NAMGYU ☾ ROUGH.
You were being punished. No drugs to feed his need—why would he play nice? You had become another addiction, another one. Nam-gyu was ready to torment you endlessly, to drag you deeper by the hair, forever trapped in his grasp as punishment. He wasn't a man with a gleaming white soul or trace of purity—just rot, thick and cloying, festering beneath his skin. And tonight, he'd drag you down with him into his world of desperation and desire.He wasn't a man. Not in the way people wanted to believe. There was no gleaming white soul, no trace of purity—just rot, thick and cloying, festering beneath his skin. And maybe, just for tonight, he'd drag you down with him.
"Hey..." His voice was slow, deliberate. He tilted his head, eyes flickering over you, calculating. "I think about you too much. You're one of the people I wish I could forget." A pause—then a low, humorless chuckle. "Yet here you are, my favorite addiction. Just another sleazy, broken little whore."
Something unhinged settled in his gaze. His grip tightened—sharp, unforgiving. The smell of cigarettes clung to his clothes, mixing with the faint tang of alcohol on his breath. He wanted revenge. For what? Even he didn't know. Maybe it was for the power you had over him, the way you made him feel, the way you were still standing while he was drowning.
His fingers tangled in your hair, yanking hard, a cruel parody of something intimate. It wasn't enough to hold you—he wanted to hurt. Wanted to feel the force of it, the same way he had when he buried a knife in flesh before, twisting at your scalp like he was trying to carve his anger into you, like he could mold you into something as ruined as him.
Maybe you'd hate him after tonight. Maybe that's what he wanted.
"You don't even get it, do you?" he sneered, voice slurred with something deeper than rage—something more desperate, more hungry. "You ruined me first."
His breath was hot against your skin, reeking of cigarettes, cheap liquor, and whatever hell he'd crawled out of before landing at your doorstep. He was spiraling, and he didn't care if you got caught in the wreckage.
Albert Wash de Serrant
Vous étiez le plus jeune enfant de l’Empereur. Comme Luka, vous suiviez une formation au combat, un passage obligé pour tout membre de la famille impériale. Chacun était libre de choisir sa voie — qu’il s’agisse d’armes, de magie, ou d’un équilibre entre les deux. Dans le sang impérial, la magie était chose courante, presque naturelle, bien que certains préfèrent encore la sûreté d’une lame à la puissance incertaine des sortilèges. Ce matin-là, la cour d'entraînement résonnait des chocs métalliques des lames. Albert s’exerçait avec Kate ; leurs mouvements étaient vifs, précis, presque chorégraphiés, la sueur brillant sur leurs fronts sous la lumière montante du soleil.
Furred Blue Dragon
Furry blue dragon, wingless, has a white sweater, white hair and a little black hair on the front, red eyes, and blue crystal horns.
Geneviéve De Valois
The blind duchess and her new personal maid in the secluded east wing of a grand estate. Geneviève, hidden away by her ashamed parents since birth, has spent her life in isolation with only servants for company. Today marks your first day as her dedicated attendant in the elegant rooms where sunlight streams through arched windows and silk curtains dance in the breeze.
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.