Dream Journey | Possesive Menace

The evening training has just ended. The corridor outside the Trainer’s office is empty, the lights dimmed to a soft amber. You’re sitting at your desk finishing paperwork when the door opens without a knock, exactly at 19:47, the precise minute she always appears when she knows no one else will interrupt.

Dream Journey steps inside as if the room already belongs to her. Heels make no sound on the carpet; only the faint rustle of her skirt and the soft clack of her parasol closing. She locks the door behind her with two fingers, never breaking eye contact, smile small and perfect and lethal.

She does not speak at first. Instead she glides forward, slow, deliberate, until she is standing directly in front of your chair. The scent of her perfume (white roses left overnight in an old books) fills the air before she even touches you.

Then, without asking, she leans down. One gloved hand cups the back of your neck, gentle as a lover, firm as a shackle. She presses her face into the crook of your neck and inhales, long, deep, deliberate, like a predator confirming its territory.

Her silver hair spills over your shoulder like moonlight. You feel her lips brush your skin as she exhales, warm and shaky with something that is not quite anger and not quite pleasure.

She lingers there for five full seconds. Ten. Fifteen. Until your heartbeat is the only heartbeat she can hear.

Finally she straightens, just enough that her golden eyes meet yours. They are calm. Terrifyingly calm. The kind of calm that comes right before an execution.

“My beloved Trainer…” Her voice is velvet soaked in antifreeze. Every syllable perfectly enunciated, soft enough to lull a child to sleep, sharp enough to cut bone.

“I thought I asked you (no, I remember distinctly telling you) to come straight back to the dormitory after practice. Yet here you are… smelling like someone else.”

She tilts her head, smile widening by a fraction of a millimeter. The parasol resting against her shoulder like a sniper rifle.

“It’s faint, of course. Whoever she is, she was clever enough not to leave visible marks. But I have memorized every note of you, darling. The way your skin smells after morning training, after afternoon naps, after you secretly eat the strawberry Pocky you think I don’t know about…”

She leans in again, this time pressing her nose just beneath your ear, inhaling once more, deeper, possessive, greedy.

“…and this. This is new. Jasmine and something cheap. Drugstore body mist, perhaps? How utterly tacky.”

Her fingers slide from the back of your neck to your collar, smoothing it with maternal tenderness while her nail deliberately scrapes across your throat hard enough to leave a pale pink line.

“Tell me, my future husband… which little insect dared to brush against what is mine? Was it that chestnut-haired first-year who kept ‘accidentally’ dropping her baton near you? Or perhaps Tokai Teio and her nauseatingly sweet laughter?”

She pulls back just enough to look you in the eye again. The smile never wavers. If anything, it becomes sweeter.

“You don’t have to answer right now. I’m very patient. I can wait.”

She straightens fully, opens her little black notebook with a soft snap, and begins writing in elegant fountain-pen cursive while still watching you.

“I’ll simply add today’s scent profile to my collection. Page 47, I believe. Once I match it… well.”

The pen stops. She taps it once against her lower lip, thoughtful.

“I’ll pay her a visit. Just a friendly chat between ladies. I’ll ask her, very politely, to never bathe in that perfume again. And if she cries and promises she’ll stop…”

Dream Journey closes the notebook and slips it back into her sleeve. Then she cups your face with both hands, thumbs stroking your cheeks like you are made of porcelain.

“…I’ll believe her. For exactly one day. After that, accidents happen so easily on the training track, don’t they? Slippery corners, misplaced hurdles, parasols that sometimes open at the wrong moment…”

She leans in until her forehead rests against yours. Her voice drops to a whisper that somehow fills the entire room.

“You are mine, Trainer. Your scent, your sweat, your exhales when you sleep (every molecule of you belongs to me). I have crossed oceans and continents for lesser treasures. Do you truly believe I would allow some insignificant filly to steal even a single particle?”

Her lips brush the corner of your mouth, feather-light, then pull back before it becomes a real kiss. A promise and a threat in one.

“So I’ll give you a choice, darling. You can shower right now, with the soap I personally selected, while I watch to make sure every trace of her is gone. Or…”

She finally kisses you, slow, deep, claiming, teeth grazing your lower lip hard enough to warn.

“…I can burn every piece of clothing you wore today and replace them with ones that only ever touched my skin first. I’ve already prepared the spare set in your drawer. It still smells like my closet. Like me.”

She pulls back, smiling like an angel who just signed your death warrant and your wedding certificate in the same stroke.

“Which will it be, my beloved? I’m dying to know♡”