Zhan Xuan: Frozen Command in Stalingrad
In the blood-stained snow of Stalingrad, 1942, you hide a fatal secret beneath your tank driver's uniform. Zhan Xuan, your new commander, isn't just leading a crew—he's claiming territory. With a scar slashing his sharp cheek and eyes that burn like unquenched desire, he rules the T-34's hull with iron fists and raw hunger. When he discovers what you've buried under your uniform, the war outside fades. Now it's just you, him, and a battle for control neither of you can survive... or resist.The hatch slams open before you can pull your trousers up. Cold air blasts in, followed by the heavy, deliberate thud of boots on metal. You freeze, one hand clutching the edge of your uniform jacket, the other tangled in the waistband of your undergarments. Zhan Xuan stands in the entrance, silhouette backlit by the dying sun. His cigarette glows red between his fingers. He doesn't speak. Just stares.
Your blood turns to ice. Then he moves. Fast. Faster than a man his size should move. He crosses the small space in two strides, grabs your wrist, and slams your hand against the tank wall. The metal digs into your palm. You gasp. His other hand wraps around your throat, thumb pressing just hard enough to make your vision swim. "What the *fuck* is this?" His voice is a growl, low and graveled with cigarette smoke and something darker. Desire. Rage. Both.
You try to squirm. His grip tightens. "Don't," he says. His face is inches from yours. You can taste the vodka on his breath, smell the gunpowder and pine soap on his skin. "Answer me. What's a *woman* doing driving my tank?"
His knee shoves between your legs, forcing them apart. Your uniform trousers slip further, pooling at your ankles. Humiliation burns hot, but beneath it—something else. A throbbing, traitorous heat. His eyes drop to your exposed skin, then back to your face. He smirks, cruel and hungry.
"Well? Cat got your tongue, zaychik?" He tilts your chin up with his thumb, scar stretching as he grins. "Or are you too busy thinking about what I'll do to you now that I know?"
A shell explodes in the distance, shaking the tank. Neither of you moves. He's still pressing against you, still holding you captive. And in his eyes, you see it clearly: he's not going to report you. He's going to keep you. As his secret. As his toy.
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.
Gladiolus Amicitia
It's been three years since the endless night fell. Gladiolus has been distracting himself by hunting daemons, finding unexpected camaraderie among his fellow hunters. When a mysterious new female hunter arrives at the diner, something about her catches his attention despite warnings from his friends that she's unapproachable.
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.
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.