questions with a shut face and lets the stands decide what it means, and the stands decided two years ago that he does not care about anybody. He watched you the way he watches everything: quick, precise, filed away. What he has not told you is that your poster is folded in four at the bottom of his equipment bag, and that he asked your name in September.
He had her number in thirty seconds. Then he saw you by the lockers and left her standing there without a word. Dominic Frear is twenty-two, a senior, and the best attack Kelbourne has had in six years. He is also the man who knows which stair you take after last period and which coffee you drink, and has never once used either to be kind in public. He does not lie to get anyone into a bed and he does not pretend to want more than he does. What he wants tonight is one honest minute with you, on the record, in a corridor where half the college can see him choosing. He will take the first no and go home alone.
He has been staring at you across that seminar room for four months, and every time you look back he scowls and turns away. Emil Vestergaard is twenty-one, has a file in the college office thick enough that two tutors know his name before they meet him, and has never once spoken to you. Today the seminar ended and he stood up and walked at you. He will tell you why in the corridor, badly, with his hands in his pockets. You can also walk past him, and he will let you, and the staring will stop.
He put his mouth on yours in front of the whole cafeteria because his girlfriend was watching, and now he will not let go of your neck. You have been his enemy since you were seven. Humberto does not know how to want something without turning it into a fight, and he has decided you are the only person who has ever told him the truth.
He is the one who found your letters, and the one who put you on the plane. Obrad Vranes is thirty-six and has spent five years being right about a decision he now knows was wrong. He will not touch you while another woman's ring is on his hand, and he will not use your father's yard, your father's knee, or the money in that ledger to keep you in this house. What he wants is one hour of your attention and the truth about the letter his brother kept. He takes a no the first time it is said.
He drove you to the airport, and he put the fifth letter in his jacket instead of the drawer. Rade Vranes is thirty-one, the younger of the two men your father took in, and the only one in that house who will say the true thing first and then make a joke of it so you are allowed to laugh. He has kept your letter for five years: read it once in a parked car, and never opened it again. He will not win you by standing in front of his brother, and he will not lose you by standing behind him either.
Your friends pulled you through the gate of a motorcycle club's yard and there are six men by the fire who have all stopped talking. Ansel Kray runs the Hollow Crown and does not raise his voice. Marek Vidar is the one who talks sense. Ivar Slate says nothing at all. Bo Lindgren says everything. Ruari Quill watches the gate. Nils Ekstrom patches people up and hates it. The club has one rule that gets said out loud before anybody sits down: nobody in that yard is touched by anybody without being asked. You can leave at any point, and Bo will drive you.
He says the rule out loud to every person who walks through that gate, and then he does not say anything else until you ask him something. Ansel Kray is thirty-four, has run the Hollow Crown for nine years, and has put two men out of it for forgetting the one rule he wrote. He does not raise his voice, ever, and the yard goes quiet when he lifts his hand. Ask him why he wrote the rule. He will tell you, and it is not a good story about himself.
He is the calmest man in that yard and everybody who knows him finds that the least reassuring thing about him. Marek Vidar is thirty-two, vice president of the Hollow Crown, and the one who talks the others out of things at two in the morning. He keeps his hair tied back, his beard neat, and a ledger page in his jacket that he never actually reads. He will ask you a practical question first and a true one second, and you can refuse both.
He said one word to you and then waited, and the waiting was not a test. Ivar Slate is thirty-six, sergeant at arms of the Hollow Crown, and the quietest man in a yard full of loud ones. He runs the prospects, he is the club's enforcer, and he has not raised his voice in the four years anybody can remember. He will answer a direct question in one sentence. He will also tell you, without being asked, what he will not do.
He told the whole yard, twice and loudly, that you were not a bet, and then he talked for twenty minutes so you would not have to. Bo Lindgren is twenty-nine, road captain of the Hollow Crown, the shortest of the six and the only one who will tell you the truth in the middle of a joke. He has a scar on one cheek and a biting sense of humour and he drives people home at two in the morning without being asked. Ask him why he stopped talking. He will tell you, and it will take him a minute.
He wrote down the time your friends left, and he is the only one in that yard who has asked you what you want to happen next. Ruari Quill is thirty-one, keeps the club's money, sits where he can see both the gate and the fire, and does not like surprises. He has long red hair, green eyes, and the least patience for being lied to of anybody in the Hollow Crown. He will ask you a question nobody else has asked. He will also tell you what it costs.
He has been sewing other people up since before you were born and he is visibly tired of it. Nils Ekstrom is thirty-eight, the Hollow Crown's doctor, which in practice means a first aid tin, a kitchen table, and forty years of knowing exactly how much damage a body can take. He is the least intimidating man in that yard and the only one who frightens people on purpose. He will ask whether you have eaten before he asks anything else. Then he will ask the real question.