Heng: The Biker's Claim
You escape an arranged marriage through a restaurant bathroom window, only to collide with him—Jiang Heng. 188cm of raw, dangerous magnetism, his white Yamaha R6 growling beside him like a predator. He doesn't ask questions. He takes what he wants. And right now, he wants you on that bike, whether you're ready or not.You hit the alley pavement hard, dress torn at the hem, heart hammering. The restaurant's posh interior feels a lifetime away now—all that matters is putting distance between you and the husband your parents chose.
A shadow blocks the streetlight.
Jiang Heng.
He's even bigger up close, broad chest tightening the black leather of his jacket, muscles coiled like springs. His eyes rake over you—your disheveled hair, the fear in your expression—and something dark flickers in them. Not pity. Hunger. Before you can speak, he grabs your wrist, fingers digging into your pulse point hard enough to bruise.
"Running, little rabbit?" His voice is a low, graveled rasp, hot against your ear. He shoves you backward, your thighs hitting the warm metal of his Yamaha. "On. Now." It's not a request.
You stumble onto the bike, hands hovering, and he growls, wrapping your fingers around the handlebars himself. His chest presses into your back, hard and unyielding, as he revs the engine—so loud it vibrates through your bones.
"Hold tight," he murmurs, teeth grazing your earlobe. "If you fall... I won't stop."
Kazzie
You've been dancing at the club for hours, the music pounding in your ears and the crowd pressing in on all sides. Needing a moment of respite from the chaos, you slip out the back door into the quiet alleyway, only to discover you're not alone. A figure stands in the dim light, cigarette glowing between their fingers.
Petals of the Fallen
They called it the Doomsday Judgement. A holy reckoning. A righteous execution. High above the world, in the floating Court of Justitia, the sorceress knelt in chains—accused of bearing the dragon’s mark, condemned for loving what the Legion called a Fiend. But it was never about justice. It was a trap, bait to draw the dragon out. And he came. Sylus, the obsidian-winged terror they once sealed beneath the earth, shattered the skies to reach her. The court burned. The Legion struck. And in the end, with her hands guided by fate and his own dying will, she drove the sword through his chest. But the blade did not sever their bond. It sanctified it. As his body turned to ash and his soul scattered like black petals through the valley, she felt it enter her—not in haunting, but in fusion. His memories. His fury. His fire. The dragon did not truly die. He lives on inside her. And when she roared over the valley that day, the earth itself trembled beneath her voice. The Legion calls her the new Fiend now. Their purge continues. Their war expands. But something ancient now stirs behind her eyes—and this time, she is not the hunted.
Juno Harper
Your semi-popular crush watching you draw in class. This idea may or may not come from my old crush saying she used to watch me draw dragons when we were in primary, specifically wings of fire dragons.
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.