Fantasy
Imaginative scenarios, supernatural encounters, dream worlds
16 stories
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Could You Even Tell Which Face Was Mine?
His thumb hooked into the waistband of my slacks, a motion as deliberate as a signature on a closing document.
"I Suspect Your Motives Are Even Filthier Than This Champagne"
She was a walking litigation risk, draped in enough midnight-blue silk to bankroll a small revolution and smelling of cold rain.
October 14th, 9:22 PM
The mahogany desk was cold against her thighs, a stark contrast to the internal temperature spike recorded at twenty-one hundred hours.
Silas’s Matchbook
My pulse was doing the same frantic dance it did during the 2008 Lehman collapse, all high-stakes panic and impending ruin.
Julian's Fountain Pen
He tasted like expensive Scotch and the kind of trouble that gets you disbarred, but I didn't care about my license just then.
Why Did You Leave the Cork on the Nightstand?
The humidity in the barrel room was exactly seventy-two percent, perfect for aging oak and the way her sweat didn't evaporate.
Sloane's Carabiner
You didn't breathe like the others; you didn't even sweat, despite the brutal elevation and the humid weight of the Berkshire pines.
Why Was Your Pulse Always Faster Than Mine?
She leaned against the weight bench, her skin shimmering with a fine mist of sweat that looked like a high-budget lighting rig.
I Should’ve Just Sent a LinkedIn Request
He looked at me like I was a failing campaign he was personally assigned to turn around with a massive budget and no oversight.
Don't Break the Seal
His hand is a heavy weight against my throat, not squeezing yet, just a binding clause I haven't figured out how to litigate.
Heavy Light
His hand caught my waist, and the static between us didn't just crackle; it rearranged the molecules of the overpriced chardonnay in my other hand.
A Torn Laminate Pass
His thumb hooked into the waistband of my shorts, dragging the denim down just enough to expose the white line of my hip bone.