Tiny Stories Novels & Stories

There was one solitary, big book on a low table between them. "The title of the tale is The Binding of Autumn," he began, his voice an entrancing whisper just in harmony with the shriek of the fire. “It's the tale of a harvest god who offers a mortal woman a choice: one night of absolute freedom for one year of unimaginable riches for her people." He didn't move as his eyes met hers. "The consent is the matter at hand. It must be freely bestowed, not coerced, and whispered three times into the skin of his throat." “Do you have any idea what sort of story you're going to be reading me tonight?”

TALES OF INSTANT LUST - SHORT READS Preface Greetings, Reader Welcome to a world where passion flares up in the most unexpected places, where lust takes the stage, and where desire never waits. The concept behind "Tales of Instant Lust" was that not all love stories have to be quiet or poetic. Irresistible chemistry, unsaid tension, and raw hunger can sometimes express more than a thousand romantic words ever could. Designed for people who want their fantasies to be served quickly, hot, and unrestrained, these stories are brief, intense, and explicitly sexy.

Brownies. I haven’t seen any of them. And here were four. Gods, they were so cute. Reaching my knees in their high. Brownies were a bit chubby, with small button noses and warm brown eyes. Two bearded males and two females. Looking in human’s 40’. They were more like spirits of the house, not quite living creatures. Their magic was strong and let them properly do their purpose. “My lady.” one of the females gasped, seeing me. And the rest followed and bowed before vanishing.

“Then maybe that’s your answer.” Later that night, Ryan stood by his window. The streetlights blurred in the distance. His inbox pinged again a reply from L. Tansey, offering a call. He didn’t answer yet. Instead, he opened a blank page. And he typed: “A Story That Doesn’t Belong To You” by Ryan Calloway He stared at the title for a long moment. Then under it, he wrote: “This isn’t a story about revenge. It’s about reclaiming.” Two weeks later.

BEFORE YOU READ Nobody is coming to save you. Themes: Forced Proximity, Snowed In, Size Difference, Breeding Kink. This story features a possessive, reclusive hero who hasn't seen a woman in years. Expect primal play, rough sex, and intense possessiveness. (***) Gabrielle

Brooklyn asked. Turning away from Kendall, he said, “It’s a short piece about a man looking back on his life as he is dying.” “Wow, that sounds interesting,” Addy said. “I think it sounds a bit depressing,” Shea said, frowning. Brooklyn nudged her and said, “I think that sounds fascinating. I can’t wait to see it.” “I’ll have to let you know when the festival is and get you some tickets if you’d like to see it,” he offered.

Once I was done, I put on my comfiest clothes and went out, I went toward the kitchen, I was starving, so I looked for food but the kitchen was mostly empty, I wasn't lying to Hunter, what if I needed food for real? I managed to get myself a meal for now and went to the living room, I flipped through the channels trying to find something to watch, anything really, I found that they had an old movie running, there were some kind of rumours around that movie that says it's a movie from before the war, that this was a really, really old one, but it was one of my most favourite movies ever, it's called Twilight, it's about a vampire who falls in love with a human, there must be a part missing ma

I had chosen a small town in southern Italor, a place where Mom had lived as a young girl. Mom often told me stories about this place when I was little. She'd tell me about the white houses surrounded by lemon trees, an azure coastline, and the peace of church bells echoing through the mountains at dusk. After Mom passed away, Dad had wanted to bring me here to settle down, but he was always too tied up with the family business to make it happen. Now, I had come on their behalf. I rented a small apartment facing the sea, with its white walls slightly warmed by the sun. On the windowsill sat a pot of blooming bougainvilleas.

Oh, the stories I had piled up to share with them. Stories of the enchanting forest, shimmering with snow, tales of danger and guarded secrets, kisses that sealed promises, and the soft ache of heartbreak that eventually receded into healing. I would tell them about the time I barked at a stranger who cast a lingering glance at Makayla, making sure that my girls felt protected. I’d share tales of how I divided snacks with Lilac and cozied up between them whenever they forgot how to find peace in sleep.