#plus size fmc

[coffeecloudy]

Is she a lover? Worse. She’s a yearner.

Hey there! I’m back. I know it’s been a while, and tbh I’ve been going through it. But with my support system and a lot of therapy, I’m working on building myself back up brick by brick. And I’m back to reading too many romance novels. So, plus size mc is back with her “Did you see her dress?!? Six inches deep in mud!” type beat. I missed you.

[xothemedia]

Style Me For Christmas (2024)

[authordesileigh]

The original Grim Reapers and Hellhounds went extinct. Now demons and shifters are converted to take over the job, sever soul bonds, and transport the clients of Judgement Inc. to the Judgement Realm.

Her own life ended too early, so when Kitseme and her brother were offered the job, they jumped at the chance.

A century as a hellhound allowed her to experience everything and be the best. She has learned to take no shit from others and dominates in all areas of her life.

Now she wants her first taste of passion with another.

Too bad her brother's best friend, and top grim reaper, is determined to stand in her way.

Until one night they strike a deal, and he agrees to show her all the things she was missing out on. Passion and emotions threaten to become more heated than either expected.

Now the cost might be more than just her innocence, it could cost her soul..

[xothemedia]

The Parkers 3x11 | “Secret Santa”

[neapolitan670]

Her Crew by Lauren Biel

Available Now

Blurb

𝙄 𝙢𝙖𝙙𝙚 𝙢𝙮𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛 𝙪𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙖 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙤𝙣. 𝙃𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙛𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙 𝙢𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙛𝙪𝙡.

I spent eighteen years barely surviving. Life taught me early on that no one was coming to save me.

Then I met Alec.

One impulsive decision lands me in a traveling crew of hustlers and outcasts who become the closest thing I've ever had to a family. Between Alec's reckless charm and his best friend's quiet strength, I find myself falling for two men who have been through hell themselves—and who refuse to let me face mine alone.

But life on the road isn’t easy, and every con comes with a price. As feelings deepen and loyalties are tested, I'll have to decide if I can trust the family I've found . . . or risk losing everything I've ever wanted.

Her Crew is a dark why-choose romance featuring found family, damaged heroes, a plus-size heroine, emotional healing, and two men willing to burn the world down for the woman they love.

Tropes:

Plus-sized fmc

An alternative/heavily pierced mmc

Sharing is caring (with his best friend)

Angsty

Found family

Trauma healing

Her Crew has adult themes, check the full list of content warnings on my website!

[wisteriaxxviolet]

Magic Men

This story contains some mature content that may be triggering to some readers, such as the death of a parent, graphic violence, and kidnapping.

The stinging smell of antiseptic fills my nostrils as my eyes roam over the figure before me. A woman lay in her hospital bed, her brown skin ashen against the stark white of the hospital sheets. The woman’s heart-shaped face used to house a smile that radiated a whole room. Now, as I looked down at her, I tried to remember her as she was, not an unrecognizable form on the bed. Her balding head, covered by a cap, replaced her curly locks, and her once bright eyes were sunken in. Her once full face was now gaunt and angular, with dark circles around her brown eyes that lost their spark long ago. Her ailing body lay still hooked up to machines while the sounds of monitors beeping in rhythm with the woman’s heartbeat. I stood over her, focusing on my younger sister, whose face was buried in the sheets. Her shoulders were jerking violently as muffled sobs erupted from her small body. 

Dad stood on the other side of the bed as silent tears fell past his glasses and down his blotchy face. His bald head gleams in the fluorescent light as he tries to hide his tears. They fell on Mama's hand, which he clutched desperately. A lump forms in my throat as I struggle to swallow it down. A familiar feeling of wetness trickles down my cheeks as I bend down next to my sister and wrap my arm around her. She leans into me, sniffling softly into my chest. Mama opens her dark eyes, and the familiar light that used to dance in them is now dimmed. She turned her head slowly, her dark eyes finding mine.

“Kasia,” she whispers to me. I feel the tears falling faster as I reach over to caress her bony hand. “Yes mama, I’m here.” I give her a watery smile as she smiles back, squeezing mine weakly back. 

“I need…you..to..” She rasps out. I leaned in closer, careful not to squish Imani. “Yes, Mama?”

“Promise..me... Promise…

Her face suddenly seizes, her mouth hanging open as the monitors begin to beep in quick succession. “Mama? Mama!!”

***

Beep! Beep!

The intrusive blare of the alarm clock jolts me awake, my hand slammed down on the offending device. I pulled the comforter from my head, running my hand through my reddish-brown curls. Shit. I’d forgotten to put a bonnet on last night. I  rise slowly, letting out a loud yawn my muscles protesting the abrupt awakening. Sitting up from my sleeping position, a tired sigh escapes my lips as she looks down at the wrinkled shirt and pants.

“Damn,” I huffed,  face scrunched up in discomfort at the feeling of tightness forming in her chest. I reached under my shirt to discover not only did I fall asleep in my clothes, I also managed to fall asleep in my bra. I reached behind my back with fumbling fingers and managed to unclasped the damn thing from me. Relief flows through me as I feel the pressure dissipate from my chest. I’d forgotten to do the laundry the day before which left me wearing one of my older bras. This one was too small for someone like me more endowed than some and needed the extra room for the girls to be comfortable. After discarding it from underneath my shirt, I forced myself out of bed and stretched my arms again, attempting to shake off the remnants of sleep. I look over at the bed opposite mine. 

"Imani..." I call out, glancing at the still-sleeping figure. A loud snore was the girl's response and I rolled my eyes.

"It's time for school..get up.” This time, I shaked her shoulder a once. Then a few more times before hearing a whine of protest. “Mmmkay!” Imani buried her face deeper into her pillow. 

“I’m gonna jump in the shower,” I declared, turning my back to her. “You’d better be up by the time I get out.” 

When she didn’t respond, I rolled my eyes and stomped down the hall to the bathroom. Once inside I flip on the light and close the door. First, I needed to get the smell of leftovers from last night. Going over to the tub, I turn the knobs to adjust the water to my liking, letting the water run while I  undressed. I gazed into the mirror, taking in the reflection of a curvaceous woman with an hourglass figure. My voluptuous thighs were sturdy and shapely, supporting my short frame with an ample bosom strained gently against the fabric of my top. My skin, a rich honey hue, glowed warmly in the soft light. A constellation of freckles danced across my shoulders, like cinnamon sprinkled on toast. As I studied my features, my dark brown eyes captured my attention. Deep and soulful, they were pools of cocoa, flecked with hints of amber that caught the light. Those eyes, so familiar yet always revealing new depths, suddenly transported me to another time and place.

At that moment, I saw not just myself but also the echoes of the woman who had given me life. My mother's spirit seemed to peer back at me through those eyes - her strength, struggles, and boundless love reflected in my own gaze. The curve of my cheek and the fullness of my lips whispered about the legacy she had bestowed upon me. A wave of emotion washed over me as I stood there, bridging past and present. Shaking my head, I rustle around the drawers until I find a shower cap.  I stick my hand in the running water. Once it feels warm enough, I turn on the shower head and jump in. I let out a soft sign as the water ran over my body. Taking a small cloth, I douse it with shea butter and vanilla-scented liquid soap. The bottle made a soft, crinkling sort of noise mixed with a subtle whoosh as the air inside escaped. Gonna have to get more soon.’ I contemplated as I worked the small amount into a lather of vanilla and shea bubbles on my towel.

After scrubbing my body clean, I rinsed myself and turned off the water. I stepped out of the tub, grabbing a towel off the rack to wrap around myself. I turned to the foggy mirror and used my hand to wipe away the smoky mirror to reveal my full face. I dried my body, rewrapped the towel, and then tugged the shower cap off my head. Thank god that I at least had the sense to keep my hair in twists or I would have to wrestle with styling my wild curls into submission. The reddish-brown hair in twists that stop at my freckled shoulders. And I began unraveling the twists and spreading the curls out with my fingers. After I untwisted some curls, I looked up at the clock in the bathroom, cursing at the time. 

“Imani!” I yell, “You’d better be on your way in here!” 

When she didn’t respond, I kissed my teeth. “This girl,” I mutter under my breath,  stopping midway from unraveling one of my twists.  I  marched back to the bedroom and stood with my hands on my hips. Imani didn’t budge; still curled up in her blankets as if she didn’t hear me hollering. Shaking my head, I walked over to the bed and pulled the covers off her. 

“What the hell!” she exclaims reaching as she sits up abruptly.

"Girl!” I exclaimed. “You better get your butt out of this bed.” Imani tipped her head up at me in defiance. “ I was gonna wait until you were done.. ”

“Do you know what time it is? You should have been in the bathroom 20 minutes ago!”

“Well, how do you expect me to get in there when you  hogging up all the space?”

I narrowed my eyes, curling my lip. “Imani,” my voice dropped dangerously low.  “don't make me tell you again." 

A brief silence passed between us before this little heifer finally got off the bed, but not before rolling her eyes at me as she sauntered toward the bathroom. I swear this kid will be the death of me. I took a deep breath before heading back to the bathroom. I continued unraveling the remaining twists in my hair, styling my curls in a side part that dropped to my shoulders. And while Imani cleaned herself up, I gathered my scattered clothes from the floor and put them in the dirty hamper. Rushing back to our room, I quickly pulled out a pair of high-waisted, faded jeans that hugged my hips and thick thighs with a long-sleeved white shirt with a green button-up cardigan. I pocketed my phone and grabbed my beat-up brown bag before heading back to the hallway. As I passed by the second bedroom, I stopped before the closed door. I leaned closer, pressing my ear against the rough wood until heard the sound of snoring. I let out a tired breath, glad that he had the sense to stumble his way into his room sometime in the night.

 I finally stepped into our threadbare kitchen, the faded linoleum groaning under each step. The walls, once a clean eggshell white, were now marred with scuff marks and crisscrossed by hairline cracks. One lightbulb had burnt out, while the other flickered weakly, casting a sickly yellow glow over the scratched wooden table. In the sink, a few dishes from two nights ago still sat, giving off the faint odor of dampness and stale food. Nearby, a mismatched collection of dishes lay drying haphazardly on a worn towel. I checked the old refrigerator, finding a few eggs in the carton. 

“Aw man, we ran out of orange juice,” I muttered, closing the door with a soft thud. I moved over to the cupboard and pulled out a few slices of bread, their edges starting to go a  little stiff. “French toast it is,” I said to myself.

I made a mental to make a grocery list while I focused on breakfast, cracking the eggs into a bowl and whisking them together. The steady rhythm of the whisk was oddly comforting in the quiet of the morning. I dipped the bread into the mixture and laid the slices on the pan, the satisfying sizzle of eggs against the hot surface filled the room,  mingling with the subtle hum of the fridge. The smell of cooking food began to waft through the air, and my mouth watered as I flipped the toast over, golden and crispy on one side. I heard soft footsteps and glanced over just in time to see Imani ambling into the kitchen, her eyes glued to her phone, as usual. She plopped into a chair, barely acknowledging me as she scrolled through her screen, her thumb moving in quick motions.

“Food’s ready,” I said, turning the heat off on the stove.

“Hmm,” she responded, her head still bent over her phone. I set the plates on the table, and Imani absentmindedly grabbed hers, still engrossed in whatever she was watching or texting. I grabbed two mismatched cups, filled them with water, and sat down across from her. My eyes roved over her outfit as she slouched in her chair. She wore a purple long-sleeved dress shirt under a black zip-up hoodie, frayed at the sleeves. Her black leggings had a small hole at the knee, and her ankle boots were scuffed at the toes.

“We should go shopping soon,” I said, picking at my food. “Get you some new clothes for the school year.”

Imani shrugged, barely reacting. “I’m fine.”

“You’re wearing a hoodie that looks like it’s been through a war zone,” I said, half-joking. I point at her shoes.  “And those boots? I think they’ve seen better days.”  She rolled her eyes, finally putting her phone down. “They’re comfortable.”

I sighed, trying to stay patient. “I know, but—”

“Kasia, we don’t need to spend money right now. You’re already working two jobs.” Her voice had a blase tone but there was a hint of irritation. I stared at her for a moment, feeling a twinge in my chest. 

“It’s not just about the money,” I said quietly. “You deserve nice things too, you know?”

Imani shrugged. “I’m fine,” she repeated, though something in her voice made me wonder if she really believed that.

I let the conversation drop for now, making a mental note to set aside some extra cash next month. I dug into the French toast, savoring the fluffy texture with each bite, the warmth spreading through me. I almost hummed with happiness; I hadn’t eaten much last night, with the restaurant being slammed and all hands needed on deck. A few sips of water, and I could feel my body slowly waking up, the fog of exhaustion lifting just a little. Halfway through my plate, I glanced across the table and noticed Imani’s plate still untouched, her fork idly poking at the eggs.

“Come on, Imani,” I said, nudging her plate closer. “We can’t afford to be fashionably late today.”

She huffed, barely lifting her eyes from the food. “I wish we had Poptarts or something.” 

I stifled a tired groan, trying not to let my frustration seep into my voice. “Well, lucky for you, this is the last of it. If I make good tips today, I’ll stop by the store and see if we can get some cereal or something.” I pushed her plate a little closer to her. “But for now, eat.”

Imani finally looked up at me, her face scrunched up in mild rebellion before she relented. “Fine,” she muttered, begrudgingly shoveling the French toast into her mouth.

I watched her for a moment, trying to read the storm of emotions that always seemed just beneath the surface. She was still grumpy from her rude awakening, but I knew it was more than that. The weight of everything—our situation, the little things we had to go without—pressed on both of us, though I tried my best to shield her from it. I took a moment to check my phone, scrolling through my work schedules for the bookstore and the restaurant. Juggling two jobs was exhausting, but I didn’t have much choice. I had to make things work no matter what.

“Did Dad come back last night?” Imani asked, clearing her throat as she took a sip of water.

I paused, trying not to sigh. I heard him stumble in around 2 a.m. I’d gotten up and found him passed out on the couch, the acrid smell of booze and cigarettes wafting in the air. I was half-surprised he came home at all. Lately, he’d been disappearing for days, gambling away whatever little money we had left.

“Yeah,” I said after swallowing a mouthful of french toast.

Imani made a noncommittal sound as she took another bite of her breakfast. She looked up at me, her hazel-brown eyes meeting mine with a flicker of worry. “Are we gonna be okay this month?”

Her question made my stomach tighten, and for a moment, I almost choked on my toast. Before I could answer, my phone buzzed with a notification. A utility bill reminder flashed across the screen. I quickly swiped it away and checked the time.

Hey, don’t worry about it,” I plastered on a smile.“C’mon, we gotta get going.”

I stood up and grabbed my bag while trying to shake off the growing pressure in my chest. Imani didn’t need to see it—she had enough to deal with. We dropped our dishes in the sink and grabbed our jackets. I slipped on my worn-out black sneakers, feeling the familiar discomfort of their frayed edges. As we made our way down the dimly lit hallway of our apartment building, Imani readjusted her backpack while I checked the mail. Sifting through the usual stack of flyers, credit card offers, and grocery ads-something caught my eye. A stark white envelope with “PAST DUE” stamped boldly across the front. I sucked in a breath, rolling my eyes in frustration. Not again. The words echoed in my head as I shoved the unwelcome reminder deep into my bag.  I pushed down the knot of anxiety forming in my chest. The rest of the mail followed, crammed haphazardly into the same pocket as if burying it could somehow make the problem disappear. A girl could dream, right?

We stepped outside, and the crisp morning air hit me like a cold splash of water, goosebumps immediately prickling across my skin. I shivered as I tugged at the collar of my jacket. Should’ve grabbed my scarf. The thought came with a wave of regret as the wind nipped at my neck and face, making me scrunch my shoulders against the chill. Fall mornings were always like this—beautiful but biting. Imani, beside me, shifted her backpack higher on her shoulders, the worn straps digging into her thin frame as we made our way down the side of the building. Our old, faithful station wagon, a 2009 gray model, sat waiting for us like a patient old dog. It wasn’t much to look at; faded paint, a dent on the passenger side door from an unfortunate run-in with a shopping cart, and an engine that sometimes sounded like it was coughing up its last breath. But it got us where we needed to go. I reached for the handle, patting the hood affectionately as I pulled the door open. The two of us piled into the car, the worn seats creaking beneath us.

I turned the key in the ignition, holding my breath momentarily as the engine sputtered and coughed to life. For a second, I thought it wouldn’t start, but then the familiar rumble settled in. I exhaled in relief, my hands gripping the steering wheel as I glanced over at Imani. She had already strapped in, her eyes glued to her phone. As we pulled out of the parking lot, the city unfolded before us, gray skies hanging low and a slight chill creeping through the cracked window. I reached over, fiddling with the radio dial, trying to find something to lighten the morning mood. Static blared momentarily before I settled on a pop station, a familiar, upbeat song filling the car. The rhythmic beat vibrated through the old speakers, and I couldn’t help but bob my head to the music. Imani, however, wasn’t impressed. She side-eyed me, her lips twitching into a half-smile. “Really? You’re into this now?” she asked, her tone carrying that usual hint of sarcasm.

“What chu mean? This the jam!” I do a little shimmy in the driver's seat as she scoffed.

I glanced at her as we hit a red light. I could see a small smile at the corners of her lips. I took notice of her fingers tapping against the side of the door, ever so slightly in sync with the beat. Victory. My lips curled up ever so slightly and she when she noticed my expression, Imani flattened her fingers against the door. I chuckled as the light changed to green for me to go. The streets were busy with the usual morning traffic, but eventually, we pulled up to the front of her middle school. The brick building loomed ahead, bustling with students piling out of cars, some lingering at the entrance, others chatting in small groups. I slowed the car to a crawl, giving her a sideways glance as we neared the drop-off point.

“You good? Got everything?” I asked, turning down the music just as the car came to a stop.

Imani rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’m good.” There was a pause, just long enough for me to feel like I needed to say something more. “Hey, listen—try to have a good day, alright? And text me when you get home,” I added, hoping to sound more casual than concerned. Imani huffed, pretending to be annoyed, but I caught the faint smirk she was trying to hide. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll text you.” She slung her backpack over one shoulder and popped the door open, stepping out into the sea of middle schoolers. She slammed the door shut, already blending into the crowd as she headed toward the entrance. I watched her for a moment, a sense of both pride and worry swelling in my chest. She was growing up so fast, and each day I could feel her pulling a little further away, wanting to be independent. Still, she was my responsibility, one of the few things that anchored me. With a sigh, I shifted the car back into drive, watching her disappear into the building before turning back onto the street. I turned the music back up, hoping the familiar beat would drown out the anxious thoughts swirling in my head. I eased the station wagon into a narrow spot in the parking garage, the engine groaning like it always did when I turned the key to shut it off. The dim overhead lights cast long shadows along the concrete walls, giving the place a slightly eerie vibe. The familiar scent of oil and rubber filled the air, and I could hear the faint echo of other cars pulling in and out, creating a low hum in the background. I pulled my jacket tighter, grabbed my worn tote bag from the passenger seat, and stepped out onto the cold concrete floor. My footsteps echoed around me as I made my way toward the exit, the sounds bouncing off the garage walls. The air grew sharper as I climbed the stairs to street level, the wind hitting me full force as soon as I stepped out. I tugged my jacket tighter, shivering against the cold. 

Rounding the corner, Pages N Co. came into view. The weathered brick and large glass windows stood like a comforting beacon amid the hustle of the city. Just seeing the familiar storefront brought a little warmth to my chest. The moment I stepped through the door, the clamor of the city faded, replaced by the steady hum of electricity. I always enjoyed these moments right before the store opened. The scent of old paper and ink enveloped me like a warm embrace, a distinct smell that was comforting in its familiarity. It was the kind of place where you could lose hours, even days, wandering through the endless labyrinth of bookshelves. The wooden floors beneath my feet creaked with each step as if the very structure of the place was alive. The shelves towered over me, crammed with books of every genre imaginable, from gently used copies to the latest bestsellers. Each section was carefully organized, yet there was always something new to discover, some hidden gem tucked away on a high shelf or wedged between two well-loved novels. I rang the doorbell and was greeted by an older gentleman who appeared in his early 40s smiling at me.

“Good morning, Kasia,” He greeted me and I returned it in kind as I stepped inside the cool building. The lighting was soft, a gentle glow cast from the old-fashioned sconces mounted on the walls, adding to the cozy, intimate atmosphere. Mr. Reynolds, the owner, had always insisted on keeping things simple, refusing to modernize in the way other stores had. There were no bright digital displays or loud advertisements here, just rows upon rows of books, each with its own story to tell. He believed that bookstores were meant to be places of discovery, where you could wander through and let the stories find you.  I stepped into the break room, and the comforting scent of fresh coffee hit me immediately as well as the cutting low hum of the fridge. The small space, cozy but cluttered, was like a second home at this point—filled with mismatched chairs and a table that had seen better days. A middle-aged woman was already there, putting her coat and bag in one of the lockers. 

“Morning, Kasia!” She greeted me, giving me a wave.

“Hey, Serah. How you doin'?” I grinned, grabbing my lanyard from the hook and looping it around my neck.

“Barely,” she groaned, rubbing her eyes. “Had a rough morning with Randy, but otherwise, it was good.”

Randy was her six-year-old golden retriever mix, who acts more like a puppy than anything. I finally entered the main store, and the familiar creak of the old wooden floorboards beneath my sneakers greeted me. The scent of paper and ink was a balm to my nerves, instantly grounding me. Before I could fully dive into the routine, I spotted Mr. Reynolds near the front, waving me over with his gentle smile.

“Kasia, the new shipment just arrived. Could you help me sort through it in the fiction section?” His voice had that warm, familiar tone that always made me feel appreciated.

“ I'm on it, Mr. Reynolds,” I replied with a grin, already rolling up my sleeves.

As I started toward the back, I couldn’t help but admire how even at his age, Mr. Reynolds still moved with purpose. His graying beard and glasses perched on the end of his nose gave him the look of a wise sage, but it was his enthusiasm for books that made him come alive. 

A few minutes later, Serah appeared next to me as we started unpacking boxes. She peeked into the nearest one and let out a low whistle. 

“Oh, nice. We got some new thrillers. I’ve had my eye on this one.”

A wide and unrestrained smile stretched across her face, crinkling the corners of her eyes. I raised an eyebrow. 

“Thrillers? I thought you were more into romance?”

She smirked. “What can I say? Sometimes I like a little murder to spice things up.”

I laughed, shaking my head as I pulled out a stack of hardcovers. “Just make sure no one goes missing in our section. I don’t need another mystery on my hands.”

Sarah winked. “No promises.”

Sarah and I move with practiced efficiency as we put the rest of books out for display. We then circle the store one last time before we meet at the front. At precisely 8:59, we gather near the entrance. Eyes flick between watches and the front door, where early birds are already visible through the glass, shifting from foot to foot in the crisp morning air. The security shutters rattle as they ascend, flooding the store with natural light. As the clock strikes 9:00, I reach for the lock. The mechanism clicks, and I swing the door wide. 

"Good morning," I greet our first customers, my voice bright against the backdrop of the store's ambient music, now swelling to life. Another day of commerce and service begins, right on schedule. The rhythm of the day started to take over—shelving books, chatting with coworkers, and sneaking a few peeks at the new releases. It was one of those days where everything felt comfortable like the store itself was a living, breathing thing that we all moved in sync with. Mrs. Johnson, one of our regulars, shuffled up to the counter a little while later, her usual wide-brimmed hat perched atop her silver hair. “Kasia, darling! Have you read anything new that might tickle my fancy?”

I leaned forward on the counter, already grinning. “Oh, Mrs. Johnson, you’re in luck. We just got a brand new historical fiction in this morning, and I’ve already started it. It’s a real page-turner, right up your alley.”

Her eyes sparkled. “You always know exactly what I need.”

“I do what I can,” I said, sliding the book toward her. “Let me know what you think of it. I think it’s going to be one of your favorites.”

Serah appeared at my side again, tapping me on the shoulder. “Kasia, I swear, you’ve got the memory of an elephant. How do you remember what everyone likes?”

I shrugged, sliding another book into its place on the shelf. “Years of practice—and a borderline obsessive love of books.”

“Obsessive is right,” Sarah teased, nudging me with her elbow. “You’re like a human Dewey Decimal System.”

“Someone has to be,” I shot back with a grin.

The day continued with its usual ebb and flow, customers coming in and out, and us restocking shelves, recommending books, and helping them find that perfect read. The hustle kept me busy, and I welcomed the distraction from everything else going on outside the store. By the time Mrs. Johnson left, clutching her new book like it was a treasure, I felt a little lighter. This place had a way of doing that—making the world feel just a bit more manageable, if only for a few hours.

***

3:30 pm rolled around and  I had finished organizing the last of the new arrivals in the fiction section. I stretched, feeling the satisfying ache in my shoulders from a day well spent, then glanced toward the front desk where Sarah was helping a customer. The store had quieted down, the mid-afternoon lull settling in. I made my way toward the back, grabbing my bag from the break room, and with a quick nod to Mr. Reynolds, I stepped out into the street. The shift in the atmosphere was instant. The bookstore’s quiet cocoon gave way to the bustling energy of the city, the hum of traffic and chatter filling the air. The afternoon sun, still warm but not as intense as it had been earlier, cast long shadows along the sidewalk. I fished my phone from my bag and tapped out a quick message to Imani.

Kasia: “I’m heading over to the restaurant. Let me know when you get home.”

I paused for a moment, staring at the screen. Imani hadn’t texted me all day. She’d usually shoot me a quick “Made it to school” or “I’m bored in class” message, but today—nothing. I figured she was probably caught up with friends or a project, but a part of me was still worried. It wasn’t like her to go radio silent, and with Dad’s unpredictability, I couldn’t help but feel that knot of anxiety tighten in my stomach. I groaned, slipping the phone back into my bag. No point in stressing myself out. Imani was tough. I tried to focus on the next part of my day: another shift at the diner. The tips had been decent lately, and if tonight went well, I might even be able to grab those Poptarts Imani had been hinting about. I stood at the curb, the rhythmic flashing of the "Don't Walk" sign matching my impatient tapping foot. Fishing an earbud from my pocket, I nestled it into my ear, allowing a gentle melody to cut through the urban cacophony. The light changed, and I set off across the sun-baked asphalt, my stride purposeful and brisk. The opposite sidewalk was tantalizingly close when a horrible sound shattered the morning air. Tires shrieked against the pavement and my heart leaped violently, seeming to lodge itself in my throat. I whirled around, my body moving before my mind could process what was happening.

Time seemed to slow as I took in the horrific tableau behind me. A woman, who moments ago had been crossing just like me, now lay crumpled in the intersection. Her limbs were splayed at unnatural angles, her bag and its contents scattered like fallen leaves around her motionless form. The car that struck her sat askew, its front end crumpled, steam hissing from the damaged radiator. For an eternal second, the world held its breath. Then, as if a spell had been broken, chaos erupted. Screams pierced the air, a cacophony of shock and horror. More tires screeched as other drivers slammed on their brakes, narrowly avoiding a chain reaction of collisions. Car horns blared in angry, confused protest. Yet I stood frozen, my feet seemingly rooted to the spot. The woman's broken form burned itself into my retinas. Her stillness was a terrifying contrast to the frenzied activity erupting around her. Suddenly, as if jolted by an electric current, something inside me snapped into focus. Adrenaline surged through my veins, propelling me into action. I sprinted back across the intersection, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. As I reached the woman's side, I dropped to my knees on the unforgiving pavement, my mind racing with half-remembered first aid lessons as I prepared to render whatever assistance I could.

“Please, someone call an ambulance!” I shouted, voice trembling as I knelt next to her. The woman looked to be in her sixties, with skin the color of warm sand and sharp features. Her salt and pepper hair was half covered by her headscarf. Blood pooled around her, seeping from her nose and mouth. Her breaths came in short, ragged gasps eyes wide with fear and pain. With shaking hands, I reached for hers.

 “H-hey, stay with me,” I uttered, my voice cracking. This is bad, really bad. My heart pounded in my chest, threatening to drown out the sounds around me. I looked around me, wondering where the hell the ambulance was but there was a gurgling noise coming from the woman. I looked back at her, noticing her trembling hands clutching two gold bangles, one set with a red gemstone, and the other with a black one. Her fingers shook as she tried to lift them towards me. 

“Take…responsibility.” she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper. I blinked, unsure of what she meant, but I reached out taking the bangles from her fragile hands. They were warm,  the mental pressing into my palm with a strange weight. Her brown eyes locked onto mine and though her words were incoherent, I felt that she was trying to tell me something. She coughed, blood spilled from her mouth again and the light started to fade from her eyes. It was happening too fast. I was suddenly back in the room with the beeping machines, looking at my mother barely hanging on by a thread. I blinked hard but tears fell anyway. The woman’s body went limp, and her eyes closed as her final breath slipped from her lips. My throat tightened as I knelt there, paralyzed, clutching the bangles she had given me. I stood back once the first responders arrived at the scene as they tried to revive her. A police officer approached me, asking something but my words were all muffled; I felt like my body was floating above everything watching everything from afar. Before I knew it, I was at work, the hum of the restaurant filling the space around me. My hands moved unconsciously as I cleared tables and refilled drinks. It wasn’t until I was in the back, slicing lemons that the spell broke. The knife slipped and I nicked my finger. I hiss, the stinging sensation brought me back to the present as a bead of blood welled up from the cut. 

“You alright, Kasia?” Ana asked. She was one of the other waitresses that worked with me. 

 I nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah.. I just cut myself.”

I hold up my bleeding finger. She grabbed a napkin to hand to me, which I take gratefully. 

“You sure you’re alright?” You seem pretty out of it.”

Memories of the woman and my mother coalesce in my mind as I struggle to still my beating heart. I swallowed, trying to keep my lips from trembling.

“I just.. I witnessed an accident right before work. A woman died.”

Ana gasped. “Shit. I’m sorry girl. Anything I can do?”

My lips quivered at her concern. “No, I just need a minute. Mind if I take breather?”

“Of course!” I’ll let them know you cut yourself and need a minute.” 

She gave me a reassuring smile and patted me on my shoulder. I returned it in kind as I sniffled and let myself drop my mask. A few tears fall from my eyes as I quickly swipe at them with my other hand. I reached into my pocket to pull out a napkin only to pull out the bangles. I leaned in closer, my eyes drawn to the mesmerizing circular piece of jewelry. Its outer edge gleamed softly, a perfect ring of polished metal – silver perhaps, or white gold – providing a frame for the true artistry within. Etched into the surface with exquisite precision were symbols of breathtaking intricacy. They danced around the circumference, each flowing seamlessly into the next in an unbroken chain of arcane significance. Some resembled abstract geometrical patterns – spirals that seemed to swirl into infinity, triangles nestled within larger triangles, and sinuous lines that wove in and out of each other in dizzying complexity. Though they each shared a similar design, the only difference was the red and black jewels embedded within them. This may be due to the trick of the light, but I swear that they glowed…

 My eyes widened in dismay as I registered the dark, crimson stains marring both pieces. The blood stood out in stark contrast against the intricate designs, its rich color mocked my carelessness. Droplets had seeped into the minute crevices of the engravings, highlighting the symbols in a macabre fashion. The metallic scent of iron tinged the air and I could feel my heart rate quicken, a mixture of frustration and anxiety coursing through my veins. Damn.  I rushed to the sink to rinse both my bloodied finger and the bangles in the cool water. Once I thoroughly inspected them I tucked them back into my pocket and then put a bandaid on my finger to prevent any other mishaps. Alright girl, let's get it together now. I closed my eyes, drawing in a deep breath. The air filled my lungs, warm and humid, as I tried to calm my racing thoughts. Exhaling slowly, I felt some of the tension ease from my shoulders, though a knot of worry remained stubbornly lodged in my chest.

 My fingers fumbled for my phone, the smooth surface cool against my skin. The screen flickered to life, its harsh glow cutting through the dimness around me. My eyes narrowed, adjusting to the sudden brightness. The digital clock glared back at me accusingly: 4:57 PM. A frown etched itself across my face, deepening the lines around my mouth. The notification bar stood devoid of any messages or missed calls. With a swipe and a tap, I pulled up Imani in my contacts list. Her smiling profile picture stared back at me, a frozen moment of happier times that only intensified the current unease. My thumb hovered over the call button for a heartbeat before pressing down. The phone's ring seemed to stretch on endlessly. One ring. Two rings. Three. Each unanswered call amplified my concern. Finally, the familiar click of voicemail answered, filling my ears. A sigh of frustration escaped my lips; the sound seemed to echo in the quiet space around me.

"Hey, Imani," I began, my voice tight. "It's me again. Just... just checking in. Give me a call when you can, okay? I'm getting worried."

Ending the call, I stared at the phone for a moment longer, willing it to buzz with a return message. The screen remained stubbornly dark. With another deep sigh, I pocketed the device and walked back out on the floor. 

***

The evening wore on and when the sun dipped below the horizon, I finally was able to go home. little to ease her unease. By the time I reached the apartment building, the dimly lit hallway greeted me with the usual stale scent of mold and mothballs, lingering in the air like an unwelcome guest. The flickering overhead light cast long, uneven shadows along the walls. My footsteps echoed dully on the worn linoleum floor as I checked my phone. Still nothing from Imani. The silence from her made my stomach twist uneasily, though I tried to push the thought aside. Maybe she’s home. She’d better for my sake and hers. But as I approached the door to the apartment, I noticed something was off. The door was slightly ajar, a sliver of darkness visible through the crack. Panic surged through her as she sprinted down the hallway. My eyes darted around the chaotic living room. The space looked as if a tornado had ripped through it—the dining table was flipped over, mismatched chairs were strewn about, and a dark red stain was spreading on the dirty carpet. My breath hitched when I spotted my father slumped on the couch, his head bowed low, showing a shiny bald spot amidst his thinning ginger hair. He was hunched over, elbows resting on his knees, a bottle of whiskey in one hand, and the other covering his eyes.

“Dad?” My voice wavered as she approached him. “What happened?”

He mumbled something incoherent, which caused my eye to twitch. “Dad,” I repeated, bending down on my knees. I placed both hands on his shoulders. 

“What happened here?” I asked again, shaking him until he finally looked at me. My eyes widened in shock-his white shirt was damp with sweat, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes. His left eye was black and swollen, barely able to open as he stared at me with his good eye, bloodshot and glassy. The right side of his upper lip was swollen, and his left cheek was bleeding. He lifted his head, revealing a swollen, bloodshot eye and a bleeding lip.

 "They...they took her," he whimpered. I felt the blood drain from her face, my heart pounding in my ears. 

"Who took her? What are you talking about?"

Dad's face contorted in pain as he whispered, "I owed them money...I'm so sorry."

 A chill ran down my spine as the room seemed to close in around me, every muscle tensing as the room seemed to shrink.  This is some type of sick joke. It had to be. I burst into the bedroom, my heart racing as I scanned the bedroom. The bed was still in a mess from this morning. Panic claws at my chest as I swing the closet open. Empty. 

"Imani?" I called out, her voice rising with desperation as I darted out of the bedroom and into the small living room. My eyes swept over every corner of the apartment, searching for any trace of her. The kitchen, the bathroom—nothing. I reached into my pocket and grabbed her phone with shaking hands as I quickly dialed Imani’s number. The phone rang once, then twice. 

"Come on, pick up... please," I whispered, her voice cracking.

Suddenly, the call cut to silence—the line going dead. I stared at the screen in disbelief, my breath hitching in my throat.

"No... no, no, no!" I cried out, dialing again in a frantic attempt, but the phone remained lifeless in my hands.

The reality hit me like a sledgehammer. I screamed, my voice raw with anguish, throwing the phone across the room. It clattered uselessly to the floor, but my hands remained balled into fists, shaking as the weight of her helplessness crashed over me. Tears blurred my vision as she sank to the floor, hands clutching my head, feeling the walls of my world crumble around me.

***

"How could you let this happen?" My v voice cracked with fury as I rounded on my father, who sat slumped on the couch, unmoving. He just sat there, staring at the floor, his face pale and expressionless. The stench of stale cigarettes clung to him and my hands balled into fists as I took a step closer, my body trembling with a mix of rage and fear.

"Answer me!" I shouted, her voice breaking. "How could you let them take her?!"

He flinched but remained silent. His eyes, hollow and bloodshot, finally lifted to meet hers. There was a brief flicker of something—guilt, shame, or maybe just defeat—but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to make up for what he’d done.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice barely audible, weighed down by his own failure. “I didn’t mean for this to happen…”

My chest tightened, breath coming in ragged bursts. “Sorry?” My voice dripped with disbelief. “Sorry doesn’t bring her back!” Tears of frustration welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. I turned away from him as I struggled to gather my composure. Imani was gone but yelling wasn’t going to bring her back. I counted back from ten until the tightness in my chest disappeared. 

“Okay, okay.” I turned back to the man before me. “How much money do you owe them?”

Though remorse etched across his battered face, I felt no sympathy for the man before me. He was supposed to be looking out for us, especially Imani. He muttered the staggering amount owed, and I almost fainted right then and there. There was no way we could pay that…

"W-we have to go to the police. They can help us find her..”

He shook his head and, met my eyes with a haunted gaze. "Kasia, l-listen.” he stammered, “If we involve the police, they'll retaliate.”

A heavy silence settled between us. This can’t be happening. God please, this can’t be happening. Without a word, I fled into the bedroom, the door shutting behind me with a thud. Alone in the dimly lit space, the dam holding back my emotions began to crack. Tears welled up, spilling down my cheeks as the room echoed with the muffled sounds of my sobs. Each breath a struggle against the overwhelming despair that threatened to consume me. My hands trembled, grasping for something, anything to anchor me. I sank to the floor, the weight of the situation crashing over me in relentless waves.

***

I don’t know how long I sat there, slumped on the floor, staring at nothing. Time had no meaning as a sickening numbness crept over me. I prayed to God, whispering broken pleas into the silence, begging for something—anything. He had already taken my mom. He couldn’t take my sister, too. I needed a miracle. Tears blurred my vision, and I squeezed my eyes shut. 

“I just wish…” I choke out “Please... someone, help me.”

Then, a strange warmth bloomed in my pocket, pulling me from my haze. Startled, I reached in and felt the cool metal of the bangles, now strangely warm to the touch. I pulled them out and my eyes widened while the red and black gemstones were both glowing. 

“What the hell...?” I muttered. 

Before I could react, smoke began to pour out of the stones, swirling and twisting, filling the room in thick, curling tendrils. I dropped both bangles and scrambled backward, heart palpitating in my chest as the smoke morphed into crimson and ebony clouds. The air was charged with a strange energy, my breath hitched in my throat. I let out a screech of surprise as the tendrils of smoke moved with a life of their own. Two figures began to materialize from the mist, their forms solidifying before my wide, terrified eyes. 

“Well, well, what do we have here?” A deep, resonant voice cut through the haze, sending a shiver down my spine. The speaker stepped forward, revealing a tall, muscular man with fiery red hair that almost seemed to flicker like flames. His eyes glowed with an unsettling intensity as he gazed down at me, a smirk curling at the edges of his lips.

Beside him, a second figure emerged—a calmer, more serene presence that contrasted the fiery man. His long, dark hair flowed like smoke itself, and his gray eyes gleamed with a quiet, wisdom. 

“It seems that we’ve been summoned, brother,” he said, his voice smooth, almost soothing in comparison. I stared in awe—and terror—at the two ethereal beings standing before me. This couldn’t be real. My mind raced, trying to make sense of the impossible sight in front of me.

“Who... who are you?” I managed to choke out despite my trembling body.

Both of their gazes locked on me, and I could feel the weight of their presence pressing in around me, making the room feel suddenly smaller and suffocating.

“I am Agni,” the red-haired man said, his grin widening. “And this,” he gestured to the calm figure beside him, “is Dukhan.”

My blood ran cold as their names echoed in my mind. With my back pressed firmly against the wall, I slowly rose to my feet, my heart thudding in my chest as my eyes never left them. Two towering figures, smoke, and fire incarnate, stood in the middle of my room like something out of a nightmare.

“H-how is this happening?” My voice trembled, barely above a whisper. “How are you even here, in my room?”

The red-haired djinn, Agni, chuckled, a deep sound that sent a shiver down my spine. He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. “It’s just as we said, human,” he purred, his voice rich with amusement. “You requested assistance-”

“And we Djinn,” interjected Dukhan. “Answered your call.”

His words crashed over me, bringing back the memory of my frantic prayer. I had begged for help, for something—anything—to save Imani. Now, staring into the glowing eyes of these ancient beings, it hit me like a slap. My breath caught in my throat, and my knees wobbled. 

My breath caught in my throat, knees wobbling. 

"D-djinn?" I stammered. "Like... like genies from Aladdin?"

Both men exchanged confused glances, eyebrows raised in mutual perplexity. I waved my hands between them, trying to make them understand. 

“You know, magical beings of awesome power trapped in a lamp? Street kid finds it, rubs the thing, and gets three wishes?”

Agni threw his head back and let out a boisterous laugh that filled the room. His laughter was almost contagious, but something was unnerving about how unrestrained it was. 

“Is that what humans think we do?" His amber eyes sparkled with amusement as his hands clutched at his sides. Beside him, Dukhan’s expression remained calm, though his lips quirked in the faintest hint of a smile.

 “It would seem that humans have gotten carried away with their legends,” he said, his deep voice filled with a quiet authority. 

"So... you guys don’t do that?" I asked, shifting uncomfortably. My head spun, and I couldn’t wrap my mind around the sight of them standing in my dingy little apartment, looking like they stepped out of some supernatural fantasy.

Agni’s grin widened, his sharp, predatory teeth flashing as he folded his arms across his broad chest. “Not exactly,” he said, his voice suddenly casual like we were talking about the weather. “My brother and I can grant you wishes, yes. But it’s not as simple as that.” He takes a step closer to me, his hands in his pockets. “ There's a bargain involved.”

My mind raced back to the old woman—the bangles she’d shoved into my hands as she lay dying. I’d thought they were just some jewelry from a dead woman. Now here I was, standing face to face with ancient, powerful beings, and all I could think about was Imani.

"I don’t care what it takes,” I said, my voice cracking slightly. I stand up straighter, my unwavering gaze never leaving theirs. “I need to save my sister. Please, can you help me?"

Agni’s eyes gleamed, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them as he studied me. His fiery aura crackled with barely contained energy, dancing in the air around him like a living flame.

 “We can,” he said, a slow smile creeping back onto his face. “But at a price.”

My stomach twisted, anxiety bubbling in the pit of my gut. But what choice did I have? Desperation outweighed the fear and I stared unwavering at him. 

“Anything," I breathed, my resolve hardening as I met his gaze. "I’ll do anything.”

Dukhan stepped forward, his presence calmer, more grounded than Agni’s fiery nature. His smoky gray eyes softened as he spoke, a quiet gentleness in his tone that almost took me by surprise. 

“Then it is a deal. We will aid you in retrieving your sister. But in return, you must grant us a request of our choosing, when the time comes.”

My heart pounded as I nodded, barely processing his words. "I accept," I whispered. "Please, help me save Imani."

Agni's flames flared with anticipation, his excitement palpable. “Then let us be off,” he said, clapping his hands together, the sound sharp like a crack of thunder. “Time is of the essence.”

Before I could even blink, they moved. Smoke and fire swirled around me in a chaotic dance, enveloping me in their raw power. My skin tingled as the air shifted, charged with their magic. The world around me dissolved into a blur, and I felt myself being swept away, the ground disappearing beneath my feet.

***

The warehouse stood like a decaying monster. Its towering walls were marked with graffiti, rust bleeding down from the metal frames, and the windows were darkened with grime. It looked like the kind of place where you could go missing and never be found.

Agni led the way, his fiery eyes scanning the area, while Dukhan moved with quiet precision behind him. I followed closely, my heart thundering in my chest. The weight of the bat in my hand brought a flicker of comfort, but I still felt utterly unprepared for what lay ahead. We slipped inside the warehouse through a side entrance, the door bending and groaning as Agni’s fiery hands effortlessly melted the lock. Inside, the warehouse was even worse—dark, dirty, and full of abandoned crates and machinery that cast eerie shadows in the dim light. The air smelled of rust, sweat, and oil, and every step we took echoed ominously. Were these scumbags keeping her here? I ponder as my nose crinkles up at the sight of everything. 

The first guard didn’t even see it coming. Agni was on him in an instant, grabbing the man by the throat and slamming him into the concrete wall. Flames flickered in Agni’s hand, and before the man could scream, his body convulsed, his skin blackening under the intense heat. He hit the floor like a rag doll. I flinched, bile rising in my throat, but forced myself to keep moving.

Another man appeared from around the corner, his eyes wide as he spotted us. 

“What the—” Before he could finish, Dukhan struck. His movements were swift, and the guard barely had time to react before a thick tendril of shadow enveloped him, pulling him into the darkness. A sickening crunch followed.

“Stay close,” Dukhan said quietly, glancing back at me, his eyes softening for a moment. "And don't get yourself killed."

I nodded, gripping the bat I found tighter as I stepped over the body of the first man. My hands trembled, but I pushed the fear down, keeping my mind focused. We moved deeper into the warehouse, my heart racing with every step. The sound of voices grew louder, mixed with the clatter of metal and machinery. My pulse quickened as we turned a corner and found ourselves facing a group of four men.

Agni smirked, flames sparking in his hands. "Want to play with fire?"

One of the men shouted something, but before they could act, Agni lunged. His hands ignited, the flames bursting outward as he grabbed the nearest man by the face, incinerating him in seconds. The others scrambled, shouting in panic, but Dukhan was already there, his shadows sweeping through the room like a storm. I was frozen for a moment, watching the chaos unfold around me—fire and darkness tearing through the men like they were nothing. But then one of the men broke away from the others and ran in my direction. His eyes locked onto mine, wild with desperation. Instinct took over. I raised the bat, and when he got close enough, I swung with all my might. The crack of wood against his skull echoed in the air, and he dropped like a stone, blood pooling around his head. My breath came in ragged gasps as I stood over the man’s body, the bat slick with his blood. I couldn’t believe what I had just done, but there was no time to think. Another guard rushed at me, this time with a knife. I dodged his wild swing, the blade slicing through the air just inches from my face. With a grunt, I swung the bat again, catching him in the ribs. He let out a pained gasp, doubling over. Before he could recover, I brought the bat down on the back of his head. The man collapsed, unmoving. My legs trembled, my chest heaving as I looked around. The djinns had already taken care of the others, their bodies strewn across the floor, burned and broken. 

“We’re close,” Agni said, his voice crackling with excitement as he kicked open another door. The sound of whimpering met my ears, and my heart nearly stopped.

Imani.

I bolted into the room, and there she was—huddled in the corner, her eyes wide with terror. She looked so small, so fragile, her hands bound and her face streaked with dirt and tears.

“Imani!” I rushed to her side, my hands shaking as I untied the ropes. She flung herself into my arms, sobbing into my shoulder.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

“I’m here now. I’ve got you.” I held her tightly, blinking back my own tears as relief washed over me. But we weren’t out of danger yet.

Agni grabbed one of the surviving guards by the collar, hoisting him up. “Where are the rest of them?” His voice was like thunder, his fiery eyes glowing with rage.

The man whimpered, his face pale. “T-there’s no one else, I swear! Please—”

His flames surged, burning the man’s clothes. He screamed, his skin blistering under the heat. Dukhan stepped forward, placing a hand on Agni’s shoulder.

“Enough,” Dukhan placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. “We have what we came for.” 

Agni sneered, dropping the guard, who crumpled to the floor. The two djinn exchanged a glance, and then, with a snap of Agni’s fingers, the entire building began to ignite. Flames raced up the walls, devouring the warehouse from the inside out.

“Let’s get out of here,” Agni said, his voice filled with glee as he watched the fire spread. Dukhan gave a nod, and before I knew it, we were whisked away, transported in a cloud of smoke and flame back to my apartment. 

Once we were safe, Imani and I sat on the couch, the weight of the night pressing down on us. I held her hand tightly, my mind spinning with everything that had just happened—the violence, the desperation, the fear that gripped me every second we were in that warehouse. Imani’s small fingers trembled in mine, and for a moment, the world felt unbearably fragile. The front door creaked open, breaking the stillness, and there he was—our father. His face was drawn, etched with guilt. But when he saw Imani, the surprise lit up his expression, and without a word, he rushed forward. 

"Imani!" His voice cracked as he dropped to his knees, wrapping her in a tight hug. Ragged sobs tore through him, his body shaking as he clung to her. "I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for this to happen. I never wanted—"

"But nothing!" I shouted, my fists clenched so tight my knuckles turned white. "You put her life in danger! You put both of us in danger!" My voice shook, but I didn’t care. Imani pulled back slightly, her eyes wide with confusion and hurt.

"Dad, why did you do this?" she hesitated, biting her lip.

He hung his head, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "I know," he whispered. "I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do... ever since your mother died, I just didn’t know how to go on without her." His eyes softened, glistening with tears as he looked up at us. "I swear, I’ll make it up to you girls. Just... give me another chance."

Imani's brow furrowed, and she shook her head slightly. "You keep saying that, but you never do anything to fix it." She looked at me and then back at our father, her voice trembling but steady. “I can’t just forget what happened tonight.” 

 I felt my heart shatter to pieces as her heart broke before me. I looked at him, this man who had once been my father, but now... now he was just a shadow of who he used to be. I could see the grief that had hollowed him out after Mom’s death, but dammit, he wasn’t the only one who had suffered. I wasn’t a little girl anymore. I had carried this family, carried Imani, when he couldn’t. And now, all I saw was the man who had dragged us into more danger, more debt with unscrupulous individuals. 

"You’re not the only one who lost her, you know." My voice was low, and hard, as I looked him in the eyes. "We all lost her."

He raised his hands in defeat."There’s nothing I can do to make this right, I know that."

"I just want you to be better, Dad,” Imani said again, her voice wavering. I want you to be the dad I remember." But if you can’t, then maybe we should just be on our own."

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, making my heart ache for her and thus steeling my resolve when I rounded on him.

"I think you should go." The words came out like a punch, but I forced myself to say it.

"I-We don’t need you anymore." I paused, my breath trembling. His face crumbled at that, the weight of my words hitting him hard. For a moment, it looked like he might argue, might beg. But then, slowly, he nodded. "I understand."

Without another word, he turned and walked out the door, leaving us behind.

 Imani  beside me, her small hand gripping mine tightly. “Do you think he’ll ever come back?”

I looked at her, my heart aching for her. “Maybe one day,” I said quietly, wrapping my arm around her.  “But for now, we’re better off without him.”

***

After putting Imani to bed, I finally had a moment to breathe, but it didn’t last long. As I stood in the dim hallway, I felt a sudden shift in the air. I froze, sensing something... unnatural. Before I could react, they materialized without warning, their forms flickering into existence as though they’d simply stepped out of the shadows. 

“The fuck!” I cried out, my hand flying to my chest as I stared at the two men before me. 

Agni grinned at me, his mischievous, almost predatory smile sending a chill down my spine. His eyes glowed like embers, flickering with excitement. Beside him, Dukhan stood more reserved, his smoky form swirling around him like a living mist, his gaze steady and unreadable. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my composure. 

“Can you both please make some noise or something when you’re approaching? Damn, almost gave me a heart attack.”

Agni lets out a small chuckle, finding amusement in my distress while Dukhan's cold eyes observe me.

“Looks like we fulfilled our end of the bargain, human,” Agni purred, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the air. His fiery aura crackled, the heat from his presence raising the temperature of the room. I nodded, though my throat felt dry. 

"Yes, you did," I managed to say, trying to sound confident even though my nerves were dancing on edge. My fingers twitched at my sides as I guided them into the living room, the faint creak of the floorboards beneath my feet grounding me in the surreal moment. I didn't know much about djinn, not beyond the old stories and legends. The reality of it all weighed on me as I tried to calm the growing unease twisting in my gut. Agni lounged casually against the arm of the couch, his fiery eyes locking onto mine.

 “Now, we need something from you,” he said, his grin widening.

Dukhan, stepped forward, his gaze never leaving me. “Your blood,” he said in a voice that was as smooth as smoke itself, the words curling in the air.

“What?” I blinked; the word slipped from my lips before I could stop it. Blood? That wasn’t part of the deal, was it?

Agni’s grin only broadened, and he leaned closer, his heat radiating off him in waves. “When you freed us, your blood broke the seal. We’re bound to you by that same blood. Until we regain our full strength, we must... feed off it.”

My stomach twisted at the thought. Feed off me? My pulse quickened, and I couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through me. 

“How often?” I asked, my voice softer than I intended, my mind already racing.

“Only when you make a wish,” Dukhan explained, his tone more matter-of-fact. “Each wish takes energy, power. Until we regain ours, we’ll need yours.”

A part of me wanted to refuse, to say this was all too much, but deep down, I knew there was no other option. This was the deal I had made, even if I didn’t fully understand it at the time. I took a deep breath and nodded slowly. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

I grabbed a small kitchen knife from the drawer, its weight heavy in my hand. My fingers trembled slightly as I pressed the blade to my forearm, making a shallow cut. The sharp sting hit me first, followed by a slow trickle of warmth as blood welled up. I hissed at the pain, biting down on my lip to keep from flinching. Agni’s eyes darkened, and instantly, he was by my side, his fingers curling around my wrist. His touch was almost too hot, but I held still, feeling my skin tingle under his grip. Without hesitation, he bent down, his fiery breath warm against my skin as his tongue flicked out, licking the blood from my wound. The sensation was strange—his tongue was wet, hot, and moved in slow, deliberate strokes. A low moan escaped his lips, and I could feel his satisfaction with each taste.

“Ah, you taste... exquisite,” Agni murmured, his voice vibrating with pleasure as he continued to lap at the wound. Despite the discomfort, a heat began to pool deep in my core. My body, traitorous as it was, responded to his touch, my skin warming, my heart racing. Before I could fully process what was happening, Dukhan was on my other side, his calm, misty voice contrasting with Agni’s fiery presence. His touch was light, almost insubstantial. Without a word, he bent his head to my hand, his lips brushing against the cut I had made earlier. His tongue was cool and soft as it flickered out on my finger, though his touch felt more like a breeze than anything else. Still, I could feel him drawing energy from me. The mix of heat and coolness sent shivers down my spine. I shouldn’t be feeling this—this strange, confusing pleasure.

Yet, as their tongues danced over my skin, I couldn’t stop the wave of sensation flooding through me. My breath hitched, and I had to bite down harder on my lip to suppress any sound that might escape. I closed my eyes, willing myself to stay composed, but it was useless. My body was betraying me, responding to the djinn’s touch in ways I didn’t expect. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, both Agni and Dukhan pulled away. Agni’s grin was wider now, his fiery eyes gleaming with satisfaction, while Dukhan remained as unreadable as ever, though I sensed his contentment.

“It’s done,” Agni said, wiping a finger across his lips. “Until your next wish.”

[betsysbooknook]

📚: Hire a Cuddler by Hope Ford

Tropes:

👉 Marriage of Convenience

👉 Plus Size FMC

👉 Billionaire

TWs 😟: Aversion to touch, minor attack on FMC

Main Takeaway 🏹: Short but fun read!

Synopsis 📜: Haven is a plus-sized model who has trouble with touch and intimacy. When her therapist suggests hiring a cuddler to help her try and work through her issues, she does it just to prove a point. King sees the most beautiful woman in the world at a hotel one day and decides she must be in his life so he steps in as her hired cuddler. After he’s caught in the lie, can he convince her to marry him anyway?

Personal Thoughts 🤔: These two were so fun to read. It was a relatively short book but it packed a punch! Haven quickly acclimates to King and allows him to touch and cuddle her but she doesn’t want feelings to get involved in their fake marriage. They just want to make a baby together so they can both realize their dream of being parents but of course feelings come into the equation! The third act drama is easily solved once they sit down and actually let each other explain their sides! I enjoyed every page and appreciated the limited angst that came with it!

[petrapalerno]

From my book, "All I Wanted Was Sushi But I Got Abducted By Aliens Instead," NSFW version on my Patreon.

Art by @listening_stars_