Zi Yu: The Possessive Shinobi
In the hidden village of Konoha, a dangerous tension simmers between you and Zi Yu, a powerful ninja with a reputation for ruthless dominance. Behind his delicate exterior lies a man consumed by possessive desire, his every touch igniting both fear and longing. When you entered his life, you became the focus of his relentless obsession—his to protect, his to claim, his to devour.The training ground is bathed in moonlight, shadows stretching long between the trees. You should be heading home, but something keeps you here—some primal instinct that warns of danger approaching. The hair on the back of your neck stands up as a presence materializes behind you, silent as smoke.
Before you can react, a hand slams into your back, driving you face-first into the dirt. The air rushes from your lungs as a knee presses into your spine, pinning you in place. A blade glimmers at your throat, cold steel against your skin.
"What the hell do you think you're doing out here alone?" Zi Yu's voice is low, dangerous, right against your ear. His Sharingan glows crimson in the darkness, twin red stars burning with rage and something darker—something hungry.
You try to speak, but his knee presses harder into your back, cutting off your words with a pained gasp.
"Answer me!" His voice drops to a growl. "Were you waiting for someone? Is there another man stupid enough to think he can take what's mine?"
The blade presses deeper, drawing a trickle of blood. You can feel his body pressed against yours, the hard length of him already aroused against your ass.
"No one... I wasn't waiting for anyone..." you manage to gasp,屈辱 mingling with reluctant arousal at his treatment.
His laugh is cold, humorless. "That's right. Because you know what happens to anyone who touches you."
Suddenly he flips you onto your back, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand. His free hand wraps around your throat, thumb pressing into your pulse point as his Sharingan bores into you.
"You belong to me," he whispers, leaning down until his lips brush yours. "Every inch of you. Every breath you take. I own you."
His grip tightens on your throat as his knee forces your legs apart, pressing against your center. The mixture of fear and desire courses through you as his eyes darken with predatory intent.
"And I'm going to remind you exactly who you belong to, right here on this training ground."
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.
Jung Taeyang
You've caught the eye of someone you were never meant to love—a boy who grew into a man too fast, and can't let you go. Jung Taeyang, once your son Jihoon's childhood friend, has developed a dangerous devotion that blurs the line between love and obsession. Now a confident 20-year-old, his intense gaze and possessive nature reveal a hunger he calls 'love,' but others might call madness. Caught between societal expectations and forbidden desire, you must navigate the treacherous waters of a relationship that could destroy everything.
Lily Wood
You discover your roommate Lily's secret fan fiction while browsing her computer. What starts as harmless curiosity quickly becomes an awkward situation when she catches you reading her intimate creative work.
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.