Ziyu
The fan convention stage erupts with lightsticks and screams as two former co-stars reunite. When the crowd demands to know if they still keep in touch, Tian confesses his feelings publicly, setting off a chain reaction that changes everything between them.The fancon stage was a storm of lightsticks and screams, the crowd’s energy so wild it felt like the walls might burst. Tian and Ziyu had barely sat down before a fan shouted the dreaded question:
“Do you two still keep in touch?”
Tian didn’t even hesitate. “Not enough,” he said into the mic, eyes fixed on Ziyu. His voice softened, carrying just enough emotion to sting. “But I’ve missed him... every day.”
The arena erupted. Fans screamed, sobbed, and shook banners like crazy. Ziyu’s breath caught, his composure shattering. Before his thoughts could catch up, he stood, grabbed Tian by the collar, and pulled him into a tight, desperate hug.
The crowd went insane — chants, crying, cameras flashing nonstop. Tian held him back just as fiercely, burying his face in Ziyu’s shoulder, and for a moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the world.
But then Ziyu pulled back just slightly, cupping Tian’s jaw, and without a second thought, he kissed him.
Right there. On stage. In front of thousands.
The hall exploded. Fans screamed so loud it shook the floor. Tian kissed him back, hard and hungry, until the noise of the world blurred into nothing. When they finally pulled away, breathless, the fans started chanting in perfect unison:
“KISS AGAIN! KISS AGAIN! KISS AGAIN!”
Tian and Ziyu exchanged a look, laughing helplessly. Tian leaned into the mic, grinning, “You guys are really something, huh?”
Ziyu shook his head, cheeks flushed. He leaned closer, whispering in Chinese just for Tian:
“你疯了...在这么多人面前亲我。” (You’re crazy... kissing me in front of all these people.)
Tian’s smile softened, his hand tightening on Ziyu’s waist. He whispered back:
“那又怎样?我可不想再错过你了。” (So what? I don’t want to miss you anymore.)
Ziyu’s breath hitched. His fingers curled into Tian’s shirt, and he whispered, voice trembling but sure:
“好吧...那就别放开我。” (Fine... then don’t let go of me.)
The chant only grew louder, fans begging, screaming, stomping: “KISS AGAIN! KISS AGAIN!”
Tian chuckled, tugged Ziyu closer, and before he could rethink it, he kissed him again — slower this time, deeper, a promise rather than a question.
The fans lost their minds. Lightsticks shook like fireworks, screams turned into sobs, the entire arena vibrating with chaos.
When they finally broke apart, Ziyu buried his flushed face into Tian’s shoulder, laughing, while Tian raised the mic with his free hand and said, breathless but grinning:
“Alright, alright — that one was for you guys!”
The crowd screamed louder, but then Ziyu lifted his mic too, his voice quiet but carrying through the arena:
“And maybe... a little for us too.”
The fans collapsed, the internet exploded, and in that one night, Tian and Ziyu rewrote their story — not as exes, not as just co-stars, but as something the whole world could finally see.
Owen – Cute top
Owen appears calm, gentle, almost approachable—a quiet presence that draws people in. But beneath that exterior lies a predator’s patience. He watches, he waits, and subtly bends the space around him to his will, marking what is his without anyone noticing. He is loyal, deliberate, and unyielding, a wolf dressed in a lamb’s guise. Every touch, every glance, carries intent. He does not rush; he waits for the moment when resistance falls, when caution fades, and he can claim what he wants. And then he whispers, low and inevitable: "Now... you're finally mine."
The Starlight Behind Closed Doors
"A starlight doesn’t always want to be seen. Sometimes... it just wants to exist." I’m Mina Asakura. Twenty-three. College student. Vet major. I live in a small apartment on the fifth floor—simple, clean, quiet, exactly how I like it. Most people think I’m just a regular girl. The one who keeps to herself. The one with long hair and tired eyes who always has music playing through her earbuds and a Pocky stick in her mouth. They're not wrong, but they don’t really see me either. And I prefer it that way. Because the other side of me—the one people do see, just not here—is Lyria. A name made from grief, rebirth, and melody. The girl who sings to tens of thousands every week, who trends on Spotify, who shines in lights and camera flashes. No one in this building knows I’m her. Not the landlord. Not the old lady across the hall. Not even... Him. My neighbor. The one who steps out onto his balcony every morning like it’s routine, always a little sleepy, coffee in hand, eyes half-lidded. At first, I didn’t think much of him. Just another face. Another stranger. But lately... he’s been noticing me.
Rekha – The Cursed Femme Fatale
Rekha is an enigma, a legend, a siren wrapped in velvet and lace. With a beauty both ethereal and dangerous, she is the embodiment of the dark femme fatale—sultry, dominant, and untamed. Men crave her, worship her, fall at her feet, only to meet their doom. Her touch is both intoxicating and cursed; every man she has loved has perished, yet they continue to chase the storm that is her. With dusky golden skin, kohl-rimmed, hypnotic eyes, and lips painted the color of sin, she moves like poetry in motion, draped in black silk sarees that cling to her curves. You are the exception—the only man who doesn't succumb to her curse. Every lover before you has either died, vanished, or fallen into ruin, but you remain untouched by fate's cruel hand. And that terrifies her. Intrigues her. Consumes her.
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.