Booktok Ruining Literature Novels & Stories

I demanded, furrowing my brow in disbelief. I was pissed because Lydia was tearing the book without remorse. Books are like living things to me; they have characters and the lives of those characters in them, so they ought to be treated with care. Every crease on the cover, every worn page tells a story not just of the narrative within, but of the readers who have journeyed through its words.

It looked like something that should be hidden behind locked glass in a questionable bookstore aisle. I flipped it open anyway, because apparently I had no survival instincts left. "Please.. I cant-" I paused. Read it again. Then slowly looked up at him. “…I’m not reading this.” His eyebrow lifted. “You promised.” “This is not a book. This is—this is literal smut disguised as literature.” “Exactly,” he said, way too calm. I smacked the book against his arm. “Pervert.” “Reader,” he corrected immediately, like that was important. Then leaned back like he had all the time in the world. “Come on. We had a deal.” I stared at him.

She smiled, placing her hands on her waist. "Really? there's a library? Yes!" I clenched my right fist frantically in the air, excitement written all over me. Back at home, A Library was an abomination. I guess I forgot to mention there was a rule about books also? Well, here it goes. Eric had concluded that books lie. He had this ludicrous theory that books trap people. He said it's similar to a disease, a terrible sickness that has no cure. Makes humans rapted in an imaginary world, completely forgetting what reality brings.

“The house will be empty for a few hours. If you’re still interested in finishing what we started, leave your door unlocked.” He didn’t wait for a reply. He simply picked up his tablet, collected his keys, and walked out of the kitchen. A moment later I heard the garage door open and the low rumble of his car pulling away. I sat alone at the table with cold toast and a heart that would not slow down. --- The day dragged. I tried to study. The words on the page blurred. Every time I shifted in my chair I felt the dual reminder of both men—Josh’s roughness still lingering in the pleasant ache between my legs, Richard’s unfinished claim sitting hotter and more dangerous under my skin.

I watch as the book disappears, sitting up I stare at Damon. “This shit? Why are you reading trash like this, it’s for women who can’t get laid and need to read it to get the experience.” A laugh escapes my mouth. “Apparently, I can’t get laid!” He stares at me shocked, silence filling the space between us. “Why don’t you just stop? Leave me alone, and stop talking to me? Go home Damon, and wait for my real Daddy to come home.” He should, he doesn’t want to do it again, fine, but there is no need to be on my back. I hold out my hand waiting, watching as he hands the book back to me. “Cheers. This is better than any reality I have had so far.” His eyes widen, a low growl escapes his throat as

“You’re one of those annoying people who quibble over every little detail in a book, aren’t you?” He lifted his eyebrows. “I can’t believe you’re not. Did you read what he said to her when she opened her legs—” “No,” I warned him when he reached for my Kindle to find the cheesy line he wanted to quote. “Don’t you dare ruin this story for me with logical bullshit. I like the emotions it brings out. That’s why I’m reading it.” He blinked at me a moment before shaking his head and murmuring, “I find this so interesting to learn about you. I mean, really, how can you be so...you, and then read something that’s just so...not you?”

I said, and my breath finally evened out. “Why do you need more books from him? You have a ton of them in the library.” He frowned. “Because there’s no such thing as too much book.” I rolled my eyes so hard that they almost tumbled from my head. He was a reader, so why the weird question? Every reader knew there was no such thing as too many books. It was like one of the biggest anti-reader lies in history. “Besides, the books in the library are mostly horrors. The ones he promised to give me are romance. I’ve been dying to have them since their release.”

I could spend the rest of my life in this library, reading everything here. I could afford these books, buy them and keep them forever. But something about buying them outright made it feel too…real. My father was the kind of man who thought reading literature was pointless and soft. If he ever found out how much I actually loved it, it’d open a can of worms I wasn’t ready for. It was bad enough that I didn’t enjoy hockey as passionately as he wanted me to. I didn’t need another lecture about “wasting my time” on “books that don’t mean anything.” There would be a lot of arguments where he’d grill me as to why I spent my free time reading instead of practicing. It was just a lot of questions

I shouted again, louder this time, stepping fully into the wrecked library. He barely even glanced at me. His eyes were dark…not angry, not sad…just… empty. Cold. It sent a chill straight down my back. “These books are useless,” he said again, his voice disturbingly calm. “All full of lies. Fairytales. Nonsense meant to keep us soft.” I looked around the room, my chest tightening. Books littered the floor like fallen leaves. Some had been torn right down the middle. Others had been stomped on, crushed under his boots.

Verity walked round the table, pulled a chair beside me and sat down, looking at me with great interest. “Inside books?” she whispered, as if we were discussing top secret information. “Before my brain short-circuits. Explain it to me.” “Ok. Listen. Wordswood had libraries everywhere, right?” I closed my book and concentrated on explaining all that Ruin showed me. “Yes.” “And what are libraries or universities running on?” “Books!”