Annabelle's Audio Log
patreon
Short Story: The Night Bus Fantasy
🕑 Added 2025-08-04 13:00:06 +0000 UTCHey love 💕
Ever had that feeling—when someone catches your eye in a crowded space, night after night, and the tension just builds? That slow-burn, “what if” fantasy that finally tips over into something... bolder?
This week’s story is about a late-night bus ride, a mysterious stranger, and the moment two people decide to stop pretending.
If you like public risk, whispered dares, and the thrill of finally making the first move, I think you’ll love this one.
Take a ride with me tonight. Let’s see what happens when someone finally says what we’ve both been thinking. 💋
— Anna
~~~~~
It always happened on the 10:12 PM express line.
Not every night—but often enough that it became a ritual. I’d climb on, headphones in, hoodie up, pretending I didn’t see him already seated three rows back on the left. He never boarded first, never last. Always... just before the driver sighed and closed the doors.
He wore a suit jacket over a T-shirt, like he hadn’t quite decided if he was done being professional for the day. The first time I noticed him, it was his cologne that caught me—woodsy, with something sharp underneath. But it wasn’t until week three that I realized he was watching me too.
We never spoke. Just shared looks. Glances. Small, loaded moments when his eyes flicked to mine and held—long enough to suggest he wasn’t just noticing. He was wondering.
And I? I was fantasizing.
I imagined him sitting behind me, knees pressed into the back of my seat. His voice low in my ear. Maybe his hand, casually, slipping between the folds of my coat when no one was looking. Or sitting beside me, whispering things that made me shift in my seat and pretend not to react.
Tonight, the bus was half empty. Just late enough for silence to settle, but not so late that we were entirely alone. I took my usual spot near the back. Two minutes later, he boarded—and for the first time, sat directly across from me.
I didn’t look. Not right away. I stared at my phone, heart hammering. I could feel his gaze. Heat crawling up the side of my neck.
A pause. Then—bold.
“You always wear that hoodie when you ride this bus.”
I blinked. Looked up. His voice was smooth, quiet, conspiratorial. And his smile? Lethal.
“And you always stare,” I replied, matching his volume.
He shrugged. “Guilty.”
Silence.
The bus hummed beneath us, rocking gently. Outside, the city rolled past—neon signs and sleepy bodegas. Inside, time slowed.
“What are you listening to?” he asked, nodding toward my headphones.
“Nothing,” I admitted. “Just pretending.”
His smile widened. “Pretending to ignore me?”
“No,” I said, leaning slightly forward. “Pretending I wasn’t hoping you'd finally say something.”
That earned me a look. Sharp. Pleased.
He shifted in his seat, legs widening slightly, posture relaxed but deliberate.
"Bold," he murmured.
“You have no idea.”
I moved first. Slid over into the seat beside him, legs pressed tight together, acting casual. But our thighs were touching. He didn’t pull away.
"I like bold," he said.
So I tested him.
Tilted my head. Whispered, "If I put my hand on your thigh right now, would you stop me?"
His breath hitched.
"I’d dare you to go higher," he said.
My fingers grazed his leg—slowly. Just above the knee. He exhaled, low and shaky. The streetlight outside flickered through the windows, casting us in shadow and gold.
“I’d have to be very quiet,” I whispered, “and very careful.”
"There's a camera," he said, glancing up toward the front.
"Not back here," I said, smiling.
I slid my hand an inch higher. His fingers found my wrist, holding it there—not stopping, just… savoring.
The bus turned. We rocked closer.
And he whispered, “Sit on my lap.”
My eyes widened. “Seriously?”
“Now or never.”
So I did.
Just as we passed under another streetlight, I climbed over—slowly, daringly—and settled across his lap, my back to his chest, legs tucked discreetly to the side. His arms encircled me. Not possessive—protective. Dangerous.
“What are you going to do now?” I asked, half-laughing.
“Nothing.”
I twisted to look at him.
“Unless you beg.”
