#so i had to wait a while for book 2 to come out in paperback

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books of 2024: THE GREAT CITIES DUOLOGY by N. K. Jemisin.

[silkscream]

bullfight of love (part 2)

ੈ✩ choso x reader

ੈ✩ tags: 2000s au, coworkers, workplace relationship, film bro stuff, pining, car sex, oral sex, fingering

ੈ✩ wc: 5.1k

ੈ✩ a/n: sorry for the lack of proofreading also i feel like the references r annoying. just ignore them bc in this fic both of them are annoying <3

PART ONE

Choso does not call you. 

He does text you, occasionally, to talk about work and movies. Sometimes books and music, swapping recommendations. 

You notice that he reads at the register when the store’s empty. As the weeks pass, he runs through paperbacks like lightning. 90s manga, Ryu Murakami novels. He had a pensive reading face, dipping between serene and morose depending on the page. It was oddly fascinating. Brows knitted, nose twitching in a way that reflected light on his scar tissue.

He never says much. Barely greets you when he clocks in, opting for something of a nod and a noncommittal noise. He always smells like tobacco and incense.

You try to outdo each other when it comes to putting something on the big screen. Maki let you put on any tape you wanted as long as it wasn’t too graphic, which was the one rule the two of you ignored considering how often there were afternoon dry spells. 

You’d put Japanese New Wave, New Hollywood. 90s American trash when Choso could score edibles. He’d never tell you where he got them, always tight-lipped about sources. It annoyed you to no end.

“Nice shirt,” he drawls.

“Huh?” You look up from your stack to see Choso staring at you, gesturing to your chest. 

“Your shirt.” 

You look down at your oversized Deftones tee.

“You’re not gonna ask me to name five of their songs, are you?” 

He shakes his head, laughing. The fluorescents make his irises reflect hints of violet, you notice. He’s less dead-eyed today, which is saying something.

“Which album’s your favorite?” he asks.

“Around the Fur.”

“Basic.”

You frown, reaching over to press the price tagger against his chest. You pull the trigger. He laughs again, looking down.

“I’m only worth ten dollars?”

“Yes.”

He scoffs and returns to the register when he sees a girl waiting with a copy of Clueless. You watch as she twirls a braid around her finger, stumbling over her words as she tries (and fails) to make small talk with Choso. He’s stone-faced again as always – nothing like the feigned sneers shot at you – the poor girl.

You notice him stealing glances at you while you continue to stock. There’s a perpetual hint of a tiny smirk as he continues to be the cashier for the night. You smile at him and wrinkle your nose when you look his way and find him staring at you, goading your reaction on whatever stack of DVDs his customer has in hand.

The two of you decide to close out for the night an hour early. It’s dead in the store. While you vacuum, your ears perk up to footsteps on the main floor. You see a teenage boy with pinkish hair and bright eyes.

“Closing shop, kid,” you say. “And I’m not in the mood for a stray.”

“I’m looking for my brother!” he beams, blatantly ignoring your crabbiness.

You pinch your brows together. Did he mean Choso? The two looked nothing alike and sure as hell didn’t share a personality.

“You mean —”

“Yuuji? I thought I told you I’d meet you at the arcade.”

You raise a brow at Choso appearing from the back room door but decide to leave him and his… brother to their own devices. You watch them from the corner of your eye, noticing that despite Yuuji’s boyish face, they’re slightly similar in build. He must be adopted or fostered, you think. Played the part of a little brother like a sitcom favorite from how Choso looked at him.

“You’re not coming with me, then?”

“Nah. Fushiguro and I were gonna see Human Earthworm 5 but then he told me hasn’t seen the first four! So I came by to pick them up.”

“It’s a good thing you came before we closed,” Choso rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t you close in like an hour?”

“Finishing up early. Her idea.”

You scoff under your breath. There’s a pause.

“You weren’t exaggerating, man,” Yuuji mutters, barely hiding his voice. “She’s really pretty.”

“Dude.” 

You almost laugh. Your smirk fades when you realize that your heart is beating a bit faster.  Liking Maki back then was stupid enough – a terrible cliche to fantasize about. Storage room fucking, sneaking around on the clock. How tacky. And you already checked off one of those fantasies.

The drama wasn’t worth it. It’s absurd to know that you had done that with Choso. It was why you avoided the back room at all costs. After you two had fucked, neither of you spoke of it again.

“Sorry,” Yuuji says, smiling sheepishly. “I’ll see you later, man!”

“Onii-chan,” Choso reminds him.

“Onii-chan.”

“Do you mind if I take the car?” 

“What– then how am I supposed to get home–”

“Pleaaaaase, Onii-chan? Fushiguro lives far from the bus stop!”

Choso grumbles as he fishes his car keys out of his pocket. Yuuji nearly vibrates from excitement as he takes them.

You wait until he leaves to flash a grin. Choso makes eye contact with you and groans.

“Don’t.”

“Onii-chan, huh?”

“Shut up.”

Your grin only widens. 

“He’s cute. Looks nothing like you, though.”

“We’re, uh, half-brothers,” Choso mutters. “And he’s off-limits.”

“Wasn’t interested,” you scoff. “He’s gotta be in high school, right?”

“And you’re not?” Choso raises a brow. 

He laughs at your expression immediately souring and you hate that the sound makes your heart flutter. 

“I’m kidding,” he snorts. “I’d be in jail if that was the case.”

You blush, remembering the last time you were intimate. You huff.

“You know Fushiguro? That’s Toji’s son.”

“Oh shit, really? I never met the kid’s family, I guess.”

You notice Choso checking out a copy of The Ring.

“Is that what you’re getting up to on a Friday night?” 

“Yup. I haven’t gotten around to seeing it yet.”

“Dude, seriously? S’a classic. One of my favorites.”

“You’re welcome to join,” he shrugs. It’s nonchalant. Given his brother's previous teasing, you’d think there would be an air of eagerness around him. The fact that there isn’t only makes your stomach lurch.

“Maybe,” you mumble. “Got some errands to run.”

“It’s cool.” He hikes up the messenger bag he brings to work over his shoulder. It’s right then that you notice how broad he is. Built well, almost like an athlete. Collarbones like a Greek god and a face as pretty as the J-pop idols you used to like. You think back to your past tryst, how his muscles rippled in the dingy office lighting. The sweat on his brow when he moaned.

He leans in to poke your arm to grab your attention.

“Huh?”

“I said, are you ready to lock up?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah,” you mutter. You grab your bag and follow him out. He helps you drag the security gate down. 

“Text me if you change your mind.”

“Yeah. For sure.”

–

You do not change your mind.

Not yet, anyway. You sip a milkshake in the food court, people-watching to pass the time. You couldn’t think about being alone with Choso right now. 

It takes you a bit to muster up the energy to leave. For some reason, you feel exhausted despite closing early. Your shifts were relatively easy, and it helped that being on shift with Choso was usually entertaining. The banter never got old. 

Fuck, you needed to shake the thought of him out of your head. The sex was a one-time thing. His nonchalance made you sure of that.

When you make your way to your car, you see him. He balances a cigarette between his lips as he laughs, surrounded by the usual mall rats you see on nights like these. Some of them you had recognized from high school. They were drop-out skaters who liked to flirt with you sometimes, their toothy grins stained yellow and their tiny waists drowning in cargo pants.

You watch one of the girls flirt with Choso. She’s blonde and thin, and you wonder if she’s his type. Despite the clashing of styles, they look good together. You pretend it doesn’t make you bitter. There’s no reason for the sight to make you bitter. You shouldn’t be staring at him at all — you’re supposed to be walking to your fucking car.

It starts to drizzle, but the crowd doesn’t move. You watch them and convince yourself that maybe he’s isn’t that attractive. But the cigarette in between his lips looks enticing. He probably tastes like tobacco. Mint and eucalyptus like the way he smells. You briefly remember the kisses you shared in the backroom and your stomach clenches with want.

“You,” he beckons to you. You freeze. “Thought you left already.”

You try to ignore all the eyes on you. Your tunnel vision only focuses on him, anyway. 

“Told you I had, uh, errands.”

“Right.”

“Uh-huh,” you clear your throat. “Can I bum a cig?”

He reaches into his pocket for a pack of red Marlboros, handing you one and waiting until it’s between your lips to light it for you. You chuckle lightly when you see it’s a white lighter.

“What?” he grins. 

“You don’t know about the white lighter thing? So many members of the 27 club had a white lighter on them when they died.”

“Like who?”

“Hendrix, Cobain, Morrison…”

“Then it’s an American thing,” he laughs. “I’ll survive.”

“I hope you do.”

He smiles back at you sheepishly, fixing his hair with his hands. He’s almost bashful for a second, but he’s too good at acting casual for you to catch him completely off-guard. 

Before he can respond, a hug of thunder booms above you. Distracted by the frenzy of everyone scrambling to head out, grumbling about the looming storm.

“Do you want a ride?” you blurt out.

He looks at you carefully, then cracks a smile. “Sure.”

___

Much to your annoyance, Choso is a little high, meaning he has no problem turning the dial on your car radio the whole time he’s in the car.

“You’re picky,” you mutter.

“I have taste,” Choso murmurs. “The radio does not.”

“I have like, a billion CDs in the dashboard. Go crazy.”

He smirks, amused, opening the drawer to flip through the albums you have in a thick CD wallet. They’re mostly your mothers – 90s Shibuya-kei and some early city pop you grew up on, along with a fair collection of Western music you’ve acquired over the years. To your surprise, he picks a Faye Wong CD.

“Good choice,” you mutter. He hums in response.

The ride to his house is quiet despite the album. You almost regret your offer, embarrassed about the slight panic you feel as the rain hits harder than expected. You never fucking liked driving anyway – it was why you wanted to move closer to the subway.

The only sounds in the car are Faye Wong’s haunting vocals and the pitter-patter of the rain. Choso glances at you, his expression stoic and unreadable as he watches you drive, but there’s a hint of something else in his eyes. A mix of anticipation and something else that you can’t quite pinpoint. After a few minutes of driving, Choso finally speaks up, his voice low and almost hesitant. 

“Turn at the next exit—” he mutters, breaking the silence that had fallen between the two of you.

“I know,” you chuckle.

“Choso pauses for a moment, a hint of mild surprise on his face. He had expected you to ask for directions, but you seem to know where you’re going without further instructions. He lets out a low scoff, his expression relaxing slightly. 

“You know my neighborhood?” he mutters, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Stalking me, boss?”

“I read your application, dumbass. Plus, I used to babysit around here.”

“Oh. Which family? I might know them.”

“The Fushiguros, actually. Toji used to live around here.”

“You used to babysit Megumi?” Choso asks in surprise.

“Mhm. I thought I heard your brother talking about him in the store.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “They’re best friends. You used to babysit him, huh?”

You hum. “Mhm. Cute kid. Quiet.”

“Still quiet. Though Yuji never shuts up about him.”

“It’s nice that he has friends. Toji used to say that I was the only one Megumi was never nice to,” you chuckle.

“Kid’s got good taste, then,” Choso mutters.

He points you towards his street. The closer you get to his neighborhood, the more residential it gets, and it’s oddly barren. Quiet and suburban, with no one other cars passing you.

As you take a turn, the rain gets even heavier, obscuring your view. The windshield wipers fight against the torrential downpour as the tires slide to the right.

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath. You clutch the steering wheel tightly with paling knuckles. Your piece of shit car could barely handle snow, but it survived in the rain, at least. Right now, you aren’t so sure. The car seems to skid into something that makes one of the tires pop.

“Shit," Choso mutters, gripping the door handle. "You okay?"

You nod, trying to slow your breathing. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just...fuck."

The car lurches to a stop at the side of the road. You turn off the ignition with shaky hands and sit back, exhaling slowly.

"Looks like we popped a tire," Choso says, peering out the window. "And this rain isn't letting up."

You groan, letting your head fall back against the headrest. "Great. Just great."

“Do you have a spare?”

“No,” you moan, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"Hey, it's alright," Choso says, his voice softer than you've ever heard it. "Let’s wait out the storm here. I can call my brother.”

He reaches over and gently pries one of your hands off the wheel, giving it a reassuring squeeze. The unexpected touch makes your breath hitch.

You know he's right, but the thought of being trapped in the car with him makes your stomach flutter nervously. Still, you nod in agreement and watch as he calls Yuji. The phone goes to voicemail immediately, to both of your dismay. He shoots a couple of texts and locks his phone in a huff.

An awkward silence falls between you as the rain pounds against the roof of the car. You're hyper-aware of Choso's presence beside you, the warmth of his hand on yours moments ago still lingering on your skin.

The silence stretches on, broken only by the rhythmic drumming of rain and the occasional rumble of thunder. You steal a glance at Choso, catching him staring out the window with a furrowed brow. His usually composed demeanor seems slightly shaken.

"Some road trip this turned out to be," you joke, attempting to break the tension.

Choso turns to you, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Not quite the adventure we had in mind, huh?"

You can't help but chuckle. "Definitely not. Though I suppose being stranded in a storm is pretty adventurous."

"True," he agrees, his smile widening. "Though I'd prefer less life-threatening adventures in the future."

The casual mention of a "future" makes your heart skip a beat. You try to push the feeling aside, reminding yourself that he probably didn't mean anything by it.

Suddenly, a crack of lightning illuminates the sky, followed immediately by a deafening clap of thunder. You jump, inadvertently grabbing Choso's arm.

"Sorry," you mumble, quickly letting go and feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

"It's okay," he says softly, his voice barely audible over the rain. "I don't mind."

The rain continues to pour, creating a hypnotic rhythm on the roof of the car. You find yourself relaxing slightly, the initial panic of the situation fading into a strange sense of calm. Choso's presence beside you is oddly comforting.

"You know," Choso begins, his voice low and thoughtful, "I used to be terrified of thunderstorms when I was a kid."

You turn to look at him, surprised by this sudden admission. His eyes are fixed on the raindrops racing down the windshield, a faraway look in them.

"Really?" you ask softly, encouraging him to continue.

He nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah. My mom... she used to tell me that the thunder was just the sky's way of singing. Said the lightning was its dance moves."

There's a tenderness in his voice that you've never heard before. It makes your heart ache in a way you can't quite explain.

"That's… cute," you murmur. "Did it help?"

Choso chuckles, the sound warm and rich. "Not really. But it made me feel less alone, you know? Like the sky was putting on a show for me or something.”

“Toji’s kids used to be scared of thunderstorms too. I used to make blanket forts with Megumi and his sister and put on movies to distract them.”

“What movies?” Choso grins. “Chucky?”

You snort. “No, asshole. Kids’ movies. I’m not evil.”

“Sure, you’re not,” he says teasingly.

“Do I seem evil?”

“No. But you’re a bit… uh…" Choso trails off.

“A bit what?” You furrow your brows.

“A bit... intense sometimes," Choso finishes, his eyes flickering to yours. "In a good way, I mean."

You raise an eyebrow. "Intense?"

He shrugs, a hint of a smirk on his lips. "Yeah. You've got this... energy about you. Like you're always thinking about ten steps ahead of everyone else. You’re intriguing."

You're not sure how to respond to that. Part of you wants to be flattered, but another part feels oddly exposed.

"Intriguing, huh?" you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. "Is that why you've been watching me at work?"

Choso's eyes widen slightly, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "I... didn't think you noticed."

"I notice a lot of things," you say, leaning in slightly. "Like how you always smell like cigarettes and incense. Or how you bite your lip when you're concentrating on something."

“You've been watching me too, then."

You smile, feeling a surge of boldness. "Maybe I have."

Choso hums, his eyes linger on your mouth for a beat longer than you expect.

“I can never tell what you’re thinking when you look at me,” you say before you can stop yourself.

Choso's eyes flicker back up to meet yours, a hint of amusement in them. "Maybe that's the point," he says softly.

You feel a shiver run down your spine that has nothing to do with the cold rain outside. The air between you feels charged, like the electricity crackling in the storm clouds above.

"And what is the point, exactly?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Choso leans in closer, his breath warm on your cheek. "To keep you guessing," he murmurs. "To make you wonder."

Your heart is pounding in your chest now, so loud you're sure he must be able to hear it. 

"Wonder about what?" you breathe.

You turn to look at him and your breath catches in your throat. Even in the dim light, his features are striking. His long eyelashes frame his sharp eyes, and a few strands of damp hair stick to his forehead. You have a sudden, overwhelming urge to brush them away.

Choso's eyes meet yours, and for a moment, time seems to stand still. You're acutely aware of how close you are, the confined space of the car suddenly feeling much smaller. His gaze flickers to your lips for a fraction of a second before returning to your eyes.

Your heart races as you realize he hasn't moved away. If anything, he seems to be leaning closer. You swallow hard, trying to find your voice.

"Um—"

Another flash of lightning cuts you off, but this time you don't jump. You're too entranced by the way it illuminates Choso's face, casting shadows that accentuate his jawline and the curve of his lips.

He reaches out, his hand hovering near your face for a moment before he gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch is feather-light, but it sends shivers down your spine.

"You were saying?" he prompts, his voice low and husky.

Your heart beats fast. What the fuck were you even going to say?

Do you want to watch a movie sometime? Do you think about that night as much as I do?

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. "I was just thinking...mabout that night in the store. Do you ever think about it?"

Choso's eyes widen slightly, but he doesn't pull away. "Yeah," he admits softly. "More than I probably should."

His honesty catches you off guard. You expected deflection or maybe even denial. "Really?"

He nods, a wry smile playing on his lips. "It's not every day you get caught jerking off by your hot coworker who then proceeds to fuck you senseless."

You can't help but laugh, some of the tension dissipating. "Fair point."

"What about you?" he asks, his gaze intense. "Do you think about it?"

You nod, not trusting your voice. The air between you feels charged, electric.

Choso shifts slightly, angling his body towards you. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," you murmur.

"Why did you do it? Was it just… I don't know, pity? Horniness? Boredom?"

You're taken aback by the vulnerability in his voice. It occurs to you that maybe he's been dwelling on this as much as you have.

“I don’t know. Kind of thought it’d be funny.”

“You thought it’d be funny?”

“What? It was like a bad porn plot.”

“Wow, okay,” he scoffs. “I almost thought maybe you liked me or something.”

"I— I do,” you mumble. “I did it because I do. Because I… wanted you.”

Choso's eyes darken at your words. "And now?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

Your breath catches in your throat. "Now?"

He nods, leaning in closer. "Do you still want me?"

The air between you feels electric, charged with anticipation. You can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin.

"Yes," you whisper, your eyes flicking down to his lips.

There's a beat of silence, the only sound of the rain pounding against the car roof. You're acutely aware of how close you are to each other in the confined space of the car, the sound of rain creating a cocoon around you both. You look away from him shyly, which makes him touch your cheek to turn your face towards him.

“Do— do you—”

Choso cuts you off and closes the distance between you, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that's both gentle and urgent. You respond immediately, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair as you deepen the kiss. He groans into your mouth, the sound sending a jolt of heat straight to your core.

His hands roam your body, reacquainting themselves with your curves. When he palms your breast through your shirt, you arch into his touch, breaking the kiss to gasp.

"Fuck," Choso mutters, his voice rough.

He leans in again, this time trailing kisses along your jaw and down your neck. When he reaches the sensitive spot just below your ear, you let out a soft moan. You feel him smile against your skin before he nips gently at the spot, soothing it with his tongue.

Your hands roam over his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt. You tug at the hem, suddenly desperate to feel his skin against yours.

Choso pulls back, his eyes meeting yours as he quickly pulls his shirt over his head. The sight of his bare chest, adorned with intricate tattoos, makes your mouth go dry. You reach out, tracing the lines of ink with your fingertips.

He shudders at your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When he opens them again, there's a fire in his gaze that makes heat pool in your belly.

"Your turn," he murmurs, his hands finding the hem of your shirt.

You lift your arms, allowing him to pull it off. His eyes roam over your exposed skin hungrily, and you feel a blush creep up your chest under his intense gaze.

“Jesus. I still can’t get over how hot you are.”

You roll your eyes before leaning in to kiss him again. This time, it’s all teeth and tongue. Messy. Choso tastes even better before, you think, but you don’t quite remember. You’ve been chasing that taste for weeks now and here he was – all tobacco and mint in your mouth.

He pulls you to the backseat, sets you down on the leather. Legs hiked up around his waist, your sneakers up on the window. He can feel his dick jump in his pants when he hears you mewl into his mouth like a kitten, his hand flicking the peak of your breast.

It’s a struggle for him to take off his jeans with how tight the backseat is. Your breath hitches when you feel his cock settle in between the crease of your bare thighs. It’s different, having him this close, bare skin touching. 

He sucks a mark on your collarbone that almost feels loving. You feel drunk from his touch, from his fingers toying with your clit. You need him embedded into your skin. Tattoo crush.

“Feel good, baby?” HIs voice is low, nearly purring.

You hum in satisfaction. “Need you in me.”

“You sure?” The expression on his face is genuine, tender. You respond with an incredulous look. He chuckles.

To spite you, he leans and kisses over the skin between of your breasts. Descending licks, tasting the salt of your skin until he’s curled up, pushing your thighs forward so he has enough room to put his face full in your cunt. You moan at the feeling of his tongue, hot and warm against you. 

His fingers split you open in tandem with his tongue fucking you. You wanted him deep, imprinted in you. You gasp as you come, his fingers reaching somewhere yours could never touch.

He kisses you messily, grinning into it.

“Tastes good.”

“Shut up.”

You want to jump his bones, make a home from his lap. But he’s so big, his hands grasping the silk of your thighs with intent. You groan when you feel his tip prodding you, slowly sinking until he bottoms out. Choso represses any noise from his mouth, biting his lip hard enough to bleed.

“Don’t do that,” you huff. “Wanna hear you.”

He sighs, gripping you tightly, warm-bellied. Tight in your cunt. It feels crazier to him now than before – the spontaneity had driven his lust the first time, but now, it was all built-up emotion. Weeks of yearning and playing it cool, his stomach collapsing in on itself whenever you even looked at him. 

And now, you’re moaning from him like you want him. You do want him. Choso has always found it easy to get laid, but with you, he felt like he was walking on eggshells. Like he could’ve fucked up at any moment, that the time in the back room was just a fluke. The look in your glassy ways say otherwise. 

His pace moves faster and your eyes roll back like he’s knocking the stars out of you. An angel falling. You can barely keep your eyes open and your mouth shut with the way he feels inside you, hitting every spot that has your whole body feel like it’s levitating. 

Choso’s fingers thread through your hair as he kisses you. He marvels at the softness of all of you – your mouth like melted wax, hair knotted in daisy chains underneath his fingertips. Precious.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah – feels so… shit—”

The desperation is getting to him from the way he ruts into you. Desire leaves his nerves on fire. The kisses you litter on his neck from below certainly don’t help. He’s weak to all of it – all of you. You moan loudly after a particularly hard thrust and he feels himself on the edge already.

You whimper. “Don’t slow down–”

“Gonna cum if I don’t,” Choso groans.

“I’m so close, please,” you beg. “Come with me—”

“Shit—”

“Choso, Choso, please—”

He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and you nearly scream. He’s deeper — you feel him everywhere, up to your stomach, your heart. He pushes a palm lightly on top of your stomach and you can feel yourself ready to cry.

“I’m gonna – oh, fuck,” he gasps. 

“Me too,” you whimper.

He looks at you like he’s lovesick. Your nails dig into his broad shoulders as your eyes shut tightly, your mouth fallen open into an “O” as you mewl like something wounded. Your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, washing all over you. He groans as his thrusts gets sloppier, until you feel his warmth fill you.

He keeps rocking into you, nose in your neck as he rides out his high. Thunder booms above you.

Once he’s spent, he pulls out of you, fumbling with some napkins he pulls from the seat pocket to clean up the mess. There’s a buzzing – his forgotten phone is on the floor, lit up with Yuji’s name. He curses under his breath.

You look at him, amused, as he stares at the thing.

“Pick it up.” You nudge his stomach with your foot.

He huffs, but obeys. “Hey, man. What? I didn’t have… service. That’s why. Yeah, I– uh, got a ride home and her tire blew out…”

You snicker as you pull your clothes back on, which earns you a glare. You watch him hang up and sigh. 

“Your brother coming to the rescue?” you ask.

“Yup.”

“What a good boy.”

He narrows his eyes at you, but doesn’t say anything else. He pulls his clothes on and sits beside you, examining the shadows on your face as you both listen to the rain.

“That was good,” you mumble.

He laughs dryly. “Yeah… it was.”

More seconds of silence. Choso clears his throat.

“Do you want to go out with me?” he blurts out.

You raise your brows and try not to laugh. “Aren’t we a little past that?”

“You know what I mean. Go on a date with me. Come over and watch The Ring with me.”

“Are you sure you’re not just trying to coax me into a round two?” you grin.

Choso studies you for a moment. Looks at you with a deadpan expression in his eyes. “I absolutely am trying to coax you into a round two.” A pause.

“But also, I want your company.”

Your face warms up with a smile. You feel overripe, sweet and slightly bruised. Wanting. Your lashes flutter at him.

“Deal.”

[soft-girl-musings]

Burn (MK Spring Bingo #2)

Jake Lockley & GN!Reader

cross-posted to ao3

tags: breakup/gender neutral ex mention, fire safety? we don't know her. no use of y/n

wc: 1,347

fic summary: what's a few burnt mementos between friends?

A/N: i was cold so i finally wrote this lol

_____________________

This stinks.

Literally, this whole setup stinks. Lighting a fire always seems so appealing until you remember how the stench of it clings to your body and clothes, head to toe. You’ll carry it with you until you can rid yourself of everything imbued with smoke and dive through the shower.

As you glance toward the box at your feet, the irony doesn’t escape you: lighting a fire to forget while it refuses to let you. What’s one more memory scorched into your person?

“Hey.”

A familiar voice snaps you back to the present. In the dim light you see the outline of your friend, bundled up as he walks toward you.

“Hey yourself.” Jake has an open invitation to swing by anytime, but you had forgotten to text him and ask for some privacy tonight. You kick the box beneath your seat. Jake pretends not to notice.

Instead, he hands you a thermos. “Bit cold to be outside, don’t you think?”

“I’m staying warm out of spite.” You open the thermos and nearly melt as the smell of your favorite hot beverage wafts up from the canister. At least he never comes empty handed.

A gloved hand gestures for you to pass the thermos back as Jake takes the seat next to you. The light of the fire dances across his features, the tired look in his eyes more prominent in the orange glow. He pours a steaming mug from the canister and passes it to you, capping it and pulling out a flask for himself.

You sip your drink as you continue to examine him. This must not be a social visit.

Finally you clear your throat. “Do you want to talk about it, or do you want a distraction?”

He smirks, shaking his head. “Distraction, if you’re game.”

“Sure… yeah, okay.” The mug is a welcome comfort to your frigid hands, but you part with it to drag the box back out. “Guess what today is?”

You can see the wheels turning in his mind as he runs through every significant date possible. His eyes widen when he spies the corner of something poking out from the box. “Your anniversary,” he winces.

“Ugh, don’t call it that.” You set the box on the seat between you. “But yes, technically. One year since… you know. I ended things.”

Jake nods sagely, putting his flask back in his coat pocket. He remembers what happened a year ago. 

It was a gnarly breakup. He was proud of you for ending things with your ex, and he made sure to tell you every time doubt began to creep into your mind. But even now, he knew you could be triggered by the smallest things. You’d avoid certain phrases when you spoke; you couldn’t stand the smell of the places you frequented on your dates; you hadn’t touched the book series you both had bonded over since they stopped being part of your life.

Jake’s attention falls back on the box. “And how are we celebrating tonight?”

You laugh, sharp and bitter. “Yeah, it’s a real party.” Still, you open the box to give him a better look at its contents. To anyone else, it’d look like a pile of junk. And technically, to you, it is junk: odds and ends, trinkets and notes are piled inside. On top sits a book, decently sized and paperback with worn pages.

You shrug. “Figured tonight was as good a time as any to bury the hatchet. Or burn it.”

Jake looks at you quizzically. “Then why haven’t you?” He scoots his seat closer to yours, a small grin playing on his lips. “I mean, I’m honored if you were waiting for little ol’ me, but I get the feeling you wanted to do this alone.” He nudges your foot with his own. “What’s the holdup?”

You stare down at the box, then at the fire. “It just… I don’t know. It feels mean. Like, I could just stick this stuff back in my closet and it’d basically be the same thing.”

Jake shakes his head. “If that was the case, you wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of lighting this thing and sat here freezing your ass off for so long.” When this draws a small smile from you, he continues. “You’re not going to hurt anyone if you get rid of these things once and for all. Not if it’s what you really want to do. But…” he sighs, picking up the paperback and flipping through it. “If you want to keep ‘em a while longer, nobody’s gonna get hurt from that, either.” He closes the book and looks you in the eye. “It’s up to you.”

You’re focused on the book in his hands as he talks. After a moment, your voice is soft. “They never even read it. That book, I loaned it to them. It wasn’t my favorite, but I figured we could bond over the author or something. Do you know where they put it as soon as I handed it over?” Your face scrunches in disgust. “Their fucking gym bag. They gave it back a month later, never even opened it.” 

You haven’t thought about that moment since you shoved the novel in the reject pile ages ago. It wasn’t even the fact that your ex had put something of yours in the same bag as their used socks and God knows what else. When they gave it back to you, unread, it felt tainted in more ways than one. Tainted with neglect. One of the first red flags you’ve beaten yourself up over not recognizing sooner. Your eyes sting with tears– whether from sadness, frustration, or the smoke blowing your way, you can’t tell. All you know is that you can’t stand to look at the thing anymore.

Jake reads you loud and clear. He stands up, crosses to the other side of the fire, and opens the book in the middle. “Well, this thing does not spark joy.” With a flourish, he takes one page in hand, and tears it from the book with a decided riiiiiip.

You watch with wide eyes as he holds the page over the flames. As if waiting for your approval (not that you fancied taping a page back into the gym bag book either way). You nod, and Jake shouts, “En el fuego te vas!” before crumpling the page and dropping it into the fire pit.

You laugh for the first time all evening. Jake continues, tearing page after page from the novel and ceremoniously dropping them into the fire. A weight seems to have been lifted from him, as well, as he gets louder and more energized with every offering.

Finally you stand up and take the book from his hands. “Can’t let you have all the fun, Lockley.” You grab a fistful of the remaining pages and scatter them into the fire pit, then chuck the rest of the book into the makeshift inferno.

Plumes of smoke rise as sparks fly out from the force of your enthusiasm. Jake wraps his arms around you and turns your body away, shielding you from the brunt of the embers. “Easy, cariño.”

“You made it look fun,” you say breathlessly. The cold and adrenaline catch up to you, and you’re practically buzzing. Jake rubs his hands along your shoulders to steady you.

“Want to keep going, then?”

You smile wide. “Hell yeah.”

The two of you spend the next half hour sorting through the box, bidding each item farewell before dropping it into the fire pit. You’re convinced dumping the whole thing in at once would be the perfect catharsis, but Jake convinces you to take your time (and avoid calling the fire department).

Later, as the flames cool and every memento has been reduced to ash, you sit with Jake in the fading glow of the fire, his arm around you as you sip from the thermos.

“Jake?” you ask quietly, face flush against his chest as you watch the light leave each ember.

“Yeah?”

“Happy anniversary.”

A/N: ladies if he sticks a novel you loaned him in his goddamn duffel bag, kick 'em to the curb

_____________________

anyway this was fun. excited to continue with my planned bingo entries!!

ty for reading babes <3

event tags: @moonknight-events @spacecowboyhotch @juneknight

addtl tags: @mrs-lockley @lunar-ghoulie @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi @nerdieforpedro @queerponcho (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

[sednonamoris]

let me love the lonely out of you

Pairing: John Price x gn!reader

Summary: Faced with your first off-duty Christmas in years, you’re excited to go home and see family. When it seems like Price doesn’t feel the same, you make sure he gets his fill of holiday cheer by coming home with you.

Warnings: Language, pure unfettered fluff with little to no plot lol

Word count: 2,162

A/N: Technically follows the events of this fic, but you don’t have to have read it to get the point

—

It starts off, as so many things do, with an innocent question.

“And how do you celebrate Christmas, Captain?” from Gaz across the rec room where he’s tormenting everyone with similar interrogations over his game of ping pong. 2-1 right now. Soap is losing.

Tucked into a loveseat in the corner of the room with a book you’ve been trying to finish for the past month, their banter has mostly been background noise. Now your ears perk up, though you keep your eyes on the page.

Price lets out a puff of air from where he stands reffing the game, drags a hand through his beard. His silence is punctuated by the tic, tac of the lads’ current stalemate.

“Quietly,” he finally says, “and away from you lot.”

Gaz and Soap both start in with their heckling immediately, which Price reciprocates in his usual manner. But a quick peek over your paperback reveals a strained humor in his eyes, and you suddenly wonder if he has anyone back home to celebrate with. A frown twists your lips at the thought. Cold-blooded killer you may be, but no one should spend the holidays alone.

Especially since you and Price are… well. You’re something. Sneaking around base to have sex without alerting the other members of your squad hardly needs a label, but it’s more than that. To call him your boyfriend feels juvenile, and ‘partner’ is terrifyingly official.

So you call him ‘Captain’ in public and ‘John’ in private and wonder if Christmas in Ireland might suit him instead.

“What about Hound?” Soap turns the question on you. Gaz takes the opportunity to score again.

You shoot a flat stare over the top of your book. “What about me?”

“Come on,” he drags the syllables out, “how do you celebrate?”

“Not in fucking England, I can tell you that.”

Gaz gasps in faux-offence. Soap cackles and manages to win a point while his opponent is distracted.

It’s Price who looks over at you with a question in his eyes, one that you tilt your head towards the door in answer. Five minutes later he tells the lads that this has been fun, but he’s got paperwork to attend to. Surely they can manage the score on their own from here. 5-4. Soap is still losing. Ten minutes after that you mark your book, have a stretch, and leave the tic, tac, tic of the ping pong game and Soap’s impassioned defence of MacTavish holiday traditions behind.

Price waits for you in his office. He’s perched with arms folded on the edge of his desk. You lean in the doorway to admire his broad frame and the way he looks at you, but there’s an uncharacteristic hesitation in the air. You’re not sure how to say this.

“What is it, love?” he asks.

You duck your head at how easily the endearment rolls off his tongue, cross the room and cup a hand to his cheek. His whiskers are scratchy beneath your palm. You spend a moment idly rubbing your thumb across his skin just to feel the texture when he reaches up with his own hand to cover yours, warm and calloused and terribly sweet. When you look into his eyes you think you could melt into that blue, let the cerulean sea whisk you on its currents with no lifeboat or anchor.

“Come home with me,” you say. It doesn’t come out a question so much as a request.

He blinks in surprise. “Neither of us has had leave over Christmas in years.”

“I know, and if you have plans with your family I would never keep you from them. But if you don’t,” you forge ahead, mustering up all of your courage, “you’re more than welcome to join mine.”

For the holidays. Forever. You’re not picky.

John Price looks down at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. Like you’re a wonder. A smile he can’t seem to help tugs crooked at his teeth as he melts further into your touch.

“I’d love to.”

--

You’ve completed covert operations in sweltering desert conditions and full gear without sweating this much. Quite frankly it’s embarrassing, especially given the cool December temperatures that have everyone else buttoned up and rosy-cheeked.

It’s just that you’re nervous. In all your years on this earth you’ve never once brought someone home to meet your grandfather.

The house that normally feels so welcoming looms ahead as you linger at the end of the drive. There’s a bushy wreath on the door that you’re sure Mrs. Murphy from nextdoor brought over, and the lights young Davey on the corner hangs every year glow soft and warm in the early evening light. The ‘Welcome’ sign you gifted your grandfather three Christmases ago leans up against the post box that’s still crooked where you backed into it as a wild youth on a brand-new license.

Nostalgia sinks its claws into you, but still you can’t take that first step.

“Does your granddad know we’re coming?” Price asks. His distraction is perfectly timed, coupled with an arm around your shoulders. He takes the leap for you both, and you can feel some of the dread ease out of your body at his touch.

“No.” You never tell him when you’re coming - his favourite surprise, he calls your visits.

“Are you trying to give him heart failure?” his brows are raised, caught between surprise and amusement.

“Your man lived through a World War. Showing up at his doorstep unannounced on Christmas Eve is hardly the worst surprise he’s gotten.”

Price laughs, but there’s a stitch of concern between his brows when he looks over at you.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks softly when you reach the door.

“I’ve… never done this before,” you admit with an awkward smile.

He mirrors the expression with a tenderness in his gaze that makes your heart ache. “Me either. Shall we?”

You square your shoulders and give the old mahogany three smart raps that your grandfather would know anywhere. There’s a commotion behind the door as he shuffles to get it, and then it opens to your favourite gap-toothed smile in all the world.

“My darlin’, you made it!” he exclaims.

“Happy Christmas, Old Man!” you say with a bright smile. “I brought you a Brit to bully.”

Nerves forgotten, you all but launch into your grandfather’s waiting embrace. When you pull apart he’s quick to give Price the same treatment.

“This is Captain John Price,” you introduce as they clasp hands, “and this is my dear Old Man.”

“I’ve heard all about you, son,” your grandfather says with a twinkle in his eye. “This one says you’ve been enjoying my biscuits.”

You cough awkwardly and move everyone along inside, but don’t miss the shade of pink that dusts Price’s cheeks and the tips of his ears when he mutters a yes, sir, thank you, sir.

“Come in, come in, I’ve just put on a kettle.” Your grandfather eyes Price with the disdain and suspicion only a true old Irishman can muster. “We’ve no English Breakfast, so best get used to an Irish brew.”

You cackle bright and loud as he wastes no time taking the piss out of poor Price, who looks like he can’t decide if this is the best or worst thing that’s ever happened to him.

The kitchen is just as half-clean and kitschy as it’s always been. Mismatched dishware and loudly printed wash rags occupy every space that’s not taken over by unread mail or plates of holiday goodies the neighbors have dropped by. The kettle sings on the stove, caught just in time, and you make sure to snag the chipped candy cane mug that’s always been your favourite.

You turn to find Price staring.

Not at you, but everything. The walls are littered with pictures of you; as a child lined up for your first (and last) Irish Dance recital, as a teen with bad hair posed next to the clunker of a car you bought yourself, as a beaming young soldier with your squadmates after a successful mission. Your medals for exemplary service are inlaid on velvet and framed next to an old Polaroid of your grandfather holding you as just a wee thing, still in nappies.

There’s so much love in this house, hanging on the walls and poured in steaming mugs and squished into too-tight hugs.

There are other pictures, other children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren, but it’s painfully obvious who reciprocates that love. Who still comes around and who keeps the table and heart of an old man full. When he turns to meet your gaze Price has a misty look in his eyes that punches the air from your lungs.

Did he ever feel this kind of love growing up? Is it too late for you to give it to him now?

Your grandfather shuffles back in with his arms full of something bright and hideous to break the moment. He holds them out to reveal the ugliest jumpers you’ve ever seen.

“Can’t get in the Christmas spirit without a proper set of civvies,” you grin and toss the larger of the two over to Price.

It’s fire truck red and has a knitted reindeer pattern complete with bells sewn onto sleighs. There’s a soft jingle as he clutches it to his chest. Yours isn’t any better; an alarming shade of green covered in dancing elves.

You’re both quick to change. Price steps out with his arms wide for inspection, one he passes with flying colours if the smile on your grandfather’s face is anything to go by. He’s being a terribly good sport. You can feel how sappy your own smile is as you watch them together.

He herds you and Price back into the kitchen where somehow a space has been cleared for baking gingerbread men. It’s a Christmas Eve tradition that has carried on from year to year, but neither you nor your grandfather are particularly suited to the task.

You make up for it with attitude.

Somewhere between, “That’s too many eggs,” and, “Are you sure we have enough molasses?” and, “Get your fingers out of that bowl! We haven’t even rolled the dough out yet,” you manage to get a viable batch on a baking tray. They are perhaps the most misshapen, lopsided effort yet, but when you see the smile on Price’s face when he bites into one fresh out of the oven you decide they’re the best all the same.

As you stand around the kitchen waiting for the last batch to finish, your grandfather chatters away about all the neighborhood gossip you’ve missed out on lately. You gasp in outrage at all the appropriate moments, and even Price chimes in with a smart remark or two that send you all into fits of laughter.

You thought it would be jarring, seeing him in your childhood home like this, but it fits. In a way you can’t explain, Price belongs here.

You only hope he feels it, too.

As the evening grows older everyone migrates from around the kitchen counter to the sitting room, where Nat King Cole sings Christmastime into the air through the old record player your grandfather has had for decades. The tree lights up the room, plastic branches gleaming with multi-coloured lights and an eclectic assortment of ornaments. On sunken couch cushions your old man regales Price with wild tales from your youth. You’d be embarrassed if they didn’t look so happy. Content, even. Price hasn’t been this relaxed in a long, long time now. You try to memorize how it looks on him.

It’s well into the night when your grandfather announces he’s off to bed. There’s a twinkle in his eye when he tells you to behave, both you and Price stuttering out awkward reassurances that only make him laugh.

“Thank you,” Price says into the quiet when just the two of you are left.

The lights from the tree shine in his eyes as he looks at you with something treacherously close to love. You hope it’s love.

“What for?”

“Everything. I haven’t had a Christmas like this…” he smiles in that self-deprecating way that breaks your heart. “Well, it’s been a long time.”

You reach out to squeeze his hand. “I couldn’t let you be alone. Not on Christmas.”

Not ever. Not if you can help it.

He squeezes your hand back, then slowly pulls you to your feet. His sleigh bells jingle softly as he walks backwards and leads you into a clumsy dance. ‘The Christmas Song’ croons in the background. The dance ends up an unpracticed sway, your arms wrapped around each other and your head tucked into his chest. You stay like that even after the song ends and the scratchy sound of empty vinyl takes over.

“Happy Christmas, John,” you kiss the words into the fabric of his jumper.

“Happy Christmas, love.”

[londondungeon2]

hello hello, re-l!!

Do you read books outside of fanfics? Or if mainly fainfics, what inspirations do you have? I'm looking for stuff to read, but I mainly only ever like reading your stuff and two other writers🤧

If you have any books or authors that inspire you, I would love to know!

Ofc, no need to respond if you don't want to! ^^

hello hello icarus!!! 💕

i am a huge reader! have been since elementary school and i’ve always been ‘that’ cousin who brings a book to family get-togethers! so i do have a tons of recommendations for novels and short stories!

(but before that, my inspiration for fanfiction is mostly stockpiled in my ao3 bookmarks)

i‘ll try not to include novels that are mostly high school or college required reading. while i did enjoy some of them immensely, what’s the point of rec-ing something if the chance another person has read it is already pretty high! so here’s a list of novels/short stories that i personally adore:

1. grendel by john gardner

it’s about 10 chapters on a paperback so a relatively short read; told from the perspective of the villain in the beowulf legend — it anglo saxon like king arthur so you know it’s my cup of tea

changed my life truthfully; i’m still waiting to get my ‘grendel had an accident, so may you all’ tattoo one day :)

2. master and the margarita by mikhail bulgakov

a decently sized novel and it’s by a russian author so you know you’re in for a good read; plot line is about the devil and his entourage visiting the officially atheistic soviet union.

tells a lot about the volatile state of censorship and how we must preserve through it, excellent social commentary on one of my favorite historical time periods

3. life of pi by yann martel

a story about a young Indian boy, my beloved protagonist ‘Pi’, who explores issues of spirituality and metaphysics from an early age.

cannot be more grateful to have read this; it made me sob at the end like a little baby and i am known for being very stoic and difficult to make cry.

4. beasts by joyce carol oates

fun story about this one, the only reason i read it was because my dad and i were cleaning out his large library together (i inherited the mental disease of writer from him) and i was in my senior year of high school about to start looking at colleges …

he hands me the book and says ‘read this before you go to college’ and then he took a moment before firmly saying ‘don’t fall in love with your professors’ i was floored.

5. something wicked this way comes by ray bradbury

oh fahrenheit 451 is his best book … oh ray bradbury’s a one hit wonder … no i refuse, everyone should read this. really gives ‘floyd and jade in playful land’ vibes

//short stories

6. i have no mouth and i must scream

i have cognito ergo sum tattooed under my boob, ENOUGH SAID!

7. white nights (clogged in a collection of other short stories)

patrick read this aloud for me once, a very peaceful memory of mine <3

8. the disappearing act (clogged in a collection of other short stories)

inspired one of my favorite twilight zone episodes <3

9. 1408

i would include all of stephen king books on this list but we would be here forever, here is an underappreciated gem!

10. cigarette (clogged in a collection of other short stories)

yukio mishima the writer that you are OTL OTL OTL

[renneeofpeace]

Erincondren. Academic Planner. 2024, www.erincondren.com/academic-planner. Accessed 31 Aug. 2024.

Blog Post 2: It is just a planner, why bother? 

Let me rewind. I started graduate school last august. I remember feeling super anxious because I had been out of school for a few years and my life looked quite different than it was when I was completing my undergrade degree. Gathering my references was one thing but completing the letter of intent took me by surprise. I knew it was standard to complete one, but I did not realize how vulnerable I would become while writing it. Nevertheless, I turned everything in and then it was just a waiting game. During this time, I recognized the excitement for the new chapter I was entering clouded my judgement on needing to properly prepare myself in any way to balance being a graduate student and a stay-at-home mother. I thought “I’ve done it before; I know what I’m doing.” Before I knew it, I received my letter of acceptance with pure joy in my heart.  

I am sure many of us can agree, the first week is a breeze. Mostly filled with going over the syllabus and completing the infamous “no-show” assignment, we feel we have time to breathe a little before going full speed into the semester.  But I instantly grasp the workload was much heavier than I was used to. Going from taking 3-4 classes per semester in undergrade with less responsibilities to being recommended to only take two courses as a graduate student truly clicked for me the moment I read both syllabuses. Being a wife and a mother of 3, I knew I had to produce a very structured system that allowed me to get my work done successfully WITHOUT burning out.  

The first obstacle I encountered was not having an academic planner. Although I was familiar with them from my undergraduate years, I did not think to get one for graduate school. BIG MISTAKE! An academic planner is a calendar where you organize your classes and their assignments. There are digital planners and paperbacks. I prefer paperback because I learn and remember things vividly when I write them.  I knew I needed one the second I could not decide which class I should focus on first or which assignments were coming up. It is very overwhelming for me to have to go back and forth through each syllabus to track when assignments are due. My planner created the extra structure I NEED to operate effectively in all my roles.  

A SECRET!!! 

Lean in, I am about to tell you one of the best hacks when recording your due dates in your academic planner. Document your due dates a day or two before they are due. For example, if your book review assignment is due on the 5th of the month, put that it is due on the 3rd or 4th if possible. This hack not only boosts my confidence, but it gives me more time to edit if necessary. Fortunately, this obstacle did not take me long to overcome because I immediately realized how important it is to have an academic planner, and I was already familiar with the results it would give me.  

Lastly, your academic planner does not have to be some overly expensive, decked out planner. You can make one from scratch at home or purchase one. Honestly, I find the cutest ones at my local thrift store. I know it sounds so simple and some may think "It's just a planner, why bother,” but it is not just a planner. It could be that one thing that keeps your head above water until you make it to the other side. I am a firm believer that it is the simple things in life that take us further than we could ever imagine.  

Thank you for reading guys, until next time!  

[luxuriousmalfoy]

This or That

I was tagged by @felixantares TYSM FELIX FOR TAGGING ME!!!!!!!!!! It's been a million years and i'm awful for waiting this long lmao

Hardcover or Paperback? Paperback!!!! My hands cramp so quickly from hardcovers so the ones i have are either bc it was the only copy i could find at the used bookstore or just a copy i don't physically read from bc i also own the audiobook. (I'm looking at you, The Anthropocene Reviewed)

Bookstore or Library? EASILY the library, it's free and stimulates the community hello. I like Libby bc i can check out audiobooks and ebooks from my local library!!!!

Bookmark or Receipt? i have a bunch of cute bookmarks so sure i use those but like Felix i am a dog earer! idk it's just always an available option lmao

Standalone or Series? it's definitely less pressure to pick up a standalone bc i don't have to worry about feeling overwhelmed, but sometimes there will come a long series (cough, 39 clues) that i just get so obsessed with and have to binge read. AGAIN like Felix most of my favorites are in series!! BUT standalones are low presh

Nonfiction or Fiction? Fiction! I like the occasional memoir or essay collection or like history book or something, but GENERALLY i prefer to go for Fiction titles

Thriller or Fantasy? honestly thriller!! though i will clarify--i'm not that interested in adult thrillers for the most part. not to be reductive but the divorcee thrillers really bore me. i love a good YA thriller though, from slashers to murder mysteries i just love them!! some of my favorites are (ironically i'm about to list some series') A Good Girl's Guide to Murder, The Amateurs, and One of Us is Lying.

Under 300 Pages or Over? Also over! I do like a short read but between 300 and 400 pages is like the audiobook sweet spot for me honestly

Children’s or YA? YA/Middle Grade for sure!! My favorite book is Holes which is a children's book technically but yeah i freaking love some good YA Middle Grade books

Friends to Lovers or Enemies to Lovers? It depends on the genre for me honestly, but sometimes i think Friends to Lovers has higher stakes and as it stands that's what i would go for, though that could change at any given moment tbh

Read in Bed or Read on the Couch? I do most of my reading in the car technically bc i listen to audiobooks while i drive a lot lmao

Read at Night or Read in the Morning? Day time! It's too scary to read thrillers in the dark LOL

Keep Pristine or Markup? I am such a markup bitch i love to highlight and write notes in the margins fr!!!!!!! I annotate Holes at least once a year

Cracked Spine or Dogear? Majorly controversh but BOTH. I dogear all the time and i am a compulsive spine cracker. It's just too satisfying. But also I'll say i have not spent my whole life as a book person, so idek if i have more than like 2 books that i've had for more than like 3 years anyways

OKAY i'm tagging @vitaminpops @silently--here and @iammyownsaviour, if you've already done this obv ignore

[literaticat]

Hi Jenn! For books that change titles after publication, who makes the decision? Is it solely up to the publisher, or does the author have a say, 1) that it should happen (like if a title becomes problematic) and 2) what the new title should be? Or will the book just not get another printing? How would a change affect book sales, would it be treated as a brand new book, does anything special need to be done like with ISBNs or catalogs? Example: Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None.

First of all, this doesn't happen often at all, so it's probably not something that will ever come up, if you are reading this like !!! -- pls, calm down, you don't need to add this to your brimming catalogue of concerns.

Occasionally -- RARELY!!! -- a title will change after the book is already published. It's rare because it's a bit of a pain in the ass. IF this were to happen, it would most likely be at one of two times, for one of two reasons:

First: IF the book truly did NOT do well in hardcover, but they still believe in it and want to publish it in paperback but totally reimagine the packaging and "rebrand" to get a fresh start. (It does OFTEN happen that a paperback will get a new cover look from the hardcover -- but that rarely extends to the title itself. As in, over 500+ books I've had published, this has happened to me once.) In that case, the publisher said, hey, we want to rebrand this and give it a new title what do you think? And we brainstormed new titles and cover directions together. It was a good thing, because whatever confusion that might have happened in the marketplace (wait -- did I read this book already? Is this the same book or...??) was fleeting -- after all, hardly anyone DID notice the book the first time around, so there weren't very many people to confuse, that was the whole point! And it did say on the book "previously published as [former title]" so people could figure it out. And there was no issue with ISBN, because the paperback had a new ISBN anyway.

Second: If the book has done very well over the course of years, but for some reason the title has become A Problem. The case you mention, AND THEN THERE WERE NONE, is an example of this; the original UK title was offensive even for the US in the 1930's and I'm certainly not typing it, click the link if you don't know. We published it under another name here, and it has changed to be more offensive and then less offensive and changed back a couple more times over the course of decades. Obviously they didn't want to put a popular book by an extremely famous author out of print, so different publishers over the years have opted to tackle this in different ways, and Agatha is famous enough and the book popular enough that everyone just rolled with it. (I think everyone has finally settled on AND THEN THERE WERE NONE for the book, play, and new adaptations!) These changes might have been the idea of the estate itself, or might have come from the publisher, but either way, they'd both have to agree. Yes, a new edition with a new title would have a new ISBN and the updated version would be in catalogues and able to be ordered, the old version would just go out of print.

This has also happened to me once over the years with a book I repped, MELISSA by Alex Gino. It was originally published under a different title and won many awards and I don't think it's a stretch to call it a Modern Classic of MG fiction. It's about a trans kid (the titular MELISSA!) -- but the title of the first version was her "boy name." This made sense back in 2010 or whenever the author first conceived of writing the book, and we (author, agent, editor, publisher) didn't think much of it even when the book was published in 2015; that was what everyone called the protagonist, so it didn't feel weird at the time -- but after a while, Alex came to feel that this title felt inappropriate since Melissa IS Melissa throughout the whole book, even if other people call her by a different name; they wanted to change it. And times by then had changed quite a bit, people's understanding of how to talk about gender and such was just different, so while the publisher did balk at first (after all, changing that book meant potentially confusing A LOT of people, as well as changing the covers of ALL Alex's books that mentioned this award-winning first book), eventually the publisher decided that the benefits outweighed the risks and did change it. So a bunch of things happened: All Alex's other books had their covers changed in reprints, MELISSA's cover and ISBN changed and the old version went out of print, and new jackets that said MELISSA were created so people who already had the hardcover with the old title could swap it out if they wanted, and they did a lot of PR around the name change so people would hopefully understand why and what was happening and be excited about it rather than potentially annoyed.

As you can see, doing this with a popular book is quite an undertaking and not something a publisher would take lightly -- and while the decision might come from the author OR the publisher, at the end of the day, EVERYONE would have to be on board.

I strongly suspect that a book that had a "huh, is that kosher these days?" title that was NOT popular would just end up going out of print and fading into memory.

[marianneshepherd]

The Starlight Chronicles

In August 2023, I read every book (and the in-between episode books) of The Starlight Chronicles by C.S. Johnson.

I have made it my mission to read as many Christian fiction books as I can while writing my own book. This series was my first taste of the genre.

Specifically, this series is Christian fantasy with supernatural elements in a modern setting. There was so much to read, but I could not put these books down. If you like Angels and Demons and lots of action (superheoroes?) and a little bit of romance, this is for you!

Brace yourself for this long list ahead. These are the books in the series:

#1 Slumbering

#1.5 Awakening: A Christmas Episode

#2 Calling

#2.5 Falling: A Starry Knight Episode

#3 Submerging

#3.5 Seeing: A Wedding Episode

#4 Remembering

#4.5 Belonging: Date Night Episode

#5 Continuing

#5.5 Reflecting: A Dream Episode

#6 Outpouring

#6.5 Reawakening: A Rebirth Episode

#7 Everlasting

#8 Searching (the Prequel that's meant to be read last)

I loved this series and have found it difficult to find books that can follow this series and still keep my attention.

Without spoilers, the book found me laughing uncontrollably, sobbing until my eyes burned, and had me on the edge of my couch to the point where my family had to make sure I was okay on a dozen occasions.

The pros, I didn't see any noticeable plot holes and there were plenty of moments I didn't see coming. The characters were well written, and the setting was vivid enough for even me to see (I struggle with visuals.) The characters had so many redeeming qualities, which is a must-have for a book of this nature. On another note, her books are very affordable and available in paperback, hardback, box sets and digital copies. I did a combo of paperback and digital (because I was too impatient to wait for shipping at the time) and it worked out wonderfully.

The cons of the series, many reviewers said they gave up in the middle of the first book (don't do this.) The said the main character was too narcissistic and rotten, but I promise you it's worth getting through the first book to read all the rest of them. Lastly, the editor did a terrible job (I know it's not the best news.) But, I was able to work around it, just like I work around autocorrect. This was not the author's fault, so I can't fault her for it. Unfortunately for the author, her work was muddied by the editing mistakes made and if I could change anything about the series that would be the only change.

Biblical tie-ins: I saw the transformative power of God throughout this book. I couldn't help but be overwhelmed with gratitude and love for my Savior. I've had time to soak in silence after finishing the series, and it drew me into a closer relationship with Jesus.

Verses that go with this series include:

"For nothing is impossible with God." Luke 1:37

"We also boast in our afflictions, because we know that affliction produces endurance, endurance produces proven character, and proven character produces hope." Romans 5:3-4

"For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is going to be revealed to us." Romans 8:18

"So then, let those who suffer according to God's will entrust themselves to a faithful Creator while doing what is good." 1 Peter 5:9

Final Thoughts: If you're looking for a finished Christian-based urban fantasy series about love, faith and giving evil an epic butt-kicking then pick up these books and binge until you cry snot-faced tears all over your dog. You won't regret a single moment of it.

-Marianne Shepherd

[veliseraptor]

1 and 11 for the reading ask game!

What are 2-5 already published fiction books you think you want to read in 2023?

easy for this one: I can just look at my shelves. the hard part is picking just between two and five

Jade Legacy by Fonda Lee. I've had this on my shelf for so embarrassingly long you guys, initially I had to wait until I had a chance to reread the first two books (because I'd been too long away from them and needed a refresher) and then I got a case of the "my favorite character is going to die again, I think" willies, and I just have to suck it up and take the plunge because I will almost certainly love it and even if Fonda Lee does kill my fave I will forgive it because Fonda Lee gets to do that to me.

A Desolation Called Peace by Arkady Martine. Another one where I've had it sitting on my shelf for a while because I loved A Memory Called Empire but probably have to now reread A Memory Called Empire in order to read this one, so it keeps ending up getting deferred. But it's time, you guys. It's time.

Eyes of the Void by Adrian Tchaikovsky. Another sequel! The conclusion to this series is coming out this year but since I'm only reading it in paperback I'm woefully behind. Very excited to read this, though, Adrian Tchaikovsky has earned a spot in my fave scifi writers pantheon by now.

The Glory of the Empire by Jean d'Ormesson. This one's a weird one relative to the first three on this list, but it has been sitting unread on my shelf for a long time and the concept is sooooo fascinating to me, and I've liked the NYRB books that I've read...so here goes. If anyone else hasn't heard of this one (I hadn't before kind of accidentally tripping over it), the conceit is that it is a history of an empire that never existed.

The Grass Crown by Colleen McCullough. I read The First Man In Rome a couple years ago kind of on a whim and kinda loved it; I've had this one waiting for me since then and the stars just haven't aligned correctly (and also it's an intimidating brick of a book, even for me). But I am feeling like this might be my year to read more stuff that isn't just SFF, tbh, because while there is a lot of SFF on my TBR list I've also been kind of on the outs with it lately. So returning to my other love (historical fiction) seems like maybe a good move here, and I am a sucker for writing about Late Republic/Early Empire times. (We're still in the republic for now, baby, but boy is it not looking good!)

but this is like. a rough list, because as I was writing it I went "oh but also Romance of the Three Kingdoms, and also King Hereafter, and I'd love to start the Niccolo series," and so on and so forth. consider this a snapshot of what I'm thinking as of january 22nd at *checks watch*

How do you plan to keep track of your reading? E.g., goodreads, bullet journal, tumblr, etc.

Currently I still use Goodreads though I might make another go at weaning myself off and moving to Storygraph again. We'll see. Also since I am now doing monthly recaps of the books I read on this blog (and I do want to keep doing that) I guess that's me keeping track of what I'm reading, too.

[the-yearning-astronaut]

Honest question, I was getting interested in the murderbot diaries from all your posts but why on earth is a paperback with less than 200 pages 20 bucks??? and there are 8! of them as far as i saw

Hello! Just gonna give a heads up to say that this is going to be an unintentionally long post. Oops? (achievement unlocked! You've asked this blogger a question about their current hyperfixation!) There's a tl;dr at the bottom tho if you're not up for reading my rambling response!

So ngl I was also put off by the cost at first -- the audiobooks are also comparatively pricey and the ebook versions are only slightly less expensive. (2 of those 8 you mentioned are actually flash fiction and can be found online! Compulsory is a short prologue to the series and can be found on wired.com while Home is available for $2 on Kindle and is DRM free and takes place after Exit Strategy. Book 8 is called System Collapse and comes out in November.)

But like...after doing a lot of thinking I came to a few conclusions. Authors deserve to make a living, yeah? And they also have little say in how much their books cost -- that's a publisher thing afaik. These books in particular are also only available in hardcover, which have always been more expensive than paperback anyway.

And ultimately you have to decide if you want to support an author and what that support looks like for you. I totally understand the cost is prohibitive for many, especially now. Hell, me too even. But I enjoyed the first audiobook so much that I got the rest of them... and they all filled me with such joy and affection that I HAD to have the physical copies, too.

I personally find them to be 100% worth the money, regardless of their lengths -- heck I'm on my third listen through already and I started them this month lmao. Despite their short length, they tell complete, very vibrant, very human stories. (not sure that's the right word given that Murderbot has problems with being perceived as a person much less a human, but I digress) I've never related as much to a character as I've related to Murderbot -- and I'm being genuine when I say this. I also love how queer, neurodivergent, and anticapitalist the series is and all the dry humor and character growth and just... All of it.

My recommendation would be to find the first book at your local library-- they will most likely have the audio version available on Libby or a similar app service, if not physically. There will likely be a multi week long waiting list. If you enjoy it, find the second one the same way! Then you can decide if $16-$20 a book is worth it.

TL;DR -- imo the Murderbot Diaries series is definitely worth the cost. It's ultimately up to you to decide if you agree with me on that or not, but you can find them for sale as hardcovers, ebooks, and audiobooks -- Target has the first four available as a boxed set for $45 if you don't want to support Amazon, which has them for $40. I highly recommend you find the first one through your local library if you're still on the fence about buying them rn. There will be a long wait but I promise they're worth it!

Hopefully this answers your original question... I just realized it might not fjejdnd

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

for the book asks, 2, 6, and 15 please! Hope you get better soon!!

hi, friend!! thanks for asking! referencing this post.

2. Did any book inspire you to seek out further media, such as the movie/show/fanfiction? How did you feel about that take?

so MOST of what i read this year doesn't have a movie/show affiliated, is what a quick scroll through my goodreads says, and i don't read much fanfic (i prefer reading not on a screen). i did, however, scroll through the SYSTEM COLLAPSE tag for murderbot purposes for like 72 business hours after finishing it! much giggling and cackling and shrieking ensued, so. good takes and good enrichment all around, there. your honor i love them all

i'm tentatively interested in the ANNIHILATION movie (especially because i know vandermeer borderline hate-watches it himself, and i'm SO intrigued haha), and maybe in ROADSIDE PICNIC adjacent things, but i'm very bad at committing to watching anything so i have not done either of these yet.

6. Any new favorite authors?

a bunch of my high star ratings this year are authors i've read before (see: martha wells, alix harrow, jeff vandermeer, etc), which makes this one harder than i thought it'd be.

new to me, i have really enjoyed t. kingfisher, and i'm keeping an eye out for more by naomi salman and dolki min and malcolm devlin! salman and min both only have one book-length work out a piece, so i might be Eye Keeping for a while (which is fine! i can wait--they're both definitely worth it).

15. A book you never thought you'd be into but were proven wrong.

okay so please don't judge me for judging books by their covers but: i don't tend to pick up SFF books with ~militaristic~ or ~militaristically drab*~ covers, because that's not really my jam (and also i really like colorful things).

that being said: i was pleasantly surprised by how much i enjoyed IMPERIAL RADCH by ann leckie (which came highly recommended by several trusted friends)--it started kind of rocky, but it definitely grew on me and i'm obsessed with breq now AND THE TRANSLATORS, I LOVE THE TRANSLATORS, i'm so excited for TRANSLATION STATE to come out in paperback in may (it's already VERY pre-ordered haha).

*(i would like the record to show the other series i had this problem with recently was, in fact, murderbot, and we all know how that turned out.)(delightfully.)

thanks again for asking!!

[bugtransport]

Tatami Galaxy (novel) finished 2/28/23

yes i am late on this one. okay. if it is not obvious i'm already a really big fan of this series so this is going to be fully biased. sorry! i got this book as a gift; i was originally gonna wait for the paperback version to be released because honestly i typically like paperbacks better than hardcovers... they're cheaper and easier to hold and i like the way that they age and show the love you poured into them over the years (my h2g2 paperback omnibus that i carried around for like 2 years in my backpack and is held together with 3 different kinds of tape and a dream being the prime example of this) but what was i gonna do. say no? it's the tatami fuckin galaxy, baby. what the hell. it's wild to me that i've actually read this now.

first off i just wanna say how cool it was getting to read the translator's note at the end of the book and hearing how passionate they were about this author's work in particular and how they got into translating with the goal of being able to translate his work. it's fun knowing that something was made by people who actually care a lot about it. i think that shows throughout.

for those who don't know what the fuck the tatami galaxy is even about: cringefail pathetic guy college student realizes that he's pissed away the last two years of his life and wishes that he could redo it all over again to stop himself from getting wrapped up in a bunch of bullshit and we (the audience) get to see him fulfill that wish through time loop shenanigans that he (the main character) is only somewhat aware of but actually every choice he makes that could have possibly had him do something different leads him back to the same place he was before: depressed alone in his shitty little 4.5 tatami mat room. important side characters include ozu (best friend/worst enemy, connected by the black string of fate) and akashi (love interest kinda/ruthlessly autistic, girl of all time) among other recurring characters who i'm not going to talk about because time constraints and i think they're better experienced naturally so, there you go. if you're curious as to what the fuck i've been talking about you have a reason to get into it.

one of the things i really loved being able to read the novel after seeing the anime adaptation is being able to contrast the ways that they were able to bring in the time loop aspect which... really is not all that present for as much as i talk about it; it's core to the series but it's not really a mystery that needs to be uncovered, it's just the vehicle for which we can explore the main character's wish fulfillment fantasy and come to realize that actually, all the problems are with him and his pathetic little life, the spineless little worm. however i do love a good time loop and will continue to sell it as such. the repetition of passages in the book, the fact that the main character and ozu have very similar conversations in different places, the deja vu, the way each section ends the same, it all builds a really solid but not ridiculously over the top loop. like i said, it's just a vehicle. in the first 3 parts of the book at least.

as the novel is written in first person we're really able to dive into that unreliable narration more than we were in the anime which, while being narrated by the mc, really has to be third person and therefore gives a little more credence to the reality of what's being shown. the anime gets really out there with its visual interpretations and combined with the mc's narration like, it's obvious that everything you see is biased from his perspective, but... to pull an example out of my ass (and this is not a direct quote because i can't be bothered, don't come for me) there's one point where he's trying to describe himself and he's going off like: picture a guy in your head. a nice looking, smart guy, with a beautiful black haired woman by his side. he's going off about his studies. he seems like the kind of guy who has friends and is natural in social situations. now, that guy's not me, but please picture me like that.

you get what i mean? he's that kinda guy. i love a good kinda cringey main character but i get that that kind of main character isn't for everyone. however it is for me. it's fun watching him fail through life and kind of accidentally learn things along the way and then to have the big culmination of the book (the 4th part, where the aforementioned vehicle crashes and) where he ends up stuck in a literal loop with no way out of his apartment but through all the different tatami rooms that belong to the different versions of himself that he could have been and realizing that whatever path he takes he'll still end up the same but that there are small joys to be felt in life still, that he has the connections he's made in all of these worlds and realizes fuck, i've been dreaming about this rose colored campus life for far too long and i didn't even realize what i had.

and the symbolism with akashi being afraid of moths?? it's just too good. had to throw that in there because every time i think about it i get all hehehe it itches my brain in the right way. i think she got a bit more fleshed out in the anime but i do still love what there was for her in the book.

i love the tatami galaxy! really fun time for me, felt like coming home. genuinely might try and pick up another by the same author. apparently he has a thing for these sopping little wet idiot protagonists and i just love reading about them.

do i recommend it? ^ read it if the above applies to you too lol

p.s. kamen rider V3 is mentioned! THAT'S MY FRIEND KAZAMI SHIRO HIIIIII KAZAMIIIII

[gleefullypolin]

I agree, I need them all. Good and bad, I don't care I am much better off for them. I don't want the beats of their romantic stuff so much as I want the overall beats for preparing myself if you get my meaning. Seeing what happens in text gives me a peace of mind while watching something with context. My husband hates spoilers but he knows I love them so he only asks me for them if he thinks he's going to get pissed off, ha.

My chaotic brain will both love and hate a huge cliffhanger. Love it because I've written fic for so long that it's just damned fun and hate it because I won't know what's coming and that's rude. I will be right along with you looking for spoilers. I will be ridiculous.

Oh I had dictionaries. Even a thesaurus, paperback style. I explained how a pager used to work to a teenager a few months ago and wanted to die inside the whole time.

Episode 4 is the second scene? You know, that makes a lot of sense actually even though I know most people aren't going to like it. If he has to watch Obi Wan with Penelope for episode 3 and he's already caught feelings by the end of 2, by 4 he's going to be a mess and a half. I heard that he just mopes and sits in a corner during the scene so if he's been pining and thinks all is lost and he can't even escape in a way that's worked for him in the past, he's going to have to do something about it.

With the LOWK of it all and she did not look thrilled during that dance with him in the trailer, adding in chaotic and unhinged Colin because of Kenebling (which is fair, I just see him not as an obstacle but more the physical manifestation of Colin's fear that he might have lost her to someone else in the book), I'm sure a lot is going to happen within that episode that gets us ready for the back half of the season and onto their happily ever after. That episode is going to be insane I'm sure.

Oh oh yes, I have been burned too many times. Let me be insane for one season then settle into just happily watching from then on. A perfect scenario for me really. Yeah, I've seen some nasty things and for people who have consistently accused others of such and such, I have yet to see the such and such, even in the replies on their nastier posts. If even the kindest posts asking for manners are met with vitriol from a ship's fans then maybe not everyone else is wrong about behaviors from certain fans.

My kingdom to hear a My Wife!

Just look at it as being paid to read fic. You've taken on the Man and gotten paid for leisure. And for years? Truly queen behavior right there.

I agree, I just need to know that A happens, then B, which leads them to X by the end of that episode. I don’t know to know how each scene plays out or how they say it, that is the beauty then of watching it play out. But at least I know that I will cringe at B, but I will cry with C and by the time I get to X all is right. Or perhaps I will hate X but by the time episode 3 comes it will be ok by F. Oh my word the way my brain works is terrifying. But my husband is the same as yours. He doesn’t want to know what is coming, he only wants to know if I’m going to be angry beforehand. And then he just laughs and says, oh dear.

I will hate needing to wait another month again, but another part of my brain hates me and will truly love all of it. Because I will sit and create angsty things and dream of scenarios in my head of lovely ways to fix it and isn’t that what fandom is all about anyway? Besides it gives me something to do other than sitting on twitter with my fingers cramping while I get angry over politics and the world. I prefer this to that any day! So, I’ll take the angst of romance, will they or won’t they, carriage rides, and waltz’s, longing looks, and trying to figure out how the story goes.

I think my brain works different as a watcher vs a writer. I think it goes to show writers CAN’T be trusted in some form. As a fic writer I am all about pain. I LOVE cliffhangers and putting my characters through the ringer. I mean I am also a happy ending writer so I trust that I will get my readers there eventually and not all television writers can do that for you. But I guess writers like a bit of a mess! Where is the fun in boy and girl meet, the end, right?

OH MY WORD you explained a pager! To someone from this day and age! That must have been terrifying. I work for a company that acquired a startup, and I have to say, we do not speak the same tech language. LMAO!

It does make sense! Because I’m sure a lot changes from 2 to 4. His brain has mushed from then in how he feels and his confusion has misted over from this BS “my friend Pen is not a woman” to “my whatever Pen is to me sure has plump lips and pert breasts” who is now dancing and giggling with Lord Kenobi all day long and now looking very troubled while speaking with him at that ball. I’m sure seeing her run out of the ball during whatever is happening (I’m assuming either a proposal or a price on LW head is happening)

And I’m sure before this ball is the brothel scene where Colin is all in his feels and not interested in anything else but what is playing in his head about Pen. So, he has gone to this ball with only her in his mind and maybe even realizes he loves her at this point so he’s realizing he’s lost her here. Then whatever happens she runs out and he goes after her, so I figure it has to be LW here because there has to be something that snaps for them both. And then the drama begins, because we pretty much end friends to lovers for part 1 and that is when enemies to lovers starts for part 2.

I literally don’t have the attention span for more than this season. I was gung ho for a couple years on Captain Swan and I burned out very hard, writing fics daily and spending hours until I had a literal melt down mentally. So my attention to the pretty will be here for this season and then I will need a head space break again I’m sure. It will be nice to then see them and be happy and not be stressed about the who, what, and where will be happening and just know they are happy. And hopefully the negative fans can crawl back into whatever negative hole they came from as they wish hell on the show they apparently only loved because of 2 people and will burn to the ground now without.

It is sad, when I was on phones, I would sneak a peek at a fic. When I got into leadership, I snuck off to write a few chapters. Once I hit management…I’ve been paid to write full fics. They love me. I have put in more hours than 40 in a week. So I’ve paid my dues, it’s mental health benefits to write on the side! Haha!

[independentaussie]

Drawing From My Infinite Dark Well

When I was hungry for success, I used to rise at 5.00 am and write for 2 hours straight before getting ready for my paid job. There was no shortage of material. I had a bottomless dark well from which I could draw. The stories flowed. Some contained barely restrained anger; others reflected my deep cynicism about how the world worked. A few seemingly came out of nowhere. An exception to the rule was an award-winning story called Rosa's Place, which drew on some song lyrics, a chance experience and fairly well-worn tropes. Every morning without fail. I used to subscribe to this paperback monthly called Scavenger's Newsletter. It would list all the small press magazines accepting submissions. I'd pick out the most likely and submit my work. Everything was done by snail mail. The process from submission to rejection or occasional acceptance was treacle-like. Getting published was such a buzz, but the remuneration was barely enough to pay for stamps and paper. The competition was intense. Many well-known writers were ploughing the same fields. The business model was not sustainable, but I loved writing and hated my job. There are a lot of ways to earn a crust writing, but your head and heart have to be in them. You can't bluff your way through. One of the worst decisions I have made in my writing career was to stop drawing from the dark well and focus on "more profitable" writing channels. I covered the dark well and relied upon my conscious skills to fulfil whatever I thought I was looking for. The last piece I wrote was what felt like the opening chapter of a sci-fi/dark fantasy novel. But I didn't know what to do with it. It felt like I'd written myself into a dark corner without planning a way out. Other more lucrative writing projects beckoned, and the story was allowed to sit forgotten. My life took a severe turn for the worse for a while. That usually happens when we forget who we are and try to be someone else. I'm not going to retread that old ground. Been there, done that, moved on. Part of my recovery involved extensively writing about elements of my life that I had suppressed and ignored. The process was cathartic not only because it allowed me to confront my demons but more importantly, it allowed me to tap into that subconscious part of me where the good stuff comes from. Ultimately, that process resulted in my book Postcards From Hell, which I think put a final full stop to what had been a traumatic but necessary period. One of the things that learned over that period is that we can't run from who we are. I uncovered the dark well and peered into the depths. Was there anything still there? I didn't know for sure, but I had to find out. My old material was dusted off and reread. Some of it seemed better than I remembered. Bits needed to be polished, but there were good stories there -stories that deserve to see the light of day. I got excited. That piece that felt like the beginning of a novel has been reprised, and I'm now eight chapters in and drawing from the dark well daily. So the plan for the coming year is simple - 1/Release the best of my stories in collections of short stories, Dark Weird Stuff due out on January 6, 2023, and - Dark Byways of Possibility which will be released as an eBook only two weeks later. 2/ Finish this novel that has a working title of Elsewhere 3/ Find whatever else is waiting to be drawn from my dark well. It feels like I've come home.

Read the full article

[wardenparker]

Killer Writing - chapter 3

Dave York x plus size female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After divorcing Carol so she could marry her soulmate, Dave York threw himself into his work. There is no way he could have predicted that the unexpected collateral damage on an op would turn out to be his soulmate. Now all he can do is keep you safe, and try his best to get you to not hate him as the two of you try to navigate a blooming relationship that started out with threats and a mean right hook.  

Rating: Mature Word Count: 6.8k Warnings: *Blanket content warning for self-esteem, self-image, and weight issues.* Mentions of family member deaths and domestic abuse, soft Dave deserves a warning all his own. Blink and you miss it masturbation reference, a ton of awkward flirting, cheeky bit of nudity (m), things are starting to heat up. Summary: As their time together marches forward, the soulmates are starting to get to know each other a little better. Dave steps out of his comfort zone to make a grand gesture and you start to open up a bit more. Notes: Our love letter to our fellow tumblrinas continues to grow! Dreaming is what it’s all about, my darlings - and in soulmate aus those dreams can come true. Soft Dave is a dreamboat for the ages.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7

You woke up the next morning smelling him - after a bit of good natured bickering you had agreed to take the bed like he originally offered, and the smell of him lingered in his pillows and sheets in a way that was completely overwhelming in a beautiful sort of way. You had showered and dressed quickly, throwing on a blouse and jeans with your slippers to walk around the apartment without your feet turning to icicles. Dave had already put on a kettle of water for your tea and gave you some teasing grief about your breakfast cereal, but the morning was mostly calm. You managed to even forget for a little while that you were hiding for your life. 

The afternoon was silent, like the morning of the day before. He worked and you read, but this time you curled into the corner of his couch without much fear. There was still a lot to learn about him - namely the things that would upset him or cross some invisible line - but your mug of tea on a coaster on the coffee table and bare feet tucked under a blanket on the couch were safe enough. At some point around sunset he emerged, looking tired and annoyed. “Hey,” you murmur, not wanting to startle him if he looked over and had forgotten you were there.

“Hey.” He brings his hand up to rub his temple, the bureaucratic bullshit that went with his job always managed to give him a headache. He shuffles towards the kitchen for another cup of coffee. “Enjoying your book?” He asks, opening the cabinet and grabbing a clean mug.

“It’s my favorite.” You wave the paperback in the air a little even though he’s too far away to see it unless he has some kind of supervision.

“What’s it about?” He lifts a brow even as he is pouring the coffee and waits to see where your reading habits run.

“1930s gothic romance. Inexperienced young woman falling in love with a mysterious older man who is possibly a murderer and definitely has lots of secrets.” You rattle off the synopsis you give anyone who asks, only realizing belatedly that it sounds very suspiciously close to a weird description of the two of you, even if you aren’t that much younger than him.

“Hmmmm.” He doesn’t comment on it, instead taking a sip of his coffee and sighing. The knock on the door doesn’t startle him and he doesn’t move. “Will you get the door?” He asks, seemingly content to drink his coffee.

“Will I—?” You look at him like he has four heads. Aren’t you supposed to be hiding? Like no one can know you’re here hiding? But he doesn’t seem bothered at all, so you put down your book and pad over to the door in confusion.

There’s no one at the door. He had left very specific instructions that the delivery was to be left at the door. So he knew that you wouldn’t be seen when you opened it. He doesn’t wait for your reaction, instead he takes his coffee and makes his way back to his office and wonders if you will think his gifts are corny. He had spent way too much time thinking about it in his opinion.

Carefully unlocking the door, you pull it open to find no one there. You look around for a second before finally looking down. On the hall rug in front of the door is an overflowing vase of definitely more than a dozen red roses and a woven basket tied up in coloured cellophane and ribbon. You would have immediately assumed it was dropped off at the wrong apartment, except the tag on the basket says ‘Sweetheart’ and you feel a little mix of mortification and an absolute tightening in your chest that makes you clutch at your sweater reflexively. 

You pick both things up, bringing them inside and closing the door behind you, careful to re-engage the locks before carrying the not-at-all little gifts to the kitchen island. You could easily call for him, ask him to come out into the room, but you kind of want to do this alone. Slipping the ribbon, the wrapping falls away easily and the basket inside is overflowing: fat candles, some of them in jars with artistic illustrations of the flowers they're scented for and some deeply coloured to evoke dreamlike romance; a dark brown teddy bear - the colour of his hair, though you doubt he realizes it - with a little felt heart sewn between its paws; and a little square box tied up in another ribbon. Your hands are practically shaking by the time you get to the little box, tears pressing at the back of your eyes at how out of his way Dave has gone for you. Lifting the lid, you're face-to-face with a necklace, its pendent a silver heart accented with a single sparkling rhinestone.

It's almost too much. It is too much. But it's also perfect. You huff at it all, flushing hot, and you can feel the grin splitting your face like a smitten schoolgirl. Taking the necklace out of its box, you're grateful to find that the chain is long enough for you to wear comfortably and you pull the teddy bear out to set down against the vase of flowers before going down the hall. 

"Hey," your voice is soft when you knock on the open door frame to his office. "Um...so..." What do you even say? Thank you doesn't seem like enough. And he obviously didn't have to do it, so there's no need to point that out. Instead you let yourself keep grinning and shove your hands into your pants like you always do when you're nervous or embarrassed. "I–I...it's beautiful," you tell him when you can form a full sentence. "Thank you."

His eyes linger on the chain, surprised that you’ve already put it on, but happy you have. “You’re welcome.” He murmurs quietly. “It looks nice on you.” He tells you, nodding towards the necklace.

"I don't normally wear necklaces," you admit, leaving out that the reason is because you can hardly ever find ones with chains long enough for you to wear comfortably. "But I think I'll keep this one on for a while." You honestly have no intention of taking it off. Especially not with the tingling, vibrating way you feel right now. 

He grins, amazed that after everything he can be this thrilled that you like a necklace that he had picked out. “Good. Diamonds are a girl's best friend according to all the commercials.”

Your hand flies up to the necklace, surprise painted on your face and you know you look like a deer in headlights. You had assumed it was a rhinestone. Glass or cubic zirconia at absolute most. Of course not. It's actually a diamond. You almost shake your head. Apparently Dave York didn't do things by half. "Do you want to watch a movie with dinner again?" It's a meek suggestion, after the extraordinary gesture he's just made, but you want him to know that you want to spend time with him.

He nods, the headache retreating and the nervous energy dissipated now that he knows he didn’t overstep. “That sounds good. Whatever you have on the stove smells amazing.” He compliments, his stomach rumbling slightly as it reminds him that he hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast.

"Beef stew." You shrug a little. "Family recipe...I thought it would be nice since it's been so cold lately." You'd gotten it started and just basked in the familiar smell while you read, thankfully he was enjoying it as well. "Hopefully you like it."

He groans and nods. “You didn’t happen to get any of those frozen yeast rolls when you ordered the groceries, did you?” He couldn’t remember and the idea of dipping hot rolls into stew was making his mouth water.

"You can't have beef stew without warm bread," you inform him as though it were some kind of ancient wisdom. It was odd to see which things lined up between you and which things were very different.

“That’s a fact.” Dave agrees. “Despite having to run more miles, it’s worth every fucking bite.”

"At the risk of sounding too Florence Henderson, dinner will be ready in half an hour." You offer him a smile, fingers still toying with the chain around your neck. "Unless you have a lot more work to do?"

“I’m done.” He closes his laptop and pushes back from his desk. “Do you have a movie in mind?” He asks as he comes around the furniture and walks towards you. “Any favorites that you saw on the list?”

He had shown you his hard drive full of movies last night and you had been surprised to note a few romances in amongst the mostly fantasy and sci-fi options with a few classic action movies. His taste in period films was actually amazing, and there were some good mysteries in there as well. "Murder on the Orient Express?" You suggest, not wanting to go with anything loud or jarring when the tone for the night was starting out sweet and even, you had to admit it, romantic. But going all the way to a love story seemed like pushing it too much.

“Whatever you want.” He pauses and sends you a teasing grin. “Added Hallmark to my streaming channels. It seemed like you’d like it and Lifetime.”

Part of you wants to bury your head in the sand so he won't see the absolute mortification on your face about how right he is, but the other part can't get enough of how sweet he is. This man is the antithesis of his job. It's an amazing juxtaposition. "I'm not going to force you into love stories every night," you tell him, trying for teasing, but you mean it.

“I don’t mind the sweet stuff.” He admits, his turn to look slightly embarrassed. “Reminds me of the good in the world when I normally see the worst.”

"Then tomorrow I'm picking out a very cheesy Hallmark Christmas movie," you tease, grinning a little at the way he blushes. It's incredibly cute and you don't mind admitting it. "It's almost Christmas anyway. It's seasonally appropriate."

He frowns at the mention of Christmas. “You haven’t mentioned family.” He says quietly.

"You haven't either. It didn't seem relevant." You step into his office for the first time, dropping down in the chair on the other side of his desk. "It's just me and my dad." He's easy to talk to, and you wonder again if it's the soulmate connection or if it's something else. "My mom died when I was a kid." 

He nods. “I wish I could tell you that you could call him, but it’s safer that you don’t. Just in case.” He knows this is hard for you, being here and having no control over your life. “They don’t think anyone is looking for you, but we need to be certain. Word of your boss’s death isn’t public yet.”

"Okay." You assumed you wouldn't be able to call, but it didn't make it hurt less. Dad would worry. And if he didn't hear from you, he would start to raise hell. "I just...wish I could send him a card or something. He'd be the one to file a missing person's report, if anyone even notices I'm gone."

“If he starts calling your phone a lot, I’ll get a burner you can use.” Dave promises. He knows that you are completely unused to this kind of thing, going weeks without talking to someone you care about.

"Thanks," you nod, knowing it's still a little risky. "What about you?" 

“Family?” Dave asks, and you nod. “Gone. Dad died when I was a kid. Firefighter, killed in the line of duty. Mom remarried but the fucker was evil.” His brows push together and he scowls. “He beat her to death after I left for boot camp. Couldn’t convince her to leave him.”

"Shit...I'm so sorry..." You wish you hadn't asked, only so he wouldn't have to live through telling you and thinking about it all over again. Grasping at something - anything - that might make him feel better, you offer him the most supportive expression you can. "If you want...we could do something? Even if I'm not still here." Christmas is just over two weeks away, and you had no idea what would happen between now and then, but the way you felt right now? You would be glad to celebrate with your soulmate.

“It’s okay.” He sees the horror on your face at finding out his mom was gone. Knows that you are probably beating yourself up for mentioning it, even though you had every right to know. “That’s – I know you will want to see your dad. It’s okay. I normally spend Christmas working on something that doesn’t make me feel like I’m a complete monster.”

Huffing slightly, your fingers pick at each other in your lap and your head tilts a little while you try to figure out why he's saying no. After the delivery to the front door twenty minutes ago, you don't think he doesn't like you - or that his compliments are sarcastic or cruel jokes. You don't want to force him to do anything, obviously, but he deserves to know you're not just being polite. "I can't also want to spend some of Christmas with my soulmate?"

It’s his turn to look away, staring at the bookshelf and his ears turning red. “I – I have plans.” He admits. “I volunteer at the VFW serving meals to vets with nowhere to go. Delivering meals to those that can’t leave their houses.” He doesn’t know why he’s embarrassed to admit that, it’s a good thing. But it’s not something he advertises. Knowing that, like a lot of them, he feels abandoned too. By life, by the government, so he tries to atone for some of his sins.

The way your chest clenches a little feels suspiciously like heartache. Like the urge to go over and wrap your arms around this man and promise him that he's not alone anymore. It's obvious that he's lonely, at least to you, and you wish you could alleviate some of that since you're only one room over. "My point," you keep looking at him, waiting for him to turn back to you but he doesn't. "Is that...the way I feel about you right now...I'd like to continue getting to know you. Spend time with you when I'm not hiding for my life. It doesn't matter if it's Christmas, or New Years, or just any random day."

His shoulders relax a little, spine slumping and he’s glad you didn’t give him some ‘I’m so proud of you’ bullshit like anyone else might have. “I’d like that.” He says, turning back to you only after he’s back in control of his emotions and his face is set. “When you aren’t hiding for your life. Although, laying around reading and writing sounds like a vacation for you.” He tells you with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood. “You can always add kidnapping to your stories.”

"It's not exactly how I would have chosen to take time off," you mumble, but it's with a sheepish smile. If left to your own devices, you would never take a break at all. Except for your friends on the internet and seeing you dad once in a while, there was no one else to spend time with. You had always been too introverted to do drinks out with any of the women at the lab. "But the company is good. And the possibility of a little inspiration." Like maybe actually being able to write accurately about a fucking kiss for the first time ever.

He lifts a brow at that comment. “What? Planning on writing a book about the fascinating life of an assassin?”

"I write romances, Dave." It was the most accurate way to describe the hundreds of pages of fanfic you had produced as an adult - as if it hadn't been obvious enough that that was the entire focus of your life. "There's enough inspiration on that kitchen island out there to last me a long time."

“Romances.” He toys with the word, not bringing up the obvious flaw that he saw in the situation. If you had no experience, how could you accurately write about it? Although pleasure sizzled in his gut from your admittance that what he had done was romantic. “Can I read some of them?”

Oh. You have to quickly spin through the rolodex of your fandoms to see if there was anything you could show him that wasn't obviously fan fiction, figuring he would find the entire idea to be immature even though that was a bullshit argument that you had had with anonymous strangers so many times you could win it with your eyes closed. "Sure," you nod, landing on a few things you had written recently that were alternate universes of stories he probably wouldn't recognize. "If you want to. Except..." you want to evaporate into yourself, but you're not ashamed of the words you've written. It's just embarrassing to admit out loud. "They're not exactly...PG rated."

He snorts, shaking his head. “God I hope not.” He jokes. “I’ll fall asleep.” He shoots you an amused look. “I watch porn for Christ’s sake. I’ve been married. Carol used to read….what the fuck was it? 50 Shades of Black or some shit like that.” He chuckles. “Although she would never admit to her Captain America fan fiction addiction.” 

"Grey," you correct immediately, even though you've never even read them. The last part of what he said is much more important. "She...your wife...read fanfic?" The terrible, horrible panic in your stomach that he may have already read some of your stuff makes you clamp your mouth shut nervously. Your Marvel phase was very early on, but it was definitely all Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter.

Dave nods. “Yeah, after the first movie came out, she fell into that pit.” He grins. “Practically threw her phone when I caught her reading one day. But I don’t judge. It’s whatever gets you off.” He shrugs, wondering why women are always so sensitive about it. “No different than the bullshit stories men come up with how they had this wild night with this hot chick. Totally full of shit, but if you can jerk off to it, whatever.” He tilts his head. “I guess men are just more visual where women are more mental.”

The kitchen timer is your angel of mercy, loudly alerting you that the stew is done cooking and you practically leap out of your chair. "Dinner," you explain needlessly. He knows what a damn kitchen timer is for. "I'll go preheat the oven for the rolls..." You practically flee his office, the idea that his ex-wife might have read your shit depending on which sites she used mixed with exactly how hard you were trying to keep yourself from imagining him masturbating meant you needed to go clear your head.

“Hmm.” He grins at your back. The way that you practically flee makes him wonder if he had hit a nerve. He follows you out slowly, watching you move around in the kitchen nervously. “So I take it your stories are fan fiction too?”

You huff, letting the cabinet you were searching in for a baking sheet clap closed as you throw him a pout. "Maybe." It's actually relieving, that he's aware of it as a genre and doesn't seem to care, but you still feel caught at the same time.

“Cool.” He leans against the island and watches you. “Most of that shit is better than published authors.”

"Yeah?" It's even more surprising to hear him praise it in a way that makes it obvious he's read some. You open the next cabinet over and pull out the baking sheet you've been searching for before looking back at him curiously. "What have you read?"

“I’ve read some Black Widow stories.” He admits, totally unashamed. You snort at the obvious answer and he chuckles. “There was this one story, fuck– it was dark but kind of fucking hot. Set around the darker porn industry. Where the girl was kidnapped and forced into making movies but fell for the men who had chosen her. She was their ‘pet’ and they were possessive of her.” He shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know what that might say, but the psychoanalysis of that would be interesting.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, putting the tray of rolls together and popping it into the oven. "None of my stuff is that kinky," you admit, though you're sure he's not surprised. "Sorry to disappoint."

“Well damn.” He teases, giving you a small wink. “Maybe later on they will be.”

You're not fast enough to cover the small squeak-like noise that comes out of your mouth and you quickly turn away again to wash your hands and grab the hand towel hanging off the oven handle. "Who knows," you mumble into the candle you've just picked up to smell.

He chuckles at your reaction. “Okay,” he gives you a dramatic sigh, “I’ll be good.” Deciding to leave you alone, he walks over to the couch to flop down with a sigh. “You can set the candles around the apartment and light them if you want.”

It occurs to you that you don't actually want to discourage him, even though he has the ability to make you want to melt through the floor when he teases you like that. It's fun. And it's...honestly kind of hot when you're not busy being mortified. You reset the kitchen timer, pull the stew off the burner, and grab one of the more lightly scented candles to carry into the living room. Setting it on the coffee table, you sit down next to him carefully. "You gotta ease me into it," you tell him quietly. "I can write flirting, but I have no idea how to do it in real life."

Dave moves his feet so you have more room and chuckles. “Sweetheart, that is obvious.” He tells you, not unkindly, just teasing you some more. “I’m sorry if I’m too blunt for you. It’s just the way that I am but I have dialed it back for you sake already. But, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He tells you sincerely. “It's been awhile since I’ve flirted with someone and it’s different with you.”

"This is the dialed back version?" Your eyebrows raise up in surprise but you have to chuckle at that. Of course it is. Dave is blunt. In everything. "I know I'm not what you expected for a soulmate. Or wanted. Just give me time, okay? I'll get there." You know what different means. You've heard you're different enough times in your life to know it's not a compliment. But it is what it is. He's not everything you thought your soulmate would be and you're not what he expected, either. You would both have to accept that.

He cocks his head at you. “You keep saying that you aren’t what I expected or wanted. Why?” He is genuinely confused about that. “You’re smart, kind - I mean, you didn’t kick me in the balls. Which I thank you for. You are creative, considerate and sexy.” He ticks off. “What am I missing?”

You scrub one hand over your cheek, deciding to leave the issue of your body image aside since he didn't seem to mind having a bigger girl around. "The decision I made..." your voice trails off and your eyes train down at your knees so you don't have to see it on his face that you're right. "I thought it was the right one to make but now that I've met you and I know you a little...you shouldn't be stuck with someone who has no idea what they're doing. You're...well...experienced. And I don't want you to feel beholden to teaching me, or anything like that. I never thought about the fact that my decision to wait would affect my soulmate so directly."

Dave’s eyes widen and he can’t help but laugh. Your head jerks up and he holds his hands up when he sees the hurt look in your eyes. “Sweetheart, you obviously don’t have a fucking clue what you are talking about.” He sits up and doesn’t let you shift away, inching closer to you. “Other men, sure, they might have an issue with you not being experienced but I don’t.” He admits, his dark eyes gazing into yours. “Fuck– I love the idea of watching you experience things for the first time. Deciding what you like, what you don’t.” He makes a small noise, close to a moan. “If you decided you want to be with me, I’d be the happiest fucking teacher you’d ever had in your life.”

"I don't have a fucking clue," you agree, but the flush of heat through your body can't deny how badly you want to learn. How you do want him to be the one to teach you. And that fucking noise he made is doing things to you that you didn't know noises could do. "Which makes my fanfic career ironic at best...and my approach to pretty much everything in life incredibly awkward."

“Awkward is fine.” Dave tells you. “Awkward happens. Life is like sex, it’s messy, it’s honestly not as delicate and pretty as people make it out to be.” He shakes his head. “As long as you don’t fart in my face when I’m going down on you like my high school girlfriend did, we are good.”

You cover your face with both hands, mostly to stifle the laughter, but also to hide the sigh of relief. Dave is blunt. But Dave is nice. And...frankly Dave is pretty fucking hot. So his method of comforting you is actually pretty effective. "I'll do my best," you promise him, letting yourself giggle out loud.

He laughs with you, admitting now that it was funny, although his seventeen-year-old self hadn’t thought so at the time. “Just don’t get inside your own head. You are beautiful and any man would be lucky to have you.”

"If you say so." You nod slightly, not wanting to have that conversation right now. In the highly unlikely event that you ever did end up without clothing on around him, you could just shut off the light. The thing was, though, that as far as you were concerned it wouldn't be any man. It would be him. Because you hadn't made this promise to yourself almost 20 years ago just to throw it out the window now. You don't say so, not wanting to pressure him, and your fingers come up to toy with your new necklace again.

“We have to work on your self confidence.” Dave tells you, leaning back against the sofa cushions and watching you fidget. “Who’s the fucker that told you that you aren’t gorgeous? I’ll knock his fucking teeth in.”

"Turn on the tv," you shrug, pushing in on yourself a little harder. "You don't have to be a genius to know that anyone over a size 6 isn't worth looking at."

“That’s not true at all.” Dave argues, frowning at you. “Yeah there’s that stereotypical skinny chick who’s ‘hot’.” He actually makes the air quotes with his fingers. “But her tits are fake, her thighs hurt when they are wrapped around your waist, she can’t take a good fucking, and worst…..she won’t eat wings and drink beer with you.”

“That’s what’s worst?” Shaking your head at him is going to become a habit.

Dave grins. “’I’ll just have a salad, thanks.’.” He mimics a female voice. “That’s just a sin. Man shall not live on rabbit food alone.”

“Fine.” You roll your eyes at him, smiling, feeling the warmth of him beside you and sinking into it happily. “But I do like salad, for the record.”

“And that’s fine.” He agrees, pushing his sock clad foot up under your thigh and nudging you with a victorious grin. “But not all the time. Sometimes, you just have to have some cake.”

The kitchen timer sounds again, and you wish you could just lean over and kiss him casually on your way into the kitchen. It feels…almost normal. Like you’re supposed to be here instead of hiding out. “Dinner,” you push yourself off the couch and resist the urge to reach for him.

“I’ll turn on the movie and grab our drinks.” Dave offers, sitting up and wishing that the conversation had continued a little longer. He enjoyed it, it has been a long time since he has been this honest. You didn’t seem to weigh his every word to see if he was being truthful or not. Unless he was mistaken, you had seemingly accepted his job and weren’t holding it against him. It was nice. He had never told Carol what he did, never subjecting her to the knowledge but the fates had determined his soulmate would know everything.

At this point you had already forgotten what you had agreed to watch, forgotten what you’d talked about drinking, and barely even remembered what you were eating even though you were the one that cooked it. You just had this shaken instinct to want to be next to him. Your soulmate connection. In this moment you weren’t even sure if you wanted that myth to be real, or if you wanted to believe he liked you for you, not just because of your marks. You toss the rolls into a basket, ladle out two bowls of stew, and grab flatware to join him back on the couch where he has already put down napkins next to two glasses of scotch. Right. You smile. The scotch.

Dave starts the movie and picks up his bowl of stew and inhales the aroma, moaning in appreciation. “God this is going to be good. I can already tell.” He looks over at you with a smile. “Thank you sweetheart.”

“Welcome,” you fluster, not even bothering to hide it, and sit back to focus on the tv while you eat. He’s sitting a lot closer to you tonight and it’s distracting as hell. You might have to write a little tomorrow. A good snuggle session on the couch for your characters to work through how much you want to curl into his side.

Your stew is delicious. Dave doesn’t even bother to hide how much he likes it, moaning when he tastes it and breaking up a roll to sop up the juice. “Jesus.” He groans, finally finished after going back for a second bowl. “I’m going to have to roll my ass to the bathroom to brush my teeth tonight.”

“Am I supposed to apologize?” When he settles back on the couch he’s an inch closer to you, and you’re practically buzzing. “Because I’m not going to.”

“No.” Dave moans slightly and unbuttons his jeans, enjoying the inch of extra room for his overly full stomach. “I’m just bitching because I have the self control of a gnat.”

You swallow thickly the second his hands go near his jeans, focusing your eyes squarely on the second half of the movie. “I’ll make something healthy tomorrow,” you promise. “Even it out.”

He grumbles at that but nods. “Okay. Rabbit food tomorrow.”

“I didn’t say rabbit food, I just said healthy.” You nudge him, giggling when he makes an oof noise even though you know there’s no chance you could hurt him.

“Isn’t it the same thing?” He asks, enjoying the sound of your giggle. Now that he’s full, he’s getting sleepy. Rolling his head to the side and looking at you with heavy eyes.

“No,” you shake your head at him, the movie forgotten when you turn your head to see his own hanging close. Close enough to make your heart rabbit in your chest and you try not just jump ahead of yourself. “You’ll see. Just trust me.”

“I trust you.” He agrees. Sighing slightly, his eyes start to flutter, wanting to close. He fights to keep them open but it only takes another fifteen seconds before he’s asleep, body relaxing into the sofa.

You’d be lying if you claimed not to be disappointed, feeling dumb for thinking he might kiss you, but you let him sleep. Cleaning up quietly, you get the dishes into the washer, leftovers put away, and spread the spare blanket on the sofa over him before you grab your teddy bear and sneak silently into his room to sleep.

******

He can’t believe he fell asleep. Shaking his head as he gets out of the shower, he reaches for his towel. He didn’t think you would run. No, you had proven you wouldn’t because he had given you plenty of opportunity to. More than he would give anyone else because you are his soulmate, but he honestly thought you were staying because you know you are safe with him. However, he hadn’t realized he felt comfortable enough around you to fall asleep before you did. With Carol, it had been years before he would fall asleep before her, even then he would wake at every little sound. You had cleaned up from dinner and covered him with a blanket before leaving to go sleep in his bed.

Walking through the bedroom to get in the shower, his shower, he had smiled when he saw you sleeping. Sprawled out in his bed with your arms curled around the teddy bear that he had gotten you. The scene was innocent and yet sexy enough, your leg pushed out from under the covers and your plain cotton panties in full view, that he had to bite his lip when he jerked off, smothering his moan when he came in the shower.

******

It was good to not have nightmares tonight. Last night had been hard to handle, nightmares about that morning keeping you from getting good rest.

Last night, your dreams were far different. Curled into Dave’s side on the couch. Apple picking. Scouring the liquor store for a particular bottle of something and teasing each other. Falling asleep next to him - another thing you had never done with anyone before. You wake up from the dream gently, the sound of the shower dragging you into wakefulness without realizing what it really is. Floating in that space between dream and awake, you almost don’t even realize your eyes are opening when he emerges from the bathroom, damp and bare with only a towel wrapped around his waist. You clamp your eyes shut, desperate not to stare and desperately hoping he didn’t notice you’re awake. He’s fucking beautiful and you’re holding your damn breath against the pillow so you don’t make a sound in reaction to find this out. Broad, strong shoulders with just a dusting of hair on his chest and a trail of it leading down under the towel that makes you clench around nothing, soaking your panties almost instantly. Just a hint of softness at the middle and muscled everywhere, you know you’re going to spend the rest of eternity wondering what’s under that towel. Well damn…

Dave pads quietly through the bedroom, softly opening the drawers to pull out a pair of boxers. He turns to see that you are still buried in your pillow before he drops the towel and starts pulling on his underwear.

Oh dear god. You should not have peaked. Absolutely not have peaked. How can such a tiny ass look that good? If he turns even a little you're so screwed...

He opens another drawer and pulls out a t-shirt, now completely aware that you are awake. He had noticed your breathing had changed from when you were asleep when he came into the bedroom. Another pair of sweats are pulled on since he’s still in the house with you. Bending down to pick up his towel, he doesn’t turn towards the bed, instead heading to the door. “Glad you enjoyed the show, sweetheart. Your tea will be ready when you get done squirming in embarrassment.” He tells you before he walks out, pulling the door shut behind him.

This is how I die. You sink into the mattress in mortification, eyes pinched shut and face shoved into the pillow trying to pretend that didn't just happen. Dead of embarrassment. Ambushed by sexy soulmate after shower. You might as well face the music, since it's day three of two weeks together, but dragging yourself out of his bed might be the most embarrassed you've ever been in your life - and that has some serious competitors. You pull on your lounge pants and throw your worn hoodie over the t-shirt you slept in, figuring you'll shower after breakfast. Slipping into the bathroom to brush your hair and teeth, you take a minute to breathe before you shuffle out into the kitchen as the single most flustered person on the planet.

Dave chuckles when he catches sight of your mortified face. Turning back to the stove to put the kettle back on it to cool down after pouring your cup. “That took about twenty minutes less than I expected.” He admits before he sets the tea in front of the bowl of cereal he’s already poured for you.

"The longer I stay in there and pretend you didn't catch me, the more awkward it gets," you mumble, sitting down at the island and trying not to smile too widely at the way he's set out your breakfast.

“If it makes you feel better, I was definitely looking at your ass before I got in the shower.” He says easily, taking another sip of his coffee and waiting for his bagel to pop up out of the toaster.

Your eyes widen slightly and you busy yourself with milk for your tea and cereal, not having any idea how to react to that. It's good, you suppose, that he finds you attractive. Since the universe stuck him with you. But also the last time someone saw you sleeping like that was your college roommate, so the difference between her and him is a big one.

Dave chuckles again before the bagels pop up. Pulling them out and hissing a curse when he burns his finger, he shoves it in his mouth to suck on while he moves to the fridge to grab the cream cheese. He pulls his finger out of his mouth when he gets back to his plate and opens the container to start spreading the chive and onion spread on his breakfast. “Eventually I’ll get you to enjoy the compliments.” He tells you conversationally. “I think it’s a good thing that I had to jerk off because I saw the pink flowered panties you are wearing. Don’t you?”

"You...?" You shove your spoon into your cereal bowl and drop your face into your hands, feeling exactly how hot your face is turning. You're not brave enough to actually look up at him, but shake your head in your hands and blow out a long breath on a whisper. "Ooooh my..."

He smirks, putting the cream cheese back up and grabbing his plate and coffee cup, he walks around the island and leans in to whisper in your ear. “Write that in one of your stories, sweetheart. The hard-hearted assassin hopelessly attracted to the innocent bystander and his desires get the best of him.” He pulls away and kisses the side of your head as if it’s something he’s done everyday for years. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.” Turning on his heel, he disappears down the hall.

"Oh my fucking god," you mumble at yourself, groaning as you dig your spoon back into your cereal. It would be completely useless to deny how much you want him at this point, with your fingers wisping over the bit of your skin that his lips just touched and wishing like hell it had been a real kiss. You would just have to get through this day being continually mortified and tamping down the insistent need to get yourself off. Somehow you feel like you'd be even more embarrassed if you did that, which makes no sense whatsoever.

In his office Dave wonders what you are doing. Are you frozen in mortification? Did he go too far? His tendency to be blunt could be to his detriment if he wasn’t careful. But damned if he didn’t want you. He had poked around your laptop before giving it to you, figuring out your site where you post your stories and had no intention of actually working. No, the morning was going to be spent reading what you had written and getting a better insight into what his pretty, inexperienced soulmate wanted.

______

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