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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 · 4 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 · 6 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 · 6 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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headlinxr · 22 days ago

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𝐡𝐢𝐦 ─── 𝐣𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠-𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤

SYNOPSIS ! Jeon Jung-kook is your new literature teacher. As the class's top student in that subject, you have to make a good impression on him. But you do more than that.

GENRE. teacher x student, teacher's pet, forbidden relationship, non idol!, au, f!reader

WARNINGS. reader is younger than Jung-kook, slight smut.

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

The classroom door opened with a creak that shattered the stillness, and a murmur slithered among the students like the prelude to something unexpected. A young man crossed the threshold with a posture that radiated confidence, accompanied by dark eyes that seemed to guard ancient secrets, as if he could decipher the most intricate enigmas with just a glance. He was Professor Jeon Jung-kook, the new literature teacher, and his arrival transformed the air in the room into something almost palpable, thick with expectation.

From the moment he placed his briefcase on the desk, his presence filled the space with a unique magnetism: A harmonious blend of authority and closeness that only the most charismatic spirits possess.

—Good morning, class— he greeted with a deep voice, with a musicality that evoked the rhythm of a well-composed sonnet. —My name is Jeon Jung-kook, and together we will explore what literature has to teach Not just as an academic discipline, but as a mirror to understand ourselves—

His words were not mere formalities; each syllable seemed chiseled with intention, like a chisel sculpting the marble of a statue. For you, that initial greeting resonated like a tacit promise: Those classes would not be a monotonous repetition of theories and grammatical structures. They would be intrepid journeys into the depths of the human condition, expeditions to the far reaches of emotions and reason.

As the weeks went by, Jung-kook confirmed that he was much more than a conventional teacher. His lessons metamorphosed into existential dialogues, into debates laden with meaning that dissected the nature of being, the inexorability of decisions, and the eternal struggle between light and shadow that resides within each individual.

—A hero is not the one who defeats the dragon— he stated one day, as his gaze swept over the students —but the one who confronts their own darkness, the one that lies in the deepest recesses of their soul—

Those words were not mere reflections; they were arrows precisely aimed at the heart of each student. For some, they provoked admiration; for others, discomfort. For you, they were a revelation.

You had always been the outstanding student, the one who offered impeccable answers and outstanding projects. But your academic success was a fortress built to isolate you, a refuge where your most intimate thoughts remained inaccessible. Jung-kook, however, seemed to have an unsettling ability to read between the lines, not only in the texts they analyzed but also in the pauses and hesitations of your responses.

One rainy afternoon, while discussing "Nausea" by Sartre, his words emerged as a gentle yet unavoidable challenge:

—And you, (Y/N), do you think the choices we make define us or, rather, strip us bare before the truth of who we are?—

The classroom fell into an expectant silence. The question was not just philosophical; it was personal, as if he had glimpsed something beyond the facade she displayed. You felt that Jung-kook's gaze pierced through you, not with judgment, but with a sincere invitation to be authentic.

You hesitated, carefully choosing each word, not because you didn't know how to respond, but because you understood that honesty requires courage.

—I think... I think our choices are like mirrors— you murmured finally, with a trembling but firm voice. —They don't transform us, but they reflect what we have been all along, even the parts we refuse to look at—

Jung-kook smiled faintly, a barely perceptible curve on his lips that seemed to contain the approval and respect that your words had inspired in him.

From that day on, something in you changed. The walls that had protected you for years began to crumble, revealing a torrent of thoughts and emotions you had never shared before. Jung-kook's classes became a kind of sanctuary, a space where I could speak without fear, where my ideas were listened to with the same attention one gives to studying a complex poem.

For his part, Jung-kook also revealed glimpses of his own vulnerability in his teachings. His literary interpretations were laden with personal nuances, as if the demons tormenting Dostoevsky's or Kafka's characters were reflections of his own internal struggle.

—The great authors— he said one day, while holding a worn copy of "The Brothers Karamazov," do not write to give us answers, but to show us that our questions are universal. The demons in their pages are ours, and confronting them is the price of our freedom—

For you, those words were a revelation. Jung-kook was not just a teacher; he was a beacon in the fog, a guide to unexplored territories of your mind and spirit. Between literary quotes and metaphors laden with meaning, the connection between them deepened, not as a romantic bond, but as an intellectual and emotional dance where both learned and transformed.

So , the classroom ceased to be just a physical space and became a theater of ideas, a place where literature was not only studied but lived, felt, and confronted as the mirror that reflects who we are and who we could become.

Time, in Jung-kook's classes, did not follow a straight line, nor did it adhere to the conventions of the clock. Its passage was a dance of smooth glides, like a current that bifurcates and loses itself among the shadows. What began as an orderly analysis of literature soon dissolved into abstractions that seemed to transcend the boundaries of the classroom. Between the words of a Rilke poem or the contradictions of a Camus essay, a microcosm was woven where language was no longer just heard, but felt on the skin, like a vibration that coursed through every corner of his being. Jung-kook spoke with the certainty of someone who knows that literature is not a dead art, but an immense and pulsating river that flows between bodies and minds, pushing towards deeper waters, towards what lies hidden beneath the surface. And you swam in those waters with a skill you seemed unaware of, diving deeper than anyone into the depths of that ocean of words.

Over time, Jung-kook's praises became sharper, more specific, as if each word that left his lips were a flash of light revealing what only he could see.

—You have a unique sensitivity to grasp what others leave in the shadows of a text— he told you one afternoon, after an analysis of "The Stranger” —It's as if you could hear what remains in the silence between the words—

His words fell upon you like petals swirling in the air before gently settling on your soul, each one released with a precision that was not casual. There was something in his tone that suggested a deep truth, a sincerity that surpassed the empty and fleeting compliments he threw at the rest of the class. You began to feel that you sought his attention more and more frequently, like a gravitational force that irresistibly attracted you, his eyes taking an extra moment to focus on you, as if everything in the classroom fell silent to allow time to stop in that brief but immense exchange of glances.

At first, you interpreted those moments as mere recognition of your academic potential. Jung-kook was an exceptional mentor, the kind of person who saw what others couldn't or dared not perceive. You felt honored, even grateful, for that selective attention, as if you were being admitted to a world reserved only for those who managed to cross the threshold of deep understanding. However, soon, cracks began to appear, fine, barely perceptible, but enough to suggest that something else was brewing in the air.

His comments, always masked under the guise of academic interest, began to take on a different weight, as if a whisper laden with hidden intentions slipped between the words.

—The way you write... There's something in it that touches on the intimate, the visceral— he told you one day, handing you an essay he had graded. Jung-kook's fingers brushed briefly against yours as he handed your the paper, a contact as fleeting as lightning, but it left a palpable warmth in the air, a spark you didn't know how to extinguish.

Then came the messages, those that slipped in during the late hours of the night, when everyone was immersed in the silence of darkness. At first, they seemed innocent, simple reminders about readings or literary reflections that extended the boundaries of the class beyond the classroom. But over time, the tone began to change, each word seemed to acquire a weight that transcended the academic.

—I read your analysis on Baudelaire again tonight. The way you captured the melancholy in his work... It's as if you could feel the pain of their soul. I am impressed by the way your soul understands suffering in a unique way—

They were words that came when the world seemed to be asleep, imbued with a closeness, a subtle but undeniable touch, that had nothing to do with a teacher and his student. You tried to convince yourself that his thoughts were just misinterpretations, but Jung-kook's words slipped between the lines, like an unspoken poem, inviting you to read beyond the obvious.

And then there was his presence. There was something about Jung-kook that transcended the physical, as if his body were imbued with an energy that surrounded you, that attracted you. His gestures, that subtle inclination when he listened, his hands drawing circles in the air with invisible ideas, his voice, capable of sliding from the firmness of a paternal advice to the silky whisper of a secret shared in the shadows. You began to notice details that had previously been indifferent to you: The curve of his jaw when he turned his head, the glint in his eyes when he spoke passionately about some author, the way his smile, though rare, seemed to contain entire, infinite universes, waiting to be deciphered.

One day, while the rain softly tapped on the windows of the empty classroom, Jung-kook approached you after class, his presence enveloping the air around him.

—Have you noticed that the most talented people are often the loneliest?— he said, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that seemed to pierce through you, as if he could see something inside you that you yourself did not yet understand.

You felt your heart beating harder, a rhythmic thump vibrating in your chest, as if that phrase touched a hidden fiber of your being.

—Maybe— you replied, trying to stay calm, although your voice betrayed a slight tremor. —But solitude, sometimes, is as much a refuge as it is a curse, isn't it?—

Jung-kook smiled, and that smile slowly stretched, like a curve containing thousands of unspoken meanings.

—It is a truth that few come to understand— he said, and his hand lightly rested on the back of the chair next to yours, coming close enough for the scent of his cologne, subtle yet penetrating, to reach your senses.

It was at that moment when you realized something you had tried to deny, something that had always been there, beneath the surface: How attractive Jung-kook was. Not just for his appearance, which was undeniable, but for the way each of his gestures, every word, every glance, seemed calculated to get you tangled up, to draw you into an abyss from which you didn't know whether you wanted to escape or plunge even deeper.

Your attraction began as a whisper, an ephemeral thought that could have easily dissolved. But over time, that whisper transformed into a persistent echo, resonating every time he entered the room. In your dreams, his face blended with verses you had never read, and his voice became a hypnotic, almost dreamlike song that called to you from the depths of his being.

However, alongside that growing fascination, a question arose that she couldn't shake: How sincere was his interest? Were you really special to him, or just another piece in a game that Jung-kook mastered with the skill of a violinist playing the strings of your emotions?

The classes continued, but now everything had a different hue, a latent tension that permeated every word, every gesture. Jung-kook's teachings were no longer simple lessons, but enigmas you felt compelled to solve, metaphors of a game from which you didn't know whether to escape or let yourself be caught.

As your confidence grew, a subtle shadow was woven into your soul, but increasingly heavier. At first, it was just a delicate feeling, like the breeze that brushes the skin on a summer afternoon, a whisper telling you that there was something unique in your relationship with Jung-kook. He, with his impeccable presence and calculated words, convinced you that there was something special between you, something that went beyond the relationship between a teacher and his student. He spoke to you as if you were the only one capable of understanding his thoughts, as if you were the only one who understood his visions of life and literature. Every word Jung-kook said seemed to open new doors for you, revealing secrets you didn't know existed.Your mind, once curious but with clear boundaries, began to merge with the ideas he shared, as if each one were a point of light in a dark labyrinth to which only he had the key.

The way he looked at you, with that intensity that never faded, made you feel as if the rest of the world were irrelevant, as if its existence were reduced to those moments when he paid attention to you. Each compliment, each comment, seemed to reinforce that feeling: —You are different, (Y/N), you are special. No one else has this ability to see what you see, to feel what you feel. You are unique— He spoke with a softness that was almost dangerous, like the song of a serpent luring its prey before devouring it.

The feeling of being above everyone else intoxicated you. She was so used to hearing those words that they became ingrained in your mind, making you feel as if you were floating, disconnected from everything else. Your friends began to seem distant to you, their voices monotonous and boring compared to the passion with which Jung-kook spoke, the depth he offered you.

In fact, you started to isolate yourself without even realizing it. The messages that used to make You smile now seemed to be your only source of comfort. —Your analysis on Sartre was brilliant, (Y/N). I see something in you that I don't see in anyone else. That ability you have to get to the bottom of every thought, to unravel what hides in the darkness. You have a mind that few can follow— Each word, each praise was a dose that kept you bound, as if somehow you could no longer live without their approval, without that constant validation of their superiority.

The voices of your friends, those that had once made you laugh, began to lose relevance. Their laughter, their trivial conversations, no longer seemed capable of filling the void that Jung-kook had left inside you. His messages, the long talks after class, became the only truth that inhabited your mind. Even your family, which had once been your refuge, became a distant echo. Family dinners, outings with friends, faded away like scattered clouds. Jung-kook needed you for something greater, and that consumed you in a way you couldn't even understand. It was as if the very air you breathed depended on him.

Manipulation, always disguised as affection, admiration, genuine interest, was an invisible fabric that surrounded you more and more. He showed you the world as if it were a closed box, only showing you what he wanted you to see. Every time you perceived something that didn't add up, some gesture or word that made you doubt, Jung-kook made sure to silence that inner voice. —What you felt is not real. Why doubt me, when I only want the best for you?— His voice slid over your thoughts like a slow poison, dragging you into an uncertainty that prevented you from trusting your own instincts. Was it really your intuition guiding your emotions, or were they just fantasies fueled by the need to be seen and understood by him?

The power Jung-kook had over you did not lie solely in his knowledge or his position as a teacher, but in his ability to manipulate your reality. Like an artist sculpting a perfect marble statue, Jung-kook shaped your mind, molding it to depend on him, so you couldn't see beyond his influence. His physical contact, his words, his looks, everything had a purpose: To make you doubt, to make you want more, always more. When their fingers brushed against each other, when their gaze became more penetrating, you felt the space between you become unbreathable, a tension that made you fear and desire with equal intensity.

Sometimes, you find yourself looking for signs in every gesture of his. Was he really that worried about you, or was there something more behind those eyes that seemed to read your soul? The uncertainty grew within you, but there was always something in his voice, a tone of absolute certainty, that disarmed you. —You have to understand that the world doesn't always see what you see.You have to understand that the world doesn't always see what you see. But I see it. I see what is in you, what no one else can see. You are unique, (Y/N), and that attracts me— Each phrase, each compliment, seemed like a rope tied around your neck, and at the same time, a drug I couldn't stop consuming.

It was impossible to escape. The emotional dependence you felt towards him became increasingly urgent, like a fire you couldn't extinguish. The more you saw him, the more you needed him. The more you needed him, the more you desired him. And Jung-kook knew it. He played with you like a lover with his prey, sometimes gently, sometimes with a firmness that destabilized you, always returning to you like the wind returns to its predestined direction.

Every time he looked at you that way, as if he were stripping you of your layers, you felt the world fade away. The multitude of voices that used to surround you, the advice from your friends, the warnings from your family, faded away. Only he remained, the central figure that revolved around your existence, guiding you, manipulating you, shaping you in his image. And you, like a puppet that still doesn't know it's tied up, let yourself be carried away, without questioning, without thinking. Because deep down, there was a part of you that no longer wanted to escape. There was something unspeakable in that game. Something that attracted you like a magnet.

The class had come to an end, but the air was still charged with something that (Y/N) couldn't identify, something that floated in every corner of the classroom, as if Jung-kook's words had seeped into the walls. While the other students gathered their things and left in opposite directions, you remained there, as if suspended in a moment you didn't want to end, like a fallen leaf clinging to the tree before surrendering to the final fall.

Jung-kook, standing next to the desk, loomed as a dominant presence, almost a monolith of silence that expanded throughout the classroom. His eyes, dark and deep as unfathomable abysses, found you instantly, trapping you in his gaze with the force of an irrevocable destiny. No words were needed. With just a slight raising of an eyebrow, so subtle it seemed like an invisible caress, his gesture pierced your soul like a poisoned arrow, awakening something within you. A tiny, insidious fire ignited in his chest, a spark of hidden desire but as bright and overwhelming as the full moon illuminating the clear sky of an endless night.

—(Y/N), stay a moment after class…— he said, his voice low and soft, but with a gravitational weight that trapped you and made it impossible to ignore. The words floated in the air, dense as an invisible fog, laden with something that transcended the academic. In that instant, the world seemed to stop. The voices of the other students, the murmurs in the hallways, even the monotonous buzzing of the fluorescent lights, all vanished in an almost mystical sigh. The only sound that remained was the rapid beating of your heart, echoing in your ears with the force of an unspoken truth. Should this be a simple request for an academic topic? Maybe yes, but something in the cadence of his voice, in the way he wrapped you with each word, told you that there was much more behind that invitation, something that moved in the shadows, lurking and tempting.

A simple nod of his head was enough for you to agree, almost without thinking. you nodded, slowly and deliberately, and in that instant, a heavy silence settled over you, like a warm and dense blanket. You couldn't help it. The way his eyes looked at you, that unyielding intensity, attracted you with a force you couldn't rationalize, much less resist. Jung-kook was a magnetic man, not only for his physical presence but for the way he moved, for the cadence of his voice, so deep and fluid, like a river of words that swept you into its current, leaving you lost in the whirlwind of your desire. He was a soft poison, almost imperceptible, that slid through your veins, carrying you away without mercy.

As the other students dispersed, the classroom slowly emptied, leaving a tense calm in the air, like the stillness before a storm. The echo of footsteps faded down the hallway, leaving only the dense silence of his presence. Jung-kook didn't move, his eyes remained fixed on you, unyielding. You felt the space between you narrow, as if the classroom walls were slowly closing in, trapping you in the invisible web he had woven around himself. A shiver ran through you. You felt vulnerable, like a flower yet to bloom, waiting for the sun to give it permission to unfold its deepest splendor. The anxiety that used to keep you on edge melted into something new, something strange and tempting: An anticipation that coursed through your skin, from the tips of your fingers to the depths of your being.

The clock, cruel in its advance, marked the time with the precision of an executioner. When the door finally closed, the classroom was enveloped in an almost palpable stillness, the air charged with an electric tension that could be felt on the skin, as if each breath were a latent threat. Jung-kook took a step towards you, his movements measured and calculated with the precision of a hunter approaching his prey, but without haste. As if time were at his feet, and not the other way around.

—Does it bother you to stay a few more minutes?— I just want to talk about your latest essay—he said, and although his words were rational, his tone, soft and grave, carried a barely contained sensuality, like a taut string, about to snap

A sigh escaped your lips. You tried to smile, but you knew that expression couldn't hide what was overflowing in your chest. His closeness enveloped you like a thick fog, like a tide that swept you away without remedy. It wasn't just his body that occupied the space; it was something intangible, something that passed through his gestures, his fixed gaze, that confidence with which he moved. Each word he uttered was an invitation to the abyss, a whisper laden with unspoken promises. His gaze, deep and serene, never stopped searching for yours, trapping you in a game from which you neither could nor wanted to escape.

—Of course, professor— you murmured, your voice lower than usual, as if you didn't want your words to escape your mouth. They were more a sigh, an unquestioning acceptance, a permission given without reservation. Upon saying it, you felt a little more vulnerable, as if an invisible thread tied you to him, leaving you in the web of his own desire, a desire that now felt as clear as water, but that you still tried to suppress.

Jung-kook took another step, getting closer, so close that you could feel the heat of his body, so palpable that it almost hurt. A subtle scent of men's cologne, something more, something indefinable, filled your nose, enveloping your senses, making your breath heavier, more conscious. You could hear the beats of your own accelerated heart, as if you were on the edge of a precipice, ready to fall into the vastness of the forbidden.

—The essay…— he said, now with an even deeper, denser voice, laden with an intention you couldn't ignore. It's... Excellent, (Y/N). But I know you have much more to offer. I see that spark in you. That... Depth. Not everyone has that— his voice slipped softly, like a warm river surrounding you, caressing your ear with the promise of something much greater, something you couldn't avoid, nor wanted to avoid.

His closeness became intoxicating, a constant pressure that made it hard to breathe easily. Each word he spoke, each movement, became a song, a melody that resonated in your chest. Each phrase from Jung-kook seemed like a promise, a promise of something beyond the classrooms, something that couldn't be named, but that touched You with a breathtaking certainty. Something forbidden.

—I think you are more perceptive than you realize, (Y/N). Not everyone can grasp what you understand... What you see in the texts, in the nuances that others overlook. Have you noticed that?— he asked, his tone seductive and soft, each word woven with the intention of disarming you, making you succumb to the trap he had set without your knowledge.

You wanted to respond, but your words got stuck in your throat, choked by the intensity of his presence. The sound of your ragged breathing joined theirs, marking the rhythm of something that seemed inevitable. The beats of his heart echoed like drums in your ears, and although your mind tried to rebel, your body desired it without remission. The distance between the two of you was becoming increasingly dangerous, every second more explosive.

Jung-kook leaned towards you, the air between them charged with a tension so palpable that it seemed any movement could shatter that delicate balance. His face was just a few centimeters from yours, and his warm breath caressed your skin, like a wordless promise.

—You have no idea how special you are, (Y/N)— he murmured, and that softness, that whisper, completely disarmed you, leaving you defenseless before him.

Time seemed to stand still in that moment, as if the entire world were fading away around them. The classroom, the chairs, the desk, everything disappeared, and only he and you remained, trapped in an atmosphere laden with unspoken promises. The line between academic admiration and something much deeper blurred, as if everything in his being screamed that this was much more than a mere meeting of minds. It was a meeting of souls, and neither of them could leave there without something having been transformed forever.

You didn't know if your body had reacted first, if your thoughts had overflowed at his proximity, but what you did know was that you couldn't go back. You could no longer escape the gravity that kept you bound to him, that invisible force that drew you in mercilessly, without compassion, as if fate itself dictated that there was no turning back.

Without warning, as if time itself were swept away by a whirlwind of primal instincts, Jung-kook drew You towards him with an unstoppable force, a firmness that whispered both protection and possession. It was an electric contact, a palpable tension, like the crossing of two worlds destined to collide, a fusion of contained desires and a need so visceral that it overflowed the limits of reason. In that suspended moment, their bodies drew closer with frantic urgency, as if the entire universe had stopped, holding its breath before the magnitude of the moment. The air, thick and laden with expectations, became dense between them, like a forbidden perfume that intoxicates the senses.

Their lips, barely a whisper apart, met in a kiss so intense that it seemed to transcend the physical realm. It was an incendiary touch, an explosion of repressed passions, as if everything they had desired, everything they had feared and longed for, was unleashed in a single eruption. The kiss, voracious and unrestrained, swept away any trace of doubt, overflowing the boundaries of decency and sanity. A fierce kiss that spoke without words, that whispered on their skin what they hadn't even dared to think, a language as ancient as desire itself, resonating with the depth of a soul that had been waiting for the exact moment to surrender.

Each brush of their lips was an invitation, a challenge, and a promise. A forbidden dance woven in the shadows, where bodies moved in unison, shedding all restraint, advancing towards a union that could not be stopped. It was as if the air around them were on fire, each breathless gasp amplifying the electricity overflowing between their skins, a burning current that united them in a whirlwind of contradictory sensations: Pain and pleasure, need and surrender. The intensity of that kiss not only tore through the silence of the room but marked every corner of their existences, as if every second spent there was imbued with a desire so strong that it overflowed any notion of time or space.

His touch was a lightning bolt, a flash that illuminated the deepest part of you being, stripping reality of its shadow, igniting every forgotten corner of desire. And in that fervor, in that boundless surrender, everything else ceased to matter. The forbidden, the unthinkable, everything faded away, leaving only the fury of an uncontrollable desire that fed on their closeness, that grew with every spark that was born between them. A desire that knew no bounds, overflowing in an incessant torrent of pure need.

With a movement as smooth and deliberate as if every muscle in his being had been invaded by the certainty of his destiny, Jung-kook leaned in, like a painter approaching his blank canvas, aware that the moment of creation was about to culminate. His lips, burning and fascinating, began to explore the delicate and vulnerable curve of your neck, an uncharted territory that seemed to whisper forgotten secrets, echoes of promises woven in the air with the fragrance of a desire that was eternal, profound, like a truth that only the soul could comprehend. Each kiss he placed on your skin was a whisper of complicity, a pact sealed in a language that transcended words, an echo of passions dancing to the rhythm of an ethereal wind, like golden leaves swept away by the current of a perpetual autumn.

Your skin, as soft as velvet or the purest silk, became an intimate and secret stage, where light and shadow played an eternal dance. Each caress of his lips on you was a fleeting spark, a flicker of fire that reverberated deep within his being, unleashing a torrent of emotions that swam in the turquoise waters of their connection. Jung-kook, with the sincere devotion of a poet desperately seeking the perfect words, traced a path of kisses that flowed with the grace of a winding river, dragging towards the abyss of shared desire, an abyss that was not terrifying, but full of promises to explore, of territories never before conquered. It was an act of veneration, a ritual in which every touch of his skin transformed into a sacred verse, each inhalation into a stanza narrating a deep and infinite story, a story known only to them.

As his lips gently rested on the skin of your neck, time itself seemed to fade away, as if the entire universe had paused, holding its breath in absolute respect for the beauty of that shared moment. The warmth of his breath, suspended by the palpable intensity of the connection, intertwined with the intoxicating aroma of his skin, creating a sensory symphony that enveloped each of their senses, awakening them with the subtlety of a poem unfolding in the breeze. It was as if everything that existed beyond them faded away, leaving only the resonant echo of two hearts beating in unison, marking the rhythm of an eternal melody, resonating only in their souls, each heartbeat vibrating like a perfect chord in the vastness of their shared universe.

Each kiss was not just a physical touch; it was an act of revelation, a delicate yet profound exploration of the vulnerability that resides in total surrender. As if, through those gentle touches, it not only bared your skin but also touched the most secret corners of your soul, reverently tearing away the layers of insecurity and fear that often enveloped you like a protective shell. It was an act of emotional nakedness, a silent and respectful stripping away of every hidden corner of your being. With each kiss, he not only touched you but also removed the resistance that life had cultivated in you, allowing you to be completely his, without masks, without barriers, just the purity of being, in its most naked and authentic form.

With an almost reverent gentleness, as if fearing to disturb the very essence of what he was about to explore, Jung-kook let his hands glide slowly towards your thighs, like a navigator venturing into uncharted territory, full of undisclosed mysteries and promises that only time could reveal to you. His fingers, warm and sure, began to trace subtle invisible paths over the soft and silky skin, as if weaving a map of sensations that awakened every fiber of you being, a route that called for surrender and submission. It was a touch that needed no words, an ancient language that spoke in whispers, resonating in the dense air, charged with an electric tension that was palpable, that was felt in every breath suspended between them.

Each caress was like a verse of a poem, one that was written to the rhythm of their intertwined hearts, where skin became the canvas and desire, the indelible ink that marked their story. Jung-kook, with the skill of a consummate artist, traced the contours of your thighs with silent admiration, exploring the geography of your body with devotion like a painter shaping a masterpiece, knowing that each stroke was part of a unique creation. His hands glided with the fluidity of a winding river, flowing between the stones of time, finding their way through the softness and warmth of your skin, while the outside world faded into the distance, reduced to a distant and irrelevant murmur.

As his fingers ascended with a delicious caution, the connection between their bodies became more palpable, as if the air surrounding them were charged with electricity, with a tension impossible to contain. It was a journey into the unknown, each inch of your skin explored was a revelation, an opening to what only the soul could know, where each touch unveiled a new layer of vulnerability, an unbreakable surrender that they both shared without the need for words. Jung-kook lingered on every curve, every line, as if the contour of your body told a sacred story, one that deserved to be heard in its silence and celebrated with the respect that only the purest desire could offer.

However, the conclusion of that story, the long-awaited climax that lay beyond the closed doors of that hall, remained suspended in the air, motionless, like an unfinished melody, a contained sigh that never reached its conclusion. It remained there, floating, pulsating, a vibration in space, an intangible echo of what happened between you.

The silence, dense as fog, laden with unspoken words, unfolded between you like a broken promise that would never find its fulfillment. What happened within those walls, in the refuge of those shadows that stretched like tempting arms towards the horizon, remained trapped in that refuge, hidden, like a forgotten whisper that only the wind remembered. In every corner, desire continued to throb, persisting in the shadows, without the need to be fulfilled, without requiring a conclusion. What was lived remained inscribed in the memory of their bodies, interwoven with the same essence that fills the air after a storm.

The memory, as fleeting as dawn and as eternal as the moon, became a persistent longing, suspended in space, like a distant lighthouse, always present but never reached. The mystery of the unlived remained like a soft shadow gliding through the folds of the soul, impossible to unravel, like a labyrinth one traverses without finding the end, but which becomes one's destiny. What happened, or perhaps what never happened, remained stored in the empty space between their souls, in the stillness of their bodies, letting the whispers of desire resonate only in the echo of uncertainty.

And so, that moment transformed into the unattainable, into a thick fog that could not dissipate, a sigh suspended in time that no one else could hear or understand. The hall, once full of life, now breathed only the intangible trace of the unreal, a vestige of what could have been but never was. All those who tried to reconstruct it with words or memories would never come to understand what really happened between you, for that story could neither be told nor remembered with accuracy. Only the persistent vibration of an unresolved desire remained, the void of the unconsummated, which would continue to exist in the air, like an eternal unanswered question.

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plutowrites · 3 months ago

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hi! this might seem random but i just wanna ask if you privated '𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮'? i just thought of that wonderful story of yours out of nowhere and dug thru my reblogs to find it but when i click on the 'keep reading' button it says here that the url can't be found anymore :(

HIIII!

you inquiring about a work of mine is such a huge compliment that brings me SO many warm feelings. thank you :)

I privated a lottttt of my old fics. i would read them again after some time and go "this needs a revamp. like asap."

having people read them in that state didn't make me feel great and so i privated them with hopes of maybeee editing them and reposting

after reading your ask tho, i went back the road that leads to you and edited it so you can have it again on ONE condition tho. you gotta tell me all your thoughts and fav parts of the fic.

KIDDDINGGGG.

adding the fic under the cut. i hope you enjoy again <3

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮

Almost immediately, you notice Akaashi is a good driver—a way better driver than you are. Plus, his car smells fresh, and you’re not currently sitting on a dirty sock or a McDonald's Big Mac wrapper, which makes you feel a little better about the situation. It’s not that you were expecting a complete walking disaster as your road trip buddy, but when you first saw the “Hello, I have some inquiries about the flyer you posted” text a couple of days ago, signed at the end with Akaashi Keiji, you let out a loud groan, realizing that you were potentially going to be riding with a guy. Alas, you had no choice but to swallow all the safety precautions your parents drilled into you since you were a little girl and especially right before you went away to college (Exhibit A: don’t hitch rides with strange men!) and accept the offer.

Why?

Your stupid car has a flat tire and is in desperate need of an oil change. That was the deciding factor.

“Are you comfortable?” Akaashi’s voice is smooth like velvet, and you almost jump at the sound of it. The first hour was spent mostly in silence, with the occasional question about how the semester is going. You didn’t mind it too much—you liked how Akaashi didn’t force conversation. If there was nothing to be said, then, nothing was said.

“As much as one can be riding with a stranger for the first time across state lines.”

Akaashi exhales, “I promise with confidence that I’m not going to kidnap you.” He pauses before continuing, “But then again, what are promises made by a kidnapper truly worth?”

“That’s really comforting, thank you.”

He looks at you quickly, his eyebrows raised slightly, like he’s trying to read you. “Sorry, let’s try that again. I’m not a kidnapper. I just wanted to see my parents and my dog this weekend.”

You nod your head knowingly. “I think it’ll help if you told me more about yourself.” In all honesty, you already felt more than semi-comfortable in the presence of the dark-haired, tall boy sitting next to you. This was only an excuse to get to know him better, maybe gain a friend out of all of this.

“Hm. I’m not sure what to say here.”

“What’s your major?” you ask.

“English literature and criminal law. Yours?”

“Undecided.” Akaashi simply nods his head at your response, focusing his attention on driving. You add, “Oh wow, thank you for not judging me. Everyone I tell makes some sort of face after I share that.”

“Eh, there are so many programs to choose from—it’s not the end of the world to wait until next year to pick a program. You can’t imagine how many students end up switching majors halfway through because they found something that suits them more. I think going undecided is a smart move.” He shrugs, catching your not-so-subtle gaze on him before returning his eyes to the road. His response makes you feel warm, but you don’t show it. Well, maybe you do show it a little on your cheeks.

“So, I take it you don’t have any siblings? Or you do, but you hate them with such burning rage and intensity that you didn’t bother mentioning them earlier and mentioned your dog instead?”

“You’re a bit humorous.” He breathes out with a tiny smile on his face. You wonder how he would look if he let that smile reach the rest of him. “I’m an only child.”

You make a booing noise.

Akaashi chuckles. “Agreed. Do you?”

“An older sister, but she left home ages ago. She had the right idea.”

“Yikes. What’s going on over there?”

“At home? Nothing, it’s the town that’s the issue.”

“I can’t say we had the same experiences then.”

You glance over at him, and he’s wearing a face of perplexity. “Of course.”

“Pardon me?”

“Of course you love our town. You’re like the poster boy for it.”

His face is unreadable. “Considering the distaste you have for it, I’m not feeling overly confident that you’re fond of me.”

“The way you speak! Oh my gosh—Oh no. Stop, don’t look at me like that. It’s not supposed to be an insult! Okay, moving all the way on,” you chuckle to yourself. “Favorite soda?”

“Not a fan of carbonated drinks. You?”

“Yikes, you’re losing a lot of points in my book.” Akaashi then slowly holds up the aux cord for you to grab, which you take as a sign to stop blabbering and shut up. You take the cord from him and plug it into your phone.

He breaks the silence. “Hm, go on. What’s your favorite silly little drink?” he presses.

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face like a wave reaching the shore. Crashing onto the shore, more like. You can’t stop f—cking smiling.

“Cherry Coke.”

----

“Making friends is hard.”

“Wow,” is all Akaashi says.

You peek at him quickly. “What?”

He raises his dark eyebrows like he can’t believe you even have to ask. “If you’re having trouble meeting new people, there’s no hope for the rest of us.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re a people person—” his eyes twinkle at you like he’s some sort of Disney character, “—and you’re all smiles, which is incredibly inviting.”

On cue, you smile as wide as you can, until your cheeks begin to hurt a little. “And you, Akaashi, are all neutral-toned cardigans and sweaters.”

He glances down at his outfit: a light coffee-brown cable-knit sweater (of course), layered with a white collared shirt underneath and light-washed jeans. Akaashi bites back a smile. “I sound very boring.”

“You sound and look smart, which is a pretty solid first impression because it’s true.”

“Smart.” He repeats the word with a twinge of doubt, like it’s the first time anyone has ever called him that (which you can’t possibly fathom). People with his level of intelligence are usually showered in praise, especially in a small town like the one the two of you just escaped from.

“Do you miss home?” you ask abruptly, gripping the wheel a little harder. You’ve heard your roommate cry into her pillow late at night. When you asked if she was okay, she told you stories about her hometown until the early hours of the morning. You feel like the only freshman who can’t relate to that specific kind of homesickness. Not entirely, at least.

Without missing a beat, he sighs, “Yeah.”

Maybe you’re the only one who sees leaving that city as escaping.

“Why?” you ask, genuinely curious. Of course, there were good things about it: your family, the friends who stayed local for college, and maybe that one Ethiopian restaurant before it shut down when you were a senior in high school. That closing alone made you despise the city even more. Or maybe it was the event that pushed your hatred over the edge. You really, really loved that place.

Akaashi must’ve zoned out beside you because he doesn’t answer. Instead, he gazes out of the passenger side window, resting his head against it. He fiddles with the rings on his long fingers. You watch him from the corner of your eye as you drive the narrow, long road ahead.

“What’s wrong with taking highways again?” he asks after some time, his voice teasing, though his face remains neutral. So far, Akaashi has driven once, and you, twice.

“I’m just scared to. Had a bad experience once, and now I avoid them if I can.” You leave it at that, and Akaashi doesn’t push for more.

Some time passes before he changes the conversation. “Isn’t it interesting how there are only two high schools in our hometown, yet we went to different ones?”

You scoff. “I’m glad we didn’t attend the same one.”

“I’m wounded, Y/N.” You turn to look at him, met with puppy-dog eyes.

Lethal, very dangerous puppy-dog eyes.

“Please,” you make a sour face. “I was an embarrassing, angsty teenager.”

He smiles, probably picturing what you were like back then. You shudder at the thought. “Wasn’t everyone?” he says eventually.

You sigh, “You must’ve been popular, right? Smart, athletic, attractive, smelled good, dressed nice.”

“I’m flattered you think I didn’t just acquire those traits after graduation.”

“No, I can tell from these past couple of weeks of being friends that you’ve always been well-rounded. You’re every parent’s dream kid.”

“You assume so much, I’ve noticed.”

“And you notice so much, weirdo,” you fire back, teasingly. Akaashi picks up on things about you so quickly it’s surprising. Like how you always forget your laptop charger when you study together (you seem to leave your dorm with an almost-dead laptop, which drives him insane), so he brings his for you. Or how he knows you like extra pickles on your sandwiches and lets you take the ones out of his. He even memorized your sub order and your coffee order the second time you went to the campus cafe together.

“Ah, is it obvious then?”

“Yes, very,” you laugh.

Instantly, the atmosphere shifts, growing heavier, though you’re not sure why. You watch as he bites his lip, like he’s thinking about something serious. His broad shoulders fall as he rushes out an apology. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

He refuses to meet your eyes, and if he did, he’d see just how confused you are. You force yourself to drag your gaze back to the road, even though you want to stare at him longer.

You squint at him, your brows furrowed. “Um, I’m saying this as nicely as I can—what the hell are you talking about, Keiji?”

“What are you talking about?”

“How observant you are... what are you on about?”

His eyes widened for a second before settling back to normal. “I was as well.” He turns on the radio and leans back in his seat.

---

“This is going to be an awkward four hours if you refuse to speak to me.”

“I’m not refusing anything,” you enunciate, trying to prove your point, but you end up sounding like a snobby child. You weren’t necessarily not talking to Akaashi on purpose—you just had a lot on your mind.

And it was all his fault.

Aaaand maybe you were giving him the cold shoulder, but it didn’t seem like an intense one—maybe a lukewarm shoulder at best.

“Come on, you haven’t even glanced at me yet.”

“How would you know? You’re driving,” you shoot back.

“Is this because of—”

“Shut up. Please. Don’t mention her name.”

“I thought you guys were friends?”

“She’s my roommate, of course she’s my friend. A very close one in fact, so you can imagine my current state.”

“Y/n,” he groans, dragging out your name in a plea for you to look at him instead of straight ahead. “You walked in at the worst possible moment.”

“Oh, so you wanted to do more…” The thought makes your stomach churn.

You hear him take a deep breath. “Of course not. You misunderstood what happened. Can I explain? Please?”

“You don't have to, but go ahead.” You can hear the edge in your own voice, and you know Akaashi can too. Where is this snappiness coming from? It was just a kiss, and if it were anything more than that, why would it even bother you?

Why does a little kiss bother you this much?

“After I edited her English paper, I came by to drop it off. She insisted I step inside, so I did.” He pauses for a moment, thinking. “I was hoping to catch you, but you weren’t there. After looking over my corrections, she got really excited and grateful—”

“She kissed you out of gratitude?”

“Kind of. She was aiming for my cheek, and I didn’t know what was happening, so I moved, and she caught my lips instead. Completely my fault. I’m awkward as f—ck.” He drums his slender fingers against the wheel. You can feel his eyes flick over your face, but you refuse to look.

The sight of them kissing after your hellish day was enough to make your head spin. The kiss was quick, but that didn’t change the way it made you feel—like you’d just walked in on something personal, something you shouldn’t have seen. You’d mumbled some apologies before bolting. Your face had felt as hot as everyone else’s in the room.

“Sorry, it’s really none of my business,” you shrug, trying to play it cool even though you know there’s no going back after ignoring him for half the road trip. At least you can salvage what’s left of the journey by shifting the conversation.

But still, there’s a question lingering in the back of your mind, one you can’t ignore.

“Do you want to date her?”

You hear a choking sound, followed by a fit of coughing. “After one mishap of a kiss that wasn’t even supposed to happen?” Keiji manages.

“Just answer the question.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

-----

Funny how "absolutely not" means nothing when it comes to the college dating pool.

“Your hair got longer, by the way.” You noticed this a while back when his once-slick black hair had started to curl, spiking up in all directions.

“Do I need to cut it?” he asks, a little wary. He’s wearing a black baseball cap, and it makes the length stand out even more.

“I love it. You look so cute.” You reach over the console, twirling a loose strand around your pinky finger. The corner of his mouth twitches into a tiny smile. Akaashi Keiji might just be the cutest boy you’ve ever seen.

“So, soon it’ll be winter break,” he says.

Silence.

“Correct.”

More silence.

“And we’ll be driving back home.”

Okay?

“Also correct.”

“Aika wants to come home... with me.” Akaashi’s words come out choppy, awkward, like he knows this conversation isn't going to end well.

You frown. “Why?”

“She really wants to see my family and friends. Mainly Koutarou, because of how much I talk about him.” He smiles to himself. Seeing your confused look, he adds, “Sorry. Bokuto.”

“I know who Koutarou is,” you snap. You’re just confused—why is he inviting his girlfriend of, what, a month?—to meet his family when you, his closest friend since the start of the year, have never been invited anywhere. You’re from the same city, for f—ck’s sake.

“What is it, Y/n? Your face...”

You wave an annoyed hand. “Just keep driving.”

His jaw tightens and he slips out, “Alright.”

You try to hold back your frustration, but the way he just breezes past your feelings makes your chest ache. “This is exactly what I was afraid of when you two started dating,” you whisper.

“Afraid of what?”

“Feeling like an outsider.”

“How do we make you feel like an outsider?” Keiji’s voice is gentle, genuinely curious. He just wants to understand. That makes you feel worse.

You sigh, taking a deep breath. “For starters, the whole ‘we’ every time you talk about her—it drives me wild.”

He shakes his head, clearly struggling to understand. “I don’t get it, Y/n. She’s my girlfriend.” He then takes a lengthy pause before he adds, “are you… jealous?”

“Obviously I am,” you snap, harsher than you intend. You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to calm down. When you speak again, your voice is quieter. “You spend so much time with her, and it’s fine, I promise, I like Aika, but you treat me like an afterthought every single time. Am I wrong to want your time too? You’ve never even invited me to meet your friends or your family, and that—-it hurts.”

“You’re jealous?”

You blink slowly. He’s unbelievable. “I think we kind of went over that.”

“No. Y/n. Like, you’re seriously jealous that Aika is my girlfriend?” he asks, urgent now, and when you don’t respond, he adds, “Because that’s not fair.”

You’re too tired to argue, too drained to unpack all that. All you want is to go home.

“Glad you learned now that nothing is ever fair.”

-----

You decide not to go home for winter break. Your parents ended up attending a wedding for your dad’s business partner in a different state, which turned into a full-blown vacation. You were the one who insisted they go, since it’s been ages since they got to spend any quality time together outside of rushed, late-night dinners and early morning conversations. With them away, there was no point in traveling all that way home to an empty house.

Your older sister invited you to stay with her up North, but you turned the offer down almost immediately. You weren’t particularly fond of her partner—or her mean little chihuahua with a nasty habit of biting toes.

Fortunately for you, you’ve got the dorm all to yourself for three weeks. It’s weird to think that Aika is in your city with Keiji right now. You wonder if she finds its small-town quirkiness charming or if she’s appalled by the fact that there’s exactly one mall in the entire town, and it doubles as a grocery store and movie theater.

You’re currently curled up on your bed with a book assigned for your sociology class. Might as well get some work done, you think. Make use of all this extra time.

You’ve already exhausted the solo activities: you binged a ton of Netflix, baked in the common kitchen (go you!), and even painted a hideous Christmas tree decoration that you’ve convinced yourself is not ugly—just camp.

You weren’t expecting any visitors, so when a knock sounds at your door, you’re genuinely surprised. Rushing to open it, you find Keiji standing there in a hoodie decorated with tiny, melting snowflakes and a hopeful look on his face.

In an extremely calm and collected voice, he asks, “Hi, would you be interested in spending the holidays with me?”

“What? I—”

He interrupts, “You can stay in the guest room, meet my dog, my parents, and Kou.” He takes a deep breath. “I would really like your company, Y/n.”

“Keiji, wait. Did you run here?” you ask, noticing his quick breaths and heaving chest. Grabbing the sleeve of his hoodie, you pull him inside. You point to your bed and sternly say, “Sit.”

“I’m wet.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do.” Without another thought, Akaashi pulls his sweater up and over his head, revealing a white shirt underneath. You look away quickly, but not before catching a glimpse of his toned stomach, daring you to stare. You like to think you passed that test.

He finally sits, catching his breath. “Where’s Aika?” you ask, arms crossed.

“She’s back in her city. I drove her home.”

Your mouth drops. “Wait, what? She’s been talking about spending the break with you for weeks! Why would you drive her home?” you whisper-shout, half in disbelief, half in annoyance.

You didn’t like the person you became whenever your roommate talked about Keiji. You wanted to be happy for her, you really did. But it tore you apart knowing it was your Keiji she gushed about. And you hated that it hurt.

“We broke up, that’s why.”

You sit down beside him, clutching your chest like the wind’s been knocked out of you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I—”

He takes your hand in his. “Don’t apologize.”

You exhale. His touch is cold but gentle. “Why did you guys break up?”

“Do you have to ask?” he smiles softly, eyes dropping to the floor. A few quiet beats pass before he looks at you again. “Hey,” he whispers, brushing a strand of hair from your eyes. “The real question is, are you coming with me on the road trip back home?”

“Uh.” You bite your lip. “Are you sure?”

“Very.”

Your answer is a no-brainer. There isn’t anything you want more than to spend the holidays with him—this boy sitting next to you, rubbing tiny circles over your thumb. “I would love to.”

“Good,” he hums, resting his head in the nook of your neck like it’s where it belongs. “Because I wasn’t leaving here without you.”

-----

“My goal for the next three weeks is to make you fall in love with our adorable little town.”

You snort, rolling your eyes at his confession. “Aim lower, Keiji.”

He cocks his head. “It’s that impossible, huh? Well, I do have another goal.”

“Spill,” you say, ripping open a mega-sized pack of M&Ms he conveniently left for you in the car, alongside your favorite drink—Cherry Coke. A few chocolates tumble onto the floor, sending Keiji into near-cardiac arrest. He watches in horror, lips pressed into a tight line, ready to scold you.

“Every time you leave my car, you leave behind some sort of—”

“A token of myself for you to remember me by?”

“—Garbage,” he corrects, totally unimpressed.

You grin sheepishly. “Go on. What’s your other goal?”

“Oh, right,” he coughs once. “My other goal is to win your heart.”

You nearly choke on an M&M. “Blunt as ever, Keiji.”

“Charming too, I hope.” He smiles faintly. You’ve memorized all of Akaashi Keiji’s smiles. Every single one. You even have a mental list of your favorites—like when you’re being your usual dramatic self, going off about some ridiculous exchange in the dining hall, and Keiji looks up from his glowing laptop to send you that lopsided smile, the one that tells you he’s listening and taking your side.

Then there’s his tired smile, the one he reserves for you after long study sessions, when he says goodbye with the same look that reassures you he’ll see you tomorrow, that your little world will keep spinning just the same.

You collect his smiles like they’re candy, and you’re an overzealous trick-or-treater trying to fill the heaviest bag. But his smirks? Those are rare, and they get to you every time.

And suddenly, it hits you.

It finally freaking hits you.

“Have you ever wondered why someone who supposedly hates their hometown as much as I do… visits so often?”

“Every passing second,” he murmurs, flicking off the turn signal after switching lanes.

“It’s because sitting in a car with you—being here with you like this—makes me so happy. Sure, I love seeing my parents and visiting friends once we’re home, but… it’s you I look forward to the most.” Your heart pounds as you speak, the words finally lifting the weight off your chest. “You don’t have to win my heart, Keiji. You already have it. It’s yours. All yours.”

“Y/n,” He says your name slowly, savoring every syllable. The way his teal eyes fix on yours makes your breath catch. “You were right about everything,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Especially the whole ‘we’ thing. ‘We’ should mean me and you. It’s always going to be me and you.” He grips your hand tighter. “It’s always going to be us.”

-----

You feel a hand reach the small of your back, followed by a soft mouth pressing against your ear. “Having fun?”

You grin, immediately recognizing who slipped into the stool beside you. “I didn’t know we had enough people in this city to fill a restaurant like this.” You watch as Keiji rolls his eyes teasingly and tugs on your ear.

“Hm, what did Koutarou say about me? What were his first impressions?” you ask, curious about what your now-boyfriend’s best friend thinks of you. You can feel Bokuto’s eyes on the two of you from across the room, his friendly smile reaching from ear to ear. You wave at him, and he waves back.

“He can’t stop talking about you. He keeps reiterating that he can’t believe I have a girlfriend—and that girlfriend is you. I’m sorry, but he might be joining our dates for a long time.”

You laugh at that, sneaking another glance at Bokuto. He’s proudly wearing someone’s Santa hat, looking ridiculous yet charming. “Probably forever,” you reply.

“Are you okay with that?” Keiji squeezes your knee.

“Sure, as long as you’re not too shy to show affection in front of him.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he says, pretending to lean in. Giggling, you place a hand on his chest to stop him, beaming as you shoot him all the love you have inside through your eyes.

“I’m so happy I let you drag me back here.”

Akaashi chuckles. “Drag is a bit of an exaggeration, I think, but I feel the same way. I promise one day we’ll travel to other places—places you don’t hate vehemently.”

“You know that doesn’t make a difference to me. Wherever you go, I go.” And you mean it. Pressing a tender kiss to his cheek, you whisper against his skin, “It’s always going to be us.”

He softly repeats after you, “Yeah, it’s always going to be us.”

#pluto answers #anything for beloved readers #i love yall downn #keiji x reader #akaashi x reader #haikyu x reader

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kamsspice · 3 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 · 3 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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kinfanfiction · 2 years ago

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Charlie Eppes x Fem!Reader - Chapter 2 - 1 Year Later

A/n: More angst just not through the entire chapter!

Listen- once I write too much fluff I have to prove that I can write angst too. THIS WILL HAVE FLUFF TOO I PROMISE!

Today I came to the realization VERY FAR INTO WRITING THIS CHAPTER that at CalSci THERE IS NO ENGLISH CLASS because it's an INSTITUTE OF SCIENCE and being an archivist would’ve made more sense, perhaps with the reader residing in the library, and now I must decide to either go back and edit the shit out of this or simply ✨ignore✨ this realization. I will post with just what I’ve written out so far and see what y’all think. Then, upon hearing your opinions I’ll decide what to do next.

The lesson learned is I need to do more research before making writing choices lmao.

Also, the reader in this fanfic has a fear of intimacy like me. 🤭 so slay!

You woke up to your alarm at 5:30 AM. Early enough to prepare your lesson plan for your English Literature class. You assigned the reading of One Hundred Years of Solitude and arranged to host a socratic seminar with the class to discuss important elements in the novel. Soon after, you’d have them write an essay on it highlighting what it taught them about the importance of their friends and family. You had already prepared everything you needed for your Creative Writing lecture, so this was the last of your work for the time being. You sat at your desk for about an hour until you finally had everything you needed for your class.

You packed yourself a lunch, got yourself together, made sure you had your keys, your phone, and your wallet. You put your lunch in a cooled lunch box, made sure you had all necessary items in your purse, and then, with all your things together, you walked out to your car. You put your bags in the passenger seat, stuck your key in the ignition, and then drove to the CalSci campus.

You arrived at your office fairly early, put your lunch in you mini fridge, and almost immediately started writing out the date and lesson plans for each class on the blackboard. Once that was finished, your stomach rumbled and you realized that you’d forgotten to eat breakfast. Your first class didn’t start for a few more hours, so you knew you had more than enough time to run down to the dining hall and grab a bite to eat.

Charlie sat in the cafeteria with a club sandwich, gazing around at the bright fluorescent lights that tended to overwhelm him, and you as well. He saw you as you reached the food bar and began serving yourself a slice of breakfast pizza and some caesar salad with a coke. It felt a little forbidden because you felt like pizza was a dinner food, but it was right there and you had to have it. Pizza is enjoyable at any hour of the day. Charlie grinned, and when you turned around he waved you over to his booth. You smiled back and began making your way over there. As you walked, a few students waved and said hi, and you returned the gesture, and eventually you made it to your seat across from Charlie, setting your plate on the table in front of you. “Good morning, Charlie.” You smiled at the familiar face.

“Good morning, Y/n.” He returned. “What brings you here so early?”

“Overcompensation for the amount of work I thought I had to do. I guess now I have the time to eat at my leisure and triple check my lesson plans.” You spoke optimistically with a brief chuckle. “What brings you here early?”

He laughed, “Well, I think I did something similar. Though, before my alarm had a chance to blare loudly in my ear, I found myself waking up early with my mind already full of ideas. I wanted to add on to my already prepared plan some more specific and important details. Now I’m starting to realize those details are probably only important to me.” His laughter shifted to a more nervous tone as it trickled out into silence.

“Nonsense, anyone taking your class knows they signed up for the most thoughtful mathematics professor on campus. They have to have expected, and must welcome any extra information you’ve decided to add into your lessons. If they wanted less than that, they should've joined another class. You’re the best in your field, don’t hesitate to represent that to them.” You spoke in between bites, still careful not to talk with your mouth full.

He couldn’t help but light up again at your encouraging sentiment. “Thank you, I needed that.” He spoke softly. You didn’t respond, you just nodded, and then you both finished your food thinking quietly to yourselves. Once you were finished, the two of you got up to toss your leftover trash and you turned to him. “You got anymore time on your hands?” You questioned, and he grinned.

“Would you like to take a walk?” He suggested, as if he was reading your mind.

“You know it.”

The two of you snuck around parts of the campus like a couple of delinquents, even though you were just professors terrified of interacting with your students outside of the classroom more than you already had that morning. Charlie knew the premises well, so he’d already calculated and memorized the best route to take in his head. “So, what about you? How are your classes going?” Charlie inquired as you walked by his side.

“Oh they’re going great! In my English Lit class my students have had many interesting things to say about 100 Years of Solitude so far. Their individual takes on the material is very intriguing. Then, in my Creative Writing class, I see so many students I can tell will one day become famous writers. I love nurturing their young minds and seeing them rise to their full potential.” You rambled on for a moment before just smiling softly, and Charlie did the same. He knew he tended to be the talkative one in your friendship, but when it came to you he loved to listen. You were a compassionate person that he deeply admired. To you, he was a brilliant man that you enjoyed learning from. Throughout your school years, you always hated your math classes until he explained the material. He brought light to it’s essence in the universe. You got him to enjoy his English classes by doing the same with that subject.

“I like seeing you. I feel like we don’t get enough moments like this because we work on opposite sides of the campus, and you don’t live next door anymore.” The young professor commented gently.

“I guess there has been a lot of lost time between us. We’ll make up for it though, I’m sure of that. I can visit more, maybe we’ll work on future lesson plans together?” You suggested, glancing over at him before focusing on the path ahead.

“I’d like that.” He agreed.

The first time you’d parted for a long period, you were thirteen. He had gotten far ahead of you in school, so he graduated early and got into Princeton. For the next three years you communicated through letters. You could’ve called, but you preferred to write him so you could annoy him by occasionally correcting his grammar and spelling. Technically, you could’ve skipped grades, graduated early, and gone to Princeton with him, your grades were just about as good as his, but you never wanted to graduate early. You didn’t even want to skip a grade. Besides, even if that was something you wanted, your parents couldn’t afford it. Still, you refused to let Charlie stay in middle school. He had a once in a lifetime opportunity, and you made sure he took it.

Over the three years Charlie was away, you missed a lot of major changes in each other’s lives. You got into your first relationship, which ended up leaving you scarred and afraid to try to date anyone new. You got in with the wrong crowd, who used you and made you feel horrible about yourself. In your junior year of high school, you decided to focus on your academic life and iced out everyone from school that had known you by going into running start. The only bit of socializing you accepted at that point was still talking to Charlie through your letters. You read all his published articles and you were absolutely fascinated by everything he had to say, even if you only understood half of it.

Charlie came back taller than you, which wasn’t surprising but it was a little frustrating. You used to make fun of him for being shorter, and now you were reaping what you’d sewn. His grammar wasn’t any better though, so you still had that. He’d also traded out his glasses for contacts, which you grieved dramatically. You loved how dorky he looked with his glasses. He seemed much more confident. You no longer recognized him as the awkward little boy who felt like his mind was too big for any room he entered, he now felt like he had an established his place in the world. You were so glad he finally found a community of likeminded individuals.

When he came back, Charlie noticed you had changed too. He saw that you seemed somber and more reserved. He remembered you once being an open book, you were bright and full of ideas just like him. He had his chance to expand his mind, but you had been shut down by your peers time and again. He knew there was something you weren’t telling him, but anytime he tried to ask if you were okay, you just shrugged and put on a brave face. Even if you refused to tell him what happened while he was away, he was still determined to remind you of the brilliant person you’d always been. He’d carry on to always wonder what exactly he’d missed, but he didn’t continue to ask.

He helped you through your running start classes, and before you knew it he was attending your graduation.

“I wish I’d gotten to attend your graduation.” You’d whispered to him later that day.

“Don’t worry. My mom took pictures!” He’d smiled.

Then you both went to his house and looked through said pictures. Margaret had taken a plethora of those, so it really did feel like you’d been there.

You and Charlie walked around campus talking more about your students, he began talking about one student that used a certain mathematical formula in an instant where he really shouldn’t have, and you once again had no idea what he was talking about, but you knew where the punchline was, so you laughed. Eventually you found yourselves staring closely at the flower buds on a nearby tree. Charlie of course dived into how, thanks to mathematics, he could predict an estimate of how long it would be until each bud bloomed into a flower.

You pointed to one specific bud that stood out from the rest, “What about this one? How long do you estimate it’ll take to bloom?” You questioned, and he leaned in close to look at the bud. The close proximity made you take a step back, and he noticed but didn’t say anything. Before he left for Princeton, you had no problem being close to him in any sense of the word. You hugged, tackled, and cuddled him constantly, you told him everything you thought and felt. Then, when he came back you would walk beside him, but you never even so much as hugged him, and you only told him surface level information about your life. That continued until his mom passed, and then, unless it was emotionally necessary, you went back to keeping him at arm’s length. He’d gotten used to that at this point.

“This one shouldn’t take more than two weeks.” He observed after a moment of what you assumed was internal calculations.

“Then we’ll come back here in two weeks.” You spoke decidedly.

He smirked and chuckled, turning his head to look at you as he did, “Do you doubt my estimate?” He responded as he returned to standing upright.

You shook your head, “I know better than that. I just want to see your prediction come true. Besides, I love to see flowers bloom. It’s been a long Winter, I want to revel in Spring’s arrival with you.”

He smiled softly, “That sounds like a good idea.” He agreed.

#david krumholtz #charlie eppes #charlie eppes x reader #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #y/n #numb3rs #chapter 2

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weirdly-specific-but-ok · 11 months 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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