Bittersweet Novels & Stories

“Manager gave me a final warning. Said if I’m late one more time, I’m fired.” Susie pulled me into a tight hug. “I’m sorry, babe. That’s so unfair.” She pulled back and gave me a small, teasing smile. “But… at least your favorite person in the world came to see you today, right?” Despite everything, a tiny, warm flutter returned to my chest. I bit my lip and nodded, still touching the necklace around my neck. “Yeah… he did.”

Marking me from the inside while his teeth stayed buried in my neck. The bite throbbed in rhythm with his cock. A permanent mark now,Irreversible. When the knot eased he didn’t pull out right away, he stayed buried. Licked the fresh wound soothing. Kissed it. Kissed my tears. I touched the bite, my fingers coming away bloody, I smiled through the sting..“Forever?” I whispered. He kissed me, reverent. “Forever.” We fell asleep tangled together. His cock still half-hard inside me. Knot gone but the claim permanent.

Sweetness is not always for long, it will get to a time when it will become bitter, even if not bitter, it will become tasteless. Life doesn’t offer good things for long without trying to introduce a little bit of bitterness. But millennium years worth of sweetness might not be able justify a day of bitterness, just like Banag known as Job on earth, he also lost all the sweetness he had to just a day bitterness. Like I heard someone said, “just a day can change a human’s life”.

No matter what, I couldn't get to the true meaning behind these lines. “Oh, how the icy breeze doth mix with harshness, making one to fix on bitter, strong coldness so clear and feeble, fake warmth, once held dear.” “Where the last few years doth lie, a journey to the past it carries, with a bittersweet sigh.” The writer of this journal was trying to say something. But why the hell it had to be so complicated? I held the journal in my hand as if touching the words would make it easier. No, it wouldn't.

BITTER LOVE Book One in the Dawson Family Series Copyright 2021 Emily Goodwin Chapter One Josie Fifteen years ago… A tear rolls down my cheek, but I don’t bother to wipe it away. Another will just take its place in only seconds anyway. I look at the paper in my hand: the corner of it crinkled from being gripped so hard. A voice in the back of my mind tells me I shouldn’t have done that, that I should have been more careful.

Eleanor I don’t think there’s a word strong enough to describe the taste of betrayal. Bitter doesn’t cover it. Acidic comes close, but even that feels too delicate, too poetic, for what it does to your heart when it detonates in your chest. It started with the scent.

every night my spirit is entangled within the fangs of bitterness, my strength ebbs away at the ticking of the time, I am most miserable of all men, even more miserable than the beast of the field, my light has become a great darkness, happiness no longer comes to my dwelling place, I have only taken a place to live, which will definitely be filled up some days when I had made it empty, if I am denied the joy of my life, the only thing that should parch a smile to my face in this vile world of

The last word hung between them, heavy with finality. He bit into another strawberry, hearing the sound of a violent crunch in the charged atmosphere. The sweetness was lost on him, just as the bitterness of rejection consumed Olivia. In this house of glass and stone, reflections of love twisted into shadows of betrayal, every mirrored surface echoing back the fractures of their relationship.

Ten minutes later, Sweet Pea Guun came out with a dark face. Brene Brian was at that time in the living room looking for ointments, and in the distance smelled a bitter and lowly scent, he had a bad premonition. "Your taste... is very unique." Sweet Pea Guun really couldn't help but spit out a sentence. "Sorry, sorry! It's me...... I got it wrong." Brene Brian is miserable, how did he get married, Sweet Pea Guun first had something to ask him, but he was...

She was brewing Jasmine tea in our kitchen like it could fix all troubles in my little world. She used to cool the cup with two spoons of honey. “Sip, little dumpling,” she’d murmur, and my name in her mouth made me feel invincible. The tea was honey-sweet, with a bitterness that only arrived after the second spoon. I thought that was what love tasted like—warm up front, bitter sweet in the afterthought. Years later the bitterness got a diploma and a label: tincture, solution, microdose. But back then it was just a flavor that made me stronger in all the ways I couldn’t name.