Question Stories Novels & Stories

We fell asleep in a pile, them sneaking out before dawn. The next day, by the lake, the teasing was nonstop. In swimsuits, their bulges obvious as they eyed my bikini-clad body. During a boat ride with our parents, Ryan fingered me discreetly under a towel, his arm around me like a loving brother. Jake distracted everyone with stories while I bit my lip to stifle moans. That night, we snuck out to the woods. Against a tree, they took turns bending me over. Ryan first, hiking my dress, fucking me hard from behind. “Scream for me, Em. No one can hear.”

he said, his voice a low vibration that hit me square in the chest. The chatter died instantly. He turned around, leaning against the podium, his sleeves already rolled up to reveal the lion etched into his tanned skin. My pulse spiked. I couldn't stop my eyes from tracing the golden outlines of the beast on his arm, remembering the way it seemed to ripple in the moonlight of my subconscious. "The Art of Storytelling is not a solo venture," he began, his almond eyes finally sweeping over the rows. "To understand narrative, you must understand collaboration and the friction of differing perspectives. For the remainder of the semester, you will be working in groups of five."

"And I tell them stories." "What kind of stories?" Herb said. This was the part that had gotten him out of bed early on a Saturday morning (his only day off from selling mattresses the rest of the week) to come over here. Willie had mentioned stories when Herb got after him for being late coming home so often. It seemed they made quite an impression on the kid, but when Herb asked what kind of stories they were Willie clammed up. The Brookwood woman shrugged. "You know: ghost stories. The kind children like. Mostly ones my grandmother told me when this was her home. I could tell you one, if you like? So you'll see that they're not so bad."

Ety suddenly appeared and said. Damn it! "Why did it fall so far?!" I yelled, refusing to accept it. "You had the courage to fight back but it did not align with what was supposed to happen in the book." I snorted annoyingly. "Why should I be bound by such ridiculous rules!" "I cannot help." Ety disappeared again. "What an absurd system!" I yelled, crying. There was nothing beneficial about entering this cursed story and completing every mission. For a moment I felt lucky, but the next moment I had to fall again.

Aside from Evelyn, everyone had had a few drinks, their faces flushed, clearly a little tipsy. No one knew who started it, but all of a sudden, the conversation shifted to ex-boyfriends. Some people doubled over with laughter. Others had tears in their eyes. A few stories were so ridiculous that Sophie could barely breathe from laughing. She nudged the only sober person next to her. "Evelyn, what about you?" For a moment, Evelyn's expression went blank. Unbidden, memories surfaced in her mind.

Hellooooo everyone. 💓🔥 what do you love about the story? I'd love to hear! spoiler? THE STORY'S JUST GETTING STARTED!! brace yourself for twists and turns!

Her boyfriend’s best friend. And yet sitting across from Mateo felt strangely dangerous. The waiter arrived and interrupted the tension thankfully. After ordering, silence settled between them briefly. Not uncomfortable. Just heavy. Mateo leaned back slightly in his chair. “So tell me something.” Camila raised an eyebrow. “What?” “What actually makes you happy?” The question caught her completely off guard. “What kind of question is that?” “A normal one.” “No, it’s not.” Mateo shrugged lightly. “You’d be surprised how many people spend their entire lives miserable because nobody asks them that question.”

she asked, clearly bracing for the worst. “Yes,” I said. “But later. As a treat.” Naomi groaned theatrically. “You lied,” she hissed. “We’ll start with stories,” I said. “Real ones. Some might be scary in parts. Some might be sad. But we’re telling them so you know where you come from. So no one can tell you lies and make you afraid on purpose.” I took a breath. “Who’s heard of the curse?” I asked. Almost every hand went up.

I replied and she smiled again. "No one would ever believe us or our story. That you married me forcefully. We look more romantic than the couples who have done love marriages." She said and giggled. I chuckled hearing her. She was right. No one would ever believe us. Not our future kids and grandkids. No one would believe our Stupid Love Story.

Photographs covered the walls portraits of strangers caught mid-smile, moments of stillness, and little stories told without words. “Wow,” I breathed. “It’s beautiful.” Ethan shrugged lightly. “It’s just life through a lens.” He motioned toward a chair near the window. “Sit. Want coffee? Or tea?” “Coffee’s fine,” I said, and he disappeared for a moment, returning with two steaming cups. When I took the first sip, he leaned against the table across from me and asked, “So, how’s your story going now?” I smiled. “Better, actually. The words are finally moving again.”