#unfortunately i get into a bad state every month for a couple weeks or less. its annoying but it will pass!

[skitskatdacat63]

Hey Catie, I think I know those feelings you’re mad about so yeah, I agree, they suck! And not the good kind! Why isn’t there just some magical goat that could lick your palm and 💥 bam, no more icky sticky yucky feelings you don’t want? Because the Universe is out to get us 😫 that’s why 😒. But I guess eventually you learn to take things as they are and realise you really can only do so much and to just. Try and enjoy what you’re doing in the moment, with the people you’re with (or just yourself!). But mm… that’s only a hypothesis, unfortunately I don’t have any tried and tested methods. Still though, and I’m launching you a lotta love too 💞💨🔫

Thank you for such a kind message, I really appreciate. Sending you a lot of love too!!!!! I guess I've just been pretty lonely lately, yknow somewhat long holiday break leading into two meager weeks of class then into finals week, not really seeing anyone too much. I like being alone, but I also get way too into my head and all my negative emotions and actions are amplified to a bad degree.

But thank you again for the msg, you made me laugh with some of the things haha(not the good kind of suck, I'm crying!) I find it kinda hard to reach out to people, again insecurities, so I always feel super appreciative when I get an ask or DM or anything. Sitting here, twiddling my thumbs a lot these days ;;;; But I agree with you!!! You gotta try and keep yourself in the moment and enjoy things, and not languish. I think I just need to draw 24/7 bcs i don't really have conscious thought while doing so 😭😭

[fictionalwh0ree]

hiii!! i was wondering if u could do a billie eilish x fem!reader where maybe people finding out that billie has a gf and theyre being rlly shitty about it, so reader gets insecure and billie reassures her & like, defends her? total fluff, im such a sucker for billie fluff <3

coming out- billie eilish

summary: after billie comes out and fans piece together your relationship, you're flooded with hate comments. thankfully, billie is there to console you and defend you.

word count: 1k

warnings: mentions of homophobia/hate comments

it was only hours after billie’s variety article had come out. only hours after she came out. the idea was that you’d give it a couple weeks or so before you’d come clean about your relationship and reveal yourselves to the world, but her fans were smart, and quick. they quickly pieced together your relationship, analyzing your every photo together as “friends,” talking between each other, until some fan who chose to stay anonymous confessed to seeing the two of you holding hands at some point. despite there being no photo evidence, everyone was quick to believe it, the chemistry was undeniable. people had shipped you together before but now it was real. Unfortunately, and expectedly, some “fans” were less than supportive. of course, people were homophobic, that was to be expected. the post on billieeilishtours that covered your rumoured relationship was a mix of support, skepticism, and hatred.

you hadn’t realized what had happened until your phone started blowing up, notifications every other second. billie was out, you knew she’d tell you to ignore it, but you couldn’t help it. you began to scroll through the fanpage post. some of the comments were vile, vile enough that your eyes were watering. some called the two of you slurs, others wished death on you. a couple of them blamed you for her sexuality, saying you had “ruined her.” you even saw some calling you a homewrecker, saying you had broken up her and her ex-boyfriend’s relationship. truth was you had been friends for a while, but you didn’t start dating until months after their break-up. the comments struck a nerve, you fought the urge to start sobbing.

then, a notification came from your messages.

bil<3

on my way home

you didn’t know whether she had been seeing what you’d seen, and you didn’t want to risk worrying her, so you wiped your eyes, put your phone to the side, and put on a movie while you laid in bed. you tried your hardest to focus on the movie, but your mind flashed back to everything you’d read. you picked up your phone, ready to scroll through tiktok or instagram in hopes of taking your mind off things, but as you texted some friends and scrolled through posts, your notifications were going crazy. her “fans” had started to attack you, commenting hateful things your posts, requesting to dm you, all to call you ugly, or say you weren’t good enough for her, or to call you a slur. suddenly, every post was filled with insults. tears brimmed your eyes again, and you couldn’t hold them back. you cried softly, the words imprinted into your brain.

as another attempt to distract yourself, you opened tiktok, but you encountered the same problem. different users with billie as their profile pictures commented relentlessly. the seriousness of the situation had taken you from crying silently to sobbing uncontrollably. you wanted to put your phone down so bad, but they drew you in, the words starting to convince you yourself of these things. you didn’t even hear the front door open, or the footsteps up the stairs. in fact, you only noticed billie was home when the bedroom door opened. you quickly threw your phone to the side and wiped your tears with your sleeves, sniffling.

“baby, did you see-” she began as she opened the door, stopping once she saw the state you were in. her face dropped into one of concern.

“hey, what’s wrong?” she asked, coming to sit next to you.

“nothing,” you mumbled, but the tears that were still rolling made you very unconvincing.

she picked up your phone, seeing what you had seen. she took a moment to read some of them before looking back up at you, tears brimming her own eyes.

“y/n,” she said pitifully before wrapping her arms around you tightly.

you hugged her back, the two of you crying into each others arms for a moment before you whispered something so gently that she probably wouldn’t have heard it if you were even an inch further from her.

“they’re right,” the words were followed by soft sobs on your part.

billie broke the hug, looking at you with a shocked and confused expression.

“no,” she said firmly, her eye contact unbreaking, “they’re wrong.”

“how do you know?” you sniffled, wiping your own tears off your face.

“you’re perfect, you’re sweet and you’re caring, you’re the most selfless person i know, you know me better than anyone else, and you’re beautiful,” she confessed, offering you a smile which you returned, “if anything, i’m the lucky one.”

“alright, i don’t know if i’d push it that far,” you laughed softly.

“they’re just jealous y’know?” she said.

“uh huh,” you said sarcastically, smiling at her.

“i’m serious!” she smiled back.

“those bitches are all jealous because we have what they want. can you blame them?” she joked, causing you to laugh.

she placed a kiss on your lips before pulling out her own phone.

“we’re gonna settle this right now,” she said as she opened instagram, picking photos of the two of you together to post.

“you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” you said.

“i want to,” she assured.

she saved it as a draft, making you a bit confused. she opened her stories, making a black screen before starting to type, thats when you realized what she was doing.

some of the comments i’ve seen about me and my girl today are absolutely disgusting. if you can’t find it in your heart to support us, then shut the fuck up and fuck off. don’t call yourself my fan if you have or were going to comment hateful shit on any posts about us.

the text made you smile to yourself. she posted the draft from earlier with a heart in the caption and immediately disabled the comments. she shared the post to her own story and added a text above it.

anyway, here’s some gay ass shit for all u real fans

you laughed at the text as she posted it and set her phone down. you kissed her hard, a smile on your lips and one on hers.

“i love you,” you said.

“i love you more.”

--

taglist: @lizziecuervo1996 | @vickycarvalhoo | @mulof | @estrellarimar | @ready-4-fanfiction | @caitlink26 | @augustvandyne | @l0nlyl0ve | @billiestitties | @count-orlok | @juliettexco | @nataliasknife | @mywlwwriting | @thenazwife | @h1ppieth1ngs | @shxwty43 | @lovellydolly | @niaaalovesfiction | @starskyshasmith18 | @onlyperc | @lovelyy-moonlight | @Geed3 | @blondetxxz | @mxqdii |

[inkofamethyst]

November 20, 2023

Weekend thoughts.

So I've had an album to help deal with anxiety for the past couple of years, and I think I now have an album to promote self-confidence and hype myself up before an event. Beyonce's Renaissance has been played regularly this semester (almost) straight through. It's great for a power walk to campus.

UGH okay so six months to the day after my last day of undergrad my school-supplied free HBO Max subscription was cruelly ripped from my grasp without warning. I knew it was coming eventually, and I've been working on clearing my watchlist for months. Unfortunately, their bet was totally on point. I immediately resubscribed. And best believe imma watch every CENT's worth (I watch a minimum of 1-2 Batman episodes a day these days, and when you consider the convenience, the cost isn't bad). So it seems that my streaming service hopping has begun, as it's neither necessary nor responsible to pay for several services that all have the same role. (I might let Max go over break to focus on reading and watching shows on my parents' accounts at home.)

My... ceramics-friend (a cohort member) invited me to a friendsgiving she was hosting (she knows a lot of people who live in the area), and it was not a bad time at all. I get nervous in situations (lol there could be a full stop right here) where I only know the host, but a couple of people I knew/was acquainted with showed up and that made things a bit better. I employed my usual strategy of "find a place to sit and then stay there" and that was good. I didn't stay to the end, but pretty close. I did meet some really cool people!! (Side note: I don't really drink bc I don't care for the taste, but we're now at the age where a goldenish drink is more likely to be gin with other flavors than apple juice and now I know that it is absolutely necessary to ask what something is before filling a glass (but best believe I finished my whole (tiny) glass like a big girl). I tell people that I'm a bit stunted due to covid but truthfully it's just because I'm pathetic boring uh uhh.. intensely introverted (still gotta mind how I talk about myself these days, even an unchecked joke could set my progress back)).

This summer I'd bought two pairs of Docs (one on a whim and then another that I'd wanted for years and years) because they were both ridiculously discounted. I'd broken in the impulse pair over the last several months (1461 patents, they're going to be my ~conference docs~ I think) then a week or so ago decided to start breaking in the other pair (1460 Nappa). Ngl, I thought they were a huge mistake at first. Tight, inflexible, tough to put on. My feet HURT. But. After a couple of days out (only a few hours at a time), they feel quite a bit better. Still months to go, I know, but I feel relieved.

Last thing: after having my third eye opened to the idea of building equity through a house and feeling intense rage against the idea of renting for the rest of my life (specifically if I choose to settle in one place), I've come to realize that this foreverrent thing touches more than just housing. I want to own my favorite albums now, my favorite movies, shows. I don't want my ability to consume my favorite media to be at the mercy of a streaming service. The most difficult part of that though (after figuring out the list of what I want to own and also paying for it over time) is figuring out where to store the hard copies. This might be a problem I spend more time working out this summer when there's less going on, but now that I'm ~radicalized~ I just wanted to state that it's on my radar. It's probably not reasonable to chip away at this while I'm in this apartment since it won't be my final place in grad school and I don't want to move more boxes than needed.

Today I'm thankful for.. uhm uhh OH I'm thankful that the clicking noises don't wake me up at night anymore.

I wonder how much of that half circle skirt I'll be able to complete at home over break [edit, four days later: none]. May have to hem during winter break.

Also the M9 reunion post-apogee was SO FUN k bye

[fists4once]

#𝙵𝙸𝚂𝚃𝚂𝟺𝙾𝙽𝙲𝙴 : a  fandom - less portrayal of  archie andrews, inspired by ethel cain's preacher's daughter and removed from canon.      often dc based, but very crossover friendly ! extremely personal + original take on the character, re - written as fandom - less and very headcanon heavy. sb to enslaughts.

a study in broken promises and fallen pedestals, bruised knuckles punching in the wind, hero complexes, lost childhood and butterfly nets, grief as anger, healing, what it means to have a body, and to not.     𝟶𝟼/𝟸𝟸/𝟸𝟹.     re - imagined  by  jean,  23,  they/any.

notes. prompts.

dash rules.

you do not need to be following my main to follow and interact with me over here.     however,  i do require that i be following you from there before interaction.

000. . .     disclaimer.

the rpc's distancing from riverdale is very much understood, however, my portrayal of archie is incredibly personalized and wholly adapted to a personal trajectory of mine over the last half a decade. inspiration is taken from the cw show for his backstory, but my default verse for archie is only vaguely season five - like, but that's about it as far as similarities go. this character is a comfort muse unfortunately and incredibly comfortable for me to write simply because of how long i've been doing it. if you hate riverdale, i promise i've heard it all before and am not here to hash it out, but to write what's practically become an original character for me. if you don't wanna be here, simply scroll or block, beloved.

001. . .     activity.

i'll be frank : i write pretty sporadically, and this goes for ic and ooc interactions. i can get overwhelmed juggling responsibilities often, and socializing is one of the first things to go.     i un  /  fortunately work 40 hour work weeks, and only get every other weekend off,  so my schedule makes consistent activity difficult on top of my focus. if i can successfully plot something with you, i find my muse is sooo much more involved, but i'm contradictorily bad at it due to the reasons above ; it's truly hit or miss, and i understand if that becomes frustrating for any of my partners.    sometimes i’ll be able to get out a couple drafts a week,  others merely once,  or not at all. if i haven’t replied or answered something in a while,  please know it’s nothing personal, i’m just taking my time until i feel good about what i can put down.     writing is a hobby i enjoy, but if you're looking for a blog with any sort of regularity, this isn't the one for you. i have other rp blogs i try to run as well,  therefore i might be very slow on this one at times.     i can be quite the flaky rp partner,  so i apologize in advance for that and completely understand if my antics   [  or lack thereof  ]   result in an unfollow. if i go longer than two months without activity, i'll try to make a hiatus notice.

002. . .     following.  

because of the previously stated,  i’m also highly selective with who i rp with.     i want to not to bite off more than i can chew,  and for the sake of pacing myself,  my activity will be reserved for mutuals only.     if my thread count gets too high for my liking, it's not uncommon that i drop threads, but i will absolutely try and let you know if that happens.     duplicates are always welcome <3   [  let me know if you need me to tag same - muse posts and i’ll be happy to !  ] i regularly go on softblocking sprees to keep my follower count semi - low, but do feel free to re - follow if you feel like the stars merely misaligned for our first bout of mutual following and i'd be very down to give it another shot. on that note, it'll take me a week+ to follow back sometimes, as i like to read through not only rules, but dossiers and verse pages, especially for ocs, so it can take a hot minute.

003. . .     etiquette.

the basics  ;  don’t be an asshole,  any transphobia,  biphobia,  homophobia,  racism,  whitewashing,  pro - shipping,  incest,  etc,  will be blocked on sight.     no godmodding,  please cut your threads,  continue asks in new posts,  etc,  and no stealing of any personal concepts of mine.     loose inspiration is fine,  but if i see repeated similarities,  i may or may not approach you about it.     formatting - wise,  here is an example of my prose style.     i primarily use big ol’ text and static or no icons,  beta editor + xkit rewritten,  but feel free to format however you like and i’ll try to match you somewhat. since my concussion, however, i will no longer be threading with super small text or anything heavily formatted, as this can strain my eyes and make headaches worse, even with my glasses.

004. . .     shipping.  

i’m all about exploring meaningful dynamics,  whether they be platonic,  familial,  antagonistic,  pre - established,  etc,  so feel free to shoot me a message if you’d like to plot something out between our muses !     while the mun of this blog is 18+,  smut just really isn’t my thing  ;  referenced  ‘ offscreen ’  as it were is fine,  as are nfsfw headcanons and such,  maybe fade to black  /  time skips,  but for the most part,  you won’t find any roleplayed smut on this blog.     this of course is muse dependent and does not apply to any underage muses.     romance is fine to some degree,  but again,  if they are a child,  anything beyond lighthearted and innocent experiences are off limits,  no exceptions.     if i see you’ve aged up a minor character for shipping purposes,  it will result in an instant unfollow.     if at some point i flesh out adult verses for them,  these shipping rules will not change.     on that note as well,  i do prefer to rp with muns who are also 18+.     i don’t see your age somewhere in your rules or pinned,  it will affect my willingness to follow.

005. . .     memes.

memes from anyone,  anytime,  for the muse or for the mun,  are always welcome,  and often a go - to ice breaker of mine since starter calls make me nervous.     please don’t hesitate to send a good handful since i try not to cage myself into answering ones i just don’t have muse for.     i find if i force stuff,  i’m just less likely to ever actually get it done,  so don’t feel like you’re overwhelming me if you send more than just a couple for me to choose from.     please remember to specify which muse your asks are for unless it’s to one of my sideblogs.     if you want to start a thread from an ask,  i greatly encourage it since i try to write most answers as potential starters anyway ! lastly, any memes in my tag aren't expired. if i don't want them sent in anymore, i'll delete them from the tag.

006. . .     triggers.  

this blog leans horror - adjacent in many ways,  and this blog will be portraying that accordingly,  including trigger - heavy content such as  :  depression,  ptsd,  panic attacks,  body horror / issues, violence / injury,  horror elements,   parental death, smoking,  religious imagery,  as well as past statutory rape,  but i will try to tag it as  ‘ trigger // ’.     on that note,  please do keep in mind  :  any abuse present on my blog will be in headcanons or backstories,  never actual threads.     if i’m writing with villain muses,  physical harm may be present,  but i refuse to roleplay any domestic  /  animal  /  harm or abuse in any form.     my personal triggers are visual eye gore,  visual self harm,  and visual vomit.     please do feel free to say something if i forget to tag a post and i’ll try to tag it for you right away !

whew. all that said, i'm jean, 23, white, and i use they/any pronouns ! thank you for taking the time to read my rules,  and rest assured if i follow you,  that means i’ve read through yours as well <3 discord is available for mutuals upon request.

007. . .     blogroll.

enslaughts.     a medium activity horror - heavy multimuse. dvrast.     a selective jesper fahey. low activity.     follows from enslaughts. wolfsp1der.     an original spider - person. low activity. wayfares.     a selective western multimuse. hiatus. greatloss.     a selective slow five hargreeves. hiatus. clericlost.     a selective slow william byers. hiatus. mindsflayed.     a selective slow mind flayer + vecna. hiatus.     follows from clericlost.

[myahawkins]

#1 A place for me - After college I wasn't the most clueful person on really what to do with my life... and because I've never really been the most social of people (Me being the poster child for Introverted shutins) I kind of didn't have... anyone... so I was left with the decision to either stay in Nebraska or move back home to Kansas.

Nebraska had nothing for me really (Except a fresh start) and Kansas wasn't bad for someone like me especially since... I left a lot of people behind when I went to college. People I wish I had kept in contact with all throughout the years. So I decided about 3 1/2 months ago to come home and try and rekindle the flames I once had with old friends.

When I got home, I stayed with my mother for a week before ending up finding/leasing my current apartment for a dual contract (one years lease) while staying in my old room, pretty much just as I left it. I started to spiral a bit, I wasn't ever the one to feel depressed really, I kind of just... idk feel sad and mope, but never felt... depression... or at least I wouldn't classify myself as depressed.

So as I sat in my room alone. I watch as my little somethings that kept me satisfied normally, slowly fade to big ol nothings. I moved into my apartment via a moving company, and was setup completely by the end of the next day.

It wasn’t until then I realized I had enough money to honestly sit back for awhile (take time to figure things out) so I did, and in that time I tried to find those old friends of mine online through social media.

I thought honestly it'd be the easiest thing in the world, but as I searched for their names and profiles everywhere... I didn't just find nothing but other people with shared names or empty blank dead profiles... but nothing at all.

I searched for EVERYONE, but... no one came up... I was filled immediately with this existential dread, for the first time in my life, I fell into a spiraling panic and depression state... I... was so... scared.

Then... I found someone... the last person I'd ever think to find after such a long time... such a dreadful, painful figure that brought nothing but suffering and douchbaggery to everywhere he went. Someone who truly gave no fucks. Someone with no allegiances whatsoever.

The Demon, The Rage Creature, The Attacking Beast, The Devil Himself... The Destroyer. He in the past was nothing short of every fathers worst nightmare boyfriend for their daughter's.

The Destroyer was someone who did whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted... at the cost of everyone in his life or any unfortunate passer-by. He was a biological robot. Dead eyes and reactions based on the emotional responses he could force from you.

His hands completely tatted, with a big vapor wave lobster upon his kneck. He was made of muscle, someone who walked into a store and eyes were locked on him from start to finish (granted because he looked like a dirty street rat, because he was)

He was kind of terrifying, especially since he was always in some kind of fight or illegal activity, he was a thief, a thug, a lying manipulating abusive power addict with an authority complex with no emotional barrier to stop him from hurting others. He was... the worst.

But, There he was. A lone active record pinged by my D.L.R.B. (Software that allows full record searches of a name spanning across internet archives that can be connected to regional data to ping a person's location)

I had everything I needed to find him, but one dosen't simply just approach someone as feral as this, no. I found through the search, his forklift license, and to where it was currently registered to aka his work.

I scouted out the area and his work building for a couple days, so I could get eyes on him, and figure out his schedule somewhat. I seen him one day and couldn't believe it was him.

He was smaller and less jacked, looked like a skeleton of his prior self. And I couldn't see his bright kneck tattoo. I was... confused to say the least, a little... angry? for some reason.

I walked to the front door of his work and banged on it, to garner the attention of that fucking rat. I was met with a lackey that worked with The Destroyer. I asked for him. He said ok ill get him. I hid behind the stairs leading out from the door.

He came out, and I snuck up behind him... leg sweeped him, knocking him on his ass, putting my boot on his kneck, asking all the questions I was owed... especially as to why... he looked like shit.

[ineffablyendless]

inspired by @magnusbae 's post about it here

KAITLYN:...andddd THAT was Kim Petras' and Sam Smith's Unholy, and you can stick it right to Andrew for requesting knowing damn fucking well it's two weeks too old to be relistened to again every goddamned time you turn the radio on. Good news is, you'll not be listening to ANY tunes for a good next 10 minutes or so, cus it's time for the obligatory radio host banter time

[AUTOMATED NOISE OF WHOOPS AND LOUD CHEERING]

ROSE: You can at least...TRY to sound a little more enthusiastic, Kate. You're the one getting paid to be here, between the two of us.

KAITLYN: And YOU can stand to be a little less sweet, Rosie, you're making the cynics in the studio feel bad.

ROSE: I'd say sorry if I didn't know that wasn't your default states

KAITLYN: (Laughs) There's the cheek it takes a blue moon to find! Folks, all 8 of our regular listeners, I know you're waiting for Hannah's routine Horoscope segment, so I'm afraid I'm going to have to be the one to break the news. She has, unfortunately, contracted COVID last month.

[AUTOMATED DISSAPOINTED "AWW-ING" NOISES]

ROSE: She's vaccinated, of course, take your shots guys!- and we're praying for her swift recovery. In a week or two, she'll be back here to answer your burning questions but in the mean time, that does mean we're down our usual reading segments.

KAITLYN: HOWEVER!

ROSE: Oh goodie.

KAITLYN: We WERE able to find a GUEST as a replacement this week, you'll never guess where we found him-

ROSE: I had this uncle, well, technically uncle, he owed me a couple of favours, it's this whole thing-

KAITLYN:-and it turns out he's an Oneirocritic, which is just bonkers-

ROSE: He's oneiro-something at least.

KAITLYN:-Which is really just a fancy word for a man who can read dreams, isn't that fantastic? This will be the first time I'm meeting him as well, actually, though he's waiting here in the studio, he'll be on in just a bit-

ROSE: If you're the sort to go through any of the student forums or your emails you'll have found we've opened shop for 3 dream-related questions to be answered this week. Thank you to everyone's who's pitched in their sensible questions, and if your question wasn't chosen for this week's segment, well, there's always Friday. I know we usually have a little twinkle going for Hannah, but that seemed a bit innapropriate for our new guest, so I hope you guys are alright with getting to know him first. Is that alright, Uncle Dream?

MORPHEUS:...I suppose it must be.

KAITLYN: (flustered) Oh my. Hello.

ROSE: I'm so glad you could make it, uncle Dream, I know how you're usually so busy and all.

MORPHEUS: I am. A man of my word, Rose Walker, and you speak truthfully of debts to be repaid. It is...the least I could do.

ROSE: Well, I appreciate it anyway. Would you like to introduce yourself to our listeners?

MORPHEUS: They know who I am. Men simply forget, in waking hours.

KAITLYN: Dyou, like, sorry. You don't happen to have an ASMR video account somewhere?

MORPHEUS:...I'm afraid I do not...?

ROSE: Ignore her, she's just a bit surprised is all, you have a really nice voice, is what she's trying to say.

MORPHEUS: (Amused) Do I? I am afraid it is a simple matter of perception, then, Rose Walker. I sound as the human mind would accept me to sound.

ROSE: She imagines you to sound really nice then. About the whole introduction thing-

MORPHEUS: Yes. Your listeners, dear Rose, my Dreamers, they are well-acquainted of me. I am the lull of their stubborn minds and the gentle wandering of passion-driven, soul-starved spirits, and I walk by your sides for a third of your lives. I need no more introduction as they would of an old friend.

ROSE: Well can they-can they know a name to call you? At least?

MORPHEUS: There is power. To names.

KAITLYN: It makes it easier for the records. You know. If we need to call you back.

ROSE: Which we probably dont need to by the end of the month.

KAITLYN: Do we have your number? Did you give your number to someone? Do you have one?

ROSE: It adds to the whole relatability thing too. And I've already called you Uncle Dream at least twice on-air, might be awkward for a bunch of strangers to refer you as uncle Dream for the next two segment's worth of questions, at least.

MORPHEUS: (Hums) You are of higher wisdom, then, of course, I concede. My names are vast, and many. Which would you prefer?

ROSE: Something simple? Easy? Maybe recognizable?

MORPHEUS: Recognizable. Yes. I suppose in such matters, my name you are most acquainted with in these times would be...the Sandman.

KAITLYN: The Sandman? Really?

ROSE: Aw, that's perfect, uncle Dream! It's my little brother's favourite bedtime story.

KAITLYN: Your nephew?

ROSE: I'm sure Jed'll love it Uncle Dream.

KAITLYN: Oh that is really cute. Shit.

ROSE: Ok Mr Sandman, are you ready for your first question?

MORPHEUS: I suppose I am, as you say, ready.

ROSE: Alright, so Mattie, 23 asks-

[netflixofficial]

What do you consider to be "comfortably middle class" and what was the first treat you got for yourself when you finally reached feeling financially comfortable ?

(Un)fortunately I am unable to answer anything about class without a full rant and essay so: short version is I don't remember. Long version of my financial life context and many thoughts about how much capitalism and classism suck are below the cut.

I did include a couple notes on treats I bought along the way of getting out of poverty though.

Okay first I just need to make sure people understand that when I say I grew up extremely poor, I mean that literally. Maybe most people here are capable of taking me at my word, but I once had an ex look me in the eye and say "You probably weren't actually poor, you were most likely lower middle class and just didn't realize it." ... We had been dating for several YEARS at that point and I was too taken aback to respond. Honestly should've dumped the asshole then and there, but I digress. Point is I've had people think I was exaggerating every time I mentioned being/having been poor for well over two decades now and I'm sick of it.

So let's do the math. Growing up my stepdad was disabled and didn't contribute (this isn't a knock on disabled people just him, that's a therapy session on its own). That left my mother trying to raise three kids at home with a part time job. She tried doing online college to get a better paying job, but suffice it to say the economy and job market struck her out regardless. She only ever made slightly above minimum wage and hours were inconsistent, but let's be generous and say she made $10/hour and got 32 hours a week. Again, pretty sure it was less than that. She had trouble keeping places because anytime my stepdad was in the hospital there was no childcare for the youngest, and she'd have to call in or other scenarios like that. I may have issues with my mom, but she did try. The system isn't built to get out of. There are documentaries on that I can refer people to if they're interested. I'm giving a very high level version of my progress getting out, but am glossing over many things and unfortunately I truly am the exception not the rule. Anyways:

$10/hour * 32hours * 52weeks = $16,640 a year

Below are the federal poverty guidelines from a random year I was in highschool. Unfortunately the government doesn't care that different cities can have dramatically different costs of living and moving to a cheaper place requires having enough money to move. I think theses cutoffs are ridiculously low and whoever sets them has never tried actually living because you couldn't even pay rent in my current city at these levels, but either way my family was well below the threshold. We only made it by through welfare and even with that there were bad months where I didn't know if the electric would be shut off.

Again two adults (though you can exclude my stepdad if you want idfc) and three kids at home.

I think that sufficiently sets a baseline. When I went to college I was able to get a ton of financial aid (grants, scholarships, and federal student loans), and while I know a ton of people talk about being a "poor college kid" for me that was the first time I didn't have to set every cent I had aside in order to afford necessities for the next year. I used the college's meal program and was able to get whatever I wanted instead of only cereals that were WIC approved. I worked a few different jobs throughout college and was happy. (Note: I'm lucky I never needed major medical care in that time because it put me in the space between state healthcare and being able to afford any commercial plans).

I think the first purchase I remember in that time frame of going from extreme poverty to college kid finances was some fun heals from Kmart. They were red with bows on the toe and I only wore them a couple times but they were super cute and not something I would've even been able to consider spending $20 on before.

Classim tangent: college professors make a ton of assumptions about who is in their class and never seem to expect that their students could possibly have a different financial background than them. Like sure I know I was beating the stats by making it in and not dropping out, but having a professor tell a class of aspiring teachers that they "think poor people make bad financial decisions" was a serious slap in the face. They have no idea what they're talking about.

Anyways, eventually I switched majors and added in IT. I had an internship my last summer before my December graduation and started making $19/hour and that's when I count myself as truly first entering lower middle class. I kept to the same college living style at that point so I could pay off my debts quicker since as it turns out poverty is kinda traumatizing and I wanted to reduce any risk of ending up there again. On graduating I got a job offer at the same company of $66k a year with benefits. Again I mostly kept the same lifestyle but after close to a year I *did* upgrade from my old beater car to a used mini cooper. Six years later I still have that same mini and love it so much.

Not to brag, but also fuck it I think I can be proud of my accomplishments, I'm really fucking good at my job. I've continuously gotten good raises over the years, and quickly paid off all my debts. A couple years ago I made the leap to homeownership and moving to a bigger city. So I have a mortgage now but that is somehow less scary than other debts and after down payment is actually cheaper than renting here (which is ridiculous and another way the system isn't built for people to easily get out of).

My lifestyle has changed a little bit, but not severely. Really my biggest treat to myself is literal treats. I love food and hate cooking, so while I try to be somewhat responsible I do order out quite a bit. I'm also thankful I can do that because when my depression gets bad it's really hard to motivate myself to make food even though I know I need it. I'm able to save for retirement??? That was a foreign concept growing up. Something people did on TV not IRL. I don't take any of it for granted. I do want to plan a real vacation sometime soon and visit another country, but that big of a trip is a bit daunting so one thing at a time.

Classim tangent #2: oh. my. goddds? People who work in companies that pay nice middle class wages with all their middle class coworkers have some serious disconnect sometimes. I mean don't get me wrong everyone has their own situations and could have serious expenses I don't know about like sick relatives, but sometimes things will come out of their mouths that just make me go "damn, you've never actually struggled financially have you?". I listened to a coworker complain about how much taxes were and that it made it hard to get by then twenty seconds later talk about going on their yearly cruise. Like I'm sorry, but I'm still trying to convince myself it's okay to take real vacations. Paying taxes is a fucking privilege. I may disagree with proportions of government spending but goddamn if I'm not proud to be contributing towards public infrastructure and supporting families like the one I grew up in. That conversation wasn't a one off either, it's a common theme that seems like nobody can understand until they've been so poor that the government looks at them and says "What taxes? You literally have nothing to take. But also you still have to prove how poor you are to get any benefits and we will spit on you in the process."

I guess that all brings me to my current financial situation. There's not as straightforward a cutoff like federal poverty line, but the top few articles I've found link to the pews research calculator or census bureau data which I'll link below. Both indicate I'm not just comfortably middle class, I'm upper middle class to low upper which is something I'm struggling to fully process right now. I had a couple very large raises the last two years which put me at $120k. Uncomfortably close to the top 10%. I do have recurring donations set up for various charities and should probably increase them. I have been thinking a lot lately about how there should be a maximum wage and considering what one I want to set for myself. Anything over that would go to charity in addition to my existing donations. Definitely less than 200k which seems impossibly high but also isn't outside the realm of possibility with my current career trajectory and that's a bit crazy.

Going back to (upper) middle class being delusional - this cannot be the same 120k that both my ex and a different former friend somehow had financial stress while making. Like borrowing money from parents to have a financial cushion just in case level stress. At the time I didn't want to shit talk because I cared about them, but I was still a bit confused and now that I'm further removed from those situations I'm honestly pissed. It's one thing for people with kids or other major life expenses, those I get. But the people I'm talking about were more similar to my current finances than not, they just didn't have the same frame of reference from being poor or apparently any financial literacy. Hell I'm not even financially literate but I have enough basics to know I'm in a good position. The fact that this income class can shit on the poor for making "bad decisions" (granted it was different people who said that) and then turn around and complain about their own finances dumbfounds me every time.

Also since I've written an entire essay anyways, it's insane that I make this much in IT working a basic 40hours (and rare on-call to fix things if they break at night) while people working intensive manual labor or emotionally draining jobs make so much less. It's insane that the 1% make 4x or more, and the .1% insanely higher. The economic situation of the USA is fundamentally broken, and Congress's frame of reference is their own salaries which put them in the top 10%. The federal minimum wage hasn't been raised in 15 years while inflation continues to increase. As someone who made it from poverty to upper middle class, I think I'm qualified to say that this shit isn't working and something needs to change. You can't claim to be one of the greatest countries while there are homeless people starving in the streets and billionaires throwing whatever the fuck kind of party billionaires throw. The income gap just gets worse year after year and they keep throwing the same lines out over and over as if it will fix itself. Literally the definition of insanity and it needs to stop. We need to do better.

[maxislvt]

She Knows Just How To Hold Me

Living with Wanda wasn't the hardest thing in the world, but it was a bit tough for you to get adjusted to being there for so long. She showered you in any form of entertainment you asked for, but it didn't change the fact you were stuck in her house all day. Just as you adjusted to living with Wanda, your arrangement gets flipped on its head. Though not unenjoyable, it's not as fun as your original status of "doll".

Warnings: dubious consent, pet play, collaring, aphrodisiac (kinda), blood sucking, semi-public sex, public humiliation (also kinda), series typical manipulation (less than last time)

Series Masterlist

A/N: this would've been done sooner, but I physically had to run two mile laps every time Wanda used a pet name. also there will be a bit more time between this chapter and chapter 4 because i will be busy with family. I may post something short between that time but I cannot promise anything :(

After spending just one night at your house, Wanda insisted you come back to hers. Though she loved seeing where you grew up and enjoyed all the stories from your rather adventurous childhood, it became increasingly obvious that you could not be trusted to stay at home alone for an entire month. You had insisted on making dinner despite your weakened state. Unfortunately, the extent to which your parents had spoiled you had really come through because dinner was limited to the fanciest packaged ramen you could make. Though it was a simple meal, you nearly burned the meat and had overboiled the noodles. If it weren’t for the fact you couldn’t safely get over the gate, Wanda would’ve dragged you to her home and made a real dinner. However, she decided to spare your feelings when she saw how excited you were to feed her.

The second night fell, you found yourself climbing the gate despite how many times you objected earlier that day.

You had never stayed with Wanda longer than a week. It was always on time your lover had specifically set aside to spend with you. As much as you two wished, there just wasn’t any way for her to be off for an entire month straight. It made you upset at first, but you quickly found ways to keep you occupied until your lover returned from her super mysterious job. There were already things to do. Books you were obsessed with, games you couldn’t get enough of, and enough space to run around like the untrained puppy you were. Yet, none of those things interested you more than going through Wanda’s things. It was bad, but it was really Wanda’s fault. Somedays you didn’t want to play games, read, or run around and everytime you attempted to study another ghostly hand would pinch in between your legs until you stopped.

It started out innocent. The first time you went into her room was just for a nap. You slept in too late to give Wanda a goodbye kiss and it ruined your mood more than you expected. The only logical solution was to wrap yourself in a cocoon that smelt like her until you felt better. Just when you got ready to slip into her bed and sleep away your distress, you noticed her nightstand was ajar. You managed to ignore it for all of ten seconds. Then your curiosity got the better of you and you began to go through it. There wasn’t much to look at in the top drawer. Only a couple things stood out. A few unopened letters with the name Pietro signed on the front. You were jealous at first, but then you noticed he had the same last name as Wanda. She didn’t talk about her family much so you elected to put the letters back. There was a small ring that you had noticed. It would’ve been nothing major if it were anyone else’s, but Wanda wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a ring that was so plain. It was noteworthily plain. The only interesting thing about it was the tiny circle that hung from the loop in the front. The last thing was a YSL designer wallet that made you suddenly aware of how expensive everything was and it was more than enough to get you to close the top drawer. If there was anything scandalous, it would be in the bottom drawer. As much as you wanted to open it, it sent off raging alarms in your head. No matter how many times you went through Wanda’s closet, dressers, or even the vanity compartment — you refused to touch the bottom drawer of the nightstand. The chest at the end of her bed gave you the same vibes. The dark leather straps and smooth wood made it look ancient. At first you thought it was just some freaky family heirloom, but it lacked the Maximoff family crest. Simply walking by either made you shudder. Yet, the more you attempted to ignore either, the more your curiosity grew.

There was this tiny voice in the back of your head telling you to just look. Wanda had to have known you were going through her stuff by now. If she hadn’t said anything, she clearly didn’t care. Even if she did, just looking wouldn’t get you in trouble. As much as you tried to ignore thoughts, they got the better of you. The thought of what could’ve been inside kept you up all night. The second Wanda had kissed you goodbye for the morning, you found yourself scrambling back to her room.

You started with the drawer first. You were a bit underwhelmed to say the least. It wasn’t that what you found wasn’t interesting, but it just didn’t warrant the anxiety it gave you. That didn’t stop you from going through it all and trying everything on. It started out with simple earrings and bracelets. You could tell which were real jewels that had history longer than your dad’s injury reports and which were cheap that Wanda bought at some random corner store because she thought they were cute. Ankhs encrusted with blood red diamonds sat next to cheap plastic bats with worn paint jobs. You found it endearing. Even a big bad vampire like Wanda had a soft spot for the most stereotypical things. You spent so much time trying stuff on you had nearly forgotten the other half of your mission.

The adventure you had with the nightstand had cured any anxiety you had about whatever could be in the chest. However, it seemed to be a false sense of security considering how you screamed and immediately slammed the chest shut.

You and Wanda hadn’t explored many things sexually. The most taboo thing you had experienced was when she pinned you down and let those weird ghost hands have their way with you. To see so many sex toys and strange leather contraptions — all to be used on you and you only — was overwhelming to say the least. So overwhelming that you didn’t even have the guts to touch any of it. You simply walked away and found something else to fill your head until Wanda had returned home. You didn’t think to check if you had closed the chest or put all the jewelry up in the right place. You were too flustered to even look at the door to Wanda’s room. Unfortunately, that bashfulness proved to be your downfall.

When Wanda came home, she was clearly in a bad mood. You sense before she even opened the door and the way her usual ‘I’m home’ was limited to a frustrated grunt and a quick back hug. Wanda hated being upset around you. You were, usually, innocent and didn’t deserve to face the wrath meant for low-level vampires that weren’t smart enough to dispose of bodies. Today though, you were far from innocent and there had been more than a few unexplained dead bodies. Wanda was pissed and she couldn’t help but yell.

She yelled out your entire name. Not only were you terrified to be on the receiving end of her anger again, she had never referred to you by your name. It was always ‘doll’, ‘baby’, or ‘sweet one’. Never your actual name — especially not your middle name. You didn’t even know she knew your middle name. Not wanting to make the situation any worse for yourself, you made your way to Wanda’s room. The closer you got the worse you felt. Your stomach tied in knots and your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Wanda snapped her fingers and used two of them to point down at the ground behind her. Her blood was boiling. It seemed subtle redirection didn’t work with you. She wanted to be gentle. To guide you into being her perfect doll that she could spend hours praising and spoiling. Instead, you decided to be a brat. She took a deep breath before turning to face you. It eased her nerves slightly to see you were at least smart enough to sit on your knees the right way. “I’ve been trying really hard to be soft with you,” She whispered through gritted teeth. One of her hands worked its way through your hair. It was more so possessive than calming. Wanda forcefully tilted your head back and ran her thumb over your bottom lip. “I want you to be my sweet little doll, but I leave you alone and you start running around like some untamed mutt.” A wicked grin spread across her face. You were enjoying her cruelty. She could smell it. “Is that what you want to be,hm,” She asked with faux curiosity. “You want to be my stupid little pup that I take everywhere and train all day?”

You frantically searched Wanda’s eyes for some clue how to respond. Were you supposed to respond or was she just messing with you? If it was a genuine question, was there a right answer? Why were you wet right now — were you supposed to be horny? You swallowed a lump in your throat before opening your mouth. Nothing came out. You were at a loss for words. “I mean…it sounds fun, I guess,” You responded dumbly. It must’ve been the right answer because your idiotic response earned you a firm kiss on the lips. You had to stop yourself from following Wanda’s lips once she moved away from yours. It was rare for her to put you in such a position. You were always submissive to her, but she was rarely ever dominant to you. It was something you had unknowingly been craving your entire relationship. The way her hand squeezed your neck just tight enough to keep you on your toes. It was addictive.

“That’s my good puppy, now follow me,” She commanded as she stood up. Wanda had many ideas about what she wanted to do with you. Most of which she thought you were too pure and stupid to wrap your head around. She settled down on the edge of the bed. She looked over at your nervous body. “Come on. We do have all day, but I really want to play with my new puppy.” She normally used soft words and praises to get you to loosen, but you clearly needed more than. For a moment, she filled your head with exactly what she wanted to do. She wanted you crawling on all fours and sitting obediently between her legs.

Just like magic, you came.

It was a degrading and embarrassing experience. No one but Wanda could see you, but refused to lift your head up. Even when you sat obediently in front of Wanda, a position you had found yourself in many times before, you couldn't look her in the eyes. It didn't matter how sweetly spoke to you or how much she caressed your face, you couldn't look at her. You had always been a doll, something for Wanda to play dress up with and take care of — now you were crawling on the floor and being talked down to. Sure you were aroused, but you weren't exactly happy to be demoted so suddenly.

Wanda tsked and shook her head. "You're my precious puppy, let me see your cute face." She attempted to raise your head but you jerked away from her almost immediately. A sigh escaped her lip. Her fingers gripped your jaw, forcing you to look her in the eye. "I'm already really upset with you, so be good for me and make this easy for the both of us." She kissed you again when you nodded at her. She carefully reached over you and grabbed something out of her nightstand. You couldn’t see it, but you could tell it was something important. “I was worried you found your little gift, but guess dumb puppies like you don’t know what expensive things look like.” A laugh escaped her lips when she saw the way your face fell at the insult. “Don’t be upset, puppy. Now stick out your neck.”

You watched as Wanda carefully opened the satin box. It was a collar. It wasn’t a simple dog collar. One meant specifically for people, but more elaborate than the ones you had seen before. It was blood red and had small red gems hanging down the side. There were multiple titanium accents that formed into tiny bats. What stood out the most was the huge cross that hung down off the front of it. It was easily the most complicated piece of jewelry Wanda had owned — and it was for you. A part of you felt honored. Another part was worried. “I thought vampires couldn’t be around crosses?”

Wanda smiled as she carefully put the collar on you. Her fingers carefully ran over the expensive leather wrapped around your neck. “Most can’t, but higher ranking vampires are immune to them.” She leaned down and kissed you. “Which is perfect because I don’t want any scummy low-lifes touching my sweet puppy.” She squeezed your face between her hands and gave you a butterfly kiss .

You didn’t get any time to question the ethics of having a human run around vampires with something that could seriously hurt them, because immediately began your “puppy training” as she put it. You weren’t excited to be talked down to for hours on how to properly address Wanda or where to sit when she came home, but it was better than the spanking that was originally in store for you. If she was satisfied with walking you around the house on all fours then that was just what you'd do.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

It took a while for you to get adjusted to being Wanda's pup, but it took your mind off things. Your parents still checked in on you from time to time and were happy to hear your suitor stepped in to take care of you while they were away. You had been skimpy on information about Wanda. They didn't mind that you liked girls, but you were sure they'd put an end to anything involving a monster. It was a bridge you would inevitably have to cross at some point, but for now, you'd just be Wanda's puppy.

There weren't many huge changes at first. Wanda still bathed and dressed you like she did before. Now your clothes were limited to a shirt, whatever boxers she picked out for you, and a collar to match. The collars were easily the weirdest part of everything. The first one she gave you was amazing, but she only had that one at first. It was too complex to be worn everyday, but Wanda ignored your warnings. Not because you were a stupid puppy that didn't know any better, but because she was more than willing to spend money on a whole new if it ever broke — and break it did. You assumed she would just order one from wherever she got your first one, but you were sorely mistaken. Wanda wanted a collar for just about every occasion and she needed your helping picking them.

You were excited to see the "other world" that vampires lived in but that was quickly overshadowed with embarrassment. Wanda had you leashed the entire time and you weren't allowed to walk more than fifteen feet away from her. Every single vampire you met cooed and waved at you like you were really some lap dog. The worst part was that Wanda encouraged all of it. It only stopped when a slightly older woman came up and tried making a pass at you. Then you were forced to stand next Wanda the rest of the trip. The only good things that came out of the whole thing were some new clothes and a promise that you'd be allowed to go out more since you behaved so well.

You didn't even get some alone time to recover from the embarrassment of being dragged around all day. The next morning, Wanda woke you up early and got you dressed to go. She assured you it wouldn't be as busy as yesterday, but you had your skepticisms. You were too tired to ask any questions and assumed the two of you would be running errands again. Maybe something that brought less attention to you like grocery shopping or going to a bank.

You weren't expecting to be coerced into sitting on a dog bed underneath Wanda's desk while she worked all day. It wasn’t the most uncomfortable thing in the world. The bed was obviously meant for a person rather than a dog and you were given attention whenever Wanda finished a task or needed a short break. You had water and snacks handed to you from time to time. Once lunch came around you were finally allowed to sit on top of the desk. Wanda didn’t give you too much freedom and insisted on feeding you.

“Are you not going to eat,” You asked, mouth still partially full with the sandwich Wanda had brought in for you. Wanda hadn’t explained much of her vampirism to you. She’d answer anything you asked, but you felt weird constantly probing about her life. “Can you even eat?” You leaned down and took another bite of your sandwich. It was a little embarrassing, but Wanda had briefly considered making you eat from a dog bowl and that was certainly something your pride would never recover from.

Wanda laughed at your curiosity. She softly rubbed your inner thigh and smiled up at you. “You’ll feed me after your food settles.” Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip to repress a smile. Though she was powerful enough to eat human food, she was still a vampire and vampires need blood — and yours was delicious. She only got a small taste when she finished the connection and she was starting to crave more of it. There were bags of blood she could sip from, those were usually what she preferred, but she wanted you “Unless you’re too scared, I can just find someone else to feed from later tonight,” She trailed off with a slight pout. There was no need to play with your heart, but she loved to see you scrambling to make things right, even when you had done no wrong.

“No, it’s fine…just be gentle this time, please,” You asked before hesitantly rolling up your sleeves. The first time still left you disoriented from time to time. You hadn’t expected blood sucking to be glitz and glamor, but the pain was unbearable. However, Wanda was worth the occasional dizzy spell. You assumed she was kind enough to avoid feeding in your presence, but you had no idea she wasn’t eating at all. “You don’t have to go hungry, I’ll feed you if you want me to.” You brought your wrist up to Wanda’s mouth.

Wanda shook her head. “It’ll hurt too much if I bite you there.” She turned her attention to your thighs. Her hands ran over the soft flesh a few times before looking back at you. “It’s better if I bit you here, you won’t feel anything.” She flashed a sincere smile. It wasn’t a complete lie. It wouldn’t hurt more than getting a shot. It was more an aphrodisiac more than anything. “It’ll be quick, I promise,” She whispered sweetly as she held your hand. Her teeth sunk into your skin with ease. You were like a cake. Clothes, nothing more than the plain white box you came in. Your skin, the sugary sweet frosting she wanted to cover her fingers with and then lick off slowly. Your blood, the heavenly fluff underneath it all just melted in her mouth and she couldn’t get enough. She needed to have you. All of you, even if it meant taking you the confines of her office and on top of her desk. Her hands worked quickly to unbutton your shorts. “Just be good.” She instructed you without thought and you’d listen with even less thought.

Your legs spread even wider to allow Wanda more room to work in. The knot in your stomach appeared seemingly out of nowhere. All you could think about was Wanda and the things she’d do to you. You couldn’t help the noises escaping your lips. You wanted to be quiet and let Wanda use you, but everything felt good. Wanda always made you feel good, but it never overstimulated you that much. “Wanda, I don’t think-,” A whimper escaped before you could finish. Before you knew it, your boxers were thrown on the floor and you were completely exposed to Wanda. Your brain was complete mush.

“That’s my good puppy, just lay back and let me use you,” She said in a hushed voice. Wanda’s tongue slowly dragged against your slit, savoring the taste of your juices. You were an additive problem. She learned the ins and outs of your body easily. You were a needy thing that couldn’t be satisfied with just one of her fingers anymore. Two fingers to stretch you out and make you a messy puppy and you wouldn’t be happy unless you got at least one kiss. “That’s it, my puppy looks so good when they make a mess on my hands,” She cooed at you.

You moaned through gritted teeth. “Need mmm,” Your words slurred together when Wanda’s fingers slipped into. They were hardly enough to satisfy the craving. You needed more and only Wanda could give you enough. “Please, I’ll be extra good, I promise,” You begged. Your hips kept twitching and bucking in desperate attempts to follow the pace Wanda had set. You hated being needy, but not one part of your body would listen to you. "'m sorry, it just feels so— fuck, please do that again."

"Looks like my puppy has quite the dirty mouth," Wanda husked out. Her fingers curled at the perfect angle to rub against the sensitive patch of nerves inside your walls. "You're gonna cum over my fingers like a good puppy," Her commanded as her fingers continued to pump into you. Wanda was rarely so kind to you when you came quickly. She liked to tease and fluster you for hours and then absolutely destroy you once she had her full, but she didn't have hours today. She barely even had time to clean up the mess you made on her desk. Work didn't put an end to your torture by any means.

While Wanda wrote off on important documents, you were to hump against her in any way she ordered. It started with grinding against her shoes, but you were upgraded to her thigh by the end of the work day. Orgasm after orgasm and never ending praise, you couldn't think of a better way to spend your time. You were drowning in Wanda's presence.

Eventually, all good things came to an end and your erratic high was no more.

Now you were lucid and could actually think about everything. Your voice had abandoned you and your thighs hurt — whether that was a side effect of the bit or your grinding, you weren't sure. You were certain that anyone else in the building had heard what you were doing and you'd be forced to face all of them in just a few minutes. The icing on your hellish cake was that Wanda didn't bother to hide the stains you left on her clothes.

The salt in your open wound was the walk from her office down to the front door. Though Wanda insisted you had nothing to worry about, you couldn't take the affirmation seriously. She spread your legs, whored you out like it was nothing, and walked around with the proof of it on her pant leg. Vampires had heightened senses, even if they tried (and most failed) not to make a show of smelling it, simply knowing they could was enough for you to want to disappear forever.

You didn't want to be a puppy anymore.

[digital999placebo]

what are the other boxers’ backstories ? (as vague as you want to go). are they first gen immigrants like gil and ludwig or have they been in america for awhile ?

OMG HI!!! i hope ur ready for a wall of text. This is all up in the air rn, the ones I've thought about the most are Ludwig (duh), Alfred, Matthew and Ivan.

Alfred grew up on a farm in the middle of nowhere Massachusetts USA, n got p big bc of all the physical labour he had to do every day. His father had survived WW2 n during his draft had gotten interested in boxing, but never went above amateur due to an injury. Despite his father teaching him techniques n trying to get Alfred into boxing, Alfred never really cared for the sport, he wanted to be like one of those salesmen in expensive suits n cool cars that came by town every so often to sell what was claimed to b the latest trend in NYC. So when he was 17 he decided to leave home in pursue of higher education to become something. Unfortunately, he had undiagnosed dyslexia and dyscalculia which meant he had a hard time in school before dropping out entirely. He was broke and homesick. He had a couple of friends in NYC who enjoyed boxing and began to spar with them at a gym for fun when a profesional coach saw him and was like "ok ur sloppy as hell and leave too many openings, BUT if u let me train u for just a month i'd bet u could compete for the championship” and the coach was right. Alfred is nicknamed "Comet" bc his punches comes hard and fast and he has a record for the quickest knockout in boxing history. "Comet" also bc when a comet hits the atmosphere, u know, it's like this flashy thing in the sky n Alfred is flashy, he's COCKY, both in n outside the ring. He trashtalks his opponents before the match, verbally n with gestures taunts them in the ring, n shows no sportsmanship in his victories. If Alfred is fighting u know ur getting ur money’s worth, he’s an entertainer, he fights offensive bc that’s what ppl wanna see, his motto is “blood has never been so fun”.  A yea btw his coach is Arthur.

Matthew was born to a teenage mother and grew up in Canada. His dad wasn’t around a lot, even before the draft and even less after, which meant his mother had to work a lot to make everything work and since there wasn’t really many other adults in his life he often did what he wanted and skipped school frequently. He was an only-child so would spend majority of his time alone, taking long walks, skipping stones, drawing, window shopping, anything to pass the time. Since he didn’t want to bother his mother for money, he’d bet money that he could knock out some other kid, and used that money to buy stuff that he wanted. After a particular nasty fight, the state stepped in and deemed Matthew’s mother unfit to take care of a child and he was instead placed in a foster home. Matthew hated every second of it, the foster home wasn’t bad, but emotionally negligent and one day he said “fuck it” and decided to go back to his mother. He didn’t have a car or a bike or any other mean of transportation except his legs so he just started walking. When he finally came back home after 3 years in foster care and 2 weeks walking there, someone else had moved into his and his mother’s old apartment. They said his mother had begun dating some American not so long ago, and that he had convinced her to move to Washington with him. Matthew, having little else, decided to relocate to Washington. But Washington was big, and there were at least a thousand women with the same name as his mother. To make money he did what he had always done, he fought, and like Ludwig he got scouted in some bar at the age of 17. At first he didn’t want to go to NYC since the only reason he was in the US was to find his mother, but eventually yielded when he realised that if he became famous maybe his mother would see him in a newspaper somewhere n they would reunite. His nickname is “Scooper” bc he has a brutal uppercut.

Ivan is a third-generation immigrant whose grandparents fled Russia in the late 1800s. Both his grandparents and parents were musicians, all of them good enough to make a living off it and for Ivan it was obvious that he was going to grow up to be a musician too, he played the piano, trumpet, and contrabass. But then Ivan's father was killed in the last year of ww2, and Ivan's mother, now forced to support 3 kids n her own, had to abandon music and take up two jobs to make ends meet. Ivan lost most of his interest in music after his dad's death, but was dead-set on achieving the American dream of going from poverty to success. Since the only thing he really was good at was music, he tried his best to make it work, despite his efforts, it seemed he never could garner enough attention to make a living off it, he went to auditions, played for record companies, everything, but it just never became anything. He realised after a while that music just wasn't for him anymore, but had trouble finding anything else that he liked. Due to his size and intimidating demeanour, he was hired as a legbreaker for the mob (which paid good enough so his mother didn't have to work so much), and they were also the ones who put him onto boxing. Because of his association with the mob, nobody in boxing liked him, and it didn't help that he was very introverted. He tried his best to cut ties with the mob, but came to realise that it was harder said than done; he received bombs in his mails, he'd get shot at on the street, and relaxation just wasn't a part of his life. He actually has two nicknames, the public one "Bonecrusher" because he once hit an opponent's elbow hard enough to break his arm, and the one mostly used "Boogeyman" bc he's so scary to fight that he has his opponents TREMBLING as they climb into the ring. He also gets his gloves custom made bc his hands r so big.

[kingprinceleo]

so for your vampire Au do you think around after the coupon was given or much later afterwards did shadows and hoaxes relationship begin to improve.

yeah ofc!! the little gift exchange is actually a really big mark of their relationship growing. their first meeting went as bad as it possibly could have, shadow catching hoax stealing the blood hes donated, and immediately starts shooting at him. Hoax can tell hes the donor when shadow gets a cut wound and the blood smells the same as the bags hes been drinking from so mixing the fact that hoax is intrigued by this silly little man, wants more of his special boy alien blood, and also likes the challenge from fighting him, makes hoax determined to be a pest whenever he happens to catch him around the city at night.

i think shadow is funny because hes rlly strange. He wears an absurd amount of silver as a defense mechanism because he hates vampires down to his very core [hes got some silly and goofy ptsd], but at the same time he wants to actively pursue and kill vampires, so his silver also functions as an invitation in a way, like a 'fuck with me and see what happens' he wants to prove hes superior to what he deems disgusting monsters and put them in their place.

after the first encounter, multiple other occurrences over the span of a couple months where they fight like their lives depend on it [for hoax it does] a lot of the fights end with hoax being the winner, which gets makes shadow gamer rage, especially about the fact that hes still actively stealing donor pouches that would go to a better cause than a monsters mouth, hoax picks up on that and proposes that hed stop stealing the blood if shadow let him drink from him. shadow agrees bc martyr complex. Shadow gives hoax VERY strict rules for feeding, he can only feed for a timed amount, and they meet at the same place on certains days every week and shadow doesnt allow for any fluctuation or change of that schedule [at first]. Additionally now with the knowledge that hoax adheres to shadows guidelines, theres less stakes in their fights, which then ends up giving way to them getting very competitive and actually enjoying the fights as an activity, though theres still a lot of malice and elementary school level arguments. they annoy each other in a way that theyve adjusted to and would feel strange if they stopped seeing each other then uh ohhhhhh, hoax makes the criminal mistake of starting to care about dipshits wellbeing, a cardinal sin. he starts showing more concern about shadows health and state after feeding, sometimes bringing him water and food, and generally sticking around afterwards to make sure hes alright [hes started noting that shadows attitude towards vampires is more than just a surface level hate], especially on days where shadow has also done bloodwork during the daytime. shadow is very pissy about hoax showing more care for him and tries to be meaner to ward him off, but hes stubborn and persistent, though the few times it has worked, shadow finds he misses his annoying presence. all of this builds up to hoax giving him the amethyst and shadow having that 'damnit i care enough about him to want to give something back' and having that realization that he cares about a vampire makes him feel a lot of things and he doesnt like it and he tries to shut it down but unfortunately he cannot contain the power of friendship. After the gift exchange, it really sets in stone that the two of them are just able to exists in each others presence in a neutral/positive way, so they spend more nights together and uh oh now theyre friends tough luck

[bananonbinary]

Time for a Salty Meta Post about Martin!

people who’ve followed this blog for a bit know that spending six hours combing through text for some goddamn sources is my specialty, so i compiled every time jon ever talked about martin’s work in season 1. which for the record, he stopped complaining about all the way back in episode 26, where he was angry that martin of all people got hurt.

things jon gets mad at martin for:

not being able to find records that don’t exist

not being able to find someone based only on a first name

the Dog

not wearing trousers in his off-hours

being the one that got caught up in the jane prentiss thing

mag 004 and mag 012 both have jon taking potshots at martin over research that was proven accurate by outside sources

things jon has never once complained about:

martin not understanding the filing system and just putting stuff away at random

martin being clumsy, constantly ruining things, spilling tea everywhere everyday, etc

martin turning in incompetent, poorly-edited, or badly formatted reports

martin not understanding the terminology used, skills expected, etc., and generally being extremely new to the field

please for the love of god stop making martin the silly bumbling idiot who can’t do anything right just because he doesn’t have a formal education. there’s zero evidence for it in the text, and it’s really weird to act like a 4 year degree would outweigh the *10 years* of job experience he has, not just in academia, but in the institute itself by season one. my boy has worked there longer than ANY of the rest of the main cast. screw you guys.

tl;dr: martin is never once shown to be bad at his job, jon pretty much only ever gets mad at him for the really stupid first impression and also not finding stuff that no one else was able to find either. after martin got hurt, jon talks about his research basically the same way he talks about tim’s or sasha’s work.

fucking proof under the cut:

(i didnt include the s1 finale or martin’s statement bc that’s just...two entire episodes of them talking to each other, but there isn’t really any notable Martin Complaints in either of them imo)

I swear, if he’s brought another dog in here, I’m going to peel him.

[pre-launch trailer]

.

Well, technically three, but I don’t count Martin as he’s unlikely to contribute anything but delays.

[...] Alongside this Tim, Sasha and, yes, I suppose, Martin will be doing some supplementary investigation to see what details may be missing from what we have.

[MAG001 Anglerfish]

.

Martin couldn’t find any records of Ex Altiora as a title in existent catalogues of esoteric or similar literature, so I assigned Sasha to double-check. Still nothing.

[MAG004 Pageturner]

.

I had Martin conduct a follow-up interview with Mr. Woodward last week, but it was unenlightening. Apparently there have been no further bags at number 93 and in the intervening years he has largely discounted many of the stranger aspects of his experience. I wasn’t expecting much, as time generally makes people inclined to forget what they would rather not believe, but at least it got Martin out of the Institute for an afternoon, which is always a welcome relief.

[MAG005 Thrown Away]

.

Martin was unable to find the exact date the original house was built but the earliest records he could find list it as being bought by Walter Fielding in 1891.

[...]

We cannot prove any connection, but Martin unearthed a report on an Agnes Montague, who was found dead in her Sheffield flat on the evening of November 23rd 2006, the same day Mr. Lensik claims to have uprooted the tree.

[MAG008 Burned Out]

.

According to Martin, who was here when they took this statement, it was at this point in writing that Mr. Herbert announced he needed some sleep before continuing. He was shown to the break room where he went to sleep on the couch. He did not awaken; unfortunately succumbing to the lung cancer right there. Martin says the staff had been aware of how serious Mr. Herbert’s condition was, and had advised him to seek medical aid prior to giving his statement, but were told rather bluntly by the old man that he would not wait another second to state his case. I can’t decide whether this lends more or less credibility to his tale.

[MAG010 Vampire Killer]

.

“Veepalach” might also be a mishearing of the Polish word “wypalać”, according to Martin, which means to cauterize or brand. Admittedly, if Martin speaks Polish in the same way he “speaks Latin,” then he might be talking nonsense again, but I’ve looked it up and it appears to check out.

[MAG012 First Aid]

.

I sent Martin to look into this ‘Angela’ character - not that I want him to get chopped up, of course, but someone had to. Apparently, he spent three days looking into every woman named Angela in Bexley over the age of 50. He could not find anyone that matches the admittedly vague description given here, though he informs me that he had some very pleasant chats about jigsaws. Useless ass.

[MAG014 Piecemeal]

.

Martin declined to help with this investigation as he’s “a bit claustrophobic”

[MAG015 Lost John’s Cave]

.

There simply aren’t enough details given in this statement to actually investigate, short of Martin confirming that Mr. Vittery did indeed live at the addresses he provided.

[MAG016 Arachnophobia]

.

Oh, he’s off sick this week. Stomach problems, I think.

Blessed relief if you ask me.

[...]

I asked Martin to try and hunt down Mr. Adekoya himself for a follow-up, but have been informed that he passed away in 2006. 

[MAG017 The Boneturner’s Tale]

.

MARTIN

Well, I need to tell someone what happened, and you can vouch for the soundness of my mind, can’t you?

ARCHIVIST

…

That is beside the point.

[MAG022 Colony]

.

Martin! Good lord man, if you’re going to be staying in the Archives, at least have the decency to put some trousers on!

[MAG023 Schwartzwald]

.

Martin found one other thing while combing through police reports for the Hither Green area. About a month after this statement was given, on May 15th, 2015, police were called out to once again investigate the chapel.

[MAG025 Growing Dark]

.

I know, but it would have to have been Martin, wouldn’t it? I mean, anything goes wrong around here, it always seems to happen to him. Anyway, we’re getting off topic. Why didn’t you report this?

[MAG026 A Distortion]

.

Martin made contact with the son, Marcus McKenzie, but he declined to talk to us, saying that he’d “already made his statement.”

[MAG027 A Sturdy Lock]

.

Tim and Martin had a bit more luck investigating Tom Haan, though only really enough to confirm that he seems to have completely vanished following his departure from Aver Meats on the 12th of July.

[MAG030 Killing Floor]

.

Martin’s research would seem to indicate the place employed a reasonable number of international staff they preferred to keep off the books

[...]

TIM

Ah well, that’s actually what he was asking, huh! Um, apparently Martin, uh, took delivery of a couple of items last week addressed to you. Did he not mention it?

ARCHIVIST

No, he… Oh, yes, actually. I completely forgot. He said he put it in my desk drawer, hold on.

[MAG036 Taken Ill]

[girlmeetsliv3]

Cruel Liaisons

~~ Previously Lingerlust ~~

A/B/O!MiniMoni x Reader; Poly BTS

“When one strikes the heart of another they seldom miss, and the wound is invariably fatal.”

Release Date: May 7th, 2021 @ 12:15 p.m. (GMT-5)

Apologies for the late update. Hope you enjoy it.

Trigger Warnings: blood and gore.

February 2nd, 2022

           “Please state your name for the record.”

           “Jeon YN.” YN stared at the recording machine in front of her, it looked antiquated like the type that wasn’t automatically connected to a cloud or storage system. “Those types have to be manually saved. Which can come in handy.” The officer’s cleared their throats, drawing back YN’s attention. What were their names again? “We need you to state your sub-gender as well.” The one on the left spoke lowly, his voice coming out a bit tense and nervous. “Beta.” When YN tried to smell them, she noticed both were wearing scent blockers, though her sense of smell was never her strong suit.

           “This is officer Park Sooyoung and officer Kim Jisoo.” The taller one stated, her tone dull, as if she rather be anywhere else. Judging by the bags under her eyes and the large cup of coffee in front of her – a bed seemed to be her choice. Officer Kim reached to the ground and placed a file on the desk, she opened it to reveal a series of photographs; five to be precise. Males and females from around a same age group are placed with one female in the center, she looks strangely familiar to YN. The rounded tip of her nose and arched brows but she can’t quite place the face. There is someone YN does recognize though, a face she saw just a few days ago.

           “Anyone you recognize?” Officer Kim asks, her tone is serious but airy. The smile on her face after every sentence lets YN know that she’s the ‘good cop.’

           YN points at the second photo from the left, “Him. I saw him in a missing persons ad on the news, but he didn’t look this old.” They had likely picked a picture from when he was younger, the man on the news held a bright smile. His jawline sharp and his cheekbones high but not defined. The man in the photograph in front of her had a pronounced jawline, hollow cheeks, and an ugly scowl that did nothing to mar his features. ‘K.T’ read the bottom.

           “What news channel and around what time?”

           “KBS, maybe late evening. I watch it before I go to sleep.”

Both officers nod, as Park shifts around on her seat. Now facing directly at YN, resting both elbows on the metal table. “Are you aware of the reason you were brought into the station today?” Officer Kim jumps in before YN can answer, “Just so you know you aren’t being charged with anything.”

Yes. “No, I don’t know.” She shrugged, keeping her eyes level and gaze neither too intense nor too bored.

“You’re here due to your affiliation with Alpha’s Kim Namjoon and Park Jimin,” Park spoke, “They’re your employers, correct?” There was an edge to her voice that YN recognized. Many people weren’t fond of them – many had a reason not to be.

“Yes.” YN nods.

“How long have you worked for them?” Kim asks.

YN notes how neither women are writing anything down, nor looking towards the one-sided mirror behind them. Are they perhaps recording this with a second device? If that’s the case it's not just her voice YN must be cautious of, but her expressions as well. “Around nine months, I’m their housekeeper and take care of Hyunwoo.” After a bit of silence from the police, she elaborates more, “I cook, clean, and help the child with his homework.”

“That’s quite a lot for just one person. Especially considering you have little background in those areas before you were hired, correct?”

They’re trying to bait me. “I’m used to doing those things at home.” YN shrugs, she can see the growing frown on Park’s features.

“How exactly did you hear about the job?” Kim leans forward, but one of her hands drops below the table. Park’s eyes dart over to her partner for a second, but YN catches it. Kim likely gave her a signal or something like a reassuring squeeze, YN hopes it’s the latter. “What was the hiring process like?”

“From an acquaintance Dr. Sihyuk.” Both officers nod along, they don’t seem to recognize the name. “Bang’s dead. Unlikely anyone will find something there.” They always knew to cover their bases. “Um, normal, I guess. I sent in an application and then had an interview.”

“You made a lot of money as the Kim’s housekeeper. Did you never ask yourself where that money was coming from?” It seemed the officers were done trying to be subtle.

“No, it wasn’t my place. Plus, most of the money I earned went into paying family debts.”

“Do you know Kim Namjoon’s or Park Jimin’s source of income?”

“Again no. I just did what I was supposed to do.”

“You never thought to ask?”

“No.”

Sooyoung smirks, “Interesting how everyone around the Kim’s just accepts things at face value. Their co-workers, drivers, bodyguards, even their housekeeper just does what their told. You weren’t even a little bit curious as to how they could possibly afford the lifestyle they have?”

“Curiosity killed the cat.” YN’s arms were clenching around the chair, trying to hold herself back from reacting negatively to the hassling.

“But we aren’t cats.” Sooyoung remarks and for a second YN feels like she’s lost a battle. Jisoo points to the picture in the center, it's a beautiful young woman with flowy hair and a bright smile. Her delicate features give away her omega nature. Though the closer YN inspects the picture, they’re bags under her eyes, permanent frown lines etched onto her face, a hollowness to her eyes. She looks somewhere between life and death. “Do you recognize this woman? You lingered on her a bit longer than the rest of them.”

The longer YN stares at her the more she starts to piece things together, but it still feels like she’s missing something. So she gives a generic answer. “She looks kind of familiar. Has that kind of face.”

“What kind of face?” Jisoo questions.

“Like…pretty, popular, all over billboards kind of face.”

It's enough to satisfy them for now. They slowly start removing all the pictures while leaving only the woman’s, the longer YN sees it the more unnerved she becomes. Her head begins to hurt as another migraine begins to pound at her temples. Creating a sort of hazy fog over YN’s mind. Both officers’ then hold up the picture and flip it revealing a picture of the same woman holding a young child wrapped in blankets. She looks so much happier, so full of life. Instantly YN places her, recognizing the toddler wrapped in blue velvet.

“This is Hyunwoo’s mother. The last time anyone saw her alive was three weeks ago when she just so happened to be having dinner with your employers.” Fuck.

Present

           YN’s phone dings as another text from Mark appears on her screen: ‘boss wants to know when you’ll start paying?’ She groans exhaustedly, responding with ‘I have been paying. He gets half my salary every week.’ Which hasn’t made living very comfortable for YN, but she makes do with what she can.

           Mark: It’s not enough princess, not with the way daddy’s been spending money.

           Me: What am I supposed to do if you keep giving him money?!

           Mark: That’s not up to me. So, the money?

           Me: I’m looking for a second job. One that pays better.

           Mark: Just go sell your eggs or something. Not like you have any use for them.

           “Asshole.” YN muttered, muting her notifications. She looked up to the entrance of the fertility clinic debating whether or not to go in. It wasn’t like she had much of an option; she needed the money and fertility clinics were the only ones willing to provide big sums of money fast. Not to mention she had missed a day of work to make the appointment, which meant less money to give to Mark. I hate this. I hate this so much. YN was about to walk away, leave everything when she spotted a black BMW parked on the curve. Its driver observing her intensely. She knew what it meant.

           Mark was getting pushy. Meaning his boss was getting pushy and YN didn’t need to be on the bad side of some loan shark – not again. So, she mustered up the courage and opened the glass doors, being hit with the smell of lavender and pheromones. It reeks. Nonetheless, she forced a smile on her face and walked towards the front desk. “Hello, I have an appointment with Dr. Sihyuk.”

 “Unfortunately, there is a limit to how many eggs we can safely remove from you. Betas aren’t like omegas, you have a set number of eggs. Removing the majority of them would leave you infertile. We’d also be unsure of whether the eggs are useful or not without running the proper examinations which can take weeks.” Dr. Sihyuk explained as he went over YN’s medical file, each sentence uttered destroying her hope little by little.

“I understand but I am quite fertile. I carry a recessive gene from my father who is an omega. Not to mention I’m not interested in having children so I would have no use for my eggs,” she could sense the doctor’s hesitation, “unlike someone who might benefit from them.” I just really need the money.

“Oh, I know, you betas are lucky in that sense. Don’t have to worry about population growth.” Though it was said jokingly it still made YN uncomfortable, let her know he wasn’t buying her bullshit. The doctor closed the file, “Why exactly are you interested in donating your eggs? Is it for the money?” He saw right through her.  At her silence the doctor sighs, “We get one of you every once in a while. Always wrapped up in some business started by a family member or mistakes you’ve made.” Sihyuk opens a file cabinet beside him and shoves her file in there, “Unfortunately for you there’s no market for beta eggs.”

YN sags exhaustion and fear taking over her, “I –” Sihyuk takes a small white business card out of the cabinet holding it out towards her. “Fortunately for you, I happen to know someone hiring. They specified only betas applied.” Hesitantly YN takes the card, “What kind of job?” Though she knows one should never look a gift horse in the mouth it feels to good to be true. “A housekeeper for an alpha couple. They’re long-time associates of mine. Give them a call you won’t regret it.”

 Evening of June 20th, 2021

           Hyunwoo wouldn’t stop crying. YN truly regretted feeding him chocolate before bed, he had nightmares that had not let the three-year-old rest. Though YN had time and time again reassured them there were no monsters under his bed or strange men coming to take him at night, he wouldn’t hear of it. Insisted she had stayed in bed with him and when that didn’t work cried out for his daddies. The issue being his daddies were currently busy, in the middle of their ruts with their weekly guests. Thankfully, their bedroom was across the apartment from Hyunwoo’s, or else she’d have to explain to the child that the screams being heard didn’t belong to ghost.

           “I want papa! I want daddy!” Hyunwoo shrieked, snot and tears dribbling down his face. At this rate, he’d get himself sick if he didn’t permanently injure his vocal cords – or her hearing.

           “I know. I know, but they’re busy right now. I can go get them later.” When their guests are gone and they’ve cleaned their bedroom. YN never quite knew how they manage to sneak them out and clean up so fast, but she didn’t question it. Less work for me.

           “NO! I want them now!” Hyunwoo bolted towards the door, his little legs running as fast as they could. Though they couldn’t compare to YN’s.

           She hugged the toddler, “Alright. I’ll go get your daddies but you have to promise me you’ll wait in bed.” Hyunwoo began to shake his head, “Come on Woowoo, imagine what they’ll say if they hear you threw a tantrum. What would daddies say?”

           That seemed to sober him up a bit, “They would be disappointed.”

           “Exactly,” YN led him back to bed, gently tucking him in. “I’ll be right back with them soon, okay?”

             The hallway felt eerily long as YN struggled with how to politely interrupt without being subjected to the alpha’s rages. Ruts were an especially tricky time and there would be very little she could do to protect herself if it took a turn for the worse. Not to mention she was breaking one of the very few rules set by them: no bothering us after nine pm. YN glanced at her watch, it was currently 11:43 pm. I am so going to lose my job. But Hyunwoo needed his parents, and she didn’t want to risk the toddler running into their bedroom and being witness to something that would certainly cause trauma. Not to mention I might get sent his therapy bills. More debt. YN reached their bedroom doors. A light red hue leaking from the bottom, she willed all her courage and knocked.

           “Come in, darling.” Jimin spoke, his dulcet tone sounding a little rougher than normal. Surprisingly the door was unlocked, so YN opened it. At first, she saw nothing out of the ordinary, just Kim Namjoon and Park Jimin laying in their bed. The red silk sheets, she so often had to wash, concealing their more intimate parts. It wasn’t until YN noticed the stains covering their bodies and the walls. It caused her eyes to dance around the room until she landed on what had caused such a mess: the two dismembered bodies lying on the floor. The red lighting of the room serving to conceal what the stains truly were: blood.

           Namjoon beckoned her inside with a wave of his hand and YN felt obliged to obey. She could still smell the pheromones in their air, still feel their rut. Not to mention, Hyunwoo might have been following her. She locked the door behind her.

           “To what do we owe the pleasure?” Namjoon spoke, smirking and showing off his blood-stained pearly teeth.

[astro-rain]

delicate; b.barnes

chapter nineteen - “tomorrow”

delicate masterlist

word count: 2.8k

synopsis: reader is faced with a very distressing ultimatum and has to deal with the consequences.

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

authors note: omg pls listen to “water under the bridge” by adele after reading this it’s fits so well

Muted. She felt muted - but not necessarily in a bad way. Everything in her was dialed down and dulled. Over the last couple days, Y/N had toned down her emotions, feeling less. Call it a coping skill. Call it a stress response. Whatever. It wasn't like she was sad about it. In a way, in was comforting - not having some overwhelming internal angst.

It had been a week since that fight she and Bucky got into. The mature part of her was telling her to find him and talk it out like the adults they were. But here's the thing. Over time, before they even had the fight, the number of therapy sessions they were having was less frequent as his treatment was improving. The sessions were more intermittent now, and there wasn't one scheduled for a while. Until then, she felt no desire to talk to him.

Was she mad? Sad? She wasn't sure. She just avoided thinking of things that caused her a considerable amount of distress. At this particular moment in time, Bucky was one of those things. Ergo, she made a constant effort to ignore all thoughts of him.

Though, she somehow couldn't entirely ignore the ever present lack of... Bucky. She had gotten so used to having him close by, used to having someone to talk to, laugh with. His proximity had become a constant. A comfort. She refused to admit to herself that silence didn't feel like silence anymore; it just felt like the absence of his voice.

She found she needed to keep herself busy.

Bucky handled it a bit differently. He had lots of intense emotions but he didn't mute them, per say. He didn't ignore them. He felt them, he definitely felt them. He just kept them bottled up inside and talked about it to no one. It was a very strange change of routine. Whenever he had some sort of emotional turmoil, he would always go to her - therapy session or not - to vent, rant, ask for advice, or just talk through a stream of consciousness. Now he just had to sit with it.

He spent most of his time alone. He missed her.

-

"Hey Shuri," Y/N greeted as she entered the princess' lab.

"Hello," Shuri smiled. "Come sit."

This wasn't a routine visit. Shuri mentioned wanting to talk about something else this time. Something important. She was reminded of this when she walked in to find two Doras sitting with Shuri at a lab table.

"So," Shuri started, "The trigger word experiment. We're here to discuss safety and security."

Shit. That awful thing. It had slipped her mind these past couple days.

"Alright. What are we thinkin'?"

"Well, the Doras don't think it would be necessary to have two of them there with you, but if you would feel safer with two, then that's fine as well."

"I think one is fine. I trust your judgment," Y/N nodded to the Doras.

And I'm not afraid of Bucky, she thought but didn't say.

"We also have a special location to run the experiment," one of the Doras, Ayo, added. "Away from people and secluded in the case of an emergency."

"Okay. That sounds good."

"We understand Barnes is now equipped with the vibranium arm, yes?" Shuri asked.

"Yes, he is."

"Then you need to know something for the experiment."

Y/N's brows furrowed, confused. Was she missing something?

"There's sort of a fail safe built into the arm," Shuri began.

Fail safe?

"There are a series of pressure points when, if hit correctly, will disengage the arm. It will just drop to the ground. So if anything were to happen-"

"I'm sorry, what?"

The expression on Shuri's face changed immediately when she heard her partner's tone. Y/N looked bewildered and almost in disbelief.

"It's there as a precaution in case Barnes needs to be put in check."

Suddenly, every emotion she had been "muting" rushed back into her head. Every feeling for Bucky returned, as well as her compulsion to protect him.

"Building that into the arm shows a complete lack of trust."

"You know what HYDRA did. It's unpredictable, and I'm sorry but we just can't be sure."

"We need to be careful with this so it doesn't blow up in our faces," Ayo said.

"I understand having that precaution for this test, I do. But it isn't just this test. Given it was successful and everything worked out, he was supposed to keep the arm. Right?"

"Right."

"So we fix the HYDRA programming and he's free, but leave the 'fail safe' in so after all of this, he still has someone in control of him."

"The arm is a gift," Ayo stated. "He should be happy he has it at all."

"I understand that, and believe me, he is so grateful. But a gift is for someone else to keep and use as their own. How are we supposed to help him and work with him for months, building trust and aiding him in healing to just tarnish all of that with deception?"

"It's what's best for the protection of all."

"Even after the experiment if it's successful?" Y/N cried in disbelief. "I should say when it's successful. Shuri, I've been seeing his progress for months and working with you on his neurobiology data. Can't you tell how much skill has been put into this? It's us. It's going to work."

"Even still."

"I can't stand for that. I would understand if it was just for this test, but after? We haven't come this far just to not trust our own work and Bucky's deprogramming. He deserves to have someone on his side."

"I'm sorry, Y/N, but it's already been done. The arm is already built and being used."

"This is the plan," Ayo declared. "Either you are on board, or you are free to leave Wakanda. We can fly you out as soon as tomorrow morning."

"I can't knowingly be a part of this. It's wrong."

"As I said. Free to leave."

She refused to be a willing participant in perpetuating the loss of Bucky's autonomy. He's been through enough, had enough taken from him. She would not play a single role in taking more away.

"I guess I have to go then," she said, standing from her chair.

She couldn't believe the words coming from her own mouth.

Shuri sighed. "That's very unfortunate, my partner. I'm sorry we couldn't agree on this."

"I am, too. But please. Please consider what this will do to him. It's like saying 'even though we've all been working with you, we don't actually believe that you're not still a weapon.' What is he supposed to think of that?"

"Barnes isn't going to have to think anything about it..."

"...because he isn't going to know," Ayo finished the thought.

"No..."

"It's the way it has to be."

"No it's not."

"Y/N..."

She took a couple steps back, preparing to leave the room. "No, I'm sorry. I can't. He needs to know. I'm going to have to tell him."

"I'd advise against it if you care about your job," called an unfamiliar voice.

Y/N turned to the other Dora, whom she didn't know.

"What?"

"What would your employers think if they knew their doctor had certain... inappropriate relations with a patient? And a very infamous one at that."

She froze, face burning. Her stomach dropped and her breathing stopped dead.

Did they-? Who else-? How did they-? What did they-?

She couldn't form a single coherent thought.

"You are more than free to leave quietly, without any worries" said the Dora, "but if Barnes knows about this, you can be sure that the rest of the world will know about you and your... relations."

It was then when she could feel almost every piece of her world come crashing down. She could feel every test she took, every research project she was a part of, every hour she spent studying for the career that took years to build. The thing she was most proud in this world, the part of herself she most loved. She felt the job she loved and all the things she had learned and accomplished begin to crumble around her.

This career... it was her life. It was her passion. It was all she had. Now she was in immediate danger of losing it. All she could process was fear; she shut down.

Finally, she managed words.

"Okay," she conceded, her defeated voice barely above a whisper. "I'll go... quietly. I'm sorry."

With that, she turned around and took the remaining steps out of the now silent room.

- - -

When she was in the hallway, she felt like she was dying. The guilt was overwhelming. How could she betray him like this? She tried to fight for Bucky to get the truth and now she has to hide it from him and leave him. She has to lie to him.

Y/N was still in shock, completely immersed in her own fear. It felt as if she wasn't in her body. She knew she was moving - walking down the hallway. But her body was just on autopilot; she was gone.

She couldn't tell if she was crying but she could feel a twinging in her eyes and a burning in her nose. She was also hardly breathing so if she was crying, it was nearly silent.

In a faraway echo, she thought she heard her own footsteps. She wasn't sure where they were taking her, but she wasn't sure if she cared.

-

She walked, and she kept on walking for a long time. She could feel the ache in her feet once she sat down in front of the water. She hadn't planned to go to the waterfall - that waterfall... their waterfall. It just sort of happened. Perhaps it was a long enough distance away to feel safe.

She finally let herself think for a moment.

What the fuck had just happened? Her exact fears had come to be. Somehow, someone saw or figured out her and Bucky. It felt worse than she thought it would. Exposed. Embarrassed. Guilty. Humiliated. Distressed.

It was numbing. So numbing that she stared at the little pool and let the white noise of the waterfall clog her ears until she was able to lose track of time.

She had no idea how long it had been when he approached her.

"Y/N!" Bucky's voice called as he jogged over after catching sight of her. "I've been looking for you! Can we please talk?"

His voice snapped her out of it, but her gaze remained fixed on the water in front of her. She wasn't sure what to do, how to engage with him; she froze.

When she didn't even turn her head, Bucky guessed she was still upset with him. He didn't want to be a bother, but he needed to talk to her. He sat down right next to her.

"Okay..." he started, carefully. "I know things aren't great between us right now, but-"

She turned her head to him and the words died in his throat when he saw her face: bloodshot, puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. He forgot whatever he was going to say, cupping both sides of her face.

"Oh my god, what happened!? A-Are you alright?"

The cool metal of his hand on her cheek made her want to scream, reminding her of what she could not tell him. Reminding her of the searing guilt. Trembling hands reached up to touch his arms. And then he saw the quiver in her lip.

"Oh, honey," he cooed, worried. "Hey... Hey, talk to me. Talk to me, what's wrong?"

He was so concerned and so sweet even after they had a huge blowout. If possible, it made her feel even worse. She didn't deserve his kindness anymore. She just stared into him with the saddest eyes he'd ever seen.

Bucky had never seen her like this and he was scared. Was it because of him and their fight? He supposed so. What else could it have been?

"I'm so sorry, please don't cry," he caressed the back of her head with one hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of what I said, I was just mad. You were right. I feel awful, I had no idea it upset you this much."

Their fight was the very last thing on her mind. Looking back on it, it seemed like such a trivial thing compared to now. But he thought this was his fault. She wanted to break into a million tiny pieces and let the wind blow her away.

She shook her head. "Bucky, no. It's not that. It's not you."

He looked so confused. She felt so bad.

"Then what... what's wrong?"

"I'm leaving."

Bucky leaned back, perplexed, and his hands slid down to rest on her forearms. "Leaving? You're leaving Wakanda?"

She nodded. "I'm sorry."

"No, no, hey- You don't have to leave. We can figure something out. We were too risky, you were right. I understand that now. We don't have to do that anymore. We can make sure that we're always completely in private from here on out."

She shook her head, staring down at the grass below her. "I'm sorry, I can't... I can't do that. I have to leave."

She could barely look him in the face.

"You don't, it's okay," he implored. "I know it worried you, but it really only was Steve. And I know, I know it could have been anyone and I get that. I thought about it, and I get it. We don't ever have to... sleep together... again. We won't be distracted, and-and we'll be careful."

She clenched her eyes shut, trying not to let her burning eyes release more tears. It didn't work.

"Bucky..."

"Baby doll please," his voice cracked while he tipped her chin up to meet her eyes again. "We can just-... we can just go back to the way it was before. In the very beginning. We can- we'll only see each other in sessions, we don't-... No more lake trips or all-nighters or anything just-"

He sharply inhaled, beginning to ramble as his breath became unsteady.

His voice shook just slightly. "You can barely even talk to me if you don't want to- just please don't go..."

She thought a part of her cracked and died at that moment. She sprung forward and held him as tight as she could. Instinctively one of Bucky's arms was around her back and the other cradled the back of her head.

She thought maybe if she held tight enough, she could keep them together and she wouldn't have to leave him there alone. Of course he would be fine, but he would spend the rest of his time feeling like it was his fault that she had gone.

She couldn't let him think this was his fault.

"Buck, I don't wanna leave you. But I have to do what's best for the both of us. You'll be just fine without me. I promise."

He didn't think so.

"I'm putting your treatment and my career in jeopardy if I stay," she continued. "I just don't want anything bad to happen to either of us. I'm sorry if you hate this and I'm sorry if you hate me for doing it."

He mumbled something in the crook of her neck, but she couldn't hear it. She pulled back from the embrace.

"What?"

"I could never hate you."

Despite the fact that she was so internally distraught, despite what happened with Shuri and the Doras, with having to tell Bucky she was going to leave him, with having to watch him beg her to stay, despite the extreme dread and guilt within her, she still looked at him and felt so much love.

She was doing the very thing he feared and all he could do was care for her.

"God, I'm gonna miss you," she breathed before grasping his jaw, and pulling his head to hers.

Bucky tasted salt and he couldn't tell if it was his or her tears mixing into their lips.

As much as he wanted her to stay, he could sense how serious she was about this. He wouldn't be able to convince her to stay even if he tried. And he already did.

He could only soak up as much of her as he could before she left, and be with her until she had to go. He had no idea how much time he had. Wait-

"When are you leaving?" he broke the kiss as soon as the thought arose.

She was silent for a moment when another tear dripped down her face. "Tomorrow."

delicate taglist: @bakugouswh0r3 @thefridgeismybestie @strivingforelegance @ilovespideyyy @xpurpleglitter @bluelakeee @darkacademic2 @eclipsedplanet @paradisedixon @crazy-beautiful @coffee--writes @lilithknight1111 @buckybarnesishot310 @softladyhours @alwayssandy @those-sea-green-eyes @hero-ically @devilswaldorf @cc13723things @small-death-and-codeine @avengersgirllorianna @cataves @thatbitchsposts @talktomeaboutthestars @surrealpsycho @headheartbellarke @bubbly-moonwarrior @bluemoon-icecream @buckeyecreates @augustbucky @itsthemaree @undiadeestos

[suddencolds]

Bad Timing | Genshin Impact

During Windblume festival, Diluc ends up hosting in an event in a venue that’s suitably decorated. Unfortunately, he just happens to be allergic to the flowers.

(This might be the most self-indulgent allergy fic I’ve ever written, haha. DIluc snzfic + pollen allergies + company from someone... unexpected.)

—

It starts as a miscommunication.

It’s harmless enough. Donna, whom Diluc vaguely remembers seeing outside of the flower shop just adjacent to Angels Share, makes an arrangement with Charles to decorate the Dawn Winery. An act of gratitude, or something along those lines—just in time for Windblume Festival.

At least, that’s how Charles tells him about it, just as Diluc is about to leave from his shift the night before the party.

“Decorations?” he asks. “I see. I will have to give her my thanks. Did she speak to Adelinde about it?”

Charles ponders this, taking his place behind the counter. “I’m not sure,” he says. “She says she hopes it’s to your liking, though.”

It’s all Diluc can do to nod. Decorations for Windblume usually mean one thing, but there’s a reason why the tavern is scarcely decorated, and it’s not that he doesn’t have the means to decorate. The tavern’s current undecorated state—with the exception of pressed-dry flowers or flowerless vines strung around the second floor railings—is meant to accommodate… well.

He doubt Donna knows, because he’s never had a reason to bring it up in conversation. As far as truths go, it’s somewhat embarrassing. For now, he can only hope that her act of kindness isn’t as extensive as he thinks.

— 

It’s an oversight, for sure, but it’s not until he steps foot into the main hall of the winery, two hours before the event’s inception that he realizes the extent of it.

The winery is crowded with flowers. There are snapdragons and cecilias strung up around the balconies, windwheel asters in neatly arranged bouquets on every available table, dandelions and wolfhooks cresting the fireplace. Vines of ivy and windwheel aster blossoms are woven around the staircase railings.

Instinctively, he raises a hand to cover his nose and mouth, as if to shield himself from it all. There’s a telltale itch already settling in his nose.

It’s a beautiful sight. But Diluc is very, very allergic.

He flings every window open—surely the air from outside must be an improvement—and bolts out of the building as soon as he can. Just from a few minutes of occupying the winery, he’s already congested, and his eyes are brimming with allergic tears.

The event—a celebration of the anniversary of the Dawn Winery’s founding, that happens to align closely with Windblume every year—is going to last for five hours. Moreover, there will be esteemed guests present, with which he’ll have to discuss business matters, which means that he has to be present.

Diluc shuts his eyes. Seasonal allergies are not anything that will cause him lasting harm, he’s sure… except, perhaps, to his professionalism. The winery has been in a financially good place these past few years, which means there’s barely any pressure on him to prove his own competence. His presence is more for show than for anything else. This should be fine. A five hour celebration, and then he’ll be out of here. He can ask the maids to deal with taking down the decorations later.

—

He arrives early, stands as far from the floral decorations as he can—it’s difficult; they’re everywhere—to make sure everything is in place. Despite his efforts, the winery is practically a flower garden, thanks to Donna’s well-intentioned arrangements. It’s not long before he’s sniffling again.

His eyes are starting to water, too. He wipes them gingerly on the cuff of his sleeve, sniffles, and nods his acknowledgement to the guests that are starting to file in.

“Sir Ragnvindr,” someone he recognizes as a business associate says to him, holding a flute of champagne. “How are you on this fine evening?”

How does he look? Diluc sniffles again. “I’m well,” he says, rather curtly.

“Mondstadt’s Windblume Festival is certainly a sight,” the associate is saying. “I’m glad I stopped by town at such an opportune moment.”

Diluc can’t think of anything he’d want to do less, right now, than entertain someone’s small talk. “It is one of Mondstadt’s most… hiIh!— most esteemed annual traditions… hiih-!” Damn it. Not now.

The itch in his nose is back. Luckily, the associate either doesn’t notice his predicament or doesn’t find it worth commenting on.

“Is that so? Tell me more about it.”

Diluc sniffles again. Anything to keep his nose from openly running. “I’m... sure… hiIIH-!” Barbatos, he needs to sneeze. He doesn’t want to be having this conversation right now. “...There are many people here more qualified to recount Mondstadt’s hiIhh-!… history… snf!… than I am.”

The associate raises an eyebrow, cocking his head. “Have you not lived here all your life? The previous owner of the Winery was Crepus Ragnvindr. I was under the impression that he was—”

“My father,” Diluc confirms, before he’s ducking away to stifle a sneeze, almost perfectly contained, into his wrist.

“hiIH’NGxt!” He gasps, sniffling, and presses his wrist closer to his face for the second. “hh…. hiiIH’NDGxt!”

It’s two sneezes, but they’re barely relieving. He raises his head, blinking. “Excuse me. Your assumptions are correct, though I…” he makes the mistake of rubbing his nose—something about the gesture just makes him need to sneeze. “hiIH… it’s been awhile since I’ve, snf, had the chance to properly celebrate, and longer still since… hIIh-!... since I’ve heard the history.”

“That’s strange,” the associate says. “You have lived in Mondstadt your whole life, yet you don’t know it’s history? Then again, I heard that you left for a few years, so maybe you feel no attachment to it.” It’s a thinly-veiled insult, but Diluc is too distracted to address it. He wants nothing more than to sneeze freely, but he’s sure that it would be loud, and it’d draw more attention than he wants right now. For now, he settles for raising a hand to—

“hiIH’DGXxt!” God, his eyes are watering, and the sneeze—though stifled—is forceful enough to jerk him forward, his shoulders shuddering.

The associate cringes. “It is a shame that you are spending the festival unwell.”

“I’m fine,” Diluc says, “Just… snf, just… hih!… HIih’GGKXt-shiu! ngh...” He needs to get out of here. Stifling offers virtually no relief at all, and he’s not going to stop sneezing anytime soon, from the looks of it.

He sighs, rubs his nose on the back of his hand, tells himself he can handle a few extra decorations. “Sorry. Did you, snf, have business matters to discuss?”

The associate’s expression hardens. “As you know, we have been ordering from the winery for a couple months now. I regret to inform you that there have been a few—”

Diluc blinks quickly. He can already feel his breath wavering—the start of another long, embarrassingly desperate buildup, probably.

“—troublesome incidents, specifically regarding the delivery of the wine. The delivery vehicles have been delayed on a handful of occasions—”

“hiIH! snf… hIIiih…”

His nose is tickling with such ferocity it’s almost torturous. He needs to get outside. His allergies are tolerable out in town in the open air, as long as he walks quickly enough and avoids all of the more festive installments. But here, in an enclosed space so thoroughly decorated, in a living room with mediocre circulation at best, surrounded by more flowers than he’s ever seen in his life…

“—just last week, the delivery cart was stopped by an assembly of hilichurl archers that destroyed nearly half the stock. Three weeks before that, the carriage caught the notice of one of Liyue’s Ruin Guards. I expect you are aware of these incidents?”

Diluc clears his throat. “I am. An excess of wine was sent back—hiiH! … in both cases, snf!- as soon as word of these setbacks… hIIH... reached the winery, snf.” The congestion is starting to settle in his voice, dulling his consonants. “You yourself… HIIh-! verified that the shipments m-made… hIIH-! it back to you… HIIIh!”

Sevens above. He doesn’t want to sneeze again, in front of someone who’s looking at him with a combination of disgust and condescension. But he knows, by now, that the most he can do is delay the inevitable.

“Ah,” the man waves a hand dismissively. “We did get the wine eventually. But it was still delayed, you see. Quite—”

—Diluc gasps sharply. “HIIIih-!”

“—an unprofessional experience, to say the least.”

His shoulders tense, as he jerks forward again, catching a barely restrained sneeze between the pinch of his fingers. “hihH'GXNt...! snf, hIIH… HIIH’NGDTtsh!” His body shudders with the release; he can feel the pressure of the sneeze settle behind his eyes, along with a dull ache—he’s going to give himself a headache if he keeps this up. “hiih-!... hiihHH…” This would be less humiliating if he could just sneeze and be done with it. Instead he finds himself caught in buildups that go nowhere, with a tickle in his nose that refuses to abate. “HIIIH… hIH’GZSchhh! snf… hhH-!”

Barely a breath in, his breath is already hitching again. He ducks into his sleeve, cringing, just in time for—

“hh… hiiH!... hh... HIIH’GXnT—shEw!!” The failed attempt at stifling is strangely relieving, all things considered, and he exhales shakily, wiping his nose on the back of his hand.

“Sir Ragnvindr,” The associate says pointedly. “I’m sure you can see where the problem lies. Delays are not exactly conducive to business.”

Diluc bites back an irritated retort. Delivery to Liyue from Mondstadt is bound to have its complications, given the concentration of enemies outside of the two cities; he’s sure this associate is aware of that, too. He has no control over whether the deliveries get interrupted, and he’s pretty sure it’s the associate’s fault for not putting the orders in in advance.

“What… snf… would you suggest, then?”

The associate smiles. “Given our longstanding role as customers, I believe monetary compensation would only be fair.”

Diluc sighs, scrubs at his eyes with one hand. “You can bring it up with Elzer. He is usually the one to handle these sorts of things,” Diluc says. “In the future, though, to save both of us the trouble, it would be best if you would... snf!... take care to place your orders in advance.”

The man stares back at him, his lip curling. “I beg your pardon?”

“The roads between here and Liyue are dangerous. I cannot always guarantee a safe delivery,” The tickle in his nose is back, relentless. If he’s going to sneeze again, the last thing he wants is to do it in front of this associate. Instead, he turns on his heels, sniffling. “Excuse me.”

He just about bolts from the room, past the floral decorations and up the staircase. The second floor is darker, lit only by the ceiling chandelier. He all but slumps against the wall. His nose is still itching, and he raises a gloved hand as his vision goes watery and indistinct—

“hiIIH’IISCH’iiuu! Hh… hDDt’TTZCSh’u!”

He doesn’t have time to wonder if anyone’s heard. Suddenly he’s gasping again, fumbling for a handkerchief, pulling up one sleeve so he can wipe his nose on the back of his wrist when he doesn’t find one. “Hiih… hiIIIH… snf-!”

The tickle falters just as suddenly, leaving him on the precipice of a sneeze, suspended in ticklish wait. He rubs his nose again, in hopes that the pressure on the bridge of his nose will be just irritating enough to coax out a sneeze, but...

It leaves him panting, his eyes still shut as he stands there, his breath still shaky with anticipation.

“hiIIH…! snf…” Nothing, still. “HIIIh...”

He rubs his nose again, hard, on the back of his wrist. Maybe if he could just sneeze—give his body relief in the fit it so clearly wants—it will solve his predicament for the next fifteen minutes, at least.

He just has to find somewhere quiet.

He rounds the corner on the second floor, stumbles through the door at the end of the hall out onto the balcony. The fresh air is immediately relieving, and he sucks in a long breath, leaning forward on the balcony railing. With the exception of some of the Dawn Winery staff, no one’s outside, and he doubts any of the guests will have reasons to spend enough time on the second floor to find the door that leads here. He figures it’s as good a place as he’ll find, for the time being.

The itch in his nose still burns, almost intense enough to make him shiver. Cecilias are wound around one of the balcony’s wooden rungs—he wonders, momentarily, if it’d be worth it to—

The door behind him swings open. He startles.

“Oh,” someone says from behind him. “...sir Diluc.”

It’s Rosaria, from the church. He doesn’t know much about her—he can probably count the number of words they’ve exchanged on one hand. She’s at the Angel’s Share every Thursday with Kaeya, downing drinks faster he thinks could possibly be healthy—though she must know her limits, given that she never seems to get as drunk as some of the knights do. Now, she eyes him warily.

There’s a windwheel aster clipped to the lapel of her shirt.

“Didn’t expect you to see you here,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “Aren’t you like, the most important person here?”

“Something like that,” he says.

“Then I suspect there’s a reason why you’re hiding out here.”

He doesn’t answer. How can he? “Ah, well, it’s fine,” she says, sounding unbothered. “Whatever reason you have, it doesn’t really matter to me. Hope you don’t mind if I smoke.”

He sniffles, turning away to wipe his nose on his wrist. “I… don’t.”

“Okay. I figured you’d be happier if I did it outside, anyways.” She steps into place next to him, digs through her pockets for a cigarette. “Think you could light it?”

He lowers his hand and turns to face her. Before he has a chance to light it, though, something about the proximity of the flower on her shirt is just enough to set him off — the next breath he takes leaves him gasping, his eyes watering immediately as he ducks violently into his elbow.

“hiIH… nGKTt!”

He’s not even close to done. “hiIH… hiiihH…. HH-!! snf-! hHiih’NDGXtT!”

“Bless you,” she says. “Are you sick?”

“Your… shirt…” is all he manages to gasp out, before he’s pressing his elbow tighter to his face, muffling another sneeze into the fabric of his sleeve—

“hiIH’IIIGXTtt… HIIiH-! Hiih… HIIH’IISsch’iu! Excuse me... HIih’GGKXt!!...”

“Oh,” she says, sounding like he’s just let him in on a secret. “You’re allergic.”

“Unfortunately,” he admits, feeling his face grow hot.

“You should’ve said.” She unclips the windwheel aster from her shirt, gives it half a look, and flicks it over the edge of the balcony.

“Wait,” Diluc says, his eyebrows furrowing. “I didn’t mean to… hiIIh-! snf... imply you should get rid of it.”

Rosaria smiles unreadably. “I wasn’t wearing it by choice. A friend coerced me to. Is it just windwheel asters that set you off?”

“It’s… hiiiiH… it’s just about everything… hiIH’ITTSChh! hiIH… NGKTT-shiiu!” It’s getting harder and harder to stifle, but it’s already embarrassing enough to sneeze in front of her in the first place.

“Everything, huh? Sounds awfully inconvenient.”

He lights her cigarette with his vision. “Thanks,” she says, and immediately pulls it in to take an appreciative drag. “Kind of suffocating to be inside with so many businessmen for so long, if you ask me.”

He sniffles harder, rubbing his nose on the cup of his sleeve.“I… snf…! I’m not going to be stopping anytime soon. You should probably… hiih... find somewhere else to smoke… hiiH... hiih’GKTT-!”  

“You know,” Rosaria says, after a beat. “You’d be done sneezing sooner if you didn’t hold them back like that.”

If Diluc wasn’t blushing before, he’s sure he must be blushing now. It’s embarrassing to hear her address his sneezing in such a straightforward manner—he’s starting to see why she gets on so well with Kaeya.

“I’m fine, thanks… hiih… hiiH’NGXT’Sshh! HIIH’GKTT-! ugh...” Maybe she has a point—the stifling is starting to make his head hurt, and he hunches forward, still sniffling, to lean more heavily on the railing.

She shrugs. “Okay. I’m just saying, I wouldn’t mind. Why’d you decorate the winery like that, anyway? It seems awfully… masochistic.”

“A misunderstanding. Donna’s doing, though… hiiiH!... it would have been ungrateful if I had taken the decorations down... hiiih... hiIH’GkkT!!” — caught neatly in the palm of his hand. “hIih… hiIIH… nGSSCHh! snf…”

“Sevens, Diluc. Drop the formalities and let yourself sneeze. I’m getting a headache just listening to you.”

He frowns, lifts his hand from his face, only to clamp it back on when he realizes what a mess he’s made out of himself, his skin prickling with embarrassment. “If you’re certain...”

She scoffs, taking another drag of the cigarette. “Trust me. I couldn’t care less.” Usually, smoke doesn’t bother him—his pyro vision would be significantly more inconvenient if it did—but now, with his nose so sensitive, it’s exactly the last push he needs to send him over the edge.

“hIIH.. HIIH…” He blinks through teary eyes, his grip tightening against the railing. “HiiH… iHH'GZCHh-iiu! Hihh… hhD’TTschH’iu! snf.. hiIH... HIHH'iischHiew!”

The relief from letting himself sneeze is immediate and almost dizzying. He gasps again, taking a step back from the balcony. The next sneeze snaps him forward at the waist.

“hiIH’ISCHhiuu! hiIih… GKKTT-’SHiuu!” Rosaria disappears back into the manor, so quietly he almost doesn’t hear her leave, but he’s too out of it to properly react. “Hiih… hiIh… HIIH’ISCCHh’yuu!” He sniffles against his wrist, his shoulders just about slumping with the relief, before they’re tensing again just a few seconds later. “hiih… hiiih.. hiiIH’NGTTT-SHIu! Hiih… HiiH’IIIISCCHh’iuu!”

He groans, sniffling, resisting the urge to bury his head in his hands—it seems like an appealing enough option, if not for the fact that he’s been covering with one of them. The door behind him opens again.

“Thought you might need this,” Rosaria says, and hands him a handkerchief. He takes it gratefully. It’s only after he’s blown his nose into it—quietly—that he trusts himself to speak.

“Thank you,” he says. “I’ll find a time to give it back when it’s clean... snf.”

She blinks at him, her eyebrows furrowing as she looks him over. “Geez, you look awful. I’ll ask Kaeya to stop by later so he and I can take down the decorations for you.”

It’s surprisingly sweet. “You don’t have to,” Diluc says, wincing at the congestion in his voice. “I can get it... dealt with… hiih’IISSSH’iuu!”

“Your maids can, you mean. Still, it will be faster if we help out... your bedroom’s on the second floor, isn’t it?”

When he nods, she shrugs, leaning back casually against the doorframe. “Even more reason to get it cleaned up faster, then. Would it kill you to accept some help for once in your life?”

Diluc sniffles, folding the handkerchief neatly. “I suppose not. I... appreciate it, then.”

She smiles at him. “It’s the least I can do. I’ve been leeching off your free alcohol this whole afternoon, so we can call it even.”

[hercleverboy]

promise

matthew gray gubler x reader 

genre > angst/fluff

wc > 1.8k

the reader is tired of matthew never being home. 

Y/N sighed as she looked up at the clock perched on the table top. It was nearing 9pm and she’d only just been able to get her son to sleep. It had been like this for weeks. Matthew’s job understandably took up a lot of his time, but before having their son the couple had discussed him cutting back a few of his hours so that he could be home more. And for the first few years of their sons life he kept that promise, never missing a single milestone. However the last few months Matthew was less and less seen around the house. He was gone early in the morning and back late at night.

At first, Y/N said nothing. From the time she did get to spend with her husband, it was clear that he was stressed about his work and that it was preventing him from taking care of himself. She didn’t want to add to his stress by bringing it up. Matthew was a fantastic father, and no one could ever think otherwise.

However, over the last few weeks it had become increasingly clear to Y/N just how devestated Jacob got when his father wasn’t home to tuck him in at night, especially when he’d promised him he’d be home in time. Jacob was definitely more of a Mumma’s boy, but he idolised his father- he was fascinated by the magic tricks he showed him and the random facts he knew. She’d tried to explain that his father would’ve loved to be able to be there to say goodnight, but he had work to do. Unfortunately, that was a difficult concept to ask a four year old to understand. 

Tonight had been different. Tonight was the first night Jacob had cried at bedtime when Y/N told him Matthew wouldn’t be there to tuck him in. it had broken her heart. After soothing her son enough so he could fall into an uneasy sleep, Y/N slipped out of his room, grabbing her phone and calling her husband.

She wasn’t surprised when he didn’t answer.

So she sent him a simple text, one that would spike fear in any man.

We need to talk.

Fuck. Matthew knew he was in for it when he got home.

He gently opened the front door, trying not to make too much noise. He flicked up his wrist, checking the watch that sat there. 10:27pm.

The first thing he saw when he entered the living room was his wife, sat expectantly on the couch, giving him with this look that only she could give him.

“You promised him, Matthew.” She spoke, her tone cold and he could hear the anger she was biting back for the sake of their sleeping son.

“I know, I know I did but filming ran over and we had to reshoot a few scenes and I just lost track of things.” He attempted to explain, walking toward her.

“I understand that but you shouldn’t have promised him. He’s a kid, he doesn’t understand the technicalities of things. He understands who’s there and who isn’t.” She stood, moving to wrap her arms around herself in a self-comforting way. 

“Well I’m sorry, Y/N. But my job is important.” His voice raised slightly, nostrils flaring.

“Is this family not important? Your son?” Her volume raised to match his.

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. You know that you and Jacob mean everything to me!”

She sighed, glancing away from him. “He’s devastated whenever I tell him that you’re not gonna be home in time to tuck him in. He has been for weeks, but tonight..” She looked back at him, tears burning in her eyes. “He cried.” 

Matthew’s defensive stance dropped at the mention of his son being so upset. “He was.. he cried?”

Y/N sniffled and looked down, nodding slightly. She didn’t want to make him feel bad, and she certainly wasn’t trying to guilt trip him,  but how else could she explain how much this was hurting their son?

“Y/N I didn’t-“ He started but she shook her head at him.

“I don’t want to hear it. I’m exhausted, Matthew.”

“And you don’t think I am? Don’t you think I hate having to be away from you two? How I hate myself every time I know I promised him I’d be there and I have to let him down? Why don’t you consider how it makes me feel?” He shouted, his defensive stance back again. Y/N was about to respond when her eyes landed on a small figure standing by the bottom of the stairs. Their son, dressed his favourite blue dinosaur pyjamas, his big hazel eyes looking between his parents.

Y/N quickly wiped her tear-stained cheeks, forcing a smile onto her lips as she looked at her son. “Jacob, sweetheart. What are you doing up? It’s late.”

Jacob nodded, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. “I woke up and I heard shouting and I came down to see if daddy was home.” He gave a little smile at the sight of his father, even in his sleepy state.

“Yeah I’m home, buddy. Come here.” Matthew grinned through watery eyes, bending down as his son came toward him, enveloping the small boy in his arms. Matthew pressed a kiss to Jacob’s head full of brown curls before pulling back. “You gotta go to sleep, bud. Go with mummy, I’ll be here in the morning and we can talk then, okay?”

Jacob nodded, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “Do you promise?” He whispered.

Matthew but his lip but still nodded. “Yeah, I promise.” He made eye contact with Y/N, who quickly looked away before smiling down at their son.

“Okay Jake, let’s get you to bed, yeah?” She bent down slightly to lift him into her arms, his head dropping against her shoulder as he fought sleep.

Matthew watched as she carried their son up the staircase, disappearing upstairs. His heart ached.

*

Y/N had tucked Jacob back into bed, making sure he was comfortable. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, and turned to leave when his small voice broke the silence.

“Mummy?”

She turned back toward him with a frown. “Yeah, baby?”

“Are you and daddy getting a divorce?” His little voice whispered, and she came back towards his bed, kneeling down beside it, shocked by the question.

“A divorce? Where did you hear that?” She questioned gently.

“There’s this girl in my class, Lily. She said her parents used to fight all the time and they ended up getting a divorce. Now she hardly sees her daddy anymore.” He stated matter-of-factly.

“Oh. Well, there’s no need to worry about that.” She promised, and his hazel orbs looked into hers, getting a little watery as they filled with tears.

“I don’t want to never see daddy.” He cried, and her heart broke.

She got up, moving to sit beside him in the bed, cradling him into her side. “Hey hey, it’s okay sweetheart.” She cooed. “I love your father very much. Sometimes we disagree on things, but we’re not getting divorced, okay?”

Once she’d finally lulled her crying son to sleep, she slipped out from the bed and gently closed his bedroom door behind her, walking back toward her and Matthew’s shared room.

He was sat on the bed, feeling guilty over their petty argument. He knew it was silly, and really it was just that he was stressed over his job, and he also knew Y/N was right. He had been spending less time than he’d like at home, and it broke his heart to think that doing so was impacting his son so negatively.

He looked up when Y/N came into the room, gently closing the door behind her.

She looked at him, and he could see the tears that welled in her eyes. He smiled sadly and opened his arms for her to come into, a way of saying he was sorry- that all was forgiven. She sat beside him, head on his chest as his arms wrapped around her. He kissed her forehead and was about to apologise when she spoke.

“Jacob asked if we were getting a divorce.” She sniffled. Matthew pulled back slightly to look at her, a frown on his face.

“A divorce? Where’d he learn that?” He asked.  

“I don’t know, I guess he must’ve heard us arguing. He said a girl in his class told him that her parents got a divorce because they argued, and that she didn’t get to see her dad much anymore.” She mumbled, and Matthew’s grip tightened on her. “He got upset, he thought you were gonna leave. That he wouldn’t see you again.”

Tears had welled in Matthew’s eyes at the thought of his son thinking he was ever going anywhere. 

“I’m sorry.” Matthew whimpered out, and she looked up quickly, to see the tears falling from his eyes. he was always very in touch with his emotions, and the idea of his son thinking he was going anywhere really hurt him.

Y/N moved slightly so she could wrap her arms around him to comfort him as he cried on her shoulder. “Hey, hey. It’s okay.” She soothed, running her fingers through his hair. “We just- we can’t argue like that anymore. Not if it’s gonna hurt him like this.”

She felt him nod against her. “I know. I’m so sorry, it was my fault in the first place-“

She shook her head, pulling back. She cupped his cheeks gently, using her thumbs to wipe away his tears. “No, don’t do that. It was both of us. We’re a team, okay? Everything we do, we do together.”

He nodded again looking down, his hands holding her firmly by the waist, as though he was afraid she’d disappear. “I just don’t want you to think that I take you, or this family for granted. This family means the world to me and I need you to know that I would give up everything for you.”

She smiled up at him. “I know. but I won’t ever ask you to give up your work for us. I was only asking you to cut it back just a little. ‘Cause I know you, you get so passionate about these projects that sometimes you lose yourself in them and that’s not a bad thing. Your passion is one of the reasons I fell in love with you.”

He blushed, a small smile breaking out on his lips.

“I just need you to remember that you have a little boy waiting for you to come home. A little boy who looks up to you, god- he thinks the world of you, Matthew.”

Matthew’s smile only grew bigger, as he looked up, finally meeting her eyes. “What would I do without you?” He murmured, pulling her closer to him.

She smiled brightly. “You’ll never have to find out.”

It was a promise, and with it came the reassurance that was more than enough to eradicate any negative thoughts Matthew had. And when he pressed his lips to hers, he could tell it was all going to be okay.

-

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[sketchguk]

lover to lean on; pjm

➳ pairing: neighbor!jimin x florist!reader

➳ genre: neighbor AU, flower shop AU, smut, fluff, angst

➳ wc: 20k

➳ synopsis: for months, you can hear your no face neighbor and his ‘girlfriend’ singing and dancing and laughing and falling in love. above all, you can hear their bed banging against your shared wall, and they won’t ever let you sleep. you’d much rather stay up at night worrying about your own problems, like the weight of an unrequited crush, so of course you’re bitterly single. but one day, the apartment is radio silent. and one day slowly turns into one week and then into an immeasurable amount of time since you’ve heard his laugh. so on valentine’s day, when you’re missing it the most, you beg your neighbor to open up to you with cookies in one hand and two broken hearts in the other. 

➳ warnings: explicit language, pining, unrequited love 🤔, accidental voyeurism, unhealthy eating/sleeping habits, praise kink, body worship, nipple play, fingering, oral (f receiving), handjobs, penetration, fluffy sex

➳ a/n: oops, I uploaded this later than I expected because the word count really got me. anyways, this fic is inspired by the song call me by keshi x rainlord. go give it a listen! 

Wake up and smell the roses.

That would be a great philosophy for life if you didn’t have to wake up to the sound of sex at 2 in the goddamn morning. 

Perhaps it’s your fault for not checking on the thickness of the drywall prior to moving in, but it wasn’t exactly the first concern that came to mind when touring the flat. Now, it’s more of a personal problem than anything: you being bitter about not having sex while your neighbor and his girlfriend are going at it like rabbits 5 feet away from you. It’s not a very valid complaint to bring up to your landlord. He’d probably tell you to suck it up and get laid. 

And he’s right. 

Besides, it’s not so bad most days. You hardly even notice the sound of running water through the rusty pipelines every morning or the whizzing of the ancient radiator on cold nights. In fact, you welcome it. It’s become part of the rustic building’s old-school, pre-historic charm. 

That, you can get behind. 

But one thing is for sure. You’re never going to learn to appreciate the strangled garble of a morning blowjob in the steamy showers or the banging of the bedpost against the paper thin walls when you’re in desperate need of some beauty sleep, well deep in a state of REM. 

It’s anything but charming. 

The 3 inch thick divider between you and your not-so-considerate neighbor does absolutely nothing to drown out the soft moans and hard grunts. You can hear them loud and clear through the dead of night as if they’re right beside you. 

“My god,” you sigh, rolling around your bed restlessly. Your hand blindly palms at the sheets in search of the pillow that rests beside you, placing it over your face and sandwiching yourself between the cushions. If you can’t kill your neighbor, you might as well suffocate yourself first to avoid incrimination, shamefully persecuted for third degree murder. 

A frustrated groan falls from your lips, but it’s stifled against the buffer. The banging stops almost immediately. 

“Shit,” you hear from the other side. 

Did he come? Is it over? 

You pray, hold your breath, and lie still as if you’re the one caught red-handed. But you’re not a voyeur. At least not on purpose. 

It isn’t your fault for being a light sleeper because the only thing to blame is the flimsy partition your landlord dare considers a wall. If you could have it any other way, you would. This is far from ideal granted that you didn’t even ask for any of this, but it’s far too late to get a refund. 

Lately, you’ve been spending your nights muting out vulgar dirty talk, the occasional squelches, and the obscene skin slapping on skin. Over time, you’ve come to know your neighbor on a much more intimate level than you would have liked despite never seeing him around. Like the fact that he thrives off of edge play and praise kinks. Yeah, it’s probably for the best that his identity is kept a secret otherwise you wouldn’t ever be able to look him in the eyes again with the knowledge that you have stowed away in the crevasses of your brainー knowledge you would prefer to forget. You don’t even know his name, but you’re long past the point of being acquainted with one another, so it would pretty be awkward to ask for it now. All you know is that he’s stuck in his own bubble, too blinded by love and lust to even consider his poor neighbor. 

Most nights, you even make the effort to stumble through your cluttered, moonlit studio apartment in search of your cheap headphones that usually dangle precariously over the edge of your desk. You’ve made a mental note to invest in some earplugs and a more effective set of headphones too. 

Truly, you’re not the type to invade one’s privacy. You have nothing to be sorry about because you respect your neighbor, his girlfriend, and their sexy time. If anything, they should be the ones apologizing for keeping you awake for three consecutive nights. No less on a Tuesday. 

But perhaps the act is already done and you can let bygones be bygones. Maybe he’s already come, and as unfortunate as that may be for his girlfriend, the chances are he's low on stamina tonight. The vivace metronomic thuds against your shared wall would suggest he was going pretty hard at it too. Not that it’s any of your business. You’re happy that your neighbor is so in love, and that he can have sex all day, all night and fall into the comfort of his lover’s arms, unlike you. You’re not bitter. 

Not at all. 

You don’t mean to get invested in his relationship, but it’s just that tonight, he finished rather early as opposed to the hour it usually takes him to climaxー foreplay and edge play and all. You don’t keep track of the time per se. That’d be a little creepy, but it’s hard not to do so when you’re losing out on a precious hour of sleep each night. Especially when you’re stuck in your own overactive imagination, wondering how good his stroke game is and what type of lingerie he’s intoー

“Sorry!”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. Then the realization hits you momentarily. 

He’s talking to you. 

They must have heard you groaning through the stupid, thin walls, and therefore, you’re responsible for this very awkward exchange. 

Your grip on the pillow loosens as you lift it over your head. 

“It’s okay!” Your voice cracks with a heightened tone, “Just make sure you use protection!” The cringe settles into the pit of your stomach as soon as you respond. You squeeze your eyes shut and mentally facepalm yourself. You should have left it alone, but your cursed mouth moves way faster than your thoughts. 

The couple whispers to one another, but it’s hushed and hurried. Faint and hard to decipher. Angry, even. The wall must be really selective on what it chooses to mute out which is absolutely perfect when you actually want to know what’s happening on the other side. 

However, moments after, you can still hear the rustle of sheets and the patter of footstepsー two pairs. Even the harsh close of the door and the soft turning of the deadbolt, a resounding click that could be heard if you were to listen close enough. 

Once again, there’s a shuffle of feet that skid across the hardwoodー one pair. A few creaks echo from the aged floorboards. And then there’s a squeak from the bed slat, a heavy mass pressing on the mattress. 

You sit in silence with eyes wide open as you trap air into your lungs in fear of breathing out. Correction, in fear of your neighbor making comments on your rude interruption. If you could pretend that you’re asleep, maybe the problem will disappear into the night. 

But it doesn’t because it never works that way. 

Moonlight filters through the pane glass windows, right between the cracks of your curtain. It illuminates your face and keeps you awake longer than you need to be. You manage to let out the breath you’ve been holding when something else breaks the silence. 

You can hear it faintly. The soft hum of an unfamiliar tune before the soft outbreak of vocals. The song is bitter, but the voice is sweet.

Your neighbor has gotten into the habit of singing whether it be at dawn or dusk, yet you can never complain given his velvety voice. Sometimes it’s accompanied by the strum of an acoustic guitar or the tap of an electronic keyboard. But one thing that never changes is his love for the same old bubble gum pop music that’s rinsed and repeated on the radio. Nothing but love on the brain. Mushy lyrics that bear no meaning to you, and frankly, to anyone who’s painfully single and/or heartbroken. 

You would have expected nothing less from this man though. His taste in music is a given. Most days, you can physically feel his warmth and kindness based on the dulcet timbre of his voice. Although you’ll never care to admit it to him, it helps you fall asleep on nights when you’re drained from work. They’re comforting songs that warm your heart, especially because he’s singing such sincere lyrics about his girlfriend. 

His love for her is pure, and it’s disgustingly cute. 

No matter how many times you try to convince yourself that you’re happy for the lovely couple while internally cringing during their late night endeavors, you’re wondering if you’re subconsciously longing for a relationship just like theirs. 

But you’d be crazy not to dream about that kind of love story. One in which the guy cooks a meal for you at the end of every night, served alongside a hot cup of peppermint tea to help you sleep better. In which he runs a bath for you, flower petals, candles, soap suds, and the whole shebang, only to hop right in behind you. Someone to keep you company while giving you a back massage, working on the hard-to-reach knots that line your shoulder blade after a hard work day. Of course at his own volition, never having to be asked to do so. 

Perhaps you’re more invested in your neighbor’s picture perfect relationship than you thought, knowing all these little, intimate details no one else should know. But once again, the thin wall is to blame. You’re not an eavesdropper. You’re just a hopelessly hopeless romantic who needs to wake up and smell the damn roses. 

Because apparently, not every relationship is as perfect as it seems. 

“Everything okay?” You don’t know why you open your mouth, but you do, and you can’t take it back. He’s long since stopped singing, but the residual silence is louder than the gentle voice that once filled the space. 

He sighs deeply. The frustration is unmistakable, and you regret ever saying anything. 

“Yeah… Just trouble in paradise.” He chuckles dryly, but there’s a tinge of sadness to it. 

The room is quiet again. You debate with yourself, wondering if you should hash it out with him or go to fucking bed knowing that you have a 7 am shift tomorrow. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” The kindness of your heart outweighs all else, but you cross your fingers and secretly hope that his answer is no just so you can finally get some shut-eye. 

“Uhm… I wouldn’t want to bother you.” His voice wavers. He sounds tired, but maybe it’s the exhaustion from navigating the rocky waters of a relationship. You’ve been there before. 

Everyone’s been there before. 

Your eyes are closed, and just when you think you can go back to bed, your mind and heart betray you. 

“I wouldn’t be bothered,” you tell him, “I’m already awake too.” 

His chest rumbles with a true chuckle this time. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” 

“Don’t even worry about it. I’m probably gonna invest in some ear plugs tomorrow,” you quip, waving it off. 

“You really don’t have to,” he deadpans. There’s a pregnant pause, and you’re left confused. He continues with a shaky breath, “I’m not sure we’ll be back together after this.” 

Now you’re even more confused. Were they not just ravaging one another moments ago? 

“Valentine's Day is coming up next Friday…” you muse. “You could still win her back, you know?” 

The radiator whirs in the background. It’s silent. 

“Do you love her?” You query, thumbing the pilled edges of your blanket. 

“That’s a loaded question.” 

Now it’s your turn to stay silent. 

“I think I do,” he starts. His voice is rough. “Love her— I mean.” He falters in uncertainty. “Sorry, I’ve never admitted it to myself before.” 

“That’s okay.” It’s a weak attempt to comfort him, but the situation is totally out of your hands. You don’t even know the full picture, yet it somehow feels like you’re on the other side of the breakup even though you’re just sitting in the audience, watching, or rather hearing, the drama unfold. 

Your fingers interlock with one another, resting over your chest as you lie flat on your back. The heavy weight of your heart sinks lower into your stomach. Maybe love isn’t real, or maybe it’s not meant for people like you and him. Or is it just some misconstrued concept jumbled up in your brain? Some romanticized notion you’ve only ever dreamed about or seen in movies and read in fanfiction?

You gulp, pondering over how things could possibly go wrong in their seemingly perfect relationship. Well, there are millions of reasons, but maybe you’ve only ever heard the good times roll. Days when they’re frolicking in a meadow of sunshine and nights when they’re singing and dancing and laughing, head over heels in love, and everything is just peachy perfect. Maybe the bad and the dirty have yet to expose itself to you, still hidden behind an extra layer of stucco drywall and eggshell paint coatings. No matter how many times you bitch about them, the innermost part of you is still rooting for the couple you’ve had the displeasure of listening to have sex every night. But it’s always worth it, or so you think, for the sake of them being in a good place. To be undoubtedly quote unquote in love—

“Have you ever been in love?” It surprises you that he’s the one asking instead of the other way around. 

You stare blankly at the ceiling with a racing heart. Biting your lip, you speculate whether or not you should reveal such intimate details about your life to a total stranger.

“Nope,” you shake your head. He can’t see you, but you hope that your response is convincing enough. 

“Would you want to?” 

You can’t help but scoff. “Yeah, what kind of question is that?” 

“You’re right, it was stupid.” He chuckles. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” you warn him, “You don’t have to.” 

“Sorr—”

“If you finish that sentence, I’ll personally come over and flick you on the forehead,” you say, reprimanding him. 

His laughter is even sweeter than his voice. “Harsh. But nice? I guess?”

That’s the perfect description for someone who works in the service industry, which unfortunately, you do. 

“It’s for your own good,” you suggest, nodding your head in self indulgent pleasure. Kind of like how avoiding love is for your own good.

The silence quickly settles in, as does the existential dread. Your eyes shift around to the empty apartment before you, and you soon realize that you’re painfully alone.

The radiator goes off again and the clock ticks perpetually. The moment escapes you. 

His voice fills up the room. “Can I ask how you’re doing?” 

The corner of your lips curl up in a fond smile. You exhale a deep sigh, one of contemplation. “I’m okay… Just... learning how to deal with unrequited love.” 

“Harsh,” he echoes back.

“Yeah.” You curl up on your side, sighing and reaching for a pillow to spoon. 

“Want to talk about it?” 

You gnaw on your lip. It’s a bad habit to have. “There’s not much to talk about. It’s just some guy who always walks in at work. We make small talk, flirt a little bit, and then he leaves until the next day.” A highlight reel flashes before you, and you tug on your blanket, nuzzling into the warm fabric that offers you some semblance of comfort against the outside world as you dig your nose into the soft linen. 

“How do you know he doesn’t like you?” 

You shrug to yourself. “It’s just a feeling.”

You think the conversation is over at this point. Moments go by until your ears perk up at the faint sound of his voice. “You should ask him out.”

Your neighbor surely seems to enjoy making a fool out of you. It’s a nice thought to have though. To think that you have the confidence to ask a guy out. The guy you’re crushing on, no less. 

You satiate your neighbor anyways just to entertain the idea a little longer and give him a little push towards his own love story. “Only if you make amends with your girlfriend though.” 

“Girlfriend? Oh— no, she’s not my girlfriend,” he says in defense. 

You’re perplexed. “Wh-? She’s not?”

“No... uh, just friends with benefits,” he confesses with a cough. 

Flashbacks start to go off in your head as you try to connect the dots like some mathematical formula. Is love actually an illusion? Maybe love knows no labels, but a small part of you still wants to believe that they’re wholeheartedly in love and on the verge of marriage or something. But that delusion instantaneously bursts into dust and ashes, confirmed by none other. 

“Hey, I’m kind of tired, so I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? I’ll make it right with her so long you talk to the guy.” He lets out a huff. “Don’t let him miss out on a good thing because of the what ifs.” 

Comfort washes over you at the sound of his advice. In a way, he’s right. Maybe it’s time that you put yourself out there in spite of the possibilities. Even if it’s utterly terrifying. 

“Goodnight,” you mumble back, wrapping your arms securely around the pillow. 

He hears you loud and clear, “Goodnight. Thanks for the talk.” 

He knocks out soon after that, but it’s hard for you to sleep when you’ve got nothing but love on the brain. 

Waking up is hell, especially when you’re running on nothing but 0 hours of sleep and a single cup of black coffee. The only thing that makes the fatigue worth it is the peaceful lull at sunrise and the absence of your noisy neighbor’s daily blowjob. It’s as if some higher power read your mind and decided that you’re worth the divine intervention just for that one fleeting moment of jubilation. 

But just like the law of gravity, for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction, and your contract with the universe calls for some cosmic karma. It’s like you’re being punished because you can never seem to catch a break. 

Work is unusually hectic, but with Valentine’s Day around the corner, it’s expected. If Black Friday is the worst nightmare for every retail worker, one can imagine a florist’s week leading up to Single’s Awareness Day, or much less commonly referred to as “A Shallow, Capitalistic Attempt to Buy Affection Day.” 

Despite owning a flower shop, you still stand firmly against Valentine’s Day and all that it represents. Maybe you’re spiteful because you’re pitifully single and surrounded by lovey dovey mush at every single corner. But as of right now, it has more to do with the extra workload that lies at your feet. 

Not only do you have to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to open shop and prepare for the deliveries, but you also have to cut and process flowers, organize dozens of overnight orders, and arrange bouquets for the day’s purchases, all before 9am. The to-do list is endless, and not to mention, the number of calls you’ve picked up in the last hour alone has already backed you up on a number of orders. It’s stressful and incredibly time consuming to say the least. 

By 10am, you’re ready to call it quits, but you constantly remind yourself that this job is your only source of income, and therefore, you have to barrel through with a bright and shining customer service smile on your face. 

At this point, you really wish you did smother yourself with your pillow last night. 

But the only thing that keeps your sanity in tact after the morning rush is the chance to make arrangements for the front display. It’s therapeutic to pick and choose foliage, sprucing them into beautiful pieces of art for passersby to enjoy. You’re grateful for the scent of seeded eucalyptus and baby’s breath which is remedial to your burgeoning headache. Even the sight of your favorite carnation is enough to ease the pounding pain against your skull. 

However, making arrangements isn’t all sunshine and flowers despite popular belief. The worst part about it is the heavy lifting. It’s labor intensive to pick up large plants like the full sized leatherleaf fern in the back room, which is now carefully lodged into a concoction of gardening soil, compost, mulch, and active charcoal. But if nobody else is going to do it, you’re going to have to do it alone. 

Lifting the hefty plant isn’t difficult to begin with, but it progressively becomes taxing when you have to carry it to the front of the store. As you emerge from the back door, the bell of the entrance chimes, signifying a customer’s presence.  

You can hear him before you can even see him. 

“Good morning!”

You nearly jolt at the sound of his chipper voice. Of course Jimin had to walk in at the peak moment of you struggling, looking like a disheveled mess with soil accumulated in your hair like a burrowed nest. You just hope and pray that it’s not smeared across your forehead like Simba.

Out of pure embarrassment, you hold the pot higher to hide your burning cheeks behind the plant despite your arms giving out. Would all of your problems disappear if you act like you’re not there? Once again, of course not, because he spots you in an instant, and you’re just not fated to have the good things in life. 

He calls out your name before stopping to place his things down at the table and rushing over to you, “Here, let me help you with that.” 

You have an ironclad grip on that ceramic pot, holding on to it as if it’s life or death. “No, it’s okay, I got it,” you say out of pure, frantic determination. 

“Don’t be silly, let me.” He reaches for the bottom of the earthenware. His hand grazes over yours before you can pull away, shifting the responsibility onto him. 

You offer him a grateful smile that extends your eyes, and he sends one back your way. 

“Where do you want it?” He asks. You can’t even get a word in before he turns on his heels and makes space for you through the narrow aisle. 

Leading the way, you show him the spot you’ve marked for the fern to hopefully reside for the next 24 hours. “Here’s good,” you tell him, pointing to the empty tile. 

Jimin bends down and gently places the plant into its new home. Then he reaches into his messenger bag, pulling out a packet of tissues before gravitating towards the spray bottle.

“I’m a big girl, you know? I could do it myself,” you whine with a slight pout. 

He grips on your right shoulder, and you’re locked in place. “I know, but I want to help,” he says with the utmost care, “And you can ask me for help whenever you need it, you know?” Jimin smiles at you, and his eyes lower into crescent moon shapes, the corners slightly creasing. Before you know it, there’s a cool sensation on your forehead. The tissue in his hand is thoroughly saturated and now damp against your skin. You recoil on contact and reach for Jimin’s wrist, ready to yell at him for the lack of warning. 

“Hey!”

“Stay still, you have soil on you,” he alerts with sharp eyes. 

You let go of his wrist and give in to his kind gesture, murmuring out a “fine”. 

While he concentrates on cleaning you up, you can’t help but look up and lock your eyes on his. You swear you could spontaneously combust and astral project from the intensity of his stare. His close proximity makes you heat up, so you’re forced to avert your eyes elsewhere out of pure intimidation. Your line of sight meets his lips, and you’re stuck in place, staring at them. They’re so pink and plush, and his tongue even pokes out a little like a sleepy kitten with slack jaw. Most of all, they’re right there in front of you, and if you could just lean in a little more, you’d be this closeー

“All clean!” He says with cheer, tapping your shoulder.

He turns around in search of the dustbin, and you shake yourself out of your own daydream before he can catch sight of you. 

You laugh it off and offer him a toothy smile, “If you really want to help, you could have gotten me a cup of coffee.”

“You’re making demands now, huh?” He asks.

“It’s more like a suggestion than anything,” you teasingly yell from the back room, grabbing the remaining flowers for the display. Meanwhile, Jimin lingers behind in the main room, admiring the freshly cut flowers laid out on the counter ready to be made into floral arrangements.

You manage to recompose yourself from that one moment of weakness by taking a glance over at the cute doodles of artwork that line your office wall. They’re little bits of happiness that keep you calm and remind you that there’s light in your life, and he’s standing in the other room waiting for you to pop a very important question. 

Upon grabbing the necessary items, you make your way back into the store. You stop immediately in your tracks, nearly colliding into a solid figure at the sharp turn of the doorway. Your heart almost stops, but you shudder away before you could tip yourself over. 

Jimin stands in front of you with his hand extended out, clenching onto a steaming, white paper cup. 

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of me and coffee now,” he laughs, reaching out once again, “Only one of us bites.” 

“That’s for me?” You ask incredulously. 

He nods his head, “Yeah, of course, silly.” 

You take the drink from his hands, and before you can thank him, he chimes in. “It’s just how you like it. Black and full of caffeine.” 

You press your lips up against the cup, taking a sip and humming in satisfaction at the drops of heaven. “Thanks, but why? And how’d you know my coffee order? Don’t get me wrong, this is really nice, but…” 

“I saw how dead you looked yesterday,” he justifies cutting you off before you can ramble on. Honest, but harsh. 

You put the cup back on the counter and continue with your task at hand, and he trails behind you. 

“Thanks, that’s what every girl wants to hear,” you banter with all the sarcasm you can muster, pulling at the flower stems despite them already being placed exactly where you want them. 

“Girls like it when guys pay attention to the little details, don’t they?” He asks with a gleam in his irises. 

You look up at him briefly before averting his eyes and wiping clean the leaves on a near fiddle leaf tree, spraying food soil at its roots. 

“Love it,” you gulp wryly. 

Jimin takes note of how seemingly busy you are, so he walks around the shop, examining the new inventory of flowers. After making your round through the store, watering all the plants that need to be watered, you return to the disembodied zinnia on the counter, waiting to be arranged. 

The silence is refreshing until it isn’t. 

“Is the coffee good?” He queries. 

“Huh?” You stop what you’re doing to casually glance his way. His back is turned to you, but he seems overly invested in the rose display. 

“The coffee,” he repeats, back still turned.  

You look at the untouched cup at the edge of the table and smile to yourself. You didn’t notice it before, but there’s a red doodle that contrasts against the white paper cup, no doubt customized by Jimin himself. It’s hard to pick out what it is exactly, but you’d recognize the flowers of God any day. The ruffled petals and thin, straight stem are simply unmistakable. 

“Oh, yeah. It’s good,” you answer politely. 

“What’s your favorite kind of flower?” He asks curiously as if he’s playing a game of 21 questions. It’s a question you’ve answered numerous times before, but facts like these can easily slip through someone’s mind. 

“Easy, carnations,” you respond without any hesitation, pointing at the display in the right corner of the store when he turns around to look at you. He makes his way to the stand, eyeing the flowers. 

“They’re pretty,” he comments, pulling out one of the bouquets to examine as if he didn’t already know. 

You hum, and maybe the exhaustion is evident in your voice and your oddly scarce exchange of pleasantries. 

Jimin carries on with the small talk anyways. “You’ve been sleeping okay?” 

You snip away at the hard, green stems, tossing them into the trash beside you. Shrugging, you mindlessly answer. “Yeah, as much as a florist can during Valentine’s week.” You snicker with good spirit. 

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t rest well,” he scolds you all in good faith, eyes now scanning the small assortment of cards. You hum in affirmation. 

If anything, he should be telling that to your noisy neighbor who refuses to let you get a wink of sleep. 

A creak rings through the air as Jimin rotates the card stand, thumbing through the variety. “Do you have plans for Valentine’s Day by the way?” 

You can feel your hands clam up as they stop fiddling with the lemon leaves. Your heartbeat picks up, and you’re left winded by the question. You hide behind the hesitation, nervous as to where this may lead. How could you possibly play it cool when your crush asks you whether or not you’re busy on arguably the most romantic holiday of the year? 

Play it cool because remember, you loathe Valentine’s Day. 

Your hands fumble as you pick up the lemon leaves again, snipping at the branches nonchalantly. “Uh, no, not really, you?” you gulp. Your eyes are distracted, too fixed on the greenery. 

But you look up the moment Jimin approaches the counter with flowers in one hand and a card in another. 

“Oh, who are these for?” you feign innocence in your voice as you reach for the brown kraft paper and the roll of red ribbon. 

Jimin scratches the back of his neck, hesitating. “My girlfriend,” he mumbles, but it’s loud and clear, audible enough for you to apprehend like an echo in you ear.

“I don’t have much planned yet, but we’re probably going to grab dinner on Friday,” he shrugs with hands burrowed in his pockets. He shifts his weight on the balls of his feet, eyes focused on the gray specks of the ceramic tiles beneath him. “Something casual. I’m not really huge on the whole Valentine’s Day thing.” 

It seems like every man in your life paints you like a giant fool destined for humiliation. Of course the hopelessly hopeless romantic within you deluded yourself into believing that some Prince Charming would visit your flower shop in anticipation of seeing you. Of course the flowers that he buys everyday has to go somewhere, you just never expected that each and every morning at the crack of dawn, the flowers you carefully hand-pick and wrap with unconditional love would be sent off to his girlfriend. 

Of course you’re a huge idiot who isn’t destined for love. 

It almost hurts to plaster the tight lipped smile on your face when your heart is prickled with thorns like the roses in your hands. 

You lick your lips and painfully gulp the spit down your dry throat before you open your mouth again.

“Jimin?” 

“Yeah?” 

You pause. “You can’t give these to your girlfriend” 

His eyebrows furrow and his hands run through his hair. “What do you mean?”

“They’re white roses.” 

“So? She likes white flowers.” He doesn’t seem to get the point. 

You almost chuckle in his face, and you would have if your heart didn’t hurt so damn much. So you refrain. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that white flowers are meant for funerals?” 

His cheeks are dusted with a pink blush. He shakes his head no. “Uh, what do you suggest I give her then?” 

You sigh, looking at the hopeless man in front of you. “Do you love her?” Not even a second goes by before you ramble, not very eager to hear the answer. “You could uh- give her that fern you helped me carry earlier.” You walk back to the front display, keeping a safe distance to hide your woe, extending your arms out like a game show host revealing what’s hidden behind door #1. (Hint: it’s your heart). 

“Call it your love fern?” you shrug, laughing it off. 

“I think a bouquet is fine.” Jimin staggers behind you, checking out the other flower displays, opting for door #2. “How about the carnations you mentioned?” He pulls out a bouquet of variegated carnations painted with pink and red tips. “These are nice, don’t you think?” He looks at you curiously with doe eyes in await of your approval. 

Your mouth opens to interject, ready to digress into another lesson on the history of variegated carnations, but you bite your tongue back. 

Jimin spots your reluctance, but quickly puts it to rest. “Look, I don’t think she really cares about the meaning behind the flowers. You said these are your favorite, and you’re the expert right?”

You nod, unable to trust your voice. “Mhmm.” Even your hum cracks. “But uh, maybe the deep red ones would be more appropriate?” You cock your head to the side and quirk your eyebrow. 

“It’s fine, I swear” he reassures you, placing the bouquet on the counter before putting the white roses back in its stand. 

Your feet refuse to move as if they’re cemented to the ground, but Jimin stands there in front of you with rosy eyes, awaiting for you to wrap up the object of his affection in a pretty red bow. So how could you refuse?

You walk past the carnation display on the way to the counter, and pick up another bouquet. Pink and red variegated. “Here, these are a little more fresh. The buds are tighter, so in a few days, you’ll see them nice and big.” You smile, closed lipped. “Just in time for Valentine’s Day.” 

Jimin’s jaw loosens and his lips part. He knits his brow in a frown. “Uh, these aren’t actually meant for Valentine’s Day,” he says, running his hand through his perfectly imperfect raven hair. “She’s kind of mad at me right now,” he gives a mirthless chuckle while playing with his hands, “so I’m hoping I can make it up to her with this.” 

Ah, your favorite flowers are reduced to nothing but a gift of pity.

“She’d be crazy not to accept your apology,” you say in a soft voice, gritting your teeth behind your tense jaw, eyes fixated on the little nursling in your hold. With a soft hand, you unravel the kraft paper and delicately wrap it around the bouquet. The very one you picked up this morning and arranged the hour prior, wondering if you’ll be able to send it off to a loving home. 

Now you know for a fact that it’ll be in good hands. 

“Do you think she’d like it?” Jimin chirps in. 

It feels like your heart is on the threshold of bleeding out as he sends another prickle to the soft organ. Your concentration doesn’t even falter as you snip the ribbon. 

“I know she will.”

You tie the fabric into the prettiest bow you can muster and slide the gift of love across the glass counter. Jimin looks down at the beautifully wrapped flowers with an ear to ear smile on his face. “Thank you so much for the help, I really appreciate it.” 

“Just doing my job,” you remind him with a counterfeit smile, scanning the barcode at the back of the card. It’s a really cute card too. Sometimes I wonder how you put up with me then I remember I put up with you. So we’re even ❤️ 

You hate yourself for the fond smile you almost crack, masked behind the pained one you send his way. 

Jimin passes you a $20 bill and grabs his merchandise from the table. 

“She’s really lucky to have you,” you lament honestly with glistening eyes as he walks out the front door. 

He doesn’t catch a word you say, but he manages to shout back a “thank you!” and a “see you tomorrow!” before speeding out, setting off the bell at the top of the door without ever looking back at your dejected figured. 

You’re left alone to finish the rest of the work day, surrounded by none other than the sickly, sweet scent of seeded eucalyptus and baby’s breath, all while taking in the putrid sight of variegated carnations. 

They say that you are your worst enemy, and they are 110% correct on the matter. You don’t know why you would think that you’d have a good day on the basis of your neighbor having a crummy one. It’s not like there’s some kind of transfer of energy. It’s been proven to you time and time again that divine intervention and karmic justice just aren’t real, and apparently, neither is science. Otherwise, by that logic, you’d have a superb day. 

You would have slept through last night and woken up to a pretty pink sunrise painted across the sky— nothing but peace. To the chirping of birds in the distance and to the passing of cars on an empty street. You would have had enough time to prepare a proper breakfast— pancakes, eggs, bacon, and maybe even a nice cup of hot chocolate. Not a measly cup of black coffee to keep you awake for the rest of the busy day. You would have had a nice chat with Jimin at the flower shop about the capitalistic corruption of Valentine’s Day while he’d try to convince you otherwise. He’d prove you wrong, and you would have walked home with a blooming garden in your heart. 

But science is bullshit and the transfer of energy is a complete lie— photosynthesis being the only exception. The only thing you got out of today was a huge migraine and a withering blossom in your chest. 

So just when you think that the day could not get any worse, it absolutely does. 

You can probably blame the poor mindset you boxed yourself in— having a cynical outlook on love and life because of the dreaded upcoming holiday. Maybe it was because your crush just stomped all over your garden and plucked the flowers to give to some other girl. Or, you can put the blame on past you, the big freaking idiot who previously stripped off her bed sheets at 6:30 in the morning in hopes of being productive by doing weeks of piled up laundry. At this point, all you want to do is curl up in a warm bed, too exhausted by the trials and tribulations of life, but you can’t even give yourself the satisfaction of that because you thought you were some kind of changed woman who could manage her stupid laundry.

Newsflash, you’re not. 

The naked mattress in the corner of your apartment mocks you, so grudgingly, you take your laundry basket down to the laundry room for your most hated chore. With heavy steps, you trudge through the cold, cement basement. It’s dark and dingy down there. A little scary too, given the flickering lightbulb at the end of the hallway. Nevertheless, you march through the doors and into the rumbling alcove. 

What you find in there is startling, yet you can’t say that you’re surprised seeing that this occurrence is far from rare. You almost consider walking back upstairs and knocking on your floormate’s door, asking him if he’d be willing to do your laundry in exchange for $5 just so you don’t have to sit there, listening to some couple make out in the back corner.

Apparently, everyone in the world is foolishly in love except for you. 

You crank up the volume a little louder so your cheap headphones can drown out the sound of them locking lips with one another, but the poor quality does absolutely nothing for your abused ears. The boisterous public display of affection is deafening over the sound of your “Wallowing in Self Pity” playlist. 

You’re only capable of catching a brief glance in their direction before gagging and veering off. She’s sitting atop of the washing machine as he stands between her parted legs. They’re so lost in their own world that they don’t even notice your presence. 

Out of respect for yourself and the horny couple, you choose to occupy a washing machine at the opposite corner of the laundry room. But perhaps you can save yourself the irritation as well as the $5 in your wallet because you can hear their hushed whispers. They’ve separated themselves long enough for the guy to convince her to move to a more private location. Although she still leeches herself onto his neck, he’s attentive enough to know that they aren’t alone. He picks her up and drags her out of the laundry room with her legs wrapped around his waist, unwilling to part from him as if holding his hand simply isn’t enough. 

You roll your eyes, thankful for the quietude and the money you’ve saved yourself, but as you sit alone in the drafty basement, doing the chore you hate the most, you can’t help but think how much better it would be to do it with someone else at your side. 

Somehow you’re convinced that crossing paths with Jeongguk in the hallway is fated after thinking about him moments prior. Because it’s very uncommon for that boy to leave his apartment, cooping up all day long with his video games, only to catch a breath of fresh air for his nightly gym sessions. When you see him locking up his apartment door, you offer him $5 anyways just out of the kindness of your heart. He could probably use the money more than you anyways. 

Although you didn’t have any intention of doing a good deed today, karma still finds a way to punish you. As always, it’s bullshit. 

Upon entering your empty apartment, the space is already filled with the sonorous sounds of orchestral music. Violins, violas, cellos, flutes, oboes, and harps all performing in perfect harmony. It’s played through the walls, coming from none other than the speakers of your beloved neighbor. You wouldn’t mind the soothing classical melodies to cure your migraine so long it’s accompanied by white noise. But your neighbor’s laughter rings above the music as you can hear him count “1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3” in a triple metre. 

You know that he’s not alone because there’s also another voice laughing alongside him. The same one you’ve grown accustomed to over the months. Her high pitched squeals are unmistakable as they greatly resemble other sounds you’ve heard come from her mouth on many unfortunate nights. So you can safely assume that your neighbor and his not-girlfriend made up with one another already—

“Look at me, not at your feet!” 

“I don’t know where to put them!” 

“You’re stepping on my toes!”

“Sorry!” 

“Oh yeah, you’ll be sorry!” 

It’s hard to picture what’s happening behind the wall when you don’t have faces to match with the voices. But you don’t really need it when their bed slat creaks beneath their weight and their headboard slams against your shared wall. Not when her yelps erupt as a result of the tickle fest they’re currently immersed in. The sounds are vivid enough for you to know much more than you need to know. It almost feels like you’re intruding on an intimate moment that’s not meant for your eyes, let alone your ears. 

Meanwhile, as you struggle to tuck the fitted sheets beneath the four corners of your mattress, you wonder whether it’s worth it to leave the apartment again after such a hard day. Of course for the sole purpose of avoiding a home made porn video being filmed in the process. 

Maybe it’s not too late, and you can still catch up to Jeongguk. You could head to the gym and snatch back the $5 you generously handed him because the more you think about it, the more you believe that someone owes you for your miserable time spent in this apartment complex. But you can’t take your anger out on the poor boy from down the hall when he doesn’t deserve it. 

The sanctuary of your bed calls your name like a siren, so instead, you do what you’re forced to always do— plug in your cheap headphones, blare out some music, and move on with your day. 

And it works for the most part. 

You’re able to successfully put on your bed sheets after struggling to play a big game of tug of war with your mattress. Despite the internal push and pull, you also will yourself to do adult things like tidying up the studio, making the space somewhat habitable for humans. By 9pm, you can finally sit down and enjoy a nice, hot meal. However, you’re forced to keep your headphones on because your neighbor’s not-girlfriend decided that she couldn’t go a single day without her not-boyfriend’s dick in her mouth. 

You swear you’re going to ask him tonight why he hasn’t made it official because it’s clear as day that they’re in love with one another. You know that you definitely would be if someone offered you oral every single day. Unfortunately, nobody’s offering. Thus, you’re forced to live vicariously. 

So as midnight approaches, and the moon reaches its apex, you settle into bed with a book in hand, ready to suffer through the night. It’s difficult to concentrate on the text when your music is blasting, but you suppose it’s better to listen to lo-fi hip hop beats as opposed to the scream of “daddy” over and over and over… 

Although you applaud her for her shamelessness, you would still prefer if she could keep to herself.

Thankfully, these moments are only temporary. 

With your eyes squeezed shut, you let out a lethargic yawn. Looking over at your nightstand, you spot your ticking alarm clock. It’s nearing 1 in the morning, and you decide that you’re exhausted. Well, you’ve decided that long ago, but going to bed before midnight is admitting defeat against your own body. Nevertheless, no matter how tired you are, you know in the back of your mind that there’s no way you could have dozed off with your neighbors going on a Netflix binge with speakers fully blaring audio from The Office. It’s as if they don’t know what headphones are. 

But after “one more episode” and a disgustingly long makeout session, you can hear the shuffle of feet across the floor boards and the turning of the lock. 

It’s nearly 2 am, and the radiator hisses. It’s quiet. 

But then that’s when you hear it like clockwork. The delicate hum before the pleasant tune. Tonight, it’s not a song you’re familiar with. Something about the universe moving and happiness that’s meant to be. Mentions of penicillium and a calico cat? There’s lots of talk about letting someone love you, and that’s when it really hits you in the gut. You’re not so sure about the song, but as always, it sounds pretty. It’s not typical to call a guy’s voice beautiful, but it is what it is. It’s serene, and it’s the promise of tomorrow. It’s something you wish that would never stop. 

But of course all good things come to an end. 

There’s a purposeful knock against the wall which startles you. “Hey, I know you’re up. How’d your day go?” Your neighbor asks, breaking the silence and dragging your attention towards his voice once again. 

You tug your headphones off and walk to the other side of the apartment to lay your book down on the desk, gracefully avoiding anything in your wake because your apartment is finally clean.

“You know, sometimes I wish you would catch me on my good days so I wouldn’t have to tell you such sad stories.” A wary smile surfaces your lips. 

“Why, what happened today?” He asks with concern laced in every syllable. “Did you take my advice?” 

You climb back into bed, pulling your covers over your torso. Sometimes you feel bad about how many silent complaints you have about your neighbor when he’s actually a really nice guy. He just lacks the proper etiquette knowing that the walls are paper thin.

“IIIIIII tried to.” You drag out the vowel, hesitant to recall the embarrassing story. 

“Yeah, and how’d it go?” 

“He doesn’t like me back,” you say plainly after a moment’s reflection. 

Your neighbor scoffs. “He’s an idiot then.” 

You try to fight back the smile because as untrue as it is, Jimin is anything but an idiot. But it’s comforting to know that someone has your back, defending you in all your honor. 

This time, you genuinely chuckle. “It’s not that.... He uh, actually has a girlfriend.” It hurts to admit it out loud. “And I’m sure she’s lovely if he likes her that much.” 

“Like I said, he’s an idiot for losing out on the best thing in his life.” 

It’s impossible for you to fight back this bashful smile because it makes your heart flutter. This may be the first time you’ve felt good about yourself this whole day. 

“Thanks, but I don’t know about that though—” 

He interrupts you, “Come on, don’t say that. You’re not giving yourself enough credit.” 

You shake your head in disbelief, “You’ve never even met me, and you don’t even know what I look like.” You roll your eyes, but a chuckle unintentionally falls from your lips. 

“It’s not about what’s on the outside, okay? I already know you’re beautiful because that’s what you are on the inside.” 

“Shut up, that’s so cheesy.” You flip over on your bed and dig your face into the pillow, flustered by his kind words. There’s absolutely no way people this nice exist in this world. “I could be a troll or a vampire or something for all you know.” 

“Vampires are kinda hot. Haven’t you seen Twilight?” He banters. “And I’m sure this guy isn’t even all that great. Like, tell me something you hate about him.” 

Your hands cover your mouth, stifling a laugh. “I’m not gonna hate on him because he doesn’t like me back. It’s just the reality of it. Besides, he’s perfect.” You roll your eyes, annoyed by how flawless Jimin is in your eyes. 

Your neighbor prods at you. “I reaaallly doubt that. There has to be something. Not even a pet peeve? Maybe he’s chronically late to everything? Sings out loud in a quiet place? Has a super annoying laugh?” 

“Yes, yes, and no.” You flip your pillow over to the cold side and settle in to lie in a more comfortable position, slipping your hand beneath the cushion. “I can excuse the lateness,” you lick your chapped lips. “He also sings like an angel, and his laugh is really endearing. He does this thing where he laughs with his whole body, and he falls over every time. I like it because I know he’s at his happiest then,” you remember zealously.

“Damn, I guess I’m just projecting my own flaws now, huh?” You can hear him snort from laughter, rolling his neck and cracking the joints in his body, and then the click of his knuckles, 10 of them, one after another. 

“Ugh,” you scrunch your nose, “Don’t do that. He does it too, and I guess that’s the only thing he does that really gets to me.” 

Your neighbor cracks another joint somewhere on his body just to annoy you, and you cringe. “See, now we’re talking.” 

“I was gonna tell you that you sing well too and that I like your laugh, but maybe I’ll have to reconsider,” you taunt. “But still, you shouldn’t put yourself down for the things that show off your happiness.” 

The bed creaks from the other side. He must have switched positions for that to happen. “Thanks,” he offers. His voice is muffled, face most likely pressed up against his own pillow. “How about you tell me about the things you like about him?” 

“What? Are you trying to wound me?” You ask, slightly hurt. 

He scoffs, “No, I’m trying to prove a point here. So, tell me.” He implores like this is some kind of couple’s therapy session. Apparently, without your other half. 

As moonlight filters through your curtains and the cars whiz by on the empty street below you, you consider all the things you love and appreciate about Jimin. 

“I love how selfless he is. He’s caring and attentive... He’ll know when I’m tired and he’ll offer me coffee. He also scolds me for sleeping late and he lifts my burdens for me, even when I don’t ask him to.” You close your eyes in retrospect of Jimin and all the good things in life that he embodies. “It’s not even the things that he does for me that make me like him.” 

Your neighbor hums, letting you continue. 

“I guess it’s the principle that’s important.” You play with the sleeves of your sweatshirt, pulling on the edges to give yourself some comfort. “There are people in this world who aren’t… the nicest? I guess. And… he’s one of the purest people I know. It’s like he goes the extra mile to make sure I’m happy… and healthy.” You take a deep sigh before your mind wanders to the darker parts of your brain. “But I also know he treats everyone else like that too. Because he’s that nice. So... I guess I should have seen it coming that I wasn’t so special anyways,” you recall with tears welling up in the brim of your eyes and a knot tightening in your throat. 

“Don’t say that, you’re one of a kind,” he assures you sternly, “What’s his name? I’ll go beat him up right now.” 

You give a bitter laugh, wiping away at your eyes with the back of your hands. 

“My point is that there are other guys out there who are just as caring. And they should make you feel special because you are, and it’s what you deserve. So if the next guy who comes along doesn’t treat you that way, I will beat his ass, okay?” He says in the most nonthreatening voice ever.

You chortle, “Okay, yeah, sure.” You’re not totally convinced of that. 

“You’re probably right, I don’t want to fight and embarrass myself after promising you that,” he giggles. 

“I appreciate the sentiment though.” Earnestly, you do. You don’t know many guys who are this nice, Jimin being the exception. “How ‘bout you though? It sounds like you made up with your not-girlfriend? I hope that wasn’t you in the laundry room earlier,” you tease, deflecting the attention away from you with a raised voice. 

He gladly takes the bait. “Oh shit, that was you? I’m so sorry.” He rolls around the bed in a fit of sweet laughter, and the slat creaks. “And yeah, we did,” he breathes out with a shallow huff after regaining composure. He sounds nonchalant about it. 

“You don’t sound very happy?” 

“No, I am,” he deadpans. 

You wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. “Can you tell me what it is that you like about her?” You ask. 

He doesn’t answer immediately like you’d expect, but he’s dwelling on the answer. 

“I love how kind hearted she is,” he thinks out loud. “She’s a natural nurturer.” 

You can hear the smile in his voice, and you can’t help but reciprocate because of how pure that is. 

“Like... she’s always so bright, and…” he stops. “I just don’t know how to explain it. You’d have to meet her to know what I mean.” 

“Yeah you should invite me over so I can meet her.” You both chuckle knowing that you should meet one another before meeting his fuck buddy. 

“I think you’d like her actually. She has this beautiful soul… I- I don’t even know. She just sees the best in everyone. I know that she probably has her own struggles, but I don’t think she’ll ever let anyone know about them,” he mulls over, going on a tangent. 

“Why’s that?” You curl up on your side, hugging your pillow like you do during every conversation with him. It’s as if he’s recalling a bedtime story for you. You let out another yawn, and although you’re on the verge of falling asleep, you stay up a little longer just to hear him talk. 

“I’m not so sure why… I guess I love her and hate her for this...” He reflects. 

You hum, acknowledging him while urging him to continue his train of thought. 

“I don’t know... but she’s the type to suffer in silence for the sake of seeing other people around her smile. And… I don’t think she’ll ever admit when she’s hurt or when she needs help. She puts others before herself. Like, she’s so hellbent on putting on a happy face so that others can be happy too.” 

You nod to yourself, understanding what he means with every word. 

“And It’s not like she fakes her happiness or anything,” he continues as if clarification is needed. “She’s just… such a joy to be around. She makes everyone feel welcomed… and comfortable… And when she’s really happy, like genuinely happy, it feels like everything is right in the world.” 

You can tell he has a big, doting smile on his face. One simply cannot talk about a love like this and not smile. 

“I only wish that she’d be vulnerable with me so I can make her world a little brighter too.” 

“That’s really sweet, and also, I lowkey feel attacked right now,” you let out a dry chuckle. 

“Sorry,” he laughs. “But I think that’s why you two would get along well.” 

“Set up a date, and I’ll come over,” you joke with raised brows. 

“Hmm… I’ll have to think about it,” he teases. “Oh, but uhm... if we’re still on the conversation of what I like about her, physically, I love her smile. I swear to God I stopped in my tracks the first time I saw her… and it still happens every time.” 

“That’s cute,” you smile fondly. 

“When she looks at me, I think the whole world stops for a second because I can actually feel myself get vertigo,” he giggles innocently. “And she’s also got this super adorable snort-laugh that never fails to bring out the best in me. God, it’s beyond cute, you don’t even know.” 

“It sounds like you’re in love,” you suggest, curling up tighter into a ball, squeezing at your pillow. “I don’t see why you haven’t made it official yet.” 

The pause is filled by the whirring of the radiator and the ticking of the clock. 

“Yeah… I don’t know either.” 

Waking up, you find out that going to bed with a broken heart is a little easier than going to bed with a hopeful one. Perhaps it’s the emotional exhaustion that puts you to rest, but it doesn’t mean you’re any less fatigued. All your efforts are put into your work, and in a way, tending to flowers has served as a distraction from the wilting ones that reside in your chest. 

When in reality, you should find a way to revive those instead. 

But as Jimin stands before you, you can’t resist the shriveled petals that land in the pit of your stomach like cherry blossoms in the midst of spring. You really don’t know how you manage to bear discourse about Valentine’s Day when he’s unknowingly sitting there with wide eyes, listening to you talk about unreciprocated love that’s so obviously directed towards him. 

“You mean to tell me that you read romance novels and watch rom-coms, but you hate the most romantic holiday of the year?” 

“Exactly,” you nod as if it’s indisputable. 

He gives you a questioning look with a crease on his forehead and lips pressed together in a straight line. “Make it make sense,” he challenges.

You finish chewing on the forkful of salad you popped into your mouth before answering. “Can I rant about it?” 

Jimin gives you the go ahead and you continue, “I don’t think you understand how much of a die-hard hopeless romantic I am.” 

“Actually, I think I do,” he scoffs and raises his shoulders confidently with eyes closed as if it’s a matter of fact. “That doesn’t prove your point though,” he counters. 

You put your hand up, motioning him to stop interrupting, “Let me finish.” 

Jimin shrugs and grins from across the counter, allowing you to proceed. 

“When I love something, I put my heart and soul into it. I believe in passion, chivalry, and true love.” He hums in agreement as you count down each item with your fingers as if it’s an unofficial list of all the things that encompass a hopeless romantic. “And for me, Valentine’s Day is a poor excuse to spend money and show off all the things you’ve received from your significant other.” 

“That’s valid,” Jimin nods, agreeing while munching on his fries. 

“Like, why spoil someone on this particular day? What happens during the other 364 days?” You spew. 

Jimin mouths “365,” correcting you on the technicalities of a leap year. 

You click your tongue, moving on to the point. “Are they not cherished for the rest of the year? I would hope that my boyfriend makes me feel special for more than a single night.” Your forehead creases, too livid at this point to even realize how sadly single you sound. 

You’re too busy ranting, accidentally speaking over Jimin to hear him reassure you that you are special. “Also there’s just so much pressure to make the night special, as if they have to plan something, otherwise they’re not the ‘perfect couple’ or the ‘perfect man.’” You emphasize with air quotes. 

“I felt that one,” he chuckles, shaking his head. 

“You see my point now?” You acknowledge him sullenly. There’s a tug on your heartstrings at the mention of his girlfriend, but you drive your point forward in hopes of changing the direction of topics. You don’t even want to think about whether or not he’s made plans with his girlfriend yet. 

“And what’s the deal with chocolates?” You yell, completely frustrated, throwing your arms up. “They’re totally overpriced. And cards? Cheesy and terrible. My Instagram feed? Flooded with PDA, and it's a big stab at singles like me.” You enunciate angrily, driving your fork harshly into your salad once again. 

He laughs and nearly falls off the stool he’s sat on top of before swiftly catching himself. You snicker at his unadulterated cuteness. 

“How ‘bout flowers?” He questions with ketchup lingering on the corner of his mouth. 

Picking up a napkin from the edge of the counter, you mindlessly reach across to wipe at his lips, still in the process of ranting. “Don’t get me started on flowers,” you shake your head, folding up the napkin on the table. Jimin smiles at you as your eyes train on the fork that digs through your salad, stabbing into the poor vegetables. “Florists overcharge for them, and I hate it because I didn’t get into this business for the purpose of cheating people out of their money.” At this point, you’re rolling your eyes, seething at the thought of Valentine’s Day. 

“Why’d you get into the business then?” He asks, silently offering his fries to you, the ones you’ve been eyeing ever since he revealed his lunch. 

“Because I love flowers,” you say plain as day, reaching to grab a fry. “Because they make me happy, and when I send them off to someone, I know it’ll make their day a little brighter too.”

You wave the fry around in the air before sticking it in your mouth. Capping off your empty bowl of salad, you don’t seem to notice how Jimin looks at you and the understated beauty you exude. 

“It’s cheesy, I know! You don’t have to look at me like I’m crazy,” you whine, briefly looking up at him with round eyes, turning around to toss your garbage. 

Jimin flashes you a big, toothy smile, “No, you’re not crazy. You’re just... exactly what I thought you were.” His voice is low, almost as if he’s thinking to himself. As if they’re words you’re not meant to hear. 

“Thanks? I think,” you giggle, unsure what he means. “Are you saying I’m predictable?” You inquire.

“I meant refreshing.” The crinkles at the corners of his eyes form as he grins. “I’m just trying to figure out why you don’t have a date for Valentine’s Day.” 

“First of all, I don’t need a date,” you say in defense, teasingly offended. 

“I know that, and you know what I mean. But you deserve to be treated like you’re speー” 

“Second of all, I do have one.” 

“Oh. You do?” He asks, creasing his brows and biting his plush lips. 

“Yeah, with myself,” you jest with a smile, elbows resting on the counter with hands cupping your face. 

Jimin’s chest deflates with an exhale, finally letting out the breath he’s been holding. “What, are you gonna watch The Notebook until you cry?” He pokes at your shoulder like a tease. 

“I’m not that predictable,” you eye him with a gleam in your iris, fully knowing that it is the case. “But maybe,” you affirm with a sly smirk, “after I close up the shop at midnight though.” 

“Knew it,” he scoffs. “But why are you closing so late? You should go home early so you can cry and watch The Notebook.”

“Mmm.” You hum, standing up from your stool and turning to hide the downturn of your lips. Running a rag underneath the faucet, you turn to wipe down the counter free of any crumbs. Jimin lifts his elbow up as you glide the cloth across the glass until it’s squeaky clean. “Let’s not forget that it’s Valentine’s Day, and I run a flower shop, Jimin. People are going to come by for a bouquet until the last second.” You exasperate, shaking your head in disapproval of all the last minute shoppers. 

“You can’t get anyone else to lock up?” He suggests. 

“They’ll hate me forever if I force them to work until midnight,” you reason, “Besides, it’s not like they’re single, so it’s fine. I can do it myself.” 

“I really think you should be resting though. You haven’t been sleeping well lately, right?” He asks with concern in his intonation. 

“I can take care of myself, I promise. I’m gonna treat myself after work anyways.” You do a little dance that consists of shimmying your shoulders and bouncing up and down on the balls of your feet. 

He smiles at you endearingly with wide eyes, “I don’t think crying to The Notebook is a form of treating yourself.” He repeats as if the joke will never die. 

You shake your head and click your tongue exclaiming, “If you must know, I’m gonna bake cookies.” 

“Are you gonna share with me?” He pleads. 

Your tongue pokes at your inner cheek as if you’re thinking about it. “Hmm, I don’t know. I might eat them all in one night.” Your lips purse in a taunt. 

His mouth forms a pout, and you’re forced to give in to him and his bright puppy dog eyes. 

“Ugh, fine, but only because you asked so nicely, I guess I can make some extras,” you groan, pressing your lips together straight like an arrow. You nudge his shoulder with your own despite the squeeze at your heart and the softening of your eyes, “For you and your girlfriend.” 

It’s not like you had to mention it. But it’s been on your mind since yesterday, and you’re sure that the only way to fix a broken heart is to learn to accept it. Even if it means plucking out the thorns that are lodged in your heart until it feels numb. Empty and devoid of life. 

“Girlfrie- oh, right, right. That’d be nice,” he sputters out, body stiffening, “Butー”

“Maybe I can bake them Thursday night?” You offer. “So you can pick them up on Friday if you buy flowers for her?” Your eyes blink in a failed attempt to wink. 

Jimin stifles a laugh at your pitiful endeavor. It’s really pathetic how hard you try, pretending that you’re not hurt right in front of the guy who stormed into your garden. 

But you suppose flowers can’t grow without a little bit of downpour. 

He licks his lips, and his smile falters. “Riiight, but it’s okay, you should enjoy your cookies on Friday night because I’m not sure I’ll be around to buy flowers that day anyways.” 

“What do you mean?” You ask, perplexed, head cocked to the side. 

“Uh, don’t worry about it, okay?” He says, brushing it off before taking a look at his watch. “I have to head back to work though, my break is almost ending.” You watch him carefully with narrowing eyes as he collects his belongings, scrambling to head out the door. With the exit half opened, he turns around to bid you goodbye. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” 

The bell chimes and he’s out of sight. 

You can’t even process his words because you’re too busy staring at the exit trying to figure out what the hell just happened. 

Adulthood is just an endless cycle of sleeping and working, but it seems like you’re lacking in the former activity seeing that all you do is work. In the final stretch of Valentine’s Day, with a few more days to go, you’re just about ready to crash and burn. 

Upon entering your quiet apartment tonight, you fail to do anything productive. You nose dive into bed and curl up into a cocoon at the strike of 10 pm. Somehow, you don’t even care enough to tug off your jeans or remove your smudged makeup. You’re ready to accept the consequences of bad skin and a stained pillowcase because the only thing that matters is that you knock out the moment your head hits the soft linen. There’s no time to replay the events of today or plan for tomorrow when your eyelids weigh you down into a deep slumber. 

There’s not a single thing that can spur you. Not even the shining of the moonlight over your profile or the rhythmic whizzing of cars on the empty street beneath you. Even when there’s a police siren ringing in the distance or a rumble from a descending airplane in the atmosphere above you, you don’t bat an eye. You can’t even hear the hum of the rusty pipelines when your neighbor hops into the shower at the breach of dawn. Even the whirring radiator and the ticking clock blurs into nothing but white noise. 

They’re all there to keep you company as you lie down in a bed of withered roses. To offer you comfort in your barren Renaissance garden. 

You can’t seem to put your finger on it, but you wake up feeling like it’s the best night of rest you’ve gotten in the last week despite it being a short lived slumber. It’s definitely the most consistent night of sleep you’ve had in a while. And even though you went to bed without dinner, it didn’t hinder your sleep whatsoever. It only means that you can eat a full breakfast to power through the day. 

And powering through is what you do best. 

Apparently, the world is up against you because you can’t remember the last time you even got to sit down. You’re constantly on your feet, attending to customers and fulfilling orders. There’s no time to breathe even when you’re literally enclosed in a greenhouse. There’s always something to do, and stopping to take a break means slowing down the process. It’s not an option you want to take. 

At the end of each day, you’re wobbling back home with sore muscles and blurred vision. Your ability to function is beyond your own imagination. Your definition of “functioning” has diminished to standing on your own two feet although that still bears a challenge for you. 

The sustenance in your body is nearly nonexistent, especially because you’ve been neglecting your self-care. Typically, you don’t think about eating on the job. It’s honestly not on your mind because there are only two things that occupy your brain space: (1) Work and (2) Jimin. 

Somehow, Jimin takes better care of you than you do yourself. And without him around, you’re a walking corpse. He’s always providing you with lunch and snacks, leaving you sticky notes with reminders to hydrate yourself. You didn’t realize that you needed him this much to remind you of the simple tasks like drinking or eating or… smiling.

Sometimes he draws cute flowers or scribbles plant puns on the post-it notes, sticking them onto obscure places that are hard for you to find. Your favorite one being the time he wrote “I love it when you call me big poppy.” 

He claims that the notes are designed to make you laugh, even for the few that are not very funny. They definitely do brighten your day, especially when you have the ephemeral chance to glance at them hanging up above your desk in the back office. Smiling at the itty-bitty illustrations has become second nature to you. When you’re going through a rough day, aka everyday, and you’re in need of a breather, you wander into the back room to pace around, only to come face to face with a kaleidoscope of doodled butterflies spanned across a string of rainbow post it notes.

He once drew a sunflower and said something cheesy about how your laughter is the embodiment of sunshine— how it would be a crime against the flora population if you were to go a day without laughter. 

It was corny and far from being right, but it was so perfectly Jimin. 

When he does stupid shit like that, it makes you feel like the biggest lovesick idiot in the world. In your naive past, you thought that the smiles he sent your way were ones reserved for you and only you. You were convinced that the shameless flirting was a silent mechanism used to express his inclination towards you. You assumed that the daily visits to your flower shop were formidable attempts to get to know you better. A little part of you hoped that the songs he shared with you equated to sharing a piece of his heart. 

You absolutely were sharing. You just didn’t realize that you’d be sharing with someone else. 

So when Jimin consigns adorable puns that melt your heart, and he stops by with a cup of coffee, just know that they’re acts of friendship. When he spends his lunch breaks at the flower shop and sings songs that remind him of you, he’s coming from a place of kindness, not attraction. 

It is true that Jimin’s your sunshine, but it’s also a fundamental principle to botanists that too much of something is bad enough, and too much of nothing is just as tough. And deceiving yourself into believing that he was all that you needed had scorched up all the flowers in your garden. 

The drought he put you in didn’t prepare you enough for the brewing storm. 

It pains you to say that you need him more than he needs you because even if he isn’t romantically interested in you, you would have hoped that he’d stick around as a friend. His waning presence leads you to believe that he’s simply not interested. 

Maybe you were too invested in what could have been between the two of you, you failed to see what was right there in plain sight. 

Somehow, you still wonder if he thinks about you as much as you think about him. And it’s pathetic granted you’re incredibly busy with work and your own crippling health. Yet thoughts of him still pop up throughout the day more than you would like. No matter how much you want to forget about your infatuation, you simply can’t will him away because of how often his beautiful face flashes before your eyes. You want to push him to the back of your mind, but whether you’re in need of a breather during your hectic schedule, admiring his stupid puns and butterfly mosaics, or you’re in need of some company in your eerily quiet apartment, doing laundry or having a meal all to yourself, you still can’t get the sound of his sweet laughter out of your head. 

You don’t know how it’s possible, but you manage to close up shop long before midnight. It’s a blessing and a curse because you are absolutely wiped out. Not only are you mentally checked out, but ironically, your flower shop is destitute of flowers, completely sold out from the holiday. As you clean up the barren space, you can’t help but feel as if a big weight has been lifted off your shoulders. The stress of Valentine’s Day is over, and you can finally go home, lie in bed with a tray of cookies, and enjoy the beauty that is Ryan Gosling. 

You even consider closing the store all of tomorrow because you need the day off to recharge. So as you print out and paste your notice on the glass door, you’re dumbfounded to come across a sliver of paper that’s already attached on the other side. Opening up the door and letting in a gust of cold air breeze by you, you remove the sticky note that’s been unknowingly attached to your entrance. 

Not a daisy goes by that I don’t think of you.

The smile that tugs on your lips grapples against the ache in your heart. Quickly, the fond smile melts into one of hurt and disappointment. Your left hand balls into a tight fist, marring crescent moon shapes into your palms. Meanwhile, your right hand delicately fiddles with the tiny square between your fingers, debating whether or not you should crumple up the paper and toss it away to be long forgotten. You’ve never been so confused about your feelings until Park Jimin came into your life, but you tuck the little daisy doodle into the pocket of your coat with a sigh. 

With every passing year, Valentine’s Day becomes a little more bearable than the previous. Tonight feels like any other night, but better. You’ve come to accept that if there isn’t someone who can make you feel special, you might as well do it yourself. 

Making a meal for you that doesn’t consist of ramen or 5 minute rice while dimming the lights and sparking up some candles is undeniably part of the healing process. And that’s what tonight mainly consists of. It’s all about love and self-care. 

With your laptop perched on top of your dinner table and your Netflix queue lined up, you mindlessly mix at your wet and dry ingredients with a wooden spoon. Nothing has made you feel more at ease than the comfort of watching your favorite movie on repeat and the sweet taste of raw cookie dough on your tongue. Sometimes it’s the simple things in life that can put a smile on your face. 

As you wait for your cookies to bake, you settle into bed with your legs crossed and back pressed against the headboard. Laughter from the speakers of your laptop fill the space, and you can’t help but laugh along with the characters, disrupting the peaceful ambiance of your apartment complex. The rumble of your laughter subsides, and the movie rolls on from scene to scene. 

Your ears perk up like Pavlov’s dog when the oven goes off. You turn your head so quickly you nearly get whiplash, but it’s all worth it for the love of chocolate chip cookies. The aroma of sugar is enough to will yourself out of bed and conveniently press pause on Ryan Gosling’s charming face. 

Pulling on your oven mitts to retrieve the hot platter, your body begins to sway around to the sudden echo of music. The soft guitar strums reverberate through the walls and against the vacant space of your studio. Your body stops moving to the acoustics when you realize where the noise is coming from. Looking up, your eyes bore into the eggshell walls as if you can see through it. But you soon space out, focusing on the vibrations of the nylon strings instead. 

The song fades out and the quietude breaks you out of your reverie. You blink in confusion, trying to remember the last time you heard from your neighbor. Although you haven’t spent much time in your apartment in the past week, you miss the late night chats with him. Lately, you’ve been knocking out as soon as your head hits the pillow for some much needed rest. You haven’t heard his voice in forever, and especially not his angelic singing voice. Even tonight he refrains from singing in place of just practicing his guitar. 

It’s a bit out of the ordinary. 

His side of the wall is surprisingly quiet tonight. You would have expected him to be out and about with his girlfriend, but at this point of the night, they would have been jumping at each other's bones. Yet the gentle patter of footsteps and the lack of banging would suggest that he’s flying solo tonight. 

Despite your curiosity, you’re not sure whether or not you’d want to bring it up in case it reopens some wounds. You think it’s best to leave it alone for the time being until he’s ready to come to you instead. 

So as you proceed with bingeing your movies, there’s something in the back of your mind that still distracts you. It’s literally a crime that you’ve sat through 2 hours of The Notebook, yet you haven’t shed a single tear because you’re not even focused on the film in front of you. Rather, you’re thinking long and hard about the last time you heard your neighbor laugh in sincerity. 

You really couldn’t care any less about the end credits that roll in front of you. Rather, with your chin propped up in the palm of your hands, you listen intently to what’s happening on the other side of the wall. It’s bizarrely quiet, aside from the sad symphony of string instruments that ring in the background of the ending credits. 

When your screen turns black, you shut off your laptop and stow it away, knowing in your heart that you’re no longer in the mood for a romantic movie marathon. You make your way into your kitchen and reach for the cookies that have cooled off by now. But somehow, it feels wrong to sit here in enjoyment of your own company. Yet at the same time, this batch of cookies was the only thing you were looking forward to all week. 

Nothing seems to satisfy you. 

The only desire that creeps upon you is the desire to spend the night with someone else by your side. Frankly, it’s stupid because you know that you don’t need a man, and even the whole world knows that you don’t need one. Especially not on Valentine’s Day because you’ve made it abundantly clear that you hate February 14th with every fibre of your being.

However, the idea of having a friend at your side doesn’t seem so bad at this point. 

You transfer all the cookies from the tray onto a smaller plate, arranging the delectable morsels into a presentable fashion. 

With your slippers on, you make your way out of your apartment, letting the door close softly behind you. Standing in front of your neighbor’s abode, you nervously shift your weight on the heels of your feet. Midnight is approaching, and you wouldn’t want to disrupt his night like this, but it just feels right to knock on his door and offer your company. Just to check up on him because perhaps he’s in need of some companionship just like you. And who wouldn’t want some chocolate chip cookies? Baked with 80% sugar and 100% love. 

Mustering up all the courage in your body, your hand comes up in a tight fist, knocking at the wooden door. You wait a moment, but to your dismay, there’s no evidence of movement on the other side of the partition. You would have heard his footsteps by now, and perhaps the turning of the deadbolt, but it’s dead silent. 

Perhaps he didn’t hear you, so you knock a little harder this time.

Nothing. 

As you stand outside, lost in naivety, you wonder whether you should try to make a fool of yourself and knock again. It’s been a good 5 minutes of you debating between speaking up to get his attention or giving up and retreating to your studio in embarrassment. Then you mentally facepalm yourself remembering that it’s incredibly rude of you to drop by without any kind of warning. 

But still, you had his best interests in mind. 

You think that the third time’s the charm, so in a last attempt, you knock with full force. 

“Uhh, hey!” Your voice shakes and cracks. Blame it on the nerves. “I made some cookies, and I thought I’d share some!” You semi-yell in hopes of catching his attention. 

“One second!” Oh, thank God. You can hear the bed frame creak on the other side and the skid of footsteps across the floor boards. 

Your heartbeat weirdly picks up because of the fact that this is quite literally the first time you’ve come face to face with your neighbor. The late night chats with him have always made you feel comfortable, but there’s a certain nuance to meeting him that shakes your nerves. 

You brace yourself as you hear the lock turn, eyes casting down towards the plate in front of you. 

“I didn’t know that today’d be the day we meet like thiー” He says as the door swings open. 

You look up expecting to greet him with a smile, but the one you had prepared falters from your lips. 

“What’re youー” 

“Y- You liveー” 

You stutter over one another, lost in confusion. Staring into the very familiar set of brown eyes in front of you, you’re confounded by your new discovery. 

Jimin stands before you, running his hand through his black locks as he opens the door wider, stepping aside to let you through. 

“Hey, neighbor?” He sounds disoriented, untrusting of his voice. 

You’re stood frozen at the foot of the entrance, unsure as to how you could possibly process all of this. 

“I heard you made cookies?” He asks, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Here, come in.” He gently tugs on your sleeve, coddling you because of the state of shock you’re in. 

You nod your head, barely cognizant of what’s being said. But your feet still shuffle through the entryway, and you slide off your slippers at the front door. 

“This is so crazy,” he says, taking the plate of cookies off your hands. You’re both surprised that you have yet to drop them. He places the plate onto his coffee table, and his back is turned to you as you stand to the side, playing with the sleeves of your sweater. 

How much weirder can this situation possibly get? 

“You mean to tell me that we’ve been neighbors all this time and we didn’t even know?” You ask, sucking your lips inward, cocking your head to the side. Your words are a jumbled mess, but Jimin has become a master at deciphering your incoherent words through the thin walls many nights in a row. 

“I’m just as surprised as you! I can’t believe I didn’t connect the dots?” He exclaims in dismay, patting the seat beside him on the couch as an invitation to you. 

Your brain feels as if it’s lost all of its cells because you have so many questions, yet you can’t seem to articulate them. As you sit down, you close your eyes and rub at your temples, praying that you’d wake up from this odd dream. 

“There’s no way I could have connected the dots,” you sputter in collection of your thoughts, completely exasperated. “I just don’t understand.” 

You fiddle with your fingers, and Jimin takes your hand in his. His touch is soft, and as much as you want to pull away, you give into him because there’s no way you’d ever deny him, especially not when he looks at you with those big round eyes. 

“I have so many questions,” you admit, rubbing at your eyelids. 

“Shoot.” 

“Uhm,” your head shakes wildly. “I don’t even know where to begin?” Your eyes widen, shocked by how nonchalant he’s acting. As if he didn’t just lead you on and ghost you days on end, pretending that everything’s okay now. 

“Take your time,” he chuckles reassuringly, offering you a calming smile. 

“Uhm… How are you? I guess? Th- that’s kind of the first thing I wanted to ask you before… I- you know.” 

Your heart gallops because he’s looking at you, biting his lip. And you, you are completely weak for the man who holds all of your affection in the palm of his hands, yet you can’t handle his smoldering stare, so you avert your eyes elsewhere. This is downright cruel and unusual punishment. 

You continue, “Because I haven’t spoken to you much lately, you know?” 

“You wanted to check up on me?” 

You blink away, eyes now focused on the vase of wilting flowers on the coffee table. Pink and red variegated carnations. You inhale deeply, trying to calm yourself and regulate your breath. Your body stiffens and your shoulders tense. Even your jaw tightens, but you manage to nod your head. 

“I’ve been better,” he admits sullenly. 

Your hand lets go of his, pulling back to seek comfort at your side. It just doesn’t feel right to hold his hand so intimately when he’s made a mess of your head and your heart. You just can’t do it to yourself, and you can���t do it to him or his girlfriend. Especially not when his heart belongs to her. 

You open your mouth as if you have another question to ask, but none of them are coherent enough to utter. There’s plenty of noise ringing in your head, but it’s all nonsense. 

Jimin gently rests his hand on the ball of your knee, almost like a graze, but his touch is hot, and you brush him off with the recoil of your leg. 

His shoulders slump, and his eyes soften. His hands retract to his lap, respecting your wishes. He gulps, and noticeably the lump in his throat goes down in a swallow. 

“Hey, it’s just me, okay? You don’t need to be scared.” He displays his palms out to you as a peace offering. A symbol of vulnerability. The tension in the air is palpable, but you still manage to keep your guard down in front of him. 

Because this is Jimin. The guy you’ve come to know and unfortunately love. But it’s just that you’ve never seen Jimin like this.

“Yeah and that’s kind of the problem,” you breathe out. Your brows knit into a frown, and he looks at you in bewilderment, with wide eyes, parted lips, and stress tousled hair. “I- I don’t know if you’re Jimin the mysterious neighbor who’s been nothing but nice to me, or Jimin the guy from the flower shop who pretty much made it loud and clear he doesn’t want to see me,” you scoff. 

“B- butー What do you mean? We’re the same person.” His eyes narrow, and he shakes his head subtly trying to convince you. He fiddles with his fingers, cracking his knuckles out of bad habit.  Shifting his body so his knees are pointed towards yours, nearly in contact, he refrains from the much needed skinship. The heat radiating from his body is something you’re familiar with, and although it once brought you comfort, you can only feel resentment. 

“Of course I want to see you? Iー I?” He’s a stuttering mess, shaking his head from side to side as if you’ve got it all wrong, but you interject because you have so much to say, yet you haven’t expressed yourself to your liking just yet. 

“I don’t know about that!” Your hands clench up at your sides until your knuckles turn sharp. “Because neighbor Jimin is telling me he has a fuck buddy he thinks he’s in love with, and flower shop Jimin has a girlfriend he doesn’t want to talk about. So what is it? I’m hearing a lot about mixed feelings for this one person, and… if you’re involved with someone, I don’t want to get in the middle of this,” you spit out more harshly than expected, inching further and further away to the edge of the couch with your arms crossed over your chest. You gulp down a thick glob of spit in hopes of washing down the acidic sting in your throat, but it’s like bile just sits there on your tongue. 

“Let me explain, okay?” He begs of you. 

You sit there in sullen silence, staring at the carnations in your peripherals, ready to have him break your heart all over again. You nod, but you don’t even bother turning to face him, unsure whether or not you’d be able to hear him talk about how he’s in some complicated relationship with someone else. 

“Please, look at me?” he pleads with a sniffle, “I need to know if you’re okay.” His voice cracks, and you finally look his way. You’re far from okay, but seeing him with glossy eyes, you also know that he isn’t either. 

He licks his lips, and his hand comes up in desperate need of tucking the stray strand of hair that’s fallen in front of your face. But he decides against it in fear of rejection, and he rests his hand on the ball of his knee instead. Your line of sight falls to his shaking leg. You hesitantly reach across to close your hand softly around his in comfort. His movement stops instantly as he lets out a huff. 

Licking your lips, your eyes gaze towards your hands, and you can’t help but imagine how they’d slot into one another so perfectlyー 

“_____?” Your eyes shift to lock with his and there are tears that brim at his corners, but they’re kept at bay, refusing to fall. 

“I-” He exhales. 

You squeeze his hand a little tighter, and you don’t know if it’s more for yourself or for him, but it gives him the strength to continue on. 

“Look, that girl and I? We weren’t in a relationship. I promise you. I told you that we were friends with benefits because that’s what we were.” He insists, hoping the message gets across to you, but your heart drops lower into your stomach at his admission. You don’t even want to picture him with some other girl, yet you know way more about their relationship than you would have ever wanted. 

Hell, you were even convinced that they were in love. A highlight reel of the last few months spent in your apartment flashes before your eyes, and your grip on his hand loosens. You think back to the days when Jimin was just some faceless guy, dancing around with his supposed girlfriend, having pillow fights, running warm baths, making out beneath the stars, and fucking around with her like they were in love. 

But he continues in hopes that you’d understand his point of view. “It was easier to tell you the truth because you didn’t know who I was, and you wouldn’t have judged me for it. So I was an idiot, and at the flower shop, I told you she was my girlfriend because it would have been easier to explain this complicated mess.” A single tear cascades down his cheek, and he wipes it away with the crook of his elbow. 

“I mean, she wanted it to be serious, but there was just something pulling me back. And do you know what that was?” 

You shake your head no and pull away, unsure how much more of this you can take. 

He looks you dead in the eyes, but you can’t even look at him for another second because the wilting carnations are sitting there, mocking you. 

“_____, you asked me the other day what I liked about her, and I was wracking my brain trying to come up with an answer... It wasn’t easy because you were the only person I thought about.”

A sudden tear escapes from the corner of your eyes, unbelieving, but you compel yourself to look back at his visage, checking for any tells of a lie. He doesn’t even falter. 

“She and I? We fought so much because she was convinced I had feelings for someone else. And you know?” He shakes his head,  “…It’s true. I couldn’t think about the things I liked about her, but then when I thought of you. My god, it was just so much easier to talk about the things I loved about you because you’re the one I like. I didn’t know how to express that, okay? The songs that I wrote? The ones you hear me sing day and night? Fuck…” He rubs at his eyes, and they’re evidently red from all the tears welled up. “They’re all about you, and you didn’t even know,” he sobs out. The first drop of tears came out steadily, but as you examine his face in total shock, the tears begin to cascade down his face. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, now understanding where he’s coming from. It’s all a little more clear to you, and there’s no need to continue on if he’s in hysteria like this. His arms instinctively squeeze around your waist, holding on tight, too afraid that he’d lose you if he were to let go. 

“I didn’t have my feelings sorted out because I was comfortable with where I was, but it’s not like it made me happy,” he confesses. You hush him, running your fingers through his hair and caressing his slumped back. Sitting in silence, you can only hear the sound of your breathing falling into sync with his. Occasionally, the radiator would go off and a car would drive by on the street beneath you. 

You tell him that it’s all okay and that all is forgiven, but he still continues in justification of himself. “And I was convinced that you’d think I was a horrible person for liking someone else when I’ve got a complicated relationship going on, okay? Because that’s how I felt about myself, and I swear we broke it off, but I was too embarrassed to come to you because I didn’t know how to explain the mess I got myself into. It’s all my fault, and I’m so so so sorry, you have no idea.” 

He’s wracked with sobs, but you hum, listening intently to his every word. They’re coherent enough for you to realize that you’ve both made mistakes because of a huge misunderstanding. 

The Jimin that you know and love is right here in your arms, and there’s nothing you can do but forgive and forget. 

“I’m so, so sorry,” he cries out with a hiccup. “I promise you that you’re the only person I care about.” 

You whisper sweet nothings into his ear, hoping that he calms down because there’s really nothing to apologize for. “What did I say? You don’t have to be sorry, okay?” You remind him. 

He lets out a breathy exhale, “I messed up,” he hiccups, “I don’t deserve this. You.” 

Your hands rest on his shoulder, gently pulling back from him, but he clings on tighter to your waist. Looking down at the sweet man beneath you, you smile to yourself. 

“Jimin,” you murmur.

“Hm?” 

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” You shake your head, and a soft chuckle vibrates through your chest. Still, you keep him in your embrace because although it may seem like Jimin is the one in need of a hug, you need it just as much as he does. 

“Can I tell you a story?” You ask. 

“Yeah,” he breathes out, tickling the skin at your sternum. 

“I think I caught feelings for you the first time we met. Do you remember that?” He hums as you reminisce on the memory. “It was some random Sunday, and you walked in looking for a bouquet for your mom, but you realized you didn’t have enough cash on youー” 

Jimin laughs beneath you, and it’s the way that he laughs that makes you realize you need that in your life. A cheshire grin spreads across your lips, and that’s when you know you can’t go a single day without hearing his laugh again. 

“You didn’t have enough cash, so you pulled out a post it note and scribbled an IOU.” You can barely get the sentence out without chuckling to yourself. Jimin has stopped sobbing at this point, being reduced to a few sniffles here and there. You deem it as the right moment to pull back from his embrace so you can look him in the eyes. 

“You drew a little daisy for me and that’s when I knew you were really something else.” 

You cup his cheeks, and a grin tugs on his lips, matching the one on your face. His eyes shine in the dim light, just like how the sun radiates in the day time. A single tear trickles down his plush cheeks, and you wipe it away with the pad of your thumb. 

“Look, I’ve liked you for as long as I can remember, and I have to admit that it hurt me when you said you had a girlfriend, but it really hurt me when you left without saying anything.” 

His eyes cast downwards as if he’s ashamed, but you place your hand beneath his chin, bringing his attention back up. 

“Know that I’d never judge you for the decisions you make and for the relationships you have, okay? And I don’t think you’re horribleー” 

“You don’t?” He cuts you off with his big pleading eyes. 

“No, far from it,” you beam, “I still think you’re the most selfless person I know.” 

Jimin’s face drops at your confession, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry if I ever made you feel like you’re not special, because to me, you’re the most extraordinary person in this world.” 

He cups your face, noticing that your eyes are starting to well. Drops of tears roll down your face, and Jimin’s quick to dry them away, pressing his lips against your cheeks to collect the drops of salt water. As you smile, another stream of tears pour from your ducts. Soft pecks are trailed against your skin, and you think you’ve successfully washed away all the pain. 

You can feel the flowers in your heart slowly starting to bloom in preparation for spring. 

“Why’d you stop?” You ask, opening up your eyes. He’s merely a few inches away from you, stuck in a daze. 

His eyes can’t decide whether they want to look at the gleam in your irises or at the curvature of your lips, flickering between the two. 

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” Your whimper is hardly loud enough for your own ears, but he hears you loud and clear. 

His hands rest at the sides of your neck as his thumbs run over your cheeks, grazing over the flesh of your lips. “Can I show you how special you are to me?” 

You nod your head, and Jimin is overcome with the urge to kiss you, inching closer with puckered lips. They’re soft against your own, plush and pillowy. You melt into his touch as if he’s the light of your life. You think you could cry again from the sheer amount of euphoria built up in your little heart. Having him in your arms is all you could ever ask for. 

He pulls back slightly in need of a breath, and you take the opportunity to climb into his lap, with knees settled on either side of his taut thighs. 

“Missed you,” you whimper against the column of his neck, nosing at the sensitive skin. 

Jimin’s breath hitches as he bites back a moan, “Missed you more.” 

“Not possible,” you trail gentle kisses against his collarbones, pulling back on the cotton of his t-shirt to expose more of his neck. 

His hands rest on your outer thighs thighs, squeezing tight on the muscles. You reach behind you to grab at his forearms, urging him to move his hands higher onto your body. He takes the hint immediately and experimentally squeezes at your ass. Your lips part from his neck, and Jimin takes the opportunity to latch his mouth back onto yours. 

His lips are gentle in contrast to the firm grip he has on you. But with your weight resting on top of him, core pressed up against his crotch, you can feel how hard he is beneath you. In need of some release, you start to move your hips back and forth, grinding over his hard on. 

Jimin gives you a lingering kiss on your lips, pulling back with a harsh groan. You offer a teasing smile, and he leans forward. He supports your weight at the bottom of your ass as your legs wrap around his waist. You nearly yelp when he stands, holding you up in his arms. 

“I got you,” he reassures, pressing his lips firmly against yours, walking towards his unmade bed space. He lays you down gently on top of the messy covers, climbing between your legs. You whine upon the release of his lips, but his mouth leaves hot kisses down the column of your throat, causing you to gasp.

“Is it okay if we take this off?” He asks, thumbing at the hem of your sweater. 

You nod sitting up, and he tugs the material off for you, tossing it to the edge of the bed. Upon sight of your bare chest, he molds into you, lips suctioning around your pebbled nipple. His other hand massages at your unattended breast, squeezing at the supple flesh.

“You’re beautiful,” he hums against your body.

You’re easily affected by his words as your back arches and your legs hook around his torso. Canting your hips upward, you signal to Jimin with a whine that you’re desperate for his touch. 

“There’s no need to rush, baby, we have the whole night,” he warns you, leaving a kiss between the valley of your breasts. 

You cry out in frustration, but it soon subsides when he satiates your needs. You relax when his hand lowers into your sweatpants, cupping at your heat. His middle finger traces at your entrance, running it up and down your panty clad slit. Your hips lurch once again, but Jimin presses your hips down, flush against the mattress. 

As his tongue circles around your sensitive nipple, his fingers decide to dip into your underwear. The obscene sound of your juices squelching can be heard when he presses his finger into your tight hole. Inserting a finger in, you can feel your walls stretch around him. A cry falls from your lips as he begins to rub at your clit with the pad of his thumb. 

Jimin inserts another finger, and your cunt feels so hot with the amount of friction. Pumping two fingers in and out, there’s a pleasurable burn that ripples throughout your body. Beads of sweat form on your hairline, and you wipe them away with the back of your hand. You can practically feel your heart beating out of your chest. 

“Tell me how it feels, okay?” He asks, switching over to your other breast.

“You feel so good,” you mewl. He hums against your nipple in affirmation, biting lightly at the perky bud. 

“Jimin?” You call out for him. 

He parts from your chest to look into your eyes, fingers still pumping in and out of you with flexing biceps. 

“I think it’d feel better if you’d fuck me,” you admit, no filter needed. 

“Shit,” he groans, slowing down the pace. “I want to eat you out first though.” 

He retracts his hand, and you feel empty without him inside. Your sweatpants and panties are tugged off in one swift motion, casted to the side along with your sweatshirt. Looking up with stars in your eyes, you can see that Jimin is still fully dressed. You open your mouth to tell him about your wishes, but he must have read your mind because he pulls off his t-shirt and throws it with no regard. 

Beneath his clothing, he reveals to you his robust body. You’re dripping with lust, and it must be so obvious from the way you stare at his abdominals. Everything about him is so well-built, and you curse the talented dancer in front of you. 

“Like what you see?” He teases, winking at you as he descends down your body. 

“Love it,” you moan. 

His breath is hot against your wet pussy. With juices dripping down your ass, you ruin the linen sheets beneath you. His fingers play with your core, spreading your swollen lips to reveal your flower, admiring how pretty your cunt is. 

Sitting up with elbows propped, you look down in frustration between your bent legs to see Jimin licking his lips, staring at your heat like he’s ready to devour you. He kisses at the long, dark lines of stretch marks that reside on your inner thighs before his tongue presses softly against your wet clit, kitten licking at the bud. Reaching out, your hand balls around the white comforter to anchor yourself down. As you spread your legs wider, Jimin’s hands hook around your limbs to rest at your thighs. He presses them down, restricting your movement. 

His tongue laps at your heat with no mercy, licking a stripe up your sex and tracing letters onto your clit, sending your nerves aflame. Your breaths are shallow as you pant, melding yourself to the mattress. He flicks his tongue, prodding it against your hole and delving in and out. He massages your tight walls as it clenches around his tongue. 

There’s a knot in your stomach that forms embarrassingly fast, but you can’t help it when his plush lips give your cunt so much attention, sucking harshly on your clitoris. He looks over at your features, taking notice of your reactions, licking over and over the parts that make you squirm the most. 

Your face scrunches in pleasure, nearly toppling over the edge. But you’re not ready to come. Not yet at least. Not without having Jimin’s hard cock inside of you. 

Jimin is relentless against your pussy, but he doesn’t even let up when you call his name out. Your grip around the comforter loosens in favor of digging your fingers into Jimin’s luscious black locks. 

“Jimiiiin,” you whine, tugging lightly at his roots. “I need you, please, please,” you beg. 

He leaves a kiss at your bud, and you shudder in response. Jimin climbs up your body, and you shiver at the loss of contact. 

“You need me, huh?” He teases, “You want to come?” You nod your head ardently when he presses his red, swollen lips against yours. He grapples with your mouth in a bruising, passionate kiss. With clicking teeth and suckling tongues, you can taste yourself off of his plush lips, completely drenched in your arousal. 

Trailing your hand down Jimin’s sturdy body, you can’t resist running your hands over his perfectly sculpted abs. But on your descent, you pull on the strings of his heather gray sweatpants, loosening the elastic around his waist. 

Your palm slides beneath the band, tucking beneath his boxer briefs. His eyebrows scrunch, and he gasps against your mouth when you wrap your hand around his hot, veiny cock, stroking at his erection. His cheeks flush as you swipe your thumb over the head, collecting beads of precum on your fingers. 

He shudders at your touch. “Oh my God, I might die if you keep doing that,” he nearly cries. 

You smile against the skin of his neck, sucking at his pulse point. Meanwhile, Jimin reaches over to his nightstand, pulling out a condom. He nearly falls off the bed, losing balance on his knee when you stroke his cock a little faster. 

As Jimin sits up, trying to open up the packaging, you careen forward to pull off his sweats. You can hardly pull it down below his thick ass given the position he’s sitting in. But it’s enough for you to pull his dick out and wrap your hand around his girth in all its glory. 

While waiting for Jimin to take out the condom, you decide to tease him like he deserves. Switching positions, you lie down on your stomach in front of him. With a glob of saliva built up in your mouth, you spit onto the head of his cock, watching it drip down the shaft and onto his balls. You glide your hand up and down to spread the saliva, making sure he’s nice and wet. His balls tighten the moment you suckle your lips around his slit. 

You look up at Jimin with wide eyes in hope of some praise. 

His eyes stare into yours, but he quickly throws his head back. “Fuck, fuck, fuck I’m not gonna last, please, I know your mouth is like heaven, but I want to be inside you,” he rambles. 

He tucks your hair behind your ears and rests his hand beneath your chin, tilting it upwards. His lips meet your forehead in a sweet kiss before you lie back down on the bed, spreading your legs wide open as an invitation. 

Jimin ungracefully pulls off his pants down the rest of his legs. He pumps his thick cock in his hands before sliding on the condom and lining himself up at your entrance. You groan, reaching out for his wrists as he glides his length up and down your folds, making sure you're nice and wet for him, fully prepped. 

The callous on his thumb is rough against your clit as he rubs down on it, easing the discomfort of penetration. Your velvety walls stretch around his member as he sinks into you inch by inch. 

You’re gasping for air as he sheaths himself inside you, but you remain calm because Jimin peppers kisses all across your face. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, concerned. 

“Mhmm,” you hum, “Might need a second.” 

His nose nudges at your cheek, “Take all the time you need, baby.” 

Moments go by until you’re comfortable with the stretch. You don’t know how Jimin has so much patience with you when you can literally feel his dick twitch inside your pussy, impossibly harder than he was moments prior. But like the angel he is, he still waits for your go-ahead. 

“Jimin, you can move,” you whisper, cupping his cheek and offering a butterfly kiss. 

His mouth finds his way to yours, and he kisses you with so much fervor. You’re too distracted by the kiss to notice him slide out of you. 

But your lips part slightly, letting out a gasp when he drives his dick back into you, setting a moderate pace. Your hands reach for the skin of his back, latching your nails onto the smooth surface. The slap of skin on skin is obscene as his hips meet yours, pumping himself inside of you. The delicious burn has you digging your nails into his shoulder blades, scratching at his taut muscles. 

You weren’t wrong to say that you can’t go another day without hearing Jimin’s laughter, but at the time, you were not privileged enough to hear his moans against the shell of your ear. That is the one thing you don’t want to ever live without, too spoiled by the sensual man above you. 

Jimin fucks into you deeply, changing his angle as he shifts his weight onto his knees. His calculated thrusts to your g-spot sends you closer and closer to the edge. His eyes focus on your pussy, watching his dick disappear inside of you like an addiction. With a firm grasp on your hips, he lifts you higher to help you reach your orgasm. 

“Jimin, I’m gonna come,” you gasp, gripping your walls tightly around his length. 

“I know, baby, you can come.” He lowers himself onto his elbows so he can come face to face with you. His hands reach down between your bodies, and he rubs harsh figure eights on your swollen clit. You lean forward, pressing your lips to his as waves of pleasure crash over you. Your body trembles beneath him, moaning his name like a vice. 

Jimin rides out your high, pumping into your tight hole until your legs nearly give out. He doesn’t dare pull away, continuing to circle your clit until you’ve nearly reached your limits. Your walls pulse around his cock, squeezing around his shaft until he’s nearly at his edge. His hair is matted to his forehead, slicked by sweat. You brush away the loose strands with the tips of your fingers. 

“Are you close?” You breathe out, hush and quiet, cupping his jaw with the palm of your hands. 

“Mhmm,” he gulps, rutting into you, pumping your cum in and out as it sheaths his shaft. 

His pace falters as he approaches his orgasm, hips stuttering against yours. Jimin nearly collapses on top of you as he spills himself into the condom, moaning into the cusp of your ear. His chest presses up against yours as he attempts to catch his breath.

You trace soothing circles onto his back as he basks in the afterglow of post orgasmic sex. 

His breathing soon evens out, and it’s comfortably quiet, that is with the exception of the radiator hissing in the corner of the studio. 

“Wow.” He kisses your temple before pulling out, letting the remains of your cum flow out of you. He rolls over onto his back, pulling you into his warm embrace.

“So on a scale of 1-10, how special would you say you feel right about now?” A smug smirk tugs on his lips, and you playfully smack his pecks. 

“Does this answer your question?” You ask, peppering 10 kisses onto his lips. 

“Mmm, no, I didn’t quite hear your answer” he says, leaning in for another kiss, “Tell me one more time?” 

And as Jimin kisses you goodnight, you know in your heart that the heartache and the loss of $5 are all worth it in the end if it means you get to wake up and smell the roses with Jimin at your bedside.