Streaking Stories 소설 & 이야기

The fact I was about to live out my long yearned fantasy… or the fact that it was with strangers that didn’t bother with names. I was naked. A sharp breath sliced the air…from who? I wasn’t sure “You’re so sexy,”Mr Cinnamon whispered in my ear. He smelt like cinnamon,hence the name. Cinnamon, green eyes, brown hair…strangers yet I had a feeling I would never forget these strangers for the rest of my life. Every doubt I might have harbored vanished the second I felt cinnamon’s fingers graze my folds. “And you’re so wet..” his breath was heavier

Yeah, I'm fucked up. ..... By the time I leave Raegan's house, it is once again dark, and it is raining, of course. I haven't spoken to Trig all fucking day, but I've been keeping an eye on my little bird, as I always fucking do. I can watch her on the live feed that streams to my fucking phone when I'm not near our apartment. She has no idea there are fucking cameras hidden throughout her apartment, but I do. Even though she isn't at home right now, I know exactly where she is. I haven't seen her yet, but I know she's been working for Stacks at Wicked Desires, one of the state's most exclusive gentlemen's playgrounds. It's not just a fucking strip joint and bar, but it's also a hotbed of il

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

Celie had warned us that if we ever made one hassle in her building again, she'd start handing us our suitcases and throw us out. "Look at the bright side," Karmen said. "At least we've got enough popcorn to last us a whole month." ~*~ When the stress and anxiety and self-hatred and all those good procrastinator's feelings built up, you tend to find stuff you don't normally do. For the first time, I realized what total slobs my two best friends were. In the bathroom, I found all sorts of things lying around, from hairbrushes to bags of cotton wipes.

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?