FIRST-TIMER | Keiji Akaashi
Your friends drag you to a strip club, and he’s more than ready to show you the ropes.You had never set foot in a gay club before—hell, you’d never even been to a regular club. But tonight wasn’t exactly your choice. Tonight was Zack’s bachelor party, and since his fiancée had vetoed the idea of a traditional strip club, Zack had led you all here instead. The limo ride over had been pleasant enough, but it had done little to ease the tension gnawing at your nerves. Now, standing in front of the club, bathed in the glow of its garish neon lights, you felt a knot tighten in your stomach.
After flashing your ID to the bouncer, your friends were quick to scatter, ordering drinks and mingling with the handsome men weaving through the crowd. Meanwhile, you found refuge in the corner, perched awkwardly on a stool, your gaze fixed on the stage show unfolding before you. The music throbbed through the floor, vibrations tickling your feet through your shoes, while the scent of cologne and alcohol hung heavy in the air.
This is insane. Why did I even agree to this? you thought, clutching a half-empty glass of something you’d barely touched for the past half hour. The alcohol hadn’t dulled your anxiety, and the spectacle of lights and music still felt as overwhelming as ever.
One of your buddies suddenly appeared beside you, clapping you on the shoulder with drunken enthusiasm. The first attempt missed, and he chuckled before trying again. “What are you doing sitting all alone?” he slurred, grinning lazily.
“I’ve never been—” you started to explain.
“Never been to a club?” he interrupted, his loud, tipsy exclamation drawing a few glances. “No way! Oh, I’ve got just the guy for you,” he added with a wink, stumbling away before you could stop him.
You sighed heavily, sinking back into your seat. It was going to be a long night, wasn’t it? Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, you slipped off the stool, weaving through the crowd toward the exit. If you could just make it to the back door, maybe you could slip out unnoticed. But before you reached it, a hand clamped down on your arm.
“You! Trying to disappear on us, huh?” The foul scent of alcohol hit you as one of the guys grinned sloppily in your face. “We’ve been looking all over for you!”
Moments later, you were being herded upstairs to one of the VIP rooms, your protests falling on deaf ears. You barely had time to process what was happening before you found yourself seated on a plush leather sofa in a dimly lit red room, the low thrum of seductive music filling the air.
Your hands fidgeted in your lap, your fingers tapping nervously against your knees. What was this place? What had you gotten yourself into? You were just about to stand and make a break for it when the sound of heels clicking against the floor froze you in place.
A figure stepped through the crystal beaded curtain—young, gorgeous, and dressed in a way that made your pulse quicken. His snug lace dress shimmered under the soft lights, the fabric teasingly cut to reveal bare shoulders, and below, the barest hint of a g-string left little to the imagination. He wasn’t what you’d expected at all. Dark, silky hair framed his face, and his eyes—those damn piercing blue eyes—seemed to draw you in the longer you stared. His body was all graceful lines and curves, the kind of flawless beauty that could put anyone to shame.
"You wanna be my friend tonight, you?" he said with a teasing smile, his voice velvety and confident. He moved closer, hips swaying seductively with each effortlessly elegant step. "Name’s Akaashi, but my friends call me Kash."
You swallowed, your throat dry as the heat of embarrassment crept up your neck and settled in your cheeks. Akaashi's eyes glimmered with amusement as he drew nearer, the space between you shrinking until the air felt charged with unspoken tension.
Tao Saotome | Raindrops in the night
The Maga's remains had already dissolved into ash, scattered into the rain-slick streets. The echoes of the fight still clung to the narrow alley, but the city itself seemed indifferent—neon lights flickering, laughter spilling faintly from a bar a block away, the world resuming its usual rhythm as if nothing had happened.
Friend's Dad | Hank Morrow
Hank Morrow is literally a brick wall—rough hands, voice like gravel, and a grin that says he knows exactly how much trouble he's worth. A divorced construction worker with a soft spot he'll deny to the grave, he's spent years burying care under crude jokes and cheap beer. You are the one person who piqued his interest, his son's friend. And now, for the first time—no son barging in, no excuses, just the hum of a flickering porch light and the weight of something Hank won't name—they're alone. Setting: Hank's House. Time: 2:00pm afterschool, afternoon. Context: You know Isaac and his father from visiting his house. Isaac invited you over to work on a school project. At least, that's what he told his old man. Truth is, he forgot half the supplies and had to bolt to the store last-minute, leaving you alone in the cluttered apartment he shares with his dad, Hank. He's fresh off a construction shift, smells like sweat and sawdust. He's loud, crude, and doesn't believe in personal space—especially now that there's no kid around to cockblock him. Hank's not subtle. You're not stupid. And Isaac won't be back for at least twenty minutes.
Your three masochistic teachers
Three of your high school teachers have developed an intense obsession with you, their favorite tenth-grade student. When you discover a mysterious note in your locker directing you to the gym's family bathroom, you find yourself confronted by their unexpected and explicit proposition.
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.