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msbigredmachine · 1 year ago

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Sugar & The Chief - A Roman Reigns One-Shot

Reader is a best-selling erotic author reflecting on the success of her newest novel, which is based on her secret affair with the man who became her muse.

PAIRING: Roman Reigns x OC

Warning: A LOT of smut

Word count: 5.7k

A/N: I started this goddamn fic in late 2021! 😭 I'm so glad it's finally out. This one is a little different and I hope you enjoy!

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It took you approximately three years to finish it. At first, you didn't want to, because through the smoke of mirrors of the raunchy literature was hands down the most personal piece you’ve ever done. But your team insisted that you go through with it. Your publicist Sheree told you it was one of the best works she’s ever read. On top of that, the dividends from your last book were starting to dry up, so you didn’t have that much of a choice.

You finally relented, and soon after it was published, the novel exploded. Your rabid readers had been waiting impatiently for your next offering and they gobbled it up. Your face and the novel were all over social media, TV, magazines and even on the huge Times Square billboard just down the road from your multi-million dollar penthouse in the Upper East Side. It wasn’t long before you were doing interviews and signing autographs in bookstores, malls and libraries all around the country. You were scheduled to be in London, Paris and Madrid next month promoting the book. It was a comeback for the ages.

And you had him to thank for that.

Sugar & the Chief was an erotic tale about an intense love affair that ended in disaster. Critics viewed it as Fifty Shades of Grey with better writing and much better sex and found the protagonist, Erica, relatable and three-dimensional. Erica was an ambitious albeit mentally unstable escort in an illicit relationship with Roman, a married Hollywood superstar she codenamed ‘the Chief’. This wasn’t your bland Mills & Boon romance tale...This was so smutty and so nasty you couldn’t read the first few paragraphs without wanting to masturbate thanks to Roman and Erica’s graphic sexual antics. It was so detailed that some theorists believed the Chief was based on a real person. When asked about who ‘Roman’ was, you played him off as a completely fictional character. No one needed to know the true identity of your muse. But you were one hundred percent sure that if he read this book, he would know it was about him. After all, you had incorporated some real-life dialogue between you in the novel. Without a doubt, he would know. You wondered, not for the first time, what his thoughts were if he had indeed read it.

Your fans did not hesitate to relay their own thoughts. Tonight, you were busy reading quite a number of them. Sheree had collated readers’ reviews, emails and feedback and sent them to you for your entertainment. Each one had you smiling from ear to ear. Women from all walks of life gushed about Erica and Roman. Housewives, attorneys, college students, septuagenarians, book club members; all of them had something to say and you felt all warm and fuzzy inside to know you still had it, that the magic hadn’t left your pen yet. Of course, they all wanted to know who the Chief was. They were so impressed with how he fucked you, dominated you and yet doted on you…They all wanted a man like him.

They all love you so much, Leati…just like I loved you…love you…

Closing your MacBook, you stood up from your desk with a smile. You stared out the ceiling-to-floor window and kept sipping from your Olivia Pope-sized glass of red wine, sinking deeper into your thoughts.

Truth be told, you should have known better than to fall in love with Joe Anoa’i. Your first meeting all those years ago on a week-long vacation should have ended on the island between the soft rumpled sheets of his bed. What happened in Hawaii should have stayed in Hawaii. But then, you couldn’t stop gravitating to him and he couldn’t stop gravitating to you. You went running whenever he called and he came running whenever you called. It was wild, passionate, addicting, exciting…too good to last, really. And it wasn’t long before the fantasy came crumbling down.

So many factors came into play. The demands of his job as the face of WWE. The meteoric level of his fame. And then, his discovery of your coke habit, your discovery of his wife Nicole and his three children, your increasing jealousy, his decreasing interest in you. After five tempestuous years, your relationship came to a bitter end, and the difficult healing process put an end to the writer’s block you’d been suffering from for a while.

You missed him deeply, and wished the dull ache in your heart would go away. As morally questionable as it had all been, what you experienced with him needed to happen to every woman at least once in her lifetime - indulging in forbidden fruit and all the delicious things that came with it; the danger, the thrill of secrecy, the earth-shattering sex, the emotions of love, lust, possession, and of course, the inevitable pain and heartbreak…

You captured all of that in Sugar.

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Chapter 22

Erica pushed the button, shuddering out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. The elevator doors clunked closed and the cables began to whir. She ascended, floor by floor. Light goosebumps littered over her arms as she was filled with a morbid mix of dread and anticipation.

Their big fight from three weeks ago kept playing over and over in her head like some kind of evil loop. He didn't want to leave Gaelle for her and she'd taken her frustrations out on him. However, after what she'd just discovered, he was going to have to change his mind. Because of him, she had broken the ultimate rule in this treacherous line of work. This little game between them has been turned on its head, and tonight was the last time she would play by his rules.

The door opened before she knocked, and she felt her pussy purr involuntarily as they locked eyes. That big, sexy ass body of his leaned against the doorframe, his huge arms crossed over his equally huge chest. His dampened long hair flowed past his shoulders, and he smelled fresh, like he'd just had a shower. It didn't matter how long they'd been apart for; he always took her breath away every time she saw him.

"Well? You gon' stand there or you comin' in?" he sassed, that smooth country-boy drawl of his making her body temperature rise. Shaking it off, she walked through the door, right past him and into the open layout of his new, lavish penthouse, the night lights illuminating her brown skin through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.

"Nice place," she commented, looking around with mild interest. He had found another hideaway where he could fuck around behind his wife's back. It didn't matter, because Gaelle was never going to leave him no matter what he did and he knew it. She could feel him trailing behind her, his bare feet moving catlike and silent on the cool hardwood floor. He had a prescence like no other, that was why he was the biggest movie star in the world today. And you so happened to be the mistress of the biggest movie star in the world today.

"Champagne?" he offered.

"No, I'm fine," she answered, her crossed arms pushing up her already generous cleavage. Roman's gaze longingly raked over the A-line trench coat concealing her curves, traveling down to the sinful looking high heels adorning her feet. Her hair fell in luscious, tempting waves down her shoulders. A deliberate move, surely, as she knew he loved her hairstyles down. His dick hardened as he imagined bending her over, pulling her tresses and spanking that fat, juicy ass of hers as he pounded--

"I'm not stayin' long, so talk." Her statement yanked him out of his lurid daydream.

"You got all dressed up for me, beautiful," he asked, scanning her up and down again.

"Not everything's about you, Roman," she scoffed.

Not her giving him more lip. He would do something about that later. "I called you a buncha times last week but you didn't pick up. You left my texts on read," he accused with narrowed eyes. "You ignored me."

Erica tilted her chin, her stance defiant. "And why does that surprise you?"

He raised an eyebrow at her biting response and chuckled at her audacity. Sugar was quite the firecracker and honestly, he couldn't get enough. Walking towards her, he smirked as he caught on to her struggle to keep her eyes on him and not on his thick dick print, clear as day in his gray sweatpants. He reached out and rubbed her arm with his hand before tugging her closer to him.

"Sweetheart, don't ever ignore me again. Especially when you know that pussy belongs to me."

"Does it? Funny, I thought I was 'just another pricey whore'. Did you forget you said that to me?"

He rolled his eyes with a huff. "Sometimes I say shit I don't mean, baby girl, you know how it is."

Taken aback by his dismissive, nonchalant attitude, she yanked her arm away. "Are you fuckin' kiddin' me? After everything we've been through? That shit was foul as fuck!" she said incredulously.

"I know. That's why I texted you to come over so I could apologize in person, but you refused to answer me. I hate it when you shut me out, Erica."

"You shut me out, too! For weeks! And now that you're bored you summon me like I'm your fuckin' toy. I am not your toy, Roman! I don't give a damn that you're a Hollywood star, there's plenty of other A-listers out there who will take care of me and not treat me like shit."

"And yet, you come back to me every time," he pointed out, the smug curl of his lip just as panty-wetting as the rest of him. "None of your other clients take care of you like I do, make you feel the way I do. That's why you dropped 'em all, for me."

Erica started to retort but stopped herself, realizing that this was in fact, the truth. But she'd be damned if she let him have the last laugh. "Ya know what? This was a mistake. I should go. I had something to tell you but I dunno why I even bothered to come here."

She turned around but he grabbed her before she could go far, drawing her back to him. Seeing her getting worked up always seemed to fuel his desire for her. The angrier she was, the hotter the sex, and he was horny as fuck for her right now.

"Look at you, gettin' all riled up," he drawled, his tone tinged with amusement. "I love it when you're mad, that shit turns me on, baby."

This man was as infuriating as he was sexy. "Fuck you! Everything is a joke to you!"

"This feel like a joke right here?" he demanded, snatching her hand and pressing it against his throbbing length. The little whimper she let out as she cupped him sealed her fate.

"Feel that? Feel what you do to me?" His voice was rough and needy, matching the look in his eyes. "I need you, Erica. It's been weeks and I've been goin' fuckin' crazy without you."

"Go home to your wife, then," she bit back with a lot less conviction than she aimed for. The pull was much too strong, quite literally too as he wrapped both arms around her slender waist, his face nuzzling her neck and making her hiss as his soft beard tickled her skin.

"She don't make me feel like you do." His voice was needy and almost pathetic as his mouth pressed her throat. "Let me make it up to you, baby. I wanna kiss you. Can I kiss you?" His tongue was warm, his breath hot and heavy on her skin, and her arousal flared against her will.

"Roman..."

"Come on, baby, kiss me," he murmured, his lips sliding over hers. It was a slow but deliberate assault, and Erica felt her body yield as a soft gasp escaped from her. She sagged against him, gripping his shoulders for balance as their mouths smacked oh so sensually together. Fuck, she missed this, missed his delicious kisses and his assured touch as he grabbed her round, fleshy ass, kneading and caressing in his hands and pressing himself harder against her.

Roman growled softly as he released her mouth, his tongue snaking out to lick his lips as his eyes flitted down to her chest. "Take your clothes off," he commanded.

Wordlessly, Erica's hands slid over the leather belt on her waist to slowly unbuckle it. Then, she opened up her coat, eased it off her shoulders and let it fall to the ground, leaving her in nothing, absolutely nothing, but her heels. Roman's darkened orbs blazed to an onyx black as they scanned her naked body, drinking in every smooth, delicate, voluptuous curve. Grabbing her by the waist, he backed her up against the nearest wall, his hardened dick straining against her exposed center. A shiver ran through her as he crashed his mouth back to hers, his huge hand squeezing her throat briefly before tracing the valley between her breasts, and she finally let go of the groan she was holding back as his hand came in contact with the intimate spot between her thighs.

"Damn..." he smirked as he found nothing but wetness, pushing his palm against the slick mound and sliding his fingers along her slit. She moaned in response, her hands gripping his tattooed bicep as his thick finger pushed into her, her pussy quivering around the digit as he thrust it at a maddeningly steady pace.

"Mmm-hmm you like this, don't you baby?" he said, nipping at her bottom lip, coaxing yet another moan from the back of her throat as he slipped a second finger home with deep, languid thrusts. She whimpered helplessly, her vision blurring as her walls dripped and tightened around the invading digits. Her forehead dropped onto his chest, battling to hold on to her sanity. "Fuck..."

Buoyed by her whines and soft cries, he pumped his fingers more earnestly, hissing softly when her walls rippled around them again, signaling her end. "You 'boutta come already, huh? I told you this my pussy. Squeeze my fingers Erica, come for me."

Damn him and his ability to control her with just his touch. Her eyes squeezed shut, and her shout of pleasure came from somewhere inside her soul as she spasmed uncontrollably. She could hear his triumphant snicker as her juices flooded his fingers, brushing his mouth against hers as she leaned into him to regain her tenuous balance. He scooped the round, soft flesh of her breast into his eager palm, with his other hand leaving her pussy to suck her juices, humming pleasantly at the familiar sweet taste.

"Remember what I told you in my text?" he breathed, his gaze trained expectantly on her.

"Mm-hmm."

"Tell me," he insisted, now massaging both her breasts. "Tell me what I said to you. I made you a promise. What was it?"

Erica fought through the thick haze of passion to recall his exact words from the raunchy text message. "You promised to make me come at least three times before we ever make it to the bed," she recounted.

Roman smiled smugly, satisfied with her response. "Uh huh. And Daddy always keeps his promises, don't he? That was the first. Two more to go. Now, let me show you around my new crib."

He showed her around, alright. First, on the plush sectional in the living room area, with her on her back and her head hanging off the edge as he slowly thrust his dick in and out of her mouth. She let his groans wash over her as her jaw relaxed to take more of his intimidating length down her throat. Even upside down, her gag reflex was superb, so each time he thrust inside her, her tongue lapped at the base of his cock, soaking his balls with her spit. Willing to give as much as he was receiving, he leaned forward and rubbed her clit in quick circular motions, making her moan around his cock with the vibrations causing his neck to extend, looking up to the ceiling as pleasure licked his spine.

"Unnnh fuck, suck my dick, take it all down your throat, baby," he encouraged her, sliding his other hand over her breast and toying with her nipple, all while fucking her face. His knees weakened at the sight of his length bulging her throat, she always knew how to take him well. "Shit, Sugar, you look so fuckin' hot like this..."

Erica moaned again through her stuffed throat, waves of heat washing over her as her pussy pulsated beneath the pleasure of his long thick fingers. In all her time under the bright lights and the seedy bowels of Hollywood, she had never been captivated by any one human being. Until him. Their escort-client relationship had long since grown into something more. She had given up on resisting him and let him do anything he wanted to her in bed. But tonight she craved some semblance of control, and this time, his famed charms would not stop her from getting it.

Pushing him away so he slipped out of her mouth, she sat up straight and tugged him onto the massive couch with her. Straddling his hips as he sat up, she placed one hand on his barrel-like shoulder while using the other to curl her fingers around his pulsing dick. He groaned and bucked his hips as she flicked the head of his dick along her slit just to torture him a little. Then guided him against her opening and slid down.

The moment felt heavy and tense, like a tightly twined coil as her wetness opened up for him. At the end of her slow descent, she stopped to adjust to all the emotions and sensations wracking both their bodies. Unconsciously rocking her hips into him, she gasped as the pressure immediately started to build. Their hands and mouths were all over each other. Roman ran his hands up and down her back, rubbed her tits, squeezed her ass. Erica raked her nails over his nipples, sucked on his neck, bit his shoulder. Fuck, it felt so damn good already. Ass rested comfortably on his thighs, chest to naked chest with his dick lodged inside her, it was clear they were not going to last very long.

Leaning back slightly on her other hand placed on his thigh, she began to ride him. Slow and steady at first, making him absorb every drop of her ass, every crevice, every sensation. The lust and pleasure consumed them both, their mouths colliding with hot, sloppy kisses, her moans pitching higher as the tension thickened. His own groans grew heavier and gruffer, his hands leaving her hips to slide underneath her ass and lift her up and down. Exquisite torture, with his strong grip on her making her wet pussy take every inch of him. The angles of his upward thrusts as he bounced her on his dick had her making noises like a bitch in heat. He was so snug and warm and deep inside her, it was as though she could feel him in her soul.

"Oh my fuckin' god," she half-groaned, half-cried, throwing her arms around him and burying her face in his neck as he bounced her even harder. Up, down, up, down. His dick stretched her walls, his fingers deep into her ass cheeks enough to leave a bruise or two. The dizzying sensations spiraled her into another orgasm, and she sat all the way down on his dick and rolled her ass desperately, literally riding out her nut. She couldn't stop herself from biting into his sweaty, salty skin as she came, making the big man growl in reaction and smack her ass hard.

"That's your second nut," he declared.

He flipped her onto her back, still deep inside her. He looked down at her with hungry, blown pupils, letting his hands dance along the meat of her thighs and her calves. Throwing her legs onto his shoulders, he leaned forwards, folding her in two as he fucked her into the couch. Her hands clawed the back of his head only for him to grab them and pin them above her head. The sweat clung to their skins as he steeled his thighs and grinded himself into her wet heat, his face lowering to suck both of her nipples into his mouth, his tongue swirling around each peaked bud. Her groans snowballed with his groans as he drove his dick impossibly deep inside her with primal intensity. When she managed to speak, her voice was unrecognizable. "Oh fuck, I'm coming," she moaned hoarsely, her toes curling behind his head as she exploded again, "Oh my god, Roman, ohhh..."

"I'm 'bout to come too, don't fuckin' move," he panted, holding her down to piston his hips and pound into her. Erica basked in the sound of his tortured groan when his big body tensed up and she felt him pour into her warm confines, his hips stuttering as he found sweet release.

"Got you to three quicker than I expected," he said when he caught his breath, kissing her cheek. "We just gettin' started, baby. I'ma remind you why this pussy is mine."

He gave her an up close and personal view of the city's remarkable skyline, her breasts crushed against the glass window as his juicy lips ravaged her from behind. She could only imagine how she looked right now. Her legs wide, ass spread open, her battered pussy wet and swollen and pulsing for more of his oral onslaught. Nobody ate her out the way he did, with so much passion, covering all the bases, her clit, her inner lips, and even her asshole. The warmth of his breath had her walls clenching as he licked and sucked and kissed everywhere, painting her slickness with his spit. The relief she felt as he finally detached his mouth from her center and got off his knees was replaced with his heavy cock tapping her pussy lips before breaching her entrance with the thick girth. Each thrust dragged her sensitive nipples across the cool, hard surface of the glass, but Erica was so lost in the moment that she didn't care.

"Mmmph, fuck me, baby, fuck my pussy," she exhaled another pining moan, her nails scraping against the glass where he had ordered her to place her hands. Her mouth fell open when he slapped her backside, that deliciously dangerous dick of his pounding into her in full view of the bright lights of Los Angeles. His dick slid in deeper and deeper, his hips circling each time he was buried inside her, making her knees buckle as her climax inched ever closer. She tried to speak again, but words failed her, reducing her to a whimpering, shivering mess as her pussy clenched greedily around his dick. Roman merely chuckled arrogantly, reveling in his handiwork.

"You sound so fuckin' sexy, baby girl, keep moaning for me like that," he purred, his hands clamped on her shapely hips to make her take his lethal strokes. He was a man on a mission, punishing her for assuming she had any sort of control over him. Tears sprang to her eyes as he slowed down his thrusts, his pelvis mashed up against her soft backside as his cock worked inside the sensitive walls of her pussy with a more tender rhythm. He filled her with stroke after long stroke, making them both moan as she squirted all over him this time, her orgasm breaking her into a million pieces.

He showed her the stripper pole next to his bed. He had it installed specially for her, he said, so she could show off her elite lap dancing skills for him and him alone. Watching that itty-bitty waist and all that ass bounce on his dick like her rent was due would be the end of him; He couldn't resist massaging the soft cheeks in his palm, one after the other as she gyrated back and forth on him like a professional.

"Uh huh, go off, baby, pop that pussy on my dick," he drawled from his spot on the pouf he lounged on, his sturdy thighs spread wide apart to give her all the space she needed to ride and grind while she held onto the pole for balance. He watched the streaks of his cum trickle down her gyrating ass, and it made for quite the visual, slapping against the mixture of her juices smothered over his groin. He rubbed in the remnants of his seed on her cheeks, biting his lip as the skin glistened and made her big booty look even bigger. "Mmm, damn baby, this pussy so good, I should throw a dollar at your fine ass..."

"Fuck!" Erica had the pole in a death grip as yet another orgasm rocked her body. She had to get off his dick because she was shaking so hard. The tremors had her mewling pitifully as she bent over, gifting him with the sight of her pink pussy quivering as her cum ran down her inner thighs.

"Get back down here," Roman ordered, smacking her leg and then her ass as he stroked his dick in his hand, "You ain't done. Sit your ass back down on this dick."

He'd been wanting to break in his new California king bed since it'd been installed, so it was apt that he was breaking her back in it. He had her on her stomach, her asshole stuffed with a purple-colored butt plug as he stuffed her pussy with his hard, long cock. She moaned and gasped beneath him, clutching the comforter with her fists as he fucked her like a savage, her plump ass trapped in his possessive grasp.

"Daddyyyyy..." Her moan was loud and long and desperate. It became too much. Roman's dick seemed to double in size inside her and both her holes felt too full to the point of another explosion. A sob tore from her chest.

"Why you cryin'? Huh?" He slapped her ass. "Don't cry. You wanted this dick. Ain't that why you came over? Daddy told you to come and you listened like a good bitch, Daddy's sexy ass bitch. Come here." He hiked her hips higher to force a deeper, more painful arch in her back, and rammed his dick into her sweet spot over and over, demolishing her pussy. Too spent to throw her ass back, she could only lay there and take it, and her eyes squeezed shut, certain she was about to pass out from pleasure.

A big square mirror stretched across the ceiling directly above the bed. His hand slithered into her hair, tugging her head back, almost hyperextending her neck to make her look up. Her mouth dropped open in a moan as she watched that big thick shaft glide in and out of her, the soft skin of her ass rippling against the smacks of his pelvis. Just the sight of him and her together in such an erotic moment had her leaking again, soaking the silk sheets on the bed. He was fucking her so good. She hadn't come this hard and this many times in a long, long time.

Sitting back on his heels, he brought her off the bed and flush against him, assaulting her neck with his hot mouth. "You make me so fuckin' crazy, Erica. Don't nobody else make me lose control like this," he whispered, his grip tightening around her throat as the other hand gripped her breast, making her whimper. "Love this pussy so fuckin' much. You love this dick, baby?"

"Yes Daddy, I love it, I love you," she choked out.

"Mm-hmm, I love you too, baby. You gon' make me come all up inside you, girl," he grunted, his brain growing fuzzier as his end neared. He wrapped her up in his big arms, engulfing her with his heat, lavishing her panting mouth with tongue kisses as his hips rocked upwards, teasing her g-spot. Erica found enough strength to rock with him, grinding back against him, the lovers moving together in the most intimate, sensual dance. Roman groaned with pleasure when he felt her incredibly tight pussy pulling on his cock. It was almost difficult for him to continue thrusting inside of her, but her warm slickness eased the way for him. His hand left her breast and slid down her sweat-slick body to play with her clit, dragging her weak body over the edge.

"Unnnnhhhh..." Erica moaned out, her eyes rolling in the back of her head. Roman moaned with her, his soft lips trailing wet, frenzied kisses along her throat as his balls tightened, craving fresh release. "Come, baby girl, come for Daddy," he whispered shakily.

His wish was her command. Her body went limp as she detonated one more time, creaming all over his dick in the process. Roman let his head fall forward, his groan muffled against her throat as he came hard, smearing his warm cum all up in her walls. Erica murmured incoherently as she felt him pulse inside of her, giving her everything he had like he always did. When it was all over, he grabbed hold of her hair and planted yet another searing kiss on her lips, before releasing her to collapse on the mattress. Admiring her thoroughly fucked disposition, he massaged her backside tenderly before slowly easing the plug out of her, watching her wince from the pain. Running a hand over the back of her head, he brought her face to face with his groin. "Suck all this shit off my cock," he ordered.

Erica licked her lips at the sight of his thick member, semi-erect and slathered in a milky cocktail of her juices and his semen. Grasping it obediently, she lowered her mouth onto it, moaning softly at the taste of herself on him. Roman looked on with a bite of his lip, stroking her hair as she licked him clean. Afterwards, he lay on his side and pulled her into his chest. Erica sighed happily as he kissed her gently, soothing all her pain away. This feeling right here was the reason she could never let him go. Their connection was too deep, too special. No man had ever made her feel like this and she didn't want to lose it; the high of having him, the euphoria of belonging to him. It was why she was willing to quit today, right now even, and start a new life with him. She needed him to be with her forever, and she wasn't sure she was going to take no for an answer this time.

After what she was about to tell him, she doubted he would say no...not when the life they had created together was done out of the love they shared.

"Baby?" she whispered softly to him, watching him closely.

"Hmm?" Lying flat on his back, his eyes were shut and he was in a state of complete relaxation.

"Look at me," she said, waiting for him to meet her eyes before speaking. She needed him to understand the words coming out of her mouth.

"Roman, I'm pregnant, and the baby is yours."

End of Chapter 22

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Erica's unexpected declaration spelled the beginning of the end of her relationship with Roman. His behavior took a complete 180, having security drag her out of his new apartment, denying all ties to her unborn child and cutting off all communication with her. A distraught Erica terrorized him, stalking his family, poisoning his wife Gaelle and getting him fired from a lucrative film project. It all came to a head when Erica took Gaelle hostage in Roman's vacation home where he had fled to escape her rampage. She forced him at gunpoint to have sex with her in his marital bed while his wife watched, but died when he deliberately strangled her in the middle of her orgasm. It also turned out that Erica was never pregnant, and the positive test she'd shown Roman belonged to her friend and fellow escort, Tiffany. Erica's story made headline news all around the world. It was an incredibly shocking end and it worked well with the dramatic plot of the story.

You were glad for the artistic license, and though what really happened with you was less chaotic, it was not any less heart wrenching. You never even got to break the news to Joe. In fact, he was gone from your bed before the crack of dawn, vanished like a thief in the night. Never returned your calls or messages until three days later, when you received a text message from him that put your heart in a blender.

Nicole and I have decided to work things out. For good this time. I hope you understand. Thanks for always being there for me. Take care of yourself. ❤

How you recovered from that blow, you would never know. How you dug yourself out of the hole of darkness he dumped you in was still a mystery to you sometimes. It really was a testament to your mental strength, because not many people would have survived the unimaginable pain he inflicted on you. The sinister side of you wished you had been brave enough to do exactly what Erica did, to take out your rage on him and make him hurt like he hurt you. But instead you redirected that energy to your work, pouring every second of your anguish into the book. It took a long time for you to get to this point of fulfillment and success in your life, and the book had been your therapy. Now, you were at least making good money from your pain and it softened the blow a little bit.

When you thought about Joe these days, it wasn't with as much resentment. It seemed he had a few problems of his own anyway, as his beloved Nicole was reportedly threatening to upgrade their separation to a divorce and take his kids with her. How the tables turned. Nonetheless, you wished him the best. You still had love for him. You would always miss him. He changed your life, and there was no doubt that you would forever carry him with what was left of your heart.

"Mama?"

You heard her little voice before you heard the shuffle of her tiny feet. Quickly placing the wine glass in the sink, you turned as the love of your life came into view, her favorite blanket dragging behind her as she searched the room for you.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping, little lady?" you asked, fighting back a big smile to look as serious as possible. She was in her "I wanna stay up late" phase and you couldn't afford to fold, not this time at least.

Her little dual Afro puffs jiggled as she rubbed her hand over her eyes, "Come sweep with me, Mama," she pleaded, staring up at you with her big, expressive brown eyes and a pout that was the spitting image of her famous father. She was starting to look so much like him.

Your heart swelled as she padded over to you with her arms outstretched. You lifted her up and held her small body tightly, absorbing her innocence and unconditional love. She smelled so fresh and delicate, like roses, sunshine and baby powder. Her scent has filled your life with joy and purpose since the day you brought her into this world two years ago.

And to think you had almost taken those pills to snuff out this beautiful life in a fleeting moment of weakness. Now, you would give your own life to protect hers without question. Always.

"Okay, kiddo, let's get you back to bed," you cooed softly, kissing her chubby cheek.

"Read me a stowy, Mama?"

"Of course, baby."

As you retreated to your daughter's bedroom, your phone vibrated beside your MacBook. Three letters you had not seen in years flashed on the Home Screen, cutting through the empty room and calling out to you.

❤️Joe❤️

THE END

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Alternate Sugar & The Chief book cover

Please leave feedback/comments. I appreciate them as they help me improve my writing.

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s-sugustar · 5 months ago

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1-800-SUGAR!

synopsis : after an injury caused him to retire at an early age, aizawa has a lot of money in his bank account that was hardly ever used in his prime time; so why not splurge it on someone else?

pairings: yandere sugardaddy!aizawa x black!fem!reader

content warning : nothing yet.

word count : 2.2k

It has been a few months since Aizawa was no longer a hero. After the fight with Shigaraki, the sleep deprived man had no choice but to sever his leg from the rest of his body in order to stop the decay from spreading. Although immobilizing him to an extent, Aizawa still had the perks of being a UA teacher to his students.

Instead of fighting crime late at night into the wee hours of the morning, Aizawa finds himself catching on things he hadn't been able to do or complete for some time. This included reading literature, taking care of his plants and gaining much more rest than he had before.

It felt refreshing, he felt renewed but a small flicker of want called out to him. Of course, Aizawa had no idea what it could possibly be. Aizawa felt hopeless, like nothing could fill this growing void that garbled inside of him. It wasn't until one day that Hisashi, Aizawa's closest friend figured out what has made him so drained.

It was a night out for both Aizawa and Yamada; a bit unfortunate that Midnight wasn't able to attend due to a last-minute mission that required her assistance. Instead of crying over one less friend, they both decided to head out to a bar nearby. As the two settled down and ordered drinks, Hisashi started off the conversation. Gleefully updating Aizawa on the outer world things since Aizawa chose to move away from the world heroics and politics.

“So what have you been up to since you have all this time in the world now?” Haisahi questined, his drink in one hand and his chin laid flat on his open palm facing toward Aizawa. The man in question huffed, downing the cup of whiskey he had ordered earlier. “Not much. Other than school and reading a few literature books here and there.” Hisashi raised an eyebrow which caused the raven haired man to sigh in annoyance. “No Hisashi, there’s no ‘special person’ in my life.” Shouta commented, earning a dramatic groan from the blond next time.

After Aizawa left the heroic life, Hisashi pestered the man to find something that would take up most of his time, rather than sleep, working out and reading books. More so, Hisashi hinted at him getting into a relationship, but Aizawa quickly shot down the idea; claiming that him getting into a relationship of some sorts wouldn’t help him in any form or fashion so Hisashi pestered on. Aizawa never really had any love life as others would call it; in all honesty, he wasn;t interested in such trivial things.

A friendship seemed as pleasant as a relationship so what’s the big idea about a relationship? Was it the status, the wants and needs of being held? Aizawa never focused too long on such things, they were always on the back burner for him.

“I know you said you didn’t want a relationship of some sorts but have you tired being a sugar daddy?” Hisashi asked, a malicious smile on his face when he saw the way Aizawa’s eyes widen before coughing up the drink he had just downed. The poor man barely caught his breath before sneering at Hisashi, who seemed to have a blast at his misfortune. “Why is that even an idea for me? “ Aizawa asked, not bothering to stress of hte reason Hisashi thoughts this was a good idea in the first place.

“Oh come on, I mean, it isn’t a relationship as you said you had no interest in but you know, you have allllll that money sitting peacefully in your bank account and with me knowing the type of person you are, you won’t spend a red cent unless it is absolutely necessary for you to. So why not give the sugar daddy thing a try. Just for one week. If you don’t like it then we can totally stop whenever you are ready.” Hisashi voiced, giving Aizawa the option to opt out if he isn’t feeling it.”

With many thoughts running through his head , Aizawa stared at the empty glass in his hand before quietly answering, “I’ll think about it.” Hisashi squealed in delight, causing some of the others in the bar to look at him for a brief moment before turning back to whatever they were doing.

The alarm from your phone went off around 6:30 a.m. causing you to groan. The yawn that fell from your lips was a testament to how tired you were from your last shift. You stretched your limbs before moving from your position in your bed. After fixing your bed, you made your way over to your closet, pulling out your uniform from inside. The cold shower washed off any remaining tiredness that was in your body, soothing your skin and pushing your mind into a work state.

After locking your door, you made your way out of the apartment and onto the street, quickly checking your watch to see that you only had half an hour to get to work. ‘Shit.’ you thought, you ran over down to the metro station which was only a couple minutes away from your home. Hopping on, you placed your headphones into your ears, shuffling your playlist as you were on your way to work.

Upon entering, you quickly went over to your locker, the small tabby cat sticker that you had placed on it when you first came to work there. After pushing your bag into your locker, you quickly grabbed your apron before heading over to the cashier to start your day. You worked in a pastry shop as a source of retaining money. You first started it off as a way to pay off your student debt, but after a while and a bit of saving, you were able to move out and move into your own space.

Now it wasn’t massive or anything, but it was good enough for you to reside in. As you greeted customers with a smile and cashed in their orders. When it was close to your lunch hour, you exchanged with your other co-worker. After taking off your apron , you clocked out before grabbing your phone and heading down to a cafe nearby. As silly as it sounds, there was a small cafe nearby that you normally venture to during your lunch break. It was a small cute cat cafe that you heard about from some people back at where you worked.

You were cashing out an order when you heard Maxi, a chubby girl, who;s entire aesthetic was surrounded by barbie and white lace was gushing to her girlfriend Ana, who had been the complete opposite to Maxi; arm tattoos, piercings almost everywhere and bubble-pink hair. Without noticing, you tuned into their conversation. “Come on Ana, it’s super duper cute and they have cute cats there too. And I know how much you adore cats. It’s called Cat’s Haven you know, the people that own it, bring in rescued cats and give them a place to live.”

You zoned out after hearing about the cats, focusing on the customer that was in front of you. When it was time for your lunch hour, you handed over before going over to Maxi who was rolling the dough. “Hey Maxi, I uh, overheard you this morning talking about the new cat cafe that opened recently, I didn’t mean to listen in on your conversation I just -”, you were interrupted when Maxi shook her head at you before answering. “Oh, no worries. I kind of figured you would tune in since I do recall you telling me that you love cats.” She gushed, handing over the rolled dough to her girlfriend before facing you.

“You remember where the old flower shop that Ms.Hatti once had?”, you nodded your head in agreement, remembering the times when you would go over there after you finished work and bought daisies for your mother on your way to home. A bittersweet memory when you think about it; mainly because your mother hadn’t been interested in much of anything pertaining to you during that time, even up until now. Ridding yourself of those negative emotions, you zoned in on what Maxi was saying, pushing away those negative thoughts that tried to force themselves inside the centre of your present state. After you were given directions, you thanked Maxi before heading out to the cafe.

Outside was a bit warmer than you had expected, so you pulled off your cardigan and wrapped it aroumd your waist, tying the sleeves to the front so that it wouldn’t fall. Once you got closer to the cafe, you could hear the slight buzz and chatter from those who were nearby. The feeling surrounding the cafe was that of newness and solitude.

As you entered the cafe, the bell jingled once you opened the door, alerting customers as well as workers. A comfortable buzz fell through the air as you entered, small meows and soft purrs filled the air . You looked around at the variety of cats that were all over the cafe. Small and big, different types varying from american bobtail to balinese.

Your heart warmed at the sight before spotting a lone maine coon resting near on a table near the back of the cafe; an empty booth where the lone cat rested. You were close to approaching when one of the waitresses stopped you. “ I know where you are going and i would advise you not to, “ she paused before continuing, “ that particular cat isn’t one we let customers interact with because of previous incidents. She’s known to be aggressive towards customers. Unfortunately, we can’t giver her back to the shelter so we just advise customers to steer clear from her.” You nodded in agreement, taking in the lady’s words but still hell bent on going after her. You thanked the waitress before walking over to the same table that you were warned of.

You slowed your actions, making sure not to startle the cat. Once you sat down, it seems that the cat that laid before you noticed your presence; so in return, she sat up and hissed in your direction, probably hoping that you would leave her alone, but you stayed. With a bright smile on your face, you pulled out a few treats from the little cat bag you were given when you entered.

Placing a small treat on the table for the orange cat, not bothering to annoy her. You stayed silent as the cat whose name you learned was Cinnamon, stared you down for while before slowly moving to the treat you had placed on the table. “Atta girl.” you whispered, silently placing down another treat for her to pick up. Many customers watched in awe and adoration of how you handled the cat.

As she ate, you watched in silence, barely resisting the urge to pet her. In a calm and cool environment, both you and the cat sat in silence, not bothering to intrude on one another’s presence but merely enjoying the low noise with hardly any interaction; other than you slowly feeding her treats, time and time again.

It was couple minutes before your lunch time was up so you decided to finish your treat before giving Cinnamon the rest of her treats before getting up to leave. Once you stood, you gathered all that had been yours and started towards the door.

Before you could leave, you were stopped by the same waitress who had warned you earlier. In awe and amazement at how easily you handled the fiesty cat, she gave you a warm smile, almost begging you to come back more oftern and tame the said cat.

“You must be some sort of cat whisperer,” she started, “I’ve never seen someone tame that cat as how you did, even more so stand aroundher for so long.” she mentioned, looking back at the said cat who rested quietly on the table, looking through the window at the birds outside. You giggled at the compliment before shaking your head. “I’m no cat whisperer, I’ve just had experience with cats like her before.” you smiled before making your way theough the door back to your job.

Now weeks after, going to the cat cafe had been a routine for you, once your lunch started, you quickly took off your apron and made a bee line straight to the cafe, only sitting wherever Cinnamon had been. You weren’t the only one who the cat had tolerated. Apparently, there was some other person who was able to do just as you did with the cat. Were you jealous, somewhat; since you did want that particular cat all to yourself but you didn’t catch a hissy fit over such things.

As you sat quietly in the booth, patiently waiting on your order, you watched as Cinnamon pushed her head against the palm of your hand, you chuckled before combing your hands through her fur, sighing at the vibrations her fluffy body made.

You really weren’t paying attention to your surroundings when it came to other people; you were a bit too engrossed by the fluffball in front of you. “So you’re the other ‘cat whisperer’ I’ve heard others talking about.”

A/n: it’s been awhile. Not as good but i’m getting back there.

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samgirl98 · 7 months ago

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Mending a Family 44/?

Prev | Next

Two days after Tim left, Jason regretted giving him his phone number. Not because the kid was trying to convince him to return to Gotham but because he would text him at the most random times with the most innate things. Seriously, did he ever sleep? Why was he trying to find out who robbed a store and took only the left socks?

Okay, the last one was interesting, but why was he doing it at 2:42 a.m.? Go to sleep!

Jason rubbed his eyes and continued setting up the snacks for the first book club meeting. Ghost Writer was literally glowing at the prospect of the first meeting. Jason constantly reminded him to stop lighting up if he didn’t want to freak people out. After telling him the sixth time, Jason wondered if meeting in Ghost Writer’s bookstore was a bad idea.

He sighed, “Too late, now.”

Jason had used the bookstore’s website so people who signed up could also vote from six choices. It had been a close call, but most people chose Sense and Sensibility. Jason couldn’t overstate his happiness that the first book would be an Austen novel. Jason might not have read it in a while, but he had it almost memorized and found himself more engrossed than usual in the novel. They only had to read the first five chapters for the first meeting, but Jason couldn’t help but finish it in one sitting while Jazz had had the kids.

Jason looked up as the bell over the door rang. A middle-aged woman entered the bookstore. Jason recognized her from the school and greeted her warmly. Then, an older lady entered. She had curly, short silver hair and thick glasses that made her eyes look huge. Jason greeted her and pointed her toward the snack bar. Next was a couple who bickered with each other. It wasn’t loud, but it felt overwhelming in such an enclosed space. Jason hoped that they wouldn’t continue arguing with each other the whole time.

Next, a young woman who looked to be college-aged showed up. Her hair was in a bun, and she was dressed as if she were going to an interview. Jason looked down at his ratty T-shirt and holey jeans and suddenly felt ragged. A few minutes later, a guy with a bushy beard and covered in tattoos entered. He looked like a biker.

Jason couldn’t help but be excited as he talked to the people who had entered. Barring the couple, everyone seemed happy to be there. Jason heard the bell ring once more. His smile fell when he saw the person who had entered.

Avril fucking Dubois. Fuck.

Jason ignored Avril as much as he could. He refused to let her ruin this for him.

They went around and introduced each other. The couple, Henry and Vanessa, went first. Halfway through introducing themselves, they started bickering. Jason quickly went to the next person.

The older woman was Agnus.

“I’m so glad this book club started. I love literature, and most of the people I used to talk to are gone now. I hope being around you young people will give me new perspectives.”

“Welcome, Agnus,” Jason said. He had a feeling he would get along with her. Next was the college student.

“My name is Charlotte. I’m here to find like-minded people who enjoy reading as much as I do. I can bring new insights and hope to learn from other people’s points of view. I hope to be a good asset to this club.”

“Um,” Jason had no idea what to say in response to that introduction. “Well, welcome; just having you here is awesome.”

“Hello, Jay. I know you know me, but for everyone else, my name is Carrie. I love to read but have very little time to do so with my children. I decided I needed some ‘me’ time, so I joined. I can't wait to discuss literature with other like-minded people.”

“Name’s Jerry,” Biker dude said, “I’m here to broaden my horizons and to see more of the world through books. Happy to be here.”

Jason smiled warmly toward him. He loved that Jerry didn’t fit into the stereotypical bookworm category. It made Jason feel validated somehow. Of course, Avril had to ruin by sniffing at Jerry’s introduction and haughtily introducing herself.

“My name is Avril Dubois. I’m the president of the PTA at my children’s school.”

Why would anyone care about that?

“I studied literature and English in college, so I thought this club would be a good way to continue my love of literature and help spread what I know. It’s certainly nice to meet such a…interesting band of people.”

Jason gritted his teeth at Avril’s blatant insult and decided to introduce himself.

“Hello, my name’s Jay. I started this book club so I can talk and discuss with others the books I read. I am so glad to have so many people here who share my passion for the written word. I would also like to thank Mr. Edwards for letting us use his bookstore for this little club.”

Ghostwriter waved a hand and sat by Jason. Thankfully, he looked like a very pale man and wasn’t glowing.

“I put a little poll online, and Sense and Sensibility won. I’m excited to talk about this book. Austen is one of my favorite authors. So, did everyone read the first five chapters?”

The discussion started, and Jason had to admit (at least to himself and not Roy) that this was a good idea.

Jason couldn’t help but feel joy being in a group of people arguing whether or not it was Mrs. Dashwood’s fault that Elinor had to have sense and had become a parent due to Mrs. Dashwood’s habit of letting her emotions take over.

Even the couple stopped bickering with each other to gang up on Jerry and Agnus. At one point, Jason and Avril were on the same page. Well, weirder things, he guessed.

When the first meeting ended, Jason felt his core humming with happiness.

Jason personally saw everyone out—even Avril.

“Well, I was pleasantly surprised, Jay. Who knew you had some knowledge of Austen? Don’t be late to the PTA meeting tomorrow, if possible.”

Even Avril’s backhanded compliment didn’t bring Jason’s spirits (ha!) down. He couldn’t wait for the next meeting.

Quick disclaimer: I have never read Austen.

I tried to read it for this chapter, but it's not my cup of tea, so I did something I have never done before: I used cliff notes, lol. I kinda wish I could've gotten into it because I see so much of Jason in Marianne. For example, Jason uses his emotions to live his life, and it has caused him problems with his family

Likewise, I see bits of Jazz in Elinor. But since I can't really go into it I decided to put it here on the notes.

anyway, enjoy

@itsberrydreemurstuff @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @skulld3mort-1fan @theauthorandtheartist @emergentpanda-blog @jaggedheart11 @fisticuffsatapplebees @booberrylizard @fantasticbluebirdfan @thegatorsgooseoose @cyrwrites @kjoboo91 @crystallicedart @amaramizuki666 @spekulatiusmuffin @meira-3919 @kilasmess @bubblemixer @lexdamo @wonderland-daisy @mj-arts-n-stuff @amyheart19 @dolfay @the-church-grimm @undead-essence @aph-mable @lizisipancardo @purrloin77 @writer-extraodinaire @charlietheepic7 @sinfulloccultist @nootherusernameworked @coruscateselene @chaoticchange @itsberrydreemurstuff @gmkelz11 @feral-bunny31 @paroovian @thatonegaybitch68 @d4ydr34min9 @overtherose @fandomwandererer @vipower001 @thordottir45 @blackrabbitt3t @rosecinnamonbun @bianca-hooks123 @epilepticnerd @dat1angel @consouling @flamingenchiladadragon @all-mights-asscheeks @ender-reader @fuyu-bitch @ravenswife @randomafterthought @chaos-and-wtv

#mending a family #dc x dp #dp x dc

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visforvengeance · 1 year ago

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944 miles

Requested by: no one<3

Notes: Hi! So sorry I took so long to post this lmao. Um this will be a series. I haven't worked out how many chapters there will be but I do know how I want at least the next two chapters to be. If you've seen my last post where I posted a snippet of it, then you know I had an OC named Rue Winston. That will be changed and the only thing that will remain is the last name and no character description will be involved but do know I had black!reader in mind. Thanks for reading <3

Pairing: Carmen Berzatto x Reader

Warnings: cursing? she/her pronouns. i think that's it. it's only the first chapter so nothing too crazy going on.

masterpost

Fatima rushed to the Berzatto Family Salon door with her young daughter by her side. Fatima wouldn’t have been late if it weren’t for her babysitter canceling at the last minute. The poor child was just too young to care for herself.

As Fatima frantically searched around the building for Donna, her hairstylist, Y/N sat idly by. She played with the toys her mother had gotten her for her 5th birthday, which was just a few months before. When Fatima’s eyes landed on Donna’s, they reflected a range of emotions.

Donna felt bad for the young mother, having three kids of her own, she knew what Fatima was suffering. Donna’s eyes traveled to the playing toddler on her floor, not a care for the outside world. She reminded her of her own child, Carmen, the youngest.

“Donna! I’m so sorry I’m late. My babysitter bailed last minute and I had no one else to watch her,” Fatima was on the verge of tears. This wasn’t the future she imagined when she found out she was with child.

Her husband, Ezra, had walked out on his family when their daughter was 2 years old. He had claimed he never wanted a child in the first place.

“Ok ok ok, Hun. Just take a deep breath, it’s fine. I have a son who’s around the same age as her. He’s here with me today, they could play together!”

She rushed through the door, ignoring everyone except for Carmen. He sat on his bed watching his best friend bounce around in his bedroom.

“It’s here! It’s here! It’s here!” She squealed while clutching the unopened envelope to her chest.

Carmen was dreading the day when they received their acceptance letters. He hadn’t told her that his college of choice was in New York. He knew that she’d d be attending college in Chicago, but fucking Carmen. He always had to strive for the best.

He felt like shit, but the pure excitement on her face was infectious. He couldn’t help his smile as they switched envelopes, now holding each other’s futures in their hands.

“I’ll go first, you ready?” He watched as she bit at her nails anxiously, she nodded.

Carmen opened the letter, he spared one glance at her before he began reading.

“Dear Ms. Winston, I am pleased to inform you that you have been accepted as an official student of the English Literature and Arts Department…” Rue’s hearing had faded as she allowed the words to process.

When it finally hit her, she rushed into Carmen’s arms. Her tears soaked into the cotton of his shirt but he didn’t let that deter him from telling her just how proud he was of her. When they pulled away, he held her face in his hands as she took deep breaths to calm herself down. He looked into her eyes, silently asking if she was okay. She nodded, looking back into his blue ones.

Y/N carefully tore into the letter, her eyes scanning over the paper. The Institute of Culinary Education, 225 Liberty Street, 3rd Floor, New York, NY 10281. New York? No, this can’t be. He’d tell her if he was going to New York, right?

She cleared her throat and began reading, “Dear Mr. Berzatto, we are very pleased to offer you admission into The Institute of Culinary Arts.” Her throat ran dry as she read. What the fuck?

“Why didn’t you tell me you applied for New York?”

“You’re the one who told me not to tell you,” he huffed, suddenly feeling defensive at his lack of mentioning.

“It’s fucking New York, Carmen! I meant don’t fucking tell me if it was in the goddamn state. I thought that was obvious. Why there, anyway?”

He felt strings tugging at his heart as her voice cracked. Why did he choose New York? A 944-mile drive away from his home? His family? From the girl he loved? When making his decision, She was the last thing on his mind at the time. Mikey not allowing him to work at the family restaurant fucked with Carmen’s nerves.

Lack of communication led to him believing that his brother thought he wasn’t good enough. So, Carmen figured “Maybe if I go to this prestigious school and become the world’s greatest chef, he’ll think I’m good enough then.” 15-year-old Carmen had made up his mind, everything else be damned. But, nothing would prepare him for the moment it came time to tell his best friend that he was leaving her.

“It’s the best culinary school in the state,” her eyes began to water. She felt fucking elated that Carmen was getting into the school of his dreams, but it being 14 hours away was breaking her heart. She didn’t want to make him feel bad or ruin this moment, but the way she could feel herself start to sweat was overwhelming.

She decided to drop it. She didn’t want Carmen to feel bad about his decision. Willing her tears to dry, she quickly smiled. “I’m so proud of you,” She was genuinely so proud of Carmen. She wanted nothing more than for him to succeed. If his succeeding meant she had to cheer him on from Chicago, she’d do it proudly.

Carmen could feel the sadness radiating off of her. He knew what she was doing. The switch from being on the verge of tears to smiling brightly was a reaction he’d seen far more than he liked. Being the reason wasn’t something he liked too much, either. But, when she said that she was proud of him, he believed her. He always believed her.

The last few days of school had been so tiring with graduation and Carmen leaving for NYC soon. She and Carmen spent as much time with each other as they could. Fatima worked a lot and Donna always had something that needed her attention. Everyone was busy. Summertime was approaching which meant Mikey had to prepare. He’s still not letting Carmen help, though.

She sighed as she felt her back hit the mattress beneath her. She hadn’t had time to relax and take a deep breath until now. She was home alone, with no plans and a severe and excruciating lack of Carmen. She saw less of him after the pair read their acceptance letters together. She didn’t know whether it was because of the news he shared or he was just extremely busy.

Regardless of whether they were fighting or not, Carmen never avoided her. There was no reason for him to be mad at her and she wasn’t particularly mad at him, but there was a dark cloud that hung over them. An unwavering force that bullied its way between them, you could practically see it.

She wanted to be happy for him, but the negative feelings always crawled their way back up. Was she overreacting? This wasn’t the end of them. They could always call, visit each other, or text. It wasn’t like he was moving to another country.

He was leaving her today. She began to panic at the thought but forced herself through it. She gathered all of the items she wanted to give to him before he left. His favorite shirt that he’s always searching for (she stole it), the matching bracelet that he’d leave on her dresser so he wouldn’t lose it, and a painting that she made for them. The painting was of them together. She spent the entire school year working on it, she made it for him after he practically begged her to do a painting for him.

After she was done, she made her way next door. The constant ruckus could be heard outside of the door. Donna is yelling for Mikey to help his brother, Sugar and Richie are fighting over god knows what. She pushed herself through the door. It was warm inside, and it smelled like apple pie and cinnamon. It always smelled like something delicious at the Berzatto house.

Donna noticed her first, rushing to her while calling for Mikey to come and grab the (not heavy) box from her. Donna pulled the younger girl into her warm embrace, bombarding her with questions as she always did. It never bothered her as she knew what Donna was like and loved her dearly. Donna always treated her as if she was her child, she’d look after her when Fatima was busy with work. She’d invite her on family trips, she was an unofficial family member like Richie.

“How are you, sweetheart? You hungry? We made a little something for Bear before it’s time for him to go,” Donna held her face in her hands as she spoke. Her heart warmed at Donna’s actions. Despite her doing things like this since the moment they met, it always made her smile. She politely declined, though. She wanted to be alone with Carmen for a while.

“I’m not hungry at the moment, Mama D, but I promise I’ll eat before I go,” Donna nodded and gave her cheeks a small pat. They spoke a little bit more before Donna left her to continue doing what she was doing. She had a habit of minimizing her emotions when something big happened. She kept a straight as she walked up the stairs to Carmen’s room, but her mind was racing. She didn’t want to think about the bad things that could happen while she and Carmen were apart.

She pushed the door open, standing in the doorway as she watched the two brothers talk. “Dude, you’re doing it the wrong way-“

“I think I know how to properly tape up a box, Carmen.”

“You’re literally doing it wrong.”

She couldn't hold in her laughter as they bickered back and forth. Their heads snapped toward her, startled by her presence. “Jesus, fuck, bunny. You scared the shit out of me!” Mikey set down the box he was holding to rush over and hug her. She hugged him back, squeezing him a bit as she did so. “Sorry, Mikey. I wanted to see who’d get hit first,” Mikey chuckled.

She and Mikey had a special kind of bond. She had a unique bond with each Berzatto child. But, the two of them were like siblings. Mikey was like the big brother she never had, always to her rescue if needed. When Carmen couldn’t be bothered, she had Mikey and Sugar.

Before he could respond, Carmen cleared his throat. Mikey looked between the two, gears turning in his head. You see, Michael knew of his feelings for the girl. He was constantly trying to get Carmen to step up and admit his feelings for the girl but Carmy was always too nervous to do so, afraid he’d lose her. He couldn’t risk that.

Mikey nodded, raising his arms in defense and he backed off, “I’ll leave you two to talk.” She sat on Carmen’s bed, looking around his room. It looked nearly empty, aside from the furniture. “Did you get a chance to look at the things I brought?” Carmen looked over everything except for the painting. He’d seen her art before, he knew how talented she was. But he feared that if he looked at it now, his heart would break all over again.

“Yeah, everything except for the painting.” She felt her body twitch as their eyes locked. His expression was unreadable as she wondered why he hadn’t taken a glance. “Promise you’ll take a peek when you get to your dorm?” She thought she sounded fucking pathetic. ‘Please look at this painting that means so fucking much to me, it’s the least you could do.’ She wanted to throw up.

In reality, Carmen didn’t want to look. Not because he feared he’d hate it, but because then he’d be forced back to reality. The reality that he’s in love with his best friend whom he’s about to leave for four fucking years. The reality is that he’s loved her since middle school and now it’s too late because he’s a coward. “Promise.”

She and Carmen had spent their last few hours together in his bed. The sun had fallen, and everything was packed up and ready to go. Carmen said his goodbyes to everyone, except her. She lingered somewhere nearby, watching as he hugged and kissed his family. They were both trying to prolong their last few moments together. “I’m gonna miss you,” she could hardly speak. God, did she not want to cry right now.

“I’m gonna miss you too.” Carmen’s facade was starting to crack. He allowed it to, he only allowed himself to feel in front of her. “And don’t forget about me, either.” Her tears were streaming down her face, heavy drops landing on her shirt. Carmen couldn’t handle it anymore as he pulled her into a tight hug. Their tears soaked into the other’s shirt as they cried together. They stayed like that for what felt like hours until Mikey called for Carmen. She watched as her best friend drove away. She’d never believe you if you told her that she wouldn’t hear from him for 2 years.

#carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto smut #carmen berzatto angst #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #the bear #the bear fx

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communistkenobi · 7 months ago

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would you be at all willing to talk about your experience of undergrad vs grad school? personally i struggled quite a bit in undergrad but am still always tempted to go back, and i think maybe the narrowed focus of grad school would be a little easier to handle, but i'm not sure if that would actually be the case... & perhaps your experience was something else completely and maybe this is too vague also lol, but i'm very curious about how you felt they were different!

yeah totally! My experience is doing graduate degrees (writing a thesis) in the faculty of social science in Canadian universities, so everything I’m about to say comes from that specific context. Definitely not universal lol

in my experience grad school is a lot more customised than undergrad. You still have required courses, non-course degree milestones (usually you’re required to present your work at conferences, which can get expensive and isn’t always covered by your department, as well as produce summaries of work you’ve done, research proposals, scholarship applications, etc), and standardised expectations, but you have a lot more choice in the courses you take and what topics you focus on. One university I was at was very relaxed about deadlines in grad school (I easily got extensions from profs without needing doctors notes or official accommodations, i was given the ability to redo assignments, etc), and the other was the ecact opposite (treated me like a idiot for needing extra time with work). If you’re doing a thesis project, a lot of your degree is independent work that you do in your own time - this was a huge struggle for me at the end of my masters, and I had to do “martial law” with my graduate friends at the very end, which basically meant us instituting a highly regimented schedule together made up of work sessions and breaks where we would each meet up and work on finishing our thesis (1 hour of work then 15 min break, rince and repeat, do this for four or five sessions a day every day). You are on a time crunch as you only receive funding for so many years, if you get offered funding at all.

your supervisor has a lot of control and influence over you - they are meant to guide you through the research process, develop your project, give you feedback, provide you with appropriate literature, double check your work, and help you get grants / funding. If you get a bad one it can legitimately ruin your life. I have had hilariously bad luck with supervisors (I’ve had to switch supervisors twice due to discrimination and breaches of provincial human rights law - which is not the norm to my understanding lol).

it depends on why you want to go to grad school and what you plan to do after. I want to stay in academia so that’s where most of my advice comes from. Tenure-track positions are incredibly difficult to secure and if you’re serious about staying in the academy you should be publishing your research while you’re still in graduate school, and treat every term paper as a draft of something you’re going to publish. I also have backup jobs I know I can apply for outside of academia if I don’t get any academic offers.

it’s relatively common for students to join a two or four year grad program but take way more time than that to finish. Usually if you get any funding packages, they only cover the official allotted years (in my experience, two for a master’s, four for PhD), meaning that if you need extra time, you could be finishing your degree with no funding and no guaranteed employment. If your supervisor is cool/connected they might have money they can swing your way, but it’s a tenuous and scary way to live if you have no other source of income.

funding usually comes from 1) grants your department gives you (they will tell you if they’re giving you money on your acceptance letter), 2) teaching assistant positions (I was/am required to be a TA, which usually involves grading undergraduate work, running labs, or leading teaching sessions/“tutorials”) and 3) federal scholarships that you are required to apply for. You need to write applications for these scholarships, usually including a research proposal, a CV/resume, a transcript of your grades, and recently, they’ve added a requirement for a diversity statement explaining any minority statuses you have and how that affects your education. TA work has an uneven workload from week to week, and usually most of the work is towards the end of the term when you’re grading final essays/exams, which creates crunch periods where you’re both working on your own coursework and grading undergrad work.

again a lot of this might not apply to your particular discipline or university or country. Usually universities list a lot of this info on their website, which can help you figure out what’s required of you. Grad school is structured like a full time job and it doesn’t pay very well even if you are funded. I lived with my parents for most of my master’s which gave me the financial stability to complete it. It’s not easy and it takes up most of your waking time, and it can leave you in a financially precarious position with a lot of debt. It’s definitely not something I would recommend for fun unless you have a lot of money and time to burn

#asks

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kamsspice · 5 months ago

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Long post

10 Minutes - a bokuaka ficlet written by me, cross posted on ao3.

It amazes Akaashi how easily a good day can be undone in ten minutes.

He had been in his element this morning; he rose before the sun, attended a few meetings online and even had breakfast before it broke noon. Sipping his cup of tea, he had scanned him small flat and decided it was about time to stop living in piles of clothes and crack on with the pending chores. Yes, he would sweep his floor (the dust bunnies certainly weren’t paying his rent) and finally put away his laundry. And later that evening, he could call Bokuto, maybe even while he cooked dinner and perhaps live in his fantasy of them being a working couple.

It was a good plan. Solid, even.

At 12PM, Akaashi had been so pleased with himself that at 21, a final year literature student, he is finally feeling like a functional adult. He was so pleased that he felt compelled to call his mom. It was an urge. On the days he bothered to check his phone, a message of sorts would be waiting for him. A sweet Just thinking of you or hope you’re well. Of course he would always reply, because despite everything, she’s his mother.

The trill of the phone had rang in Akaashi’s ears. He was smiling as he waited, eyes cast not on the mountain of clothes on his bed but out the window on the cool grey skies of the city. His mother answered, with her sweet voice. They were on the phone for sixty minutes and the first fifty of them went smoothly. “Oh, I heard that part of Tokyo is lovely this time of year.” “Yes, Mom, I am eating well, no you don’t need to send me food.” She spoke to him in earnest as any mother would and Akaashi was receptive of it all.

Then, the last ten minutes happened.

He shouldn’t have brought up Bokuto. Part of him knew not to but another, younger part of him hoped that she wouldn’t care. Because for all of his best friend’s achievements and successes, she does not like the nature of the feelings Akaashi holds for him.

Those ten minutes go as he should have known it would. She’d rant about how wrong it is, how it’s a choice he’s making, how she doesn’t understand him. He’s tried explaining it rationally, but he’s seven years into this specific conversation topic that it feels like a waste of time. So he listens to how she fails to understand him.

Ten minutes of those walls Akaashi tried to tear down being built up again by her, brick by brick with each word she utters. But maybe he’s being irrational. Perhaps he didn’t explain it well enough.

But how long must he feel like he’s being tried for something that isn’t a crime?

She told him she doesn’t understand him. He tells her he needs to get on with his house chores. She tells him “I love you, dear” and he tells her goodbye. Akaashi knows she loves him and he knows he loves her too. Yet, when she meets him with her unwillingness to listen, a disgusting unease churns in his stomach. Why is it so difficult?

Now, it’s 1PM. They just ended their call, and Akaashi knows he has chores to do. But the mountain of clothes suddenly feel too large and the floors seem too wide and he no longer has an appetite. He sits by his cluttered desk. Akaashi’s chest and head are suddenly too heavy to lift. With elbows dug into the litter of paper, he lays his face in his palms and heaves deeply.

Now, it’s 4PM. The winter bids the sun an early goodbye all the while, the last ten minutes of their phone conversation played back on a loop in Akaashi’s head. He tries to analyse his words, tries to understand where he went wrong. The only conclusion he draws is that he was wrong to try and share his joy with her. That realisation weighs his head and heart heavier.

He wonders, as the night inches closer, if he had any siblings, would they be the same? Is there anyone in his family he could feel safe being himself to? If this is how is mother is, he can’t be so sure of his other relatives. He wonders why he feels so paralysed by something that isn’t a surprise to him and why his disappointment feels as fresh as it does seven years ago. Akaashi lives alone and the apartment now feels colder and quieter.

Akaashi could wonder until night turns day why she thinks the way she does but that would be putting more effort than she ever would for him. He could write a PhD thesis about his feelings for another man and defend it in front of her, but why should he? Surely it’s enough that he feels happy.

Well, he doesn’t feel happy now and the responsible party for that isn’t Bokuto.

Akaashi glances at the digital clock partly buried in paperwork on his desk. 16:28. He then turns his head to his bed and the mountain of clothes hasn’t disappeared.

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters under his breath. Deciding that moping wouldn’t be conducive of a productive day, he stands up. The heaviness follows, but he does what he set out to do even if it’s slower than he’d like.

Akaashi sweeps the floor, puts away his laundry and organises the mess of clothes, but stops short when he walks up to his cooker. His appetite has not reappeared. Those ten minutes drained him more than he anticipated. He had looked forward to calling Bokuto as he cooked, but now as he thinks of hearing Bokuto’s boisterous voice on the other end of the line, Akaashi cannot help but also think of those ten minutes. And he does not want to sound passive to Bokuto nor does he want to lie about how his shitty day has been.

It’s 6PM. Well, not everything works out how you wish, Akaashi resigns. He spares one more look at his cooker, bidding goodbye to his night of fantasy, before charting a direct course to his bed.

Then, his doorbell buzzes. He wonders who the hell could have the nerve to ring his door at this time of night, considers staying in bed but no, the ringing is incessant and now Akaashi is royally peeved.

He mutters all sorts of unpleasantries on the trip to the door, cursing up, down, left and right in his head.

“Hello?” Akaashi politely says into the receiver.

“Hey, hey, hey!” says a boisterous voice back.

Akaashi doesn’t waste a second to buzz in, open his apartment door, jog out of his flat and launch his head over the shared landing bannister to find Bokuto charging up the stairs, bag slung on his shoulder and a bright smile on his face. Akaashi’s heart melts at the sight.

Once back in his apartment, words spill out of Akaashi’s mouth like a fountain. How the hell? When the hell? Why--

“I really needed to see you, is all,” Bokuto says. He dumps his bag on the floor flops onto Akaashi’s sofa, leaving Akaashi alone standing in his disbelief. “And I knew you didn’t have much on this Friday so thought, fuck it, let’s have a sleepover.”

“Bokuto-san, you ought to call people before inviting yourself over for a weekend. What if soemthing last minute came up?” Akaashi chides, though he doesn’t mean it.

“Nothing did, did it?” Bokuto points a finger and quirks his bushy brows, smug pride painted on his face. “Besides, it didn’t sound like you were getting out much. I told you, you should live with other people Akaashi. I know you’re an only child and all, but it’s not all that bad. You won’t go crazy from hearing your own voice all the time.”

Akaashi chuckles, taking a seat on the arm of the sofa by Bokuto’s feet. “I’m used to it.”

“Oh, man, when I first moved in to my own place, it was rough. My sisters didn’t think I could last a month but I barely lasted a week!” Bokuto launches into his anecdote about his first week in his first apartment. How he had to learn actually understand his tenancy agreement, how to use a washing machine and more importantly how to cook. Akaashi chimes in, reminding Bokuto about how it was pretty embarrassing that a grown man like him didn’t know how to meal prep.

“And yet,” Bokuto says, “you still cook for me.”

“For why? I don’t know.”

“Speaking of which.” Bokuto rises, springing over to the fridge. He opens it wide with a smile on his face which soon fades when he sees how bare the fridge is. No food, just nearly out of date broccoli, a few eggs and a half-eaten courgette. “It’s embarrassing that a grown man doesn’t know how to meal prep, huh, Akaashi?” He shoots Akaashi another smug, teasing glare and Akaashi flips him off.

“I wanted to cook today but I got swamped with other stuff,” Akaashi says easily because it’s the truth. He doesn’t say how he wanted to call Bokuto.

“No problem,” says Bokuto, “we can just make something now!”

Bokuto gathers the left over ingredients and starts work. Akaashi watches him and that unease that had been stirring in his gut eases away bit by bit. He marvels at how easy it is to love Bokuto. He doesn’t have to carefully construct his sentences. Everything is straightforward.

And Akaashi wonders again, if being around this man makes him feel this at ease, what is wrong about it? Can loving his own mother be this straightforward? Is everyone’s relationship with their parents equally as taut as it is loose. Is the road to the fact of yes, I love her with all my heart as convoluted for him as it is for everyone else? And if it is, why is it him that must walk that path? Why must he go through all the peaks and troughs to arrive at that conclusion?

Dinner is soon made and because he’s feeling bold, Akaashi gives them permission to eat on his bed. He warns Bokuto to not get used to it lest he forget the last time they did this (the oil stains still won’t come off his mattress). Bokuto fills the silent air with his voice. The flat doesn’t feel as small as it did.

Akaashi breathes out deeply. Bokuto’s attention turns away from the food and to him, golden eyes curious and silently asking.

“I’m good,” Akaashi answers. “I’m just really happy to see you.”

#bokuaka #made in 2 hours #all mistakes are my own #i did this for therapy reasons and need it somewhere #ao3 is scary because i feel to perceived

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whoopsiedaisy20 · 5 months ago

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Happy birthday, Refaat.

A letter

Dear Refaat,

I wrote a letter for your birthday. It’s a cliché, I know, but I had to, considering you spent years terrorizing us into becoming better writers!

I think back to when we first crossed paths in 2014, right after that 51-day Israeli military assault. The air in Gaza was thick with smoke, grief, and rubble, and Gaza felt like it was still bleeding. Everyone was picking up the pieces of what was left of their homes and lives, yours included. Israel had killed your brother, and your family home had been reduced to dust and memories from the past. Yet somehow, you stood tall, the daring man from Shijaiyah you were, like a resilient age-old olive tree that refuses to bow to the storm.

A year later, I joined "We Are Not Numbers," a space you helped create for young writers in Gaza to tell their stories to the world. I was full of self-doubt; writing had always been my refuge, but in Arabic. English felt like a mountain I wasn’t sure I could climb. I doubted my ability to pour my heart out in English, to capture the same depth, the same sincerity. You were our creative writing mentor, and let’s be honest, you were terrifying at first. Not because you were unkind, but because you could see right through us. There was no room for mediocrity around you. You’d look at a piece of writing, smirk, and say, “You can do better,” and we’d all collectively feel like we were back in kindergarten, trying to color within the lines. But that’s where your magic lay. You pushed us so hard that we had no choice but to grow. And suddenly, the mountain I feared didn’t seem so steep.

Harsh but kind. Patient but merciless. You didn’t give out compliments freely, and when you did, it felt like scoring a banger in a World Cup final. I remember those early days when I’d turn in a piece of writing, hoping it was good enough, and you’d read it with that poker face of yours. I’d sit there sweating, waiting for the verdict, and you’d say something like, “Well, this is a start,” which meant, “Back to the drawing board.” But deep down, we all knew that’s what made you brilliant. You never let us settle. Always dropping knowledge and resources like breadcrumbs, you forced us to dig deeper, to think harder, to write with more heart. You turned every assignment into a long but exhilarating battle between us and our own potential. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

A year later, you taught me Romantic Literature in my senior year at the Islamic University of Gaza. For the final project, you gave us the option to write a short story or an article. I went for the article, thinking I was being smart, sidestepping all the creative fluff. I was so proud of that piece until you handed it back with a “B+”. When my inner nerd was about to fight you on the grade, you said it was one of the best pieces you’d read written by a student of yours. I spent the next several years waving that compliment around like a trophy, as if it overnight made me a literary genius. I’m pretty sure I drove my friends crazy bragging about it. Even after I graduated, even when we had moved from being teacher and student to friends, you’d remind me of that piece. You’d bring it up, laughing, just to remind me that you still kept it because it was one of your favorites. I didn’t need an A+.

Then in 2018, when you asked me to be your teaching assistant for that program training Gaza’s youth to help them seek online self-employment jobs, I was honored and slightly terrified. We were teaching them everything from basic English communication skills to translation theory, and you were the same relentless caring mentor, following up with trainees even after the program ended, checking their progress, reviewing their work like a proud father.

That time gave me a whole new perspective. I wasn’t just the student sitting in the seats before you anymore. I had moved to the assistant standing right beside you, catching a glimpse of your two worlds. In one, you were under the spotlight, practicing your signature tough love as a mentor and showering your students with knowledge and wisdom. In the other, behind the scenes, I saw you carefully and painstakingly preparing teaching materials and doing research. You’d even come to me seeking advice. Me? You said I was closer in age to the students, so surely I had some insights that could help you connect better with them. It was your subtle way of empowering me, nudging me toward confidence, and preparing me for the day I’d stand on my own feet in front of my own class. And when that day came the following year, there I was, leading my own sessions, using the materials you had spent years refining, which you handed over to me with ultimate generosity. It was as if you were saying, "I’ve cleared the path a little, and now it’s your turn." And it made all the difference. And for that, I’ll always be grateful.

We could spend hours dissecting every football match, exchanging memes and jokes, and diving into the absurdity of imagining how Shakespeare himself might have poetically narrated that jaw-dropping Messi goal or that flawless perfectly timed assist. But it wasn’t just football. We bonded over everything: shows, movies, books. You were a magnet for creativity, drawn to it wherever it lived. You had this infectious love for memes. You didn’t just enjoy them; you liked being the subject of them. You'd proudly send me a meme or a WhatsApp sticker and type with childlike excitement, "Look what a student sent me today!" It was like you were collecting little tokens of joy from everyone around you, and they kept coming because you gave so much of it yourself.

Even in our final conversation, just a week before you were killed, you sent me a meme you'd made about your car, abandoned somewhere in Gaza City, stranded between Israeli tanks and the Palestinian resistance. You were forced to leave it behind, yet you found a way to laugh about it. That was just who you were: a lighthearted soul even amid war. You joked, even as you were running from one shelter to another, trying to find a place safe enough for your family and children. You had lost more than 10 kilos from the lack of food, but somehow, you hadn’t lost your spirit.

And even in those darkest moments, when survival was the only thing that should’ve mattered, you still checked on me. I wasn’t even in Gaza, yet you asked if I needed anything. You asked about my family, who had fled to the south, offering to help with money, food, water… whatever they needed. In the middle of your own chaos, your instinct was still to care for others. Even as war tried to strip everything from you, it couldn’t take your heart.

Refaat,

I can picture you in heaven, just as I saw you in life. If I were to draw a cartoon of this picture, it would be of a tall, thin man in constant motion, a pen always tucked into your chest pocket like a loyal companion, your fingers typing away on your phone, capturing bits of a story or idea that just popped into your mind. Above your head, I’d sketch dozens of glowing lamps, floating like a cloud, never running out of light, just like you never ran out of ideas. These lamps would illuminate your path and extend their light to every corner you passed, giving others who follow the chance to walk with fewer stumbles, fewer bumps, because you’d been there first.

Dear Refaat,

When hope abandons me, when despair grips my heart and I question the purpose of all this endless suffering, your memory saves me. The weight of living in a world that has taken so much from us, sometimes feels unbearable. But then I think of you, how you lived, how you fought, and how you were taken from us too soon. I think of you and all those I’ve lost because of the Israeli occupation in these nearly 30 years of my life. I think of the way you fought for us, for our right to exist in a world that seems to offer only cruelty in return. I refuse to accept that your sacrifice, your life, was in vain. You, and all the others, cannot simply be gone without purpose. You can’t just disappear into the void, as if you were never here, leaving your work unfinished. You walked so that we could run, and I will run, crawl, swim, fly, and move mountains to make sure you didn’t leave for nothing. When the strength to continue eludes me, when getting out of bed feels impossible, when I’m too broken to keep going, I think of you. You stood tall in the face of unspeakable horror, in a world full of cowards. You fought with every breath and with every “expo marker” you held. For you, for me, for all of us, and for the long life you should have had, I’ll fight back.

Happy birthday, Refaat. I’m looking at you and waiting for you, as you wield a red pen, to meticulously edit this letter and send it back with corrections.

Haya Abu Shammala is a writer who works in PR and communication. She is a former student and a friend of Dr. Refaat Alareer.

Subscribe to Refaat writes back. A biweekly newsletter where writers from Gaza keep Refaat Alareer's legacy alive

#palestine #gaza #free palestine #free gaza #rafah #refaat

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weirdly-specific-but-ok · 1 year ago

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Hiiiii!!!

The Hindi songs guy again (salaamat recommendation, if "Hindi songs guy" is too vague)! Firstly, thanks for telling the name of the song, I listened to it and *sighs* it was them!

Secondly, i didn't know you were from India too! Got to know some days ago from your posts, and then just read your post when you were drunk and telling about India. And I fully agree, it was accurate (and as a North Indian, I'm sorry for the racism🙊). And I'm also sorry about the transphobia and every other awfulness you might've experienced. I love youuuu (sorry if this is too weird🙆🏻‍♂️). Also, the career prospects thing was 100% true: I was 'supposed' to become a doctor, but I had taken science just coz i liked it, and then there was a three years long tragic battle against doctor as a career, and then finally after a failed suicide attempt, I was able to choose English Literature, and things are only now (5 years after the fact) looking better....sooooo I guess your fears about college are totally valid but it will be better, you'll meet great people and learn so much beautiful stuff and create sooo many brilliant thingss! Again, I love youuu (and again, sorry if all of it is too much info, too weird, I'm just...weirdly emotional, idk why)

Thirdly, I really like your name! Asmi is a beautifullll nameee!

Fourthly, sorryy for the long and weird ask, just... I'm glad to know someone else from India here, who's also a Good Omens fan and evidently a lovely person. Sooo lots of long tight hugss!

Lastly, sorry for all the sorrys, and you can totally ignore this if it's uncomfortable or anything (if you couldn't tell by the sorrys, I'm super self-conscious, so thanks for the anonymous option)

Love and hugss, and best of luck for college, for your art, and life in general!❤️

Hey anon maggot! I'm so happy you listened to the song and loved it.

And thank you so much for sharing this with me. It's awful that you had to go through all of that, and I'm so proud of you for surviving. I spent three years preparing for medicine too (11th and 12th year, which caused me to fall sick and miss the NEET test, so I took a gap year etc) and I really did want it. Well, I thought I did. It was more that I didn't think I had any other choice.

TW: explicit mentions of transphobia and disregard and discrimination on the basis of mental health below. Skip the below paragraph if you need to.

I'm glad you're doing better. Yeah, I am not looking forward to college. I know there will be fun parts and all. But I had a go at college for three months back in August, and despite it being very liberal and open and stuff in theory, I had to drop out because the entire student body was isolating me because of my mental health and things my ex-roommate had said about me, and a lot of transphobia from the admin too. When I went to the dean and told her I felt unsafe and the environment was horrible, she told me to stop being so self-absorbed (and then denied she said that the next day to my parents). Luckily after the whole medical ordeal my parents had learned to listen to me and they helped me leave.

I will try again. It's just that it's... disheartening. That was design school, too, just like my next college will be. And I really did try my best. It's weird thinking about all that stuff because Tumblr and you maggots have kind of, well, healed it in a way, and given me such a safe space here that it feels unbelievable that the real world could be so, so fucking shite. Apologies for the vent here, but I do want to be honest, and I want everyone who's faced the same thing to know that they're not alone. Because I know so many people, too many, who've been there.

Thank god for Good Omens and you all. For the ridiculous amount of support and love and joy I've got here. It's easier to forget about all of it for a while when I focus on Crowley's pouts and Aziraphale smiling and making you all laugh.

And hey, you have nothing to feel sorry for. I'm so grateful to you for taking the time to write this. I love you too, anon maggot, so very much. Take all the tight hugs right back. I'm so proud of you for fighting for the future you wanted and deserved. I know it's not easy, both to fight with your internalised doubt and the others.

I'm so proud.

Good luck.

All the love, Asmi

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hadesforpreswrites · 2 years ago

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i believe in nothing but the beating of our hearts | knj

a/n: this is a rewrite of my first story i've ever posted to tumblr. i wasn't completely happy with the original upon a reread (yeah, sometimes i reread my own works). i have deleted the original at this point. also, do you like the image? i was inspired by @remedyx to make my own in canva. (you should totally check out her works!) pairing: kim namjoon x afab character genre: 18+ (minors DNI); friends/roommates-to-lovers; mutual pining warnings: slight angst; cursing; miscommunication? (really it's a lack of communication if we're honest); smut; oral (f. receiving); protected penetrative sex; praise; mutual pining word count: 3458 summary: namjoon and his roommate finally figure things out. (featuring jungkook and jin; mention of sope)

she was his best friend. she probably wasn’t what most people would deem his type. she didn’t know how he truly felt. he had kept it a secret, from her, since the day they met that fateful day at freshman orientation for college.

at first, he was simply impressed by the fact that she was about a year younger than him and yet here she was in the same class. then as the days went on and they worked together in the group - better than the others - the two of them seemed to mesh, despite having just met.

when he learned her major he decided they were kindred spirits - him in art history, her in literature. neither of them were entirely sure of what they wanted to do with their lives.

currently, the two of them were in their third year. after surviving, barely, their first year in the on-campus dorms, they decided to get an off-campus apartment together. namjoon couldn’t decide if this choice was a blessing or a curse. on the one hand, he now lived with his best friend. on the other hand, he lived with the person he was pretty sure he was in love with.

because he was wrapped up in his own thoughts, he missed the subtle glances she would throw his way when he was deep in thought. or that she couldn’t think straight when they sat too close.

to anyone else, these two were hopeless. many times the friends they made throughout their university career tried to point out the tension between them, to absolutely no avail.

namjoon coped with this situation by burying himself into hookups, effectively earning himself the title of a fuckboy. he didn’t really mind this reputation because he was sure his friends knew him well enough to know how he really was. he also spent a lot of his time complaining to his other friends about his self-imposed predicament.

she, on the other hand, threw herself into her studies. and the occasional complaint session with one of her closest confidants, jungkook. he was the only person who knew how deeply jealous she felt every time namjoon brought someone else into their shared home. sometimes she would even ask yoongi if she could crash on his and hoseok’s couch when someone else was with namjoon. they were in grad school and were often up late at night working on projects. namjoon held some sort of jealousy toward the older man when she would come in the next morning, not putting together why she left in the first place and not truly believing him when he said nothing was going on between them.

she had been kind of ignoring namjoon for the past week because she had fallen asleep in his arms on their couch and when she had woken up he was escorting someone to his room. yoongi was not at all prepared for the tears that were streaming down her face when he opened his door that night. normally, she was just slightly annoyed. that night was different so instead of working on their projects, yoongi and hoseok invited the younger friends to their apartment for games and pizza. yeah, they knew they might hear about it later, if not from namjoon himself then from seokjin, their phd student friend, but they didn’t know what else to do at the time.

tonight, jungkook had come over in an attempt to get help with his paper for his comp class. he was trying to convince her to actually just write his paper, her rolling her eyes explaining that she basically found and highlighted all his sources and just get over it for like a second. he had managed to get about half of it written in the time they spent holed up in her room but not without complaint and maybe a couple of tears that were meant to manipulate her but didn’t work.

“i think you’ve earned yourself dinner, kook,” she said after she read through what he had written.

“yes!” he breathed as he flung himself back on her bed.

she laughed at the dramatics, pulled him up, and dragged him to the kitchen. if she was going to cook, he was going to keep her company. he sat on a barstool, looking into the kitchen as she moved around gathering ingredients. he widened his eyes at how many things she was grabbing for ramen.

“you know, he’s not even here. you don’t have to feed him,” he grumbled.

she shot him a pointed look and continued prepping. after a few moments of silence, the front door opened, revealing namjoon and seokjin. she shot another look at jungkook who groaned quietly.

“honey, we’re home!” seokjin’s voice rang through the apartment.

“kitchen!” she yelled back.

seokjin immediately began helping her cook while namjoon sat next to jungkook at the bar and watched. she and seokjin had often cooked together so it was fun to watch them move fluidly around each other. namjoon and jungkook were chatting about their respective class assignments as namjoon’s eyes didn’t leave her figure.

“ready!” seokjin said, setting the table with the last bowl, pot of ramen in the middle.

throughout dinner, seokjin complained about namjoon forcing him to go to an art museum because everyone else was busy. namjoon countered that he actually did enjoy himself. jungkook complained that he had to write his own paper which caused the rest of them to groan because the younger man was always trying to get someone to work on his papers for him.

after eating, jungkook excused himself to pack up his things in her room because he was close to missing curfew for his dorm building. seokjin offered him a ride, which he graciously accepted. after they left, she started putting dinner away.

namjoon sat at the table for a moment longer. he was trying to figure out what he had done for her to avoid him for a whole week. tonight she talked to him, but only because there were others around. he’d been thinking about this for the week and was coming up with nothing so he decided it was time to confront her.

he pushed himself up from the table and moved to the kitchen where she was washing dishes. he leaned on the wall and watched her, eyes piercing through her.

“yes?” she asked, feeling his gaze but refusing to meet it. she was drying her hands when he came up behind her and pinned her between himself and the counter. she turned around and had to focus on her breathing before she said, “joon?”

“you’re driving me insane,” he said through his teeth.

she cocked her head, confusion showing on her features. “i don’t-”

“yes. yes, you do know. you’ve been avoiding me for days and i don’t understand why,” his voice wavered, causing her to almost break.

she sighed, eyes dropping from his face to his chest. how could she explain that it was a mixture of embarrassment and jealousy? “i just… you…” she huffed, frustrated. “you left. or lied. and i’m not sure which is worse.”

okay, he was really confused now. “i’ve never lied to you?”

“you don’t even remember?” she laughed at herself. “why am i even upset then? i’m sorry, joon, it’s nothing,” she gently pushed on him so she could escape his prison and fucking breathe again. she started walking toward her room while his brain was malfunctioning.

“no,” he said, loudly shaking his head. “no,” he started walking her way. “you don’t get to ignore me for a week and then say it’s nothing. if i did something to upset you that much, i deserve to know so i can try to fix it.” they were standing in the hallway between their two bedrooms.

she slid down her closed door and sat on the floor in defeat. still confused, he joined her. her knees were pulled up to her chest, he sat cross legged.

“that day i came home after a really bad day, you were on the couch, reading. and you looked up when i sat my bag down and opened your arms and i just curled up with you.”

he suddenly remembered everything. she had looked on the verge of tears. she laid her head on his chest, body between his legs. when she had fallen asleep, he somehow maneuvered his way out from under her and invited someone over because he couldn’t control his body.

“i asked if you had anything going on that day and you said no,” she continued. “but when i woke up you were walking someone back to your room.”

he didn’t lie about not having anything going on that day but he couldn’t tell her that he invited someone over because he had gotten hard when she was laying on him, how she couldn’t tell was beyond him.

“and then you went to yoongi and hoseok’s and had a party,” he deadpanned.

“that was not my idea,” she said, slowly. “i went there so i didn’t have to hear your escapades and they decided it was game night.”

suddenly, most everything made sense. why she went there when he had someone over. it wasn’t because she had a thing with either of them, it was because of him.

“you could’ve asked me to not bring anyone back here,” he said, quietly.

“joon, it’s your apartment too. but that’s not the point. point is i was upset because you-oh, god this is so stupid. nevermind,” she was picking at the carpet.

“you were upset because i brought someone over when i said i didn’t have anything going on? and you were having a bad day and i kind of just did something stupid?”

“i guess,” she mumbled.

“why were you avoiding me?”

“because i was embarrassed because it was dumb. i knew it was dumb when i showed up at yoongi’s crying about it,” she rambled, eyes going wide at the confession. “pretend you didn’t hear that.”

“afraid i can’t do that, babe. i’m very clearly missing something here and i’d really like if you could fill me in,” he said softly, ducking his head to try to meet her eyes.

“joon, i can’t,” she said, tears forming in her eyes. “it will change everything.”

“no it won’t.”

“you can’t promise that.”

“yes, i can.”

she huffed in annoyance. “it was just like the straw that broke the camel’s back, that night. i can’t keep watching you with the people you bring here. i can’t keep pretending it doesn’t bother me. it bothers me so much. it’s not even about you bringing them here it’s about them existing in your life in general,” when she finally took a breath she looked up at him and he was smiling.

“you’re jealous.”

“you’re annoying.”

“you’re so jealous,” he said again, getting on his knees and shifting closer to her. he put his hands on her knees and pushed so her legs straightened between his.

“you’re annoying,” she repeated, less convincing than the first time as her breath caught in her throat.

“maybe. but i’m also happy so nothing you say can hurt me,” he angled her head to look at him.

“you’re happy that i’m jealous?”

“so happy. more happy that you admitted it,” he said against her lips.

he closed his eyes and pushed his lips to hers, finally kissing her. she let out a breath before she kissed him back. her arms wound around his neck as he pulled away and placed his forehead on hers.

he chuckled to himself, “all this time i thought you had something going with yoongi or even jungkook.”

“why on earth would you think that?” her eyes shooting open in question.

“because apparently i’m an idiot,” he answered.

“you are,” she confirmed, causing him to laugh.

he pulled away and stood up, offering his hand to her. she slid her hand in his larger one and he hoisted her up. he led her into her room, sat on her bed, and pulled her onto his lap.

“what do we do now?” she asked, suddenly nervous. “i’m not willing to just forget that you kissed me in the hallway.”

“i’m not willing to let you forget either,” he kissed her shoulder softly.

“and i don’t want to be just another notch on your belt,” she said quietly.

“you won’t be. i only slept with them because i thought i couldn’t have you,” his explanation not sounding good to even him.

“that’s so dumb, joon.”

“yeah. well. you’re not the first to point that out,” he sighed. “that’s kind of all seokjin could talk about today.”

she laughed.

“those other people don’t matter to me the way you do,” his hand draped over her legs, gripping her thigh lightly.

“show me,” she said quietly, looking at his hand on her.

he moved his hand up to her cheek and pressed a kiss to her lips again. she sighed when he deepened the kiss by parting her lips with his. she maneuvered herself to straddle him, her core pressing onto his jean-covered hardness.

he let himself fall back onto her mattress. his hands found themselves on the back of her thighs, holding her as he flipped them over before they caged her head. when she pulled back for air, he moved his lips to her neck. one hand moved itself to the hem of her shirt and up to caress the soft skin of her stomach. her own hands were pulling at his t-shirt. he sat up and pulled it off, throwing it somewhere behind him. he pulled her up to take her shirt and bra off, throwing them in the same direction. he kissed down her sternum and toward the waistband of her sleep shorts. he looked up at her through his eyelashes, lips hovering over her skin. she nodded, almost bashfully. he lifted himself so that he could slide her shorts and underwear down her legs.

he lifted one of her legs and placed it on his shoulder. he placed a kisses on her inner thigh before licking a stripe up her heat. she let a shuddering breath leave her lips as he continued tasting her. her hand found purchase in his hair as he pushed a finger into her. “joon,” she breathed out when he sucked on her clit and inserted a second finger.

he was spurred on by the sounds she was making as he continued his work. he felt her pulse around his fingers and her legs start to close against his head. he used his free hand to keep her thighs apart until she came. he lapped up her release as she came down from the high he put her in.

“god,” he breathed out as he pulled away. “you taste better than i imagined.”

she blushed, causing him to chuckle as he brought his face up to hers. he rubbed his thumb across the pink that decorated her cheeks before placing a sweet kiss to her lips. she, feeling brazen, deepened the kiss, tasting herself on his tongue. she ran her hands down his chest, stopping at his waistband.

he was almost painfully hard after eating her out that he was standing and shucking off his jeans and underwear in a quick movement. he paused before climbing back on the bed, “hang on,” he held a finger up before scurrying out of the room to his own.

he was back before she could formulate another thought. she shot him a questioning look causing him to hold up the foil packet in his hand. “i know you’re on birth control but…” he trailed off.

“can’t be too safe,” she giggled.

“nope. we can have babies later,” he said joining her on the bed again. she mentally put a pin in that comment for later.

he hissed at the sensitivity of himself as he rolled the condom over his length. he looked at her again in question. when she nodded, he lined himself up to her entrance and slowly pushed into her. he fought to keep his eyes open and on her face to make sure she is still comfortable. once he was fully sheathed, he leaned down and swallowed her in a deep kiss. she wrapped her legs around his waist. he pulled back a bit and rolled his hips into her, burying himself in her again.

“you feel so good,” he breathed in her ear. “and you’re taking me so well. just like i knew you could.”

she moaned his name and it quickly became his new favorite sound.

he continued his thrusting and praise until he felt her squeezing around him, causing him to groan.

“joon, i’m so close,” she whined, feeling the coil in her stomach tighten.

he reached a hand between their bodies and began rubbing her clit with his finger to help stimulate her to finish. her breathing became even more heavy and little whines escaped as she reached the peak. he followed shortly after, whispering her praises in her ear.

he collapsed on her and moaned as she ran her fingers through his hair in a comforting motion. they laid there for a few minutes, him still inside her, letting their breathing calm. he placed light kisses to her chest before pulling out, causing both of them to wince at the feeling.

she searched the ground for her underwear, suddenly feeling awkward about walking around without clothes. he watched her and chuckled. “you know there’s no one else here, right?”

she blushed as she found them and pulled them over her legs. “listen, it makes me feel more comfortable to have clothes on in the common areas of our home.”

“maybe we should try to change that,” he handed her his shirt.

“maybe we should,” she said as she left for the bathroom.

he shook his head and disposed of the filled condom in the trashcan next to her desk. he too pulled on his underwear and laid back in her bed. he was so thankful he finally confronted her about ignoring him and so elated that it led to this.

when she returned she practically jumped onto the bed next to him. “i don’t think i did it right,” he said slyly.

“what on earth are you talking about?”

“you’re walking way too easily,” he answered, causing her to laugh loudly.

“i should text jin,” he said after a moment.

“do not announce to the world that we just had sex, you are not akon.”

“wow, what a throwback reference,” he joked. “i won’t, by the way, but i should tell him that i finally did something.”

“yeah, same. but to jungkook and yoongi.” she thought for a moment. “i still can’t believe you were jealous of either of them. jungkook is literally like my child and yoongi so obviously has a thing for hobi.”

namjoon’s eyes widened. “obviously?! what are you talking about?”

“you truly are the most oblivious man in the world,” she laughed.

“apparently,” he said looking at her as she fished her phone from her nightstand.

“i say we just send a pic in the group chat and call it good,” she said.

“come here then,” he pulled her to him, grabbed her phone, and turned it to the camera. he pulled her in for a kiss on the mouth and snapped the picture. then he sent the photo with no context.

“well, that should get the point across,” she laughed, kissing him again.

it took all of maybe a minute before someone replied.

jimin: fucking finally yoongi: did you two just fuck? hobi: for fuck’s sake, yoongi!

“our friends truly have such a wide vocabulary,” she laughed.

“not everyone reads like a book a week you know,” he chastised, knowing full well that he did. their love for reading was one of the reasons he fell in love with her.

she looked at him with a smile. “so…” she trailed off.

“so, i think maybe we should talk,” he said quietly. she nodded. “i don’t want this to be just a one time thing.”

“me either,” she said, reaching for his hand.

“and i don’t want us to see other people,” he gripped her hand.

“me either,” she reassured him.

“i think we should just make it official then. we don’t have to label it if you don’t want to but we’ll definitely be exclusive.’

“i’m fine with labels if you are. it takes the guesswork out for other people.”

“you just want to call me your boyfriend,” he teased.

“maybe i want you to call me your girlfriend,” she teased back.

“maybe i want that too,” he kissed her sweetly.

#kim namjoon fic #namjoon smut #kim namjoon smut #rm smut #rm fic #bts fic #bts smut

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raybeansbooks · 1 year ago

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Finding Baba Yaga

Finding Baba Yaga: A Short Novel in Verse - Book in Verse Jane Yolen Published 2018 by Tordotcom

Released in 2018, Finding Baba Yaga: A Short Novel in Verse focuses on a young girl and her time with the Russian Fairy Tale Witch Baga Yaga; who is known to fly around in a mortar, lives in a home that walks around on chicken feet, and has a nose and teeth made of iron. Her being is ageless, both feared and revered in tales.

This tale focuses on a young girl named Natasha, who runs away from home; away from her controlling and harsh father, away from her dormant mother who doesn’t do anything to help. After a week of traveling on her own, Natasha discovers the home of the fairy tale witch Baga Yaga. Under her roof and tutelage, she learns how to take care of and speak up for herself.

This poetic retelling of Baga Yaga speaks to the audience it is written for… it speaks to teenagers with tough familiar relationships learning to express themselves and speak up for themselves and what they believe. We are not encouraging readers to run away and move in with the first old crone that doesn’t eat them but we are offering a chance at discovering one’s own power and encouraging others to find their own.

Jane Yolen’s novel is an excellent, poetic piece of literature within the category of poetry and novel-in-verse. Within an educational setting, this could be a great way to connect discussions on fantasy figures in culture(s) and the stories they hold and lessons they tell as well as a wider conversation on what poetry can be and is. Poetry can be a difficult unit for young writers and readers, learning how to pace and express themselves and interpret others. A novel in verse like this feels like an insightful in between for understanding. Like I mentioned, there could be a crossroads of poetry and folk tale discussion we could reach with a novel-in-verse/ piece of literature like this and it could hold a great place in understanding these genres/ subjects as well as hold a place in educating in a place or program like a workshop or classroom unit.

When I was in school, poetry was a very dividing time for me and other students. We might have been okay writing Hikus in elementary school or memorizing a poem or two in middle or high school… however, it was when we had to start writing our own pieces that things got intimidating and scary, for lack of a better term, and participating without choice in Poetry Out Loud was quite a draining experience. While I can understand where teachers are coming from in hosting these lessons, I wish we had more ebb and flow in regards to what we could do in this unit and how we could do it. Maybe we would have felt more able and willing to open up and express ourselves in this medium if we understood it more. Maybe if we mixed contemporary works into the mix things wouldn’t have been as intimidating and perhaps more personal and fun. Who knows? I do know I discovered my favorite poem to date in this chaos but also lost personal ability to invest in it though I am lucky enough to still recognize appreciation. In the end, I understand we don’t have to like every unit or lesson, that’s totally fine and valid.

- Ray

11/12/2023

Goodreads. (n.d.). Finding Baba Yaga: A short novel in verse. Goodreads. https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/39680799-finding-baba-yaga?ref=nav_sb_ss_1_12

Yolen, J. (2018). Finding Baba Yaga: A short novel in verse. Tor USA.

#book blog #books #ya #fiction #literature #poetry #novel in verse #jane yolen #baba yaga #witches #fairy tales #folk tales #mythology #finding baba yaga #ya lit #ya literature

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linhthuytran · 2 years ago

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10 Reasons Why I Don't Date: An Essay by Oikawa Tooru

Chap 1

Pairing: Iwaizumi Hajime x Oikawa Tooru, Kyoutani Kentarou x Yahaba Shigeru from Haikyuu

Word Count: 1k8

Genre: Fluff, Romantic, Comedy

Oikawa has been under stress lately due to the fact that his mom keeps pestering him about dating and the upcoming literature essay is impending. He decides to kill two birds with one stone: write an essay explaining why he doesn't date.

1. Reason 1: Cause I'm pretty

Oikawa Tooru is pretty. It's not an opinion, it's not a statement, it's not a declaration. It's a fact.

Oikawa Tooru knows he is pretty. He doesn't reason it as in researching his peers' beauty and then comparing himself to it. He doesn't recognize it after listening to an array of compliments from both his family members and the teachers. Nor does he realize it as a result from hearing whispers and gossips from both boys and girls in the hallway about his stunning visuals. He does all of those things, anyway, whether he wants or not, on a regular basis. But he already knew he was pretty before all of that. He felt that he was pretty, since he was knee high to a grasshopper. And it didn't take him until he could get love letters and chocolate boxes or bentos to confirm his belief was real. He already knew it.

To the contrary of popular beliefs, having a good-looking appearance does have cons. And the cons are not stupid as in his classmates guesses. It's not the stupid paradox of choice like their insentimental jokes: Finding a girl prettier than him would be impossible, or there are too many smoking hot girls fall for him, how could he make the best choice out of a myriad of options like that? Or in a scenario that he finally decides to be taken, there might be a civil girl war tearing Aoba Johsai into pieces, just like in Mean Girls. Though it does make some sense, Oikawa admits, but it is not the cons he is mentioning, nope, not at all.

It's not like he being a dick or a pick-me boy, pretending himself to be too good that it even turns out to be a problem. Being pretty, too pretty causes a handful of problems. Oikawa enjoys the attention, enjoys all the little precious hand-made gifts that his fans gave him, because he knows they care for him a lot, devoting time to him. His fans love him, that is for sure, but in the meantime he also feels like not him the true Oikawa Tooru is being loved, but more like the persona, handsome, good-at-everything Oikawa Tooru is being loved. None of his fans knows that he only has a soft spot for milk bread, and all of their confectionery gifts dive straight into his sister's stomach. None of his fans knows that he indeed has stage fright, always scared he would mess up on presentations, and that's why he works his ass off to perfect his studies, ultimately, has flying colors. None of his fans really knows him, and he knows that. None of his fans sees him for who he is, and that's fine. But sometimes, he really wishes that they can leave him alone after having an arduous day, so he can be moping by himself and therefore doesn't have to put on an act being blissfully happy. Sometimes, he wishes he had some friends at school to whine about too much homework or being scolded by a biased teacher. But none of those wishes can be true, since all the girls do is following him, begging for his attention and squealing over the smallest things that he achieved. But none of those wishes can be true, since all the boys do is being jealous of him or asking for his advice on how to win a girl's heart. He wishes he can shout at their faces when he needs to be alone or begs them to stop seeing him as if his face is the only thing human-like about him. He is a human, not a face. He has wants and needs, he has feelings and emotions, but none of those people around him gives a shit about that. They only pay attention to his face, and he doesn't even work hard to get it or something, he was born with it. He isn't treated like a normal student or a normal human being, he is treated like an idol or a Greek god, someone who is so perfect and to be worshiped. He wishes he could break all those bubbles, crush all their expectations, but he is so scared of driving them away. After all, they only stay because he is pretty.

Being pretty makes making true friends at school a really challenging task, not mentioning finding a lover. The only acquaintance who is at his age, and doesn't give two shits about his gorgeous face is his cousin, Yahaba Shigeru. This, therefore, makes Yahaba his only friend, and by default, his best friend, who he can whine and complain and talk to once in a while when he visits. That's why in Literature class, when Oikawa stumbles upon a real challenge for the first time in his academic life, his first instinct is to hop on a train to Yahaba's house and hopes for being saved.

But of course, like all his wishes, it is a fantasy. Aizawa sensei, his Literature teacher, continues his endless rant:

"And I know that all of you are not stupid, far from it, but I also know you guys are slackers, not even wants to pay attention or take notes in class. We have just finished learning about 'War and Peace', and I bet more than half of you guys here even bother to learn, not to mention remember the name of its author."

Oikawa tries his best to contain his high-pitched laugh, cause who won't know the author's name of this magnum opus? That is of course Ernest Hemingway, even though he vaguely remembers any fish mentioned in "War and Peace"(1). Even he could tell, who couldn't, right? And Oikawa isn't even close to being adept at social sciences and humanities, for your information.

"That's why for your final assignment, you guys don't have to write about it. You even hardly read the books, why bother sending me essays you copy for the people who really read and write? You can freely handpick the topic of your essay, as long as you guys write it by yourself. You can choose whatever you like or want to write about, and don't try to stuff yours with high-end jargons or exquisite words you steal from the thesaurus into your essay. It doesn't make any sense." Aizawa gives the whole class a clearly unamused, stoic look, and some shivers as they are being mentioned. Including Oikawa.

He especially gives a pale blond guy a piercing stare:

"Also, no curses are allowed in essays."

The blond guy, Bakugou, hisses under his breath:

"I know, damn it."

Aizawa, who seems weirdly pleased with himself, smirks. He wraps the lesson up:

"Well then I guess we can call it a day now. Remember, a helpful essay provides readers something worth-reading, worth finding out. The topic may pose a question, and the whole essay is a journey to figure out the answer. When I finally flip to the last page, reach the conclusion, I hope I can learn something new and worth it. I really look forward to seeing how you guys, nature science geeks, deal with it. Makes the essay journey enjoyable and satisfying, for both the driver and the followers. The deadline is 3 weeks from now."

The class is dismissed, there are people pouring out of their class into the hallway and heading towards the next class. Oikawa sighs, knowing clearly that Aizawa poses a real challenge, and he won't back down from it like the other times, far from it. He spends the rest of his day at school contemplating the palpable options, and comes home judging and weighing all of them. It isn't until when the dinner is finished, his mom receives an unusual call from her sister, Yahaba's mom, probably informing some breaking news. Oikawa is curious, though it does not take him lots of patience until his mom lets the cat out of the bag in an eccentric murmuring voice:

"Shigeru finally has gone out with that Kyotani boy from his volleyball club. And how come you can't even bring me someone home, Tooru, when you have the same breath-taking face just like me??? You better hurry up, cause I run out of things to compete with Shigeru's mom, damn it!!"

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to put two and two together when all conversations with Yahaba lately always featured this Kyotani "Mad-Dog" guy from the volleyball club. What takes Oikawa by surprise is that Yahaba invariably nags and curses and disses Kyotani like, on a minute basis, and Oikawa really doesn't recognize these behaviors as love language, or even romantic interests. But sensing the tension rising high, a premonition that his mom is about to hit the roof, Oikawa quickly extricates himself, dashing into his own room. He still hears his mom scolding through the door:

"You better bring somebody home, or explain to me by a goddamn Powerpoint Presentation why you don't date, Tooru."

He quietly closes the door, letting out a breath he doesn't realize he has been holding, and he shakes his head. Mom gets so tense and around the edge whenever his aunt and the sisters' competition is entailed. He never could have even a gist of it, since it never occurs between him and his sister. While roaming around his desk, all of a sudden, an ingenious idea pops up in his brain, and he quickly grasps the pen, jotting down in the papers:

"10 Reasons Why I Don't Date: An Essay by Oikawa Tooru"

He kind of considers changing the name of the author to Genius Tooru, since the minimum required page-length is 10, so yeah, 10 reasons. He keeps it as Oikawa Tooru, since sensei is right, you can't spoil the conclusion of the essay in its title.

Reason 1: Cause I'm pretty.

He stays until midnight explaining reason 1 in detail, and when he decides to finally hit the hay, he is so proud of himself. He reaches out his phone to set the alarm, decides not to answer the texts from Yahaba-now-is-dating-and-not-even-bothers-to-tell-him, and closes his eyes. Life is good, and being pretty is not that bad if it can even bring him a once-in-a-lifetime A+ in Literature.

Note:

The author of "War and Peace" is Lev Tolstoy, Oikawa gets mixed up with the author of "A Farewell to Arms" and "The Old Man and the Sea", Ernest Hemmingway.

English is not my mother tongue, and this is the first time I have written a fanfiction in English, so I figure there may be mistakes and it won’t come out as I expected. Any comments about my grammar or word choices will be appreciated. Thank you for reading!

#fanfic #haikyuu #iwaizumi x oikawa #oikawa fluff #kyotani x yahaba #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu oikawa #iwaizumi hajime #romcom

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mysteriouseggsbenedict · 1 year ago

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for the ask game - ♟Reynie Muldoon, 🚢 The Perilous Journey, ✈️ The Riddle of Ages

Hi Milk :)

Reynie Muldoon: do I see myself as a leader?

Sometimes, in some ways. I think I felt more like a leader last year when I was in my final year of undergrad because I was in the oldest year and I had roles that allowed me to work with younger students. Now that I'm in grad school, I'm not leading any projects or events or anything right now; I'm in the role of being inexperienced and learning.

The perilous journey: if I could travel to one place, where would it be?

The answer I always have on deck for this question is England. There are so many sites there that I want to visit, like Shakespeare's house, basically just all of the British literature significant locations, the museums there, the castles. But I also would really like to see the northern lights so I'd make a place like Iceland or Alaska my second choice.

The riddle of ages: where do I see myself in 5 years?

I try not to think too much about this or I will spiral and be depressed, but I will hopefully be a librarian. The thing that makes me depressed is my fear of being alone. So I hope I could live with a person and have found family. But I don't have any reason to believe that will happen, it's just a dream.

The most likely to be accurate vision is that I'll live alone and work my librarian job. I expect to like my work but the thing I'm worried about is companionship and feeling loved outside of my career.

#ask answered #sorry to be depressed on the last question #lmao

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misirosekisiro · 1 year ago

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The Silent Killer 1-2

เรื่องเจนผ่าน AI เหมือนทุกเรื่องช่วงนี้ ยังสนุกกับการทดลองเจนเรื่องแนวต่าง ๆ ไปเรื่อย ๆ อยู่ เรื่องนี้แจ้งก่อนว่าน่าจะติด 18G ถึงไม่ได้โหดแต่ก็มีฉากฆ่ากัน ใครไม่นิยมโปรดผ่านนะครับ

Chapter 1

Inside the dimly lit coffee shop, Dylan sat quietly at a table against the wall, sipping from his cup of cold brew, browsing through the pages of a worn paperback. His eyes darted back and forth between the words and the occasional movements around him – students chatting animatedly, laughter echoing off the old wooden walls, the faint whirring of laptop fans intertwined with clinking cups.

In these moments, Dylan felt strangely comforted, finding solace among familiar faces and unassuming routines despite being surrounded by people. He couldn’t help but feel like he belonged here, amidst the buzzing energy. It was during one such break in conversation when his attention was captured by a peculiar man entering the cafe.

He noticed the way the sunlight played upon the man's face as he made his way towards him; there was an air of mystery surrounding this stranger.

Something inside Dylan told him not to dismiss this chance encounter; perhaps it would lead somewhere interesting. With an easeful smile, the man approached Dylan's table and introduced himself. "Hey there," he said softly, drawing out the word 'hey'. "I don't think we've met before."

Dylan found himself caught off guard momentarily, trying to remember if he had seen this guy somewhere else before. "Ah… maybe? I can't quite place you either." He answered truthfully, genuinely curious now about this enigmatic individual.

The stranger leaned closer, smiling gently, studying Dylan intently. There was a magnetism to him - magnetic charisma, Dylan thought to himself, suddenly aware of how attractive the other person was. Without even thinking, he found himself asking, "So what brings you here?"

With a swiftness that surprised even Dylan, the response came quickly: "Books, actually!" The stranger laughed, displaying perfectly straight teeth beneath a set of full lips.

"Oh, just some casual browsing, really. But tell me, which one do you enjoy most? Are you more inclined toward classics or contemporary works?" The intriguing aura continued to swirl around him, capturing Dylan completely.

For the first time in weeks, he experienced a spark of excitement within him, awakening feelings long buried deep down.

Nodding in agreement, the stranger elaborated further, "Well, you see, I am usually fond of modern literature, though occasionally, I find myself engrossed in classical texts too. What about yourself? Do you prefer any particular genre?"

Dylan smiled slightly as he replied, "It depends on my mood, honestly.

Sometimes I crave a good classic tale filled with rich language and depth, whereas other times, I simply want a quick escape from reality with a fast-paced page turner. Why do you ask?"

The stranger gave a small nod, his voice becoming increasingly deeper and resonant as he spoke. "Perhaps because I sense your thirst for knowledge and adventure, Dylan." Pausing briefly, he added softly, "Apart from discussing our literary interests, do you care to join me later tonight for dinner?

We could continue our discussion over drinks or dessert. Perhaps I might be able to provide you with some recommendations based on your reading habits."

Dylan hesitated, feeling flattered yet uncertain about this strange proposition. Despite his reservations, curiosity got the better of him. Sensing an opportunity to expand his social circle, he agreed tentatively, "Alright, let's meet then.

When and where should we rendezvous?" The stranger paused briefly, contemplating his choice of words carefully. In a smooth tone, he responded confidently, "How about Tomorrow at eight o'clock outside the library? We shall proceed together afterward." This seemed agreeable enough to Dylan, who expressed gratitude and exchanged contact information. As the conversation continued, Dylan became more engaged, finding himself fascinated by this stranger's intellect and easygoing demeanor. He realized that spending the evening in his company held potential for friendship and intellectual growth alike.

"Oh how bad i am, we talk until now but we still not know each one name, I'm Dylan."

He said, introducing himself finally. He looked almost apologetic, but also excited, waiting to hear the answer. "I'm sorry! How remiss of me," the stranger exclaimed playfully, taking a sip of his own drink before replying, "My apologies, Dylan. My name is Adrian, pleased to make your acquaintance." There was something both earnest and teasing in Adrian's expression—a mix of sincerity and subtle humor that endeared him even more to Dylan.

As they talked, hours passed without notice, and soon enough, it was already late afternoon. Dylan glanced at his watch, realizing he needed to head home to prepare for work tomorrow. Reluctantly, he stood up from his seat, thanking Adrian profusely for the delightful conversation. "It was truly wonderful speaking with you, Adrian. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow."

Adrian grinned broadly, waving farewell as Dylan left the cozy confines of the coffee shop. Outside, the sun cast long shadows across the sidewalk, painting the world in golden tones. Dylan took a deep breath, savoring the last lingering traces of autumn in the crisp air.

As he walked briskly along the streets, his thoughts drifted back to Adrian.

Although he wasn't entirely sure why, he felt a growing anticipation for their planned rendezvous. Maybe it was merely because Adrian had piqued his interest with his diverse range of topics, his ability to hold a conversation effortlessly, or the undeniably strong connection they shared. Whatever the reason, he knew it wouldn't hurt to spend more time getting to know him. The prospect of discovering more about this eloquent stranger appealed greatly to Dylan, offering the promise of adventure and companionship he so desperately sought.

Reaching the corner near his apartment building, he slowed his pace, relishing the last few minutes spent daydreaming about Adrian. Climbing the stairs leading to his modest abode, he mentally prepared himself for another night spent alone, indulging in the memories of their remarkable conversation. Yet no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't suppress the anticipation brewing within him for their rendezvous later on.

Arriving at his doorstep, Dylan slipped his key into the lock, opening it to find a surprising silence greeting him.

Typically, he expected to be welcomed by the humming noise of his refrigerator or the low murmur of his television from the living room. However, today, nothing stirred within his apartment save for the ticking clock on his bedroom wall. Glancing down at his phone, he saw that it was well past midnight. Thoughts of Adrian danced through his mind once more, igniting a mixture of nervous anticipation and sheer excitement.

Pushing aside his unease, Dylan decided to settle down for the night.

His anticipation for their date grew stronger, filling him with eagerness for what lay ahead. Before retiring to sleep, however, he reached for his laptop, pulling up Google Maps to double-check the directions to the library. Scrolling through the map, he noted several landmarks and familiar roads, memorizing them in case he got lost along the way. Satisfied with his preparations, he powered down his computer, ready to rest and dream of Adrian until morning arrived.

Morning broke bright and clear, promising a beautiful day ahead.

Dylan awoke early, showered, dressed sharply, and proceeded to put on a layer of cologne, hoping to impress Adrian. Leaving his apartment, he took stock of his surroundings – it appeared that the entire city was alive with activity. People were streaming towards business districts, catching public transportation, and going about their daily routine. On the horizon, the library tower loomed majestic against the blue sky, standing tall as a symbol of education and wisdom. With a surge of determination, Dylan hastened his steps towards their appointed destination.

Along the journey, he admired the grand architecture adorned in various styles, reflecting the city's history. The bustling urban landscape buzzed with energy and purpose, inspiring optimism within him. As he approached the imposing stone edifice known as the university library, he noticed a figure lounging idly against the pillar, a pair of slender legs crossed neatly. Recognition dawned upon him immediately, for this must indeed be Adrian. He strode forward with confidence, eager to embrace this unique experience awaiting him.

As he drew closer, he observed Adrian watching passersby intently, a slight smile playing on his lips as if silently musing over human nature. Greeted by an amiable grin, Dylan extended his hand in introduction, "Hello there, Adrian!"

Smiling warmly, Adrian accepted the gesture, gripping firmly as they shook hands. "Good morning, Dylan! It's nice to finally meet you properly." Their palms remained locked for a moment longer than necessary, holding onto each other's gaze with mutual curiosity. "Thank you for agreeing to meet here," Dylan began, breaking the spell.

Adrian returned his attention to the surrounding environment, gesturing expansively, "Not at all, dear friend! These environs serve as a perfect setting for our little tête-à-tête.

Dylan commented, looking around appreciatively. The library, situated amidst ancient trees and serene courtyards, boasted an atmosphere ripe for intellectual exploration. As they entered, their footsteps echoed off the high ceilings adorned with ornate chandeliers. Books lined countless shelves, forming seemingly endless rows of knowledge. The smell of old paper and leather bound volumes permeated the air, imbuing the space with an almost magical quality.

Dylan led the way to the main entrance, allowing the coolness of the interior to sweep away the lingering heat of the outdoors. Together, they navigated the sprawling labyrinth of shelved literature, choosing works that caught their eye along the way. From philosophy to poetry, fiction to psychology, the breadth of subjects tantalized their imaginations, sparking animated debates and discussions.

Over hours, they covered everything from the existential crisis of modern man to the role of technology in contemporary culture. While most people would consider such discourse banal, it provided solace for two individuals starving for meaningful connections.

Their minds fed, bodies craved sustenance; thus, the duo ventured forth to explore food options available within the vicinity. Upon entering a quaint eatery nearby, they found themselves absorbed by its rustic charm, complete with weathered wood floors and warm lighting illuminating exposed brickwork.

A comforting aroma of freshly ground coffee swirled in the air, adding a pleasant touch to the ambiance. Seated together at a table, they browsed the menu while sipping steaming cups of rich espresso. Engrossed in discussion about the impact of social media on personal identity, they ordered dishes reflecting their contrasting culinary preferences - Dylan opted for a hearty vegetarian soup accompanied by whole wheat crackers, whereas Adrian chose a platter featuring juicy burgers served alongside crunchy fries.

Both settled into comfortable positions, leaning slightly toward one another to better understand the nuances of every point made during their debate.

In between bites, they occasionally paused to glance at each other, sharing moments of understanding that transcended the mundane. For Dylan, it was a revelatory encounter, unveiling layers previously concealed beneath his polished exterior. In turn, Adrian in depth he just laugh inside, how his prey follow his guide.

No emotion, no attachment. Just games, toying like puppet master with strings. After dinner, walking together back to Dylan’s place, a soft drizzle started falling from gray skies above, creating a romantic atmosphere. Hand in hand, the couple strolled under the canopy of trees surrounding the charming neighborhood, feeling at ease, not quite knowing what brought them here tonight, yet strangely connected despite their differences.

Back at Dylan's place, the sensuous vibe continued to intensify.

Chapter 2

As the rain pelted against the windowpane outside, Dylan's skin tingled with awareness and arousal. This was his first time hosting someone at his home, let alone inviting a mysterious stranger. Despite his nerves, the sexual chemistry between them had grown increasingly intense since they left the restaurant earlier that evening. Now, sitting close enough to feel the warmth radiating from Adrian's body, Dylan struggled to maintain composure. How could something so wrong be so right?

Dylan wondered, brushing a tendril of hair behind his ear. His breath hitched when Adrian leaned closer, placing a gentle kiss on his cheekbone, followed by a whispered endearing remark. The warmth of Adrian's lips against his sensitive skin sent tremors through Dylan's core, making him weak in the knees. Unbeknownst to either party, the intensity of their connection seemed destined to spiral further beyond control.

Slowly, tender fingers caressed Dylan's face, eliciting involuntary moans from deep within his throat. As Adrian pressed closer still, their mouths sought one another, hungry for release. Lips entwined passionately, tongues tangled in a dance only heightening the desire coursing through both veins. Emboldened by this newfound freedom, they shifted closer still—their combined strength now a driving force.

Fingers deftly undid buttons and zippers, yielding smooth, bare flesh teasingly revealed. Each subtle motion spoke volumes about the hunger building between them. Gasping, they pulled apart briefly, drawing a line of saliva between their mouths. Drenched in raw, animalistic lust, Dylan surrendered himself fully to the unknown, trusting blindly in Adrian's expertise.

"Oh God, I want you..." he breathed, voice wavering as he succumbed entirely to his desires.

Adrian smiled, nodding encouragement, pressing deeper kisses down Dylan's neck until reaching the valley between his shoulder blades. He ran his tongue slowly across the skin, causing goosebumps to rise in response.

Moans escaped Dylan's lips involuntarily as the pleasure coursed through his body. Unable to hold back any longer, he reached out, grasping Adrian tightly. They both fell to the floor in sheer ecstasy, losing themselves completely in each other's arms.

Dylan clung tightly to Adrian, feeling like he was floating, carried away by the waves of pleasure crashing over him. He felt tears streaming down his face, but whether they were born of joy or sorrow, he couldn't tell. All he knew was that this was unlike anything he had ever experienced before.

Lost in the moment, Dylan hardly realized where they were anymore – trapped in a vortex of desire and oblivion. Adrian too was consumed by their shared passion, relishing in the fact that he held total sway over his prey.

His powerful frame moved confidently with grace, every movement calculated to evoke pure delight. Shifting between delicate and aggressive caresses, he ensnared Dylan even further into his web of intrigue. There was no question, no doubt; nothing mattered except giving and receiving pleasure, immersing themselves in the eroticism that enveloped them.

With renewed vigor, Dylan grabbed onto Adrian's head, pulling him closer for a scorching kiss that ignited flames within his very soul.

Adrian reciprocated eagerly, devouring Dylan's lips greedily, showing no signs of restraint. Their lips danced wildly, their teeth clicking in harmony, fueling the fire raging between them.

As if lost in the euphoria of this moment, neither thought of consequences nor stopped to ask questions about each other's past. It was as though the world outside did not exist, as their passions became intertwined, merging inextricably with one another.

Sweaty palms met feverish skin, sending jolts of electricity surging through both bodies. Nails scratched gently against muscular shoulders, marking their claim upon one another. Every fiber of being yearned to consume the other wholly, driven by an insatiable appetite for fulfillment.

Breathing heavily, Dylan began to rock back and forth, grinding his groin against Adrian's. Their rhythm matched perfectly, pushing them both towards the edge of ecstasy.

Feeling powerless yet utterly satisfied by Adrian's dominance, Dylan closed his eyes, embracing the sensation sweeping through his entire being. His hands wandered upwards along Adrian's sculpted torso, marveling at the hard planes of his abdomen and the play of muscles flexing beneath his palm.

The room echoed with the sounds of wet, passionate gasps mixed with low, husky murmurs. Adrian, ever in control, took charge of guiding their fervent exploration of one another's bodies. With firm hands, he traced exquisite patterns on Dylan's chest, making sure to pay attention to those sensitive areas that drove him wild. Meanwhile, Dylan allowed himself to simply indulge in the pleasure, allowing Adrian to dictate the pace and intensity of their encounter.

After a while of resting in each other arms. Adrian slip off the bed.

He stood facing Dylan, looking deeply into his eyes. "Stay strong," he said quietly, before turning around, removing his clothes piece by piece. His body gleamed with well-defined muscle, evidence of his dedication to fitness. Stripped down to just briefs, he returned to stand beside Dylan, offering him a glass of water. Dylan drained the glass, then set it aside. Closing his eyes, he listened intently to the beat of his own pulse. When he opened them again, Adrian was already waiting expectantly.

His gaze bore into Dylan, conveying a sense of possessiveness that both frightened and excited him.

Desire burned hotter than ever before as Adrian slowly approached Dylan, his movements impossibly fluid. Taking care not to disturb the sheets, he crawled seductively over Dylan's prone form, slithering his way up the contours of his partner's muscular physique.

His hands caressed and massaged every curve, honoring each dip and swell of Dylan's flesh. His touch was slow and deliberate, setting a tantalizing tempo that made Dylan's heart race faster.

With growing excitement, Dylan raised his arms, welcoming Adrian closer. As their skin touched, sparks flew once more, reigniting the fires of desire within them both. Dylan threw caution to the wind, opening himself up completely to whatever lay ahead.

But thing not go as Dylan thought, Adrian both hands was draw on his skin, form the chest up to his bare neck. then his touch turn to warp... his hand warp around Dylan's neck. the warp just tight and tighten until it's grip of death.

Forgetting all the lustful moments they enjoyed earlier, fear flooded Dylan's system, numbing everything else - including reason. His heart raced frantically, trying to break free from what he perceived as impending doom. In a panicked bid to escape, he tried to push Adrian away, flailing helplessly under his suffocating grasp. But Adrian remained unfazed, holding on tighter, his face unreadable as his sinister intent grew clearer by the second.

Time seemed to slow down, each tick of the clock becoming deafeningly loud in Dylan's ears. Panic seized him as comprehension dawned upon him. No, this wasn't supposed to happen! He wanted to scream, but his vocal cords refused to cooperate.

A wave of anger coursed through Dylan as adrenaline fueled his determination to fight back. Summoning every ounce of energy he possessed, he attempted to buck against Adrian's iron grip. But his efforts proved futile as his struggling was easily quashed.

Feeling hopeless and desperate, he looked directly into Adrian's penetrating stare. Something cold and dangerous radiated from Adrian’s gaze, almost as if he could see right through Dylan’s very soul. Paralyzed by terror, he found himself unable to look away from the piercing blue eyes of his captor. Dylan struggled to process the sudden change in circumstances, torn between horror and disbelief. How could things take such a drastic turn? Where had it gone wrong?

#identity theft #steal clothes #stolen identity #clothes stolen #gay #clothes swap #identity swap

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