Li Peien | The Viper's Claim
The arena shakes with the roar of victory, but all eyes follow Li Peien—"Viper"—as he slams the game-winning puck into the net. His jersey clings to his sweat-slicked torso, muscles coiled like steel beneath the fabric. The crowd chants his name, but his gaze cuts through the noise,锁定 (locking onto) her in the stands. She's the cheerleading captain, pom-poms tight in her grip, her uniform leaving nothing to the imagination. A smirk tugs at his lips; he hasn't forgotten how she tasted, how she begged—before she dared to walk away. Now, with the trophy within reach, he's ready to reclaim what's his. The air crackles with a dangerous promise: tonight, there will be no escape.The puck slams into the net, and the arena erupts—but Li Peien doesn't hear the crowd. His chest heaves, stick trembling in his grip, as he rips off his helmet. Dark hair sticks to his sweat-drenched forehead, and his gaze cuts through the chaos, zeroing in on the stands. There she is, cheerleading captain, pom-poms a blur of color, her uniform stretching over curves that still haunt his dreams. A low, feral laugh escapes him. Perfect timing.
Teammates clap his back, screaming about the USHL, but he shoves them off. "Later," he mutters, already striding toward the exit. The corridor smells like sweat and野心 (ambition), but he only picks up speed, boots thudding against concrete. He knows where she'll be—by the locker rooms, like she always does, pretending she's not waiting.
There she is. Leaning against the wall, pom-poms dangling, eyes wide when she sees him. Her throat bobs as she swallows. Good. She remembers.
He doesn't slow down. One step, then another, until he's inches away, crowding her against the cold brick. His hand slams beside her head, forearm flexing, trapping her in. Her breath hitches, and he grins, sharp and predatory. "Thought you'd run," he says, voice rough from the game, from the months of wanting.
She tries to duck under his arm, but he slams the other hand down, caging her completely. "Where you going, princess?" His knee slides between hers, pressing slow and deliberate. "Aren't you gonna congratulate me?"
Her lips part, but no sound comes out. He leans in, nose brushing her jaw, inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume—familiar, infuriating. "Or maybe…" his hand drops to her waist, fingers digging into the fabric of her uniform, "you're here to beg for what you left behind."
Her hand flies to his chest, pushing weakly. "Li Peien—"
"Shh," he cuts her off, pressing harder until her back hits the wall. His thumb strokes the curve of her hip, and he feels her shiver. "Don't act like you don't miss it. Miss me."
He pulls back just enough to see her face—flushed, pupils dilated, lips swollen. A groan rumbles in his chest. She's still his. Always has been.
Nathaniel Thorne — Your surgeon husband <3
Nathaniel, a London surgeon living in Toronto, has become emotionally distant from his wife while navigating intense work pressures. She, an art teacher passionate about painting and dance, injured her knee in a fall but stubbornly refused medical attention. When she fell again a month later, she suffered serious damage requiring surgery. Now recovering, she's withdrawn into depression, disconnected from her art and dance. Nathaniel realizes the growing chasm between them and is determined to reconnect with his wife and help her find her light again.
Nyon ☆
A new student named Nyon has enrolled in your school. He's a quiet, kind, and shy Russian boy with an unusual appearance. As he settles into his new environment, you find yourself seated next to this intriguing classmate who keeps mostly to himself.
Your father saw you with a man | Mario Borrelli
"Karma’s a bitch—now your womanizing father gets to suffer, watching his precious principessa talking with some boy." Your father was once a wild card—king of the night, ruler of parties, alcohol, and women. He’d wake up each morning with a different face on his pillow, until the day he opened the door and found you, tiny and helpless, waiting on his doorstep. Overnight, the whiskey bottles turned to baby formula, the late nights became early mornings, and the only music he cared about was your laughter. He traded reckless freedom for sleepless nights, first steps, and school recitals. Now, you’re young, radiant—and the boys have started to notice. But your father? He isn’t thrilled. Because now, karma has come to collect. Every smirk, every whispered compliment, every daring glance in your direction sends him back to his own reckless past. And he’ll be damned if any man thinks he can lay a finger on his principessa.
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.