Streaking Stories Novels & Stories

His works had been in Niall Steiner's exhibit two years ago. Now, Ansel Stiles was starting to gain fame. Jade introduced them and from then on, the curly haired lad often goes to the studio to see Sidhiel. "I haven't done enough progress with my work yesterday." He said. "Mr. Steiner is scheduled to look at my paintings soon. I'm getting nervous." When he first met Ansel, he immediately felt at ease and comfortable around him. He's kind and easy to talk to. When he speaks, no one would think that he was famous because he was very humble.

The three marks on Wren’s inner forearm itched with a low, persistent thrum, a living tattoo of longing etched into her skin by a ritual gone beautifully, catastrophically wrong. They weren't scars, but claims waiting to be made. One for tender worship, one for rude praise, one for slow dominance. Tonight, the first of them, a silvery crescent like a wolf’s gentle bite, burned with a need that was becoming a torment.

Nathan and Miranda understood that storytelling held immense power—a power to heal, to inspire, and to create lasting change. Motivated by this realization, they set out on a mission to document and share these stories of resilience. Through captivating interviews, powerful photographs, and poignant narratives, they aimed to create a platform that celebrated the triumphs of the human spirit. They believed that by amplifying these stories, they could reshape societal perceptions, break down barriers, and foster a greater sense of empathy and understanding.

He let out the friendliest of smiles, making Anderson very uncomfortable. Anderson stared back and forth between Suit and the scroll. His mind was racing. The contract sounded simple enough. Straightforward, but he did not understand. ‘What did he mean by survive the stories? Did he not say I was going to tell a story? What does survive the story mean?’ Question after question popped up into his head. He could not help himself. He had no idea exactly what it meant, but one thing was for certain; He would not move forward if he did nothing but constantly question the situation

I saw a stranger I wasn’t allowed to remember today and it was weird… I knew their birthday, where they lived, their favorite color, what their lips tasted like and what their voice sounded like, that stranger had a smile that had always been directed to me to someone else, that stranger shattered the remaining lines of thread I was holding on to, I lost her, she was once my whole world and now all there was, was void, darkness and void. Another month passed, It’s been two months… time doesn’t heal, whoever said it does was fucking stupid, because why do I keep having the same dreams every single time, they are happy dreams on Elsa rubbing my back slowly and singing me to sleep but once my e

Why does she feel like a stranger when she stares at the busy street of Athens, she wants to be like one of them and without learning their language, she will never be one of them. Lucky her, Hussain did try to teach her but damn, the language was not as easy as she thought it will be. She could only get the basic things like please and thank you. "What are you thinking about my love?" Hussain asked kissing the crock of her neck. That was her weak point and he knew it but he decided to be using it against her.

Her Stalker is a stalker-age-gap dark romance not recommended for those under 17. Triggers include extreme sexual content, voyeurism, profanity, and dark themes. *Read at your own discretion. This story is about a stalker's love and determination for the girl he set his sights on a long time ago. Brixton started watching Harley, or his little bird when she was starting high school, and she never had a clue... But what happens when his secret is revealed?

Cliques had been established already and I couldn't break in . At first, the other kids weren't always mean . They didn't call me names . They didn't bully me . It all started to get worse in the month of November when Ms. Adams , my teacher asked us to write about our favorite thing in the world . I wrote my favorite thing to be the ability to see the midnight black sky with the shinny stars . It was a whole three page essay mixed with lots of emotions but the other kids considered it nonsense . While the teacher read my essay to the class they laughed out loud pointing fingers at me .

She wanted to be chased, caught, and used roughly, but only by someone she trusted to stop if she needed them to. One lonely night, after too much wine and too much scrolling, she downloaded an app called VelvetKink. It was a discreet, anonymous app for people with extreme or taboo kinks. Profiles were faceless unless you chose to show them. People matched based on shared fantasies rather than looks. Elena made a profile. She was honest in the kink section. Kinks: CNC (Consensual Non-Consent), kidnapping, rough sex, being overpowered, degradation + praise, being used, forced orgasms, being claimed/possessed.