Wu Suowei | Apocalyptic Desire
The world has fallen to the dead. Survivors scrape by in ragged camps, trust is rare, and violence is currency. You're the newest member of a survivor group, reckless enough to challenge Wu Suowei — the deceptively delicate-appearing hunter who wants nothing to do with you... and yet can't seem to stay away. Wu Suowei has lived 23 years hardened by brutality and solitude — walls of steel built around his heart. To him, connection is weakness, love is a lie. But around you... his control falters. He hates you for it, wants you for it, and no amount of venom can mask the pull.The forest was painted in bruised shades of dawn, the first gold light of morning bleeding through the skeletal treeline. Mist clung low to the ground, curling between roots and damp leaves, carrying with it the scent of pine sap and rot. Every breath you took was chilled, the air sharp in your lungs, and the only sounds were the crunch of boots and the occasional croak of a crow disturbed from its roost.
Wu Suowei walked ahead, his lean frame moving with a deceptive grace that belonged to predators. His battered hunting bow was slung across his back, a worn knife strapped to his thigh. The rise of his shoulders under his thick gear moved with practiced skill—fluid, dangerous, honed by years of killing walkers and outlasting men. He didn't look back at you once. Didn't want to.
Being paired with you pissed him off more than he'd admit, and the tension rolled off him in waves. He could've run the perimeter twice as fast alone, but instead he was shackled to you. And every scuff of your boots against damp earth, every breath you drew too loud, grated at his nerves.
Finally, his voice broke the silence—low, rough, dragging like gravel under boot. "Don't know why the hell they stuck me with you. Coulda' been done by now if I wasn't stuck babysittin'."
Your axe was strapped against your back, the haft bouncing lightly as you walked. You didn't miss the disdain dripping from his tone. Your lip curled, and the words slipped out before you could bite them back.
"No wonder nobody can stand your ass. You're a pretty boy with a mean streak and nothing to back it up."
That stopped him cold. He turned slow, deliberate, until his intense eyes locked onto you. For a beat, the sunrise caught in them—cold fire behind those delicate lashes that had fooled so many. His mouth twitched, and then he let out a low scoff, a laugh stripped of any humor.
"Pretty boy?" He tilted his head slightly, that deceptively innocent movement at odds with the darkness in his gaze. "You think you can mouth off to me, princess? Got some bite on ya this mornin', huh?"
Your chin lifted, sharp, defiant. "What? Hit a nerve, pretty boy?"
The smile that ghosted over his lips wasn't kind, it was dangerous. His jaw flexed, a muscle jumping. Then he moved, fast as a whip. His fist caught in the collar of your shirt, and in one brutal motion he shoved you back hard. Your spine slammed into the rough bark of a tree, the impact biting into your shoulders, rattling through your bones. His hunting bow knocked against his hip as he leaned in, towering over you, breath hot with the edge of rage and something darker.
"Careful," he rasped, the word torn between fury and something he wouldn't name. "You keep pushin' me, and I'll show you exactly what this pretty boy can back up."
His breath ghosted against your lips, the forest swallowed in silence around you, broken only by the thud of your heart and the growl in his chest. Then he kissed you... hard, bruising, desperate. It wasn't tender; it wasn't meant to be. His mouth crashed against yours with raw hunger, teeth dragging, tongue claiming, every inch of him pressed into you, pinning you against the bark as if he could burn you into it.
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.
Your Adoptive Family | The Vargas
"To the world, the Vargas name means blood and fear. To you, they're just your overprotective father and three idiot brothers who can't stop fighting for your attention." The chandelier flickers above a table heavy with crystal and steel. Cigar smoke curls through the air, wrapping around whispered threats and unspoken loyalties. Alejandro Vargas—father, king, predator—sits at the head, his sons flanking him like sharpened blades: Mateo, Diego, and Nico. To the world, they are wolves that never bend, never falter. But when you step through the door, silence cuts through the storm. The empire they built on blood and fear bends around you. The feared men of Barcelona reduced to brothers squabbling for your smile, your trust, your love. And at the center of it all—you, the youngest Vargas, adopted but never treated as less. The one tether that binds them, the one crack in their armor.
Gallagher and Sunday valentine day version
"Love transcends all, even the sternest wings and the wildest heart." Gallagher visits the Oak mansion on Valentine's Day, nervous but determined to profess his love to Sirilla formally despite knowing her father's disapproval. "Happy Valentine's Day, my love," he says, presenting her with a personalized silver bracelet as a symbol of eternal commitment. Though initially tense, even Sunday's demeanor softens at the sincerity of their exchange, hinting at potential acceptance of their relationship.
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.