#i swear there’s so many???? like didn’t d1 only have like 7

[itsalwaysforyou]

rise of red song titles btw

[angsty-omi]

arms tonite

fuckboy!atsumu miya x fem!reader

genre: angst, unrequited love,

cw: suggestive content, swearing, heartbreak

word count: 1.5 k

Different girl every night and no repeats; that was the rule of law Atsumu Miya lived by. Whether it was Asians, Whites, or Black girls he didn’t discriminate. If they had a beating heart and a pussy then he was set. Hearing about these conquests as his best friend, really made you think ‘wow who’s the poor that let Atsumu put his dick in that night?’ And as you would find it, soon enough it’d be you.

Media portrayal of college students, especially in movies, falsely portrayed college students and gave unrealistic ideas of how they live. These media outlets give impractical ideas of what college students are- intense party seekers, people who have all the time in the world, or just lazy nonworking students who revolve everything around their social lives. This was, by all means not true.

You, and many other diligent college students, can attest to this. The heavy number of finals and research papers due would soon drown you in your sleep. To prevent you from feeling overwhelmed, you always went to him. The one person who could talk your ear off, which though annoying, kept your mind off things, Miya Atsumu. See, Atsumu had the ultimate college experience. The ones that occurred on screen, the ‘intense party seeking’ events where somehow your invite was always lost in the mail. Every Wednesday, you’d always fit him into your schedule for brunch, which mostly consisted of him talking about the ‘new freshman babes’ at the Inarizaki Frat House, and you lived vicariously through him, not because you were envious of his lifestyle, rather, you were just interested in what could’ve been. 

“Did you get that Y/N?” Your thoughts were interrupted.

“U-uh, yeah! Of course, I did.” You tried playing it off, but Atsumu could see right through you. He knew all your mannerisms, for example, when you bite your lip, it’s a sign that you’re prepared for a big change or if you handball your T-Shirt, you’re feeling insecure. He could tell you had something weighing in on you, but he decided to ignore your blatant lie and wait for you to tell him.

“So, are you gonna tell how you’ve been doin’?” He lightly asked. 

“Yeah, uh life has been hard for me… I guess. It’s just that- with all these finals I am feeling so overwhelmed,” you buried your face in your hands to attempt forgetting about school. Knowing Atsumu, he would just drown out your sorrow, or so you thought. You continued, “I can’t eat, sleep, or you know-,” not even acknowledging the fact you just referred about your inability to get off. Atsumu became was suspiciously quiet. 

“What,” you furrowed your eyebrows. “Nothing, Nothing,” he shook his head, chuckling.

 “No, seriously what’s so funny?”

“You really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“Ya’ reeeaaaallly want to know?”

“I said yes already, just spit it out,” you irritated with anticipation. 

“I could help your little issue down there,” Atsumu grinned. Studying? When has Atsumu Miya ever wanted to study with you? The only reason he got into this school was because  he was a D1 athlete. Unless, he turned a new leaf and he chose a path where you don’t slap a ball back and forth because quite frankly you thought that it was risky caree- Oh. That little issue. “You’ve got to be kidding, I would never,” you felt offended. It wasn’t that he was ugly, it was quite the opposite. He had a charming personality, while also being built like a Greek God, and with a face like that it’s no wonder these girls fall for him. However, you felt too prideful to sleep with him. Sure, you may have some underlying feelings for him that you shut down deep inside, but you didn’t want to be treated like a human toy. So, that thought was always out of the question.  

“Never say n-” He was interrupted with his corny ringtone.

“Hello?... Yeah, I’m free, right now… Alright, see you then.” 

Atsumu always did this, it was like clockwork. He’d bail on you when you clearly were in distress and he could not even prioritize time to listen. He even, left you with the check. Sure, he’d Venmo you afterwards, but it still hurt nonetheless. On the walk back to your dorm, your thoughts were full of cursing Atsumu out for always bailing on you. Holding it in for so long only lasted you so much before you exploded. 

That night, Atsumu came over, not even expecting your wrath. 

An hour in, and he still couldn’t understand your argument. “Atsumu, if you could just.. I don’t know- not bail on me? Cause you know, it’s common courtesy!” You exclaimed. 

“Dude, it was literally just a few times, I don’t know why you’re getting so upset?”

“Upset? Upset? Upset is an understatement. How would you feel if I dropped you for some dick?”

“Like that would ever happen. C’mon, Y/N, you’re acting like my girlfriend and I’m uncomfortable.” He blurted, frustrated that this argument has lasted almost two hours. He just rejected you, and you didn’t even get the chance to even address those feelings. 

“Get out.”

“You know I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I don’t care, get out.” You wiped a treacherous tear from your eye. You opened the door, and gestured him to leave. But, he just stood there. Moving over to him in tears, you tried to push him out. Your measly arms were incomparable to his toned abs that he’s built since high school. He grasped your arms, and for a moment you could feel his padded thumb, wiping your cheek. Your faces were only a few inches away. This was your chance to get a taste of him, before he turned into a stranger. You leaned in his lips.

The lack of return made your heart drop. You let go and rambled with apologies,“I-I’m so sorry. Look, I-” He shut you up with another kiss, more passionate than yours. “I told ya’ I could fix that little issue of yours.”

The morning after, you woke up with your body aching in pain. Drool all over your chin, and in disgust, you wiped your mouth and skimmed your calendar. ‘The biomedical final isn’t at 10, it’s at 8-’ whispering to yourself. Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach. Then, you slowly gazed at your alarm clock, ‘7:57 AM’ it read. 

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” you screamed to yourself. Without thinking, you dashed out the door and sped to the testing center. At the entrance, your professor met eyes with you. “Testing entry is closed, I thought you were better than this, Y/N.” Scolding you up and down. I only missed the final by a couple of minutes, why is she shunning me? You thought. But before you could continue, you looked down. There you were, love marks all over, in your panties and an oversized T-shirt to top it off. 

You rushed into your dorm, to find the vampire who did this to you. The universe was seemingly against you once more, because on your way over to your bedroom, you slipped on a textbook. How ironic. The loud slam woke him up, making him sit upright. “Oh my God Y/N are you okay?” He said with a concerned look on his face.

“Why the fuck are you still in my bed?” 

“Well if you wanna know the details-” He smirked, “No no no, I’m okay,” you interrupted him. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to understand what went on. 

You felt blood drip on your upper lip. Both of you just stared in shock. Immediately, he swiped you up, bridal style, and plopped you onto the sink. He stood in between your legs, soaking your nose with numerous amounts of toilet paper. There was a comfortable silence in the air. You know, Atsumu was quite beautiful with his mouth closed. The way the sunlight accentuated his sharp features, with his eyes reflecting a shade of light hazel. In an impulse, you pecked his lips and to your surprise, he reciprocated. 

It’s been a month since you’ve been hooking up and it’s become your new normal. As a small treat, you wanted to do surprise.

Prior to this dynamic, as best friends you always had a spare key, which his twin brother made sure of because Atsumu was forgetful. As tacky as it was, you were wearing a trench coat, that covered your bright red two-piece lingerie underneath. Silently twisting the knob, you walked into to his bedroom. The apartment was still clean, signaling that he wasn’t home. In which, gave you enough time to position yourself on his bed. After many awkward attempts of seductive positions, you chose the cross-over leg at the edge of his bed, which accentuated your hips. 

You heard his front door open, and his loud voice gave you the signal. You felt relaxed, but it wasn’t until you heard another voice. High-pitched and fruity, it was one of those voices you could tell it’d belong to a pretty girl. You panicked, and mentally scolded yourself for pushing Atsumu to go with a minimalist aesthetic for his bedroom, which left nowhere to hide for you. The knob was opened slightly, where only he could see you. Eye contact was made, and he immediately slammed the door shut. 

There was a muffled, “Hey! uh- my room is kind of dirty right now. Let’s go over to yours.” And after, hearing the front door shut, you assumed she complied. In awe, you mentally kicked yourself over and over again. You took off your attire immediately walking into your bedroom, it burned your skin with insecurities and embarrassment. So much for putting yourself out there. Although, what hurt the most was the way his eyes were full of disgust when he saw you.

That night, he knocked at your door. You opened it, thinking it was your food.

Your heart was beating rapidly, because just an hour ago you made a whole scheme of routes to take without seeing him. You coyly responded with, “you’re not my DoorDash,” and tried to close the door. But he blocked it.

“We need to talk,” he said in the most serious tone you’ve personally ever heard from him. How could those words scare you when you’re not in a relationship.

“What was that shit you pulled earlier?” He irritated. You felt so small under his gaze.

“I thought it would’ve been nice,” you mumbled. “Nice? That girl was the president of one of the most notorious sororities. She could’ve seen you.” He yelled, continuously blaming you. The way he viewed her, would never be the way he saw you. You were just a friend who needed a favor, not someone he actually wanted to pursue.

“You know what? Fine, my fault. Sorry that I ruined it, sorry that I showed up, sorry that I even planned it, sorry I ever thought that you saw me more than just a skank, sorry I even called you over that night, and finally, sorry for ever loving-” it just slipped out. His eyes widened, “Finish that sentence, Y/N. If I knew-”

“Knew what? Knew that I loved you, you wouldn’t have gotten involved? Yeah, well it’s too late. You know what? Just get out. I never want to see you again, Miya,” you sobbed, tears flowing down your face freely. Pounding your fists against his chest. His immobility gave you a small sliver of hope.

“I’m not ready, Y/N. I can’t give you what you want.” Conflicted, unbeknownst whether he was talking to you or himself. “But we can still be friends.”

That sentence was the nail in the coffin.

“It hurts to even look at you Atsumu.” Your voice cold. For someone that could read you so well, why did he think that would save your relationship? “I’ll.. be on my way then.” He slowly got up, and turned the knob. Selfishly enough, he made one more glance at you. He embraced this last glance. Did you know you were beautiful? Even with snot, running down your nose. Of course, you didn’t look back, you were too focused on biting your lips.

Atsumu’s face went pale. He knew what sign that meant. And the change was him. You were really set on ghosting him. With the door closed and Atsumu leaning on it, he couldn’t help to question why that made a pang in his heart.

[joshuazev]

On fifteen minutes, twice, interrupted intermittently: an exercise

I wish that more people that knew him had gone to his funeral.  I heard from someone that went that the representation from the schools he and I went to were slim and that made me really sad.  It was disappointing.  Maybe it was because the people that knew him and also knew about the event were busy that day.  Maybe they had other priorities and didn’t have means for transportation to get there.  Or maybe they didn’t care.  I really hope that’s not the case.  Sometimes that’s the hardest thing about being 3,000 miles away is knowing that it’s really difficult to make certain get togethers that you wouldn’t ever think twice about if you were in the vicinity.  Maybe my case is different.  Maybe not everyone knew him for as long as I did.  I was told a couple of his teachers were there.  Teachers I knew of.  Just thinking of them being there makes me want to cry.  It’s just like everyone says.  No child should ever die before his parents.  A parent will be wrecked because of it.  His dad can barely eat.  Can barely drink.  Can’t sleep.  These things are unnatural to the earth’s revolution.  I swear I can remember being around him like it was yesterday.  Remember looking at my school photos the last time I was in Seattle and seeing him in two of my class pictures.  He shouldn’t be gone.  And it’s foolish to get in the why or the how, but to be stolen the way he was stolen is something I can’t forgive.  It’s times like these that I wish karma was real.  

Today I tried reapplying to a job that I was told to step away from.  It’s one of those things that seems like a good idea to do for many reasons, but in the back of your mind you wonder whether it’s worth it, at all.  It was a way to pass the time today, I guess.  I went to two locations in Brooklyn to try and apply.  One gave me an obvious run around.  The attempt to get me to think that the person I needed to talk to was going to actually show up.  I must have waited 20 minutes for him and then I realized that these people behind the front desk were just doing their job.  In fact, they did to me what I used to do to other people sometimes.  Like I said, it’s crazy to be on both sides of the table.  They also seemed to be a little turned off when they found out I actually knew something about the job.  They almost acted defensive like I was trying to take their job.  And I get it, but they need not worry.  I just want their job the minimal amount possible.  A day a week.  Two days a week tops.  At the third and fourth locations I actually was freaking myself out with my own energy.  I was too aggressive.  The words were stumbling out of mouth instead of comporting like the calm individual that usually snags the job.  It can be weird sometimes to be in that self-conscious state where your mouth is moving and every passing second is met with so much judgment that you end up appearing erratic and a little all over the place.  

Sometimes I get bored in my room and look at my wardrobe and realize that, by and large, I’ve had the same clothes for years.  Maybe nothing dates as far back as high school, but some of these things have been sported in heavy rotation.  Luckily no one has clowned on me because of it.  And then again, maybe that means that nobody really gives two fucks about what I wear except for me.  You either look good or you look like shit.  Does it really matter either way?  I remember going through those childish phases of thinking I wanted a closet full of jerseys.  One for every day of the week, plus some.  Then later on, when I created a clothing line of some sorts, I remember telling myself that one day I only wanted to wear my own clothes.  To hell with buying designer brands and shit with labels.  If anything, I was gonna rock my own label.  There was also that period of time in high school when I participated in Global Visionaries and before we left for Guatemala we were discouraged to bring any articles of clothing with labels on it.  I don’t remember exactly why, but for the most part everybody stayed true to the demands.  It carried over to my life back home when I got back.  I started to get a lot of regular tees and regular pants without the big labels and flashy designs I used to really enjoy rocking back in middle school and early high school.  The Eckos and the Sean Johns.  Etc.

I wonder stupid things a lot of the time.  I wonder if sometimes I wonder stupid things more than wondering intelligently.  Does anyone else go into a super nice house filled with books and wonder whether those books are just for show or if the person is as avid of a reader as their bookshelves suggest.  It’s one of those things that certainly gives a vibe.  Intellectual.  Learned.  Studious.  Shit, I know that my bookshelf back home was mainly filled with books I wanted to read.  I’d get up in the morning, see the books in the corner and think to myself, “There goes an ambitious guy right there.  He’s gonna read those books, someday.”  I wonder what my count is like.  Books I’ve read vs. books I was going to read vs. the amount of times I’ve read Harry Potter.  I wonder if people subscribe Harry Potter to children suffering from chronic lethargy.  I wouldn’t be surprised if it was scientifically proven to boost testerone and or one’s passion levels.  Those books have magic in them, I’m telling you.  One day, way off in the future, I’m gonna buy some crazy shit at an auction that promises to take me to Harry Potter land.  It’s gotta be out there somewhere, right?  I also saw in the papers and on social media that someone created Diagon Alley in Seattle.  Is this true?  Can I get my wand?  Can I talk to Ollivander?  Can I get an owl?  These are vital questions.  Which reminds me, I gotta go to Harry Potter land at Universal Studios.

My roommate has this thing in our main area called “Alexa.”  She is basically Siri on crack.  You can literally just say, “Hey Alexa…” followed by any question or request and she’ll do her best to answer it or get it for you.  I’ll be honest, it’s kind of a scary device and as long as she’s plugged in, she’s pretty much listening to everything that’s being said, even if we don’t call her out beforehand.  It got me thinking…that’s damn near like having a microphone in your room listening to every single word.  That’s some Big Brother type stuff.  I was wondering if she could be used as evidence when crimes occur in the house, if that were ever going to happen, at all.  I mean, obviously she’s not a camera, but sound can be used, too!  I have enough problems and scares with Siri.  The fact there are microphones that are damn near robots that exist in our phones and are standing at attention 24/7 is mind boggling.  This is 2017.  What’s it gonna look like five years from now.  How will the powers that be keep their eyes on us.  Who knows?  I’ll tell you this much.  If certain powers that be continue to be in power for the next seven years, then Alexa will be the very least of our problems.  Years ago I remember—or wait, maybe it was the movie “Enemy of the State” that said there are key words that send signals to security organizations when mentioned on the phone.  That was a movie and that was 1999.  It’s 2017.  Food for thought.

As you can probably tell I’ve decided to write last minute again, so in being unfair to my creative energies I’m struggling a bit to find topics to talk about.  I’m not sure if it’s the current situation or the fact that I’m nearing the end of the year, so naturally coming up with 365 different things to discuss or observe or talk about has its own challenges.  I was on a YouTube binge earlier today looking at interviews on the VLAD TV channel.  Two interviews I’ve been watching lately have been Michael Rapaport, the sports shit talking captain of the world right now and DeRay Davis, a comedian and arts professional whose work I greatly admire.  Michael Rapaport was going in on the lack of respect these younger NBA guys have today, specifically Lonzo Ball.  He can’t stand the Ball family.  He calls it “Big Baller…uh Bullshit.  His words are hot right now and he knows what to say to rile up the people and get conversations going.  He’s a diehard Knick fan and a huge LeBron hater, so much to the point where he looks ridiculous talking shit about the best player in the league right now.  Meanwhile, DeRay Davis is basically going in on true Hollywood stories.  His demeanor has changed as of late.  He used to be clowning nonstop on people, but recently has changed his approach.  His latest special on Netflix was a little disappointing.  Great material, but subpar execution.  Maybe it was because I watched it after Hasan Mihnaj’s special.  That might have been unfair.  

I was talking to this girl the other day about how cool it was to be in Uptown sometimes because all of the young boys and girls would be wearing their bat bags with the bottom of the bat poking out of the top of the backpack.  All of them looked like they had been playing since diapers.  They had that attitude, that way of carrying themselves that gave me the impression that they were not to be fucked with on that baseball diamond.  I remember a couple times earlier this year when my guy from the gym, Rafael, and I would meet up and play catch in front of Yankee Stadium.  I was high falootin and cocky about warming up and still being able to throw the ball as far as I usually could except Rafael put me to shame.  He was a catcher.  (He ended up going to play D1 ball in the midwest).  By the time we were done throwing and I was done trying to show off my forearm would hurt like a mug and he was still firing lasers from the backstop to second base.  All those days growing up, never icing my arm.  My arm is still fine today.  I wonder what it will be like years from now.  I wonder when those potential signs could come back to haunt me.  Maybe they won’t.  No need, mother nature.  I’m fine just the way I am, thank you.  Tell you this, though.  My kids are gonna be icing their arms.  As much as they need to.  As much as they want to.  It’s time to sleep.