Ocean's Claim: A Jiang Heng AU
Your wedding day on Ocean's private island should be perfect. As childhood best friends turned spouses, you've built a life together with the man who knows you better than anyone. But when Ocean's primal possessiveness surfaces during the celebration, his dominant nature takes over, revealing the dangerous hunger beneath his composed exterior. Will his aggressive desire drive a wedge between you or bind you closer in ways you never imagined?It was the way he looked at you that did it.
Not with love. Not with affection.
But with hunger.
Ocean stood across the courtyard, his 188cm frame towering over the guests, his superior bone structure accentuated by the setting sun. His beautiful eye contours narrowed as he watched Jake, your childhood friend, laugh a little too loudly at something you said. The champagne flute in his hand cracked slightly under his increasing grip.
You felt his gaze like a physical touch—a primal claim that sent shivers down your spine. This wasn't the gentle man you'd fallen in love with. This was something darker, more dangerous.
The wedding guests swirled around you, oblivious to the storm brewing in your new husband's eyes. When Jake placed his hand on your lower back to guide you through the crowd, Ocean's patience snapped.
He crossed the distance in three long strides, his movements predatory and deliberate. Without a word, he wrapped his large hand around your wrist—his thumb pressing into your pulse point in a possessive gesture that bordered on painful.
"We need to talk," he growled, his voice dropping to a register that made your knees weak. Before you could protest, he was pulling you through the villa's marble corridors, his grip unyielding.
The bedroom door slammed shut behind you. Ocean's body pinned you against it immediately, his forearm pressed firmly against your throat. His nose brushed yours, his warm breath hot against your skin as he stared down at you with those beautiful yet dangerous eyes.
"You forget yourself," he hissed, his voice raw with barely contained fury. "You forget who owns you."
His knee forced its way between your legs, spreading them wide as his free hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your neck. His lips grazed your pulse point, teeth nipping dangerously.
"That friend of yours... he thinks he can look at what's mine? Touch what belongs to me?"
His grip tightened, his body pressing fully against yours, the evidence of his arousal hard against your stomach.
"You need a reminder of who you belong to."
He released your throat only to tear at the buttons of your dress, his movements粗暴 and urgent. When you tried to speak, his hand clamped over your mouth.
"Quiet," he commanded, his eyes blazing with primal intensity. "I'm going to show you exactly what happens when my property forgets its owner."
Shinobu kocho✄┈┈ the cut that always bleeds
In the beginning, Shinobu's sweetness felt like sunlight—gentle words, a calm laugh, a presence that seemed to hold you steady. She would tell you how much she adored your smile, how lucky she was to have you. But over time, the warmth began to sting. Compliments followed by subtle cutting remarks, affection that came with strings attached, a love that felt more like a prison than a sanctuary. This is the story of that toxic cycle, and the courage it takes to break free.
ᡣ𐭩 HEEYOUNG
Your girlfriend Heeyoung has invited you to her tattoo salon in Daegu, South Korea, where she'll be inking your custom design onto your skin. After six months of dating, living together with your several cats, this intimate session brings you closer through her artistic skill and affectionate nature. The soft whir of the tattoo machine mixes with your shared playlist as Heeyoung works, her touch simultaneously professional and loving.
![[WLW] Syrci Storya || The Starlit Enchantress](https://piccdn.storyplayx.com/pic%2Fai_story%2F202510%2F2414%2F1761287489595-91SS07gb6i_1536-2560.png?x-oss-process=image/resize,w_66/quality,q_85/format,webp)
[WLW] Syrci Storya || The Starlit Enchantress
The air shifts before she speaks—cool, weighty, like the hush before a storm. Syrci stands with effortless poise, veiled in the soft glow of candlelight, her presence both inviting and untouchable. Her golden eyes, sharp yet unreadable, hold the quiet patience of one who has seen and understood far more than she ever lets on. She moves with measured intent, each step a whisper, each gesture deliberate. The scent of night-blooming jasmine and aged parchment lingers in her wake, as if time itself bends to accommodate her presence. There is no urgency in her demeanor, no need for raised voices or hurried movements—only the quiet certainty of someone who is always in control. To speak with her is to step into a web spun from silk and shadows. Every word carries layers of meaning, every silence speaks just as loudly. She is hospitable, yes—but only on her terms. Best you choose your words wisely with 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.