#the water is soft. I have my earplugs in and the sound of my own breathing is soothing instead of annoying.

[apollo-zero-one]

I'm fine now dw

[tillerman1]

AUTUMN SONATA (word) pt.1

10

CHARLOTTE: I will (be) horrified when I hear her reason. It is so overstretched - so beyond all sense. And so this obviousness! She's hanging out with your little boy; she has solved the world's riddle; there are answers to all the questions.

VIKTOR: (smiles) Yes, yes.

CHARLOTTE: You can't let her walk around like that.

VIKTOR: What do you mean?

CHARLOTTE: I think she is really terribly unhappy. And that she suddenly one day realizes how bad it is and then she does something crazy.

VIKTOR: Think you really do?

CHARLOTTE: Yes, I do believe so.

VIKTOR: Is she up with Lena?

CHARLOTTE: She was gonna make her ready for the night.

VIKTOR: Fashion you now down there a moment, dear Charlotte, and associated with, I'll try to explain how I see my wife.

CHARLOTTE: Yes, now I'm sitting?

VIKTOR: When I asked Eva to marry me, she immediately said that she did not love me. I asked if she loved anyone else. She replied that she had never loved any human being, that she was incapable of loving. (pause) Eva and I lived here for several years, we were kind towards each other, worked much, traveled abroad on my holidays, then born Erik. We had already given up hope to have a child of our own and talked a lot about us adopting - (pause) Thus. With her pregnancy, Eva underwent a complete change. She was glad, soft and outward. She became lazy, ignored parish work and her piano play. She could sit in that chair with her legs on another chair and look at the way of light over the mountain and fjord. We were suddenly overmuch happy - you apologize if I say so - we were much successful in bed indeed. I am twenty years older yet Eva, I'm liked enough that it had started lead as a gray film over existence, about thou understand what I mean. I liked that I could see myself round and say, so, yes, this here was then life, so here would it become. But then everything was different, there were some incredible - (pause) There were some incredible – (paus) You can forgive me, Charlotte, but it's still a little hard to (pause) Yes. It was a few years that were very rich. You should have seen Eva. You really should have seen her.

CHARLOTTE: I remember those years around Erik's birth. Just then, I recorded all the Mozart sonatas and piano concertos. I did not have a single day off.

VIKTOR: No, just that. We invited you again and again, but sadly you never had time.

CHARLOTTE: No.

VIKTOR: When Erik drowned, the gray film became even grayer. For Eva matter that thus different.

CHARLOTTE: Differently? How, differently?

VIKTOR: Her feeling lives unadulterated, at least it seems so. She has become thin and angular and is more unbalanced in her mood - she can, for example, have huge outbursts of anger. But I think not that she is overstressed or strange. And senses her that her son lives in her vicinity so is it perhaps in some way. She speaks not often about it(,)[;] she is properly cautious that it should make me ill - and it does that enough. But this it says sounds true. I believe her.

CHARLOTTE: Yes. You are the priest.

VIKTOR: The little faith I have, living on her terms.

CHARLOTTE: Sorry if I injured you.

VIKTOR: It does nothing, Charlotte. I am till unlike from you and Eva a diffuse and uncertain human.[sic] I may blame us myself.

11

CHARLOTTE: Think you not that I shall party on a few hefty hypnotics at night.  Yes, that thinks me indeed. This is so calm and still, only some rain which murmurs some good against some ceiling. Two mogadone and two valium usually be right.

EVA: Hast you all you need?

CHARLOTTE: It is so excellent. Correct type biscuits and mineral water and a band player and cassettes and two detective novels and earplugs and blindfold and extra cushion and my little travel blanket. Would you taste to my good Swiss chocolate, fresh from Zurich. [sic] Please, you may take two bits.

EVA: Thank good mamma, yet I am not so delighted with chocolate.

CHARLOTTE: So that was weird. I would reminisce that you were mad over sweets which barn.

EVA: Helena thought about sweets. Not me.

CHARLOTTE: The preferable, sow hast me my chocolate for me itself.

EVA: Good night where, mother small.

CHARLOTTE: Good night, my kid, and thanks for tonight. Viktor is really a charming person. It must you be cautious of. [sic?]

EVA: It is me also.

CHARLOTTE: Are you happy together? Hast you-all the good?

EVA: (patient) Momma little. Viktor is my best friend. I vet not how life would see out if I none had it.[sic?]

CHARLOTTE: He said to you none beloved him.

EVA: Has he said that?

CHARLOTTE: Yes given. Why?

EVA: Somewhat surprising only.

CHARLOTTE: Was it a secret?

EVA: No.

CHARLOTTE: But you find none about how he said it.

EVA: Viktor usually doesn't precisely entrust himself.

CHARLOTTE: We spoke about you.

EVA: Want you ken anything can you ask me directly. [sic?] I pledge to be as sincere I can. [sic?]

CHARLOTTE: Dear barn {child}, now may you really not do anything remarkable with it here. That is not particularly affected, how an antique mother is curious about how her daughter has it. We talked about you with the greatest tenderness, so may I affirm.

EVA: If I could understand why you don't can [sic?] let people be alone.

CHARLOTTE: I think that I have let you be alone entirely for (a) long (time).

EVA: (smiles) It can you actually have right in.

CHARLOTTE: Now should we not speak about so this sad feeling. [sic?] Then sleep me not at night either with the soporific.

EVA: We can talk some other time.

CHARLOTTE: Just that. Yield me a hug and luff how thou none is evil to your old mamma.

EVA: I pledge.

CHARLOTTE: Self love you understand thou.

EVA: (mild) I love you too.

CHARLOTTE: It is not so damn fun to be desolate always shall [sic?] I talk about[sic?] for you. I'm becoming quite simply jealous of you and Viktor.

EVA: Yes.

CHARLOTTE: Now that Leonardo is insensate as is[,] I'm so damn lonely. Can you understand it?

EVA: Yes, it comprehends me.

CHARLOTTE: No. No. No. Now begins self quickly weeping of self-pity cum we did the certain how there not would be any emotion through tonight. [sic?] That this detective novel is actually not so poor. This is a new author, Adam Kretzinsky. Have you consulted mentions about him?

EVA: No.

CHARLOTTE: I hit him in Madrid. He was crazy. I could barely defend myself. It would say I defended us none whatsoever. Good night, little Eva.

EVA: Good night, mother.

CHARLOTTE: He admired me as one crazed and said that I was the prettiest woman in his life. What makes man at such? [sic]

EVA: You say till once you would carry breakfast.

CHARLOTTE: No trouble for me.

EVA: But I want seven mar off you.

CHARLOTTE: Supposing you absolutely insist.

EVA: Strong coffee, warm milk, two slices [of] darkened German bread with Jarlsberg cheese, [and] a slice [of] white toasted bread with honey. Is it not so?

CHARLOTTE: And so a platen pressed orange lemonade.

EVA: Imagine it held me away to forget.

CHARLOTTE: I mayst really …

EVA: You shall get your juice. Good night, mamma!

CHARLOTTE: Good night, darling.

12

CHARLOTTE: (alone) I believe I shall look some in my bookkeeping. (takes out a red notebook) I must not forget to let Brammer place the money for Leonardo. The house is also worth quite much; you cared you never about such as assets and liabilities; you were high over earthly concerns; you left any problem till Charlotte.[sic] "You[,] Charlotte[,] who is so wise with money, you Charlotte are my finance minister." A time when you were enraged at us said you how I was greedy. Am I close-fisted perchance. Careful with money understood. Grandfather's farmer bloody and bond sense. 3,735,866 francs. Think that you had so much money, Leonardo. Who could believe it? And all bequests you till your former Charlotte? I have why also a little money. Together become that over five million. What should I of so much money(.)[?] I shall buy a genial car at Viktor and Eva. They can none go about with that there old cart, which stood down at the courtyard. It appears dangerous. On Monday travel us in till town and look at a car. It will that brighten up them. And me too. (yawn) Now begin me sense me calm and sleepy. I shall read something in Adam's book cum then shall I slacken. Here is sure noiseless. The rain has expired. Well. (reads) "She handed him her virgin red blossom with mute dignity(,)[;] he took towards it without enthusiasm despite that he all morning fused her small hard breasts and the powerful bright pubes-hairs which stood up above the bikini waistline." God[,] such rubbish! He was intrinsically a correct idiot the there Adam despite that he almost took some life of himself for my sake. (smiles) If me oneself would buy a new car and provide Eva and Viktor the Mercedes. In may me fly back till Paris and so may me buy automobile where so escape me rerun entire long road. (yawns) For tomorrow shall I set running on sharp with Ravel, divinity what I have careless the last weeks, fully simply unpardonable. (snooze) He is a sad person, Viktor, eerily like Josef, fast insignificant. They bore well out each other, see!The door opens. Charlotte becomes very cautious. Short comes Helena rushing in on the room, throws herself over the mother, she is heavy cum stark. After a short fight awakes Charlotte.

13

EVA: But mamma then, what is it which has happened. I heard you call and when I came in( )to your room were you not there.

CHARLOTTE: I am sorry about me woke you only I had one such objectionable dream. Me dreamt to -

EVA: Yes?

CHARLOTTE: No, I will not remember what it was.

EVA: I'm holding yourself willing company if you would speak.

CHARLOTTE: No thanks, dear you. I sitter only a while and fetching me. Go and bed yourself you.

EVA: Then do I well that.

CHARLOTTE: Eva!

EVA: Yes, mamma!

CHARLOTTE: Thou thinks well about me?

EVA: Indeed sure. You are why my mother.

CHARLOTTE: That was no sincere reply.

EVA: Then want I reply with a counter-question. Thinks you about me?

CHARLOTTE: I love you.

EVA: That is not true. (smiles)

CHARLOTTE: You accuse me for lacking love. [sic]Eva responds not, looks at her.

CHARLOTTE: Realize you not it unreasonable in one such accusation?

EVA: (looks at her) It was no accusation.

CHARLOTTE: Accuse thou yourself self for inadequate eroticism towards Viktor?

EVA: I have said to Viktor that I don't love him. Thou plays love. There is inequality.

CHARLOTTE: And about me was in good faith?

EVA: Now understand me not what you mean.

CHARLOTTE: About I properly been sincerely convinced about to self beloved you and Helena.

EVA: That is not possible.

CHARLOTTE: Remember you when I interrupted my career and decided me for that be home?

EVA: I vet not which as where worst: the time you were in for to play wife and mother or the time you were on tour. Detriment you above I will for the sake you more understand I to you did one hell for us, both dad and me.

CHARLOTTE: You vet nothing about pappa's and my relationship.

EVA: Pappa was as pictures and equal compliant as I and all second.

CHARLOTTE: It is none true. Pappa and I were happy together. Josef was the world's fine-these, tastiest and dearest man. He loved me cum me could have done what that preferably for him.

EVA: Yes. You fraud him.

CHARLOTTE: I fraud him not. I became dear in Martin and traveled away with him in eight months. Think you the time was any dance on roses?

EVA: It was of any fall me, who got perch with dad in the evenings cum it was I who got comfort him cum it was I that all the time compulsion's repeat that you probably despite all loved him and that you right certainly would come back, it was I who got read up from epistle. Your long, tender, loving, funny, humorous mail where you told selected topics of your interested travel. We sat there as stupid idiots and read your letter two times, three times and thought that a more wonderful person than you existed not.

CHARLOTTE: (placid, astonished) Eva, thou hates me.

EVA: I vet not. Self is so confused. Sudden will you hit after seven years cum I rejoice myself at that you shall come. I vet not what I imagined myself. Perchance imagined I that you were alone and sorry. I vet not. I believed maybe that I was the full adult, that I looked clearly at you and of myself self and at Helenas disease and on our childhood. Now understand me that all is one great chaos. (pause) Good night[,] mamma. There is no idea to speak about the past. It makes entire for evil and additionally is it meaningless.

CHARLOTTE: You cast from you a quantity accusations and then goes you!

EVA: Since it[,] in any case[,] is for sent [too late].

CHARLOTTE: What is it that is for sent too late[?]

EVA: Nothing can alter.Now audible by the quiet a complaining drawn-out tone, hardly humane. Charlotte looks horrified at her daughter. Eva says: "It is Helena who has woken(,)[;] I'm going up till (to) her a little while and see if she needs anything." She hurries through the dark house, detects the way, requires no light, out some window stands moonlight immobile. It is right still, no wind, no bird. Eva opens careful the door to Helena's room. Some complaining sound ends almost immediately. She teeth the table lamp. Helena sitter [sits] high embedded on the screen-equipped bed, she jerks in the neck and shoulder cum she biter[s] on the lips. The eyes are tightly closed, she sleeps. Eva awakens her careful. Slow opening her eyes, slowly familiar her back her reality, she tries saying something but refrains almost immediately. Eva asks her if she is thirsty; she declines, closes the eye. Sleeps immediately. [sic] The twitching decreases, the face becomes calm. Eva sits with her, looks at her. Extinguishes the lamp. Views at her.

[cure-icy-writes]

things i’ve learned about hyperacusis, because the medical system is frankly SHIT

And frankly, I’d rather my experience help someone else who needs it. This isn’t universal or exhaustive, just something that I wanted to share. Anyone can reblog or add on, but don’t clown.

Hyperacusis is a neurological disorder characterized by extreme sensitivity to sound, and it’s a fucking bitch to deal with. I’ve had it for two years, and only recently got a diagnosis. In my case, I’m fairly certain it was caused by a combination of existing ADHD/sensory issues and the slowly building stress of high school, which is an entirely different can of worms that I still occasionally have vague nightmares about.

It’s hard to cope with, and largely not understood by the public.

You’re going to get some judgement from older folks about being “antisocial” for wearing headphones and avoiding crowds, especially if you’re younger. This is the equivalent of a squirrel encouraging a fish to be more outgoing when the fish is literally struggling to breathe and taking refuge in its bowl of water.

Earplugs will be your best friend. Don’t listen to audiologists who tell you that it’s the worst thing you can ever do to your hearing; the medical system is largely unsympathetic to your actual needs. Get them in bulk, and use them as needed. Silence is bad for your ears, yes, but damaging them with noise is even worse. Earplugs combined with over-the-ear headphones playing music is a good compromise.

Seriously. Stock the fuck up on these lil bitches. Put ‘em in an altoids tin and never leave the house without some. And don’t forget to use clean ones; these are disposable for a reason. If you store them in a dirty place, you’ll end up with an ear infection.

You may need accommodations, but that doesn’t make you any lesser of a person. Start looking around cripplepunk* spaces for confidence. Own your disability. You deserve to live just as much as anyone else, and you deserve to be happy. Accessibility may not be universal, but it sure isn’t optional either. You are worth more than what you can contribute to society.

If possible, an audiologist can help you get custom made earplugs to filter out sound equally. These let you reduce volume at all frequencies, as opposed to the foam earplugs which muffle sound.

Earplugs designed for musicians and autistic folks are also good options; ideally, you want to have something of a variety of hearing protection. Too much or too little will only make things worse. Find what works for you and allows you to function and heal. Active noise cancelling is also an option.

Lifestyle changes won’t fix the problem and you should be skeptical of anyone who says they will, but they’re also not something to be overlooked. Sound dampening panels can be expensive, but keeping soft things in your room can improve the sound absorption. For me, having a rather large fabric stash is an excellent solution, but plushies and hanging quilts are also reasonable. Reducing stress can help, too-- start setting some healthy and reasonable boundaries. Force yourself to view your distress as rational and justified, rather than something to push through.

Tinnitus Retraining Therapy is the main method used in treating hyperacusis, but this...can vary. In my experience, audiologists are unsympathetic shitheads about this, and can veer into victim blaming, so take it with a grain of salt and keep your own limitations in mind. It works on a similar principle as exposure therapy, rewiring the brain in order to break down the association between “noise = bad” and helping you become accustomed to normal levels of auditory processing. Never force yourself to do this if it causes you distress; take it at your own pace. Forcing yourself will only strengthen the associations created, and make things worse for you. Imagine your brain as a scared cat in a new house; give it space, then introduce new stimuli as needed. Tinnitus retraining therapy is not punishment. You don’t need to punish yourself for having this disorder, even if you think that’ll make it go away faster.

You deserve patience and love.

*cripplepunk, sometimes censored as c-punk, is a movement similar to disabled pride that centers the needs and lives of disabled folks over the convenience of the abled population. Not everyone is comfortable with reclaiming the word “cripple” and it should be used with discretion. Be wary of physical/mental separatism in disability.

Anyways, I think that’s all for now! I may add on more later, but I hope this helps.

[snackhobi]

pairing: jimin x reader / word count: 9.1k / genre: smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: you wouldn’t mind your cute neighbour being such a shameless fuckboy if a) the walls weren’t so thin and b) he didn’t seem intent on adding you as another notch in his bedpost. 

but there’s only so much you can resist park jimin, especially once he gets that peach involved.

warnings: sexually explicit content, Jimin being completely shameless/a lowkey ho, messy peach eating, mentions of masturbation, oral sex (m + f receiving), overstimulation, protected sex, multiple orgasms (f), dirty talk and some cursing, hmm I think that’s it?

a/n: I was so close to calling this ‘jimin and the f*cking peach’ as some terrible homage to ‘james and the giant peach’ 😂🤧 as always I would like to thank @hobi-gif for beta reading this, putting up with me having a meltdown at her, and encouraging me to write smut at work rather than doing my job, ty queen xoxo

--

It’s official. Park Jimin is the neighbour from hell.

He’d tricked you, to start with. With those cherubic features, those doe eyes, and his cute little smile? He looks like an angel. A sweet, innocent angel, one who’d knocked shyly on your door and presented you with a small selection of chocolates when he’d moved into the apartment next to yours. Your heart had gone boom boom at the sight of that cute smile, the slip of teeth, the way his lovely face had scrunched up. 

Nowadays, whenever you see that face, you want to punch it.

Well. Not punch it. Maybe slap it a little. Because Park Jimin is a fiend. 

Your studio apartment is cheap for many reasons. The plumbing is creaky and the heating isn’t exactly great but those are small sacrifices for such low rent—ones you’re willing to make. Creaking doesn’t bother you and throw blankets exist for a reason, right? You get a balcony and a parking spot, which is more than you can say for a lot of other places in this price range, so you’ll take the negatives for these positives.

But you’d give up all the things you love about this cheap flat for some sound proofing.

Because Park Jimin fucks. 

A lot. 

He’d been nothing but lovely for the first few weeks. You’d barely been aware of his existence, minus when you could hear him in the bathroom—your flats are mirrored, rooms sharing walls, so you’d been washing your face when you’d heard his shower start up and then the sound of his dulcet tones drifting through the wall. That had actually been really nice; Jimin can hit some high notes, and it had been a pleasant backdrop as you’d cleansed your face. It had been another bullet point you’d added to the list of things you thought were cute about him (along with his face, his laugh, his smile), and you’d stupidly started to develop a tiny little crush on this boy-next-door, thinking him some soft, kind thing.

But then he’d started to have people over.

You’ve lost count of how many days you’ve had to listen to the moans and gasps that echo through your walls. You can’t escape from it. As a freelance programmer, you’re pretty much always working from home, so it’s not like you can get away from the sounds of pleasure that shudder through Jimin’s flat and into your own.

It’s never consistent, either. There’s not a single hour of the day that’s off limits to Park Jimin. Morning, afternoon, night; the boy is always ready to go, apparently. And judging from the sounds through the walls? He never leaves anyone unsatisfied either.

Which, like, fine. People fuck. You get it. You’re not judging. You just wish it wasn’t so loud. You have to sleep, for God’s sake. But it’s not like you can knock on a new neighbour’s door and be like hey, I appreciate you have an incredibly active sex life, but can you keep it down, please?

So you’d bit your tongue. You’d gritted your teeth to bear it. You’d still smile at Jimin if you ever passed in the hallway, acknowledged him with a small nod, exchanged pleasantries, all the neighbourly stuff that you’d do with anyone. You’d just invested in some good earplugs and thought that was it.

And then Jimin had started doing his morning yoga routine outside. 

You start each day with a cup of tea on your balcony, watering your hydrangeas and enjoying the dawn sun that lifts up over the horizon alongside your plants. It’s a small, singular moment of quiet in an otherwise dull day and you treasure that serenity.

Well. Treasured. Past tense. Because Jimin has invaded this part of your life, too.

The first time Jimin had unrolled his yoga mat on the balcony adjacent to yours, he’d been dressed in a deceptively unassuming outfit—a loose white t-shirt and leggings that hugged every inch of his calves and thighs and shapely ass, which you had pointedly Not Looked At. He’d tilted his head at you with a smug little smile flickering at the edge of his lips, and when he’d greeted you good morning, you’d responded in turn, even if you were still annoyed at how he’d interrupted your afternoon nap the day before with the sound of his headboard smacking into the wall repeatedly. You were still fairly new neighbours and you still felt like you had to be polite, even if he was starting to fray your nerves.

And then he’d started to bend. 

Now, you’ll be the first to admit that you don’t know much about yoga. But you’d swear Jimin was choosing poses that did the utmost to display his flexibility, the flex of his muscles and twist of his limbs, balancing his body on his arms before easing into a pose that had him bent in two, head towards his toes—and with how he had his back to you this meant you got full glimpse of his ass, straining against his leggings, the way his loose shirt slipped up his body to reveal the lines of his stomach and chest, how his face was still twisted into that little smirk even if it was upside down.

Staring at you.

You’d promptly stopped watering your hydrangeas and walked inside your flat, shutting the sliding door behind you.

Jimin is relentless.

He’s pretty and he knows it. All that shy, new-kid-on-the-block innocence he’d had initially is completely gone, and all he does is flirt, flirt, flirt. He winks at you. Stands a little too close whenever you talk. Lets his eyes flicker down to your lips, trail over every inch of you, lashes fluttering when he catches you watching, unashamed and unabashed. He frequently just… hangs around on his balcony. Not topless, no, but he may as well be, his thotty muscle tees doing nothing to hide him from your eyes.

(The worst thing, though, is when you catch him unawares. When he’s tired and clearly not expecting you to be awake, too, his eyes sleepy and his hair ruffled; a little vulnerable, a lot softer than he usually presents himself. Curled up on the small seat on his balcony with a hot drink in his hand, phone in the other, his screen throwing blue-tinted light over the easing lines of his features.

You wish Jimin was like that all the time. But the second he sees you, his eyes flicker, and his brows lift, and his mouth curls, and once again you rue the day you had a fuckboy move in next door to you.)

It’s not that Jimin isn’t hot. It’s not that you wouldn’t fuck him, either. But you have no interest in being some sort of convenient hook-up for him, purely there by circumstance, fate, whatever you want to call it. You dread to think of him sending you haha wyd x texts whenever he feels like having sex and you just happen to be nearby. So you weather all of his obvious come-ons and swerve him something chronic, even if he seems intent on making his attraction to you obvious.

You’ve been managing it for months. But as time goes on, your patience wears thinner and thinner, an atom-thick layer of fortitude the only thing keeping you from grabbing Park Jimin and kissing him and/or killing him. It doesn’t help that you haven’t fucked for a while now, and you’re reminded of this every time you hear another pornstar moan through the wall (the people Jimin brings home seem to like hamming it up for effect), every time you see another mosaic of hickeys laid across the column of Jimin’s gorgeous throat, every time you see the way his yoga outfits do nothing to protect the delicious shape of his body from your eyes.

You dig your fingers into your palms. It’s fine. It’s okay. You can handle Park Jimin and his overt sexual energy, oozing out of him almost every second of every day.

It’s a little harder to handle how he still seems sweet despite his fuckboy nature. How he picks your parcels up for you. How he lets you use his laundry detergent when you run out. How he lets you keep food in his fridge when yours breaks down and you have to wait for a replacement. How he sheds that fuckboy facade whenever it seems like you genuinely need help, how you’ve heard his soft phone calls through the wall, to his friends, his family, sweet and kind and supportive.

Park Jimin is a multi-dimensional being, for sure, and maybe you sometimes wish he was actually genuinely interested in you as a person and not as a lay, so you could peel back those layers to the lovely core at the centre of his being.

But it’s fine. You can handle this stupid yearning and pining. You can handle the knowledge that Park Jimin is a genuine gentleman who just happens to like fucking, is open in his desire for it, and is apparently Very Good at it. It’s difficult, but you can do it.

You can do it.

The date you set up with someone from Tinder ends up being disappointing and lacklustre. You’d escaped before dessert, unable to put up with one more second of this asshole going on and on about stocks, and investments, and trading, or whatever, cursing the day you’d decided to swipe on him. You’re so sick of your luck (or lack thereof) with guys. (At least the food had been nice.)

Of course Jimin sees you schlepping your way back into your apartment, disappointment obvious in the line of your shoulders and lips; it doesn’t take a genius to clock your date outfit, cute as it is, makeup and hair soft. But the night has barely begun and here you are, stepping back into your flat. Alone. 

“Bad date?” Jimin asks, voice gentle, and you just snort.

“Just like the rest of them,” you reply with a small sigh, before shutting your door quietly behind you, missing the look on your neighbour’s face.

Jimin, to his credit, eases off after this. You’re not sure if it’s due to a misplaced sense of pity or something, but even if he still smiles and flirts lightly with you, it’s less… salacious. Still there, still obvious, just a little softer. You hate how this has you feeling grateful towards him, because he’s still got so many fuckboy tendencies that it should outweigh this gentler side of his flirtation, but your traitorous heart still goes gooey every time Jimin smiles at you.

But then. 

But then.

There’s that fucking peach.

You’re just chilling on your balcony, sipping at a glass of lemonade in the warmth of the afternoon when you hear Jimin’s door sliding open. You flick your eyes over at the sound, watching the way Jimin slips out onto his own balcony, how he throws something up in the air and catches it with ease, a flick of the wrist, a curl of the fingers each time he catches it again.

He hasn’t had any fuckbuddies over for a while. A few weeks, almost a month. It’s the longest Jimin’s gone without having sex for as long as he’s started having people over and you’d been sort of concerned. Which, yeah, you know it sounds super weird when you think about it, especially considering how much you complain about Jimin to your friends—help, my fuckboy neighbour hasn’t fucked anyone in nearly a month so I’m worried if his dick has fallen off or something.

(Well, actually, you know his dick is still attached, based off the little gasps and moans he lets out whenever he pleasures himself in lieu of fucking someone else. You’ll take this secret to the grave but those noises that Jimin lets out have been the melody you use to reach your own peaks, although you’re a lot quieter than he is whenever you touch yourself, biting your lip and muffling the wet sounds of your fingers thrusting into your cunt under layers of blankets. You’d never give Jimin the satisfaction of knowing that the mental image of him fucking into his fist and cumming over his stomach and chest is what throws you over your own edge, toe-curling orgasms that shake through your body in time with Jimin’s own.)

Anyway. He looks loose limbed and relaxed when he saunters into view, utterly unsurprised by your presence behind your window box of hydrangeas, giving you his usual, sultry smile. 

He’s started to ramp up his flirtations again. This smirk is one which you’ve learned not to respond to. You just stare levelly back at him, unimpressed as you start to water your flowers, which does nothing to dissuade him. It never does. He clearly revels in the challenge.

Jimin keeps his eyes locked with yours as he lifts his hand to his lips. You catch a glimpse of what he was throwing and catching—a ripe, flush peach, tiny droplets of water shimmering on its fuzz, freshly washed.

And then he starts to eat it.

The peach yields immediately to the press of his teeth. Juice bursts out of its softness, running down his lips, his chin; he makes no moves to wipe it away, the lewd sound of his slurps as he curls his tongue into the fruit, messy and sweet.

It’s shameless. He’s shameless. His gaze is unwavering as he stares at you, his mouth glistening with the peach’s juices, the only sound the wet smack of his lips and tongue as he licks up the honeyed liquid that drips from his skin, curving around the fruit as he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing.

Water’s been trickling from your small can onto the hydrangeas, cascading over the plants; the soil is waterlogged now, but you haven’t noticed, fixated on the way Jimin is looking at you as he wantonly eats out this peach.

Drip drip, goes the watering can.

Drip drip, goes the peach.

By the time there’s nothing more than the pit in his hand, Jimin is a mess. His fingers and mouth and chin shine with peach juice, eyes dark and heavy as he watches the way you drink the sight of him in, the way his tongue slowly drags over his full lips, catching the sweetness that lingers.

The second he puts his tongue to his fingers to get the stickiness on them, that’s it. You watch the way he sucks his fingers into his mouth and promptly put the watering can down and turn on your heel to walk inside, slamming the balcony door shut behind you.

You’re done. You’re only human. You’ve spent months with Jimin parading himself in front of you, seen the way he contorts his body every morning in an unnecessarily complex sun salutation, listened to the way his voice rises when he cums; the peach is the metaphorical cherry on top, and you’re just. Over. It. 

You hammer your palms against your neighbour's door, rap-rap-rapping on the wood, your blood rising and your heart thudding in your chest, every part of you tense, wound up, pent up. The door swings open to reveal Jimin, his chin still slick with sweet peach, lips curling up in a self-satisfied smile when he sees you.

“Park Jimin.” Your voice shakes and you hate yourself for it, hate the way Jimin’s eyes glitter at the sound, the little hitch in your breath. “You are a fucking menace, you know that?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says. He leans against the doorframe, effortlessly gorgeous, hip cocked, head tilted. He lifts his hand, and there’s a heavy moment of tension as you watch him slowly swipe a thumb over the last remnant of juice on his chin, before his tongue lolls out of his mouth and he licks the final taste of peach from his fingers.

When you grab hold of his collar his expression shifts from something coy into something far more self satisfied, months of his brazen come-ons finally culminating in this—you, shoving him backwards into his apartment, kicking the door shut behind you.

“I swear,” you say. “I swear to God—”

“You swear? I can think of better things you could be doing with your mouth,” Jimin says, and then laughs when you scowl at him. “Damn, you’re so hot when you’re mad.”

“You are infuriating,” you bite out, and Jimin just laughs again, his whole body shaking, every part of him still loose and relaxed even as you continue to tighten your grip on his clothing, feeling every motion of his body under your hands. You hate how pretty he is, even now, utterly unafraid of your frustration—the brightness of his eyes and his smile, that undercurrent to it all, the way his hands slide so smoothly around your waist, your hips, sliding down to grope at your ass.

“I know,” he agrees, still giggling, and then he kisses you.

Jimin dives straight in, no holds barred, and you immediately melt into putty under his touch. He lets out a hum of satisfaction into your mouth as your hands go lax and slide down his chest. You can still taste the peach on his lips, his tongue, licking into his mouth.

You’ve thought about this mouth more times than you’d like to admit: the full swell of his lips, the little curve of his cupid’s bow, how it’d feel pressed against your own, and honestly? It’s so much better than you’d let yourself imagine it to be.

He nips at your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue, and you bite off a gasp when he pulls you forward, grinding against you. You shudder. Jimin’s mouth is a pleased curve against your own before he pulls away, murmuring in your ear in a voice that’s equal parts sultry and sweet.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, kissing the sensitive skin of your jaw just under your earlobe, making you shiver. “Just relax. You’re always so tense.”

“Maybe that’s because my neighbour keeps me up all night,” you say, but your voice is weak, no strength behind your words, breath stolen out of you at the way Jimin starts to trail his lips down your neck, across your throat. “I find that constantly getting my sleep interrupted—oh, oh—”

Jimin sucks at the hollow of your neck, the delicate skin there so sensitive to his touch, the warmth of his lips magnified, every nerve ending alight with pleasure. Your hands have slid into his hair and you unintentionally tighten your grasp, fingers tugging at his dark locks, and Jimin bares his teeth against your skin.

It’s maybe a little embarrassing how wet you are just from a little making out. But after months of Jimin teasing you and putting you on edge, coupled with how long it’s been since you've had sex? You’re allowed to be a little desperate. All the small frustrations you were about to voice die on your tongue, slipping away from you as Jimin starts to walk you backwards with a confidence that shows just how often he’s done this—leading people to his bed, never taking his hands off you.

By the time Jimin eases you to lie down, you feel breathless. He hovers above you with that satisfied smile flickering at the edge of his lips, taking in the sight of you, finally underneath him—lips kiss swollen, exquisite, all the sharp words on your tongue softened and gone, goosebumps trailing down your skin. You tug at his collar, which catches him off guard; he sways forward and almost hits his face against yours, but before he can spend too long looking smug at your desperation you capture his lips again. You melt into the mattress, hooking a foot over his calf and revelling in the weight of him between your legs, your hips flush, and how hard he’s getting through those stupidly tight leggings of his.

When he grinds against you, the outline of his cock pressed up against your cunt, an embarrassing whine leaves your lips and trembles against Jimin’s own. Jimin goes still before pulling away from the open-mouthed kiss and when you see the expression on his face you slap a hand over your mouth, burning with shame.

“Oh.” He sounds delighted. “You’re noisy, huh?”

“Shut up,” you say, though your words are muffled against your palm. He grinds down again, a slow and deep roll of his hips that lets you feel how hard he is, and a noise shudders out the back of your throat, audible around your hand.

“It’s hot.” There’s that little smirk on Jimin’s lovely lips, every inch of him dripping self confidence. He knows how you’re entirely at his mercy, in spite of your words; your voice is weak. “You’re normally so quiet.”

“Some of us try to be considerate and think about our neighbours.”

Jimin just smiles, pulling your hand away from your mouth before gently kissing your palm, a motion that’s surprisingly tender and makes you pause. 

“Trust me.” His voice is low. “I do think about my neighbour.”

Your breath hitches when he slides his free hand under your shirt, trailing his fingers over the softness of your stomach. He pulls the fabric up, letting his gaze rove over the bared skin. The way Jimin looks at you makes you feel like you’re the only woman in the world, like he’s never seen anyone prettier.

You wonder if he looks at his other fuckbuddies like this.

The thought slides away from you as Jimin dips his head and starts to kiss your throat again. You tilt your head back as his lips trail across the soft skin, his hands coming to rest under your breasts, contained as they are by your bra; once he coaxes you to sit up, it only takes him a few moments to strip your upper body, kneeling between your spread legs as he starts to trail his hands over the parts of you that are now bared to him.

“Pretty,” he says. You’d roll your eyes if he didn’t sound so reverent, and also if you weren’t distracted by the way he flicks his thumbs over your hardening nipples, your core clenching as he does, biting your lip to stop yourself from making a sound. A frown flits across Jimin’s face and he lifts one of those thumbs away from your breast, dragging your lip away from your teeth, letting his grasp linger so your lips are parted. “Don’t do that. I've been waiting for months to hear you properly.”

Before you can reply, he kisses you again, licking into your mouth and swallowing down the noise you make when he drags his hand between the valley of your breasts, down your stomach and settling between your legs, running his fingers over your cunt, the feeling dulled by layers of fabric even though he presses with intent. Your hips jolt at the sensation, and Jimin repeats the motion, dragging the fabric across your flushed lips.

“Jimin.” Your voice is a gasp against his mouth, and you can’t keep the pleading out of your tone, desperation bleeding into every letter of your words. “Please.”

He just hums, sounding pleased, and a breath of surprise escapes you as he pushes you back against the pillows. He wastes no time in getting to his prize, drawing a scattered constellation of kisses that trail across your chest, your nipples, your stomach, the line of your hip bones as you lift up so he can pull your shorts and underwear off. You’re entirely naked underneath him, bare and wet, cunt flushed and shining, and Jimin groans at the sight.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, fingers digging into your thighs as he pulls your legs wider. Your cheeks burn as Jimin stares at your pussy, but you can’t help but feel a pulse of self-satisfaction at the visible twitch of his cock in his stupid yoga leggings. “You’re so wet.”

You should probably feel embarrassed, but by now you’ve thrown all your previous inhibition to the winds. You’ve ended up somewhere you’d privately sworn you were never going to—in Park Jimin’s bed, leaned up against his pillows, laid out for him to touch and take and have, every inch of you desperate for it. There’s nothing in your brain or body but arousal and need. So instead of letting out a snip of a remark you just cant your hips towards him, another pleading sound slipping from your lips.

He gives you what you want. He dips his head and trails his lips and tongue down, down, down, wet and hot, until they press against your cunt. He looks at you with the same hooded eyes as earlier, motions of his mouth an echo of his peach eating, sloppy and messy; he’s unabashed in the way he slides his mouth over you, lips slick and tongue hot, sliding over every sensitive inch—sucking your clit, licking your folds, burying his face between your legs and drinking up every sweet drip of your juices. 

You can’t help but make noise. Small gasps that slide into moans of pleasure, hitches in your breath that make your chest jump and your breasts shake; Jimin lets out noises too, muffled against your cunt, sounds that let you know he’s enjoying himself almost as much as you. It’s honestly pretty fucking hot, the way your own pleasure seems to turn him on, how he chases that feeling, eyes blown as he takes in every one of your reactions, repeating the motions that are affecting you the most.

The sight of him between your legs has you tensing. He continues to stare up at you, the curve of your stomach when you bow towards him, the fall of your breasts, which he slides his hands over, cupping them in his palms, pinching your hardened buds, layering sensation on sensation, never taking his mouth off you.

When he presses one finger inside, and then another, both thrusting firm and deep as he mouths at your clit, you tangle a hand into his hair. He watches the way your hips jump from the sensation of his tongue directly on your clit, and does it again, and again, your voice crescendoing from the explosion of sensation, how it’s too much, before he circles his lips around it and sucks messily. Your brain registering nothing but his lips and tongue against you, the hands that are trailing up and down your sides and still skimming across your breasts.

You’re not even aware of the words that are falling from your lips, oh fuck, yes, Jimin, there, oh, the way your grasp tightens in his dark hair, your hips bucking against his mouth as you can feel your orgasm approaching. The pleasure keeps building, flames fanning brighter and brighter as Jimin buries his mouth even further in between your legs, fingers speeding up as you gasp.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you chant, voice getting higher. “I’m gonna cum, I’m cumming, oh—”

Your words slide into a moan as your back arches and your thighs tighten around Jimin’s head and you cum. Jimin continues to finger fuck you through it, your cunt pulsating around him as he keeps licking and sucking at your clit, his gaze fixed on your face as your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth falls open and every line of your body sings of the pleasure that Jimin has given to you. Even when your legs and hips start to jolt from oversensitivity and you cry out at each ripple of his tongue against you, he’s relentless, almost cruel in how he watches you writhe from a mixture of pain and overextended pleasure.

You're sobbing by the time Jimin pulls his mouth away from your cunt, tears pooling in the corner of your eyes, body shaking as you try to suck in air. He thrusts his fingers into you one more time, slow and deep, watching the way you turn your head into the pillow and muffle a gasp against it. 

“I knew you'd look and sound gorgeous when you cum,” he says, and though you feel boneless from your post-orgasm high, you can’t help a little huff escaping your lips. Jimin clearly catches the sound, quiet as it is against the linen of his pillowcase, and takes your chin in his hand to turn his face towards you. His fingers are slick with your arousal, wet against your skin.

“You sound like you’re reading off the script to a porno,” you murmur.

One of his eyebrows arches. “Oh? You don’t think I’m just speaking my mind?” Those fingers move away from your chin and trace over the swell of your bottom lip; you let your mouth fall open and swallow them down, licking the taste of yourself off Jimin’s skin. “You don’t think that I’ve been thinking about how pretty you’d look as I fucked into you, begging for me to let you cum again and again?”

Your tongue stutters against his fingers and your core clenches at his words, the dark undercurrent underneath them, and Jimin’s expression shifts as he notices.

“You really have no idea, do you?” He runs his fingertips over your tastebuds, saliva starting to pool in your mouth, the slide so wet and messy. “Who do you think I picture whenever I touch myself? Who do you think I was wishing was in my bed every time I took someone else home?”

You nip at his fingers, running the edge of your teeth along his knuckles from equal parts surprise and disbelief at his words. You find it impossible to believe that he really means that, but then you realise—recently, on the few occasions you’d bumped into Jimin in the hall when he’d had one of his lays trailing behind him, for as different and unique each of them was, each one of them had shared some sort of trait with you. Hair colour, eyes, the set of their lips, the shape of their face; once, you’d heard a girl giggling through the wall before it had trailed off into a moan, and you’d done a literal double take at how much she’d sounded like you. Similar, but not exactly the same, a slightly off-tone echo of the sound that spills from your own lips whenever you laugh.

And the emptiness in his bed had only started after the night that he’d seen the way you’d trailed into your apartment with discontent heavy around your shoulders, disappointed at that awful Tinder date.

Oh, fuck.

“You’re shameless,” you say, words a little garbled around Jimin’s fingers, but you know he understands.

“No, I’m not,” he replies, a small smirk curling up the corner of his lips. It should be illegal: the way he has such soft features that can turn so quickly into something sharper and entirely sensual, eyes hooded, lips flushed, the column of his throat so lovely and graceful as he tilts his head to one side. “I just know what I want and don’t try to hide it. What’s shameless about that? I know you want me too, but you always deny yourself the things you want. Don’t you?”

You hate that you’ve been so transparent in your attraction to him. Because the truth of the matter is that for as much as Jimin frustrates you with his entire existence, you do want him. After all—you wouldn’t be naked underneath him, still trembling from the aftershocks of a deep orgasm, if you didn’t.

“You’re not always as quiet as you think, you know,” he adds, pulling his fingers out of your mouth and enjoying the way your eyes widen at his words. You thought he couldn’t hear you through the wall, but it seems like you were wrong.

Before you can say anything in reply, though, he grinds down. Without your clothes in the way you can feel the drag of his yoga pants against your cunt, how the wetness of your cum and Jimin’s spit soaks into the fabric, his hard cock hot, and you let out a whine. He still has yet to remove any of his clothes and you want to  see them off so he’s finally naked. You’ve seen enough of his bare skin over the months to have a pretty good idea of what that looks like, but you want to see the real thing.

Jimin seems just as eager to shed his clothes, yielding to your grasping hands and carelessly throwing his top aside; you end up straddling his waist and kissing down his chest in an imitation of his motions earlier, letting your fingers trail over the lean muscle from his yoga and dance. When you tongue at one of his nipples and he gasps, you feel euphoric. He’s unfairly beautiful, from the lovely collarbones to the flex of his shoulders and arms and the line of his chest and stomach, delicate and somehow entirely masculine. You still sort of want to slap him, but settle with kissing the hollow of his neck instead, digging your fingers into his ribs as you roll your hips down against him.

His own hips buck up. You can tell that he’s desperate to be inside you, but you want to taste him first. 

When you slide down his body and settle between his legs, you hook your fingers into the tight waistband of those stupid leggings and tug them down. Jimin hisses through his teeth as you let the material settle just under his hips, baring the top of his briefs to you, how his cock strains against them, the patch of wetness at the head, darkening the fabric.

You don’t strip him. Not completely. You just hook your fingers into those dark blue briefs and pull them down just enough to reveal the flushed head of his cock, wet with precum. You let your tongue flick out to catch that salty bitterness, and Jimin bites off a curse at the almost shy licks you start to lave across his slit, circling around the weeping head.

Hearing Jimin’s gasps without the wall in the way is honestly an experience. Before, whenever he had people over, they usually drowned him out, theatrical wails and groans overpowering his far more natural noises, but now there’s nothing to prevent you from hearing the way his breath hitches in his throat or the way he moans. Even the smallest things have him letting slip sounds, a noise escaping him as you coax him to lift his hips so you can finally, finally peel those leggings and briefs off, dragging over the hardness of his cock as you do. You want to take in the sight of him fully naked, give it the proper attention it deserves, but then you feel his cock throb in your hand and you can’t stop yourself from immediately lowering your mouth to it again.

His whole body shudders. You let your jaw fall open as you take him in, tongue curling around him, hands touching every part of him that isn’t in your mouth, making sure there’s no part of  him that isn’t receiving attention. His eyes are wide under the mess of his fringe, hair falling over his forehead as he watches the way you run your lips down the side of his cock before sucking one of his balls into your mouth, circling his length with your hands, a twisting rise and fall in the motion as you drink down the noise of surprised pleasure that drops from his lips.

Jimin’s fingers have been tangled in your hair but he lets you control the flow. The sounds of you swallowing him down into your mouth as you bob your head are obscene, wet and messy, but you can still hear how his voice starts to rise, how his fingers tighten against your scalp, and you know he’s close when he tugs you upwards and drags your lips away from his cock. 

Jimin pulls you towards him and you settle against his chest as you start to kiss again, shivering at the way he rolls his tongue in your mouth. This time when Jimin rolls his hips, there’s nothing between your skin and his, dragging the underside of his cock across your flushed lower lips, the slide between your folds and against your clit making you shiver.

“Condoms?” 

You’re breathless, and Jimin quirks a smile at you.

“Top drawer,” he answers. Of course they would be, in easy reach whenever he needs them. 

You lean forwards to reach for the bedside table and Jimin takes the opportunity to circle a hand around your breast and capture a nipple in his mouth, ignoring the way you bite back a surprised noise, staring up at you with almost innocent eyes as he sucks at your skin in the way he’s worked out that you like best. Your hands are a fumble as you pull a condom out of the pack, ripping the sachet away from the others, a bottle of lube rolling into your grasp. You try to focus on your task and not the sensation of Jimin switching attention to your other breast, cupping the swell of flesh in his hand and drawing his teeth gently across your skin.

“You’re insatiable,” you mutter, and Jimin laughs before he kisses between your breasts. 

“I’ve been wanting to fuck you since we first met,” he says, utterly unrepentant. “I don't want to take my mouth off you.”

“Insatiable,” you repeat, but you’re flustered. Even if you know he’s not lying, and you’re naked and straddling his hips, the taste of his lips and cock now familiar on your tongue, it’s… kind of incredible to think that the gorgeous Park Jimin has been lusting after you for that long. 

Or lusting after you at all, really.

But as you tear the foil of the condom, the look he levels at you is burning with desire, roaming over you, every inch of your nakedness, every movement of your body. His hands rest at your waist, thumbs rubbing over your skin as you hold his cock in one hand and roll the condom down with the other, letting your fingers circle his length, dragging your touch over the heat of him and revelling in the way he twitches. As much as you’ve thought of Jimin as a fuckboy, you know that he wouldn’t lie just to get someone in his bed, so as unbelievable as his words are, every single one of his actions backs up what he’s said: he wants you.

You don't notice how soft his gaze is as you take time to warm the lube in your hands, even though you’re desperate to feel him finally slide home. You've always been so considerate, even when he knows you've been frustrated at him, and that's evident now, in this small thing.

You spread the warmed lube over his covered cock, pumping it in your hand to get him slick and ready, loving the way he hisses though his teeth. He has to stop his hips from bucking up as you line his cockhead up with your entrance, his fingers digging into your sides as you hover in place.

“Come on,” Jimin urges. “Give it to me.”

“Insatiable,” you repeat, one last time, then you bend your knees.

You finally ease yourself down and onto his cock. You both let out moans; Jimin, finally feeling the wet heat of you around him, and you, falling into the sensation of him stretching you open, snug inside you, slowly splitting you open as you take him in, inch by inch, until you’re sitting on his hips and he’s fully buried in your cunt.

It’s been a while since you’ve had someone inside you. You grind downwards, rolling your hips, biting your lip at the sensation. Jimin’s chest expands as he sucks in a sharp breath, and you roll your hips again, a hand bracing on one of his lovely, thick thighs, the other resting just under his stomach as you lean back and arch your spine. You lift your hips, easy and slow, and then fall, Jimin’s cock dragging and pressing against your inner walls, a gasp shuddering out of your lips at the electric feeling.

Again and again, noises of pleasure drip from your mouth as you ride him, head tilting back at the sensations rippling through your body and across your skin, the apartment full of the sounds of your sex—the moans, the wet thrust of Jimin’s cock into your cunt, the praise that falls from his lips, months of feeling pouring from his lips. How pretty you are, how gorgeous, how well you’re taking his cock, how wet and tight you are around him; all the things he’s been thinking about, come to life, his hips snapping into yours as a sharp cry cuts through your lips at the sudden change of pace.

The pleasure’s been steadily building between your legs again, warm and unrushed, but then Jimin flips you without warning, fluid and graceful. Your eyes are wide as you end up on your back, Jimin’s hands braced either side of your head as he looks down at you with those dark, dark eyes of his. He thrusts forwards and your hands fly up to grab at him, your entire body shifting up the mattress at the force of his movements. His eyebrows are drawn together as he starts to drive himself into you, unapologetic in how aggressive he’s being, each thrust pushing the air out of your lungs in harried little gasps that shake the air between you.

The sound of his headboard slamming into the wall, a noise that’s been haunting you each time you’ve been trying to sleep or relax, is one you don’t even register. All you can think about is Jimin, Jimin, Jimin, caught up in the way there’s sweat beading across his forehead, strands of his dark hair sticking to it, the intense look in his eyes, the way his full lips are parted, small ah-ah-ahs falling from his lips in time with his thrusts, your body tightening around him each time he slides home.

You can’t remember the last time you were fucked this good. Jimin reads the language of your body with ease, knowing exactly when to lean back and trail a hand over your hips, circling his thumb over your swollen clit, the slide over that bundle of nerves messy from the mix of cum and lube and spit that’s laid slick across you. Each fluid roll of his hips is perfectly timed with the press of his thumb, your thighs going tense and your pussy clenching around Jimin’s hot cock as you start to reach another peak of pleasure.

“Cum for me, baby.” Jimin sounds breathless. “Let me see how pretty you are when you cum around my cock.”

Normally dirty talk seems so ham-handed and stuttering, but the words fall out of Jimin’s lips  as natural as breathing, thoughtless. Stirring your arousal even further. He’s gripping your hips, pulling you down each time he presses up, and you circle your fingers around his wrist as his other hand is occupied with rubbing at your most sensitive part, tightening your hold as you feel another orgasm approaching.

“Jimin.” Your voice is a keen. “I'm so close, please, there, right there, theretherethere—”

You can't blame Jimin's other partners for being so noisy. The sound you let out is just as loud, maybe even louder, Jimin continuing to snap his hip forwards as you cum hard, a drawn out moan that crescendos as you pulsate around Jimin's cock, still hard inside you. He watches the way you writhe beneath him, tangling his fingers with yours when you reach for him and swallowing the end of your moan in a surprisingly sweet kiss, his lips gentle against yours as he slows to a stop before you become too sensitive.

Your voice is a quiet murmur against his lips. “How have you not cum yet?”

His eyes squeeze into a smile as he laughs, light and bright, the sound so sweet. “I've got stamina for days, darling,” he says, oozing that trademark arrogance you’ve gotten used to.

You clench as hard as you can around him and feel smug when he bites off a shocked curse, his smug facade broken. You can’t help but laugh at his expression, scandalised at it is, though your giggle cuts into a gasp when he pinches one of your nipples and then soothes it with his thumb. He seems amused by the look on your face and then laughs in turn, the two of you dissolving into laughter that’s edged with pleasure, your motions shifting his length inside you.

When the laughter trails off, Jimin stays smiling down at you. You draw your hands over his body, tracing all that smooth skin, and he touches the back of your hands with gentle fingers. There's a beat of silence but it's not an uncomfortable one, the air light after your shared giggles. It's… really nice. It's nice and soft and sweet, just like the expression on Jimin's face, tender, even if he's still buried inside you.

You feel so empty when he slips out, already missing the thickness of his cock when it seems as though he’s about to coax you to roll onto your front. Your hands are still linked with his and you tighten your fingers, making him pause.

“I want to see your face,” you confess quietly. It’s probably too much to ask of him but you feel like if you’re turned away from each other then you’ll feel like nothing more than a fucktoy. Just another warm body in Jimin’s bed. You don’t want that.

Jimin stares at you, surprise written across his features before his expression softens. 

"Okay, baby," he murmurs indulgently. The small pet name sounds so sweet in his mouth. "We can stay like this."

He lets your hands go so that he can reach for a pillow that ends settled under your ass, tilting your hips up towards him. You’re not as flexible as he is—maybe you should start doing yoga too—but Jimin doesn’t push you far, hitching your legs up and draping your calves over his shoulders, leaning towards you so that the back of your thighs are warm against his chest. He's bent forward, face hovering above yours, so much skin-on-skin contact that your entire body feels warmed by him.

When he slides back in, you can feel the change in angle immediately. The head of his cock brushes over your g-spot and you suck in a sharp breath; Jimin notices, of course, aiming to hit it again, and again.

It feels good, of course. Amazing. But as much as you’d be happy for Jimin to make you cum again, you’d rather see him fall apart. 

You dig your nails into his shoulder blades, turning your head so you can press kisses along the line of his jaw, murmuring into his ear.

“Are you going to let me see you cum?” 

Jimin’s hips stutter as your words curl out of your mouth, warm against his skin. You’ve been picturing Park Jimin’s o-face for an endless amount of weeks and you’re ready to finally see the real thing.

“Cum on me,” you say, and then choke in a sob of air as Jimin responds with a sharp snap of his hips. “I want you to cum on me, Jimin, please.”

Your begging is shameless and you know it. Jimin’s face is so close to yours in this position and you can see how blown his pupils are, how his mouth is flushed from your kisses and how he’s been biting at them, his teeth digging into his lip as he starts to get faster, sloppier in his thrusts. It feels so good to know that you’re making him feel like this, that he’s reaching the peak of his pleasure with his body against yours, inside you, above you; he might have had other people in this position in the past, but right now it’s you who’s making Park Jimin come apart. 

You urge him onwards with large, pleading eyes, rocking down on his cock each time he thrusts forward, begging the whole time. Pleading for him to cum, to give it to you, to cover you. Jimin obviously likes you loud and desperate, and you're more than willing to give him what he wants.

He slips out of you, fumbling with the condom and carelessly tossing it aside before he starts to pump his cock, hungry to reach his peak as he fucks into his fist. You let your legs fall open as you watch the way his body tenses, his brows drawn together and little breaths falling out of his mouth, barely audible over the wet slide of his cock in his hand. You run your hands over your body, across the swell of your breasts, down your stomach, dipping between your legs, trying to look as arousing as possible, anything to throw Jimin over the edge.

"I've imagined you cumming for months," you confess, words thoughtlessly falling from your lips. "On me, inside me, in my mouth—"

Park Jimin’s o-face is just as gorgeous as the rest of him.

You love how noisy he is. He paints your stomach with his cum, ropes of white spattering across the soft skin of your stomach and hips as he rides out his orgasm, moaning as he continues to milk his twitching cock. It’s so fucking hot, honestly, as is the expression on his face when you swipe your fingers through his cum and lift it to your lips, mouth filled with salt and warm.

“Fuck.” He’s breathless, panting. “You’re unbelievable.”

You let out a small scoff, but it’s edged with affection. “Says the man who was ready to fuck me six ways to Sunday,” you say. “If anyone’s the unbelievable one here, it’s you.”

“I can last longer, but you’re just so hot,” Jimin says. You respond by curling your fingers at him, beckoning him towards you, and you end up sharing a series of messy kisses. 

You were, honestly, genuinely angry when you'd stepped into his apartment earlier, even if that irritation had been rounded out with arousal and desire. Now, though, you feel thoroughly boneless and content, loose limbed on Jimin's mattress, his lips and tongue moving against your own.

He leans too far forwards and smears his own cooling cum against his stomach. He doesn’t seem bothered, though. You’re the one who has to coax him to clean up, though with the way he looks at your still naked body, you know he would happily launch straight into a second round of fucking so he can add more cum to the canvas of your skin.

He really is insatiable, apparently, when it comes to you.

Even so, you wonder if Jimin’s going to kick you out now that he’s finally had a taste of you. He doesn't. He keeps you close, your body pressed against his side in a way that feels far more intimate than you would have expected.

“Are you hungry?” Jimin breaks the soft silence.

You’ve been trailing nonsensical patterns over his chest but pause when he says this. “Hm?”

“Are you hungry?” Jimin repeats, and there’s a cheeky smile flickering at the edge of his lips. “I have some more peaches in the fridge, if you’d like one.”

“That peach.” Your voice is an embarrassed hiss and your cheeks burn, but Jimin just laughs, boyish and bright as you slap halfheartedly at him. “That was just unfair. Who eats fruit like that?”

“Someone who’s trying to make it obvious that he’s imagining the peach is his neighbour’s pussy instead.” He’s so brazen. “And it clearly worked, didn’t it?”

It had worked. It's annoyingly effective, actually; thinking about the way Jimin had been staring at you as he tongue fucked that peach has arousal shooting through you, even after being so thoroughly fucked by him.

“Yeah, now you’ve had me,” you say. “What do you plan to do next?”

Jimin goes quiet. You wonder if you’ve misstepped, but then he sweeps his hand down the curve of your spine, goosebumps appearing in the wake of his touch.

“I was planning on asking if you wanted to go out for lunch,” he says, his voice so sweet, miles away from the fuckboy persona he usually puts on. This is the softer Park Jimin that you’ve caught glimpses of when he’s unaware, the side of him you wished he’d show more often—revealed to you, now. “Then, if you said yes, I was going to take you out on a date. If that date went well, then I was going to ask if you’d like to go on another one with me. And then another.”

One thing you know about Park Jimin is this: he doesn’t do dates. Each of his lays are one time affairs, no attachments made, no real connection beyond the physical act of sex. Your heart rate picks up.

“Obviously we’d fuck between dates,” he adds, raising his eyebrows at you in a way that’s so exaggerated that it makes you laugh. Of course. Jimin likes to fuck. “Unless you didn’t want to, but there are only so many peaches I can eat, you know?”

“So if I said I didn't want to fuck, and you ran out of peaches, what would you do?” 

Your question seems casual and light but Jimin isn't stupid. He knows what you're really asking. Is he genuinely interested in something more exclusive, or would you just become another notch in his bedpost if he grew tired of waiting for you to spread your legs again?

"I can always buy more peaches."

You stare at him. He's looking at you levelly, a small smile on his face that's a little cocky but mostly warm. And, well, you know he's already gone without other partners for you, even before he'd gotten you in his bed. Park Jimin is serious about you, it seems. He'll wait.

You mouth at his collarbones, tasting the salt of sweat as you kiss and lick at his skin.

"After lunch, we can go back to my apartment, if you want," you whisper against his throat.

Just because Jimin's willing to wait doesn't mean you're going to force him to, especially as you're still as hungry for him as he is for you. 

His hands squeeze your sides as you end up kissing again. You feel soft and ripe and sweet, easing under the touch of Jimin's hands and mouth.

"I still think you're a fucking menace, though," you add, and Jimin laughs so hard the bed shakes, still utterly unrepentant and entirely yours.

--

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​ 

[solomons-cooking]

Camping with an Outdoorsy MC: Date-ables/Brothers Headcanons

I got inspired by my post about Mammon liking the outdoors (link)

I also love to camp, its what my summer consists of.

As for everything with me, this is self-indulgent

Lucifer:

Type: Cabin

Would rather eat Solomons cooking than wear a flannel

Complete Dad energy

Brings everyone toothbrushes, towels, and amenities

Wants to show off that he can light a fire without magic (he does it with magic and thinks that he fooled everyone)

Loves the sound of the babbling creek

Drinks too much

Lights off fireworks, i imagine him just laughing the whole time, and drunk stumbling to light them

Likes to watch the sun rise

Is the first one awake, but lets everyone sleep in

★

Mammon

Type: Cabin/tent

Actually VERY skilled at outdoors stuff

Lights a fire without magic

Loves to go on walks

Wants to spend as much time with MC as possible (including sneaking in their tent at night)

Hiking/mountain climbing enthusiast

Loves lightening bugs (doesnt harm them)

Loves the idea of being with you by the fire, under the stars

Lights off fireworks with Luci and its v wholesome

An idea: mammon in cargo pants

Has a multitool and uses it

★

Levi

Type: Glamping pod

“Camping is for Normies”

(Secretly doesn't mind)

The lake nearby has water creatures!

Wants to get Henry 2.0 a friend: Lucifer says no

Has his streaming set up in the pod

Pod MUST be temperature regulated

Only comes out at night

^^ UNLESS its swimming time!

References Animal Crossing

Takes MC swimming in his demon form; they find lots of cool things (you know those videos of like stuff you find in the river/lake that people lose? i love those videos idk)

★

Satan:

Type: Hammock

Also brings earplugs

Read book in hammock like a cutie-pie

Looks at stars in hammock with said book like a cutie-pie

Thinks his brothers antics are amusing while camping

*zen satan*

Has a book about botany and asks MC to go on a hike and learn

Pranking Lucifer is priority

Brings a multitool but doesnt use it (just for show)

★

Asmo:

Type: Glamping pod

His camping clothes are hella cute

Like asmo in a light colored flannel with a turtleneck? Fnewnfwf

Would LOVE to cuddle under the stars

He actually decorated his pod (you know we are only staying here for like 2 nights right?)

Takes pictures. Of. Everything.

Complains

Asks MC to go skinny dipping in the lake nearby ( a cute and relaxing moment )

Gathers wildflowers and makes him and mc a crown (Simeon too since he also helped gather)

★

Beel:

Type: Tent, next to Belphie

Gathers firewood, brings a whole tree back

Has his own cooler for his food

Tries to use a fishing rod, just grabs a fish out of the river with his hands

Mega macho beel

Takes MC and Mammon on a mountain hike

He takes walks with Belphie a lot, sometimes they would just sit on a rock and talk.

He brings stuff for s'mores! (he isnt very patient so someone will have to make them for him)

★

Belphie:

Type: Hammock

Sets up a makeshift “star viewing room” (bed sheets between trees, soft lights, all the bedding and pillows ( all bug repellent )

Sleeps practically all day so he can stay up all night and stargaze

Lets Satan stargaze with him, you, and beel.

Tries to do some outdoor activity like hiking or fishing with beel, but he gets injured???

Frequently takes walks with Beel, just bonding walks and enjoying eachothers company

^^ My heart. I think they do that canon tho, like take walks and have bro bonding time wfkjfffhf

★

Diavolo:

Type: Tent

Excited kid energy

Wants to experience human world camping

Family bonding!!!!

Tries to implement the “no magic allowed rule”

Hates his tent, sleeps with luci in his cabin

Thinks the crayfish are neat (accidentally stepped on one (it lived ))

Messiest smore eater in all the 3 realms (how did he get it in his hair??)

Tells embarrassing stories of Lucifer but follows up with stories of amazing things that Luci has done

★

Barbatoes:

Type: ???

Knows what's in store and questions your sanity

Hates this

Wants to leave (he portals back to the devildom)

He literally left

(he makes a quick appearance to aid simeon in gathering flowers/roots/bark for tea!)

★

Solomon:

Type: Tent

Fucker knows how to camp

Brings the bare minimum to survive

Knows a lot about foraging for food

Goes on mushroom hunts and its really cute

Tries to cook /rip

^^^Ends up making fireworks that luci and mammon use later

Likes the campfire smell (i imagine this is what solomon smells like 60% of the time anyway)

★

Simeon:

Type:Cabin

Afraid of bugs

Doesn't really care for camping, only came bc MC and Luci

Loves wildflowers and starts to gather some for MC (Barb appears for this to help)

Brings board games!!!!!!! (jenga gets pretty rough)

Teaches MC how to skip stones on a lakes surface

Imagine- being outdoors with Simeon and his shoulders in the sunlight and his eyes and his smile weoifhiefhweofhw

★

[possessivedesires]

Can I ask for a really specific prompt? I'm on the autism spectrum and I'm extremely sensitive to sounds - my worst Bad Sound is people yelling, especially for extended periods of time. I just kind of shut down and almost do the thousand-yard stare thing? If people bother me I'll stick to the shortest replies possible, and if they bother me for too long I get angry.

So like. Yandere Bakugo and kidnapped Y/N who reacts to shouting just as badly as I do. Y/N is like, shy and quiet most of the time. They more or less behave, but won't speak more than one or two words at a time. Maybe they've politely requested once or twice that Bakugo stop screaming so much and he brushes it off.

Until Y/N snaps one day and screams right back. Basically, they get as nasty and mean as I get when I'm mad.

How did he stalk them all that time and not realize how they react to shouting? Did he not notice that on bad days, they hate even having to use their own voice? Can't he speak to them at a normal volume like every other human being? Or at least give them something to puncture their eardrums with, if he really can't be bothered to exercise some basic self-control? Does he actually care about them, or are they a joke to him?

And also they've been like, throwing any relatively light object they can get ahold of at Bakugo. Think near-empty water bottles and paperback novels. Basically, they react the way I always want to react when I'm at my breaking point, but have the self-control not to (mostly).

How does it end? I'd like to think Bakugo takes the hint, finally, and at least tries to shout less around Y/N. Maybe buys them some earplugs, some noise-canceling headphones and a CD player/other music playing device that doesn't connect to the internet.

The one thing Katsuki wasn't expecting was to get a water bottle to the face. He had a shitty day, having to hear about people worrying about your disappearance. Especially from f/n, the person who had a crush on you.

It pissed Katsuki off, the possessive anger boiling under his skin. He hated the thought of f/n worrying over you. So he exploded when he got home, not hearing the soft pleas of you asking to keeping it down.

He was oblivious to your mood shifting the longer he yelled about. The final straw was when he slammed his palm against the table surface with his quirk activating. That was when he was hit in the face with a water bottle in his head.

Blood red eyes looked up at the feeling, your fist clenched around the paper back novel in your hand. "YOU FUCKING IDIOT! I ASKED AND ASKED AND ASKED AGAIN!"

You screamed at him, throwing the novel in your hand and Katsuki managed to dodge it this time. His eye twitched, giving you an annoyed look. "I am not in the mood for you being a brat right now Y/n!"

"FOR SOMEONE WHO CLAIMS TO KNOW EVERYTHING IS THE FUCKING BEST YOU'RE NOTHING! AFTER EVERYTHING YOU CLAIMED?! ARE YOU REALLY THAT BLIND?!"

You screamed back, trying to get through his thick skull of how much his loud yelling hurt you. But he never listened to you before... Why did you have to raise your voice back to understand? Why did you have to stoop to his level to get your point across? You hated it... "Was I really a joke to you?"

You whispered, Katsuki snapping his head up to look at you. His eyes widened and he quickly moved across the room; grabbing onto your shoulders. "What the hell are you talking about you?"

"You bragged about how you stalked me and knew everything good for me?" You asked, looking up at him. He nodded, thumbs brushing under your eyes to get rid of your tears. "Then how you could you be so idiotic to continue yelling?"

"What's wrong with me yelling?" He asked, confused. You hung your head at hearing that, sniffling at hearing that and Katsuki cringed. Knowing that he fucked up and lowered to sit on the floor with you. "Here, talk to me teddy bear. Explain it to me, I'm listening."

You looked up at him, seeing if he really was before explaining everything to him. He listened intently to you, nodding along as he was already planning everything.

He started off with keeping his voice down around you, giving you noise cancelling headphones and once he trusted you- your own phone that was connected to music to listen to. Whenever he felt like he wanted to blow off his anger and knew he would yell; he would warn you beforehand and kiss your temple. Letting you watch anything on his tablet and leave to the home gym to let out his frustrations.

He would work with you from then on, wanting to make sure you were always happy with him. Though he spent the next week everyday making for being an idiot. Flowers, romantic gestures, your favorite dishes. But he wouldn't admit it out loud it was because he was sorry.

[pocket-stars]

Things I used to love that I can’t love anymore (even though I want to) because of hyperacusis/extreme noise sensitivity:

Fireworks shows. I used to love them, I’d go to see every one of them that I could, I loved the sound and loved the way the explosions could be felt through your body. Last time I ended up somewhere near one, I was sobbing and wailing it hurt so bad. If the same amount of pain could be replicated with a physical wound, I would die before anyone had the chance to call an ambulance

Thunderstorms. Were my favorite weather for a while. Now whenever it even gets cloudy or rainy, I start feeling on edge. Each crack of thunder feels like my head is being stabbed through

Roller coasters / amusement park rides. The speed of most rides could easily rip my headphones off of my head, and I’ve even lost earbuds on a few. Besides, the wind and the screaming and the rattling of the coasters are so loud and close up that ear protection doesn’t help

Swimming. I cannot go underwater with headphones, my good earplugs are not waterproof, and my waterproof earplugs are not enough to keep me comfortable. I am now horrified of water

Boating. I get so worried about the wind pulling my headphones off and into the water, and it’s way too loud anyways

I don’t know any sort of term for these two things in particular, but I used to love tubing and kneeboarding on the lake. But even if I somehow managed not to get soaked from that, both of those experiences typically ended in falling into the lake. Besides, there’s no way my headphones or earbuds wouldn’t be lost in that wind

Walking in a downpour without an umbrella so I can feel the raindrops

Sitting on the beach. It’s too windy

Driving with the windows down in the summer. Too windy.

Sleeping with a fan/music on. No matter how soft the music is, if it’s not coming through my headphones it feels uncomfortable, and if it is coming through my headphones I can’t lay down on my side, and if I’m not laying down on my side I can’t sleep. Fan is too loud without headphones too.

Sleeping with the windows open. The crickets and frogs are too loud. The cars are too loud. In the morning the birds are too loud.

Seeing movies in theaters with friends. Even movies with no loud sequences are still too loud because that’s just how movie theaters are. There is a single theater near me that plays movies at a volume I can actually adjust to, but it’s owned by a family, has one screen, and only shows one movie at a time, and usually doesn’t have any of the ones I want to see

Things I wish my parents actually cared about when I was younger:

I screamed and cried and tried to run away and hide and attack my parents when they tried to use a blow dryer on my hair. It hurt so bad, and they kept dismissing me because I was a child.

I ran away from the vacuum, and whenever anyone tried to teach me how to use it, I’d cry the moment it got turned on and I’d run away. It hurt.

I was scared of thunderstorms. Kids are often scared of thunderstorms. My family told me “It’s not going to hurt you” and I’d say “It’s hurting me right now.”

The small honk of a car locking made me sob.

When I could manage, I’d completely stifle my wailing when I cried, because it hurt.

My parents yelling at me hurt mentally, of course, but I hardly could process what they were saying because of the ear pain. I begged them not to yell at me because it hurt me PHYSICALLY. They told me I deserved it

Exposure to painful noise makes hyperacusis worse. I can’t imagine how much more comfortable I could be if my parents acknowledged my hearing sensitivity at any age rather than just swearing at me and forcing me not to wear my headphones. They did not listen until I got diagnosed with hyperacusis when I was 17. They still don’t really listen.

If all of that’s not bad enough, it it illegal for me to drive.

It’s against the law for anyone to drive with headphones, earbuds, or earplugs. A hyperacusis diagnosis does not free you from this law. Law enforcement is worried that people won’t be able to hear their surroundings and respond to emergency vehicles or alerts from other cars.

People drive with music on so loud that you can feel it vibrating your car halfway down the street. There is no limit to how loud music can be

People can make and respond to phone calls through the dashboard of many cars and have conversations with people with both hands on the wheel

Many states allow people to use their phones to look at maps while driving

People with hearing impairments to any degree- including people who are 100% deaf- are allowed to drive.

Noise is painful. Driving without ear protection is painful. Driving with ear protection should be a right for people with hyperacusis.

[honeytae]

Happiest of tipsy birthdays to you.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LUNA!!!!! ahh where do i even start, i’m so grateful for you and our friendship :( you create such a safe space and radiate such love and light, you deserve everything that you put out into the world and i hope you have the best day today and every day! i love you so much, please accept my gift of a jimin drabble (that i really should just title ‘For Luna’ honestly) and millions of virtual hugs and smooches today. happy birthday @stayjimin!!!!!!!!!

genre: fluff word count: 1.7k

“Oh my god Jimin, we’re so screwed.” 

Falling into the man with a cackle, you laughed even harder when he too fell over in his unsteady state, tugging you down with him onto the set of stairs as your combined giggles echoed off the walls. 

Your head spun in the best way possible as you laid down on Jimin’s chest, far too gone to care about the dirt on the floor of the dorms stairway, both drunkenly collapsed from your birthday night out. 

You couldn’t remember how many shots you’d taken. It was, as they say, all a blur. All you could see was Jimin on that dance floor, switching between sensual moves to downright idiocracy as he shimmied his shoulders all the wall from the bar back to your booth, offering you drink after drink with that charming smile of his.

Damn him.

With your blood alcohol level, walking seemed to be impossible. Doing stairs, even more so. You were definitely well past tipsy. 

“We really are.” He sighed happily, crescent eyes making you even dizzier in your state as you stared at the man’s beautiful features. 

He always got especially giggly when he was drunk, which was probably what you adored the most about him. Consistently happy when he was sober, yes. But get a shot of tequila in his system and he was giddy. 

His body was soft yet firm beneath you as his arms latched around your frame, the rising and falling of his chest creating a calm within you that only he could.

“Chim,” you called, “we have to get up these stairs.” You remembered suddenly, setting your chin on his pec to look up at him as he seemed to ponder the thought.

“We could call Bang-”

With a snort, you cut him off, making the man pout as he squeezed at your side.

“What?”

“We’re not calling your manager to get our drunk asses up the stairs.” You said, bewildered at the thought as Jimin only shrugged with a grin.

You were drunk, but you weren’t that drunk.

“C’mon, I’m getting tired.” You tried to lift yourself off his body, only to falter slightly on your way up as you tried to complete the action too fast.

Jimin easily caught you in his arms even in his altered state, chuckling slightly as you gripped his bicep for support, subtly feeling up the muscle he’d built there with no shame present in your buzzed mentality. 

“Hm, these are nice.” You commented as you squeezed the hard tissue again, Jimin throwing his head back in laughter at your unabashed praise. 

“Thank you, dove.” He replied, the pink on his cheeks from the alcohol increasing at your words. Before you could make any other moves on his body, he began slowly guiding you to sit up with him before rising to his feet again with a grunt. 

Offering his hand down to you, you missed it twice, the vodka messing with your head more than you’d like to admit as you finally gripped onto his fingers. With his opposite hand resting on the railing beside him for support, (he’d learned his lesson last time that it was hard to get up from the ground with seven shots down the hatch), he pulled you up from the ground with little to no help from your weakened body, pulling you into his side with an accomplished sigh.

Softly smiling over at you, he squeezed your hand in his, lifting them together and wordlessly throwing your arm around his shoulder.  

Even though he had consumed just as much alcohol as you did, he found it much easier to level out his swaying than you, speech significantly clearer despite the lack of difference between the amounts of alcohol you’d drank. 

You’d always been a lightweight. 

After pointing this fact out, Jimin giggled fondly once again, making you grin over at him as you studied his face through your bleariness.

“You’re worse than Hobi-hyung.” He pointed out with a teasing nudge of his elbow, his words causing you to gasp in genuine offense as the man beside you laughed once more. 

“Okay, my little leightweight. Let’s go.” 

Although the next few sets were challenging, somehow you finally managed to reach the boys’ floor, both of you giggling and stumbling all the way to their front door with cheeks aflame from both your alcohol intake and intense struggle up the stairs. 

Propping you up between the door frame and his shoulder, Jimin raised his other arm to pound on the door, repeating the set several times before whining when his knocks went unanswered for the umpteenth time.

“Fuck, can they not hear us?”

“I think the whole city can hear us.” You commented absentmindedly, eyes widening in pleasant surprise as Jimin leaned into you again with drunken giggles escaping his mouth. With a sigh, he reached into his jean pocket for his phone to dial what he thought to be Namjoon’s number.

With the number immediately going to voicemail, Jimin’s shoulders deflated a bit, tapping his fingers against the screen to send a message to the groupchat.

“Is it possible that they have the world’s biggest earplugs?” He huffed, banging his fist against the door again before his eyes widended when he heard the sound of shuffling from the other side. 

Knocking his fist harder against the wood, Jimin determinedly kept up his actions, you leaning your head on his shoulder while chuckling at the man’s antics. You’d surely hear about this from Yoongi in the morning. 

“Jimin?” 

The deep voice from behind the door was immediately recognizable of Taehyung’s familiar drawl, a slight rasp in his uncertainty of who the hell was banging down the door so late - well, early - in the morning. 

“Taetae! Hey!” Jimin shouted into the peephole, said man whipping the door open almost immediately to shush him, swollen eyes giving away that he’d most likely been in a deep sleep when you two had begun your ruckus outside the door. 

“Shh, Jimin. People are trying to sleep.” He whispered, both you and Jimin nodding wide-eyed as you stifled grins at the parent-like scolding. 

Taehyung looked over you both for a moment, sighing at the dirt from the stairs imprinted on Jimin’s black jeans. He could only imagine how you two had gotten home.

“You guys are idiots,” he shook his head, “And you should’ve called me. Come on.” He ordered, one hand cemented to the top of Jimin’s spine and the other one laid on the back of your shoulder to guide you both into the apartment.

“Is everyone sleeping?” Jimin whispered, Taehyung humming in confirmation as he led you both down the silent hallway, every single bedroom door shut snugly as the members slept behind them. 

Your hand was still miraculously caught up in your boyfriends even as Tae pushed you both to the door of Jimin’s bedroom, fingers locked around each other to ground yourselves even when the world around you was spinning so intensely. 

Jimin’s steps were slower than normal, as were yours due to the amount of alcohol flowing through your bloodstream, and his movements were stalled as he approached his door. Wrapping his fingers around the doorknob took concentration and extra effort, but he managed to twist the door open, almost falling flat on his face when the door gave way beneath his hold. 

“Christ, Jimin.” Taehyung swore under his breath, grabbing the man underneath his bicep to pick him up to stand on his own two feet again. Jimin only breathed a chuckle in response as you bit down on your lip, Taehyung’s obvious frustration with your drunken foolishness making the situation much funnier than it’d already be. 

“C’mon, guys. Keep it movin’.” Tae ushered you both in front of him, giggling all the way as you let yourselves be blindly guided by his hands. 

“Tae, I’m really trusting you right now. I don’t know where the bed-” you paused suddenly as you bumped into an object with your thigh, reaching your hands out to find the plush mattress beneath your touch, “hey, that was fast.”

Taehyung couldn’t help but let out a snort at your words, shaking his head as he directed you two to the bed, pulling his eyebrows together with a whine when Jimin began audibly unzipping his jeans.

“Yah, don’t strip with me in here!”

Grunting in response, Jimin tossed his pants on the ground, meeting your eyes with a laugh as you crawled onto the bed. 

“I’m not sleeping in jeans, you freak.” He mumbled, sass rolling off his tongue even in his now increasingly sleepy state, Taehyung scoffing in response yet nevertheless grabbing a blanket from the end of the bed to cover you both in.

With a directing nod of his friend’s head, Jimin collapsed onto the bed with a chuckle, you following the man as he tugged on your hand to pull your body on top of him. You both sighed in content as Taehyung threw the blanket over your bodies, the air conditioning in the room causing a brisk chill to raise bumps on your arms.

“Do you guys need water, pain meds?” Taehyung asked, pausing at the bottom of the mattress to answer any requests from the two groggy bodies in front of him. 

“No, we’re great.” Jimin sang, laugh erupting out of his nose as he glanced up to view his friends thoroughly annoyed expression. 

“Sorry we woke you up, Taehyungie.” He said, the pout evident in his voice as you hummed against his shirt. 

“Yeah, sorry Tae.”

“Mm. Are you guys going to be okay in here if I leave you?” He asked, leaning his palms on the end of the bed as you both nodded your heads. 

“We’re good. So good.” Jimin slurred, making you giggle as you leaned up to plant a kiss to his hot cheek. His eyes sparkled at your affection, squeezing you to his body with a grin. 

Jokingly rolling his eyes, Taehyung stood up straight, striding over to your bedside light to flick it off with his finger. 

“Alright, goodnight guys. Happy birthday, dear.” He added, you only humming in response before snuggling in to Jimin further. The sound of the door shutting was obviously softened for the other sleeping members’ benefits, Taehyung’s padding footsteps barely heard as he made his way down the hall to escape back into his own bedroom. 

“Did you have a nice birthday?” Jimin whispered after a beat of silence, glazed over eyes meeting yours in the dark as you carefully lifted your head, the pounding already minorly setting in. 

“I did. I had a very tipsy night.” You admitted, closing your eyes when his fingers stroked a few strands of hair back behind your ear with a fond chuckle.

“Good. You deserve it.”

Leaning up, he placed his pointer finger beneath your chin, pressing his lips to your cheek, over to the tip of your nose, your other cheek, and finally landing with a sweet peck to your lips. 

“Happiest of tipsy birthdays to you.”

[berriusagi]

Stomach Bug Ch7

Family Bonding: Jason

It’s my birthday so thought I’d give everyone this chapter early! I hope you all enjoy it I look forward to any comments or suggestions you have for the future chapters.

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If anyone was to ask Marinette how she found herself standing in a private gun range with a heavy pistol in hand aimed downrange at a cardboard cutout of a deranged clown she would have no idea how to answer. Jason was standing behind her leaning down to show her how to properly aim, fixing her grip and stance before holding her shoulders.

“Alright Pixie whenever you’re ready just pull the trigger.” Jason nodded straightening up once he was sure she was ready.

Marinette nodded, taking a slow deep breath before pulling the trigger. A loud bang sounded through the room as Marinette gently set the gun down. She turned looking up at Jason as she took her earplugs out. “How’d I do?” she asked.

Jason hummed squinting his eyes trying to see, “I don’t know if you hit it,” he said, stepping around to walk on the range to get a better look at the cutout. “Yeah sorry pixie doesn’t look like you hit it,” he shouted heading back to stand behind her.

“I told you I’m not that familiar with guns. It's next to impossible to get a gun let alone shoot one in Paris.” Marinette said putting her ear plus back in as Jason picked the gun up.

“That’s why I’ll teach you to shoot,” Jason grinned, fixing his safety glasses before unloading the clip into the cutout. Marinette watched as small groupings gathered around the forehead, heart, and groin. “It just takes a bit of practice and a steady hand and you’ll be a natural in no time.” He smiled as he fired the last bullet before setting the gun down.

“I’m just not sure if guns are my thing,” Marinette said as Jason walked onto the range again to pick up the cut out and bring it back so they could examine the groupings, “I never took an interest in firearms, though most weapons are illegal in Paris.”

“Really? What about self-defense?” Jason asked looking down at Marinette.

“Most people would have pepper spray but it had to be less than 100 milliliters.” She shrugged, “I usually had a small can in my purse just in case luckily I only ever had to use it once.”

“Oh?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, “What happened to make you do that?”

 “The heroes back home were sociable. Ladybug would give interviews and Chat Noir liked to joke with the public. Chat made a habit of dropping by my room to hang out and just talk; sometimes it was just chilling, other times he wanted advice. He was a great guy really it helped break up the routine you know.” She smiled leaning on the wall, helping Jason load bullets into the clips, “Eventually he started just coming into my room through my skylight and hung out on my chaise lounge until I got home if I wasn’t there.”

“That’s a red flag if I ever saw one,” Jason muttered, setting a clip down.

“Yeah well, I was lonely at the time my class was shunning me so any social interaction was a welcomed one. I didn’t mind though I did find it annoying when he’d try and bug me to get into Ladybug’s good graces.” She sighed rolling her eyes, “I managed to set up an interview with Ladybug for one of my ex-friends and Chat thought we were such good friends so I could put in a good word for him. I told him I wouldn’t and that Ladybug probably just wasn’t interested and he should respect that.”

“I’m guessing no one ever taught him to take no for an answer?” Jason asked looking over at Marinette as she just shrugged.

“I guess, he had it stuck in his head that he and Ladybug were soulmates because of their miraculous’ no matter how many times I or Ladybug explained that it didn’t work like that. Everything came to a head after the fall of Hawkmoth. He was publicly revealed along with Mayura, his partner, both were arrested and their families suffered from the fallout.” She set down her finished clip and crossed her arms over her chest, “Chat Noir paid me a visit about a month or so after, he… he wasn’t looking too good.”

Jason set down the gun he was working on and moved to stand beside Marinette placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“I told you he had a habit of just coming into my room to wait for me,” she said her voice going a bit soft as she glanced up at Jason, “My room was a converted attic space with a balcony that you access through the skylight. To get into my room you climbed a ladder and entered through a trapdoor, it’s a good space for privacy but it’s not so great if you have to escape.”

Jason tightened his hold on her gently pulling her into his side rubbing her back arm.

“When I came up I saw my skylight was open so Chat had to be in there but I didn’t see him, that made me a little worried but I chose not to listen to it and came up anyway. Once I was fully in he closed the door and trapped me inside, he… he looked different less… stable his eyes, which normally because of the Miraculous were a toxic green, looked bloodshot like he’d been crying. He wasn’t moving with the same playful easy steps he looked unbalanced. Everything just felt wrong like this wasn’t going to end well.”

“I reached for the pepper spray I keep in my bag and had it at the ready just in case and I tried talking to him. I asked him what was wrong, I asked him why he looked so unsettled, I tried just talking to him to get a response, but he wouldn’t even look in my direction. It was like it pained him to even look at me. Eventually, he did look at me and he was just crying, he was apologizing over and over and his words made no sense. I was terrified. He made me feel like he was going to do something awful. It was like he wasn’t anything like the same person.”

Jason slid down the wall to be eye level with Marinette squeezing a bit tighter to give her comfort as she tried to find the words to continue.

“He looked at me, no he looked through me it felt like and just lunged at me. I was so scared I just sprayed him without thinking and quickly jumped out of the way. I remember hearing him scream in pain and rubbing at his eyes as he cried. It’s burned into my memory he looked at me with such pain and sorrow on his face I felt awful for what I did. The pepper spray just fell from my hands and without thinking I grabbed a scrap of fabric and some water and started to clean his face. I just couldn’t stand and watch him suffer.”

“You’re better than most Pixie,” Jason muttered, patting her shoulder.

“Chat revealed himself,” She said before quickly rushing to correct herself when she felt Jason’s body tense, “Not like that! I mean he took off the mask he showed me who his civilian self was. He dropped the transformation and revealed himself to be a boy I knew quite well and he was the son of Hawkmoth. It made so much sense then, he… he was suffering so much having to fight a war against his father. Then when the war is over he still has to fight to prove his own innocents, it had to have just been too much.”

“He took off his miraculous and gave it to me, told me to give it to Ladybug. He didn’t think Ladybug would want anything to do with him if she saw who he was. If she knew he was the son of the man they were trying to take down, he said it would break him worse to see her hate him or worse pity him.”

“So he gave his miraculous to you, someone who has some connection to Ladybug, to get it somewhere safe.” Jason hummed leaning his head back against the wall, “How is he doing?”

“A few weeks later he left Paris and moved in with his aunt and cousin. He was a good guy just mixed up with the wrong people, he was very sheltered and was raised to be seen not heard. I debate some days on reaching out to him, seeing how he’s doing, maybe catch up and rebuild the friendship we had. He’s dating one of my friends and she occasionally gives me updates about him that she thinks I need to know.”

“Well, Pixie if you ask me I say shoot him a text. He trusted you enough to unmask himself and show his most vulnerable side to you. If there’s one thing I know is that you keep those loyal to you close, I don’t know the full story with this guy. He might have hurt you, he might not have but he came to you at his weakest and trusted you enough to help him.” He said straightening up and pulled her into a firm hug, “I know you’ll make the right choice for you, I feel like you got a good handle on making the right choices.”

“Thanks, Jay,” she smiled hugging him back, “You have any other guns we can shoot, maybe I’m just not good with handguns.”

“I like the way you think Pixie.” He grinned pushing off the wall and went over to the gun cabinet opening it wide for her to see the array of handguns, rifles, and shotguns for them to choose from, “Alright pixie, pick your poison.”

~.~.~.~

“You make absolutely no sense you know that right Pixie?” Jason asked watching as Marinette grinned up at him after landing a headshot on another deranged clown cut out with the shotgun. “I mean the kickback alone on that thing should be sending you back.” He said as Marinette set the gun down giggling at Jason’s confusion.

“Well with shotgun it doesn’t have to be as accurate right?” she asked, rubbing her shoulder, “It’s scattershot so it makes it more forgiving.”

“I guess but let’s call it on that before you bust up your shoulder or bruise it.” He said taking the shotgun storing it away in the gun cabinet as Alfred came in to check on them.

“Master Jason, Miss Marinette are you two having fun?” Alfred asked, noticing all the empty shells on the floor.

“Yeah, Jason just showed me how to shoot a shotgun.” Marinette smiled, “Though my shoulder is a bit sore now.” She said rubbing it a bit harder wincing at the deep ache.

“Perhaps you two should call it quits for today and do something less… explosive.” Alfred offered, “All this gunfire can’t be good for the baby let alone quiet. I heard the shotgun from the other side of the manor.” He added before leaving.

“Well,” Jason hummed, closing the cabinet, “We should run.” He grinned picking Marinette up and broke into a dead sprint out of the gun range and through the winding halls. Marinette held on tightly a surprised shout echoing through the halls as he skidded around a corner before running for the other side of the manor.

“Just how big is this place?” Marinette asked looking around wide-eyed as they raced through the halls.

“I don’t know but I’m like 80 percent sure if someone broke in here it’d take them a week to find their way out.” Jason joked as he slowed down to a large set of double doors gently pushing the doors open before closing them tightly behind him before gently setting Marinette down on her feet, “We should be safe here for a little while though at least until Alfred comes to find us for dinner.”

“Where is here?” Marinette asked looking around a soft gasp coming from her mouth as she saw all the books lining the shelves.

“Welcome to my favorite place, the Wayne Manor Library.” Jason smiled walking to one of the shelves and plucked a book off before finding a comfortable plush chair to relax in, “Have a look around, find something to read, or if you want there are puzzles and board games in that cabinet over there.” He added motioning to a cabinet in the corner.

Marinette wandered around the shelves looking over the books, she noticed some were much more loved than others as they have visible use while others looked to be brand new. She eventually settled on a well-loved adventure book and carried it back over to the chairs and took a seat near Jason as she curled up to read.

The following few hours were much calmer than the previous bonding activity, instead of a loud bang to hurt the ears there were jokes and laughs about the antics the protagonists in their books got up to. Marinette smiled from her position lying upside down on the chair with her head hanging off as she read lines from her book. 

“Before you leave Gabriel may I offer you some key advice before you go to visit the Sirodanes?” Marinette spoke her voice lowered and accented to sound like a Viking man, “Take a larger cart they value strength as well.” she finished before bursting into giggles.

“So wait,” Jason chuckled looking over at her, “Gabriel and Eclipse are leaving the Vryhuns with a big cart just full of presents, and the Thane is telling them they need a bigger one?” he smiled.

“Yeah from what I gathered the Vryhun are really big on strength and bravery which Eclipse had in spades so everyone was trying to court her, so they all gave her presents. It’s rude to just turn them down or throw them away so instead they’re taking them with them.” Marinette giggled sitting up and closed the book setting it aside, “Though if the Sirodanes are the same I feel a bit sorry for Eclipse she’ll never get any peace from the suitors.”

“I don’t know, maybe she likes the attention I mean, she stuck around Gabriel and all he seems to do is fawn over her and shower her in praise.” Jason said, closing his book and set it aside, “Who’s to say she isn’t using all these presents to make Gabriel jealous.” He grinned, wiggling his eyebrow.

“Oh what a semi-immortal woman can’t hang around an eccentric man who is determined to explore some hidden islands in the middle of uncharted waters?” Marinette asked, raising an eyebrow, “Not everyone has to date you know, and besides I don’t think Gabriel could handle Eclipse in a romantic setting.”

“Eh you got me there she seems really dominant.” Jason chuckled leaning back in his seat, “Though which did you like more sitting here reading or shooting?”

“Hmm I like both; this was a nice way to wind down after the shooting and I got to find a new book series to read.” She smiled looking at the book, “Do you have the others?”

“Probably unless the author is still working on them.” He shrugged, getting up from his seat and grabbing his books, going over to the shelves to put them away. Marinette relaxed in her chair taking a deep breath as she sunk into the plush cushions further the calm and quiet helping to lull her into a semi-conscious state.

Jason came back after a while noticing Marinette barely awake and smiled grabbing a blanket and set it over her before taking his seat again and picked up another book nearby to keep reading. The library fell into a soft silence with only Marinette’s gentle breathing and the occasional rustle of paper as Jason turned the pages.

~.~.~.~

“Now tell me why you thought it would be wise to leave Todd alone with Marinette.” Damian grit out through clenched teeth as he gripped his sword tightly. “In what world is it ever a smart idea to leave Todd alone with anyone?” he growled.

“Now it can’t be that bad Little D.,” Dick said, keeping his hands up in a calming manner as Tim stayed behind him, “I’m sure everything is okay.”

“We all heard the shotgun, Grayson.” Damian snapped, advancing only stopped by a loud clearing of the throat.

All three turned and looked at Alfred standing in the doorway, “Master Damian please refrain from causing your brother’s bodily harm in the house, blood is quite hard to get out of antique rugs.” He said looking at Damian as he lowered his sword still glaring at the other two, “Now I’ve come to inform you that Miss. Marinette and Master Jason have vacated the gun range. I do believe they are now hiding out in the library so rest assured they are no longer doing any dangerous activities.”

“Thank you, Alfred.” Tim nodded as Damian visibly relaxed knowing Marinette was no longer alone with Jason and firearms.

“Now I must go begin preparations for dinner, please do try to not harm each other.” Alfred nodded before making his way out of the room and down to the kitchen.

Once Alfred was far away Damian looked over at his two brothers with a cold death glare, “If anything is out of place on Marinette thanks to you allowing her to be alone with Jason unsupervised for hours. I will make it my life’s goal to make you regret ever entering this manor.”

“She’s fine Jason isn’t that bad,” Dick said, trying to calm Damian down.

“He cut Tim’s throat.” He snapped.

“It was an accident!” Tim shouted before getting a pained expression, “Maybe, look, it was house rules not to bring up shared traumas.” He glared.

“Okay, how about we all calm down and go to the library and just see how everything is doing? What could they possibly do in the library but read or play a card game.” Dick said trying to placate his two youngest brothers.

“Fine.” Damian glared putting his sword away stalking out of the room.

Dick and Tim exchanged glances before following behind him keeping a few paced behind to not receive his wrath once more. They silently made their way through the halls until coming to the double doors of the library. Damian pushed the doors open looking around until his eyes landed on Marinette curled up in a chair with a blanket over her and Jason seated near her reading.

Jason looked up and waved at them putting his book aside, “Hey guys Pixie’s just taking a quick nap.” He smiled keeping his voice low.

“Todd, care to explain why we heard gunshots.” Damian glared as he quickly headed for Marinette.

“Hmm could be because I showed her how to shoot.” Jason shrugged grinning wide, “She’s a natural, she shot Joker's head off like three times.” he chuckled.

“You let her use the shotgun?!” Dick gasped looking horrified, “Jason she is five foot and pregnant what made you think that was a good idea?” he hissed.

“Can you all keep it down?” Marinette groaned, blinking her eyes open, “this is a library.”

“Habibti, are you okay? You’re not bruised or burned anywhere right?” Damian asked, trying to look her over.

“I’m fine Dami, just a sore shoulder but I’ll live.” She yawned shifting around to sit up properly, “It was a lot of fun but don’t know if I’ll keep up shooting it’s really loud.” she hummed.

“How about you do not do any more shooting until after the baby is born and you’re all healed up,” Damian said sitting in the chair with Marinette pulling her to sit across his lap.

“Fine no more guns,” Marinette giggled rolling her eyes as she rested her head on his shoulder. Damian nodded content with that and relaxed back in the chair. They all fell into comfortable chatter talking about what they were all getting up to; however, it felt more like an interrogation for Jason about just what he was having Marinette shoot.

Marinette watched on in amusement as the three eldest seemed ready to go to war over letting her shoot some guns. All too soon the library doors opened as Alfred entered calling their attention, “Dinner is ready young masters.” He said bowing before exiting the room making his way down to the kitchen.

“Well, I think today has been a lot of fun.” Marinette smiled climbing out of Damian's lap stretching her back out, “I might actually get a good night's sleep tonight.” She added before she made her way out of the library the boys following behind her like overgrown ducklings. Soon everyone was taking their seats at the table and settled in to enjoy their dinner.

Everyone was eating and having fun chatting about different topics, Jason couldn’t stop talking about Marinette’s skill with a shotgun, Dick had to make sure he praised her on her flexibility, and Tim just noted her keen eyes and how perceptive she was. Marinette blushed and smiled at all the praise trying to deflect as much as possible. At some point Bruce had snuck in and watched all the children eat and share stories, he smiled softly just enjoying the chatter and pleasant atmosphere.

All too soon dinner was over and everyone was going their separate ways for their evening routines, Marinette made her way to Damian’s room and gathered her clothes before heading in to take a shower. She set her clothes down on the counter as Tikki reappeared stretching out as she layout on top of Marinette’s pajamas.

“Sorry to keep you locked up all day,” she said as she turned the shower on and waited for the water to warm up, “We can’t risk the others seeing you.”

“I know Marinette at least now I can stretch out and relax.” Tikki hummed relaxing on the soft fabric, “when you bake in the morning can I get white chocolate chip macadamia nut cookies?” she asked looking up at Marinette.

“If they have the ingredients to make it then yes,” Marinette smiled and hopped into the shower to clean up from the day taking her time to gently wash her hair and scrub off all the sweat and grime from the day. Once she was cleaned and wrapped up in a fluffy bathrobe she was nearly asleep on her feet as she took her time to blow dry her hair until it fell in gentle waves down her back.

Tikki had fallen asleep during Marinette’s shower so she gently picked her up and set her down on a few folded towels so she could get dressed. Marinette gathered Tikki up and carried her out to her purse and gently laid her down placing a handkerchief over her like a blanket before gently kissing her forehead and moved to lie in bed and get some much-needed sleep.

Damian came in not long after Marinette had turned in for the night and smiled before going about his own evening routine and climbed into bed giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead before laying back pulling her to his chest as he fell asleep.

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@myazael @beautiful-disasters-sunshine @moonlightstar64 @moonlitceleste @stainedglassm  @casual-darkness @mochegato @ultimatetornshipper @heemsanddamemes @nathleigh @qualitypeacepainter @raven-frost-21 @maskedpainter @demonicbusiness @dood-space @trippingovermyfeet @emimar7 @indecisive-mess-named-me @changelinggarden @zerotosiki @alysrose-starchild @s-and-n @wolf2118 @athena452 @jjmjjktth @eliza-bich @solangelo252

[scarofthewind]

Could you do Michael and Billy (or stu) reacting to their s/o giving them a blowjob? Thank you in advance, and i love your writing!

A/N: Sorry this one took me a while to get out. I feel like if I post many at once, no one will read them all. Anyway, enjoy! Warnings: R18+, NSFW

Michael Myers: For once in his horrible life, he was having a decent night’s rest. He’d gone to bed after watching you fall asleep and now he was having a blissful dream he wouldn’t remember when he woke up. 

You, on the other hand, had woke to the sound of an owl that lived in the tree right next to your bedroom, hooting. The damn thing wouldn’t shut up and you tried to press your pillow over your head and even use earplugs. You were amazed that Michael was able to sleep through it or even sleep at all. You hadn’t seen his relaxed face in slumber in a while and it was a beautiful sight. Gently stroking his chin, you watched as his brows furrowed for a second and you paused your actions until he grew calm again. 

The clock on the wall that you squinted in the dark to see, said it was somewhere past three and the sky was lightening up outside the more you laid there. Just when the owl stopped making noise and you started to fall asleep again, Michael wrapped his arm around you and yanked you against him. His grip was much like a boa constrictor and you couldn’t tell if he was trying to cuddle or kill you. You squirmed to get out of his grip, your rear pressed tightly against his front and you felt your heart stop when he groaned from the rubbing. 

A familiar wetness pooled in the underwear you were wearing as you felt his cock harden because of your movements. It wasn’t until you felt his hips press into your ass that you started to move away from him. It took you gripping the corner of the bed with your arms and pulling with all your might before he let go and you nearly catapulted off the mattress. Fixing yourself, you watched as he turned to lay on his back, the covers kicked off his side of the bed and his cock bulging in his boxers. 

You told yourself it wasn’t a good idea, but the devil on your shoulder reminded you that it was only the decent thing to do since he’d woken you up many times before with his head between your legs. Why not return the favor? Licking your lips, you moved between his legs and gently touched his stomach, moving your hand down to his boxers and lightly palming is cock. Your eyes stayed on his face as you continued your actions. You pulled his boxers down enough for you to get his cock out before giving it a few good pumps. 

Michael’s chest started to rise and fall faster and his legs twitched slightly. You licked the tip of his cock, kissing the underside before taking it into your mouth. Michael’s hips barely rose off the bed but the reaction made your underwear soaking wet. A soft groan left his lips as you took his cock in your mouth, all the way to the base; something made possible by him breaking your gag reflex early on. Michael was by no means small and was more long than anything. The tip tickled the back of your throat as you bobbed your head, eye watering slightly. 

Michael’s dream vanished before him and he felt himself slowly wake up. He turned his head and looked down to what was making his cock so warm and he nearly came from the sight. “Fuck, (Y/N).” His eyes watched as you took his cock in your mouth, your eyes staring into his. Screw a good nights sleep, this was better. His large hands immediately went to your hair and slowly moved your head to his pace. “I can smell your pussy from here. This turns you on that much?” He growled, feeling you moan around his cock. 

It didn’t take long before he came hard down your throat, giving himself a few extra pumps before removing his cock from your mouth. His thumb wiped away the mess that had dribbled down your chin. “Open.” He said, and you opened your mouth, his eyes making sure you swallowed everything like he always wanted. “Good girl.” He let out a huff as he pulled you up to him and kiss you heatedly. 

Billy Loomis: As soon as the words left your mouth, he about snapped his neck as he turned to look at you quickly. “I beg your pardon?” He asked, eyebrows raised as you wouldn’t meet his gaze. You stared at the movie on the giant screen in front of his car as you repeated yourself.

“I want to suck you off.” You mumbled. Your eyes wandering around the other parked cars, making sure no one was looking at you two. The car a few feet away was shaking and you could only guess what was happening in there. The drive in was known to lead to sex and you and Billy had done it countless times before. However, you hadn’t given him head in a while. 

“Why?” He asked, inhaling the smoke from his cigarette. “You don’t need to; I take care of you, remember?”

“Billy, I want to return the favor. You do take care of me, but I want to for once help you out.” The man stroked your cheek and you leaned into his touch with a begging look in your eyes. 

“You help me out plenty.” He sighed and you let out a frustrated sigh. 

“Am I bad at it?” You asked and he coughed, shaking his head. 

“On the contrary.” He put the cigarette out on the windowsill on his door and turned to face you in his seat. “You’re too good at it, it makes my mind go blank as soon as you wrap your pretty little lips around my cock.” His thumb grazed your bottom lip and you whined at his words. 

“That’s a good thing!” You tried but he waved off the topic. “Please! I won’t ask again.” You clasped your hands in front of you and stuck out your bottom lip. Billy gave you a bored look but the wheels in his head were turning faster than anything. 

With a sigh, he told you to get in the back as he put up a shade to block the view from the front. You crawled in the back and waited for him to do the same before reaching in his pants and grabbing his already hard cock. “You were thinking about it.” You teased and he shut you up with a kiss. Your fingers worked at pulling his pants and underwear down as your mouth moved against his, his hands going to your chest and squeezing your breasts. 

“Hurry up.” He moaned against your lips and you obliged, moving down and taking his cock into your mouth. Billy let out a loud groan and his head went back as his hips thrusted up into your mouth. “Ah, fuck.” He panted, feeling your tongue play with the tip as you bobbed your head. One of his hands went to your hair, gripping it and moving your head to his own pace. The other hand went to your pussy where he instantly pushed two fingers deep inside. “That’s it, take all of it.” He groaned as you deepthroated his cock, moaning around it as his fingers pumped in and out of you. 

He pace quickened with your head and his fingers and before you knew it, he was coming in your mouth, to which you swallowed happily. You moved your head away from his cock and kissed him passionately. His mind was in the blank state as he recovered from the orgasm he just had; his fingers curling inside you as he moved to press your back against the seats. 

[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. 

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Kiro’s Inspiration Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 灵感之约, which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

An early birthday gift to the embodiment of sunshine, @moondusks​ :>

[ This date was released in CN on 7 December 2020 ]

A pleasantly warm and light breeze lifts the muslin curtains, bringing with it the fresh atmosphere of early winter.

Lemon yellow sunlight filters lazily through the trees, casting shadows on the window and carrying the scent of peppermint.

It’s an incomparably ordinary, and incomparably comfortable afternoon.

It’s very suitable for heading out and casting aside one’s cares - laying down on a grass patch, basking in the warm sunlight.

Or perhaps taking a stroll along the street, and sitting down in a cafe one has been longing to visit.

That’s what Kiro and I originally planned to do. 

However, the cruel reality is...

MC: Why does this proposal have to be done by next week ahhhh--

Kiro: Why can’t I write this song properly--

MC: Why do people need to be exploited by work--

Kiro: [sighs] And why are people constrained by inspiration--

Because of a sudden program, I have no choice but to work overtime.

And Kiro, who is about to record a new album, has remained dissatisfied towards the title track.

Due to the pressures of reality, we have to give up our original plans of having a fulfilling and happy date.

The both of us are working overtime at home.

Kiro: [groans] Farewell, my rosy weekend. Goodbye, my donuts and soup dumplings which have vanished into thin air.

MC: And brown sugar milk coffee, taro pies, and lava cakes...

Even though we sing the same tune, complaining dejectedly about not being able to go out, the both of us work non-stop on our tasks.

I can hear the crisp sound of Kiro tapping his pen rhythmically against the music stand. Occasionally, his soft humming can also be heard.

Seeing him working hard and struggling with himself, the corners of my lips lift upwards.

Even though we’re unable to head outside to do something interesting, it isn’t a bad thing to be together at home like this, channelling effort into our differing goals.

In some way, this should also count as a type of date.

I smile, adjusting my posture on the bean bag so that it’s more comfortable for typing, then continue immersing myself in the battle against the program proposal.

-

The proposal I’m working on is extremely urgent, and has to be settled by next week. 

Not only that, but this sudden program has an importance accompanied by a non-proportional preparation timing.

And during such a period of high stress, the goddess of inspiration, who typically shows concern for me, has gone on a faraway vacation, and has  completely vanished.

I have trouble writing. When I completely lose my train of thought, I exchange helpless glances with the few words on the screen.

In the end, I give up and pause the hands which have been maltreating the keyboard, preparing to pour myself a glass of water, and attempt to change my mood.

Lifting my head, I subconsciously glance in Kiro’s direction.

The curtains separate the room from sunlight, casting Kiro in a faint shadow as he leans against the window while composing a song.

Busy writing the new song, he hasn’t had time to maintain the state of his hair. 

Finding stray hairs a hindrance as they block his vision, Kiro holds a rubber band in his mouth, combing his hair to the back, and ties it into a small ponytail.

Those azure eyes stare at the music score in concentration. They are as clear and bright as always, but lack the flash of light he usually has when inspiration strikes.

Reference materials and abandoned drafts are scattered all over, which seem to isolate him on a higher platform which I’m unable to reach.

Completely engrossed in creating his work, even his languid sitting posture exudes a cold and lonely feeling for some reason.

For a moment, I feel slightly dazed.

Kiro: Let me guess. Is Miss Chips lacking inspiration, and having trouble writing the proposal?

Kiro suddenly removes his earplugs, turning his head to look at me. 

He shows me a brilliant smile, and the room is once again filled with sunlight.

MC: How did you know? 

He stands up as well, stretching himself, turning back into the him that I’m most familiar with.

It’s as though the him of just a few seconds ago was simply an illusion surfacing from work-induced stress.

Kiro: Hmm... since just now, the sound of your keyboard has been intermittent, unlike how smooth it usually is.

While he speaks, Kiro walks to the snack cabinet and rifles through it carefully, as though he’s a small squirrel searching for a pine cone from the hole of a tree in winter.

Kiro: So I thought - Miss Chips is probably just like me, entering a bottleneck at work.

He splits the low-fat and sugar-free healthy snack into half, placing it into my hand.

Kiro: A little reward for the hardworking you. Now, do you feel more motivated?

MC: It sounds quite embarrassing... but I don’t think I can work any harder.

I munch on the snack which gives me absolutely no happiness, saying this with a sullen expression.

MC: The presentation is next week, but I still have no idea how to go about writing the proposal. Right now, I just want to turn into an ostrich and curl up into a ball, avoiding the presentation meeting in a few days... and also avoiding my unmotivated self.

I turn the laptop towards him, letting him see the lonely and piteous 235 words in the document.

MC: I even want to knock on my brain forcefully, checking to see if new ideas will appear.

Kiro: Hmm... I see...

Kiro curls his finger, tapping it gently against my forehead. He leans closer to my ear and asks a question.

Kiro: Nice to meet you, Miss Chips’ inspiration. May I know if you’re at home?

Following his action, I close my eyes and sense it carefully.

After a short silence, I furrow my brows and lift my head, looking at him bitterly.

MC: Hello, the user you’re calling is not in service...

Kiro reaches out to rub the area between my eyebrows, smoothening out the creases on my face.

After ensuring that I’m no longer a “bun”, he sighs, laying down next to me.

[Note] Chinese buns (包子 - “bao zi”)  look like this i.e. they look like wrinkles:

Kiro: [sighs] Actually, I’m the same as you. There’s a song I especially wish to write, and I really like the concept and composition. I want to try writing a song on understanding and interpreting the theme of “love” from my own perspective.

He pauses, lifting his fringe with a wry smile. After give it a forceful rub, he causes his originally tidy hairstyle to become fuzzy.

Kiro: But no matter how I change it, I’m not satisfied. I keep feeling as though something is missing from the music. There’s no soul.

I untie the string, using a hand to smoothen his hair, helping him tie it up properly again.

MC: Whether it’s “My Treasure” or the song we wrote together last Christmas, aren’t they very incredible? They’re tender and sweet - it’s as though they can be sung into the hearts of every listener, enabling them to recollect the best memories.

Kiro: That won’t do.

Kiro flips over and sits up, his eyes serious.

Kiro: Those songs write about us. They write about you. I have several thousand ways to write about how adorable you are, but I don’t know which timbre I should use to face myself.

Not realising how potent his words are in causing one to blush, Kiro sighs once again after speaking, laying back down.

Kiro: [sighs] Looks like this time, we’ve both chosen subjects which are very difficult for us.

-

Kiro: Since we’ve both sunk into a major crisis--

Kiro: Want to try Kiro’s special, secret recipe and see if it can sort out our thinking?

Kiro shoots me a wink.

MC: Sure. Do I need to do anything?

Kiro: At this stage, all you have to do is sit here.

While Kiro speaks, he picks up the abandoned drafts he had casually thrown on the floor earlier, using them to enclose us within a square frame.

Kiro: This is the thinking box that we’re trying to escape from.

He sets down the final sheet of paper, completing this “box”, his tone light.

Kiro: Right now, we’re both locked in it.

MC: In that case, will the superhero help me break this box, so we can have a breakthrough together?

Kiro: Nope. 

Kiro steps out of the square frame made out of drafts, reaching out to seize Cello, who is sleeping soundly on the cat climbing shelf. Then, he places it in my arms.

Cello: Meow?

Kiro nods in satisfaction, then jogs over to the kitchen, bringing over some fruits.

Under the confused gaze of both me and Cello, he makes several trips in and out, bringing over soft cushions, comfortable blankets, and two cups of sugar-free hot chocolate.

Finally, Kiro shifts another bean bag over, and sits down beside me.

Kiro: I’m incredibly sorry to tell you that even a superhero can’t find a way to jump out of this box.

Somewhat pleased with himself, he takes me into his arms with one hand, letting me lean on him.

Kiro: But at the very least, I can keep you company in this box. And together, we can see what exactly in this box has left us so bewildered that we’re unable to get out even after such a long time. 

As he speaks, he tousles Cello’s fuzzy head, and it releases a comfortable meow.

Kiro: We can also decorate it a little, so the box is more comfortable. 

MC: Pfft...

I can’t help but laugh. The sense of dejectedness due to work earlier seems to be cleared up with his actions.

I reach out, pointing at a corner of the ceiling in a joking manner. 

MC: See that? Over there, there’s an MC who just can’t write a proposal, and she’s currently curled up and for waiting for mushrooms to sprout on her... I don’t know how to deal with it.

Kiro nods in understanding, pointing at a corner of the room.

Kiro: Ladies and gentlemen, look here. Here is a Kiro whose inspiration is stuck, and is currently drawing circles. 

MC: When you put it like that, it sounds pretty cute...

While he speaks, I more or less understand why Kiro went to such trouble to do this.

Kiro: That’s right. To me, whether it’s that ostrich-like MC, or that MC who has mushrooms growing on her, I want to hug all of them properly.

Kiro: And then tell her solemnly - that you’re already very amazing. Even if you don’t think you’re good enough, I still like you very much.

Kiro: Just as much as a little bear in winter liking the warm blue sky and green grass.

As he speaks, he tightens his grip on my hand, leaning his chin on top of my head.

Surrounding me are soft blankets and cushions. In my arms is a cat which has gone back to sleep.

Behind me, Kiro’s body temperature and scent encase me tenderly, making me feel so contented that I want to release a joyful sound together with Cello.

I close my eyes in happiness, nuzzling the crook of Kiro’s neck.

The things that were bothering me just a second ago, weighing me down with stress and emotions and leaving me unable to breathe, vanish like smoke and disperse like clouds.

It’s as though I’ve awakened from an incredibly long nightmare, discovering that sunlight is illuminating my surroundings, and that a cup of hot chocolate is waiting at the bedside.

MC: Kiro, why do you always know of such ingenious methods?

I lift my head to look at him, gazing at that blue colour which seeps into one’s heart, and the golden colour traced by sunlight.

Our foreheads lean against each other, and he smiles as he responds.

Kiro: You were the one who taught me these things. Why are you asking me instead?

MC: Me? 

Kiro: Last time, there were numerous occasions when I felt I couldn’t create works that were good enough, and I’d start to doubt myself. I’d lock myself in a corner, and start having internal fights with myself. 

Along with his words, it’s as though I see the Kiro I was barely acquainted with back then, and how he had endured several days and nights of work.

He had locked himself up in a room, helpless and frantic, not leaving any space for himself to breathe. 

Kiro: But during those times, you were always by my side. You told me that no matter how I was, you’d like me all the same. 

As he speaks, he taps on my laptop. 

Kiro: Actually, it’s the same today. 

Kiro: Don’t just look at how I appear now. Actually, I’m in a terrible state. 

Kiro: On one hand, I’m forcing myself to finish this work quickly. On the other hand, I’m so irritated and annoyed at myself, who lacks creativity. 

Kiro: There were many times when I wanted to just give up. 

Kiro: But...

He lifts a strand of my hair, twirling it around his fingertip. In the end, he pulls it to his lips, giving it a gentle kiss.

Kiro: Each time I heard your intermittent yet continuous typing sounds, I’d tell myself that next to me, you’re still working hard. 

Kiro: My Miss Chips is also feeling perplexed, but she’s still persevering in work. 

Kiro: So I told myself - how could I give up before you did?

Kiro: I must definitely persevere a little longer, so you see how dashing I am. 

Kiro relates this softly at my ear. His tone, which harbours a smile, sounds as though he’s depicting a treasure.

I indulge myself in his arms, greedily enjoying the present tranquility and warm atmosphere for a while longer.

I always feel that Kiro is a star whenever I go off course. He always illuminates the pathway, pointing the way forward for me. 

Actually, without even realising it, it’s because we’ve seen each others’ light that we could press on.

Encouraging each other, and feeling the way forward in the darkness. 

Until we break through the predicament together.

MC: Thank you, my superhero. I think I’ve regained the ability to fight a little more.

A soft chuckle brushes my ear. Then, a warm and gentle touch is planted on my lower jaw. 

Reminiscent of the whiskers of a kitten brushing past, spreading into a plain of sweetness.

Kiro: At your service anytime, my Miss Chips.

-

With that, Kiro and I sit in the “box” together, resuming our work. 

He lays on the ground, scribbling and drawing on the music sheet, while I hug the laptop to myself, working hard to squeeze out a proposal.

The typing sounds on the laptop remain intermittent as before, but no longer have the sense of repression and frustration from earlier.

With his presence, I actually manage to complete a draft of the proposal without realising it. 

It isn’t excellent, and there are many areas which require editing. Nevertheless, I’ve already tided over the most difficult period.

I move my neck and shoulders, then shift a little closer to Kiro.

Same as before, Kiro is wholly absorbed in the music sheet in his hands.

Even though I can’t tell his current progress, based on his expression and posture, he should be the same as me, breaking free from the lowest point of production.

I observe him quietly for a long time. In the end, my playfulness triumphs, and I think of pulling a tiny prank on him.

Lifting Kiro’s right hand, I burrow into his arms. 

MC: Surprise~

Probably not expecting me to do this, Kiro is left dumbfounded. However, he subconsciously props himself up and hugs me. 

Kiro: Miss Chips?

MC: A little reward for the hardworking musician.

Saying this, I tilt my head upwards and give him a light peck on the chin.

My sudden attack and the closing of distance between us enables me to successfully capture the faint redness on Kiro’s face.

Kiro: ...mm, how’s your proposal doing?

MC: At the moment, there are positive prospects.

Just like this, I wrap my arms around his neck, tousling his soft, golden coloured hair.

Because of my action, the ponytail is now in disarray.

I simply hook my fingers underneath Kiro’s rubber band, untying it, feeling the softness of his hair in between my fingers.

MC: How’s your song doing?

Kiro: At the moment, there are positive prospects.

He mimics my words, inserting one earplug into my ear.

A somewhat rough demo occupies my hearing.

I close my eyes, immersed in the music he has given to me. My fingers twirl the wire of the earpiece, tracing the rhythm.

Kiro: Although it isn’t done yet, the overall main key won’t change.

It’s a somewhat slow tune.

It's quiet, and even brings with it a heavy and melancholic melody. It’s reminiscent of a self-reflection, and also like a careful recount.

Kiro: Even though this tune is a little sombre, I still wrote it. 

Kiro: Because I know you’d definitely say that you like such songs too.

MC: Of course.

I say this with certainty. He smiles and lowers his head, the tips of our noses gently touching.

MC: Kiro, I came across a saying once.

MC: The process of writing a song is actually a writer’s conversation with himself.

MC: Although I don’t know what you said to yourself, if this melody is your answer, I like it very much.

Our drifting breaths channel a temperature slightly higher than the sunlight.

MC: Including these slightly heavy portions - I like them very much.

Saying this, I crinkle my eyes, humming along with the melody from the earpiece.

Kiro releases a sigh, hugging me tightly.

Kiro: [sighs] Why does this song become so sweet when you hum it? 

Before I can respond, Kiro continues. 

Kiro: [laughs] It must be because MC is a jar of honey.

He nods with force, seeming to be very satisfied with this answer. Then, it’s as though something occurs to him, and he plants a kiss on my forehead. 

Kiro: See? It’s very sweet.

MC: What...

I laugh, pretending to push at his chest.

MC: Looks like I have to stay a little further away from you next time, so you won’t become overweight.

Kiro: Hehe, it’s already too late! My feelings come in large portions, so it’s too late to say that.

Kiro presses me against the woollen blanket, embracing me with even more strength than before.

Kiro: Miss Chips has already been firmly held onto by me.

Kiro: I’ll leave a stamp.

While he says this, he nibbles the side of my neck half-jokingly, and half-declaratory.

He doesn’t use strength, but the electric-like sensation makes me forget how to breathe for a moment. 

The charmingly tepid air leaves my cheeks burning crimson.

Kiro’s hug is tight, yet very careful. It’s as though he’s embracing the one and only treasure in the entire world. 

MC: It’s not like I can really run away...

Not minding my soft mumbling, another kiss descends on the shell of my ear, as though seeking a confirmation.

His breaths lift up strands of stray hair near my ear. They brush against my earlobe, as scorching as his lips.

Kiro: MC, I’m actually timid and a little childish.

Kiro buries his head in my shoulder, speaking softly.

Kiro: When it comes to things I don’t like, I’ll always think of hiding them and locking them up. I won’t see them, and I won’t let other people see them.

Kiro: But if it’s you...

I secretly take a few deep breaths, cradling his face a little stiffly yet carefully, tilting my head upwards. 

MC: Thank you for trusting me.

Kiro: ...

Kiro’s eyes widen slightly, and his lips part and close. It’s as though he wants to say something, but returns to a blank.

At the end of a short silence, Kiro speaks solemnly. 

Kiro: I’ll definitely finish this song. 

He lowers his voice slightly. Even though this sentence is as light as a feather, I know that he’s as serious as making a vow. 

Kiro: I’ll definitely finish this song, and sing various versions of myself to you in the future.

Kiro: Even the parts which are heavier, and the parts I’m unwilling to face myself.

MC: Mm. I’ll definitely listen earnestly.

Following the trail of his spine, I stroke his back lightly, giving him my promise.

Kiro: I know. 

Kiro: It’s precisely because no matter what melody it is, you’ll definitely sing it into a song akin to honey.

Kiro: Which is why I have such courage. 

I no longer speak, only giving him a serious nod.

Both his breathing and heart beats can be heard, regular and steady.

Kiro: Since we’ve reached an agreement, should I leave another stamp?

Kiro’s voice is once again light-hearted, even carrying with it a twinge of slyness. 

MC: Wait! The most important thing now should be noting down the hard-earned inspiration before it goes away!

I grip several music sheets at the side, pressing them against his chest, attempting to flee from his arms.

MC: Get to work quickly!

Kiro: Why are you like this?

Kiro pouts, showing me his signature, puppy-eyed expression of dejection.

MC: I won’t be duped by your gaze again. I’m going to become a merciless supervisor, so you can finish your work before the deadline!

Seeing that his plan has been foiled, Kiro simply gives up “pretending”. With a smile, he grips my struggling wrist, pressing it to the side. 

MC: Where’s your professionalism? Could it...

A prolonged kiss seals up the words I haven’t spoken.

Kiro: It’s exactly because of my professionalism that I can say with certainty...

Kiro smiles, his sapphire-like eyes radiating an azure colour even more eye-catching than the clear skies of winter.

Perhaps he hasn’t realised it himself, but he looks at me with the most burning and clear gaze, sticking out the tip of his tongue. Like a dragonfly flitting across water, he wets his lower lip.

Kiro: Before my inspiration vanishes, there’s still time to act coquettishly with my favourite Miss Chips.

-

Phone calls: First // Second

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

Just a Dream - Outcome 3 (Bourne Legacy)

A/N: So @santiagogarcia asked about writing from Outcome-3 and I had no idea who that was. But the idea stayed in my head for weeks and today this is what came out of it. I hope you like it. Thank you for reading, reblogging, commenting, and liking. Name credit goes to @veuliee2​ ;)

Pairing: Outcome-3 x F! Reader

Warnings: Mentions of blood, death, gunshot wounds, guns, and interrogation. Angst but not all. 

Word Count: 1.3K 

My Masterlist 

You stood at the window, overlooking the view of the lake. It was a quiet life. Every single day the sun rose in the east and set in the west. The small cabin on the edge of the world was far enough away from the bustling town but not so far as to be isolating. 

Your life had changed so drastically in the last eight months. What started as a one night stand with a handsome stranger became the most passionate and intense love you would ever feel in your life. He was like no one you had ever met. Cold and calculating when he needed to be but warm and soft under your touch. You loved him, and he was gone. 

That first night he made love to you beneath the crescent moon shining into your apartment through the sheer curtains. You begged for something to call the man who had you wrapped around his little finger in what felt like minutes. All you got was three—a number. What you later came to learn was that was all he was told. In the dead of night, after doing a thorough sweep of your apartment for bugs, he’d told you everything. There were no more secrets between you, not anymore. The undying love you poured into each other was all you both needed. 

They had come the next day. Somebody threw a bag over your head and shoved you inside the van as they took you to gods knew where. Locked in a room with a two-way mirror for four days as they interrogated and tried to find out everything you learned. But you lied. You could feel him on the other side, the heat of his gaze burning into you as they screamed at you over and over again. 

They had nothing to hold you on, so they released you, finally. Three taking you home a letting you rest before he pulled out the gun from the back of his jeans. He clicked the safety off, his eyes bore into yours, and you nodded. Mouthing that you loved him before he pointed the gun at you and shot. The bullet flew through the air almost in slow motion as he yelled for you in anguish. 

You closed your eyes, and when it hit you, fell backward, slamming into the ground. There was so much blood, and you lay there what felt like hours but couldn’t be more than a few minutes. His boots echoing on the ground as he stood above you, eyes streaming with tears, and moved to press the gun to your head. 

His other hand caressed your cheek and, to your surprise, placed an ear plug in it. He leaned down and kissed your cheek and whispered, “They are watching,” he slid the other earplug into your ear before standing tall above you, shooting the gun three times into the hardwoods beside your head. 

You’d always imagined your death to be a simple affair. Hopefully, in your sleep at an old age. But being covered in blood, some of it your own, but most from the local blood bank poured over you and zipped up into a black body bag was not how you pictured it. You felt him lift you and, under cover of darkness, throw you into the back of a van and drive off. 

Not only was he expected to kill the woman he loved, but clean the mess and dispose of her body. The lake was beautiful, much like the one you looked over now. He climbed into the back and unzipped the bag. Your shoulder, where the bullet went through, was cleaned and wrapped. Three put a bag, water-resistant next to you as he told you the plan. 

You had to die. To the people who trained him, that turned the man you love into a machine; you were dead. He would throw you into the lake and drive away; then, you would need to get out and go. Never come back. His hands cupped your cheeks, “Do you understand? You can never come back here. They will kill you. I’m so sorry.” You cried for the life you lost but even more so for the man. 

“Come with me,” you’d begged, but in your heart, you knew he never could. He kissed you hard, prolonging the inevitable parting before he pushed you back and zipped up the bag. You held your breath as he tossed you into the lake, and you counted to sixty. Ripping it open and swimming to the surface, and cresting to breathe. You didn’t dare go back to shore instead, swimming as hard as you could across the lake and into the woods. You found a cave to shelter in that night and lit a fire for warmth, teeth chattering as you opened the envelope. 

He had thought of everything. Trusted contacts to help you along the way that was far out of the system, money, a home, everything. It became very apparent when you’d finally reached your new home and found the documents for your new identity that this was not done in a few days. He’d been planning this for months. You had settled into the new life with relative ease. 

However, the first excursion into the small town was unsettling to your nerves. Each person who met your eyes striking fear into your heart. Were they part of the people who took him away? But no one came, and life settled. 

The wood from the porch creaks, and you freeze. Head-turning slightly to look behind you, your other hand reaching for the assault rifle under the window. Three had made sure the home was stocked with every sort of weapon imaginable. One of his ‘friends’ who smuggled you to safety had taught you how to clean and shoot, and you spent weeks during the first month here practicing. You lift the gun and take the safety off, moving slowly towards the front door—feet were shuffling every few seconds on the other side before a hesitant knock sounds. 

“Whose there?” you call, and no one answers. “I’ve got a gun trained on the door, and I’m not afraid to kill anyone who dares threaten me in my own home. Announce yourself,” you shout. 

“Do you know what to do with that thing?” You flick the safety and almost rip the door off the hinges to pry it open. You rub at your eyes repeatedly, and he just stands before you, almost waiting. 

“You’re not here,” you whisper, eyes flooding with tears, “This is another dream, and I’m going to wake up and be alone again.” You reach toward him and touch the dark beard on his face. “I wish you’d just killed me...that way I don’t have to keep losing you over and over again.” 

His large gun-calloused hands cup your cheeks and force your eyes up to his, “I’m here; this is isn’t a dream.” 

You let out a humorless chuckle, “that’s what you always say.” 

“I’m here,” he drags you closer and kisses you tenderly. The saltiness from your tears blending on your tongue as he opens your mouth to him. He’s large and warm beneath the layers, and his hands move to your waist to pull you flush against him. “Touch me,” he pulls away, breathless, “Feel my heartbeat, as it always has only for you. I’m real. You will never be alone, my love.” 

You’re full-on sobbing now, and you can barely see his blurry form through your tears as he pulls you both into the cabin and kicks the door closed with his boot. It’s impossible to tell where he ends, and you begin as he moves you back towards the bed—discarding layers until you feel the warmth of his skin beneath your palms. “Three? It is you,” you tremble and pull away to look at him, and he shakes his head no.

“No. Not anymore,” he kisses you softly and lays you down on the bed before falling in beside you and holding you close, whispering, “David. My name is David.” 

I’m already planning more...would you like to see it? 

Taglist: @oldstuffnewstuff @yespolkadotkitty @heythere-mel @justanotherblonde23 @artsymaddie @anetteaneta @lunarthoughts @aellynera @lucifer- @houseofthirst @phoenixhalliwell @chicken-ona-stick @agirllovespancakes @santiagogarcia 

Tagging some who might be interested: @veuliee2 @justrunamok @propertyofabelmorales​ @writefightandflightclub​ @iamthe-shadow-on-the-wall​ @itspdameronthings​ 

[m3kuroshirt]

Haven

Mermaid/Siren AU part 2

Part 1 here

Words: 1079

Warnings: none

“We’re not doing this again you wet nutcase,” Ichigo said with a groan, wringing out the water in his shirt. Water someone decided to splash him with, thanks to a very glittery, definitely pretty (but damned if he’d ever tell him) tail.

The sun was setting on the distant, never-ending horizon. Setting the sky on fire with yellows, oranges, reds, and even a scant bit of purple in the east. The hidden cove, ship sheltered by rocks jutting out from the cliffside—a perfect hiding spot for a pirate ship. The cliff opened up to a cave system, which lead inside the island.

“And I just got this dried you asshole.” Ichigo considered taking off his tunic and slapping the siren with it, but figured that’s what the needy guy wanted, so he wasn’t going to let him or his grabby webbed fingers win. Not this time.

Grimmjow let out a half-feral hiss before splashing his tail haphazardly around in the water. The small part of the beach with actual sand, was actually pretty smooth, all things considering. And for that small miracle Ichigo was glad, the ship having outrun a ship from the Los Noches fleet not a couple days prior. That armada was relentless, but had yet to capture or seriously injure anyone. Yet, anyway.  

“If you don’t stop throwing a tantrum you overgrown fish, I’ll throw seaweed earplugs at you.”

“Tch, you know I eat seaweed.”

Ichigo made a face, tongue sticking out, grimace of disgust on his face.

“That’s literally the worst thing you could’ve said.”

  Grimmjow had followed them the whole way, sometimes digging his stupidly sharp claws into the hull of the ship when he was feeling particularly lazy. He’d asked, once, for them to drop down a boat so they could pull him.

Orihime and Urahara had actually been for the idea, Ichigo just called him a lazy piece of shit fish and told him no. That had gotten him splashed pretty good, which was…fair, he supposed. But still. The guy had a tail, he could breathe underwater, he’d be fine.

Their ship, which Urahara fondly called The Candyman—which Ichigo, and the rest of the crew, minus Orihime, because of course she would, thought was the absolute dumbest name—had gotten damaged again, thanks to some hits from the Murciélago. Thankfully, they were able to land a few substantial hits of their own, and retreat to the island.

Their little hidden cove, a little-known part of an otherwise dangerous island, was their haven. Had its own society of runaways and outcasts. People who were doomed for execution over petty, senseless crimes, based political moves. It was ridiculous, and Ichigo prided himself on helping whoever he could, however he could.

Ichigo had been born on the island, his sisters were too young to take up piracy, and, if he was being honest, hoped they found other, safer ways to help. This was his job, as the big brother, and protector. His mother and father ran a clinic on the island, one of two, so they were pretty busy—the girls often helped with that when they weren’t in school or, in Karin’s case, causing problems on purpose.

 Right now though, a…fishy problem was his biggest problem.

“Aren’t your sisters going to be mad you left them,” Ichigo asked, remembering the other two siren’s who were with him when they met. Unlike their dumbass brother, they’d actually left the pirate party alone to repair stuff. Their tails were pretty as well, but…something about Grimmjow’s…just drew him to the siren. So far he’d been temperamental, high-strung, and very, very needy. But it was kind of endearing, really.

As irritated as the man could get Ichigo, he found he could irritate Grimmjow right back, and his irritated face, nose all scrunched up, brows furrowed down low, blue eyes almost glowing in the light, fin like ears flicking back and forth, was honestly kind of cute.

“Tch,” Grimmjow hauled himself onto the shore, completely, until only the tips of his pretty tail brushed up against the rolling tide. The sun was sinking lower, the reds growing deeper, darker.

“Bold of you to think they didn’t follow me,” he frowned, glaring out at the cove. Ichigo noticed one glitter in the water, the barest hints of sun reflecting off shiny scales, glittering gold like a fire on the water. Then another rose up and splashed down. Two different tails, two different sirens approaching where they sat.

“How come they aren’t as clingy as you are?” Ichigo was laughing as he spoke, chuckling harder as Grimmjow glowered beside him, making that cute, irritated face he liked so much. The siren had blabbered some nonsense about Ichigo being his prey, or whatever, and maybe he was, in a way, but a thought popped into Ichigo’s head sometime ago, and he couldn’t get rid of it.

The less he tried to think about it, the more it grew, until it was the only thing he could think about. His lips, the way his scales flashed and sparkled in the moonlight, how his hair draped around him in the water, like long tendrils of fine silk.  

Making up his mind, Ichigo leaned forward, pulled Grimmjow closer by tugging slightly on a long piece of hair slung over his shoulder, until their lips crashed together, sharp teeth grazing over Ichigo’s bottom lip, teasing. Clawed, webbed hands fisted and unfisted before dragging down Ichigo’s chest agonizingly slow, prickling against the fabric of his tunic, even ripping a few threads of the thinner parts.

Ichigo pressed his lips harder against Grimmjow’s, letting his tongue roll over the other’s, feeling the needle-sharp teeth, even letting one prick him, the slightly metallic taste stinging his tongue. Grimmjow growled, but the sound got lost in heat of Ichigo’s mouth, devouring each sound he pulled from the other man.

Hands wrapped around a damp, shirtless torso, on top of Grimmjow’s soft hair, fingers digging into his skin, right above his gills, causing the siren to arch his back with a low moan. Ichigo could feel him shiver against him, every time he pulled back and kissed him. Again. And again. And again.

Pulling the siren away from his mouth, he watched as blue eyes locked on his lips, his own parted, breath labored, waiting. Wanting.

Just before Ichigo dove down to devour once more, he whispered against the heat of the siren’s mouth.

“You’re my prey now, Grimmjow.”  

[mamabearcatfanfics]

A little Christmas Elf told me there was a delay on @lavendertwilight89‘s IYBC Secret Santa gift, so I decided to write just a little something. She already has the whole fic, but I’ll be releasing it here on tumblr in two parts. Just a little something soft and sweet, partially inspired by something that happened between myself and my husband when we were only just together and still working each other out, and also by one of her chosen prompts. So, without further ado, here’s Part One of Song and Dance Man.

Or read the entire story on AO3

🎵

Inuyasha walked out of his small kitchen, carrying a large mug of hot chocolate with extra marshmallows and a plate of chocolate chip cookies on a tray. He put it down on the coffee table in front of his girlfriend, stooping to drop a kiss on the top of her head, then snorted as she tried to nudge him aside so she could see the show she was currently watching. He didn’t know which one it was – they all seemed to blend into one another, and he did his best to block out the singing. Why was there always singing?

“Another one?” he teased, blocking her view even more. “You mean you haven’t watched every single musical on Netflix already? What’s this one called?”

“Singing in the Rain”, Kagome said testily. “And it doesn’t matter how many times I watch them, they make me feel better”, she said, trying to lean sideways. “C’mon, Inuyasha, move!”

Finally relenting at the pouting face looking up at him, he moved out of the way.

“Alright little storm cloud, you win.”

Kagome huffed at him, and he chuckled at her as he walked over to his desk, and picked up his headphones, grateful that the swelling crescendo of violins would soon be drowned out by the much more soothing sounds of screaming and gunfire from his paused game. He glanced back over to the TV as he sat down in front of his monitor.

“That guy looks constipated”, he commented. “How do you even watch this tripe?”

Kagome turned to glare at him over the back of the sofa, a cushion hugged to her stomach to help keep the hot water bottle in place.

“This is not tripe, and Don isn’t constipated!” she hissed. “He’s feeling! He’s in love with Kathy, but he has to act like he’s in love with Lina on screen”.

“That doesn’t mean he needs to torture me by singing and dancing about it”, Inuyasha muttered. “How are you meant to take any of this seriously, when they suddenly just burst into song about their innermost feelings? It’s utterly ridiculous. I don’t get how you can love musicals so much.”

“Is that what you really think?” she said quietly, the tone of her voice sounding brittle in comparison to the cheerful music playing in the background.

Inuyasha lowered his headphones, ears suddenly twitching with trepidation. He wasn’t always the best at reading a room, but he could definitely feel the tension in this one.

Their relationship was only new, but already Kagome seemed like a permanent fixture in his life. She was bubbly and kind, her tiny frame usually draped in the brightest coloured clothing she could find, and she always seemed to be singing or laughing. She reminded him sometimes of a sweet little canary, his own bright eyed and inquisitive songbird, with her happy go lucky mentality and readiness to try new things. She was everything he wasn’t.

They’d only met by chance, both of them stuck waiting in the Emergency Room at the local hospital, him waiting for his friend Miroku to get patched up after coming off his bike, and her waiting to get her wrist x-rayed after an accident with a set at the theatre where she worked. They’d chatted, or rather Kagome had, and he’d watched her, somehow mesmerised by this tiny human that was unruffled by his obviously hanyou features.

When Sango had appeared to pick up her bruised and scraped boyfriend, he’d decided to stay with Kagome, not liking the idea of leaving her there to wait all alone. Eventually she’d been x-rayed, poked and prodded, with Inuyasha tagging along at her request, finally triumphantly emerging from the hospital with her wrist strapped for a sprain. By then, the idea of her travelling home alone on public transport in the dark was abhorrent to him, so he’d driven her home. Somehow, she’d managed to get his number from him, and added herself into the paltry number of contacts on his phone.

When she’d texted a few days later to invite him out for a drink to say thank you, to his own surprise he’d eagerly accepted, and before he’d known it, they were inseparable. Early morning texts and late night phone conversations progressed to in person talks and late night kisses, until one night instead of accepting his reluctant good night, she’d launched herself at him and asked him to stay and take her to bed.

He’d hardly been able to look Kagome’s flatmate Shiori in the eye the next morning at breakfast, because they hadn’t exactly been discreet with the noise levels, with Kagome delighted to discover that youkai stamina extended to the bedroom. Shiori had teasingly remarked that his second task as Kagome’s boyfriend should be to buy her flatmate some decent earplugs. Kagome had found it hilarious, him, not so much.

Kagome now had two drawers in his dresser for clothes, a makeup bag and toothbrush in his bathroom, and an extra hook on the back of his door for her jacket. She hardly ever slept at her apartment now, only going back to do washing and visit Shiori.

It still shook him that Kagome actually cared for him, showed an interest in what he did. And the sex. They were starting to ease off a little now, but for the first few weeks, they were at it like rabbits, christening every room in his apartment, nearly every flat surface, and even some of the vertical ones. The sex was fucking amazing; she was so passionate, so eager, so utterly beautiful. It was like going from starvation rations to an all you could eat buffet, and he took full advantage of their mutual eagerness to explore each other’s bodies. He didn’t think he’d ever get enough of her.

But their relationship wasn’t just built just on that. They laughed with each other, teased each other, helped each other. He hardly knew the person he was becoming since he’d met Kagome, but the change was…good.

Even though it was early in the relationship, she’d already told him she loved him. At three months, this was the longest time he’d ever been with anyone and even though he was pretty sure he loved her too, he wasn’t quite comfortable saying that to her out loud yet. She understood. At least he’d done his best to try and show her how he felt, and she seemed happy with that. Miroku and Sango loved her too, and she’d slotted into their lives like she’d always been there. He’d never felt so happy.

But right now, the look she was giving him was not a happy one. She seemed almost on the verge of tears. Kagome had warned him early on that she did get emotional just before her period and that some months were worse than others. He’d felt a little embarrassed by her candid remark, never having been in a relationship long enough for that kind of information to be shared. But so far everything had been okay.

Today hadn’t been great though. She had been out of sorts ever since she’d woken up this morning, feeling exhausted, achy and irritable, and he’d done his best to not take anything she said to heart and try and do little things to comfort her, knowing it wasn’t really her talking but her hormones. She’d smelt a little different, even though she wasn’t bleeding yet, but nothing concerning.

But right now, she was beginning to worry him – her heart rate was speeding up and her scent hinted at extreme agitation, similar to a fight or flight response. This was new. Should he remind her that she’d told him she got emotional just before her period and that she needed to calm down? Some deep seated sense of self-preservation made him realise that wasn’t a good idea.  

“Kagome”, he said uncertainly, trying to work out what the safest approach was, not wanting to upset her even more. “Are you okay?”

“What if we’ve been fooling ourselves Inuyasha.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, look at us,” she said, gesturing from Inuyasha’s faded Soundgarden t-shirt and ripped black jeans to her heart patterned leggings and hot pink t-shirt which proudly proclaimed she was Fuelled by Theatre and Coffee. “We couldn’t be more different.”

“But”, spluttered Inuyasha, his heart suddenly beating faster at the dangerous direction the conversation was taking. “Different is good! Yes, we like different things, but that shouldn’t matter!” Kagome’s bottom lip quivered.

“It might not matter tomorrow, or next week, or the week after that, but sooner or later, it would. That’s what you said last night.” Her breathing was picking up now, ragged gasps with a scent of tears.

“What?!”

“You said it’s important to find someone who shares your goals and your interests and fits into your life.”

“Kagome, I was talking about my asshole brother, and how he and Kagura aren’t on the same page about having kids! I wasn’t talking about us!”

“You just said musicals are utterly ridiculous”, she burst out, standing suddenly and letting the cushion and hot water bottle fall to the floor with a sad flop. “And just in case you’ve forgotten Inuyasha, I am a stage manager for a theatre company. Which means by default that you think I’m ridiculous.” A fat tear rolled down her cheek, quickly followed by another, and her distress was the only thing stopping him from snarling that the only thing ridiculous was this conversation. This wasn’t like her at all, and he needed to keep calm.

“Hey, hey, c’mon, I never meant that”, said Inuyasha softly as he stood, trying his best to de-escalate the situation. “I know your job is important to you, and just how much you love it.” Kagome continued on as if she hadn’t heard him, her voice breaking as tears streamed down her cheeks.

“You’ve never once shown an interest in anything that I’ve done at work. Never come to any of the shows I’ve been involved in”, she sniffed, and Inuyasha’s heart sank, made heavy with sudden guilt.

That was true. Kagome had listened to him rant about his work as a software test analyst, had shown interest in the games he played when he relaxed, had even made a WOW character and tried going on a raid with him when it was clearly not her thing. But she’d thrown herself into it, just like everything else she did, laughing at herself when she made mistakes, just happy to spend time with him sharing something he loved. He hadn’t done anything like that for her, hadn’t even noticed. That needed to change.

Kagome began gathering her things in a haphazard fashion, stuffing them in her backpack.

“Baby, don’t”, he said, trying to reach out to hug her. “Don’t leave when you’re upset. I promise we’re going to be better – I’m going to get better. I’m still learning how to be good at this. Please?”

She dodged his outstretched arms. “Don’t baby me”, she hissed, her tone venomous. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re even trying to get to know me. Do you even care at all? Or are you just in this for the sex?”

Inuyasha looked stricken. “Kagome…” His arms dropped to his sides.

Her eyes widened at his broken expression, her hands shaking as she reached tentatively towards him, then pulled herself back.

“I... I can’t do this right now”, she sobbed, pushing herself away. “I’m going home!”

And then the door slammed, and Inuyasha was left standing in the middle of his apartment, the untouched plate of cookies, cooling hot chocolate and water bottle the only evidence that Kagome had been there.

A man danced happily on his TV in the background, splashing around in rain puddles like it was the best thing ever. He plonked himself down on his sofa and picked up the cushion that Kagome had been hugging only moments before, burying his nose in it.

“What the fuck?” he whispered into the pillow. “What the actual fuck?!”

He didn’t know how serious this was, but it felt bad. She’d only been gone for seconds and already his life felt emptier. He felt sick, like he was going to vomit. He needed to fix it and fast. Because there was no way that he was going to lose Kagome over something like this.

Part Two

[mochikeiji]

Mishap Aroma

↠ Pairing: Akaashi Keiji x Reader

↠ Warning:tw: perverted person/anxiety attacks, astraphobia slight angst, fluffy fluff with my man.

↬ Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: Even the baddest day, week, month or year can have the most sweetest taste of goodness by the end. Especially with the person you love and would scare all of these bad aura away.

⇢ Day 4: CoffeeShop AU

Misfortune— it happens at an unexpected time, event, and place. Whether you find yourself having a good day or moment or already in a tight spot, that bastard comes right in to double the penetration to your problems.

For instance, you were just finishing up your daily chores such as going to the grocery to fill in your empty fridge back home. It was all fine, there weren't much people, the line was short, the cashier was kind and patient as you counted your coins frantically. It was all fine.

And then the weather decided to be a bitch.

It started as a hot sunny day and suddenly as afternoon light peaks in the midst of your way home it started to pour. You didn't mind at first and luckily came in prepared with an umbrella and walked while humming a tune in your head peacefully. It was all alright, enjoying the cold weather and water spraying on your face like a child, that was until clouds started clashing to one another, delivering a loud roar from above that made your feet tumble a little on the ground.

You hated it.

On the corner of a building you ran and knelt down, one hand on your dominant ear, the one that was more sensitive to sound and the other having to deal with your shoulder pathetically protecting it. You searched desperately inside your bag, looking for that clear case of your that held two earplugs your mother had given you from her father. But none, you could've sworn you had two pairs of those. One for travel and one for home.

"Ah fuck, I broke them last month."

Raining season was occuring, of course you were using those earplugs before and more often. But the more it stretched when you pulled it out from your ear, it sadly broke. And the ones that were strong and still in good piece were at home. 

The pounding from your heart didn't stop with your knees wobbling from your poor position and fear. Getting home was a bit hard with the down pour. Worse was the flashing lights above and the roars of thunder. You'd be down on your knees and you wouldn't even be close home.

You panted a bit, flinching ever so suddenly at the rain ever second, predicting the possibility of a next round of thunder. Keeping your head lowered, you saw your bag lit up brightly inside. Hope flickered inside of you a little when you fished it out quickly and saw the ID message.

Akaashi:

Are you okay?

Where are you?

Do you have your earplugs?

3:33 PM

You teared up a bit in fear and touched by his concern. You only had a few people understand this phobia of yours. Some may say it was childish to fear a simple weather, that was messed up and still made you self conscious. But you were happy and comforted to have your lover tend to this fear of yours. He would always call you if ever and play a tune in the background loudly to distract you and spam you with messages.

You:

I went out to pick groceries.

I don't have.

I'm far.

3:37 PM

You screamed, but was muffled by the flash of lightning and stomping thunder. You knew your messages had few contexts, but you couldn't anymore. After counting a few seconds, you thanked yourself you only had a few things from the store and picked it up and began sprinting in the rain. Not caring how soaked you were getting and how people just stared at you in worry. You ran, praying to reach home. But even so, there were small rumbles above and it still shakens you.

Eventually, you reached a near cafe that had stairs below. It was that cafe where Akaashi and you would study back in the days when you both were in your third years in high school. It looked small since it was placed below, (like the mclarens pub) but the interior was pleasing and welcoming.

You grabbed on the railings of the stairs and carefully but quickly went down, entering the door with the small bell ringing from above. The air condition blasting throughout the cafe, your dhirt beginning to stick to your skin as you hugged your chest with one arm and hunched a bit to look like you were just freezing. Atleast the counter was empty, must be behind the other door preparing. Not many people bothered to look at the door which gave you opportunity to run to your usual spot. Beaming a little at the sight if it being empty and sat down, placing the grocery bag on the table along with your bag and sighing.

The rumbles can be heard, but not as loud as it was outside. Thighs pressed together close and arms wrapping around your cold body, you decided to wait until everything was clear. Even if it meant getting sick and looking disheveled on the corner.

This was yours and Akaashi's personal spot during study sessions. Even dating, this was where you'd celebrate occasionally. It was no surprise some of the employees knew you two, but apparently it seemed majority of them were out and the newbies were on duty. They would sometimes tease you when you would wait alone in your seat, or even Akaashi. Saying how adorable the two of you were and offering discounts during events like birthdays or anniversaries. They even got both your phone numbers and became close friends.

It was no surprise to have your body shivering in seconds despite distracting yourself with warm memories. You mentally cringed when you felt the eyes of a disgusting predator just a few tables in front of you rake through your soaked chest whilst hiding his smug expression behind his steaming hot beverage. It's only a matter of time that guy will walk up to you and have his way to your body with the few people around you who had their own worlds and the counter still empty.

The skies cracking sounds can be heard, louder than the rest of the thunders you've heard a while ago and made you yelp. The lights thag hung on the ceiling of the cafe flickered and buzzed as you tried to shell yourself away from everything when the lurk of anxiety crept in your chest.

Your whimpers were silent, and only you can hear them. The tears were slowly making their way to your eyes followed by the warmth and soft, dried clothing being placed on your shoulders and your left side being occupied by a larger body.

"I figured you'd be here."

Gasping and recognizing that gentle voice, immediately snuggling your soaked form on his dried and heated body, Akaashi snakes his arms around you with his hand cradling your neck along with soft hushes to soothe you.

"T-there was a m-man staring at me.."

His hold tightens, he instantly knew which one was bothering you from being obvious and casts him a dirty glare. Disgusting, he thought inside of his head, not breaking the stare down until the guy eventually gulped from the stoic male a few feet away and left the place.

He hears you whimper on his chest and moved his hand to your back, giving it occasional pats to tell you that it was okay and rubbing to tell you he was here now. You weep on his chest from both relief and embarrassment. Today had been quite tough and now the rumbles outside can be somewhat heard now.

You feel Akaashi's arm move but you didn't bother to loom at it thinking he was just moving it around for a good position. He doesn't mind the fact that you were soaking wet on his side, at that moment he needed to tend to your needs. He didn't want to be like other people to leave you hanging like this. You hear him cooe like you were a baby in his arms and just gave you warm hugs.

"It's okay, you're okay. I promise everything will be okay."

He knows the comforting lines you needed and what you did not wish to hear. He was cautious with his words seeing from the internet reminders how people don't like simple closed minded term or words given to them. He was sincere with his, and wasn't just something to comfort you temporarily.

The table in front of you both made a small thud sound. Blinking your tears away, you hear a small whisper from someone else and Akaashi's head nodding on top of yours. Raising your head a little, Akaashi looks down and presses a kiss on your forehead and smiles at you.

"I bought your favorite."

Your nose sniffles a bit from clogging that was now heated by the steam of your hot beverage, turning away from his chest, you saw your once empty table now occupied with two hot beverages and sweet chocolate chip cookies.

"You love these right? It's been long since we've gotten down here on such occasions."

It was true with him almost being gone 24/7 due to his work and you mostly taking care of the necessities when he was away, there wasn't enough time of weeks or even months to spend the day with him. It was a blessing in disguise that a bad day can make the two of you come back to the nostalgic place once again and finally have that moment where it was just the both of you.

"Wait, didn't you have work today?"

Akaashi took a note of your dampened features and placed a hand on your cheek to wipe away the tears softly.

"I told my co workers that I needed to head home immediately when I heard a loud thunder."

Looking back down then at the table filled with untouched food, you began to feel guilty to be having to pull him down from his work. You didn't expect him to actually run out of his office just to tend to your fears and comfort you. You felt like a child next to him— a spoiled one.

"I'm sorry..I'll pay you back."

He feels you try to pull away from his embrace, but as coincidence strikes again, a loud crack was heard from above, yet you still try to pull away from his hold even though you were obviously shaking in fear. He wasn't going to have this, instead of letting you go free, he yanks you back to his chest with a small sound escaping your lips from the impact and his hand firmly placed on your back.

"No you're not, I know what you're thinking and no, none of this is on you, love."

Always been quite the observer, you thought as you fought back the tingling smile on your face. You wondered how can a guy like him exist in this world and how you even managed yo make him yours and you his. Not a single negative feeling goes unnoticed by him everyday even if he was occupied by his own work and needs, he would always be looking after whats more important.

"I love you, hm? It's only natural I tend to the person I love. I'd be an ass if I just left you after what you've gave me throughout the years. It's a give-give relationship, sweetie. I just want you happy and safe."

Eyes held the most sincere look in them. You thanked the heavens and his parents for making such a beautiful human. His hands started to move around your body a bit to make you turn back around to your now warm treats. Even though you were slightly soaking, he held you none the less on his lap and presses a kiss on your cheek as you grabbed your own beverage.

It's not everyday Akaashi has gotten an opportunity to commence PDA, but there weren't much people other than the smiling woman by the counter who had given him his order. She thought it was adorable seeing you both a minute ago during comforting you.

Munching on the cookie, Akaashi took a sip on his coffee with his free hand rubbing your belly instinctively. He's grown a habit of rubbing any part of your body he can touch, knowing how you loved the skin to skin affection. The same implies to him as he secretly smiles through his cup when he feels your stomach grumble.

The day may have been bad, unexpected. But more on unexpectedly good in the end. You always believed that after a bad day, there was always going to be good. But not a day, either a week of goodness or a month. Because after sharing this day with him, the next day he had announced he was given a week off after finishing a lot of his projects.

But for now, you snuggled deeper in his hold as you blew your drink, looking up carefully to place a kiss on his jaw that made his heart flutter and him stop chewing on his own food.

A little caffeine tastes sweeter after a mishap.