Too Sweet Chapter 2 - To Go To Bed Before The Daylight

Too Sweet 💜 Chapter 2 - To go to bed before the daylight

PAIRING: Demon!Yoongi x (f)reader

SUMMARY: Coming from unabashed wealth has its perks — like never having to lift a finger in your life. When that suddenly changes, you end up at a crossroads: how far will you go to have everything you want?

WORD COUNT: 5.4k

GENRE: Crossroad Demon AU (Sloth), smut, angst

RATING: R (explicit)

WARNINGS: mentions of blood, mentions of addiction and withdrawal, trespassing, unprotected public sex, biting, pain mixing w/ pleasure, choking and breath play

A.N. What would you do to see your demon again?

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A frustrated screech burst out of your mouth as you gripped your hair by the roots and twirled around. Despite your shut eyes, the dizziness tried to settle, and you welcomed it. Your voice gave out and you tripped on the glass coffee table nearby, falling with such a ruckus anyone would have wondered if you were okay. No one came, however.

You rolled belly up with a groan, raising your hands above your face to confirm that indeed, glass shards were piercing your palms and forearms. Carnation red drops dribbled down in lively pulses and you gritted your teeth before hiding behind a grimace.

Why was nothing working?

The desperation couldn’t take hold of your chest because your fury was far more rampant. You rolled to the side, ignoring the crunching beneath you as you got up. Your glare was acidic as you looked around you, confirming for the thousandth time that nothing happened. No one — there was no one in your living room. Not on the luxurious crimson velvet couches, on a bar stool by the kitchen island, or on the two steps leading to the sliding doors of your bedroom.

Your anger flooded you so absolutely that you couldn’t breathe — it exploded in the form of a kick that threw the nearby flaming bowl over, hitting the lit candles and making the air even more pungent with a spicy scent. You ignored the white Yarrow petals mixed with the other bones and trinkets rolling on the floor half still aflame and groaned as you paced.

It wasn’t working, nothing was working.

You had done everything you could, absolutely everything. Your fingers trembled as you fought the hopelessness trying to settle — it was impossible. Something had to work! It had to, it just had to!

You started hitting your forehead with your palms, trying to think of something. Was there something he said? Something he did? He had to have left you with a clue!

“Miss?”

You shrieked again in pure frustration before you turned around, glaring at the maid who had dared to enter your apartment. Her frightened expression should have shaken you, but nothing could reach you. You could only feel the void, the emptiness, the sucking pressure depressing your breathing, your motivation, your energy. So much so that you didn’t even flinch when she rushed to grab a pillow and started hitting the nearing tapestry with it. Oh right, you noticed, absentmindedly. It did smell like burning and the fire alarm was blaring. What a drag.

You heaved a deep breath and gave the situation your back, choosing to near your computer on the desk and read the passages on the screen again and again. Was there something you missed? Didn’t you do everything exactly right?

“Miss?”

“What?” You growled back, annoyed at her small wary voice.

The maid, possibly around your age with big round eyes bringing life to her fully black attire, raised her hands carefully, “You’re hurt.”

You scoffed and turned to the screen again. You heard the commotion behind you as people came into the room to check if there was a fire, and you ignored them. You kept reading, scrolling, trying to understand. The maid’s worried eyes were lost on you as you dragged the chair behind you to sit, blood dripping down to the floor like the pendulum of a metronome marking the time. A singed odor slowly replaced the spicy smell, and you twisted your nose in annoyance. The turmoil behind you almost drew a remark out of you but then you faltered.

The name. You were missing the name, of course. 

“Fuck!”

Your fists hit the table with such force the laptop was airborne for a split second. You dragged the chair behind you and walked away, cursing yourself incessantly as you covered your face with trembling fingers. Just exactly how stupid could you possibly be—?

“Miss?”

“What?” Your tone was caustic now, your patience nonexistent.

“We should clean your wounds.”

You scoffed and almost laughed in disbelief before looking around the place. Your wide living room looked fairly smaller with the four staff members cleaning everything seamlessly: there were no traces of fire, the tapestry had been switched, the bowl was clean with no flowers, cow milk, blood, or anything else, and even the glass shards of the glass coffee table were gone already. You wondered how long it would take for a replacement to be brought in when a man walked in carrying one that could have been the exact same model, you wouldn’t have remembered or cared.

Meanwhile, your forearms and knees had blood dripping down your skin grimly.

“Miss?”

“Out,” you voiced, breath shaking at the tension down your spine. Everyone around you had worry in their eyes, or worse, sympathy, and your anger snapped tenfold, “Out! Now!”

The maid opened her mouth but you raised your forearms and whisked the shards out of your skin before she could say anything. She looked utterly shocked as the pieces fell to the floor, yet your gaze was absolutely indifferent. You glanced at one of the men who had worked for you for the last six months; an eyebrow raise was enough for him to nod.

In a second, everyone knew to scram and you heaved a deep breath, enjoying the silence again. They should know better than to interfere when you were cooped up there trying to get things done.

You reached the minibar in the corner of the suite and poured yourself a glass of your favorite whiskey. They couldn’t understand; why would they? To them, you were just a rich, eccentric, possibly unhinged woman doing crazy rituals in one of your drug-induced highs, but what would they know?

You were not crazy. The possibility had crossed your mind, but in truth, their very presence proved that you were, in fact, very sane! Or else, how could it be that you owned that building? That you were loaded? That they worked for you, catering to your every need as if you were royalty?

It was excruciating, though. If in the beginning, you thought this would give you the freedom you were looking for, now six months later you realized that it was not like that at all. You could set the building on fire and absolutely nothing would happen to you. There were no consequences, not even getting burned because the staff would bend backward to keep you safe. And it was all because of the deal. As if you weren’t aimless enough before — it turned out that freedom made you even more helpless. And now that your parents weren’t there to offer any semblance of resistance or limits, you had inadvertently hit new lows.

But it wasn’t your fault, you mused as you stepped out onto the balcony with your neat whiskey in hand. You had everything you could ever wish for at the tip of your fingers and yet the loneliness and pain were never more vivid. With no one to care and no purpose, you spiraled harder than ever before.

And the worst part was that you couldn’t do it right. No matter how much alcohol burned your throat, or how many pills you popped, the euphoria never reached that same peak. Nothing ever felt the same as that one night six months ago, and you suspected nothing ever would. Because what you were searching for could not be chemically induced.

It was his touch. You had pondered long and hard and arrived at that conclusion every time. Anyone could kiss you or fuck you, but nothing matched the level of intimacy of that night. This made you chuckle — you didn’t even know his name, nor did he know yours. At the time, you didn’t even know what he was but none of that mattered. It wasn’t about a kiss or a couple of orgasms, or being pounded so harshly you could thankfully feel it for days. No, it was about the care in his eyes right after leaving you in a place of bliss. You couldn’t let it go, but you craved it. You searched for it day and night, fruitlessly scraping the surface while a similar summit of ecstasy and ease stayed out of reach.

And as you did, your body paid the price. You felt it clearly in your lack of breath, saw it in your sunken eyes and dry hair, in your lack of appetite, and will.

It was all his fault, you reasserted yourself one more time, taking a sip with your gaze set on the city night. It was your fault too for wishing for him to make you feel good, but it was his fault for not making it last. It wasn’t permanent, you weren’t fixed. If anything, you were even more miserable, bound to remember blissfulness and never feel it again.

But you knew you remembered it right. Every little detail came to mind, from the wickedness of his smile to the bruises over your skin. If it wasn’t enough that you remembered him so deeply that no one else had been able to match it, your very bones felt charred at times — a reminder that you were branded, that you didn’t belong to yourself anymore. Not entirely.

The problem was that it would take ten years to see him again. Ten fucking years; you couldn’t wait that long.

You drank a bit more, unsure if the trembling of your fingers was due to the cold night or the withdrawal. You licked your lips and allowed yourself to be proud for once. You had been clean for a week, and that was something after six months of being fucked up.

That was when the pointlessness of your actions dawned on you, or rather the insanity of repeating the same ones hoping for a different outcome. You realized then that the only way to fix things would be to speak to him again. Only the obsession to summon him again kept you clean and mostly sober — if you were high, you wouldn’t be able to do it. Heck, to even try — you might forget logic altogether and return to the vicious cycle. The drugs always made you dense, even when the haze receded, and it annoyed you that it was starting to linger as the withdrawal settled. How else did you not realize that you didn’t have his name? Hence, why every attempt failed? Even if those spells online were bullshit, one was bound to work! Or were you not at the rooftop suite of a luxurious building you owned downtown?

You heaved a deep breath and settled your chin on your arms over the cold metal railing. How could you turn this around? You didn’t have his name and without asking him, you’d never get it!

You tilted the glass in front of your face, the amber liquid transparent enough to allow the city lights through.

“I thought you… you only showed up at midnight.”

He chuckled genuinely, “Should I have let you wait until then?”

Your guts turned — no. Fuck no. You couldn’t wait any longer.

You turned, storming across the suite as you finished your drink and placed the glass on the console table next to your handbag. You emptied its contents on the glass top and immediately picked up your wallet, getting your ID and waving it in front of you victoriously.

That was all you needed to grab your phone and head out.

You couldn't stop tapping your foot incessantly on the black car mat. The city lights became rarer as you exited the center and neared your destination, yet there was no respite. Your nerves were stretched thin with your usual lack of patience, turbulent anxiety, and sudden mounting expectations. You knew it was illogical, but you were a second away from yelling at the driver to go faster — it was the middle of nowhere at night, and there was no one on the road. You couldn’t wait anymore.

You huffed in annoyance when the car finally stopped along the walls of your parent’s estate. You had to tell your driver where to go until you told him to stop, seeing no cameras, fences, or obstacles.

He didn't flinch when you asked him to heave you up and over the wall, keeping the car door open to offer you a semblance of support. However, you paused when you raised a leg only to notice you still had glass shards on your knees. You huffed and brushed the little pieces off before taking his hand to jump and land on the other side finally.

A groan escaped you when you hit your knees on the floor with a thud. You grimaced with the pain shooting up your wrists from hampering your fall; since when were you so weak?

Yet, instead of taking the time to consider your overall state or the fact that you were trespassing on your parent’s property, you got up. You looked around, thankful that your eyes were accustomed to the moonbeams crossing the darkness to reveal the fields to your right, the orchards to the left, and in the distance, at the top of a hill, the mansion you had grown up in. 

None of that mattered now. You had a long way to walk and all you did was check your dress pockets for your phone and ID before you started. You didn’t know where you were going — you didn’t know where you had seen him. You did remember, however, that there were no trees and that the house should have been behind you, so the fields were the obvious choice.

It didn’t take long for familiar dreadful sensations to take over you: the uneasy strain of your legs as you walked, the skittish beating heart inside your chest, the sweat stinging your eyes as your trembling fingers brushed the wet strands of hair off your brow. It was an unpleasant reminder of your lack of health, but you didn’t mind. You kept pushing forward, taking every inch of discomfort with your head held high — you had felt it before, unknowingly on your way to him. Maybe this was a requirement to reach him, and so you’d gladly take it. You’d walk all night if you had to.

The certainty you had from your memories and experiences kept you going to the point where you only saw fields again, a dirt road, and no house, wall, or trees to take reference in. It pushed you forward and validated you despite your thirst, shakiness, and tiredness. You were on the right path, even if you stumbled and stopped breathing.

There was a certain irony when you tripped on something that made you fall to your knees. You took the moment to breathe and pulled your hair out of your face, staring at the ground that had seen you grow. You hummed while staring at the bland brown, the lack of moisture, the bareness of that place. How did anything grow there?

Still, you buried your ID as you hummed the chant with an uncharacteristic solemnity. You were nowhere near where you wanted to be, but your desire hadn’t subsided any less.

“You know you already sold your soul, right?”

You almost jolted in fright, staring up with wide eyes. The object of your obsession was towering over you, a single point of fire lit near his mouth as he pulled a seemingly endless drag of smoke out of his cigarette. His paleness contrasted with his dark hair only to shimmer under the moonlight, yet something caught your eye before you could admire the vision or wonder if you were hallucinating. He was toying with a plastic card in his hand, and as he turned it again to the other side, your picture passed in a blurred flash.

You gasped and looked down beneath your hands where you had just buried that card. Would it still be there? If you searched for it, would you find it? Would it break your fantasy or confirm your reality?

Your heart was racing when you faced back up, breathlessness overtaking you.

You stumbled to get back on your feet but didn't give up. Your eyes were fixed in those pools of black as you did, dizziness threatening to pull you under but nothing could take that chance away from you.

He observed you passively, blowing smoke directly onto your face as if you were an annoying fly. Your eyes watered but all annoyance was dead and gone. Instead, your lips trembled as you took more of him, your lungs sucking in a new meaning to the word fume.

Yet with a new drawn breath, your conviction resurged — it was all his fault.

Your hand smacked his chest and your blood burst with shimmers of excitement. He was solid underneath your palm — he was real.

You couldn't resist so you didn't hesitate — you smacked him again and again, a thrill building from the bottom of your gut stronger than any hit ever before. He was real and there and you weren't crazy. It was all his fault, and—

You froze. Your eyes had wandered up as a sly smile settled on your lips, but upon facing him, there was no moving anymore. His gaze wasn't necessarily cold but rather cynical. He didn't say a word; he wrapped his lips around the cigarette butt and made the cherry glow.

You forced yourself to breathe; you wouldn’t give up that easily. “Fix it.”

“What?” His tone was monotonous before he blew smoke on your face again.

You didn't even blink, “Our deal.” He put the cigarette butt in his mouth again and you fought the breathlessness. He was much more intense, eerie, and otherworldly than you remembered. “I told you to make me feel good.”

You saw the smoke enter his mouth and disappear as he casually held it in while he eyed you. “Would you say you felt bad.”

It wasn’t a question but you were reactive, “You know very well what I mean.”

He didn’t move, didn’t speak. For a moment you doubted he was breathing, and then finally you questioned your sanity. Yet your fingers twitched over his chest and you blinked, assured. He was definitely there.

“So fix it,” you pleaded, unable to hide exactly how you felt. The anger was just a mask that crumbled all too easily. Your futile race to achieve exhilaration had left you sickly and frail. He could see it in your eyes, surely — you had traded your soul and wouldn’t last ten years. Maybe not even the month. “Take it away,” you asked, eyes watering along with your quieting voice. “All of it.”

You swallowed your feebleness and raised your eyes in time to see him pursing his lips before blowing the smoke back into your face. In any other instance, it could have felt demeaning or degrading, but quickly your heart became infatuated with the scent. There was comfort in it, in the familiarity of something that had been a part of you for so long finally coming to take you.

You saw in his eyes how much he knew, even as he tsked and threw the cigarette butt on the floor. Your mouth said fix it, but your flimsy heart screamed exhaustion. Your mouth asked for your addictions and ailment to be taken away when your spirit meant something else.

He exhaled exasperatedly, “For a price.”

“Do it.”

His jaw twitched, “For three years. Got it?” He asked before you could mindlessly confirm. “Instead of ten, you’ll have six years and a half left in total.”

You huffed; as if the price would make you say no. Your fingers curled to grab his black shirt and pull yourself near since he wouldn’t budge. His piercing eyes were inscrutable but you didn’t give up. Whatever he had in store for you, you wanted it.

You got on your tiptoes and shook all over while trying to reach him, straining yourself in one final attempt. For a split second, you thought you would fail as you had for the last six months. Your arms lost strength, your toes couldn’t hold your weight and you closed your eyes with the dizziness making your world spin.

Yet two firm hands grabbed your arms and before you could take a breath to speak, a mouth pressed to yours. It retained the spice you remembered, now mixed with the smoke and ash of tobacco, and you wanted more. Your heart was beating for that taste, for the warm tongue slipping through your lips, bringing subtle tingles to your lower belly.

You grabbed his hair at the back of his neck and pulled him closer, diving into that sweet descent. You didn’t remember him needing to lick your tongue to make a deal with you, but you did recall the searing sensations on your bones. This time the incisions felt small and limited, but deep all the same, and you grabbed his hair firmer. A single breath was enough to feel stronger, the vigor returning to your body and tautening you instantly. The air you breathed was cold, the night humid as the faint perfume of the green fields mixed with his cigarette scent. Your heart thumped strongly, rushing blood and adrenaline in a mix that jolted you alive, pressing you to him with newfound energy.

Until he parted your mouths and your vitality flickered. A soft line showed between your eyebrows as you tried not to give it too much thought — you didn’t want it to end.

“What if I need you again?” You whispered, eyes set on the temptation in the form of his lips.

“I’m not a babysitter,” he rasped. Despite the jaded tone in his voice, his eyes were caught in the same trap.

“But you want my soul, right?”

You enticed him with the only thing you knew could work, though you didn’t let go of your embrace around his shoulders. And neither did he, you noticed. You fought the shiver under his firm hands still grabbing you in place.

Your lips twitched, thrilled with the attention, and you leaned in to nuzzle him, “What’s your name?”

“You know better than to ask questions.”

His tone was far colder; a wall instantly rose between you, and you nodded. You had tried and failed but took what little victory you could have. At least now you were fixed.

He let you go and as soon as your feet touched the ground, you frowned. If the addiction was a bottomless pit, it still was nothing compared to the abyss sucking you in. If everyone had a universe inside them, then yours never got balanced with equal parts mass and void. The black hole at your center was catastrophically disproportionate and immediately you could feel it sucking you in.

Your eyes teared up; it seemed like that was not something a wish could fix. “Make me feel good,” you asked breathlessly.

“It won’t fix it.”

His eyes showed a glint as if he knew what was going on inside your head, and you chuckled and rubbed your eyes. What hurt the most was that not even he could fix you. Once again, it was all pointless. 

“It did last time. For a bit,” you added. Facing up again, you were almost touched. You didn’t expect empathy, and you doubted that was what you saw glimmering in the dark of his eyes, but whatever it was, it pushed you to insist. “Please.”

Your hands moved to hold his head in place as you got on your tiptoes again and pressed your mouth to his. You knew he could have pushed you away easily; rather you imagined he could have done far worse. But as soon as your lips touched, you were even more confident that you understood things exactly as they were: he couldn’t fix you, but he could. 

There was a breathless moment in which you grazed your lips on his and felt the hairs at your nape rise. It was all or nothing — you were jumping off a cliff with no parachute, hoping for something to cushion your fall. The most likely was for you to crash and get crushed, and yet the pressure you felt was nothing like that.

He caught you so quickly that you almost gasped. In a second, you were pressed to his chest, crushed between his arms with a hand holding the back of your head in place as your mouths fused. You couldn’t breathe anything other than him and you moaned — the euphoria rivaled a hit as strong as the purest smack. Yet contrarily to a rushed effect that promised temporary bliss, he was entirely different. Time was ticking but it slowed as his tongue invaded your mouth, carrying a promise of something more. Just shy of ephemeral pleasure, but grazing on a spike of ecstasy. And just like you had thought, you understood the situation very well.

You grabbed him back, instantly eager to get the maximum possible hit. Your strong heart was pumping heat through your veins, feeding into your hunger as if you hadn’t known addiction for most of your life. You chuckled despite your meshed mouths, suddenly aware of your comical state — once an addict, always an addict, right?

You laughed when he trailed his lips down your jaw to reach your neck and sink his teeth. Instantly, you groaned and realized something was ticking him off. Yet you couldn’t give it much thought; the sting on your neck was spreading like wildfire through you and your reaction was to jump into him.

He was ready to catch you, lacing your legs around him as he squeezed your ass until you cried out. The way he pressed you to grind on him drove you crazy, pushing you to get even more lost. Your hazed mind wondered how it was that such simple touches could fry your system so badly, but then he pulled you away by the ass.

You whimpered at the loss of contact, completely overlooking what was truly happening until he pressed you to him again, only this time to split you open. You mewled helplessly, slumping down on him with the pressure of the invasion pushing all the right nerves inside your thight core. It was just like you had asked him and just like you remembered — the right balance to your permanent deficit state.

Your fingers curled, gripping for something and you finally noticed there was only him, and you. You pulled away to face him and saw it in the steel eyes and rough hands raising your hips to fall on him again, stealing a moan. There were no barriers, no clothes, only the cold humid night air in between you as he guided you to jump on his lap as he fucked you.

The air buzzed around you, static making your hair bristle with every electricity jolt. Only it wasn’t energy, but pure pleasure rushing your nerve ends with every slap. The rapture circled you, closing in with every sway as you let him steer you as high and low as needed. Your clit ground on him with every pull, only for his cock to kiss your cervix and force shrieks out of you. And you let him, moaning louder every time, staring at the endless staircase brazenly — no matter how deep he hit or how hard he fucked, that was still the most thrilling high you had ever experienced.

You screamed when his teeth sank into the crook of your neck and it turned into a whimper with how much that restricted your movements. You wanted to grind on his cock, to take full advantage of his hands maneuvering you as if you were weightless; a ragdoll made to take him in full. So you grabbed his hair, supporting him with unintelligible coos as you tried rolling your hips.

He growled into your skin and you shuddered, smirking at the prospect of having him feral right then and there. But then he split from you to face you, and you gaped.

Even as he guided you up and down, electrifying you with pleasure, your mouth still dropped open at the sight. When did he get so deep he drew blood? And why were you clenching around him, so close to release at the thought of him consuming you?

“I’m going to say this once, kitten,” he rasped, eyes fixed on yours. “You have to do better.”

You bit your lip and worked harder, bucking your hips to help with how deep he pierced you, even if it drew cries out of you.

He gritted his teeth with a quiet growl, licking your blood from his lips and sinking his nails into your asscheeks to help you. Your debauched movements were perturbing him just as much as you and you smirked, tongue peeking between your lips as you eyed his bloody mouth. A groan scratched from deep within his chest as if he was straining himself just by looking at you and you melted. You grabbed his hair by the nape, meaning to lean forward and assure him you were completely submerged in all of it when you were stopped.

His hand circled your throat, “Listen.”

You batted your eyelashes at him, though your eyes were about to roll back. 

“You have to figure yourself out.”

Why did he sound so angry when he was fucking you so sweetly? “I can’t.”

“You can.”

“No,” you cried, barely able to open your eyes.

“You have to.”

You were winded with every moan, not because of any physical strain — there was none —, but because the lava you had for blood had forsaken every atom of oxygen for sheer delight. Maybe because of it, something sparked deep in your haze, “Help me.”

His hand tightened around your throat, “I’m not a babysitter.”

You laughed but the sound got muffled when he squeezed more. Despite this, you didn’t stop smiling. You knew and he knew — that he wasn’t a babysitter, but that he was fucking sense into you right now.

His eyes squinted, sweat dripping down the side of his face and you reached weakly to touch it. You could feel the tension releasing your shoulders and relaxing your legs as you lacked oxygen. He looked angry with a hint of sadness, and you willed it away. He was giving you the fix you sought, and you wanted him to feel good too.

His hand squeezed even tighter and your hand raised to grab his wrist with no semblance of a protest. That was when you saw it — a silver chain bracelet on your wrist glistening under the moonlight. A sparkle behind it drew your attention and you noticed your other wrist had one too — claspless and tight.

You laughed at the implication, even as your sight became littered with black spots. Your heart was so warm and content at that moment that you needed a push to retake the other heavenly sensations, and he gave it to you. He supported your lower back to drag you slower over his length, in and out, fitting powerfully together, and then he let go of his grip around your neck.

Oxygen permeated your brain faster than a spark following a trace of gunpowder to light up a dynamite and you exploded. Your nails pierced his skin as you sank into him, using him as an anchor to drag your clit however pleased you best. Your bliss was selfish but elevated when you felt him pressing you down, pulsing so deep inside you you could swear it could choke you.

Your mouth had fallen open, and as you looked at him from behind your eyelashes, pleasure still crisp at your fingertips, he muttered, “Let’s try this again.”

He let you go and your legs had become too loose. You fell with a gasp, but your back hit a cushioned surface. You sat up and in a second, you were assured and chuckled. You were back in the car that brought you there, lying in the backseat as if you had just fallen asleep. Your clothes were back on, your heart was beating strongly in exhilaration, and maybe it could have all been a dream if not for the silver bracelets on your wrists.

You laughed quietly to yourself and fell back with a wrist over your eyes. Maybe you could still get to your pillow before daylight.

SUPERSTAR

Dreamy ☁️

[ video source cr. namuspromised ]

CRYING 🥹😭

come back to earth | knj

→ summary: my regrets look just like texts i shouldn’t send

→ pairing: knj x ex!reader → warnings: angst; smoking cigarettes; drinking; implied exes-to-lovers; namjoon being down horrendous. the idea is that these are (mostly) drafted and unsent texts. some of the texts are incomplete, implying that namjoon never finished writing them. it could be canon-compliant but i can’t keep track of dates so my b. → word count: 1.4k → notes: this is mac miller’s fault. blame him (rest in peace king)

→ listened to: come back to earth - mac miller

my blog is 18+ only. minors DNI.

—

[saturday, april 16, 2022]

you said we'd go see the cherry blossoms together. you promised, and now the cherry blossoms are withering and dying and sticking to the bottom of my shoes, and you're not here to pick them off like you said you would.

[monday, april 25, 2022]

maybe i shouldn't text you. does it matter if i did? don't you have my number blocked? 

i’m outside, taking a smoke break. still think about you sometimes. know how much you hated me smoking. swear i can still hear you whenever i light up

[friday, june 17, 2022]

doing so good, baby. i wish you were here to see me.

[thursday, july 7, 2022]

summer. went to get ice cream from cu like we used to. didn't taste the same.

[tuesday, july 19, 2022]

hyung and i went to the park last night. the same one where we used to practice dancing until our heels bled, scream until our throats went raw. it reminded me of that night under the stars. when i wiped melona off your chin, and you kissed me like it was nothing. i was dizzy on the taste of you for days.

it meant a lot to me, you know. to be kissed so casually. i thought maybe i could understand what all those love poems are about. you made me want to write about sunlight, and hands tangled under a blanket, and a strand of your hair on my jacket. you made me see a lot of things i'd never seen before.

fuck, i miss you so ba

[sunday, october 16, 2022]

it'll be six months soon. half a year.

i saw you post about halloween. you looked like you were having so much fun. i hate that it's without me.

i hope you're safe.

[saturday, october 29, 2022]

something about the weekend...

i was reading 'in praise of love' yesterday. of course i thought about you. i find that i always do.

arthur rimbaud once said that love needs re-inventing. risk vs. planning; adventure vs. comfort. this is the bind that modern love is in.

i thought about framing our love that way. maybe there was too much risk; giving our hearts to each other when we knew how it would end. or maybe there wasn't enough; complacency, seeking our own comforts over each other's.

in the end, i decided it doesn't matter. the love died, didn't it? there isn't anything left to scrutinize. pick apart.

i think maybe that's the thing with me. everyone else has moved on, but i'm still here. re-reading. re-imagining. re-every fucking thing.

you were always light years ahead. never looking back. maybe that was our problem.

[monday, december 5, 2022]

i visited the MMCA today. 

we used to love going there. or maybe i was the one who loved going there.

i think about that thing you said once, when we were at the ticketing counter. you said sometimes my interests loom so large that they subsume yours. like, what i wanted took up so much air that your wants never had enough to breathe.

i brushed it off, then. made a joke or something, i don't know. but you know these things stick with me. i carried that around for a long time. still do.

i never asked you which artist you liked best; i never asked you if you liked going to museums, period. i wonder if i just assumed i knew you, and so i never bothered to lear

[tuesday, december 6, 2022]

n about you. that was shitty of me, but it's too late for apologies. i know that more than anyone.

i know you liked kim kulim, though. that's one thing i think i'll remember forever. even if i wind up standing next to someone else.

[thursday, december 22, 2022]

it's the holidays. i still have the little charlie brown christmas tree you gave me this time last year. i wish i could throw it away.

[sunday, january 1, 2023]

happy new year. you’re doing well, aren’t you?

[tuesday, february 14, 2023]

happy valentine's day.

i don't know what to do with all of this want inside of me.

[monday, february 20, 2023]

please come over. be by my side again. i need y

[tuesday, march 7, 2023]

almost a year since you walked away from me, and every day i regret it more. i regret letting you get so sad that all you could do was leave; i regret not stopping you. everything with you is a series of regrets, and i'm the fool who can't seem to let go of them.

the one thing i'll never regret is lovin

[tuesday, march 14, 2023]

i'm so drunk. i never used to drink, but i'm drunk now. i heard 'killing me' by omar apollo and it made me want to drink because i would do anything to stop thinking about you, to stop dreaming about you, to break the surface and finally take a fucking breat

[wednesday, march 15, 2023]

happy birthday, baby

remember when? i think about that phrase so much, all it means. it means a shared history, a shared language made of the hours, months, years we spent together. it means something resurfaced in my mind that i think you'll want to hear, too. something we can relive together.

remember when. today i remembered the first time we celebrated your birthday. march is a good month. we talked about astrology, and how you're a pisces and i'm a virgo, and all that means for us. we took a walk in seoul forest. i ate miyeokguk with you while we watched broker. and then we went to bed, and i just remember thinking that if i were to live that day over and over again into eternity, i wouldn't mind.

i miss you. i miss getting to love you. i miss the little mole at your hairline and kissing you there. i miss making you laugh. i miss coming up behind you and holding you to me, feeling the outline of your body against mine. felt sweeter than anything. i even miss you resenting me, because at least then i knew you were thinking of me.

i miss being loved by

[wednesday, march 22, 2023]

how am i drowning in you when you're not even here?

[thursday, april 6, 2023]

come back to me, baby, i swear i'll make everything up to y

[saturday, april 22, 2023]

[Voice Note - 1:35]

i wrote this song for you. every song i write is for you. i know i'm sick, i'm abusing my reach, because in my darkest moments i think maybe you'll be forced to hear what i'm thinking, what i'm feeling. like maybe you'll hear me on the radio in a taxi, or in a shop, and then maybe you'll come back to me. my way of reaching you without ever contacting you.

selfish, again...

[sunday, april 23, 2023]

maybe i don't even know if i'd want you to come back. i don't know. 

i finally read that poetry collection you kept telling me about. 'autobiography of death'? i don't think i understand it. but maybe i understand you a little more....

i wish i could love you again. i wish i had the right. i swear i'd do right by you this time. i swear i'd be different. i'd ask about everything. i'd give you everythi

[monday, may 15, 2023]

it feels like spring. it feels like something new is beginning. i've always chased that feeling.

[monday, may 29, 2023]

i should probably delete your number. i should probably stop writing texts that i'll never send. i should probably stop thinking about you, too, but i don't think i'll ever be able to do that. 

because it's not just pressing a button, or changing a setting on my phone. if i want to stop thinking about you, it's a choice i'll have to make every single day. it's as hard as quitting smoking, but worse, because trying not to think about you is the same thing as thinking about you, and i'd give anything for a way out of my own hea

[Monday, May 29, 2023 — 1 new message from 🌸]

🌸: Namjoon-ah, it's me. I know it's been a long time. I've been thinking about you, and I was wondering if you wanted to talk. I know you're busy…. Let me know, okay? 

Hi! Thank you for all you do for us fic writers!

Do you think you could make some “off center” dividers. Where the design is bigger to the left or right?

I don’t have any specific colors or styles in mind (tho I always think cursive-y lines and blacks and muted pastels are pretty) I hope this isn’t too vague 🙈

ahh hi em! This was such a cool idea - I amy typically a sucker for symmetry so it was cool to figure out how to do something that is asymmetrical - I hope you like these 💖