Snsd Kwon Yuri

(18+) CONTAINS MATURE CONTENT “A HUMAN. . .” he mused, scanning every feature of my face, carving them into his memory. "Jisoo." He breathed my name, making me resist the urge to shiver. I raised my eyebrows at the undeniably handsome man in front of me and crossed my arms, then shook my head, "I was supposed to make 10 million today!" I whined at the loss of my company. "Humans and their greed!" He grunted, walking away. JISOO KWON, a strong and independent twenty-seven-year-old woman, who was the CEO and founder of her company, lived her life confidently as she expanded her company; her empire. Little did she know her life would take an unexpected turn, forcing her to run away from home; from the company she built with her every breath, only to run into a creature, one that was believed to be a myth at that. While she always fancied dragons, treasuring them as her favorite mythology creature, she never imagined actually meeting one, let alone being one’s mate. But there’s no way that's possible, right? However, she's proved wrong, by her mate nonetheless. TRISTEN SLADE is a determined, yet surprisingly kind dragon prince-- but only to his kind. He was always harsh towards humans, it was their very existence that forced dragons to run and hide within the shadows and caves, the once powerful and majestic creatures, now long forgotten. His only mission was to find the Heart of Magic, a gem that would return his kind to their original glory, but when a certain little human practically runs into his arms, scared, terrified and lost, he's brought into something anew...and beautiful. Will this forbidden toxic love save both kinds? Or will it destroy them both? After all, it was one impossible love.. Cover by @.SeashelI on quotev.

Post - Apocalyptic Horror | Action | Yuri Harem | 18+ | Rated R | Mature Content | Slow Pace It started with a kiss I don’t remember giving. A rooftop. A moan. Someone’s fingers buried in my hair like they belonged there. A mouth on my throat that said I tasted like something they lost in another life. I wasn’t dreaming. The city was already cracking beneath me. Power grids flickering like dying stars. Tech failing. Screens static. The sky bruising in strange new colors. Everyone said it was coincidence. Collapse. Noise. But I knew better. The moment I felt her breath on my skin — even if I couldn’t see her — I knew the end had already arrived. And I had something to do with it. Ten butterflies followed me after that. Not literal ones. Not always. They shimmered in my periphery. Each the wrong color. Each too vivid. Each drawn to me like heat to blood. They touched me in dreams. They watched me when I undressed. They whispered without words. I could taste their want. Some called me cursed. Broken. Unstable. But the truth is simpler. I’m blooming again — and they all feel it. They don’t love me. They remember me. They remember what I used to be — what I still am, underneath the silence. One of them burned me with just a kiss. One broke my spine with kindness. One slid her hand under my shirt like it was always hers. One cries when she touches me. One never speaks, but her eyes dig. One wants to keep me. One wants to ruin me. And one just wants to finish what we started. They think I’m choosing. I’m not. My body already did. And now the bloom inside me is turning darker.

Crimson Bloomed: Ascend Post - Apocalyptic Horror | Action | Yuri Harem | Coming - of - Age | Rated R | Mature Content | Slow Burn The city looked like it had been devoured — chewed up by fire, time, and whatever came after — then spit back out in jagged pieces. Dead drones dangled from power lines like rusted ornaments. Neon signs flickered above fractured pavement, their broken scripts glitching into gibberish. Down the block, a half - melted smartcar burned slow, casting warped shadows across the skeletal remains of a coffee bar. Behind a crumpled tram car, someone crouched low, breath tight in her lungs. The shrieking hadn’t stopped. It came again — sharp, bone-deep, the kind of sound that latched onto your spine and refused to let go. She checked the signal jammer at her hip. Still blinking. Still active. Not for long. They were tracking her. She moved fast — boots silent over broken glass, slipping through the breach in an old laundromat’s wall. Her body moved from muscle memory now: slide through, duck left, over the washer, don’t look at the corpse slumped by the dryer. Out the back. Up the fire escape. On the rooftop, she halted. Not alone. Someone was already there — silhouetted against the bleeding sunset. Combat jacket. Short - cropped hair. Pulse rifle slung casually over one shoulder like it weighed nothing. Like this was just another rooftop, just another war. “Don’t move,” the voice snapped. She lifted her hands slowly. “I’m clean.” “Everyone says that.” “Scan me.” beat. Then the girl stepped forward, rifle still raised but gaze locked in. Dark eyes, sharp, searching — not just for weapons, but tells. Fear. Lies. She lowered the rifle half an inch. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” That wasn’t the line she expected.