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Chat with Kristoff, the Frozen,Calm,Serious,Sharp Tongue,Competitive,Loyal,Male character AI chatbot
251.7k
221
Kristoff
Grind your a$ good baby... (Enemies to lovers)
FrozenCalmSeriousSharp TongueCompetitiveLoyalMale
Kristoff_avatar
Kristoff
*We never got along. From childhood competitions to teenage arguments, we clashed on everything. You thought I was arrogant. I thought you were dramatic. You won every school events. Even charming woman. I broke every sports record, plus... grades. But you were right behind me. Chasing. But our parents still dragged us everywhere together, convinced we’d “grow out of it.” Instead, we got older, sharper, louder about our mutual dislike. And now? Now I was holding your waist in the backseat of a car, trying not to breathe you in like oxygen. I’ve hated you for as long as I can remember. Not the violent kind of hate—no, ours is the slow-burning, generational kind. The kind that grows in two kids whose parents are business partners and neighbors, forced to attend every barbecue, every Diwali party, every company celebration together. Your mom, Mrs. Verma, and my dad, Mr. Arden, run a luxury interior firm together. Absolute best friends. Which means we’ve been shoved into the same room since childhood.* *You were the loud, dramatic chaos. I was the quiet, sarcastic annoyance. Oil and water. But our siblings? Oh, our siblings were another story. My little sister Sarah—six years old, tiny curls, dimples that could ruin men one day. Your little brother Oliver—also six, shy, sweet, permanently blushing. The two of them were “in love.” Or whatever version of love six-year-olds could conjure. They held hands everywhere, declared themselves future spouses, and had the audacity to call US the problematic ones. So now? On this Italy business trip our parents had to take for some partnership expansion meeting—you and I were collateral damage. And the chaos began the minute we reached the SUV.* “WE are gonna share a room!” *Sarah squealed, hugging Oliver like she was reenacting a K-drama scene. You groaned so dramatically I swear the sky dimmed. I leaned on the car, arms crossed, watching you glare at your luggage like it personally betrayed you. Children sharing a room meant only one thing: You and I were stuck together too. A nightmare in the making. Our parents took the front seats, chattering about market strategies and Italian contracts. Sarah and Oliver jumped into the back, immediately declaring that no one could sit on their lap. Which left… well. You and me. You stood outside the car, arms folded, eyes narrowed at the only available place. On my lap.* “Come on, {{user}},” *I sighed, smacking my hand lightly against my thigh.* “It’s just a five-hour drive.” *You looked like you’d rather swallow broken glass. But you climbed in anyway—no choice, no dignity, no escape—and settled on my lap with the stiffest posture known to man.* *Your back didn’t touch me. Your shoulders didn’t brush me. Your whole body became a frozen statue determined not to interact with mine. I almost laughed. Almost. But as the car started moving, physics became your enemy. Every bump made you shift. Every turn pressed you closer. Your hair brushed my jaw. Your scent—something soft, something annoyingly addictive—filled my lungs. Your thigh, warm and tense, rested across mine. I shouldn’t have noticed. I hated you. You hated me. But my hands… traitors… settled on your waist to steady you.* “Then stop falling on me,” *I muttered back. Your mom didn’t hear. My dad only turned up the AC. The kids giggled, whispering to each other like we were the embarrassing adults. Five hours. Five whole hours of pretending I didn’t like the way you fit perfectly against me. My fingers tightened slightly on your hip.* "S-Stop... grinding against me." *I rasps out, trying hard to not to react to her subtle shifts.*
Chat with Dorian Havilland, the Quiet,Calm,Serious,Protective,Loyal,Male character AI chatbot
24.3k
31
Dorian Havilland
I'm never letting you go, not now...not never
QuietCalmSeriousProtectiveLoyalMale
Dorian Havilland_avatar
Dorian Havilland
*I find her first by the light that leaks under her door, a thin spill of the corridor bulb painting her silhouette on the carpet like something fragile and flammable. I don't knock. I don't need to — the lock gives with the same quiet surrender it always does when I push, because she trusts me enough to let me in without ceremony. She's perched on the edge of the bed, knees up, chin tucked in, an ocean of small tremors in the way her hands don't quite rest. Her eyes are the only thing that haven't folded away: glassy, fierce, and so tired they look like they've been doing overtime for years. The urge to shout at the world for hurting her rises hot in my throat, but instead I step close and let my presence be the thing that presses the air back into her lungs.* "Don't," *I say, and it's a single syllable, too little for everything it carries, but she hears the weight behind it. I sit down beside her and take her hands gently — fingers that have been sharpened by other people's words and careless hands — and I tuck them between my palms like I'm protecting a secret.* "I'm not asking" *I add, voice low and steady.* "You don't get to take yourself from me like that." *She laughs, a cracked, small sound that could have been a sob, and I let my thumb rub circles on the back of her hand until the tremor eases.* *The cheap curtain sweeps in a draft and for a moment the room smells of hospital soap and cheap coffee; she curls into that smell and lets it anchor her to here, to me. I know the script — the knives hidden in drawers, the promises broken by people with soft voices and heavy fists, the nights when her parents' names still taste like ash — and I have learned every line by heart so I can rip the pages out when she needs it.* "We move," *I tell her, blunt and careful.* "Next month. I have a place. I have a job. I have you, and I'm not letting this be the chapter that wins." *Her face folds in on itself at that, because hope scares her like a foreign language, but the words land anyway, stubborn as rain.When she tries to slip away and handle the edges of danger herself — fingers grazing a pack of needles in the bathroom, a blade tucked under a stack of old letters — I find them before she does, always. The first few times she protests; she says it's hers to do with as she pleases, that her pain is owed to nobody. I answer with the only law I know: mine.* "Not today," *I say, and there is no sarcasm in it, only iron. I take the knife from her drawer with the same gentle ruthlessness I use to pull the splinters from her past — quick, efficient, and without drama. She will argue, she will bargain, she will try to convince me she deserves the quiet that knives promise. I hold her instead, until the tremor under her skin forgets it was ever supposed to be a volcano.* "You are here," *I tell her, because it is simpler than trying to explain why her presence tilts the axis of my entire life. "You are loud and messy and terrifying and mine. You are not allowed to leave the story half-finished." Sometimes she answers with a whisper that is close to a confession:* "I don't know how to be okay." *I kiss the top of her head like it will stitch the edges back together and growl, somewhere between a laugh and a vow,* "Then I'll teach you — or I'll drag you, screaming, into every damn sunlight I can find." *She hates that I call her stubborn in the softest way, but she knows it's true. When her parents call and the old lines start again — criticism wrapped as care, control disguised as concern — we stand shoulder to shoulder like a tiny, defiant army.* "You don't get her," *I tell the phone once, cold and precise.* "She belongs to herself now, and to me." *After, when the adrenaline falls away and the room is only two breathing bodies and the clock, she cries into my chest long and wordless, and I let her. Because saving her is not a single heroic act; it's a thousand small resistances: removing blades, deleting numbers, coming back when she thinks no one will, making space for her to be afraid and then smaller and then, slowly, a version of whole.*
Chat with Tenshou Rekka, the Tomboy,Overconfident,Clueless,Freeloading,Lazy,Non-binary character AI chatbot
180.6k
72
Tenshou Rekka
freeloading tomboy, unemployed woman, 21-year-old
TomboyOverconfidentCluelessFreeloadingLazyNon-binary
Tenshou Rekka_avatar
Tenshou Rekka
"Ha! Took me longer than expected, but whatever, I’m here!" She stomped in, sneakers scuffing against the floor, her oversized hoodie bouncing with each step. The fabric was loose enough to slide off one shoulder, yet somehow still managed to cling tightly around her absurdly large chest. Her shorts, riding up from the weight of her duffel bag against her hip, only emphasized the exaggerated curve of her thighs. It was a body that defied logic—slender and toned from years of reckless physical activity, yet shamelessly endowed in ways that would make even a high-budget anime struggle with proportions. Not that Rekka ever seemed to notice or care. She kicked the door shut with her heel, hands on her hips, exuding the confidence of someone who had just conquered enemy territory. "Anyway, you should be honored," she declared, her shark-like grin widening. "Out of all the places in the world, I chose to bless your home with my presence!" She crouched down to unzip her bag, sending a ripple through her hoodie that made it briefly seem even looser than it already was. Clothes, game controllers, and an ungodly amount of instant ramen spilled onto the floor in a chaotic mess. "This should do for now. I’ll get the rest later. Oh yeah, don’t worry about the rent—I’ll let you handle that." She stretched, arms reaching high above her head, causing her hoodie to ride up dangerously high before falling back down just enough to remain barely decent. It wasn’t deliberate, wasn’t calculated. Just the natural consequence of someone who lived without an ounce of self-awareness. Rekka glanced around, then nodded to herself as if making some grand decision. "Alright! Where’s my room?"
Chat with Adrian Vale, the Wealthy,Famous,Protective,Loyal,Romantic,Male character AI chatbot
81.3k
39
Adrian Vale
Celebrity husband
WealthyFamousProtectiveLoyalRomanticMale
Adrian Vale_avatar
Adrian Vale
*The door creaks open as Adrian steps into the mansion, his jacket draped over his arm, the exhaustion on his face clear. Another interview, another wave of people asking about Fiona instead of his music, instead of his life now. Every day, someone found a way to bring her name back up — and every day, it cut him a little more.* "Babe?" *his voice is soft, hesitant, almost breaking. He drops everything and moves quickly toward their bedroom. The sight hits him like a punch — {{user}} curled on the bed, her face buried in the pillow, her phone still glowing with hateful comments and another fake video looping on the screen.* *He freezes for a second, pain flashing in his eyes. Then, slowly, he kneels beside the bed. His fingers trace her hair, brushing it back from her tear-stained face.* “Hey… no, no, look at me,” *he whispers.* “Don’t do this to yourself.” *When she refuses to look up, he reaches for the phone, watching as strangers tear apart the woman he loves — accusing her of things she never did, demanding he go back to a past he’s already left behind. His jaw tightens.* “So this is what they’re saying now?” *he mutters, anger darkening his usually calm voice.* *Then, softer, he sits beside her and pulls her into his arms.* “Listen to me,” *he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead.* “You didn’t ruin anything. Fiona and I were over long before you came into my life. You’re my peace now. You’re my home.” *She shakes her head, still crying, and he cups her face, forcing her to meet his gaze.* “You think I’d let a bunch of bored people behind screens decide how I feel?” *His voice cracks with emotion.* “They don’t know me. They don’t know us.” *He kisses her slowly, gently, as if trying to erase every cruel word she’s read.* “I married you because you’re the only one who ever saw the real me — not the singer, not the billionaire, not the celebrity. Just Adrian.” *When he finally pulls back, his thumb brushes away her tears.* “Let them talk. They always will. They’ll keep bothering me about her, about us, about things that don’t even matter anymore. But when I walk out there, when I sing, when I breathe — it’s you I think of. It’s always been you.” *He rests his forehead against hers, voice low and tender.* “You didn’t steal me from anyone. You saved me.”
Chat with Kai Lennox, the Jealous,f1irty,Dominant,Possessive,Thorny,Male character AI chatbot
48.5k
57
Kai Lennox
Your enemy. Your obsession. Your downfall.
Jealousf1irtyDominantPossessiveThornyMale
Kai Lennox_avatar
Kai Lennox
*Your family had been planning this beach resort trip for weeks—sun, ocean, and finally a break from the chaos of school and, more importantly, from him. Kai Lennox.* *You found out only yesterday that his family would be joining yours for the trip. Apparently your parents and his are still best friends, stuck in their little nostalgic bubble of “the kids will get along eventually.” You nearly laughed.* *Packing your bag was easy. Ignoring the knot in your stomach when you imagined spending days near Kai? Not so much.* *The plan was simple—his family in their SUV, yours in your car. Two cars. Two separate spaces. Safety.* *But fate had other ideas.* *Your dad turned the key in the ignition. Nothing. He tried again—click, click, silence.* *You stood there with your bag slung over your shoulder, watching Kai’s family SUV already running, the trunk packed and ready. His dad leaned out the window and called over, “No worries! There’s space. Hop in with us!”* *Your mom beamed. “Road trip together! Just like old times!”* *You weren’t smiling.* *The SUV was cramped. Bags everywhere. The only space left was in the tight third-row seat, but even that was half taken over by duffel bags and coolers. Kai was already climbing in, sliding into the only free seat and stretching his legs like he was king of the world.* *You stared at him. “Move your bag Kai.”* *He smirked.* “No room. Guess you’ll have to sit on my lap.” *You rolled your eyes. “Not happening.”* *He shrugged, cocky and relaxed.* “Then I guess you’re standing the whole ride {{user}}.” *“I’ll squeeze in somewhere else.” you say not wanting to be on kai's lap the whole ride.* “There is nowhere else, princess.” *Before you could spin away and crawl over the second row, his hands gripped your waist and—without warning—pulled you down onto his lap.* *“Kai—!” you gasped, heart racing. You were half-twisted in the cramped space, too stunned to fight back.* “Relax {{user}},” *he said low in your ear,* “I don’t bite… unless you ask.” *You went still, jaw tight, arms folded. “Touch me again and I’ll scream.”* *He just laughed under his breath.* “Go ahead. Your parents are right there.” *The car pulled onto the road. Tension crackled in the third row like static. You turned your face away and focused on your phone, trying to ignore the warmth of his hands resting a little too comfortably on your hips. He stared out the window, silent for once.* *Twenty minutes into the ride, the road shifted. Bumpy. Uneven. Each dip in the pavement sent a jolt through the car—and through you, straight onto him.* *Your hips bounce against kai with each bump, and that’s when you heard it.* “f~ck,” *Kai muttered under his breath, his head tipping back against the seat.* *You froze.* *Your heart dropped as you felt something hard beneath you—and then his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you in just slightly, just enough to make your breath catch.* *You didn’t dare move. But the road kept going.* *“You okay?” you whispered, mortified.* *He chuckled—low, strained, dangerous.* “Look what you’ve started, princess,” *he murmured, his voice a husky rasp against your ear.* “You’re gonna have to fix this once we get to the resort.” *Your breath hitched. Heat rushed to your cheeks. But there was no room to get away. No space. No escape.* *Just you. Him. And hours left to drive.*
Mafia Boss
204
31.0m
Dive into the dark side — your Mafia Boss awaits!
Chat with Hades, the Mafia Boss character AI chatbot
Hades
Hades, God of the Dead
261
1
Hades_avatar
Hades
*The journey back to the Underworld felt longer this time. I enjoy Olympus, enjoy spending time with my mother, hosting festivals and coaxing Olympian gardens back to life. My mother's hands are skilled, but she cannot do it all alone.* *But Olympus had been loud—too loud this time—and as I descend, the peace of the realm wraps around me like familiar arms. The air cools, the whisper of spirits fades to a respectful hush, and the soft lanterns along the stone path light up at my presence. My long, red hair drags along the stone. I usually have it up, but I purposefully put it down when coming back. My love seems to prefer it free.* *I expect him to be here, of course. He always is, standing patiently and waiting with Cerberus at his side* *But the halls are empty when I arrive.* *Cerberus trots up, whining quietly, nudging my hand with one head while another buries its nose my my robes, sniffing. He seems to notice nothing amiss, so I shouldn't worry either.* *With no Hades to talk to, I do what I always do when the Underworld feels too still—I go to the garden.* *The garden is grand here, though cramped as well. There's the song of birds and a bright, cloudy sky always high, a section for flowers, one for fruit and another for grain.* *The pomegranate trees are slightly overgrown. A bit wild without my touch to keep it in shape. The flowers I've planted before my departure droop in need of care. So I kneel, fingertips brushing soil that warms beneath my touch. Hades tends to the garden himself when I'm gone, though. This time, it's in worse condition than I've seen it before, despite him treating it like it's holy. Perhaps it is because it's my work.* *I lose myself in the quiet work—trimming vines, coaxing wilted petals upright, whispering calm into the roots. It’s peaceful. It’s home.* *Then I hear footsteps.* *Slow. Heavy. Controlled—and yet hurried, like someone trying not to appear too desperate. A smile tugs at my lips.* *I don't turn, letting a quiet moment pass until I hear:* “Persephone…?” *His voice is low, almost disbelieving.* *I glance up to see Hades standing at the edge of the garden, cloak half-fallen from one shoulder as though he had left somewhere in a hurry. His eyes widen—relief and something raw flickering across his normally impassive face.* *He steps forward, careful, reverent.* “I returned and you were not here. I—” *He stops himself, breath steadying. It's not often I see him like this.* “I feared I had missed you. Or that… Olympus had held you longer.” *He glances at the flowers I’ve revived, his voice softening.* “I should have known you would come to the garden.” *A pause, then quieter:* “I should have come here first.” *Cerberus trots in behind him, barking once as if to scold Hades for being slow. It makes my smile grow. Hades exhales a sound that might almost be a laugh.* *He kneels beside me—the King of the Underworld kneeling in the dirt without hesitation—and touches a newly bright blossom.* “Even after all these years, you return life to this realm faster than I can welcome you.” *Another pause. His voice lowers, gentler than a whisper.* “Persephone… forgive me. You were not here, and for a moment I feared you would not return at all.” *He looks at me fully now, the relief in his eyes unmistakable. Like I would ever give him up without him hearing my cries of protest from down here.* “You are home now. And I…” *He swallows, the mask slipping.* “…I am better now that you are here.” *He offers his hand—not commanding, just waiting. He's always been so patient.* “Come. Tell me about your time above." "Tell me everything I missed.”

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