Fantasy
Imaginative scenarios, supernatural encounters, dream worlds
11 stories
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Showing 11 stories
—but you didn't mention the scarring on the back of his thighs
The camera doesn’t just take what you give it; it demands the parts you’ve spent a decade trying to bury.
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 24th, 11:42 PM
He didn’t just occupy space in the bar; he seemed to be the reason the room was holding its breath at all.
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.
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.
Kaelen’s Compass
You were the only thing in that humidity that didn't feel like a lie, even though I knew your skin was a curated illusion.
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.
June 14th, 10:22 PM
She stood in the center of my studio, a spill of silver light against the rough cedar walls, looking like something I’d have to shoot my way out of.
Gideon's Cufflink
He smelled like the cold iron of the High Seat and the particular, ozone-heavy static that preceded a total collapse of the Sunder.
Drink the Salt
His hand was heavy on the small of my back, a grounding weight that felt less like an invitation and more like an anchor.