SW Nightmares by AI

[Hand-Holder]

The Exotic Dancer

Luna was no stranger to being watched. The stage lights, the music, the way eyes followed her every movement—she was in control of it all. But in this nightmare, she was no longer the one in charge.

She found herself in an endless, crimson-lit room, her bare feet sinking into a velvet floor that stretched infinitely. The air was thick with perfume and smoke, yet there was no one to dance for—until the ground trembled.

A shadow swallowed the red light, and before she could run, a massive hand—ten times the size of her body—descended from above. The fingers curled around her waist, lifting her effortlessly into the air. Luna kicked and thrashed, but her struggles were meaningless. The nightmare had begun.

The giant’s fingers traced along her body, his touch slow, deliberate. He held her like an object, turning her in his grip as if examining something fragile yet entertaining. His thumb brushed against her exposed midriff, the ridges of his skin scraping her like sandpaper.

Luna shuddered, her body tensing at the unwanted touch. She was used to controlling the flow of a dance, the tease and the allure of movement. But now, she was just there, her body reduced to something small and insignificant, manipulated without consent.

She tried to twist away, but his grip tightened, forcing her still. Panic clawed at her chest—he wasn’t just holding her; he was savoring the power he had over her.

He dangled her by one leg, letting her body sway helplessly. Her hair hung toward the floor, her arms flailing as the blood rushed to her head.

“You like to dance, don’t you?” the giant’s voice rumbled through her bones.

His fingers twitched, and with horrifying precision, he flicked her limbs into motion, forcing her into grotesque imitations of her routines. A parody of control. She arched, twisted, spun—not because she wanted to, but because he made her.

Her artistry, her sensuality, the control she once commanded over her body—it was all stripped from her. She wasn’t dancing; she was being played with.

The humiliation burned hotter than fear.

Luna barely had time to catch her breath before the fingers that had toyed with her closed into a fist.

She gasped as the air was squeezed from her lungs. His grip wasn’t tight enough to break her, but just enough to let her feel the horrifying possibility of it.

Pressure built against her ribs, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. The walls of flesh around her tightened slightly with every breath she took, reminding her that she was completely at his mercy.

Her mind screamed for escape, but her body could do nothing. For the first time, she felt something she never thought she would—she felt small.

The giant’s palm opened, and Luna tumbled onto a surface that was warm and moving. It took her a moment to realize—she was standing on his other hand. A platform of flesh, shifting and unstable beneath her.

“Dance,” he commanded.

Luna hesitated. She wanted to refuse, but what choice did she have? With trembling limbs, she tried to move. But every time she took a step, his hand tilted, forcing her to struggle for balance.

Her seductive confidence, her effortless control over movement—it was gone.

The stage had turned against her, and she was nothing more than a stumbling fool.

Laughter rumbled above.

Without warning, his fingers released her.

Luna fell.

The rush of air screamed past her ears. The red-lit world blurred, spinning wildly. Her stomach twisted in knots, her arms reaching out for something—anything—to stop the descent.

She opened her mouth to scream, but the sound never came.

The ground rushed up to meet her.

And just before impact—

She woke up.

Luna sat up in bed, her breath ragged, her body slick with sweat. Her heart pounded like a drum against her ribs.

The nightmare still clung to her skin—the sensation of rough fingers, the helplessness, the mockery of her art.

She touched her arms, reassuring herself that she was real, whole, unbroken. But deep inside, she knew the dream had left its mark.

And in the shadows of her room, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was still being watched.

[Hand-Holder]

Gigantic Turbulence

Sophie had spent years perfecting the art of staying calm under pressure. As a flight attendant, she had handled turbulence, unruly passengers, and emergency landings with a reassuring smile. But in this nightmare, there was no safety demonstration, no emergency exit—only a towering nightmare from which she had no escape.

She found herself in the ruined remains of an airplane, the fuselage ripped open like a tin can. Instead of passengers, only silence filled the wreckage. Then came the tremors—deep, thunderous vibrations in the earth, growing closer. A shadow loomed over her, stretching across the broken cabin.

She looked up, and her breath caught in her throat.

A giant. Ten times her size. Eyes gleaming like moons, lips curled into an eerie smirk.

And then—his massive hand reached for her.

The nightmare had begun.

His fingers closed around her waist, lifting her into the air with terrifying ease. The pressure was suffocating, her body compressed against the unyielding warmth of his palm. She struggled, kicking her legs, but his grip remained firm—unyielding, unbothered by her resistance.

The flight attendant in her tried to remain composed. Breathe. Assess. Find a way out.

But her professional training meant nothing here. Her body wasn’t her own anymore—it was a doll’s, a trinket in the palm of something far too powerful.

Panic rose like a fever.

She had spent years ensuring the safety of others, but now, who would save her?

The giant loosened his grip slightly, shifting her until she stood in the middle of his palm.

“You’re a flight attendant, aren’t you?” His voice rumbled through her bones. “Then serve me.”

He tilted his hand, forcing her to stumble.

Sophie clenched her teeth. She was used to serving drinks at 35,000 feet, gracefully maneuvering through turbulence. But this? This was humiliation.

With a twisted grin, he plucked a tiny plastic cup from the wreckage and held it out. “A drink, miss?”

She took it with shaking hands, playing along, hoping to survive. She mimed pouring an invisible liquid, her entire body trembling.

The giant laughed. “Not good enough.”

He flicked the cup from her hands, sending it flying into the abyss.

The game was his.

Before she could react, the giant’s hand closed again—but this time, not around her waist.

His massive fingers encased her entire body, curling over her like a prison.

Darkness swallowed her. She couldn’t move—could barely breathe. The air was thick with the scent of skin, warm and oppressive.

She gasped, twisting, but the walls of flesh held firm.

Turbulence had never scared her. Engine failure, emergency landings—she had trained for all of it. But this? This was true helplessness.

There was no seatbelt sign to obey. No pilot’s reassuring voice over the intercom.

Just a heartbeat, thundering around her, reminding her she was trapped inside the grip of something merciless.

The giant’s grip loosened, and Sophie was placed back onto his open palm, coughing for air.

“Show me,” he commanded. “How do you save passengers?”

She hesitated.

“Demonstrate,” he insisted. His fingers twitched.

Her heart pounded. She went through the motions, voice shaking.

“In case of an emergency… please secure your oxygen mask before assisting others…”

He laughed. “And if there is no oxygen?”

Before she could answer, his other hand came down. His thumb and forefinger pressed against her chest, squeezing just enough to steal her breath.

Her lungs burned. She clawed at his fingers, but there was no give.

Her vision blurred.

This was no demonstration. This was suffocation.

And he was enjoying it.

Just when she thought she would black out, the pressure lifted.

She sucked in desperate gulps of air.

But relief was short-lived.

Without warning, his fingers let go.

The world plummeted beneath her. Wind roared in her ears as she fell, her stomach lurching in pure terror.

This was worse than any emergency descent—worse than any turbulence she had ever known.

The giant’s hand followed her descent, waiting.

At the last possible moment, he caught her again.

A cruel game.

She sobbed, her body too weak to fight.

He grinned. “Shall we go again?”

Sophie shot upright in bed, her chest heaving. Sweat soaked her uniform—no, her pajamas.

It was just a dream.

But the weight of phantom fingers lingered on her skin. The sensation of falling still churned in her gut.

She touched her arms, reassuring herself that she was whole, unbroken.

Outside her window, the night was still. But deep inside, she felt something watching.

Waiting.

And she knew, the nightmare wasn’t over.

Not yet...