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richincolor · 4 months

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New Releases

A whole bunch of new books out today from a variety of genres and a little something for everybody. I'm looking forward to reading, The Eternal Ones, the conclusion of Namina Forna's Deathless trilogy and a I always love Renee Watson's work so I'm excited to read her book of poetry that I can share with my students. Read on to check out this week's new books.

This is How You Fall in Love by Anika Hussain Bloomsbury YA

Zara and Adnan are just friends. Always have been, always will be. Even if they have to pretend to be girlfriend and boyfriend… Zara loves love in all forms: 90s romcoms and romance novels and grand sweeping gestures. And she’s desperate to have her own great love story. Crucially, a real one. So when her best friend Adnan begs her to pretend to date him to cover up his new top-secret relationship, Zara is hesitant. This isn’t the kind of thing she had in mind. But there’s something in it for Zara too: making her parents, who love Adnan, happy might just stop them arguing for a while. She may not be getting her own love story, but she could save theirs. So Zara agrees and the act begins: after all, how different can pretending to be in a relationship with your best friend be to just hanging around with them like usual? Turns out, a lot. With fake dating comes fake hand-holding and fake kissing and real feelings… And when a new boy turns up in Zara’s life, things get more confusing than ever. The course of true love never did run smooth, but Zara’s love story is messier than most…

The Eternal Ones (Deathless #3) by Namina Forna Delacorte Press

Mere weeks after confronting the Gilded Ones—the false beings she once believed to be her family—Deka is on the hunt. In order to kill the gods, whose ravenous competition for power is bleeding Otera dry, she must uncover the source of her divinity. But with her mortal body on the verge of ruin, Deka is running out of time—to save herself and an empire that’s tearing itself apart at its seams. When Deka’s search leads her and her friends to the edge of the world as they know it, they discover an astonishing new realm, one which holds the key to Deka’s past. Yet it also illuminates a devastating decision she must soon make… Choose to be reborn as a god, losing everyone she loves in the process. Or bring about the end of the world.

The Boyfriend Wish by Swati Teerdhala Katherine Tegen Books

Deepa’s a hopeless romantic. And even though Deepa’s checklist for the perfect boyfriend is a mile long, her mom and dad’s fairy-tale love story makes her feel like romantic success ought to be a family trait. It’s why when her grandmother gives her a jasmine flower with the promise that it will fulfill her heart’s greatest desire, and then a new boy moves in across the street, Deepa knows—he must be her wish come true. Rohit checks off every box on Deepa’s timelessly handsome, a thoughtful listener, and a romantic who knows his flowers. Deepa’s next-door neighbor (and constant tormentor) Vik also surprisingly approves, though she knows it shouldn’t be a mark against Rohit. Is it luck or is it magic? Deepa doesn’t want to take chances, so when her grandmother warns her that the wish is only permanent if she seals it with a kiss, she knows she needs to move quickly. Rohit is the right boy in every way, so then why does Deepa not feel like he might not be the right choice?

A Suffragist’s Guide to the Antarctic by Yi Shun Lai Atheneum Books for Young Readers

November 1914. Clara Ketterling-Dunbar is one of twenty-eight crew members of The Resolute —a ship meant for an Antarctic expedition now marooned on ice one hundred miles from the shore of the continent. An eighteen-year-old American, Clara has told the crew she’s a twenty-one-year-old Canadian. Since the war broke out, sentiment toward Americans has not been the most favorable, and Clara will be underestimated enough simply for being a woman without also giving away just how young she is. Two members of the crew know her nationality, but no one knows the truth of her activities in England before The Resolute set sail. She and her suffragist sisters in the Women’s Social & Political Union were waging war of a different kind in London. They taught Clara to fight. And now, even marooned on the ice, she won’t stop fighting for women’s rights…or for survival. In the wilderness of Antarctica, Clara is determined to demonstrate what a woman is truly capable of—if the crew will let her.

Dead Things Are Closer Than They Appear by Robin Wasley Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers

A painfully average teen’s life is upended by a magical apocalypse in this darkly atmospheric and sweepingly romantic novel perfect for fans of The Raven Boys , Buffy the Vampire Slayer , and The Rest of Us Just Live Here . High school is hard enough to survive without an apocalypse to navigate. Sid Spencer has always been the most normal girl in her abnormal hometown, a tourist trap built over one of the fault lines that seal magic away from the world. Meanwhile, all Sid has to deal with is hair-ruining humidity, painful awkwardness, being one of four Asians in town, and her friends dumping her when they start dating each other—just days after one of the most humiliating romantic rejections faced by anyone, ever, in all of history. Then someone kills one of the Guardians who protect the seal. The earth rips open and unleashes the magic trapped inside. Monsters crawl from the ground, no one can enter or leave, and the man behind it all is roaming the streets with a gang of violent vigilantes. Suddenly, Sid’s life becomes a lot less ordinary. When she finds out her missing brother is involved, she joins the remaining Guardians, desperate to find him and close the fault line for good. Fighting through hordes of living corpses and uncontrollable growths of forest, Sid and a ragtag crew of would-be heroes are the only thing standing between their town and the end of the world as they know it. Between magic, murderers, and burgeoning crushes, Sid must survive being a perfectly normal girl caught in a perfectly abnormal apocalypse. Only—how can someone so ordinary make it in such an extraordinary world?

The Fox Maidens by Robin Ha Balzer + Bray

Kai Song dreams of being a warrior. She wants to follow in the footsteps of her beloved father, the commander of the Royal Legion. But while her father believes in Kai and trains her in martial arts, their society isn’t ready for a girl warrior. Still, Kai is determined. But she is plagued by rumors that she is the granddaughter of Gumiho, the infamous nine-tailed fox demon who was killed by her father years before. Everything comes crashing down the day Kai learns the deadly secret about her mother’s past. Now she must come to terms with the truth about her identity and take her destiny into her own hands. As Kai desperately searches for a way to escape her fate, she comes to find compassion, and even love, in the most unexpected places. Set in 16th century Korea and richly infused with Korean folklore, The Fox Maidens is a timeless and powerful story about fighting for your place in the world, even when it seems impossible.

Call Me Iggy by Jorge Aguirre & Rafael Rosado First Second

Ignacio “Iggy” Garcia is an Ohio-born Colombian American teen living his best life. After bumping into Marisol (and her coffee) at school, Iggy’s world is spun around. But Marisol as too much going on to be bothered with the likes of Iggy. She has school, work, family, and the uphill battle of getting her legal papers. As Iggy stresses over how to get Marisol to like him, his grandfather comes to the rescue. The thing is, not only is his abuelito dead, but he also gives terrible love advice. The worst. And so, with his ghost abuelito’s meddling, Iggy’s life begins to unravel as he sets off on a journey of self-discovery. Call me Iggy tells the story of Iggy searching for his place in his family, his school, his community, and ultimately—as the political climate in America changes during the 2016 election— his country. Focusing on familial ties and budding love, Call me Iggy challenges our assumptions about Latino-American identity while reaffirming our belief in the hope that all young people represent. Perfect for lovers of multigenerational stories like Displacement and The Magic Fish.

Bunt! Striking Out on Financial Aid by Ngozi Ukazu & Mad Rupert First Second Molly Bauer’s first year of college is not the picture-perfect piece of art she’d always envisioned. On day one at PICA, Molly discovers that—through some horrible twist of fate—her full-ride scholarship has vanished! But the ancient texts (PICA’s dusty financial aid documents) reveal a loophole. If Molly and 9 other art students win a single game of softball, they’ll receive a massive athletic scholarship. Can Molly’s crew of ragtag artists succeed in softball without dropping the ball? The author of the New York Times best-selling Check, Please series, Ngozi Ukazu returns with debut artist Madeline Rupert to bring an energetic young adult story about authenticity, old vs. new, and college failure. It also poses the question: “Is art school worth it?”

Black Girl You Are Atlas by Renée Watson & illustrated by Ekua Holmes Kokila

A thoughtful celebration of Black girlhood by award-winning author and poet Renée Watson. In this semi-autobiographical collection of poems, Renée Watson writes about her experience growing up as a young Black girl at the intersections of race, class, and gender. Using a variety of poetic forms, from haiku to free verse, Watson shares recollections of her childhood in Portland, tender odes to the Black women in her life, and urgent calls for Black girls to step into their power. Black Girl You Are Atlas encourages young readers to embrace their future with a strong sense of sisterhood and celebration. With full-color art by celebrated fine artist Ekua Holmes throughout, this collection offers guidance and is a gift for anyone who reads it.

#new releases #weneeddiversebooks

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jimmycarterghostland · 10 months

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The Lorien Legacies book series was at its best when The Rise of Nine came out. The overall bad writing of the series aside, TRO9 was the best book in the series. In retrospect, I know that now.

The Fall of Five was when the LL book series jumped the shark. The out of character moments started there. And Five being a brown-haired BOY instead of the blonde girl that Adam seen in The Fallen Legacies was such a frustrating plot hole. Also, the Mogadorians became quite cliché, cartoon villains starting with TFOF. If I remember correctly, that book is the first one out of the main books where the Mogs actually speak to the hero characters. It made them less scary. Plus, the stuff they did say in that book was cliché. Sigh.

Oh, and the Ella being a fake Number was a terrible plot twist that made no sense. Henri's letter said there was a Ten! This plot twist was so bad. And it added nothing to the series, besides making Ella sad for a few pages.

The Lorien Legacies series post-The Rise of Nine is the equivalent of season 8 of Game of Thrones. Seriously. The later books are noticeably terrible. In The Fate of Ten, Six and Marina even spare a Mogadorian enemy's life(Phiri) and refuse to torture her. Yet Marina was okay with wanting to take out Five's remaining eyeball. Adam of all people, a Mog himself, decided to torture Phiri. Sadly, he didn't kill her either. It made no sense for these people to let Phiri live. She even tried to kill them before that. And in the book previous to TFOT, she tried to kill them as well.

Man, I can't believe I liked these books when I was younger. The LL books give YA a bad name. This is the badly written crap that becomes popular?

The A Song of Ice and Fire books by George RR Martin have spoiled me, and helped showed me what good writing looks like. The LL series has none of that. The prose is bad. The characters' narrations sound the same. When writing multiple POVs, your characters should have distinct voices in their chapters. George RR Martin does a great job of distinguishing different POVs. Like, an Arya chapter won't read like a Cersei chapter. There's different vocabulary and other things that set them apart. For example, you will see the word stupid in Arya's chapters a lot, not just in her dialogue, but in the narration itself as well. The LL series lacks distinct character voices.

I genuinely wish GRRM had written the Lorien Legacies books. I would want them to stay YA, though. But have them be a YA series with amazing writing, not the poorly written crap that us LL fans got.

The LL series is infested with bad writing. It is ruined by plot holes, inconsistencies, out of character moments, characters being uncharacteristically stupid to keep the plot going, things that are never brought up again, such a the Devdan thing, plot twists that make no sense, etc.

Even in The Power of Six, book two, bad writing was present. Like, why did Marina let Adelina fight a Mogadorian by herself when Marina has telekinesis and Adelina doesn't? Someone explain this Mickey Mouse nonsense.

The LL books are terrible, simply put. I want to believe that there are young adult novels out there that have genuinely good writing. Not the kind of bad writing found in badly written YA novels such as Twilight. But with YA books like the LL series being in existence, it makes it difficult to believe that good YA novels exist. YA novels that have amazing writing, the kind you might find in a George RR Martin book.

#lorien legacies #bad books #reading #lorien Legacies criticism #literature

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fa-headhoncho · 3 years

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Untitled TFATWS Fic: Part 1

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Prompt/Background: After turning yourself in to the government following the events of CA:TWS, they lock you up for the crimes you committed during your time at Hydra. Spending years there until Captain America got you on parole during the blip to help fight Thanos. Now, after doing community service acts and helping the broken society, when they give the new Captain America the shield, you’re thrown back into a life you didn’t want.

Word Count: 1871 (ahaha, yea)

Reader: Female

Warning: parole officers might be triggering??? idk

Author’s Note: I’ve decided to end my 141 part Wattpad Sebastian Stan imagine book and post on Tumblr instead :’), a happy day. Also, I’M SORRY THAT I LIKE SLOW BURN SERIES OK? Schedule for this series is every Thursday. ALSO IF YOU HAVE TITLE IDEAS FOR THIS SERIES, LMK! PLEASE

Masterlist

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

=====

The sound of your heels echoed throughout the dimly lit room as you make your way through the exhibit. The walls take you back in time, reading how Captain America came to be and all his past accomplishments. They even updated from the last time you were here, documenting the events on the Blip.

You didn’t even know where you were going, absently letting your emotions and feet lead to where it felt you needed to be.

“For a former spy, you’re not really good at sneaking up on someone.” Rhodes’ voice greets you once you open up the curtain to a different area. A small smile sneaks its way across your face seeing the two men in front of you.

“Bit out of practice.” You spit back, walking towards them. “It’s nice to see you again, Rhodie.” You open your arms out to him and he gladly takes the hug. “Hopefully life’s been treatin’ you well.”

“For the most part,” He chuckles out while pulling away from the embrace. You move on to the other man, him happily wrapping his arms around your waist as you wrap yours around his shoulders.

Sam lets out a breath into the crook of your neck before pulling back. “You doing okay?” You ask, looking at his face for any sign of emotion. He nods but there was something in his eye that told otherwise.

You open your mouth to push him for the real answer but Rhodes cuts you off, “Well, I have to get going. It was good seeing you, (Y/L/N), hopefully, we work together soon. Remember what I said, Sam.” With that, he leaves the room to leave you and Sam alone.

The room fills with silence as the two of you turn to the iconic suit and shield in front of you. You try to watch Sam from the corner of your eye but he just stands with his back straight and his eyes forward.

“You know, I’m sure Steve would understand.” You decide to say, clasping your hands in front of you. “I didn’t become as close as you did, but from my time with him during the Blip, he tried his best to help everyone. He had a lot of responsibilities and issues of his own along with having a whole country looking up to him...

“It was a lot… he opened to me about it one night before… you know.” You admit which makes him finally look at you. “He told me what he was going to do and all I could do is support him… I asked him what he was going to do with the mantle and he said give it to you.” Turning your head, you make eye contact with him. “I asked him if he was sure.”

He lets out a snort at that, shaking his head at you. “Really gotta do me like that?” He wipes his hand across his face then stuffs his hand in his pockets as he turns to face you. “I thought we were having a nice bonding moment and then you had to drop me like that?”

You can’t help the giggle that escapes your lips at his whining. “I’m being serious, Sam, stop.” You hit him on the shoulder. “He said there was no doubt in his mind that you do what needed to be done with the shield. He trusted you and your judgment, Falcon.” You emphasize his hero name which he just rolls his eyes at you.

“Yea, I’m sure he did.” He smiles and then changes the subject, “How’s parole treatin’ ya, still got the collar on?” He gestures to your ankle causing you to lift your dress pant leg, flashing the electric bracelet around your ankle. He lets out a hearty chuckle at it. “Still can’t believe that they have you on a leash.”

“Price you gotta pay for freedom.” You shrug and drop the cloth. There’s a beat of silence between the two of you, both of you taking a glance back at the exhibit and the shield.

“Have you talked with Bucky recently?”

“No, I was going to ask you.” Your heart sinks at the realization. “We’ve been texting a bit but I haven’t seen him since I spent the weekend with him a couple of weeks ago.” You shyly admit and look down at your feet.

“Weekend, huh?”

“Shut it, Sam.” You knock your foot against his. “We didn’t do anything, he doesn’t like me like that. Plus, he wouldn’t even let me spend the night. I had to go to a hotel, he sleeps on the floor, Sam! I’m worried about him.” It took weeks for you to convince him to let you come over and you finally knew why when you step into his apartment. It made your heart sink, it looked like if a Hydra cell got a remodel. “He has two chairs and a tv.”

“Living modestly I see.” He snorts out, covering up whatever he was actually thinking. It’s now your turn to roll your eyes at him, frustrated that he isn’t willing to talk about this. “Hey, he’s still figuring stuff out, okay? He just got all his memories back and he’s still working on living with his past. You should know better than I do to give him time.” His tone is soft as he lightly scolds you. You hang your head at his words, knowing he’s right.

It took some time for you to come to terms with your past when you turned yourself in after Hydra and SHIELD fell. You took accountability for your actions during your years at Hydra and spent a few years in jail before Steve took action to help you get on parole. That didn’t mean you weren’t fully recovered.

“When are you joining me on the field, anyway?” Sam changes the topic noticing how you went silent and your eyes looked past him. “I could use you on some of my recon missions.”

A large smile forms on your face at the mention of your parole. “A couple more check-ins and I’m good, I think.” You excitedly inform, “They actually want to talk to me about something, and then it’s the last three months. Saving the world made my good behavior skyrocket.”

“I’m sure it did.” He smiles, “Well, let me know what happens. I’m heading down to Louisiana soon and my sisters want to meet you. She heard about your work with the soup kitchens in New York and she wanted some insight.”

“Really? Give her my number, you know I’d be happy to talk with her. I’ve been thinking about trying to get my officer to convince the big guys to expand my tracking radar so I reach out more.” You start to ramble about the ideas you’ve been having for more community service actions. During the blip, Steve got you into volunteer work and it sparked something inside of you. He said it might give you a new purpose and he couldn’t have been more right.

The two of you spend the rest of the day together, catching up on everything that’s been going on. You didn’t realize how much you missed his snarky comments and banter until he smothered you in it, “making up for lost time”, he said. He continues the bullying by texting back and forth for the next few days.

It was nice to have a friend after everything that happened over the last few years. Steve and Nat were gone so the friendships you built up during the blip were just a memory now. Yea, Bucky and you were friends but it was a bit more complicated than that.

It’s a few weeks after that and they’ve already named some prick the new Captain America. You were frustrated at Sam but you realized that he couldn’t have known that this was going to happen. Especially since when you reached out to him and he was more furious than you were. Bucky was a whole other story. When the press conference aired, he immediately called you and went off about Sam. You couldn’t offer answers so you just told him to talk to him about it. This didn’t involve you.

Now, you were sat at some random government office in DC. You were beyond nervous, leg bouncing and fingers tapping. Kevin, your sweet parole officer, had called you in for an emergency meeting. He didn’t mention anything about the content of it but he assured you not to worry. It didn’t help, though, your mind was scrambling trying to think of anything you could’ve done to break your parole or anywhere you could’ve gone that went outside your tracking radar.

“(Y/L/N)?” The familiar voice echoes through the lobby makes your head snap up. Kevin, your knight in a cashmere sweater, stands there with his hands in his pants pockets. He nods his head, gesturing for you to follow him.

He leads you down a long hallway, stopping at the end of it and holding the door open for you. You send him a grateful smile before entering the office. It was very different from his usual office. The tall windows lined the wall from floor to ceiling, making the already large room feel even more spacious. It was a bit unsettling compared to his close-knit office space located in an old house on the outskirts of DC.

Kevin moves you two to the large conference table on the other side of the room, having you sit before he does. He takes the chair at the head of the table, sighing as he opens the folder and takes a few papers out.

“Sign these.” He slides them over to you but you furrow your eyebrows in response.

“What’s going on?”

“You’re being released.” He announces, leaning back in his chair with a tight-lipped smile on his face. Your jaw drops and your heart picks up but you can’t help but question it. You quickly compose yourself and look down at the papers.

“Isn’t it a bit too early?” You ask while briefly scanning the papers. “I still have two months left, not that I’m not grateful but where is this coming from?” This was happening too suddenly, Kevin was good with warning you about the activities that go on behind the scenes of your parole and he didn’t even mention the thought of an early release.

The brunette man lets out a sigh, running his hair through his long hair. He then leans his elbows on the table with his head propped up on his palms, he opens his mouth to answer but is cut off by the office door opening.

The new Captain America and his sidekick come waltzing in, a few of his goons following as well. He didn’t need the uniform or shield for you to recognize him since his face has been plastered on every channel since they came forward with him. He’s all everyone could talk about.

“He released you.” You barely hear Kevin as your mind goes into spirals. What the hell did this guy want? Why is he even here? What the hell did he want with you?

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #avengers imagines #james buchanan barnes #james barnes #tfatws #avengers fanfic #mcu #james buchanan barnes x reader

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dylanobrienisbatman · 3 years

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The main problem with the whole mal vs the darkling thing in regards to being possessive (or really when it comes to any of their traits) is the fact that throughout, the darkling is clearly framed as the villain and his actions reflect that, whereas Mal as supposed to be the good guy and best romantic partner for Alina, and yet he has all these awful character traits and tendencies. So its less about how awful the Bad Guy is (since he's supposed to be), and more about how awful the person that we're supposed to believe is the best option for Alina is. I don't ship either, just my two cents.

Okay well... two things. First, your comment about "its less about how awful the bad guy is, since he's supposed to be", takes every comment I've made about Darkles out of context, which seems fitting since everything Darklina's spout about Mal is out of context. Him being the Bad Guy is fine, and if you like him AS A VILLAIN, and acknowledge all the bad shit he does, then my posts aren't for you. I think he's a very interesting villain, and a lot of the terrible shit he does that I have to keep making posts about make him a good villain, the problem is when the terrible shit the "Bad Guy" does is romanticized and viewed as the reasons why Alina SHOULD have picked him. So, don't assume everyone gets that "hes supposed to be awful". The point my post was making is that Darklina's love to call Mal possessive, but then turn around and act like Darkles literally enslaving her in somehow sexy and romantic. It's fucking not, and it's transparent as hell that y'all romanticize and sexualize the actually possessive character, and then project false character traits onto Mal. It's so transparent, it's almost funny.

But, more importantly, to your second, very wrong point, I wonder how much of the narrative about Mal having "awful character traits and tendencies" is actually a commentary on Mal as a character, or is it just Darklina's lying about things Mal has done and everyone accepting that misinterpretation as canon. Because, if were making a list...

Fuck boy - False! Mal was not a fuck boy! He was an attractive teenager who hooked up with consenting girls his age when he could, and he was not in a relationship during that time. Alina had never told him how she felt, so he is not beholden to her. (Also, nobody seems to have an issue with the fact that Darkles hooked up with Zoya in the show, that doesn't make HIM a fuckboy... interesting) (also also, nobody seems to discuss Darkles literally sexually assaulting Alina, and lying and manipulating her to get her to be physically intimate with him so he can use her... double interesting).

Slut Shames Alina - FALSE! The ever favourite callout line from Darklina's "He's all over you" isn't him slut shaming her. First, he has no idea what their relationship is like at that point, but more importantly, he is making an observation of her status in the little palace and how she has become his tool. He has dressed her up in his colors, made her put on a show for his benefit, and has created a situation where Alina appears to be his. Mal is noting that after months of searching for her, believing she was being hurt, tortured, or worse, when he arrives to save her, she looks like the Darkling's pet. (and, even if he WAS angry because he perceived them to be romantically involved, boy just spent months fighting for his life, lost multiple friends, and almost died to find her, all while coming to the realisation that he was in love with her, and then he shows up, after not hearing from her for months... I'd be pissed as hell too.) Important Note: He even acknowledges that what he said was wrong and tries to apologise, before Alina tells him that he was right. (Shadow and Bone, pg. 286). He also then apologizes, completely unprompted, for what he said. (Shadow and Bone, pg. 297).

Fat Shames Alina - False! This one is particularly laughable to me, because its one of the Darklina arguments that falls apart the second you actually read the scene. They are running for their lives in the forest, and Mal has to hunt and gather to feed them. He is noting that Alina's appetite has increased since he last saw her, and he makes a joke (ya know, how you do with friends) about how it would be easier to keep her fed if she still had her more meager appetite from before. He makes no comment on her weight, or her size, and he is not actually commenting on her appetite in a negative way, he is just acknowledging that it's a lot more work for him now that she eats more. Right before he says the line, the quote even proves that he isn't shaming her or thinking badly of her: "With a bemused expression, he watched as I gobbled down my portion and then sighed, still hungry". He is noting a change in her, and complaining that its made more work for him. If you think thats the same as fat shaming, well... thats a you problem.

Hates Alina's Powers - FALSE!!!! How to begin... do we talk about it was Mal's idea to hunt the stag in S&B, because he knew she needed it to be more powerful so she could stop the darkling? Do we talk about how he vowed to find the firebird for her, even though he was terrified of what all that power would do to her? Do we talk about how he literally died so she could achieve the power she needed to save the world? Or maybe we could talk about how he believed in her power more than anyone else, like when everyone was making bets about her abilities with the Cut and he knew she'd go further and better than anyone else expected her too, or when he tells her that he was never afraid of her powers, only what seeking all that power would do to her (which is literally the theme of the books, that power corrupts and seeking unmatched power can destroy you)? Mal being afraid of what is going to happen to Alina, being protective of her and worrying over her, is not the same as him hating her powers. He exists to help remind Alina of the themes of the story, and to guide her into maintaining her humanity.

Abusive - ... Do I even need to explain this one? Must I deign an explanation as to why this favourite Darklina lie is so fucking stupid, and also totally hypocrisy? No? Because we all know Darkles is actually the abusive one and they're trying to project their own shit onto Mal to further their abuse apologist agenda? Cool. Moving on.

Possessive of Alina - False! Throughout the entire series, Mal is quite literally the opposite of possessive, but yall just cant read. Not only does he quite literally step out of the way and allow Nikolai to court Alina without argument, which is the most direct example of him not being possessive, he also spends two full books believing, and repeatedly saying over and over and over, that they can't be together because he is not good enough for her. Mal believes, fully, that Alina deserves more than him, better than him, because he's just a tracker and a soldier, just a regular man with nothing to offer her but his love and his protection, and she is a Saint and should be a Queen. Possessiveness is the wish to own and control someone, it is literally the opposite of Mal believing that he's not good enough and doing everything he can to ensure that Alina achieves everything and gets everything he believes she is owed. A possessive character would not tell her to tell him to leave because he has nothing he can offer her, no title or land or country or crown. A possessive character would not promise to be the blade in her hand, because he believed he had nothing but the blood he could spill to offer her.

Angry - True! Yeah, omg, you caught us, Mal is ANGRY! Heaven forbid a teenager who is traumatized beyond belief and has to give up everything in his life, his position in the military (he deserted for her), his friends and the job he loved (Mikhail and Dubrov died for him, and he can't be a tracker in the army... because he deserted... for Alina), and, most importantly, he has to give up Alina (she should be Queen, he believes, and he has to give up the future he imagined with the girl he loves, who he was pretty sure loved him back, because she's a saint and queen and he's just a man), and more, is ANGRY. He has to be the one to find the amplifiers that he knows will end up hurting her, because thats what she needs to save the world. He has to sit by while Nikolai treats him like the dirt on his shoe and tries to woo Alina for his own personal gain (because Nikoalai did not love Alina. Maybe he came to care for her, but he proposed and spent all of S&S trying to get her to marry him when it was obvious they were not in love. He straight up says its so that the next King of Ravka can be married to the Sun Summoner. It's a power grab.) and he can't do anything about it. So yeah, Mal is angry. And yeah, sometimes he's even angry at Alina, just like sometimes she's angry at him. But they always find their way back, always apologize and try to be better for each other, and if you think anger is a toxic trait, and not simply a natural human emotion, might I suggest touching some fucking grass?

Idk why you thought I'd stand for Mal slander on my blog, cuz I will not. So, I'm gonna stop there, because I have shit to do today, but I really do wonder how much of Mal's 'toxic' or 'terrible' traits, that make him such a 'bad' love interest for Alina, really comes from Darklina's who refuse to actually read the text critically at all, and instead take everything he does and says out of context to further their agenda that Alina should have ended up as the Darkling's fucking slave forever, because thats the "girl power feminist" ending somehow. Mal supports her, loves her, sacrifices for her at every turn, and does everything he can do, to the point of literally dying for her, to ensure that she can defeat Darkles and save the world. He protects her, and when they end up happy and safe together on the orphange that they've rebuilt to help the children that were victims of Darkles war and genocide, he spends his days bringing her tea and cakes and flowers, kissing her silly under the stairs in the view of all the teachers, and calling her names like beauty, beloved, cherished, my heart for the rest of their ordinary life together, if love can ever be called that.

#Malina #anti darklina #malyen oretsev #mal oretsev #shadow and bone #if yall could just learn to fucking read... i am begging you

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slashingdisneypasta · 2 years

Text

Harper Alexander x Fem!Reader || Oneshot, [Part 3]

Title: The Fake Love Of My Life [PART 3]

Notes:

The next part will be the finale! I am also planning an epilogue, though, with the wedding night. Loving smut, ya know? So it wont be the total end- just the crown.

Plot: You sign yourself up to help organise the town’s annual firelight festival, and Harper seems to be dedicated to helping you. And, generally, just being around- you.

Warnings: Mention of Jezebell and that whole mess, swearing, heavy make out.

“So we’ll need a few helpers to get this thing on its legs- any volunteers?” I look up from my book, tucking some hair behind my ear as I take a poll of the folks in the hall raising their arms, seeing nobody respond to the Mayor’s call to duty. He looks, too, before giving a great sigh. “No worker bees? Come on- I will personally keep y’all in pastries while it’s gettin’ done.”

Pastries? My attention is truly peaked, then; Slamming my book shut in my lap and straightening my back. Harper, who’s sitting beside me looking bored out of his mind with his arms crossed and his body slightly slumped in his folding chair, catches the tiny change in my body language and rolls his eyes. Like, of course.

I flash him a look that clearly reads be quiet, before pointedly raising my hand. Shut up Harper.

I hear him scoff.

“Ah! Y/N!- Thank you! Gettin’ the ball rolling. So there, that’s one- but I don’t think this festival can get done by just one person, now. Anyone else feelin’ any community spirit? This is a wonderful tradition, and I’m sure you’d all be disappointed if it flopped… Come on now, people. Danishes, donuts, teacakes- Thomas, I know you have a soft spot for croissants, don’t you avoid eye contact with me-… “

As Buckman continues to try and enthuse an unresponsive town hall worth of people - unresponsive because this meeting has been going on for three hours, and not necessarily because everyone is acutely against lending a helping hand, -, Harper turns in his seat and sets me with one of his raised eyebrow, set jaw, curious, you aren’t serious? kind of looks. “… You’re gonna help put together the firelight festival?” He asks, rather sarcastically, in a quiet voice. I nod.

“I am.”

“Uhuh… “At that, I turn properly around to face him, and raise both my brows.

“What?” Why does he make an ‘Uhuh’, sound like that? All disbelieving and curt. Raising a brow, I prompt him. “Don’t you think I can do it?”

“I do have my doubts, to be honest.” My jaw drops, and he rushes to add. “I mean- you do know that a job like that is gonna involve a lotta, you know… bein’ outta your house? Talkin' to people?” At that, I close my mouth. I look down… hm. As I’m thinking, because truthfully the full extent of these things did not occur to me when I raised my hand - seeing as I was bribed…, -, Harper looks back to the front of the hall again, smirking. “And, generally, acting like a human being, and not a… cave creature… “He mutters under his breath, loudly enough for me to hear.

At which point, I promptly take my book to his shoulder. “Bastard.”

Once the meeting is finally over, and I’ve finished my book, I’m almost the very first person to jump from my seat - I was just barely beaten, by Boone. She rushed out the doors faster than I would’ve believed possible for a professional foot racer, - , and struggle against the crowd as they all move toward for the exit and I head straight for Buckman.

Because Harper is right. I’m a hermit, basically. There is nothing that makes me think I can be apart of a group - a very small group, comprising of just myself, Rufus, Lester, Hucklebilly, the mayor and Miss Peaches. Buckman tried to get Boone on board, but she outright ignored his existence in front of everyone until he gave up, - to put together a festival! I barely participate, in our festivals! I go, I say hello to Miss Peaches, Harper and I hold hands, I drink some punch and I leave. And generally, that all only takes about half an hour- it used to be just 15 minutes, before I started to actually like holding Harper’s hand. Or, he started clenching down so I couldn’t leave, and I was forced to start liking it.

But either way you swing it, I haven’t been to a town event that the doors haven’t been locked at - meaning town meetings,- for more than an hour since I was a kid, and I had to.

I’m just not a social person, and no number of baked treats will change that!

It takes a bit of work, but I manage to get to the front of the room where the mayor is packing up before he manages to get away himself. Letting out a relieved huff, I waive to get his attention. “Sir! I wanted to talk to you about me volunteering for the firelight festival- “

“Ah, yes! I gotta admit, I was surprised you raised your hand Y/N, but I sure am glad you did!” Oh boy. Buckman stops fiddling with the notes he has rested on the lectern and leans his forearms on it instead, giving me an encouraging smile. Fuck. Don’t back out now Y/N- this is all manipulation. You don’t want to do this. No baked goods or kindness will stop you! No way! “We need all the help we can get, and you’ve got a good head on your shoulders- I’m sure you’ll be a lotta help to us!”

Oof- okay-“Actually, I was wondering if you wouldn’t let me… back out… “

At that, Buckman stops moving. He may even stop breathing. Is he paler then usual suddenly?

Why am I suddenly cold?

How does he do this? Holy hell.

Then he’s gathering up his stuff quickly, tucking notes under his arm, grabbing his coat, and moving rapidly towards the door. What-My eyes widen, and I go to follow him, but Harper suddenly appears next to me and puts a hand on my arm, to stop me. I look at him helplessly, and he just shakes his head. “Oh- would you look at that clock. We really ran over time, didn’t we? I’m an old man Y/N, and we passed my bedtime a while ago, so I have to be off! See you tomorrow!”

“Sir! - “

“Bright and early! In the town square!”

“I don’t want! - “

“Bring your thinking cap!”

“No! - “He’s at the door now, and basically closes it behind him, except for a crack.

“I’ll bring the pastries! Goodnight!”

I open my mouth to call back again, but the door slams shut - which is over kill, seeing as Harper and I still have to go out of it ourselves, - … and also, he’s got me, there. I’m weak to the thought of pastries.

Sighing, I pout. I should really work on that. It’s a weakness I clearly can’t afford if this situation is any kind of indicator.

Crossing my arms, I twist around to gaze grumpily, up at Harper. “… You should’ve stopped me.”

“Right, and then I’ll go take down the Great Wall of China with your sewing kit. I’ll return for our picnic lunch tomorrow, too. Just excuse me if I’m 10 or so minutes late, okay?” Huffing, I turn away from him again and start shuffling off to the door. In his next words, I can hear the smile in his voice as he follows after me. “Or- maybe I should just cure you of your cave creature state. That could come in far more handy, don’t you think?”

“Well hey, if you could do that, why didn’t you say that, you jerk!?” I shoot back, rolling my eyes as I envision slamming the door in his smug face, but instead hold it open for him and flash a glare as he passes by- carrying both our coats that he must’ve gotten off the hooks for us.

Smirking back, he hands me my coat, which I quickly pull on and wrap warmly around myself. “Hm, but then I wouldn’t have a good excuse to leave things early myself.”

“So I’m just scape goat, to you then?”

“Exactly.” He replies, ruthlessly.

“Damn, well now I think our relationship must all be a sham!”

Harper is silently laughing as he walk off into the night, towards our homes.

“Alright! So tomorrow’s the big day. All your hard worked-on decorations are over there in boxes- now we gotta put ‘em up! Let’s go, team.” A round of half-enthusiastic applause follows Buckman's brief speech, as he steps out of the way for me to announce jobs for the day. Why I got the clipboard job in the first place, I don't know. I didn't volunteer for it, but as I've come to learn through these weeks- the mayor is a manipulative dick. And somewhere between a blueberry muffin, and a cranberry Danish, I found myself saying yeah, okay, sounds good.

When it really wasn't good!!

"O-okay," Tucking some hair behind my ear, I try not to really realise, how focused the group is on me right now. Instead, I keep my eyes glued to my notes. "Rufus and Lester- uh, can you please put up the banner? I think Peaches has a good idea for where to put it so just listen to her, and the ladders are in the sheds so you'll probably need to get those. Also, Hucklebilly, I'd like to set up the May Pole, please? Peaches also knows where that's supposed to go. A-Actually, notice for everyone- when in doubt, g-geographically... just go to her. Buckman, I've got you down for the whole food section- so can you please set that up? And, uh... yeah, that's all. I'm on... candles... Oh! Oh yeah, and, when all that's done we still have to set up the bon fire together so don't run off."

My cheeks are so unbelievably hot when I finally look up from my notes, my arms both going awkwardly to my sides. Before everyone can disperse, though, I find Harper in the group as well? and confusion swells in my mind when he raises his hand? Unsure, really, what to do- I nod to him. "What'd you like me to do, sweetheart?"

... huh?

"You're not... Harper, you didn't volunteer?"

From the position I have, a little higher up a hill so that I can see everyone, I can see him shrug, a laid back smile on his face as his hands go to his pockets. "Well I'm volunteerin' now. Surely, you got a job fer me?" A flicker of mischief flashes in his eyes and his brows lift up; A mock of sincere. "For your fiancé?"

My own eyes narrow a bit, emboldened by Harper's endeavour to bother me. Organising social events may not be my thing- but fighting with Harper- THAT, I can do. "I would have a job 'for my fiancé', if my fiancé had volunteered!"

Lester and Hucklebilly make 'Oooh' sounds that I try to ignore but nevertheless makes me roll my eyes while Harper sends them a shut up, kind of look. The don't. "Well, what're you gonna be doin'?" He asks, turning back to me.

"I'm lugging that wheelbarrow around, setting out the candles." I say, glancing at the wheelbarrow in question. Peaches and I slaved away making those as we planned how everything was going to look and the boys made the banner and streamers, and the Mayor did little more then flit room to room 'encouraging' us all. There's no way I'm letting anyone else just haphazardly fling them around the place- I have a goddamn vision.

"Well, why don't I help you with that? I can push the barrow for you."

I open my mouth to outright refuse, because he's being annoying and I refuse to let him get his way- ever. Or at least, very rarely. But Rufus speaks up before I can say anything.

"Aw, come on Y/N, the boy just wants to spend time with his sweetheart!" The word comes out loud an obnoxious from him, making Harper roll his eyes up towards heaven as Buckman laughs.

"Boy's obviously lovesick."

"It’s practically written all over his face!" Peaches titters as well, smirking sharply.

My shoulders drop. Ughhhhhhhhh- "Fine... You can push the wheelbarrow... " I give in, folding my notes up again and stashing them away in the compartments of my skirts, turning and heading for the wheelbarrow. "But don't try to get in my way, Peaches and I have already figured out where they all go, alright?" Harper catches up to me quickly, smug and pleased with getting his way. I flash him a scrunched-up nose look. "Alright- get to work everyone! The festival opens in 21 hours!

Rufus gives me a salute, and nods as he and Lester go off towards the sheds together, shoving eachother. Buckman sighs and rolls his eyes at them, going the opposite direction, towards the tavern, and Miss Peaches gestures for Hucklebilly to follow her off in the way of the boxes of decorations.

Gathering up some candles from the wheelbarrow and tucking them between my arms and my chest as Harper picks up the wheelbarrow by the handles, I start us off in a circle clockwise around the town centre, setting candles down on different surfaces as we walk. I glance at Harper after just a moment. "You hate town events."

"I don't hate them... " And yet, his unenthused tone says otherwise. And he must know he's obscenely translucent, so he sets me with a new, mischievous, look. "Maybe I just wanna spend time with my sweetheart, huh?"

Rolling my eyes and sighing, I pick up two more candles from the wheelbarrow. "That excuse is losing its charm, Harp. Careful- I may start thinking you actually like being around me." Flashing him a cheeky grin of my own then, I quickly walk ahead, not sticking around for his response. Honestly, because I'm afraid of what it may be.

"Here, let me help you with that, wouldja?" Harper asks, appearing beside me every time throughout the day that I'm struggling with carrying stuff.

"Let me try," He requests, every time I'm worrying my lip at someone doing something wrong, and sets that thing up the way I was telling him it should to be.

"I think Y/N might be right there," He quips, setting his hands thoughtfully on his hips whenever my contention is being contended with- even when I'm wrong. Which is awkward.

All. Day. Harper has been overtly helpful to me- which has been a shock, seeing as for the past century he has been a dick. But today, its like someone hit him smack in the face with the kindness spatula. Its like before the disaster, before we all became... this. When he had something to live for- when he was living.

"Hey... " He suddenly gently nudges my arm, and my neck snaps as I look up at him, eyes wide. Did he read my thoughts?

"Hm!?"

"What're you so jumpy for? Christ- calm down. I'm gonna get us a drink, stay here."

Nodding, I watch him walk off, tilting my head to the side, in thought. I'm not complaining... but it has been a surprise. I'm not quite sure how to act back. Even before we... died... he wasn't like this to me. Other girls, girls he liked, yes. But we never had that relationship, so I cant go back to a way I was, before, because for me this is entirely new.

And I can tell that its not an act for the towns benefit, because even when we're alone he doesn't give it up. He just gives me a pert grin, says something rude - about someone ELSE! - , and then asks what's next.

Not that the new helpfulness is a bad thing! I need all the help I can get on this thing. And I like Harper, he gets me better than anyone and arguing with him is a lot easier then talking to anyone else,... and the kissing isn't bad either, honestly... so having him around, really isn't a bad thing!

I just can’t help but notice the change.

"So- " I jump at the sound of Harper's voice once again, clutching my notes to my chest and closing my eyes tightly, for moment. Before he chuckles at my reaction to him sneaking up on me, and puts a glass of in my hand. I open my eyes again and immediately brighten- Oh, I love this drink! "You noticed how Lester's disappeared again?"

"Uh," I take a quick look around, before nodding. "Yeah?... "

Harper smirks, holding his own glass close to his mouth. "Well... I noticed that Jezebel's gone, too." He takes a swig of his drink, as I make a disgusted face at what he's insinuating... and what's probably true...

"Oh- Harper! That's the last thing I want to have in my head!"

He just grins, silently laughing at my reaction as he runs a hand through his obnoxiously perfect hair, and puts his glass down on a nearby cart. "Yep. So," Checking over my shoulder at my notes, he sets his hands thoughtfully on his hips. "What's next?"

The rest of the group went home hours ago, when daylight turned to dusk, but I of course ended up staying back to just fix up some loose ends. Harper stayed with me- I still don’t know why he’s being like this.

I’m not complaining, but that’s exactly why its throwing me off. I’m liking it maybe a little bit too much- when I know this is all just… fake.

But also I don’t really want to face to that truth, so I avoid making him give me a real answer as to why, and just reach up and hang another lantern.

Speaking of the decorations- there has got to be at least 30 lanterns strewn up on string around the town square, and over a hundred wax candles set up on nearly every spare surface ranging from short and fat to tall and skinny- some partially used, some perfectly new, some with carvings Rufus and Lester spent some time idly etching in, some with names scratched across their bases by kids and couple in the town, some even coloured. Its going to be beautiful when they’re all lit and the festival begins, tomorrow, as long as the night isn’t too windy. But right now its just… spooky. Almost ethereal. Like you’re in some witch’s cave.

“Its gonna look amazing, tomorrow.” Harper speaks up from somewhere behind me, causing a smile to slip across my face too-easily, as I look back over my shoulder to him, and nod.

“Yeah, thank you for your help!”

He’s setting some precariously placed candles in holders to stabilise them, but at my words he stops; And turns on me with a mischievous grin on his face. “Aw- and I thought you didn’t want my help?” Immediately I roll my eyes, turning back to the candle I’m hanging; Fastening it nice and safe.

For the last time- “You didn’t volunteer!”

He shrugs. “You volunteer for something now, I might as well have, too. We’re nearly hitched, Y/N.” He says that so ‘matter-o-fact’- no longer as if he’s taunting me with it. Or talking about it as if its doomsday. Breathing deep, I give a slow nod- though he’s probably not looking.

“That’s… true… “I realise, before looking over my shoulder again, and giving him a little grin. “I’ll ask you next time before I sign up for something.”

At getting a smile back from him, butterflies erupt in my chest. “Thanks.”

For a few more minutes after that, the two of us lapse into another oddly comfortable silence again. Me, hanging the remaining lanterns wherever along the line that they could possibly fit, and him placing some of the more weirdly placed candles into random holders - everyone in town pitched in, donating odd candle holders around the house that they didn’t use anymore, -, both of us aware for once of the others presence, but not… bothered, by it.

Honestly it’s starting to feel like this is normal- the two of us, being just… the two of us. Harper and I, being alone together.

And honestly- if this is the rest of my eternity, I can live with it.

When finally the last lantern has been placed, and the last candle has been set up safely, I’m just standing back from my work, when Harper’s hand finds my back gently momentarily as a sign to stop, and I look to my side and up, to find him standing there next to me. He’s looking at the sky, and I follow his gaze to the familiarly twinkling night sky. All the beautiful stars.

A little, comfortable smile plays at my lips; They, for one thing, have been a nice constant over the years stuck here.

“Hey,” Harper captures my attention again, and I look back to his face to find him already looking at me; He nods to the ground in the middle of the festival- by what’s going to be a punch cart tomorrow. “C’mon.”

Taking my hand, he leads us over to the spot, and as he’s kneeling down, I ask him what in the world he’s doing? He just turns around and lays back on the patchy grass and the sandy dirt, rolling his shoulders to get comfortable- then pats the ground next to him without looking at me. I raise an brow, back.

“… Oh, and you think I’m going to lay down there in the dirt with you.” I realise, crossing my arms over my chest and gently shaking my head. “Cute, but fat chance. You’re going to get grass stains on your dress shirt, and I am not about to follow your lead in one of my favourite dresses.”

“Unless you think you can’t resist wrigglin’, then your dress’ll be fine. C’mon. We won’t be able t’see the stars so well tomorrow, with all the light.”

Worrying my bottom lip with my teeth for a moment, I resist. Because what if its damp? What if theirs bugs? What if I do wriggle, and I mess up my best yellow dress? But in the long run, Harper just looks so comfortable down there and I’m so tired from working all day today- and the idea of taking in the stars while we can, wins out. So, with a huff and also an oof, when my back finally touches the ground, I lay down with him and look up at the stars- they look so much further away, down here. And also, so much closer.

Its weird.

Taking a deep breath, because the air feels fresher down here close to the grass, I let it come out as more of a sigh. “.. So… “

“… So?... “Harper prompts, which really just shows how far our relationship has come. Generally, Harper isn’t really interested in anything anyone has to say. And yet… he wants me to continue.

Coming up with something to say to fill the somewhat awkwardness, of laying down next to Harper, I can’t help the little devilish grin that spreads across my mouth. “So… Is this one of your moves?” I ask, not turning to look at him quite yet.

“Moves?” Theirs amusement in his voice as he questions my wording.

“Yeah. This where you take all your girls, Harper Alexander?” Before you kill them. “Surely that old barn thing gets old.”

“Now, give me some credit here.” Listening to the smirk in his voice, I gently let my eyes fall closed. “I’m a man a’ honour- I wouldn’t take my future wife somewhere I took another lady. My ma taught me how to be a gentleman, she did.”

“Ha!” My eyes widen, and I turn my head to see him finally, chewing on my lip to keep from beaming too ruefully. “Oh- you’re serious.”

Rolling his eyes back at me and my antics, but still with that smirk on his face, Harper shoots me a playful glare. “I sure as heck am!”

Actually smiling now, with teeth and everything, I turn back to look up at the stars once again. They’re so plentiful, and gorgeous… Reaching down, I nudge Harper’s hand with mine; Linking our fingers together when he takes my hand in his, and turning my head to return my gaze to his profile. He doesn’t look back, but he does squeeze my hand a little tighter, and theirs a gentle expression on his face. “… “Finally, I let the moment go after a few seconds, and exhale. “You can be quite charming, I’ll admit.”

His grin just goes a little crooked.

But, me being me, having the relationship that I have had with Harper for as long as I have, I trace a thumb over his knuckles gently then; Realising quite well that that isn’t all he wants, or all he is- at all. It’s not at all giving him the credit he deserves. Lowering my voice to a whisper, like it’s a secret between the two of us and the two of us only, I add; “And cunning.”

At which point, he turns that pretty gaze on me; My eyes are clear- seeing him clearly. Better then anyone else has in a long time. “And annoying and headstrong, and witty, and, in a lot of ways, dangerous.” On a roll now, I roll my eyes and giggle; Unaware of just how intensely Harper is listening as I bring his hand up to my chest; Tracing his knuckles for entertainment. “Sometimes funny. Almost never an idiot, which is a nice change of pace from the men who’ve courted me in the past. Also… curious. A lot of the time I have no clue what you’re thinking- but I am getting better at figuring it out!” Screwing my face up in a cheeky way, I flash him a smirk. “One day I’ll know your every thought Mr Alexander, and there’ll be no hiding from me-” And I would’ve been able to add more, or been able to tease him for a little while longer definitely, at least, but then Harper kisses me. And everything else fades, a little bit.

He actually gets half up from the grass, and leans over me, one hand by my head and messy hair spread out against the ground - fingers splayed in between the strands of grass there, nails digging into the dirt, -, and the other clutching at my waist. Tilting my head to the side, I reciprocate the dizzying, open-mouthed kiss instantly- having gotten used to kissing him by this point. It’s a very nice bonus to the arrangement with him. He’s quite good at it.

But theirs something different, in this one. Usually, our kisses are fuelled by heat from being annoyed at each other, or finding each other attractive just a little bit, but this one is… different. More. My head goes foggy as his lips part from mine for just a second before connecting again, our tongues managing to find each other before we do. My head is foggy, so I can’t quite tell why this kiss is so different, why it feels so much better, but I do have the brain left to sense… passion.

I find that the fingers on one of my hands lose themselves in his soft hair for once just to feel how soft it is, rather then to pull it or keep him in place. And my fingers on the other hand drag at his shirt; Pulling gently at him by the side to come closer and feeling the warmth of his body underneath. All I can think as the heat builds, is fuck…

Meanwhile, Harper curls fingers around the back of my neck and the back of my waist, and helps to guide my upper body up while we refuse to disconnect from each other; So we’re both sitting up, now, exchanging saliva- Something I certainly shouldn’t be allowing in the middle of town square.

(Harper can’t bring himself to give a damn though whether anyone sees you. You’re his fiancé and he’ll kiss you whenever he damn well pleases.)

Through all this, though, we manage to keep our bodies separate. Not even the broadest part of mine presses against his- because that has to wait. It has to. Everything else in this marriage can be fake but to do that together before the wedding night, would be, somehow… a crossed line, that we couldn’t uncross.

Though, I can definitely think of a few other lines at least I have crossed since making up this arrangement with Harper. We said we wouldn’t develop feelings, but-

Abruptly, but still conscious of not surprising him too much, I end the kiss. I’m surprised at myself, but he doesn’t need to know that. When my eyes flicker up to his, I see that they’re dark and half-hooded, looking down at me like a wolf and its almost too much.

But, I manage to paste a calm smile to my face, and my hand to his chest as I push him back a little; Putting a more respectable distance between us. “… I think that’ll be enough for tonight, don’t you lover boy?” The tiniest pang hits my poor heart, when calling him that brings up the memory of Buckman calling him lovesick, earlier.

I have to remind myself that he’s not.

Just take a deep breath, Y/N. Shake the fog out of your brain. Harper’s a good kisser- not a miracle worker. You aren’t in love.

Harper gives a displeased groan, but lets me go as I asked. I immediately hop up off the ground, and brush off my dress- In an attempt at normalcy, I turn around for Harper and showing him the back of my dress. “Did I wriggle?”

He grins, shaking his head. “You’re good.”

“Ookay, thanks.” Turning back to him, patting away some more imaginary dirt, I take a deep breath, glancing up at the stars again. And there’s a scowl full of blame on my face for a second, as I look at them. What did you do?

When I look back at Harper, he’s up on his feet again, tucking his shirt back in properly- its an oddly intimate thing to watch, and makes me feel warm and cold in equal measure.

A moment of silence passes between us, only the sound of crickets filling the air and a coyote howling somewhere far away. Crossing my arms, I stand there awkwardly for a few moments as Harper looks around at the work we did, today. He’s thinking Boy, we did a good job today, I’m thinking Shit, I got love drunk off fuckhead Harper Alexander’s kiss.

Suddenly, I twist around and give Harper but a wave, as I walk off. Without looking back. “Well I’m going to bed. See you tomorrow!”

“Probably.”

At that I hesitate- but look back, and see him smirking knowingly at me- For that’s what I told him after we parted that first day we kissed, just with an alarming amount of ‘tude, that I could just never muster myself.

After a moment, I screw up my nose and stick out my tongue, back at him. “Good night and good riddance.”

#Harper Alexander x Fem!Reader Oneshot Part 3 #Harper Alexander x Reader Oneshot Part 3 #Harper Alexander x Fem!Reader Oneshot #Harper Alexander x Reader Oneshot #Harper Alexander x Reader #Harper Alexander x Fem!Reader #Oneshot #2001 Maniacs #2001 Maniacs x Reader #Horror Villains #Horror Villains x Reader #The Fake Love Of My Life #The Fake Love Of My Life Part 3 #Harper Alexander

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pascalpanic · 3 years

Text

Caffeine Rush: Chapter Seven / Decaf

W/C: 4k

Warnings: language, dirty thoughts, all of the dirty thoughts because Javi is a horndog, male masturbation... general spice. pining that could make a pine cone tremble.

A/N: welcome to pining central, enjoy your stay :) (ps when Steve says “Javier Peña” I need you to read that in the voice of Anthony Mackie going “SEBASTIAN STAN”)

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter || Masterlist

ordinary coffee that has had most of its caffeine removed from it before the beans are roasted.

You are a goddamn test on Javier’s self control. He feels like those biblical stories of men fighting back against temptation to prove themselves to God, except the only thing he has to prove is to himself. To you.

He’s always been enraptured by you, captivated by your smile and laugh but since you went ice skating, he hasn’t been able to get your body out of his mind. The way you fell asleep on him last night, nuzzled in like it was the safest place on earth. He could feel your breasts press into his skin, the warmth of your thigh hiked across his abdomen. If the past week has been some caffeine-induced fever dream, it’s becoming real now. You, a figment of his imagination before, maybe, are all flesh and blood and God, is he desperate for it.

Javier hangs around your apartment when you’re gone at work. He doesn’t have much else to do, considering you’re gone and he knows hardly anything about the city. He watches the daytime television on your couch, usually meanders to the coffee shop for a drink, spends some time there, and returns to the apartment.

He feels like he’s couch-surfing, like he did for a summer in his college years. He feels guilty occupying the space in your home, especially without payment. As he walks to the bathroom, he takes a long glance into your bedroom. The queen-sized bed is mussed, unmade before you left for work. The fitted sheet is pooled in the middle beneath where you sleep, the various blankets tossed about. It looks like the coziest damn thing he’s ever seen, especially after a couple of nights on a couch.

Javier almost thinks about giving in, waiting for you to ask him to sleep in your bed tonight then jumping at the chance. Maybe he will, if he’s tired enough. Maybe he won’t, but maybe he will. He can think of nothing better than the endless whir of the radiator as your perpetually-cold body nuzzles against him, brushes your nose against his bare chest.

It’s been a long time since Javi has fucked anyone, and he’s starting to feel it. He’s a little antsy, and the image of your body, your ass as you ice skate past him, haunts him like a bad dream- or rather some illicit fantasy he knows he shouldn’t be having.

Would you want him yet? You’ve told him you love him, but that was an accident. When he kisses you, you kiss back harder. Hell, you initiated the first kiss. You seem like you’ve been all-in on this relationship, taking things at a rushed pace that Javier certainly doesn’t mind. He spends a lot of the day contemplating that, standing on the tiny balcony of your apartment and smoking a couple of cigarettes.

At this point, he needs a distraction or he’s going to have to take matters into his own hands, quite literally. What better to kill the horny buzz making his head spin than to call Murphy?

The phone is in your bedroom, on the nightstand. Javier dares to sit on the edge of your bed, and actually moans aloud at the plush comfort, the way his ass sinks into it. Goddamn, he’ll have to get one of these. He wants nothing more than to lay back and fall into the bed, wait for you to get home and pound you into the comfortable mattress. But he doesn’t. He stays strong and picks up the phone, dialing the new Murphy residence in Miami.

After a couple of rings, a familiar voice answers. “Murphy’s.”

“Hey, bastard,” Javier chuckles, and he can hear the blonde man’s laughter from across the receiver.

“Javier Peña,” Steve drawls, dragging out the name. “Good to hear your voice, man. You finally come out of a ten-day celebratory drunkenness?”

“Don’t talk to me about binges,” Javier teases, but he smiles a little. He’s missed the man. He’s glad neither of them got in any trouble over the entire Los Pepes situation- God, that feels like ages ago now. It’s hard to believe he’s only been in D.C. what, eleven days? If Steve’s math is right, yeah. “No. I’m in D.C. still, if you can believe it. Just… bored.”

“Oh really?” the man scoffs, leaning against his kitchen counter in Miami with Olivia on his hip. “And why’s that? What are you still doin’ up there anyway? Thought you were goin’ to visit the old man.”

Javier shakes his head. “Plans changed. There’s, uh… there’s a girl.”

Steve lets out a wolf whistle, laughing. “And how much does she charge a night?”

“Not one of those. She works at a coffee shop around here,” he informs him. “She’s… she’s really something. Nothing I ever thought I’d be into. She’s gorgeous, man, and so energetic all the damn time. Seems like she has an IV of coffee from her shop,” he chuckles, looking off into space. He takes a pause. Steve doesn’t speak. “I wanna be with her Steve. I don’t… I don’t know if I can go back.”

He’s silent a little longer. “This is some kind of practical joke, right?” Steve says after a beat, barely holding back a laugh. Never has Javier been so sincere, so real and honest and open. And more specifically, he’s never been like this over a girl. Almost… mushy. Soft. “Tell me more,” he says, hoping the joke will give up.

Javier talks about you, describing every little detail with a grin on his face. He tells Steve about Tie Guy and ice skating and your piece of shit car, how you can spin in circles on the ice and how you remind him of a busy little bee, fluttering about the coffee shop.

Steve is genuinely rendered speechless; a hard thing to do. He blinks down at Olivia then straight ahead at the refrigerator, covered in photos and magnets and drawings. He can’t imagine Javier ever wanting something like this, like what he and Connie have, but he sure sounds like it. “That’s… something. Good for you, Javi,” Steve chuckles, resigning to sincerity. “I’m happy for you.”

Javier grumbles back. “Don’t get too happy. I have to go back to Calí in three weeks. She doesn’t want me to leave… I don’t know what to do, Murph. I can’t bring her with, you know that, but I can’t just leave her here. And I sure as hell can’t quit.”

“You could quit.”

“I’m not going to, how’s that?” Javier huffs and crosses his arms, annoyed by Steve and his goddamn wording loopholes. “I just… fuck. I’m gonna go think about it before she gets back.”

“She comin’ to your hotel? You sure you aren’t paying per night?” He smirks.

Javier’s quiet and Steve isn’t sure what it means until he talks. “I’m, uh, staying at her place. She insisted.”

Steve whistles again. “Damn. You’re whipped, Peña. Well, I’ll let you go. Call again soon. I miss ya, bud,” he tells Javier in a moment of earnesty then hangs the phone back on the receiver, bringing Olivia to her nursery to change her diaper.

Javi sighs and falls backwards on the bed, admiring the way the mattress holds his body compared to the couch. Yeah, he’ll definitely need to sleep in here tonight or he’s going to crack his spine.

The issue will be you. He could handle it on the couch; it was like a soft, adolescent form of love, innocent and warm. Of course, it could still be the same in your bed. But would it? Is there not a different set of implications that come with the two of you sharing a bed?

Snuggling with you on the couch was nice. Wonderful, perfect even. Javier loves falling asleep with you in his arms. But in your bed, arms curled around him, maybe even being his little spoon… that perfect body pressed flush to his own, your soft ass against his groin, your breathing pushing back into his chest… that would be an entirely different thing. And he wants it, he really does, but he isn’t sure he’ll be able to control himself.

He slept like shit the last night, to be honest. You on top of him prevented him from moving, and Javier is an active sleeper. His neck was at an odd angle and his back twisted. His body feels like it did after that fight with Tie Guy. He can’t- wouldn’t- invade your privacy of your bed without you home to give him the go ahead, but he’s so damn tired. Not even the coffee helps.

So Javier indulges in one of life’s little pleasures he rarely gets to experience: a nap. Curled up on his side on the couch, blankets pulled snug around his fetal-positioned body, Javier drifts off to the sound of the noon news on the television.

That’s how you find him when you come home. He’s peacefully asleep, his lips parted and mustache moving with his exhales. Well, he’s clearly alive. That’s good.

You’re not sure how long he’s been asleep, so you leave him, making yourself something to eat in the kitchen. You avoid the living room as you get settled in, changing out of your espresso-stained clothing and into something more comfortable.

When you’re all comfy, makeup removed and a warm sweater on, you sit at the other end of the couch. Javier’s curled into a ball, his feet just inches away from your legs. You hope when he moves, he’ll feel you there and wake. If not, oh well. He deserves the rest.

It’s gray and cloudy outside, and you snuggle into the corner of the couch while reading your worn copy of The Great Gatsby. It’s the one you’ve been re-reading recently, what you were reading that first day Javi wandered into your coffee shop and subsequently your life.

Javi wakes not long later, maybe half an hour, to the sound of your book crinkling. The paperback’s spine crunches with wear, and his eyes flutter open to see you tucked against a pillow. God, you look like an angel, the light from the cloudy day filtering in and illuminating you from the back. Your face is calm and peaceful, focused as your eyes trace the words of F. Scott Fitzgerald. “Hi,” Javier mumbles groggily.

Your expression turns to a smile and you set down the book. “Hey.” You take his legs and drape them across your lap, tracing your fingers across them. “How’d you sleep?”

He groans. “Okay. Neck hurts.”

“That wouldn’t be an issue if you’d just sleep with me,” you sing-song to him, stroking his legs through the comfortable pants he wears. “My bed is super cozy.”

God, does Javier know it. It felt like your love itself when he laid down and the warmth of it swallowed him, practically whole. “Maybe I’ll give in,” he sighs, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “How was work? Sorry I didn’t visit.”

“Boring as always,” you chuckle. “What did you do today?”

Javi frowns as he thinks about it, his brain fogged with sleep. “Not much. Called Murphy, talked a while. He’s doing good.”

“Good,” you nod and smile. “When will I get to meet this elusive Steve?” You ask, softly kneading at his legs through the blanket and frowning as you realize he’s wearing… jeans. “Wait, pause. Are you seriously wearing jeans?” you ask him and laugh, lifting the blanket to confirm what you already suspected.

He frowns defensively, crossing his arms. “Maybe.”

“Why the fuck would you take a nap in jeans, Javi?” You laugh.

Javier looks away, frowning. The stubbornness shows. “I don’t own many comfortable clothes besides what I wear to work, if you haven’t noticed,” he retorts, but you can’t help but giggle. “Plus I thought I’d only be here to get fired.”

You smile at him lovingly and cup his face. “You sweet, stupid workaholic. Let’s go shopping later, get you some cozy stuff.”

Javier warms against your touch but maintains a pout. “I like jeans.”

Rolling your eyes, you huff out a laugh. “Would a pair of sweatpants be detrimental to your wardrobe, Javier?”

“Stop using big words,” he groans. “I’m barely awake.”

The large mall is annoying to Javier, full to the brim with last-minute (or maybe prepared, he never holiday-purchases) shoppers. He holds your hand, shooting feisty glares at anyone that dares to bump against his or, god forbid, your side. “Relax,” you tease and squeeze his free hand. The other carries a bag containing two hoodies, three t-shirts, and two pairs of sweatpants. “You’re not on a mission, and you certainly don’t have the knuckles to pitch another fight.”

He looks at his hands and scowls. You’re right. They’re no longer black and blue but faded yellows and greens, a spare bit of purple over the bones. The fight wasn’t that long ago, really, even though it feels like an eternity.

You drag Javier into a favorite shop of yours. He follows you around like a lost puppy while you search through clothes. He even hands you one or two tops he thinks you’d look nice in. You kiss him on the cheek and he dares to smile for a moment before returning to his stone-faced annoyance at such a packed area.

The dressing rooms are nicer, much more spaced out and offering places to rest. Javier sits in a chair across from your little cubby as you try things on. Every time you find something, you come out and model it for him. He comments, always positively, gives a little applause and smiles at the twirl you give in the big trifold mirror.

There’s one pair of leggings that hug your ass tight. Javier nearly salivates at them. “I like those,” he comments. “They look comfortable.” The same follows with a pair of jeans, even more flattering. He crosses his legs and nods, giving you similar comments.

Then come the dresses and tops. They’re all low-cut, not the wintery clothing Javier’s always seen you in. They show off your cleavage, and one scarlet colored blouse with a low neckline and fluffy sleeves makes Javier’s eyes simultaneously light up and darken. “How’s this one?” You ask, tugging at the sleeves.

“How much is it?” He asks, leaning back and looking at you through lidded eyes.

“Uh…” you tell him the cost and look back up at him, expecting a comment. “Why?”

“I’m buying that for you myself,” he smirks up at you, eyeing you up and down in a way that makes your skin feel intensely hot. The sight is stunning to him, and your flustered smile makes the smirk a little more devilish.

Javier does end up buying you the shirt, and you purchase a few other things you liked. But that scarlet shirt is stuck on Javier’s mind in replay: the subtle valley between your tits, how they filled out the shirt just perfectly and tugged at the cloth covering them, the way they look painfully soft to the touch, especially through that soft fabric. He wonders if you were wearing a bra under it. Then he has to stop himself.

You eat dinner late, chatting mindlessly over everything and nothing. Javier has no work to speak of now, so he tells you tall tales of the hunt for Escobar, some exaggerated and some underplayed. He mainly listens to you, asks about your past and your future, your family and your job. He could never tire of your voice, the soothing lull that warms him from the inside out, just like your skin flushed in that goddamn red top.

He drives the both of you home, humming softly to the songs on the radio. He’s beginning to recognize more and more of the top-40 hits on a certain preset station, songs he’d never listen to on his own. He glances over at you, gazing out of the window, and feels his body warm again- not just in his heart, but his stomach and lower too. He dares to steal a glance down, at the soft swell of your tits in that sweater. God, he wants to get you naked.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what you want and he’s too afraid to ask, too afraid to shatter this blissful phase of adoration without the sexual attraction. He wonders if you feel it too, if your clothes suddenly feel too restricting and too warm when you run a hand down his bare back.

The nightly routine ensues: you shower. Javier changes, this time into a new hoodie but leaves his legs bare, wearing only boxers on the bottom. He waits on the couch, and when you exit the bathroom, he takes his turn. He returns and sits next to you on the couch.

Tonight, when you ask him to share your bed with you, he doesn’t say no. In fact, he doesn’t say much of anything, just yawns softly and stands, taking your hand.

It’s a sacred space, your bed. Javier knows it. He rarely fucks women in his; whether it’s for his own privacy or fear they’ll fall asleep there, he can’t say. But your bed is such an intimate expression of you, and he can see it. He can see the divot in the mattress where you sleep, the way you arrange the pillows just right for your own head. It is a queen size, but it’s single-occupancy: until now, that is, and Javier feels honored you’re willing to share this holiness with him.

He gets into the bed on the other side of you, the warm blankets enveloping him, and he nearly lets out a moan at the comfort. Compared to the hotel bed and the couch, this is sleeping on a literal cloud from the heavens. He lies still, waiting to see what you do first. Not wanting to overstep anything.

His prayers are answered when you snuggle into his side. You rest your head on his chest, kissing his sternum through the soft material of the hoodie. A hand rests on the other side of your face, and your legs both encircle one of his. Javier smiles, wrapping an arm around you. He presses a kiss into your hair and murmurs a goodnight, letting his head fall back. He has no time to worry about this situation before he falls asleep.

He falls asleep almost immediately, which makes you chuckle through your half-conscious state. He seems to always radiate heat, Javier. Your layers of blankets upon blankets suddenly feel unnecessary when a heat source the strength of the summer sun fills your bed. His chest is strong and firm beneath you. The rise and fall of his chest is like a boat rocking on the ocean, putting you at ease and allowing you to rest.

Fuck. He knew this was a bad idea. Why did he do this?

The clock reads 1:48 and Javier is wide awake, staring at your popcorn-stucco-whatever the fuck it is ceiling. He wasn’t able to process this before sleep overtook him, before his consciousness was wiped and with it, his inhibitions.

Your body is pressed to his so perfectly. You sleep without a bra, and Javier can feel his arm being slightly sandwiched between your breasts, the way they press further into it every time you inhale. Your thighs are warm with sleep, and he can feel your core pressed against his hip, even while you sleep and even through the layers of clothing.

Javier feels like the embodiment of slime. You’re asleep and all he can think about is how fucking hot your body is, how much he wants to press you into this mattress and wake you with an orgasm. He wants to palm your tits and make your nipples harden through that flimsy shirt, to slide his fingers beneath your pajama bottoms and-

He can’t take it. He feels so wrong, the smell of you surrounding him and choking him like a thick perfume, even in its subtlety. He does not deserve to sleep next to you, innocently, like someone you love, when all he can think about is his own carnal desires.

Pushing back the covers, Javier gets out of bed before any more blood can flow to his slowly hardening dick. This is all wrong. He should not be doing this, thinking these things without knowing you feel the same.

But the guilt is as strong as his arousal. He watches you for a moment, torn between his options, before meandering through the darkened bedroom and finding his way into the bathroom. He turns on the bright lights and forces himself to stare at the bulbs, to make his pupils shrink from their blown state of sleep mixed with desperation. He’s fully awake now.

He needs to get the hardened length down. He can’t do this, can’t allow himself this suffering while you sleep in the next room.

The sink. Cold water. He gasps silently at the splash of the ice-cold water against his face, dampening the edges of his hoodie. It doesn’t work enough. Again. Nothing. He feels like a teenager, unable to control himself. The cold water is a good idea, though.

Javier strips down, trying to avoid the urge to take himself in hand and fix this here and now. Turning the water as cold as it can go, Javier turns on the shower and steps in.

Agony is the best term he has. It makes him want to squeal like a fucking pig as he shudders from the cold. It doesn’t work to force his erection down, but what use is it when it’s not something physical but mental stimulating him? The cold shock didn’t do shit. Javier’s still achingly hard. He turns the water warmer and sighs as it gradually turns to a tolerable temperature, one that he can relax under and allow himself to let out a deep sigh.

He has no other options, unless he wants to wait it out. Leaning against the wall, Javier strokes himself, biting his lip and hoping the water pressure will cancel any soft moans he can’t avoid. It doesn’t take long when he’s this aroused, when he knows exactly what the fantasy in his head would feel like.

Javier is panting and sweating, from the effort and the growing heat of the water. He feels disgusting but it feels so good, and he can’t help imagining you doing this to him, you spreading your legs and feeding the fire between his own.

It only takes a few minutes. He gasps as he cums, with a force he’s never brought forth with his own hand. He bites his lip so hard he’s sure he might cut it off, not allowing the desperate sounds to reach a level you could hear. When he’s done, he groans and cracks his neck. “Oh, little bee,” he whispers, agonized as he lets the water wash the evidence of his sins down the drain.

When he’s done, Javier walks into your bedroom, silently, in the dark. His previous boxers were stained with a patch of his precum; he can’t put those back on. He drops the towel and puts on different boxers.

After he’s changed, he looks at your bed longingly for a moment. The soft sheets, soft mattress, the soft body between them. But in Javier’s head, he’s forsaken his right to the warmth, the comfort.

When you wake in the morning, hours after you thought you heard the shower running, you find Javier is not in your bed. There isn’t even a warm spot where he lay, just your body shifted further from your normal sleeping position. When you wander out to make your morning coffee, you find him. He spent the night on the couch again.

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wendimydarling · 3 years

Text

Cover the Mirrors

Summary: Amber is earning a masters degree in mythology and folklore; when a handsome stranger sweeps her off her feet, she’s left wondering how, and struggles to keep up with his lifestyle.

Pairing: Vampire!August Walker x OFC (first person reader)

Word Count: 6826

Warnings: Alright, we ready to get into the menu of delights we will be reading today? Okay but seriously, if you are triggered by anything on this list, it is your responsibility to not read this work of fiction. The warnings are as follows: manipulation, subtle exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex, mention of oral (male receiving), biting, clawing, choking, blood, male violence, gore, non-con, rape, spitting, fear play, primal play, breeding, mention of death, torture, and potentially cannibalism, if you squint.

A/N: Okay so this story is based off of this thread where @killjoy-assbutt-1112 gave me a fic title, but I added another twist to it that I’d been brewing for months; I was excited about it but now I’m not. Whatever, I’ll give it to you anyway. Sources for my vampire lore came from here and here. Cover art was made by me; August was drawn by the amazingly talented @cheyentjj and has been used with her permission. Thank you so much to everyone who brainstormed with me, and a special thanks to @agniavateira for betaing!

“If you look at the Slavic region, vampire folklore runs rampant. One especially interesting specimen is the Pijavica. The Pijavica (translated “leech”, or “drinker”) was a rare species of vampire— traditionally male, and a powerfully strong, cold-blooded killer. The potential for conception is most commonly believed to be through the incest of the deceased with his mother during his life, though some believe that one can be created through the exceptionally malicious and evil acts of the deceased before his death.

The birth of a Pijavica is attributed to many different causes, including suffering an “unnatural” or untimely death such as suicide, excommunication, improper burial rituals, or even simple causes such as an animal jumping or bird flying over either the corpse or the empty grave, being conceived on certain days, or being born with a caul, teeth, or tail.”

I paused my typing, fingers leaving the keyboard in order to brush loose strands of hair from my face. Around me, the baristas of my favorite coffee shop were buzzing like worker bees in an old hive; they were gearing up for the lunch rush, and I realized I’d been here four hours already.

This place had long been my go-to study zone. It was small; there was just enough hustle and bustle to keep me from descending too deep into the abyss of studying and yet, it had the respect of the patrons that a library does. The owner, Fred, made sure that conversations were kept in hushed tones, courteous to those of us who needed to work in noise instead of quiet.

“If ya wanna be loud, go sit at a Starbucks!” He’d huff at those who didn’t heed his warning.

My eyes took in the familiar surroundings as I stretched. An oversized wood-burning fireplace filled the wall next to the vintage cash register; it was sandwiched between two built-in bookcases housing stories of all kinds that were meant to be read and enjoyed. The old stone clackling ran all the way up the wall, and a custom mantle made from an old oak tree that had fallen in Fred’s backyard sat delicately above the firebox. Yes, this shop was magical. It held a special place in my heart, and I’d visited so often that old Fred had deemed the table I sat at as “my table”. It was always kept reserved for me.

I reached for my coffee without looking; my brain needed more caffeine. I’d spent months on this master thesis, and yet for some reason, the notion of vampires was such a struggle. I didn’t understand the fear of those who lived back then. The origins of bloodsuckers were chaotic, the “treatments” laughable and still, people were willing to kill their own offspring over such nonsensical superstitions. Cold drops of stale roast hit my lips in a harsh reminder that I’d finished my previous dose. I sighed heavily and dropped the cup to the wooden surface of my table. Eyes closed, I laced my fingers around my neck and drew my elbows together to stretch my spine. Coffee. I need more coffee.

“Having trouble?”

A man’s baritone, smooth as whiskey interrupted my thoughts. My body jolted at his leisurely tone, and I nearly tumbled off the chair as my eyes snapped open to view the intruder. Sitting across from me was anything but a man; I was in the presence of divine artistry, two breathtaking orbs of gray-washed sky centered below auburn curls that adorned his perfectly symmetrical face. A sharp nose pointed to his strong jaw, while an amused smirk tugged at the corner of lips that I’m certain could send even a nun to her bedroom for self-maintenance. He wore a crisp, pinstripe suit, the buttons of his dress shirt undone sinfully low, revealing a smattering of additional curls.

My oversized turtleneck sweater and leggings suddenly felt subpar.

“The name’s Walker,” he mused further, gesturing a large hand toward the empty paper tumbler that was now lying on its side. “What were you drinking?”

“I--I um,” I fumbled with my words, embarrassed by my sudden inability to form a proper sentence. “I had a flat white? With two extra shots of espresso.”

The man named Walker had the cup in his hand and was out of his chair before I could blink; he was already ordering another coffee by the time I managed to process his intentions. I watched him hand the barista a bill I couldn’t see, but by the shocked expression on her face at the man’s declination of the change, it must have been a sizable amount. He sat down at the table again and stared at my chest unabashedly, making it clear he wasn’t just looking but imagining as well.

I should have been offended or felt objectified, but instead I felt drawn into his gaze.

“Having trouble?” He asked again, gesturing this time at my laptop.

“How long were you sitting there?” I blurted out, still too flummoxed to answer his question. Walker laughed and I swear, time stood still. Never in my life had I heard something so beautiful.

“Long enough.”

His reply was short and cryptic, a dismissal of my burgeoning curiosity. The barista chose that moment to bring two orders of coffee to the table, offering both of them to Walker by mistake. I took in her awestruck countenance, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that if my face matched hers I’d sink to the floor and die of shame. That notion shook me from my stupor and I was finally able to address his question.

“It’s my master thesis,” I explained, taking a sip of the scalding liquid he handed me. “I’m a History major, with an emphasis in mythology and folklore.”

I took another sip and tapped my phone, large numbers greeting me on the screen. Numbers that told me I was extremely late.

“Oh my god I have to go, I’m so sorry!” I apologized, scrambling to pack my things. In my haste I knocked my drink off the table. Resignation sunk in deep, submission to the knowledge of further humiliation at the impending spill. None came however, as Walker caught the drink in his hand before it crashed to the dark tiles.

“Thank you,” I murmured, gawking at him in bewilderment. Who was this man?

“It’s my pleasure,” he said, standing to help me collect the remainder of my books. “I’m interested in your thesis, could we perhaps discuss it over dinner? I don’t want to keep you from your next engagement.”

“I—” I stared at him, his face open and inviting. I’d been asked out before, but never this abruptly, and never by someone who looked and behaved like him. It sounded like an adventure…or a good story to tell on girls’ night at least.

“You know what, sure. Why not?”

I scribbled my number onto a napkin and slid it his way, grabbing the rest of my gear and heading toward the door. As I pushed against the hard metal, Walker’s large fingers caught my wrist, wrapping around it like ivy wraps around a lamppost. They were cool to the touch and yet somehow, my entire body immediately felt heated.

“We forgot first names,” he chuckled, “I’m August.”

I grinned sheepishly, pulling my arm from his surprisingly firm grip. The clank of the metal door handle resonated with the introduction I threw over my shoulder as I left the warmth of the shop and the handsome man behind.

“Amber.”

It took August a full week to call me. I felt like a fool; Did I leave on a poor note? Had I offended him somehow? Did he simply decide to change his fucking mind? I was kicking myself for saying yes; how could I have agreed to go on a date with a complete stranger? Now that I was no longer in his flustering presence, I began to see reason again. I knew nothing more than this man’s name, and the fact that he was more than likely rich. He could be a cold-blooded killer for all I knew, and I had every intention of telling him off.

I was in my apartment when he called. Still stuck on my thesis, I was currently unable to determine how best to explain the theory behind the sexual appeal of vampires. In my frustration, I hung upside down over the side of my bed, reading a book that discussed the many different works of literature revolving around vampirical romanticism and hoping the blood rushing to my brain would help me ascertain how to go about my explanation. The book was written by two authors who essentially argue the whole time, one of them convinced that the human fascination with vampires stems from the cannibalistic nature of bloodsucking or that it alluded to other bodily fluids such as semen, whereas the other stood firm in his belief that it held a much simpler cause; it was nothing more than the presence of oral fixation and sadism that caused the fantasy to plant its seed.

My phone vibrated but I ignored it, too engrossed in my book to be bothered with answering. I was so close… the answer was right there, it just continued to escape me. It wasn’t until my phone vibrated a second time to notify me of a voicemail that I put the pages down and picked up the electronic device.

The moment I heard August excusing his delay in calling to a work emergency, I immediately sat up and hit redial. There was something in his voice that made my heart quicken and my pulse race; it made the hair on my arms stand on end. I regretted sitting up so fast as it rang, the blood surrounding my brain draining quickly into the rest of my body. August answered on the second ring.

“Hi, Amber.”

“I—hi.”

I rolled my eyes then flinched in pain, congratulating myself sarcastically on how pathetic that response sounded with a slap of my palm to my forehead.

“Please, allow me to apologize again for waiting so long to call,” August insisted, seemingly unphased by my lack of vocabulary. “I still intend to take you to dinner, that is if you haven’t written me off completely.”

“No it’s fine, I totally get it,” I assured him. I had completely forgotten my earlier annoyance. He had explained it after all, and it could happen to anyone.

“Perfect. I’ll send a car tonight then, at seven. Wear something revealing please, I wasn’t able to see that pretty little neck of yours last time.”

My insides shook with an unexpected pang of shocked arousal at August’s request. The sexual confidence saturating his tone had me instantly reduced to nothing more than a deep desire for him to drag me to my knees by my hair. Why I wasn’t offended by the dominantly abrupt way this man spoke to me, I’ll never know. I put on the best flirty air I could manage in my stupor.

“I think I can manage that. Might have to charge you though.”

August laughed for the second time since I’d known him and I smiled, proud that I’d caused such a melodious sound to grace this earth.

“I like your spirit; you’re gonna be fun. I’ll see you tonight.”

“I—okay bye,” I managed to say before he hung up. I stared at my phone stupidly, as though I thought he was going to call again. Instead, the large clock face glared up at me like it always does, an ever present reminder that I live on a different plane of time than the rest of the world. I fell back on the bed, thinking about the man named August.

He likes my spirit? I hadn��t really shown him much, I’d been unable to do anything but stammer and trip over my words like a schoolgirl would when confronted by the cutest jock at school. What could he possibly see in me? The woman I truly was, the one I knew was underneath the bumbling idiot finally answered me. You’ve got three hours, Amber. Show him what you’re made of.

Resolve set in, and I bounced off the bed and walked toward my closet. For whatever reason, he’d chosen me, so I was going to let my confidence in that thought override all the self-doubt that was threatening to surface. I pulled my favorite dress from the hanger and set out to work. He wanted revealing? Then revealing is what he’d get, but I was going to do it my way.

The car was punctual, though I was less so. I scrambled to put diamond studs in my ears while being driven to some unknown location, my nerves making my hands shake. Once again, the notion that I could be driving to my death crept up my spine, but I brushed it off. Rich men send cars, it’s what they do. And I am an intelligent woman, I wouldn’t let myself be put in that situation.

Would I?

Touching the final stroke of Red Wine lipstick on my lips, I pulled my loose curls over my shoulder to expose my neck and put my things in my vintage black clutch, staring out the window at the ancient building that housed the most expensive club in town. I was suddenly grateful I’d chosen such a fancy dress. I fidgeted with the soft hem of the sleeve at my wrist, drawing it back and forth between my fingers while I waited for the driver to come to a stop.

I saw August there waiting, looking sharp as ever in another expensive three-piece suit, buttons undone just as low as the first time. This time however, I felt much better matched to his attire, and my confidence rose right next to my excitement. August came down the steps to open the door and I took his hand, hiking the burgundy velvet up to my thigh so that I could exit the car smoothly. The heavy fabric dropped to the ground the moment I freed it from my grasp, allowing August to study how I’d chosen to honor his request.

August drank in my covered form, taking in the way my dress hugged my curves and accentuated what it needed to. His eyes darkened as they lingered on the single large triangular section of bare skin that started at my shoulders and came to a point between my breasts, and I watched his tongue dart out of his mouth softly. He looked downright hungry. August stepped closer, fingertips grazing the flesh on my collarbone before he fastened his grip onto my nape and inhaled the hair at my temple deeply, pressing his lips to my ear.

“You are simply mouthwatering,” he growled, low and possessive. His hand released my neck and slid down to the small of my back, sending a shiver down my spine. My insides quivered at his touch, fragrant drops of dew pooling rapidly in the flimsy lace that guarded my mound from potential intruders.

“You wanted to see my ‘pretty little neck’,” I teased his earlier arrogance, lifting my skirt to traverse the steps leading inside, “I thought I’d frame her for you, give her the spotlight.”

August cocked an eyebrow at me in amusement, sensing my challenge. His fingers dug into my hip a little harder than necessary as he guided me through the establishment with nothing more than a nod to the hostesses. Apparent jealousy marred the face of one, and I thought I saw a hint of worry on the other. We were gone before the emotion could register in my mind.

I was escorted to a private booth in the upstairs of the establishment. While the first floor was crowded and full of people, the second floor was empty; August had requested it for our use alone. I could hear the hum of nightlife below, the haunting, non-lyrical melody of a soft alto wafting over the balcony as we walked past, the whispered promise of an enchanting night. A few tables and chairs were strategically placed on the floor, hugged by back-to-back rounded booths on either wall. Light ethereal curtains hung on either side of them, offering privacy from the guests who would typically sit in the next box over. August led me to the corner booth nearest the balcony so that we could look upon the stage if we chose.

“Our table, milady,” he joked, leaving a wet kiss on the back of my hand. Though the charade was seemingly in jest, it could not have been farther from it. His piercing eyes never left mine and I gasped at the feel of his brazen tongue on my skin. The suggestion of what he could do with it hung thick in his gaze, lacing the air with the succulent first tendrils of decadent tension. Playing along, I took a sharp breath and curtsied. I stayed low as August stood to show him the appeal of my figure at this angle, tilting just my head to look up at him. He stood there, head held high like a king, and the smile I received at my display was downright sinful.

“What a treat you are,” he murmured, cupping my chin briefly. My breasts swelled as I stood, consenting August the claim to chivalry by way of settling me into the alcove. He swept my hair over my shoulder again, trailing a single finger down my neck in admiration before taking his own seat. My insides were nothing but a pile of kindling, and every touch he gave was a spark that threatened to ignite the dry leaves into a burning flame of need.

The courses came and went just like those moments, every phrase emphasized with physical intimacy of some kind, whether it be just a gossamer brush of his fingers on my ear or an intentional grasping of my hand. He went as far as to boldly stroke the back of his knuckle along my cleavage, making me dizzy with desire. Each touch was avaricious—like he owned me—and I had zero qualms about letting him.

We ate our fill, but August made no move to leave the comfort of our small corner. With the noise of people below dulled by the far reaches of our seclusion, it was easy to converse. I told him more about my master thesis and the Pijavica, how they could read minds and enjoyed the power of persuasion, how they were impervious to all but decapitation, and how only their offspring could kill them. He listened intently, sharing tales of his own career. It was how I discovered that he was a doctor.

“I don’t practice anymore though, I prefer to study and learn. Specifically, I’m attracted to tears.”

“Tears?” That struck me as odd; it wasn’t often you came across someone who had such a unique field of study. “Why tears?”

August swirled the whiskey in his glass and downed it abruptly. He subtly indicated to our attendant for another before continuing his explanation.

“I’ve always had a fascination for the small things, things that people don’t seem to think matter; the mind-body connection, you know? For example,” he brushed a thumb over my cheekbone, “Did you know that the cellular structure of tears looks different based on the type of tear?”

August cupped my neck with both of his hands, tilting my head this way and that, his calm features set in measured focus as he spoke.

“Basal, reflexive, emotional... they all look different.”

I closed my eyes, letting him caress my skin. August’s touch was intoxicating, addicting. Even his scent was an aphrodisiac to my senses. I couldn’t get enough of it, lured ever closer to his sturdy frame, letting him manipulate my body how he saw fit. He nuzzled my hair, his soft spoken words dripping with lust into my ear.

“In fact,” he went on, “Even among those categories they differ, dependent on the stimuli.”

I could feel his breath on my neck, his lips surrounding the pulsepoint in my veins as he spoke, my jaw his destination. A hand snuck under my skirt, skimming along my trembling skin toward the seeping treasure that awaited him at the end of his journey. I spread my legs willingly, inviting him into my deepest of secrets. August hummed as he went on, sending spirals of tingling vibrations through my chest.

“The sting of onions, the sadness of grief… the satisfaction of overwhelming pleasure.”

“August…” I breathed, but my voice was severed as August simultaneously laid claim to my mouth and my womb. Thick fingers penetrated me in the same moment as his probing tongue, and it was in that moment I knew I was lost; August Walker could pull everything from me and I wouldn’t care; I’d want it, need it. He had spent all night teasing me, testing me, manipulating me and filling me with nothing but a desire for more, leaving me empty and wanting. He had succeeded, I now craved him above all else in this world.

August lifted my skirts, hoisting me with little effort to straddle his lap and I cried out in shock. The sound of my sudden impalement on the thick steel of his manhood was camouflaged by the crowd of people below; no one heard the echo of carnal awakening that sang through the air. When had he undressed? I bit my lip as he sank deeper into my core until the salty bitterness of copper and iron stung my chin. August’s eyes fell to the red droplet, darkening until the only color left in his pale irises was the very absence of light. With a hideous growl he ravaged my mouth, tasting every inch of my bruised lips with the hunger of an animal that’s been caged for far too long.

Thrill and terror tangled themselves in my mind, weaving an intricate web of wanton desire inside of me as August took me right there in the booth. Time itself seemed to halt, the room disappeared. Were we still in the club? Was it still the dead of night? Did I still require oxygen to breathe? Or was my life source now August’s touch, the light in my very soul dependent upon his kiss?

I didn’t notice when we left, nor when we arrived at a house that overlooked the city. I didn’t notice the lock on the basement door, or the fresh garden in the yard. I didn’t notice the continual rising and setting of the sun. I didn’t notice when I grew hungry, nor when I grew tired. I didn’t notice, not anything but passion, need, and desperation.

I didn’t notice.

Sleep drained from my limbs slowly. I awoke to black silk caressing my skin, dim sunlight shining through the wall, diffused by a covering of clouds that hung in the sky. It confused me that it was coming through the entire wall, until I realized that said wall was simply one large window, and the room I found myself in was built into the rock of an obsidian cliff overlooking the city. The room was minimally decorated in dark tones that coordinated with the nature outside, save for a striking, golden painting of a woman crying on the far wall. I clearly wasn’t home, and last night’s events slowly returned to the forefront of my mind.

August.

August was, without a doubt, the most attentive lover I’d ever had. Memories of his lips, his scent, his god-like physique that was surely carved from marble entertained my thoughts, returning my mind to the pleasure I’d never experienced in my life. Chills ran up and down my skin, alighting in wonder as my hand drifted to my sex. My fingers found my petals, swollen from overuse, aching in the dull agony of satisfaction. I stroked them gently, soothing the pleasant tenderness, moaning softly as the blood rushed to swell my clit once more, my other hand slipping beneath the silk to join in the heavenly edging torment.

A sharp, sudden sting at the brush of my inner thigh caused me to cry out, my hands snatching away from their play. I sat up, peering beneath the sheets to discover a semi-circle of divots cut into my leg. Is that a… a bite mark? I pulled at the skin and felt the dried blood crack, a small pinprick of new red seeping through the scab. I lunged from the bed to stand in front of the full-length mirror in the corner and look for other signs or markings, but what I found made me gasp.

Bruises peppered my neck, chest, hips and thighs. A few other crescents were scattered amongst them, standing out against the dark patches that shaded my skin. I took a physical inventory then, feeling the soreness in my jaw from being stretched by his cock, the ache of my neck from having my hair pulled, the shaky feeling of muscular fatigue in my legs from being tensed by orgasm after orgasm. I thought I detected a slight sheen on my skin, but I couldn’t tell if that was from the tremulous bliss of a satisfying fuck, or if it was the sweat and oil caused by said satisfying fuck. Either way, I looked happy and content. I grabbed August’s dress shirt from the floor and threw it on as I left the room to explore.

The bedroom led to a hallway, the wall to my left still nothing but expansive glass that showed off the impressive view. On the other side were large, black and white abstract prints, hung evenly spaced against dark panels. To the left of each was a shadow box with an ornate glass vial inside; each bottle was thin, no longer than my palm and differing in design from the others. Tiny, intricate patterns were painted on the outsides in white, blue, and gold, and gold stoppers sealed each one. When I entered the main room, I discovered a curio cabinet that housed at least a hundred of them, and I leaned in to look at how varied each one was.

“Victorian tear catchers,” August’s voice was suddenly behind me and I whirled sharply, startled. He chuckled at my alarm and I laughed with him, enjoying that glorious sound.

“They’re beautiful,” I murmured, turning back to look at the delicate glass. August pulled me against his naked chest, nosing my hair and kissing my neck.

“Yes you are,” he whispered, earning an eye roll from me. August chuckled and opened the cabinet.

“Would you like one?”

“Really?”

I looked at him, stunned. He simply nodded his head in the direction of the vials and I examined them, selecting one that had a white pattern on it that looked like lace.

“Mmm, a good choice. Perhaps I can collect tears of ecstasy for you,” August whispered. The thrill of what he was implying awakened my senses, and I let him lead us slowly back toward the bedroom. I felt like teasing him, so I delayed a bit by asking about the art on the wall.

“What are those?” I pointed to the first print, a cross-hatching pattern that looked like it was made of sewing pins.

“Those are tears of grief,” he stated, stopping in front of each as he walked me gradually down the hall.

“A yawn,” he said of the next, a white background with dark, fern-looking splatters. August traced his mouth along my jaw, his hand dipping beneath the button of his shirt to play with the sensitive nipples he had rediscovered. I keened as he continued shifting us toward the kitchen, struggling to keep my composure. The next print was a much darker gray, and it looked like it was covered in snowflakes.

“Any guesses?” August asked, mouthing my earlobe in tandem with the flick of his thumbs over my hardened nubs. I whimpered, my knees weak in his lustful embrace.

“Uhm… cold air?” I rasped as he sucked on my neck. August chuckled through his nose, the vibrations of his voice rippling through my chest to connect with his teasing fingers.

“Onions.”

“Yeah okay.”

I tilted my head so that I could kiss him, but suddenly the thought of onions turned my stomach. I lurched, pulling away and gagging slightly. Instead of concern, August smiled knowingly, seemingly unbothered by my retching.

“I see morning sickness has set in. It’s a little early and I had hoped you’d be able to avoid it, but alas, that’s not the case.”

My head swam suddenly, confusion mutilating all thought. I backed away from him.

“Morning what? What are you talking about?”

August took a step toward me, placing a hand on my belly and lacing his fingers in the hair at my nape.

“Women always taste better after they’ve conceived. And I can keep them longer; they make much more blood when they’re host to a fetus.”

I pushed against him, turning away and vainly attempting to process his words. Pregnant? Taste better? Blood? My eyes focused on a card I hadn’t noticed earlier in the shadow box, a single word printed on it.

Bridgette

“Isn’t it ironic,” August mused, tracing my collarbone with a thick finger, “That five weeks ago, you had a chance encounter with the very thing you’ve been studying for months, and now you carry his child.”

The room spun. I couldn’t think; my brain refused to process the nonsense he spoke.

“Five—five weeks?! No that’s not possible, our date was last night!”

“It’s more than possible, sweet morsel. Think about it.”

Bile rose thick and acrid in my throat then, threatening to spill. Memories and time started filtering into my mind, replacing the fog with everything I’d lost. The last puzzle piece clicked into place, confusion all but disappeared and I was left with nothing but the cold, terrifying truth. Pijavica. Vampire. Monster.

I’d fallen into the clutches of a monster.

I did the only thing I could think of; I slapped him as hard as I could and took off through the house, ignoring the sharp pain of a chunk of hair remaining in his hand. My heart pounded in my chest, desperate to be free of this sudden nightmare. I slammed into the front door and grabbed the handle, a strangled sob catching in my throat when it wouldn’t open.

I rattled the door knob, panic consuming every fiber of my being. Suddenly, it wasn’t just my life I was fighting for; apparently there was a life inside of me that needed protecting. The child of a Pijavica that was depending on me to escape, so that he could come back and kill his father. I have to get out. I gave up on the door in anger, spinning around and looking for another way.

“Do you know why I chose you?”

I heard August’s voice again, but he was nowhere to be seen. His voice came louder, penetrating my mind. I have to keep moving.

“It was because of your name; they match your eyes.”

I whimpered at his words, sneaking my head around a corner to survey the living space for some form of an exit.

“Amber has a historical application, you see,” he went on, louder. I dashed over the floor, desperate to be gone from him. Door after door remained locked, and my terror grew with each attempt. Every now and then I could hear August, whether it be a rustle of fabric or the knock of his foot on the wooden floor. The scholar in me knew that it was on purpose, that he was luring his prey, giving chase to his food, and yet my rational mind refused to take charge. I was being led by my flight response, and his jarring monologue wasn’t helping.

“Throughout history, whenever a goddess cried it was typically tears of amber, save for the goddess Freya, who cried gold. You met her in the bedroom.”

His laughter echoed through the dark walls of his lair, and chilled me to my core. It was no longer a beautiful sound, but grating and horrible. I was nothing but a petty human to play with, some toy that he could eat when he tired of me. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I came to the last door. Dear God, please let this one open. To my utter relief, the door swung wide and I was met with stairs. Stairs went down, and we were on a cliff. Down was good. Down meant freedom.

I clambered down the steps and flung open the door at the bottom, stumbling into the room and falling to the floor in horror and fear. There in front of me, was nothing but mirrors. A maze of mirrors, each one showing me my trembling features, mocking me, letting me know just how fucked I was. I turned back, intending to go back up the stairs and try another way, but August’s silhouette stood at the top, preventing me from going back into the house. I heard a scream and realized it was my own.

Scrambling off the floor, I took off into the maze, blinded by my tears.

“Each of those girls made it this far you know,” August taunted. I heard the slam of the door and nearly choked as I ran. “You’ll die in this room, just like they did.”

His nonchalance, his continual unconcern about chasing me, his arrogance that he would no doubt catch me made me so angry. I raced from path to path, growing ever more frantic every time I reached a dead end. I didn’t even know if this room had an exit, I just knew I had to keep moving. I tripped over something as I rounded a corner, screaming when I saw what it was.

“I see you found Bridgette,” August chuckled, and I looked up from the skeleton to see his hideous face marred with a sinful sneer. I gasped and took off again, turning this way and that. Hitting another dead end, I doubled back and ran smack into August’s broad torso. He caught me and held me close as I screamed, ripping his shirt from my body. He spun me around, pinning my wrists between my back and his belly, trailing his fingers languidly over my naked frame in an inspection of his handiwork. My jaw was gripped in an iron vice and August forced my gaze to the mirror.

“Do you see what I see?” he mocked. I could only stare in horror, for nothing but my own terrified expression stared back at me.

August had no reflection.

“Out of all the patterns in the world, do you know which tears are my favorite?” August continued to torment. He inhaled my hair deeply, snaking his tongue along the length of my cheek, tasting the stains my tears had left in their wake.

“Fear.”

I heard August growl as I fought against him, his iron grasp caging me against his cool skin, more of the cursed moisture pooling in my eyes. Glassy drops fell, retracing a new path toward my chin but August just kissed them away, shoving me to the floor when my knees buckled of their own accord. He let go of my hands to fidget with his slacks, pulling me back toward him every time I tried to crawl away as a parent would to a petulant child. On the third attempt he snapped my knee, a scream tearing from my throat in my woeful submission to his desire.

Finally free of his clothes, August lifted my hips, lining his rigid cock up against my sweat-soaked folds. He dove into my treasure without care, forcing his way into the depths of my belly, stretching and tearing my walls until he was fully sheathed. Strong arms wrapped around me again, and I felt two sharp points prick the junction of my neck and shoulder. I cried out and thrashed in fierce protest, knowing that small pinch was just a warning of oncoming pain.

August’s teeth punctured my skin easily, shredding muscle and sinew until they hit bone. I howled in pain as I watched blood drip from the wound, a familiar crescent shape joining its brothers on my body. Searing heat shot through my neck with his first draw of thick plasma; the violent removal of blood causing an intense burn that I felt all the way down to my injured leg. August released my neck and I clapped a hand over the fresh wound.

I looked over my shoulder at him; his head was tilted down, mouth still full of my blood; the lack of a reflection behind him unsettling to my senses. August opened his wicked maw slowly, dark scarlet trickling from his lips onto the junction where my hips met his, run through by his sword. He looked up at me with a nasty grin, bloodstained fangs curdling my stomach. I closed my eyes and turned away as he swiped a hand through the mess. His fingers penetrated my core alongside his cock, deaf to my sobbing objections.

“You’d better open your eyes, pet… This needy little cunt is dripping, I’d hate for you to miss it.”

August emphasized his sick joke by grasping my hair, shoving my head to the floor, forcing me to look once more into the polished glass. My desperate wails for mercy were all that kept me grounded as I watched him thrust, my battered hole be stretched beyond capacity. Nothing but empty space plundered my core, crimson air bruising the very place within me that only just last night had been treated with such tenderness and care. Not last night. His slick fingers found my mouth and violated it effortlessly; no amount of pressure I could apply would break through his tough skin.

“God, you look so beautiful.”

August pulled me up and took to my neck with fervor, latching onto the broken sliver of skin like a leech. The more he drank, the weaker I became, until there was no resistance left within me. I could see the color drain from my bloody face, I could see black slowly creep into my vision, but I was powerless to stop it. August was in charge, he held my entire existence in his hands, and he intended to extinguish it. I closed my eyes again, accepting my fate.

I was going to die.

One of my favorite places to visit is a small outdoor cafe, very near the coffee shop where I met Amber. Mmmm. Amber. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of that tantalizing woman.

She lasted so much longer than all the others, you know. I was able to feed off of her nearly three full months as she hung there in my basement, until the last drop of her tantalizing nectar was finally extracted. She smelled of carraway and saffron, tasted of sweet mulled wine, and with the rich, heady, piquancy of her fertile womb seasoning each sinew, every inch of her opulent flesh begged to be consumed. I must admit, I should have dispatched of her sooner, but fascination overtook my curious mind as her own was consumed by insanity.

First it was freedom she asked for, and then death. Sometimes she would beg to speak to her mother one last time. But by the end, she only asked for one thing.

“Please,” she would whisper, “Please… Cover the mirrors. Just cover the mirrors.”

She asked so nicely, but how on earth could I hide such beauty? Her tears were just as rare, you see. They hold a beauty unmatched by any of the others that hang on my walls. I’ve never seen such a fear pattern like hers; it is more exquisite than the dawn of a misty spring day in the countryside, more beautiful than a woman at the height of euphoria. And they way they sparkled against her skin, lustrous tracks that wound down her temples and through her hair, glinting in the mirrors with each slow rotation of her inverted body... well, it was as if I was living among the stars. Adding her ashes to my garden was such a shame.

I sat at that little cafe, eyes closed, viewing the world through my enhanced scent. Each drop of bitter coffee, the pollen of a nearby bee, the oil in the bike chains of two clumsy humans as they rolled past; each note and fragrance alerting me to its owner. A familiar scent reached my nose and I turned my head sharply, focusing on it.

Carraway… Saffron.

I smiled softly, opening my eyes to greet the woman that now sat at my table. The honey irises that had intrigued me all those months ago met mine and I chuckled low.

“Amber.”

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#august walker #august walker fanfic #august walker fan fiction #august walker fanfiction #august walker fan fic #august walker smut #vampire!august #non-con tw

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lilibetbombshell · 3 years

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BOOK REVIEW: "IRON WIDOW" (IRON WIDOW #1)

BY: XIRAN JAY ZHAO

(ARC Edition)

COMING TOMORROW 09.21.2021!!!

RATING: 5/5 STARS

I was so excited when I read the premise for this book. I thought to myself, “Pacific Rim meets The Handmaid’s Tale? I. Am. Here. For. It!”

And then I opened it up and read Xiran Jay Zhao’s author’s notes at the beginning of my ARC edition and my eyes widened in surprise at the actual premise of this wild, raw, untamed beast of a book… because I realized what this book actually is wasn’t something that could be tidied up and slotted neatly into a bookseller’s constricting summary box: it’s Pacific Rim meets The Handmaid’s Tale meets Chinese gongdou dramas meets the real-life Empress Regnant Wu (the only legitimate female sovereign China ever had) reimagined as a teenage peasant-girl (with a thirst for revenge) turned into a mecha-pilot who seethes at the patriarchy and the way in which women are automatically slotted into place from birth and never given any other options in life and decides NOPE.

Throw that all into a bottle, shake it up, open it, and what you get is the best sci-fi book I think I’ve ever read. The best book shock I’ve ever had. The most blood lust I’ve ever tasted. The best war cry I’ve ever heard. The best blood bath I’ve ever read. The biggest rallying call I’ve ever seen. The sweetest apathy that made me come apart at the seams. The most vengeful hatred I’ve witnessed sharpened to a razor’s edge.

I couldn’t stop reading. I ate through my dinner. I noted passage after passage until I was so swept away by it all I started forgetting to take notes because I was sunk too deep into this futuristic, otherworldly China where one teenage girl who has nothing to lose herself but cares fiercely and violently about so many other things, one man who loves her and is open-minded and educated enough to know that the status quo is wrong and is willing to stand beside her no matter what, and another man who never stood a chance in the world they were born in but is sick of the system. Their culture, their whole world, is built on teams of two. But, between these three people who all can see outside this paradigm, they all acknowledge and accept this world and its conventions are not who they are and it is not meant for them. They were not meant to be slotted into tidy little boxes, just like this book was not meant to be summarized into a limited character count.

This book is distributed in part by Penguin Teen, but I’m telling you: if you think this is just some YA sci-fi book, you’re abso-friggin-lutely wrong. This book is one of those books you NEED to read. It’s an IMPORTANT book. I won’t lie: It’s target audience is very obviously women in their teens and twenties, but I highly encourage women of all ages and ESPECIALLY men to read this book. Listen to the testimony of this book. Listen to its voice. Its pain. Its drive. Its passion. Its motivation. Its anger. Its thirst. Really listen to it and maybe you’ll learn some things about women you never understood before; because, believe me, I felt completely in sync with Wu Zetian every step of the way through this book.

The action scenes in this book are written beautifully and brutally at the same time. The plot is gracefully and carefully mapped out. The science is explained and makes sense when mixed in with the traditional Chinese beliefs regarding qi. The writing is impassioned, driven, and as impactful as the message of the book.

Wu Zetian’s voice, as a character, is probably the best I’ve read in years. She rings clear as a bell and as blunt as a sledgehammer, which is something so refreshing I wanted to jump in the book and volunteer to be her PA because I appreciate people who tell it like it is (and if you don’t like it too bad). Yizhi is a well-educated, strategic, well-connected, rich, sweet, badass cinnamon roll… and his love and dedication for Wu Zetian really threads through this whole book and helps quilt it together. Li Shimin is… a beautiful tragedy. Born into a world that he never stood a chance in and slotted into a system that was always going to work against him, his story is heartbreaking, but the way in which Wu Zetian and he grow to care for one another and take a stand together is glorious. And their partnership with Yizhi shows that a triangle is definitely the stronger shape.

This book does end on a cliffhanger, being as it is the first in a series, but it’s not a cliffhanger without a purpose. That’s all I can say.

In the end, what I will say is this: When I finished this book, it was midnight here in California. All over America, women are fighting for their reproductive rights because men still think they have a say in what we do with our bodies. In Afghanistan, females are back to being banned from receiving an education once more because men say so. In some parts of the world, girls too young to read this book (and some that would never be allowed to anyway) are being slotted into the places they’ll be expected to stay in for the rest of their lives because men say so. When I finished this book, somewhere in the world there was likely another child bride being taken because men say so. And I was FURIOUS. This book made me want to go out and smash the patriarchy, because Wu Zetian is right: no more.

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 3 years

Text

A chatty writing update | novels, short fiction, etc!

Hi folks!

It’s been a while since I last wrote an update on this blog! I thought it’d be fun to go back to basics, and just talk about writing. This post chats about: new plans for Feeding Habits, my newest novel, my short story goals & growing collection, along with process reflections.

(image description: a photo of green leaves with the text “writing update” in a white font written on top. /end image description)

Post starts under the cut!

General taglist (please ask to be added or removed)

@if-one-of-us-falls, @qatarcookie, @chloeswords, @alicewestwater, @laughtracksonata, @shylawrites, @ev–writes, @jaydewritesfiction, @jennawritesstories @eowynandfaramir, @august-iswriting, @aetherwrites, @avakrahn, @maisulli

What have I been up to?

For starters, I finished my second year of my Writing undergrad last week and got two of my final grades back today (A+ baby)! For anyone who has taken online university, y’all already KNOW, but this year was so difficult. Would not recommend! Really proud of myself to have gotten through this absolute rollercoaster of a school term and am excited to get into some writing. That leads us to:

What have I been up to (writing edition)?

2021 started off so fast. By the time January hit, I was so consumed in my new semester that I did not have time to write Feeding Habits (my novel). In the first few days of the term, I managed to write between class, until I could no longer keep up! Essentially, I did not write any of that novel until exam season (last week), where I did manage to get in about 3k words in ~4 days.

Feeding Habits

I’m currently drafting what I believe will be the last chapter of this book (chapter 10: Swan Song). This chapter is so bizarre for a few reasons. It begins the book’s third part and also marks the shift back into Lonan’s head from Harrison’s. I originally thought this part would be much, much longer, with at least another five chapters to go, but quickly realized the book’s content was nearly completed. In my 4 day 3k palooza, I hit 50k in the book (the word count goal), and couldn’t see myself extending past 60k. Since then, I’ve made the loose decision to write this final chapter as a ~novella. Here are a few reasons why:

1. This chapter is structurally very strange.

I unashamedly shift from present to past to present to past past, and so much more every 12 words. I mapped out the timeline on a sheet of paper, and there were over 20 shifts in scenes (the chapter is only about 4400 words at the moment). The fictive past is incredibly important to this chapter, more important than the present, and I thought it would make more sense to not break randomly for a chapter so I could upkeep the consistent inconsistency of the chapter.

2. The chapter is very abstract

This stems from the structural changes, but there are paragraphs in this chapter of the fictive present that are loosely based in reality. They’re more poems than they are factual paragraphs, and keeping them all contained in one place (so a mega chapter/ novella) would reduce the most confusion!

3. There’s not much left to cover

Like I said above, Feeding Habits is on its last leg, lol! I know exactly where the book needs to end up, which is very, very soon from where I’m currently at on the timeline. Swan Song should cover what 2-4 chapters would cover in terms of arcs.

Feeding Habits and I have a really weird relationship, tbh! When I realized a few weeks ago that it’d been over a year since I started the book, I realized I just needed to finish it. Not that I want to rush (because I’ve taken longer than a year to write a book in the past), but that in order to move onto another project, I’d like to put this one behind first. This book has been the hardest thing I’ve ever written, and has reminded me there’s always a time to let go. This sort of scrounges up a conversation about letting this entire series go, which is certainly something I’ve been contemplating doing soon(ish). If this spinoff series gets a third book, that may or may not be the last Fostered book for a very long time (or ever)! There are many complex reasons to move on, but the main one is that I have other projects I’d like to focus on. This is not a definitive decision, but something I’ve certainly been thinking about!

Here are a few excerpts I wrote recently:

(TW: death, gore)

Dying feels like being a trout dangled out of water. Clinging to a hook. Mouth open. Scales iridescent in a final death cry. It’s like blood spurting up the knuckles, drowning out the flesh. It’s that moment on the long fall down when the clouds cup the body. Easy drifting. The sound a skull makes when it cracks is really just the afterthought.

(TW: death, gore)

Kill shot. Death blow. Coup de grace. Right in the heart. He feels it. The blood swelling, slicking his palms. He can do it. Reach into the cavity. Feel for the ribs. Part each bone. Then cup the humming heart. Stay there. Right. It’s never been easier.

Look at this PURE moment of Lonan holding a baby I CANNOT:

The grocery store was a fifteen-minute walk away. With Olivia clinging to his shoulder, Lonan was acutely aware that she could feel his heartbeat. Open valve. Close. Repeat. Hers pulsed right above his, a miniature drumming. The sky had bruised purple, misted with clouds. The evening air nipped his cheeks, so he made sure Olivia was securely fastened between him and his jacket. With wide eyes, she absorbed the drowsy suburbia, all its family cars pulling into driveways, all its couples heading back home after a sunset walk. When Lonan passed a young boy walking two golden retrievers, Olivia giggled, and didn’t stop, even after he’d spent fifty dollars on groceries and nearly the rest on a red Corolla marked with a MUST GO NOW sign outside a convenience store.

Let’s move on!

Mandy and Cora

I said I wouldn’t talk too much about this project, but I just love it so much?? I wanted to share my SUPER early thoughts on drafting a novel, especially one that is SO different from what I’ve been writing recently. I talked about this before in THIS post, but the summary about this project is that it’s a YA contemporary novel! Can’t believe I’m writing YA again, it’s been so long, but I also think it’s going so well. Everything I’ve learned as a literary fiction writer has been a fantastic primer for transferring back to the genre. Admittedly, I have not written much, but I’m having a lot of fun diving back into a lighter project. This is the summary:

Cora and Mandy are identical twins who’ve always done everything together. But when Mandy decides to go to university out of province after graduation and Cora doesn’t, Cora takes this as an opportunity to “test run” life apart from her sister for the first time by spending the summer at her aunt’s house across the country.

I have come up with a few ~things since I last talked about this project, mostly how I’d like to structure it. As of now, I’d like the book to be structured super loosely. I’m really pulling on a lot of inspo from “We Are Okay” by Nina LaCour (which is SO good), particularly how “nothing happens-y” that book is. This project (which I still need a title for!!) will be structured in short chapters that cover something Cora does on her own for the first time (without Mandy). For example, a few ideas are “Flight”, “Lunch”, and “Groceries”. “Flight” is the first “chapter” (they’re really kind of vignettes) where Cora flies to her aunt’s house. I still can’t determine if this book will take place in Canada. On one hand, I feel like there will be a wider audience if it takes place in the US (is that just an assumption??? maybe?? someone let me know!), but also: don’t really care too much about an audience at the moment! It could also take place in Canada (So Ontario and British Columbia). But if it does take place in the US, I think it may take place in NYC and San Francisco. The problem is: I really don’t like researching lol, and while I’ve been to NYC many times, I will definitely write it wrong! Does this really matter on a first draft?? absolutely not lol, but of course I am already overthinking!

But back to structure: I am looking forward to seeing what this looser structure will do. This is a story that is solely around one half of a set of twins learning to be her own person (and ultimately that she doesn’t have to completely forget her sister in order to do that), and as a twin who KNOWS this feeling, I think this structure of her doing things for the first time is SUPER relatable.

I was worried it might sound silly/worrying to others who are not twins that Cora hadn’t done things like “lunch” or “groceries” on her own, but I feel this so much as an identical twin myself! Not that she hasn’t done anything at all by herself, but as a twin, when you do something without your twin for the first few times, at least in my experience, you notice. If any twins are reading this--weigh in!

This story is the most personal thing I’ve ever written. It definitely is an OwnVoices book! Usually, I avoid details that are remotely similar to me because they make me uncomfortable haha, but with this book, it’s all me, lol! The characters are all Guyanese, which is SO fun because I’ve been planning what they eat (my fellow Caribbean peeps know: the FOOD!), which is so fun (yes they have pumpkin and shrimp, yes they have roti, yes they have pera, yes they have mithai). Every time I’ve gone to dabble at this book, or even think about it, I get incredibly emotional for this reason? I don’t exactly know why. I think this is a story I just so want to tell, with the culture I love SO much that I definitely struggled to love as a child. This is reclamation bitchessss!

Not going to lie tho: the prospect of writing ~a book~ is kind of freaky! I’m going to make the minimum word count for this book pretty short (50k) and see where it goes from there. I think I will focus on this project this summer! Originally I was going to write a literary novel this summer, but I think this one’s calling my name!

Here’s a pretty rough excerpt:

Try. I remind myself that’s what I’m doing after the flight attendant fills me a disposable cup of Coca Cola and all I can think of is Mandy and I shoving Mentos into a bottle of the stuff when we were twelve. Just me, wedged in the middle seat between an exchange student heading out for summer break and a middle-aged woman sipping a cocktail, thinking of Mandy and I bursting whole oranges in a blender when we were bored one Winter break as the plane dips through a wave of turbulence. Mandy and I dying our hair neon green with highlighters (didn’t work—our hair is too dark) as the plane lands on the tarmac. Mandy and I arguing so loud last month, we both lost our voices as I lug my carry-on out of the overhead compartment and shuffle off the plane and through the airport, searching for Aunt Vel.

Short Fiction

I’ve written so much short fiction this year! I have a goal to write a short story a month (they can range in length, as long as 1 is “complete”), so my short story brain has seriously been soaking it all up lately. Let’s chat my month to month breakdown so far:

January:

I wrote four stories in January! The first is a flash fiction piece called “Shark Swimming” that follows a young woman who attends a shark swimming class after breaking up with her girlfriend. I wrote this story for a “test” workshop for my fiction class, and it was based off the prompt “think about something you’re afraid to do and make the character do that thing”. I’m not particularly afraid of sharks, but had been wanting to use the title “Shark Swimming” for AGES (literally since 2018).

This story is one of my favourites. It’s only about 900 words, but I think there’s something profound in how mundanely specific it is. The entire story doesn’t even see the narrator swim with sharks once; it actually takes place fully in the sanctuary’s lobby. But I really love this narrator. This is the first story I’ve written in second person in a while, though I felt really connected to the unnamed narrator. She struggles with accepting that she truly is a “boring” person, and there’s something about the final image that really gets me!

I’ve been submitting this around, though it’s been rejected a handful of times. Hoping I can secure it at a magazine one day because I really love it!

The second story is “Joanne, I’ll Pray for You” which is actually a rewrite of one of my very first short stories (the first story I did not write for a class haha), “NYC in Your Apartment”. I LOVE this rewrite a lot, and also learned the original is not a very good short story! Revising this story taught me just how much I’ve learned in the 2 years I’ve been writing short fiction. Seeing the 2019 version versus the 2021 version side by side is fascinating because I essentially “gutted’ the 2019 version of its beginning and end until all that was left was the middle of the story (aka the actual story). AKA: this is the only story I’ve ever written with a hopeful ending and I cut out all the happy bits lol I am SO sorry (that arc is more for a novel or novella). That’s how this went from a 5k word story to an 1800 word story (my Submittable thanks me for this lol). A lot of details and scenes I included were more pertinent to a 3 act structure/novel, which of course short stories don’t often have because of their brevity. I love rambling about writing theory, and seeing that actually pay off is so fascinating!

(TW: trauma)

Like the original, this story follows Joanne, a woman in her early twenties, who spontaneously breaks up with her boyfriend. She claims the poltergeist haunting her drove her to this decision. The original draft focused a lot more on the traumatic events Joanne survives, but this draft really loosens them up. It focuses less so on the events themselves, and more on how Joanne’s life is affected. I found the details of these events were less important, and even sort of contradicted Joanne’s insistence she is being haunted. Instead, the poltergeist really takes more precedence in the new draft as a force Joanne doesn’t understand. That ambiguity, I think, is what the story truly needed.

I also centralized Joanne’s relationship with her boyfriend, Julian, here. Now don’t get me wrong, I really didn’t add anything to this draft. It was a matter of trimming the fat around it to leave the lean “meat” in the centre. But by removing that fat, I was able to emphasize what was most important here, and that was her relationship. Julian always played a really big role in the original draft, but I feel like his role as both a friend and partner to Joanne is much more emphasized since this draft literally is only two scenes now. Because there is less, there is more room for Joanne to reflect, which I’m happy about!

A final change I made was the setting and therefore the title. The original, which was “NYC in Your Apartment,” I couldn’t keep because I shifted the setting to Toronto (this is how I originally saw it, but in 2019 I just?? couldn’t?? write?? canlit??), and “Toronto in Your Apartment” sounded sort of gross LOL. The new title comes from a line in the story which I think is more relevant to the themes!

The next short story I wrote in January was “How to Spell Alpaca.” This one is super fun because I wrote it SO fast (in about 15 minutes or so). THIS is the writing update if you’re interested in learning more. I talked extensively about this one in that update, but some developments are that I dove into an edit a few weeks ago to really understand the core of the story. I’m still not quite there (this is just an intuitive feeling; I know not everything has “clicked), but I am really intrigued by the two mothers in the story, the narrator, and her newfound acquaintance, Violet. Both really struggle to understand their place as mothers (the narrator even declares she isn’t a mother anymore). The narrator, who is in her 50s, sees herself in Violet, who is much younger (~20s), and so she views Violet’s relationship with her daughter in a cautionary, yet mournful way, like she can see it will end up like her own relationship with her daughter, despite wanting the opposite. This is a really subtle story. I feel like if you blink, you’ll miss the message. But I think it’s compelling for that reason. It’s really a portrait of parenting and how to grapple with mistakes you may make that inevitably affect your children. Wow just unlocked the theme writing this lol.

The final story I wrote in January is “The Party,” which may be in my top 3 faves I’ve ever written. This story follows Aida, a recent divorcee in her ~40s. The day her divorce turns official, she moves into a new house and receives a party invitation addressed to the previous homeowner, yet RSVP’s anyway. At this party, she’s hoping to find some sense of noticeability, having struggled with being nondescript her whole life. Things seem quite normal at the party, until it gets bizarre.

I LOVE this story, y’all. Like “How to Spell Alpaca” it really delves into motherhood. Aida, our narrator, is incredibly hurt after her divorce. She now lives farther from her children she struggled to feel connected to in the first place, and doesn’t really know how to reignite her life. This party is a means to do that. This is the first story I’ve written that contains a “twist” which is strange because I really prefer stories that give us as much info as possible upfront, but yes, this one sort of twists.

February

I wrote one story in February, and that was “Protect the Young.” This title is SO changing when I think of a new one because it’s thematically incorrect, haha, but this story follows a woman in her late 40s whose daughter, Lindy, announces she is married the same day all their backyard chickens turn up dead. The discovery of dead chickens prompts our narrator to recall her ex-husband’s murder and the role her daughter may have played in his death.

I love this story so much! I think this would make a great closing for my short story collection. It just has that vibe! I wrote this for my second fiction workshop. I thought I had to hand in the story a week earlier than I had to, so I panicked and wrote this in one sitting! Little did I know, I did not need to do that lol but I’m very happy because this story is so fun. We get to learn more about Arnold (her ex), his relationship with Lindy, and how that translates to Lindy’s relationship with her new husband, Malcolm. I LOVE true crime (I listen to about 3-4 hours of case coverage daily), and this is my first “true crime” story. Because of that, I’m very sus of a few details that probably wouldn’t slide in actual investigatory work, so I’ll also be working on that in a revision. My professor also gave me a great suggestion that may alter the story’s structure a bit, though I look forward to toggling with it in the future.

March

In March, I was really on a Criminal Minds kick lol. I’ve been watching this show since I was seven (oops), and dove into a rewatch since it hit Disney+! This story, “Where to Run When the Lamb Roars,” is very clearly Rachel watching 5 episodes of CM a day. Oops! We follow 14-year-old Astrid as she and her older half brother kidnap a young girl to sacrifice for their yearly ritual.

I knew a few things going into this story, but the main thing was that I did NOT want to show any details of a potential murder (if one even occurs). I really wanted to keep all of those elements off the page because this story is not about those events, but about Astrid’s relationship with her brother. They are a murderous duo, with Astrid actually being the dominant partner. I wanted to explore that. I knew her brother, Fox, was more of a submissive partner in their team, even when he used to do this same thing with his father when he was much younger (chilling!), and so it was a task to explore how this young girl’s desire for violence works. The end actually comes right before the story starts, one could say, but I like it for this reason. It really made me contemplate the story by the time I finished it, and helped me examine what it really was about versus what it appeared to be about.

April

(TW: sexual content, non explicit)

I was so busy this month! Who knows if I’ll write a story last minute, but I did write one story this month called “Five Times Fast.” I wrote this during a “writing sprint” that was being hosted at a flash fiction workshop I recently took with one of my favourite writers ever, K-Ming Chang. I learned so much from this class, and am so happy I came out of it with a draft! This story is just over 300 words, so the shortest flash I’ve ever written, but I’m really happy with it. It was based off the prompt “describe the last time you or your character was naked.” In this case, the narrator has a “friends with benefits” relationship with Ricky who works at a laundromat. This story highlights a moment in this relationship (and also Ricky’s goofy personality lol). I really like it! Hopefully I’ll submit it to some magazines soon.

My short story collection

Very briefly I wanted to touch on my short story collection which I’ve titled “She is Also Dead.” I’ve been meaning to make a blog post on this, so look out for that in the coming months, but this collection is already at around 35k words (about 14 stories so far). The collection also surprisingly has a solid amount of flash fiction which is kind of fun! There’s definitely a range here, which is what I personally love in short story collections.

I feel very professional now that I have a ~collection chart. This is her:

(image description: A chart with the title “She is Also Dead.” It is broken into four columns: Story, Status, Word Count, and Published. Entry 1 - Story: Slaughter the Animal. Status: Revisions, Word Count, 3982, Published: N/A. Entry 2 - Story: Joanne, I’ll Pray for You, Status: Polished, Word Count: 1809, Published: N/A. Entry 3 - Story: Primary Organs, Status: Published, Word Count: 2342, Published: The Malahat Review. Entry 4 - Story: Faberge, Status, Polished, Word Count: 619, Published: N/A. Entry 5 - Story: The Wolf-Antelope Will Not Come for Us, Status, Polished, Word Count: 1556, Published: filling Station (forthcoming). Entry 6 - Story: How to Spell Alpaca, Status: revisions, Word Count: 1327, Published: N/A. Entry 7 - Story: Blink Twice for Final Judgement, Status: Polished, Word Count: 6572, Published: N/A. Entry 8 - Story: The Species is Dead, Status: Published, Word Count: 1208, Published: Minola Review. Entry 9 - Story: Shark Swimming, Status: Polished, Word Count: 907, Published: N/A. Entry 10 - Story: The Party, Status, Polished, Word Count 2339, Published: N/A. Entry 11 - Story: Fig, Status: Polished, Word Counter: 947, Published: N/A. Entry 12 - Story: Protect the Young, Status: Revisions, Word Count: 4128, Published: N/A. Entry 13 - Story: Where to Run When the Lamb Roars, Status: Revisions, Word Count: 2174, Published: N/A. Entry 14 - Story: Phantom Limbs, Status: Revisions, Word Count: 4844, Published: N/A.) /end image description.

This order is DEFINITELY not permanent (at this point whenever I write a story, I just fit it randomly into this chart lol), and some of the info is outdated (for example, Slaughter the Animal is now polished!!! thank god!!!). But just an idea of what I’m thinking of including.

This is the summary so far:

In SHE IS ALSO DEAD, characters are pushed to act on their gravest impulses. A small town turns murderous when their local invasive species, the Janices, begin dying. A child struggles to understand her mother’s suicide. A college dropout who insists she’s being haunted by a poltergeist unexpectedly breaks up with her boyfriend. A mother acknowledges her daughter’s murderous tendencies after her backyard chickens mysteriously die. A young girl caters the funeral of a girl rumored to be killed by a wolf-antelope. A newly-divorced mother RSVP’s to a bizarre party she was not invited to, and a murderous brother and sister upkeep their yearly tradition of abducting a young girl. These stories follow characters who navigate death, violent desires, womanhood, and loss, both self-imposed and otherwise.

This is also so subject to change as I may pull and add stories to the collection!

I think I’m going to leave this update here for now! I’ve written TONS of poetry too, but I honestly ~hate my poetry right now lol, so! Hope you enjoyed this chill rambly update. Hope writing has going well for you all! All the best!

--Rachel

#writing #writeblr #writerblr #amwriting #writingupdates

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lnarizakis · 4 years

Text

you and i.

with atsumu miya.

in 2.2k words.

tags mutual pining, fluff, in which atsumu tries to scare the unscareable.

“‘I love you,’ he told her, after all these years of his longing eyes following her swaying body; after all these years of his always looking for her but never finding her.

“Pensive, she looked down, at the ground, or at her feet and whatnot, then back up at him. ‘I love you too,’ she replied, after what seemed like the time it took for him to tell her he loved her. She took his hands in hers, and reached in, ever so slowly, and…”

The book was taken from your grasp before you could ever read what was to come next. You stared at empty hands, then up at the thief of your book.

“Ah!” he gasped, “Did I scare you this time?” His words came out of him so fluidly and so repetitively that anyone would have known this was a long-time challenge of Miya Atsumu: to scare the unscareable. He’d done everything he could think of to get you stiff in the legs, cowering in fear, or just gasp aloud, but everything he managed to do ended with a “No, Atsumu-kun, you didn’t scare me today.”

It happened again. You held out your hands for him to return the book, and you said aloud, “No, Atsumu-kun, you didn’t scare me today.”

He let out another sigh in defeat and trudged back to his own seat in the classroom. There he sat not wallowing in the misery of his failure, but in the heat of his embarrassment, flustered as he held his hand that brushed against your own.

Atsumu’s brother Osamu noticed long ago the change in his brother— he wanted to assume it was back in your first year of middle school when Atsumu was surely (though, of course, he didn’t know it himself) in love with every part of you. If Osamu were to presume an exact time at which you were all Atsumu could ever focus on, he would say it was on one cold afternoon, and the three of you were having lunch together…

“Well—! Well, it’s clearly Osamu who’s the one bad at keeping secrets!” Atsumu exclaimed. The tips of ears grew red from embarrassment; neither you nor Osamu believed it was the chill in the air that made him stutter in his words, his eyes dart all over the openness of your middle school playground, or the corners of his mouth twitch in the formation of a smile. One hand itched the side of his face while the other gripped his sandwich, which was clearly falling apart from his firm hold on it.

“How is it a secret that you pissed the bed? I’m absolutely positive that (Y/N) would think you’re the bed-wetter type,” Osamu refuted, emphasizing his sureness. “What, should I tell ‘em why exactly you wet the bed, hm? All ‘cause you were afraid of that super-scary movie we watched before going to sleep?”

“It’s Sadako, of all the movies we watched! Of course I would be scared! I’m sure (Y/N) would be just as scared, huh? Wouldn’t you, (Y/N)?” Atsumu was so close to shouting at his brother, but he was so out of his seat to lean forward, closer to Osamu practically to spit in his face. Long forgotten was his sandwich, but you next to him brought him back down to his seat and his senses. He turned to you, almost in desperation that you’d agree with him.

You hummed. “I’m not scared of anything.”

Osamu sputtered out a laughter. Atsumu stared slack-jawed at you, then shot his eyes toward his brother.

“This isn’t some laughing matter, ‘Samu! You guys are just makin’ me out to be a wuss right now!” Atsumu exclaimed.

He then added, “... Which I am clearly not!”

Again, Atsumu sat back down in his seat, as he found himself standing from the excitement bubbling in him. He sighed, hesitating to raise his white flag in defeat, and he rested his head on the slightly-sticky lunch table. Atsumu whined aloud from his skin touching the cold plastic of the table.

“There’s something you’ve gotta be scared of, (Y/N),” Atsumu said after a while of Osamu’s silent chewing and the pages of your book crisply turning.

“There’s nothing, really.” You continued with the book you were reading, deeply engrossed in it. There was a small smile resting on your face, Atsumu noticed. Something in him made him want to reach up and brush the strands of hair that fell over your gentle eyes— were you not aware of your vision being slightly covered, or was Atsumu reading too much into your appearance right now?

You turned to Atsumu, and he thought you were going to comment on his eyes that couldn’t peel themselves away from your face. Instead, he was faced with words that pierced his heart warm.

“Well, you can try to scare me, though.”

Atsumu thought he was being challenged, but as he looked back on his blooming feelings for you, it seemed like a taunt. Though, it was all the taunting that made him feel it was his end goal: to get you to lower your walls and reveal expressions you never would have made if it weren’t for him. The diamond in the rough was just taunting him to brush all that dust off itself.

You were, in every way, his greatest challenger…

… and it was all the more reason for him to fall for you.

It was a week before Halloween where he found himself looking out the window, staring at the orange leaf that clung persistently to the naked branch of the tree, despite the chaos of the wind pushing it all sorts of directions. His hand still tingled from his earlier actions, which really didn’t help with the lack of notes in his notebook. Atsumu carefully took a glance in your direction, where you sat with poise a few seats behind him, taking diligent notes.

In actuality, the corner of your page was scrawled with the same words again and again: “You and I, You and I.” It was the last line of your book Atsumu had snatched from your hands that morning, and it was the line that left you in chills the first time reading it, and again the fourth time skimming over it.

It was the line you wished was to become of you and Atsumu.

“You and I.”

“What’s that mean?”

It was a week after being in your new high school, and you still hadn’t gotten used to Atsumu’s and Osamu’s newly colored hairstyles. Your eyes lingered up at Atsumu’s blond hair before trailing down to his brown eyes as you told him it was the last line of the book you had just finished reading.

“What’s it about?” Atsumu asked you, still standing above you as you sat patiently at your desk, waiting for class to start.

“Oh, it’s really the best book ever— It’s about this boy who’s so hopelessly in love with this girl… and he does everything he can to get her to fall in love with her…! And I’m pretty sure you’re never going to read it, so I’ll just tell you what happens.

“At the end of the book, the boy goes up to the girl, his hands in his pockets, right? And he’s lookin’ down at the floor, ‘cause he’s all nervous and stuff, and he goes: ‘I love you!’ and the girl is just so relieved because after all these years… she’s liked him back. Ever since they were small children. Isn’t that so romantic?”

He hummed, giving you a slight nod. All of that rambling of your favorite book made you feel yourself heating up, and you were positive it wasn’t the warmth of the spring morning. Atsumu then pummeled his fists onto your desk, creating a “Bang!” that was sure to scare you out of your wits. He even added his own “Ah!” of his own to surprise you even further.

“Did that scare you, (Y/N)?”

“No, Atsumu-kun, you didn’t scare me today.”

Atsumu turned back to face his notes, or whatever was written hastily on the blank page. He’d got to try and scare you at least on Halloween. There was no way he’d ask for the help of Osamu or Suna again, who had so seriously suggested that Atsumu should scare you by Facetiming you so early in the morning, with his crusty eyes and raspy morning voice. He couldn’t ask Kita or Aran, either, who would tell him not to scare you in the first place.

He sighed wistfully. It was much too loud for his own taste, for his teacher jerked his head back, barking at Atsumu, asking him, “What’s so tiring about my class, Miya-kun?”

—

The days came and went, and soon enough, Halloween greeted you with a tap on the shoulder. You shrugged its greeting away, hoping to pass through this day like any other, though you knew Atsumu was to have something up his sleeve for today.

Of course, he did. Atsumu’s plan was menial— silly, almost— but he was sure it was to leave you stiff, standing still right when he jumps out at you from around the corner. After school, you were to walk from the second years’ hallway to the shoe lockers by the entrance of the school building. As you turn the corner, Atsumu will jump out at you, startling you and perhaps even dropping whatever you had in your arms. It was the perfect plan, and it was sure to work out in the end, leaving him the victor.

Atsumu smirked to himself as he leaned against the wall, waiting for you to pass by. Soon, the soft pitter-patter of your shoes grew louder in his ears, and he huffed out a breath, getting ready to jump out and scare you. He squared his shoulders, held his chin high with pride, and his concentration hardened his expression to give everyone passing by the extra scare factor.

You were coming close, and Atsumu could almost feel your presence. With a pivot just as graceful as a precise setter’s first step, he jumped out in front of you from behind the corner, and shouted right in your ear, where it would soon be sore for days.

Upon seeing Atsumu, you stilled in your tracks. You drilled bored eyes into Atsumu’s face, which glowed with the spirit of a champion.

“I scared you…! I finally scared ya!”

“No, Atsumu-kun, you didn’t scare me today.” You passed by him, who wilted in defeat once again. He slouched only enough for you to notice, and you pitied him only slightly. A slight chuckle made its way through your closed smile as you looked down, so as not to reveal your flustered expression.

He groaned. “Agh, I still haven’t scared ya? And it’s literally Halloween, the scariest day of the year! I’m supposed to scare you on this day!”

“It’s okay if you can’t,” you said, attempting to console him, “Halloween’s just some regular day, just like any other.” He followed you to the shoe lockers, where you both began to exchange your indoor shoes for your outdoors ones. The two of you continued on to the front gate, where Atsumu argued with you.

“Sure, it’s some regular day to you, but it’s not to me! It’s, like, the six-thousandth year anniversary of me trying to scare ya, and, like, the eighteen-thousandth year anniversary of me havin’ the biggest, dumbest crush on you—!”

Your heart stopped, and so did you. Every part of you went stiff, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to turn around, even if it was just your head, and ask Atsumu to repeat what he said. You thought your breathing went shallow as you managed to look behind you at the boy, he himself just as frightened of his own words.

“Did you just say—?”

“That I like you?” Atsumu paused. “Yeah, I did.”

You let out a breath, almost exasperated, as you exclaimed, walking closer to him, “You…! You scared me! Thought after all these years… you’d never say it…”

The two of you grew silent, and as your head hung low from the embarrassment that pushed it down, all that filled your vision was the dust that accumulated at your worn-out shoes and a couple dried leaves that danced past Atsumu’s feet.

“I scared you, didn’t I?” was all he could say. You jerked your head up at him with the most exasperated expression, and all he had to give you was a smug look, claiming himself the winner— though not in the way he wanted. Still, the fluster adorned your face, and so you brushed your hair out of the way for Atsumu to rest his forehead on yours.

He exhaled. “I finally did it,” he mumbled through a smile, “I scared you and you’re mine now, too. Double win.”

You pulled away from him. “Since when am I yours? I never told you I liked you.”

Atsumu whined, groaning aloud, “Huh? Now I gotta get you to say you like me back, which probably won’t happen for another five years? You’re so unfair, (Y/N).” He reached for your hand, which you gladly took in yours, and the two of you began walking home in unison.

His hand was warm.

You clasped it tighter.

“You and I,” you breathed out.

Atsumu turned to you. “You say something?”

You shook your head, smiling softly to yourself. “No, it’s nothing.”

It’s just you and I.

happy birthday, hana! @wansseul

#haikyuu x reader #hq!! x reader #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu x reader #miya x reader #hq atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader

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amberwild420 · 3 years

Text

one step back, two steps forward (pt. 8)

masterlist

family dinner

The girls chatted as they stepped out of the school. Luka and Kagami promised to meet them there so they can all go for the dinner. And true to their words they were there.

Luka! Kagami! So glad you could make it!

I wouldn’t miss our duel for anything.

Kagami slightly smiled. Since lunch, she had been looking forward to the duel. Luka merely smiled and the group walked towards Kaylan’s home.

When Kaylan told them about class and the drama that unfolded after class, they were angry but pleased when Kaylan used Bustier’s words against the class.

You seriously need to teach me how to trash talk!

Marinette laughed. All the responses and comebacks that Kaylan had used till now made her days.

I can teach you but you have to toughen up first. What they are doing is wrong and I want you to save yourself.

Marinette gave a sad smile. Luka, Kagami and Kaylan shared a look.

I trust them that they can realize the truth and everything will be back to how it was.

I don’t think so.

Kaylan fired back. She stopped, making the rest stop too. She had a blank face but her eyes were calculating.

Marinette…..*sigh*………..look I know you say that everything will be ok or that you trust them, but……but deep down you know that after what they had done, you won’t be able to trust them……………..at least not like before………you know before all this started. As for that everything will be alright……….it’s just as connected to the trust. You think it will be alright but you know that your trust and relationship will be strained. So much that slowly and sub-consciously you will cut them out.

Marinette made a face. A flash of coldness passed through her eyes. But it was gone before she mumbled,

You wouldn’t know that.

I know that. I have seen that. Or rather someone close to me had seen that and told me.

For a moment they looked vulnerable. But it was gone when Marinette nodded. She seriously needed to talk to Tikki. She was good at listening and giving advises.

Come on we don’t want to be late.

They silent moment broke and they walked towards the apartment building.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The woman smiled sweetly and welcomed the trio in. As soon as they settled in the woman started mothering them, hugging them tightly, asking them of their day, talking non-stop.

Mom! You are overwhelming them. Slowdown will ya!

The woman stopped abruptly and smiled sheepishly when she saw the expression of the trio.

Sorry. Sorry. I was just excited that you made so many friends in such a short time.

*sigh* this is Veronica Fox, my mother. She is a freelance psychiatrist. And yes, she is the one who made the banshee therapy for akuma prevention.

Oh! It’s nice to meet you kids. I’m so happy you made friends with my broody daughter.

I’m not broody. Batman brood. I sit back and judge……… And fight when they irritate me.

Marinette nervously laughed not knowing what was going on. The difference between the mother and daughter was like sun and moon. And judging by Kagami’s attempt to hide her smile and Luka’s quite snicker they must have thought the same.

She could feel Tikki’s amusement from her purse.

At least someone’s having fun.

She thought and sighed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The small training room was cozy. Their apartment was not by any mean big and luxurious but it wasn’t too small. The two bedrooms, a living room, a guestroom, a kitchen and a spare room turned to training room was definitely not small. Kagami was attracted towards the small assortment of the blades on the wall.

A beautiful long bladed spear stood tall in the center. The shine and sharpness of the blade gave her a sense of satisfaction.

Next to it was a double bladed weapon. Marinette who stood behind Kagami looked confused.

I don’t think I had ever seen this type of weapon in your collection Kagami. What type of weapon is this?

She whispered to the Japanese girl who looked rather stunned.

A naginata! Kaylan called from behind them. Veronica left the teens to get started for the evening tea. Luka also joined the girls, giving out an impressed whistle.

It’s not easy to wield a weapon of this caliber. Not without years and years of practice.

Kagami looked impressed.

Wait were her eyes shining like all those anime characters she had seen or was Marinette hallucinating?

Kaylan looked amused. She picked up the blade in question and went in the middle of the room. The rest waiting in the side in anticipation. Kaylan stood with her eyes closed mentally preparing to do a simple trick rather then something complicated.

With a sigh, she opened her eyes and spin the pole around her with a familiar ease and pointed it towards Kagami, who looked like a child in a candy store.

Smiling softly she put the weapon back to where it belonged.

It was impressive!

Kagami said with a wide smile. If it wasn’t her ability to school her emotion she would be rumbling like Marinette normally does.

I’m glad you thought so. To me it is like a fish to water. That’s why I learned to fight with this far quicker.

Uh……….. Marinette didn’t know what to ask but she shuffled around nervously before opening her mouth to ask her a question.

Is it really hard to fight with this two blade pole?

Yes. / It is.

Both girls said at the same time. They looked at each other before turning towards the designer.

Wielding a naginata requires a lot of practice. Especially for women. First because of the height and weight that requires a lot of upper body strength. This one is normal length mostly used by samurai’s. Women warriors use one smaller and lighter.

Kagami told them rather eagerly. She wanted to learn. But her affinity was with sword. But to see one here and someone to use a weapon she longed to learn right in front of her was making her warm in chest.

It’s not just the upper body strength……… Kaylan interrupted.

Normal naginata have only one blade. Mine has double blade. It makes it even more difficult to practice. You can’t get distracted. Or one of the two blades can cut you.

Kagami nodded. This is exactly what made this weapon so magnetic for her. She turned to the wall and picked up the only katana from the wall.

The beautiful white sheath with small patterns and beautifully crafted handle. Marinette subtly took out her sketch book, suddenly inspired by a sword to make a base line of her next dress.

Kagami unsheathe the sword, admiring the blade before turning to Kaylan.

I believe a duel is in order.

Kaylan only smirked before taking her sword and turning towards the sparring mat. Kagami unsheathed her own saber but was bummed out when Kaylan didn’t unsheathed her own but didn’t comment on it.

Luka who was silent all this time, stepped forward to act as referee since Marinette was in her zone.

Both girls got in position, blades pointing each other. The moment Luka signaled both clashed. Both countering the other, not letting other to take advantage of the opening.

Marinette looked at the dual fascinated. Tikki the ever loving god/Kawami was recording the dual. (She is still hiding in the purse mind you. She just doesn’t want her chosen’s friend to get into trouble when they clearly forgot about the promised video.)

It was until Kagami thrust her saber point blank and it hit Kaylan in the shoulder when she tried to block it. A moment of silence passed before Kaylan chuckled and relaxed.

Not bad, Tsurugi!

Kagami who looked rather bewildered. Apparently she didn’t thought it would actually hit. But she relaxed when Kaylan laughed. She smiled.

Not too bad yourself, Fox.

Best out of three?

I don’t mind.

And with that they positioned themselves again.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next two rounds were a tie and another win for Kagami, though it was longer than any match Kagami ever participated.

I would have won if it was my trusty pole.

Kaylan said, before putting the katana back to its place. Kagami let out a hum of affirmation. No doubt there, she was good at handling it. They turned to the pair of whip coiled at the wall.

A silver whip with a small curved blade.

And another with golden handle and an arrow like blade. Both adorn the wall, with a grace of their own.

How good are you with a whip?

It was Marinette who asked this time. Her eyes were calculatingly looking at the weapon. If she is good with such weapons then giving her a miraculous with an unconventional weapon will be easy for her to use in akuma battle.

Better than sword. Almost as good as gladiator.

The trio raised an eyebrow. She smiled sheepishly before gesturing towards the naginata.

You named that thing? Kagami looked rather amused. The designer and the musician snickered when Kaylan let out a dramatic gasp.

How dare you call gladiator a thing?! He is my trustworthy ally.

The trio laughed. A whine that was more like complaining sounded. A smile rose to her lips, Veronica looked at the old picture on the fridge. It was two of them, she cried when she first held her smiling daughter. It was one of her favorite memory.

Her life hasn’t been easy. No friend. No family. But it felt nice to hear her talking to friends, laughing. Maybe it was the right decision to come here despite the emotional terrorist.

Kids, have some snacks! God forbid I can’t have any more kids with no self-care.

MOM!!!

And one again the laughter rose.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taking a bite of the fruit sandwich, Marinette hummed in satisfaction. Fruit tart and fruit trifle were available in bakery but……… she definitely need to get the recipe.

Kagami looked right at home. Well, considering it was from her home country. Luka, Kaylan and her mother were tending to their tea.

Now that we all are gathered……..let’s begin the interrogation.

Veronica winked at the kids making them giggle while Kaylan rolled her eyes fondly.

So I know about Marinette being the aspiring fashion designer that could give other designer a run for their money, what about two of you? I don’t think any of you was mentioned before.

That’s because we met today and I decided that are worth my time and effort. Unlike some liars and dumb sheep that share only one brain cell which could die anytime now.

Veronica lightly slapped her on the thigh, but Kaylan just shamelessly smirked. The trio exchanged knowing glances.

Yep, they were like sun and the moon. Not like mother, like daughter kind.

Kagami is a world class fencer. She had won many gold medals in every single competition and she is training for the Olympus.

Marinette excitedly started talking. The girl in question had a very tiny blush on her cheeks when her friend kept gushing about her.

I’m actually a guitarist, I was with the kitty section but now I’m going solo.

And Luka sometimes intern with Jagged Stone, he can hear the songs of the soul.

That’s nice I’m sure you wouldn’t mind telling me what type of music my soul emits?

The said boy nodded before closing his eyes and focusing while everyone else held their breath when they saw Luka frowning. It wasn’t like the unpleasant frown when he heard Lila’s song. But more like he couldn’t figure out how to tell.

It’s…………

Everyone leaned forward batting their breath waiting for him to speak.

It’s ……it’s like many different melodies mixed together. Not like a mush or anything unpleasant. More like…..orchestra? No more like a mix classic and rock band.

Veronica looked eager to learn about the mixed melody. Kagami and Marinette looked curious as well. Kaylan just calmly sipped her tea before interrupting.

Let me guess? Sharp and fast notes of violin, upbeat of a drum? That’s her alright.

here

She got another hit from her mother but she just rolled her eyes hiding her smile behind the cup.

You don’t need to hide it mom, anyone who dares to antagonize you learn about your gentle sharpness, your excitement and upbeat personality is what everyone you meet knows. What else is there to hide?

True. Luka said as his eyes turned to the woman in question.

However there is softness hiding underneath those sharp notes, your love.

Veronica looked rather pleased. She was beaming.

Oh! Oh! What about my daughter?!

I don’t want you to hear it.

She flat-out refused. A little pestering occurred but she just fondly rolled her eyes.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Playing mortal combat, while sharing stories with each other was a good time pass. Marinette sharing her experience about being clumsy even if she could haul a 50kg bag of flour on her shoulder with ease. Kagami sharing her training and fencing experience. Luka telling them about all the melodies he had ever heard and how Marinette was the most beautiful one he ever heard (cue lots of blushing and whining and teasing). Kaylan sharing her moving around experience and difference in cultures.

Time passed quickly and it was time for dinner. It was rather pleasant. A few jokes passed around. When they left, Veronica insisted they come to their place whenever they feel like it. They were welcomed to return when they felt like it.

It would be best if you kids come around more often. I’m a therapist and I can see the amount of stress you kids are shouldering. It is not good normally but it is worse when you are emotionally hostage of a terrorist. So come by when you feel like you have to unwind. I might not be able to give a 100% solution but a better coping system will be nice. So don’t hesitate.

Kaylan looked as serious as her but didn’t say anything. They bid their farewell and left.

#One Step Back #two steps forward #miraculous ladybug #original character #marinette protection squad #Marinette deserves better #Marinette needs a hug #someone give Marinette a hug #i'm finally back

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clingymickey · 3 years

Text

Here's some angst for ya! Got to be honest tho I'm more a fluff gal when it comes to writing but got into the mood of writing some angst. So enjoy <33 (It's my first time writing angst btw.). Also please read the tags before you read this.

ALWAYS BESIDE YOU

Panic. That's all he's feeling at the moment. Panic. Panic. Panic. He feels like he can't breathe. Harsh breaths. He jolted up awake. Eyes wide open, face and palms sweaty, shoulder's stiff, rushed breathing; right there beside him is his husband, his partner, lover, family, with a concerned and wary look on his face. His hands running up and down his back comforting him, making him feel safe.

"Hey, Mickey, Mick, what's wrong?" Ian asks worriedly.

Eyes look towards him, his breath still harsh. He's trying to think of words to say but nothing comes out.

"Hey, breathe, Mick, just breathe" he says softly. "Just follow me, alright."

His chest rising, and as it deflates, warm air brushing Mickey's cheek. He tries to follow the same; soon his breaths slowly becoming steady again.

"Thank you," Mickey finally lets out, voice a little hitched. "I really needed that."

Ian says nothing except for an accepting nod and his hands holding his head tight.

"You wanna talk about it?" Ian asks calmly once the tension died down. It's fine if Mickey doesn't want to talk about it, he knows whatever it was bothering him, it would be hard for him to talk about.

Mickey doesn't reply, and Ian doesn't push it any further.

After a long time, he finally whispers, "I think I had a bad dream."

Well, more like a bad childhood memory than a dream.

"It was Terry" he said with a tone of spite. "He sent me and Iggy for a run, and when I came back, he was standing there with 4 bottles of empty beer next to him, throwing all of my drawings into the flame."

Mickey paused for some time. Chewing his bottom lip with his canine hard enough until it started to bleed slightly – thinking of how to put his words next. Ian's arms still wrapped around his back and head, calming his fear away.

"Drawing is for pussies is what he said," voice breaking a little. "Ain't no son of mine a pussy" Mickey repeats, then wincing, remembering exactly what his father did after he said that.

"He slowly walked towards me and as he came closer his fist met my face sending me towards this glass table we had, my body crashing into that, it became all bloody and bruised up, broken glass pieces everywhere." he says, smiling a little, although his smile not meeting his eyes.

It quickly became silent again, just the sound of their breathing filling up the room, Ian just waiting for him to continue. All he wanted to do at this moment was to hug him and protect him from all the hurtful memories he had, and make him feel safe, but he didn't, instead he gave Mickey his space, wanting to hear from him what happened next. It's not like Ian doesn't know, he very well knows what Terry was capable of doing and what he had done, yet he wants Mickey to tell him, so that he knows he can feel comfortable telling his pain.

"He hit me harder the next time, at least 7 or 8 times, but this time with his gun."

His eyes were glassy with tears forming in the corner of his eyes, his nose becoming red. He's trying to hold it in, not to break, but he fails. Tears running down the side of his cheeks, eyes becoming puffy, letting out a quiet choked cry. Ian's hands steering Mickey's head towards the crook of his neck and just hugging him there, silently promising himself to never let go.

"As he's kicking me, while I'm on the floor, I see Mandy just peeking out from behind the wall," he continues. "She was scared, just looking at what was happening to me, crying, and holding her favorite stuffed animal tight…I could never forget that sight."

"I think that's also when we both realized that I would no longer be able to protect her from Terry."

Ian wanted to say that it wasn't true, that Mickey was always able to protect her no matter what, and that it was fine now because Terry was no longer here to torture them, but he stopped himself and just let Mickey continue.

"You wanna know something funny?" he asks, head tilting up to look at Ian.

"What?" Ian says back, voice sounding a little choked up.

"I never actually felt any pain, after I hit the table rest everything became numb," he chuckled wearily, cool air hitting Ian's chest. "I couldn't feel anything when Terry pistol-whipped me, nothing, except for this feeling like I couldn't breathe, and pain from when Mandy saw me like that."

Mickey let out a sigh.

"After he was done, he came up close to my face, breath smelling like beer and smoke, he told me that if he ever saw me drawing or saw any art of mine, he would do more than what he did to me that day – he'd teach me a lesson he said."

Neither of them said anything afterwards, they'd just laid there holding one another. It was one of those moments where nothing had to be said or spoken, just the presence of each other was enough.

A beat later, Mickey exhaled sharply, shifting his position a little, but making no effort to move out of Ian's arms.

"Thank you," he says again. "Thanks for just you know listening to me and just being there, even if it didn't affect you."

"You don't have to thank me, Mick, I'll always be there for you okay. No matter what, I'll always be beside you. And it does affect me, whatever happened or happens to you, affects me in every way 'cos I love you." Ian says, gently tightening his grip around Mickey.

"I love you too, Ian" he replies softly, finally smiling, this time it reached his eyes.

Later that night, not once did he get a bad dream, worrying himself about Terry.

------

A few days later.

"Hey, Mick, guess what I got you" Ian sings, with a grin so wide it could probably slice his face in half.

"What?" Mickey grumbles, voice hoarse, as he's slowly getting himself out from his slumber.

His eyes immediately go towards the small box that's in front of him on his lap, wrapped up all pretty and nice with a bow resting on top of it.

Was it his birthday? Anniversary? No, he's pretty sure he would remember that. A special occasion?

"What's in this, Gallagher" he mumbles, eyeing his husband suspiciously.

"Why don't you check it, Gallagher." He retorts, with a sly smirk.

Mickey hazardously tears down the wrapping paper, leaving a mess all over the bed and floor, opens the box, and can't believe what he's seeing.

"So do you like it?" Ian questions, unable to read his husband's face right away.

Of course, he likes it, how could he not.

"Fuck yeah, I love it." He says cheerfully, pulling out the drawing book and color pencils.

"Open the book." Ian says making a gesture with his hands towards the book.

Mickey slowly opens the book to its first page, never losing eye contact with Ian as he opens it. Then, he looks down and notices the flyer for drawing classes.

"Now that Terry's gone, you don't have to be afraid, so I thought I could get you this." He mumbles.

Mickey doesn't say anything, just staring between the flyer and Ian, unable to put his happiness into words.

"Soo, is it okay? D-do you like it" Ian stuttered.

"Yeah, yeah, it's okay, it's more than okay in fact." Mickey nods, eyes filling up with tears. "Thank you"

"You deserve it." Ian says back softly.

"You sap." Mickey snickers. "You know what, I think you deserve a treat for this." He says, trying to steer the conversation into playfulness.

"Oh yeah" Ian said, taking the hint.

Mickey leans up to place a peck on his lips. What was supposed to be a small peck turned into a deep and meaningful kiss, with Ian not wanting Mickey to pull back.

"I love you." Mickey pants into Ian's lips after pulling them apart to get some air.

"I know, I love you too" Ian whispered, reminding him of the time when Mickey said those exact words when they were in prison.

#TW: Child Abuse #it took me almost 3 days to come up with this #pretty sure I lost some brain cells #I didn't really expect to be this long #but anyway #gallavich #fanfic

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peachyproserpina · 3 years

Text

Oops Pt. 2

Jason Roberts (SVU) x Fem!Reader

Part one here!

Here it is! It's kinda jumpy but I hope yall enjoy it! Tagging my love @glassbxttless for all your help with this and the fact it's dedicated to you!

TW: Smut, Alcohol, Drugs, Food, lots of Crying, mentions of abuse, mentions of Death, pregnancy, babies, swearing

As always! If I have missed a tag let me know and I will tag it!

You hiss when the cold jelly gets smeared on your stomach, you’re fucking pregnant, test after test after fucking test and you’re pregnant. You booked an appointment with Planned Parenthood as soon as they would let you and made Jason come with. They confirmed with a blood test that yes indeed you we’re pregnant and about 5ish weeks along at that point. You both looked at each other and the nurse could see the panic between you too. She sent you home with a stack of pamphlets as thick as your arm and assured you that you have options, even if you needed to make them quick.

That was 3 weeks ago when your bras still fit you, this isn’t your first ultrasound but the jelly never gets any better no matter how much you prepare. Jason is here, he’s insisted on coming to every appointment. He was clingy before but ever since you found out he’s been even worse. Watching the cameras and your location more so then before and having you facetime him whenever you’re out of the apartment. Clingy.

You’re at 12 weeks now and your monkey is about as big as a lime and really fucking with everything they can. You’re showing now, now matter how many layers or flowy dresses you put on, and between the cravings and the aversions (Chocolate is a go but for some reason tacos make you gag) you’ve put on a few pounds. Jason loves it, after the shock wore off and you both decided to keep it, always wanting kids but never knowing when. It just. Felt right. He picked up on your moods and cravings just as well as he did before and the fact your chest is so big now you cant even wear a bra is a plus. You’ve lost count of the amount of times you’ve been woken up with Jason between your thighs as soon as he’s home from work, or when he gently fucks you awake, big hand covering your whole bump and cooing praise in your ear before filling you with cum and letting you get the sleep you need. You’re both adjusting and determined to ‘keep you safe babygirl’ Jason got a promotion with a healthy wage and he’s kept you cooped up at home where he can watch you and his monkey.

“I’m so sorry you have to grow up without a Daddy monkey.” You’re gently rubbing your bump as you walk down the street, en route to your old apartment. The one right across the hall from Jason used to live, where his mom still lives.

“He’s just so dumb for telling grandma I’m going to kill him before you’re born I’m sure of it.” You don’t notice the looks from the people milling on the stairway of the building, too bust fuming at the fact Jason managed to do the one thing you asked him not to do.

Tell anyone.

You wanted to keep it until you knew the gender, maybe post something on your socials, call your family about it. Invite Estelle over for a dinner and let her know then. But nope, Jason as much as a mommas boy he is, spilled the beans a day after you asked him not to. Causing you to make your way to the old building for a ‘baby-baby shower’ with his mom, with a strict “No boys allowed!’ leaving Jason a mess as you walked around New York, knowing he was never far, always watching you helped calm him down. You don’t even have to kock before Estelle is rushing you in the door, and you can’t tell if it’s the spread she has thoughtfully laid out or the hormones but you’re already crying.

There’s cute little cakes, caffeine free tea, candies, chocolate, pickles, and everything else you have possibly been craving spread all over her kitchen table, you hug her close and try to stop your tears.

“Let's get you sat down before you hurt yourself honey.” She sits you in one of her kitchen chairs and brings you a tissue, you thank her as she hands you a cup of tea and you both settle in for the afternoon celebration. She’s dipped into the brandy and brought out all of Jason’s old baby stuff she’ll be sending you home with, you’re flipping through and laughing when you stop on a picture of newborn Jason being held in a man's arms. You furrow your brow and she picks up on that. “He was an awful man you know. Beat me black and blue and Jason too.” Her words take you by surprise, Jason never talked about his dad, just that he was a deadbeat and glad he was dead.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Jason never.” She cuts you off with a soft hand on your thigh before she gently rubs the top of your belly.

“He died young you know, I-” she takes a swig of brandy before she continues. “He beat Jason so bad he broke his arm. Can you believe that? Jason wasn’t much older then 7, still a baby and that bastard broke his arm.” You’re speechless as you flick your eyes between Estelle and the photo of Jason’s father. “He was sleeping around too. Thought I didn’t know, it was the 90’s of course I fucking knew when his pager was going off at all hours. He didn’t even have a pager for work.” You sniffle and nod your head, you really had no idea, Jason never talked about his father and you let it be.

“He shoulda known better, sleeping pills and coke are a dangerous mix you know. Add in some tramp and all the clubs he was going to it was bound to happen sooner or later.” She smiles at you then and you’ve seen that same smile on Jason, recognize that smile. That’s the one he gave you after he came over and installed the first camera. Your blood runs cold for a second before you’re pulled out of your head by Estelle flipping the page and cooing at how cute Jason was taking apart his first Nintendo console.

20 weeks, 5 months and you’re suffering. Your hips are aching and popping, there’s this nerve in your back that keeps pinching and sometimes it’s so bad you can’t even move. You can’t even sleep a full night before the little one is moving around or you’re dying from how hot it is. You whine as Jason gets up, jostling you awake.

“Jas no, come back to bed I finally got some sleep.” You’re making grabby hands at him and he walks around to your side of the bed and pressing kisses against your hair.

“I cant baby, we’re gonna have people over for your shower and I should clean up a little.” Jason is rubbing his hand up and down your belly as he talks, settling the little one and you can feel angry tears well up in your eyes.

“Do we have to? I don’t want to Jason, please?” You can feel the tears leak out now and you’re mad, mad at him, mad at your monkey for keeping you up, mad at yourself for getting pregnant. He kisses your tears before giving you a filthy kiss and teasing his fingers over your clit that makes you gasp and forget all about how mad you just were.

“You have friends come over and we get to know whether it’s a boy or a girl. Then we get to think about names. So no. I’ll get the bath ready for ya momma.” Jason's walking away before you can pull him back and demand he makes you cum. You shut your eyes and try to get ready for this day.

The party is easy breezy, gifts were exchanged, weird games were played, and your friends organized a cute revel, filling a box with so many pink balloons and streamers, and ribbon you’re sure you’re going to find them even after your baby is born. Jason’s getting nervous again, you’ve kicked everyone out saying you’re tired and they left without complaint.

“Whats wrong Jas? I can feel you worrying from over here.” You scoot over on the couch and make room for him, he moves from where he was cleaning stuff up and drops into the seat. He’s running his hands through his hair before you pull one to your lips and kiss it. He’s lets out the breath he was holding, letting the tension drop from his shoulders as he rests his head back on the couch. Spreading his long long legs out wide, you feel the pang of arousal as you eye up his thighs, his crotch the way his adam’s apple bobs when he smiles before he letting everything out.

“What if I’m not right for you? What if I’m just like my dad? I don’t think I’m good enough to raise your ba-” you cut off his tirade by straddling his thigh and rubbing your cunt against it. You whipped off your bottoms as soon as everyone left, just in your panties and a tank as you lounged and watched Jason. His head snaps up and he whimpers when he can feel you soak through his denim already. You pull his hands up to cup your chest, sighing as you catch your clit as just the right angle and he lifts up your heavy tits, giving your back a little bit of a break.

“You’re gonna be fucking perfect Jason.” You’re getting desperate and the way Jason is looking at you like you single-handedly hung the stars in the sky is feeding your ego and your arousal. His chest is rising and falling just as fast as yours is and his cock has filled out so fast he’s light headed. You keep going, so desperate after that little tease this morning you’re already close to coming and its not fair. Jason tenses his thigh under you and you gasp. “Do that fucking again Jas. Right now.” He whines and does as he is told, as the little change helps push you over the edge and you’re cumming, soaking his jeans and hungrier than before for his cock. You weave your fingers through his hair and yank, hard.

“Take your cock out right fucking now.” He’s nodding eyes glazed over as he rushes to do what you’ve asked. You don’t let up on the death grip on his hair, covering his neck with dark hickies and bites that he’ll have to cover up when he leaves for work. You feel the trail of precum as he frees his cock from his pants and it slides up your thigh, you pull back and when you see it, so angry red and big for you you grind down onto his thigh again and moan. You’re maneuvering yourself so you can sit on Jason's cock and ever the worrier he is, he's helping. Spreading his legs wider, his hands holding your hips so you and your belly can fit against him tight on the couch that is probably too small to be doing this on.

You let go of his hair, pull his lips to yours as you finally sit down on his cock, the moan you rip from your chest is almost as pretty as Jason’s sigh.

“You’re so fucking tight for me baby girl. So fucking hot.” Jason's mouth is running and you huff, not happy he’s coherent enough to do so. You kiss him again, nipping on his bottom lip hard as you start to move. His hands are everywhere, your tits, your thighs, your back pulling you close so he can shove his tongue down your throat. You haven’t been at this long but you can feel the orgasm building right at the base of your spine, where lately it’s only hurt. It’s not long before Jason has a thumb on your clit and a nipple in his mouth. You hold him close to your chest as you bounce bounce bounce on his big dick.

“Fuck I'm gonna cum Jason. Please keep doing that.” You tilt your head back and grind yourself onto him, you’re so fucking close and you can feel from the way Jason’s pulsing inside of you he’s not too far off either. He pinches the nipple he doesn’t have in his mouth hard and that's enough to tip you over the edge, soaking his lap yet again as you cum. Thighs shaking tense as you clamp down on Jason’s length and he is right behind you. Filling you up to overflowing with his cum, messy as you both come down.

“JASON!” You’re frantic as you call for him,m knowing damn well he is not there. You can feel your water pool where you're standing in the kitchen. Of course the ONE DAY Jason has to go into work your water breaks. You reach for your phone that's ringing as you shift worriedly in your spot in the kitchen.

“What's wrong babygirl?” Jason’s on the other line, frantic, you can hear shouting in the back. It might be his boss but you’re starting to freak out and the first contraction hits and you wail. “Baby, talk to me, I can see you but the cameras don’t have microphones yet.”

“I- my water just broke Jas, I just had a contraction I need you here.” You’re crying, panicking and you can hear Jason huff and puffin your ear. He’s surprisingly calm on the other end as you sniffle into the phone, trying to remember those stupid breathing exercises you learned about in that Virtual birthing class you both took.

“I’m almost home love, can you get to the bag near the door?” You move, stiff and awkward but you’re moving. “Good job baby girl. Get to the bag by the door and I’m almost home. We'll get you to the hospital soon, promise.” You’re taking those deep breaths as you waddle to the door.

“Jas, how are you almost home? It takes 20 fucking-” you gasp as you feel another twinge and take big gulps of air. “You’re 20 minutes away if you take the train.” You’re puzzled as you hear him breathing heavy through the line.

“I just ran. It’s faster.” You nearly drop the phone at that.

“You did not! Jason! You are going to die!” You’re laughing and you can hear his footsteps pounding, you’re at the go bag by the door and you try to bend over to pick it up and nearly fall over. You’re still not fucking used to being this big. The door slams open as you’re resting against the wall bag as your feet and ruined clothes. Jason's there, your man, your creepy fucking neighbor who spied on you and now got your pregnant. He’s sweaty, he really did run all the way from work for you and the thought makes you want to laugh and cry at how much you fucking love him. But then another contraction hits and you're crying out in pain again. He’s picking up the bag at your feet before he’s helping you step into some slides and gently ushering you down the stairs to Estelle's car that is waiting to take you to the hospital.

One Epidural and 14 hours of labor later you have your baby girl, Delilah Stella Roberts, sleeping against your chest and Jason is trying not to cry as she has him already wrapped around her finger.

#jason x reader #jason svu #adcu fanfiction #adcu fic #jason roberts (svu) x reader #reader insert #tw: drugs #tw: swearing #tw: anxiety #tw: food #tw: pregnancy #I really hope yall like this #sorry if it feels rush #but i did have fun reading it #peachy writes

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atlafan · 4 years

Note

could u maybe write something ab harry and the reader reuniting after taking a break for a while 🥺 just something a lil angsty and fluffy

a/n: oh wow, I’ve actually been wanting to write something about this for a little bit, let’s see what I can whip up! Less angst in this than I thought, but super fluffy. Hope you liked it! This is an au, so ya boy’s not famous.

New York to London

It wasn’t easy, but you both decided to take some time apart. You both just graduated from college, and you needed to figure out what you were doing for jobs. If you needed to move somewhere for work, neither of you wanted to hold the other back. You were in love, but you were still so young. If it was meant to be, it would happen, right?

You ended up in New York. You loved clothes and fashion. Were a marketing major with a minor in art. You found yourself living in a cozy apartment on the upper east side, working remotely for a clothing app. You got to design and select outfits for people. It was sort of like Stitch Fix. Working from home allowed you to fill up your sketch books with design ideas of your own. Sometimes you would go out and work from the local coffee shop, just to have a change of scenery, of course making sure to buy coffee and food in exchange for the free wifi.

You and Harry agreed not to really talk, or fill each other in what you were doing. Neither of you wanted to fall into the “please, just come move here with me” trap. You weren’t entirely sure what he was doing, or if he had decided to go back to London altogether. You missed him, and it was a good relationship, but it had definitely run its course. You were with him for two years, you did a lot of growing up together, but you were never certain if he was the man of future.

Six months into your job, you had started making friends in the city. You found time to go out and enjoy the night life when you could. You had even gone on a few dates here and there, a couple of one night stands when you were sick of using your own devices to get off. Things a lot of young, twenty-somethings did. One day, out of the blue, you got a text from your ex-boyfriend.

Harry: hi love, is it okay if I still call you that? lol...anyways, I’m in NYC for a few days...work thing...would love to see you if you’re up for it...xx

You take a deep breath when you see the text. You hate the way it makes your heart flutter. You ended up dating Harry in the first place because he always had this way of making you nervous, but in a good way. You always had butterflies around him, and you always found it hard to say no. You were genuinely curious to see how he was doing, and what exactly he did for work, so after waiting precisely twenty minutes, you decide to text him back.

You: hey! course it’s okay ;p I’d love to catch up! dinner and a drink sound good?

Harry: sounds great, name the time and place

You and Harry decide to meet up at a restaurant near his hotel that Friday night. You didn’t want to go to some tourist trap, but you knew of a nice place near where he was staying. You made sure to look your best, maybe remind him a bit of what he was missing. You knew he’d do the same. You put on your best little black dress, put your hair up into a sleek high pony, and put on some makeup. You grabbed a pair of red pumps for a pop of color, and into your uber you went.

It was a nice, spring evening. It was getting warmer out, so you only needed a light jacket along with your dress. You wait in the lobby of the restaurant for him.

“Y/N?”

You’d know the sound of his voice anywhere. You turn around and smile. He was almost shocked, you had never looked better. He looked nice. Blue pair of slacks, white button up with the first few undone, and a salmon pink sport coat. Classic Harry.

“Hi!”

You wrap your arms around his neck and give him a kiss on the cheek.

“You look great.” He says, blushing slightly.

“Thanks, so do you. I put a reservation in for us online. Wanna see if the table’s ready?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

He puts his hands in his pockets and follows you up to the hostess. She checks you both in and leads you to your table a few minutes later.

“Come here a lot?” He asks as he sits down.

“Sometimes. Been here with some friends.”

You take your jacket off and hang it on the back of your chair. He gets a really good eye full of you. He smiles when he sees you wearing the necklace he had gotten you for your last birthday.

“So, you’re in the city for work?”

“Yup, I’m an admissions counselor for a small school up in New Hampshire. I got hired to do a lot of the traveling, so I’m rarely on campus.”

“Oh, that’s cool. Where else do you travel to?”

“Mostly the state of New York and Massachusetts.”

“What made you-”

“Hi folks, I’m Max, I’ll be your server tonight. Can I start either of you off with a drink?”

“I’d love a glass of pinot noir please.” You smile.

“Just a Corona for me, thanks.”

“Excellent, I’ll be back in a few minutes with those.” He smiles and walks away.

“Anyways, what made you want to become an admissions counselor?”

“I get to travel with all expenses paid. I really had no idea what I wanted to do after I graduated, so this gives me more time to figure it out. I can explore the various places I go to. S’not like I’m tied down, right?” He jokes.

“Right.”

He clears his throat.

“So, it seems like the city’s treating you well.”

“Very well!” You chuckle. “I love it so much. I get to work remotely too, so no one really bothers me, which is great. I’m able to work on my sketches in my down time.”

“Yeah, you’re working for like a clothing subscription service?”

“Mhm, it’s awesome. I love getting to know my clients and all that.”

“You seem happy.”

“I am. I feel really independent.”

The waiter comes back over with your drinks. You end up ordering a salad with some grilled shrimp, while Harry opts for a veggie burger. You clink your glasses together.

“So, it’s okay that I texted right?”

“Of course! I think I’d be a little upset if I knew you were so close by and didn’t even think to say hi.”

“I’ve wanted to reach out for a while, but...I know you said you wanted some space.”

“Well, we both agreed on that.”

“I guess.” He shrugs.

“Did we not?”

“No, we did. I guess all I mean is...I don’t know...takin’ a break has just been weird, that’s all.”

Before you can respond, your food is brought over. The conversation lightens up a bit as you eat. Harry really enjoys the food. Towards the end, he insists that he pays. You eventually agree to just split the bill.

“Wanna come see my place? I think you’ll like it, it’s cozy.”

“Sure! Thought I’d have to work a little harder for you to invite me back with you.” He smirks.

“Oh, stop it.” You swat an arm at him.

The uber ride back to your place is quiet. He was impressed by the building you were in. He couldn’t believe you could afford such a nice place.

“So, it’s a studio, but it’s not cramped.” You show him inside. “Like, I can stretch out in the shower.” You giggle. “Got really creative with the storage too.”

“View makes it all worth it, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s beautiful.” You both look out the window together. “Sit, sit. What can I get for you? I have more wine, and some beers int he fridge.”

“Beer’s fine, thanks.”

He sits down on your small couch while you get the drinks together. You come back over and him a beer.

“Thanks.”

“Sure.” You take a sip of your wine. “So, do you, like, have an apartment in New Hampshire?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a small place to call home when I’m not traveling.”

“That’s good.”

“Mhm.” He takes a sip of his drink. “Can I ask you something...sort of personal?”

“Um, sure.”

“You haven’t been, like, hooking up have you?”

“What?”

“Because I haven’t.”

“I never told you not to.”

“So, does that mean you have?”

“Harry...we’re not together, we’re broken up.” You frown and so does he.

“A break is different from a break up, though, right?”

“We agreed to end things so we could go off and find our career paths. I mean, I think about you a lot, but I guess I didn’t really think we’d actually get back together. It’s been six months, Harry.”

“I know...”

“I mean, I’m not seeing anyone. I’ve had a few dates here and there, but nothing serious. I don’t really have time for it.”

“Me neither...I guess the only difference is I haven’t wanted to even be with anyone else, random or not.”

“I find that very hard to believe.” You scoff. “If there was a day I couldn’t see you, you’d tell me how touch starved you were.”

“That’s true, but it was your touch I was starved for, no one else’s. You know me, I was never the hook up guy as it was. It’s gross.” He takes another sip of his drink. “Do you always hook up with different people or-”

“No.”

He nods his head.

“How many have there been?”

“What does it matter?”

“Just wondering if I need to catch up or something.” He scoffs.

“Harry, we never agreed on not hooking up with other people, we never even talked about it.”

“Because I just assumed we wouldn’t! Don’t you miss me?”

“I miss being in college and having zero responsibilities.” You sigh. “I try not to think about what I miss about you too much. And no offense, but I’ve actually begun a career. You’re still figuring things out. It wouldn��t good if we tried to get back together right now. I like living alone, and-”

“Alright, I get it, you’re better off without me.” He rolls his eyes.

“That’s not what I meant.” You put your hand on his shoulder, but he shrugs it away.

“Do you think I like not being good enough? I’d give you the world if I could, but I literally have zero idea what I’m passionate about. I feel like I wasted four years of my life. Now when I talk with these kids on where they want to go to school and the reasons they want to go...” He shakes his head.

“You’re a people person, you’ve always been that way. You have a stage presence to you. A room lights up when you walk in.”

“S’not exactly a transferable skill, love.”

“You’ll figure it out, Harry. I know you will.”

A year or so later you heard from a mutual friend that Harry moved back to London. He had gone off into the world of PR, and he was thriving. Your job had lead you to some opportunities to go to London, they had even asked you if you wanted to relocate there. Many of the clothing lines they had were exported from there, and they wanted you more on the buying team since you had such a great eye. You said you’d consider it and go for a visit to check things out. You and Harry hadn’t talked much since he had seen you in New York, but you wanted to pay him the same courtesy he given you.

You: Hey, Harry! It’s Y/N...I’m coming to London next week for a work thing. Might even be relocating there! I was wondering if you’d like to get together. Maybe you can tell me how great the city is, lol

You had deleted the text about five times before actually hitting send. Two hours later he got back to you.

Harry: Did you think I deleted your number?! Of course I know it’s you! That sounds great, let me just check over my schedule with my assistant and I’ll get back to you on when would work.

You: wow, an assistant, how fancy are you?

Harry: she keeps my head on straight, that’s for sure

You: well, I’m looking forward to seeing you...it’s been too long!

Harry: I agree

And just like that, you had butterflies in your stomach. You hoped maybe he was single, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he was seeing someone. He was a girlfriend guy, and you had basically told him you weren’t getting back together last time you spoke.

You were given a wonderful tour of the office you’d potentially be working in. Everyone seemed friendly, and you certainly wouldn’t be the only American working there if you decided to accept.

Towards the end of the week, Harry invited you over for a dinner at his flat. You were surprised he didn’t want to go out. Maybe you’d be starting at his flat and then go to a club? You were dying to see how the London night life compared to New York’s. You take a cab to his flat and text him when you’re there. He comes downstairs to meet you outside.

“Harry!” You practically squeal. You wrap your arms around each other for a nice embrace. “It’s so good to see you!”

“It’s good to see you too. Driver found the place okay?”

“Mhm.” You smile.

“Come on up. Just got dinner on the table.”

He leads you upstairs. Your jaw drops when you see how spacious his flat is. It was a one bedroom with a nice open concept. It looked like he entertained quite often. He had a bar set up in the living area.

“This is beautiful.”

“Thanks. Figured I could afford a nice place, why not have one?” He shrugs.

You use his hall bath to freshen up. He has you sit down at his dining table. He had made curry.

“This smells so good, thanks so much for cooking.”

“I figured you’d enjoy a real meal after eating out all week.”

“You figured right, thank you.”

“Oh stop.” He sits down. “Just eat, yeah?”

You moan after tasting the food.

“This is delicious.”

“Thanks.” He smirks. “So, do you think you really might move here?”

“I might, yeah. It seems like a really big step up for me.”

“No one back in New York to miss you?”

“Nope.” You grin. “Other than the few friends I’ve made.” You shrug. “My family is really supportive too.”

“That’s great. I’m really glad I came home. I feel like once I did the opportunities came flying in. I love PR. I make phone calls, set up events. And I get to meet so many cool people.”

“And you have an assistant.” You chuckle.

“S’not what you think. She’s not some young thing that’s enthralled with me. She’s like forty years old, has a couple of kids that don’t need her home with them anymore. She’s a great help though. I actually requested someone a little older.”

“Why’s that?”

“Some of the younger girls in the interview, when they actually came to speak with me, I don’t know, I just kept getting this weird vibe.”

“It’s because you’re so captivating. You’re intimidating, but charming.” You take another bite of food. “Sexy.”

“Oh, gimme a break.”

“I’m serious! You always made me feel nervous when we first started talking. You would always really sit back and observe the room before talking. You can be quiet sometimes. But that was you then, that’s just a version of you that I know, you could be different now.”

“I’d like to think so. Although, I think I’m just a good listener. I definitely like reading a room before I join a conversation.”

“I’m so happy to see you doing well.” You take a sip of your drink. “So...any lucky ladies or fellas in your life?”

“No.” He laughs. “M’way too busy for all that. I mean...I’ve had some fun here and there, I’m not celibate.” He takes a sip of his own drink. “What about you?”

“Nothing serious.” You shrug. “I haven’t minded being focused on my career, you know? I have a good work-life balance, don’t get me wrong, but like if I were in a relationship right now, I may not be making this move.”

“Tell me, if I didn’t live here would you still consider moving?”

“I don’t know. It’s a huge plus knowing I’d have someone close by, someone I know to show me around. If you had the time of course. You could even tell me what the good neighborhoods to live in are.”

“You could get a flat here. It’s a really nice building to be in. I bet you’d be able to afford it if I can. They want you to be a buyer?”

“Yeah, my boss thinks I have a great eye, and I always get the highest ratings from my clients.”

“That’s wonderful. I’m happy for you. I know last time we saw each other it didn’t seem like it, but I was really confused about the direction my life was going. I wasn’t happy.”

“You’re happy now?”

“Very much.”

“Good.” You put your hand over his. “It’s all I ever wanted for you, to be the best version of yourself.”

“Same here with you.” He rubs his thumb over the back of your hand. “I got some chocolate covered strawberries for dessert. Wanna move to the sofa?”

“Sure!”

You both sit down on his large sectional. You dive into the sweet treat.

“Do you entertain a lot?”

“Sometimes, yeah. I like it better than going to some stuff club. You can be out until four in the morning if you’re not careful.” He laughs.

“Well, I’d love for you to take me out to a club sometime.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice, love. I’ll take any excuse to dance with you.” His dimple peeks out in his grin, and it makes you melt. “When do you have to give them your decision by?”

“A few days. I’m headed back to New York tomorrow night.”

“How’s your hotel been?”

“It’s nice...not as cozy as this though.” You lean back into the cushions and look up at him.

“Yeah, I definitely don’t miss that about working in admissions. Different hotels all the time sounds like fun, but when you just wanna do your laundry and you can’t, it gets old really quick.”

“I can imagine.” You make a bold move and rest your hand on his knee. This time when you touch him he doesn’t shrug you away. “I think I may move here. I can home here and you can cook for me all the time, or you could bring me to your fancy parties.”

“Is that so?” He scoots a little closer to you. “It would get some people at the company off my back. They’re always askin’ why I never have a date to anything.”

“And why don’t you?”

“I don’t know, I’m there to work, not bring arm candy with me.”

“Ah, but that arm candy can help you network. I’m impeccable at networking.”

“Alright, so you’ll be my date then when I need one, is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s what I’m saying.” You smile.

“What about when there’s no fancy party? Can I call you for a date?”

“I’d like that.”

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I please kiss you?”

You nod yes. He leans in, cups your cheeks, and presses his lips to yours. They were soft, just like you remember. He takes them away a little too quickly for your liking though.

“What’s wrong?” You frown.

“I just don’t wanna, like, rush this, that’s all. I don’t even know what this is, but whatever it is, I don’t wanna mess it up this time.”

“Harry, you never messed anything up. We did the right thing before. I think we’re both in a place where we could have room to be together again. But, I think you’re right, one step at a time. Let me actually accept the job and move here before we dive into anything.”

“Exactly.” He sighs happily. “Okay, I’m gonna kiss you again, and then I’ll drive you to your hotel.”

You giggle as he smooches you again and again. Harry never really ever stopped loving you, and you could tell. You never really ever stopped loving him either.

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles y/n #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles fluff fic #harry styles angst

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