#flowers growing out of the pavement

[geopsych]

Another sidewalk dandelion—they’re my heroes.

[fellamarsh]

riding trains is fun because you get to see some of the world's ugliest buildings (windowless warehouse monoliths) and some of the world's most beautiful art (graffiti) all on the same journey

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent-ish life pictures and etc.

[k-hotchoisan]

the scentist

<san x fem!reader>

Your neighbour—Choi San—is such a gentleman on top of being a complete hunk and smelling so fuckin good. Especially so when he offers his hoodie when he sees you being drenched. Well, nothing could come out of such a simple gesture of kindness, right?

Genres/Warnings: perverted & obsessed scentist!San, Olfactophilia (sexual arousal from scent), masturbation on clothing, oral (F receiving), unprotected sex, cumming untouched, armlock (light) breeding, pussy drunk San💙

💙 @san-network 💜

Taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @voicesinmyhead-rc @pre1ttyies @hwallazia @songmingisthighs @yeosangiess @interweab @mylovelymito @softwsan @yourlocaljonghoe @itza-meee @ywtf @jeon-ify

A/N: WE BEEN KNEW THAT I’D LEAVE MY FAVOURITE MAN FOR THE LAST!! 😮‍💨 don’t be sad that this event is ending ok,, we got more to cum come 🥰 thank u for giving my fics so much love as always!!

🩷back to staying perverted

Lavender. Sweet pea. Azalea. Gardenia. 

The scents of the florals fill his lab, something he’s so used to already. As the concoction bubbles, he walks over to the other flowers potted along the shelf, pressing the petals against his nose, taking in their smell before he pulls away. He pulls off his goggles, walking over to his desk, staring at the standing whiteboard, filled to the corners with flower names, chemical compounds, and other miscellaneous details. Even though he’s doing fine, he feels that something is missing. Choi San feels stale and stuck. 

The rain is pattering down heavily against the pavement, he stares at the raindrops hitting the leaves of his plants. San often gets compliments on how beautiful his plants are, and how natural he is at gardening. San would don his signature smile and he would thank them for the compliment. Sometimes, his neighbours would come by to ask for gardening advice and San would gladly entertain them. This evening was no different. Another one of his neigbours who was growing greens had wanted to express appreciation by buying San his favorite fertilizers. Stacking them neatly in his cabinet, San then decides to head down to the reception to receive his parcel. 

Fuck. The downpour was so sudden. It totally caught you off guard, and you were drenched before you realised it. You make it to the entrance of your apartment complex, shivering slightly from the air conditioning. You shake off the excess water off your arms, and when you look up, your heartbeat quickens—your apartment complex crush is standing at his letterbox, filtering through his mail while he holds a parcel in his arms. He’s in a grey hoodie, and for some reason, it makes him look big, and it’s driving you insane. Shit, shit, shit. You pray that he doesn’t turn around and see you.

“Hey. Good evening y/n”, San greets cheerily. You force a smile, “Good evening San.”

San has his eyes on you, and you swear he’s eyeing you down—probably judging you for being drenched and shit. 

“Looks like you reached back just in time”, he teases, and you pout. 

“I feel like a drenched dog. Is this how dogs feel after a shower?” You reply, brushing your hands through your wet locks, all in an attempt to stop yourself from staring at San laugh—his voice is hypnotic enough to make you melt into a puddle already. The cold air from the air conditioning hits you once more, and this time you’re beginning to shiver uncontrollably on top of struggling to open your damn letterbox and not looking like a circus in front of your crush. 

You focus on fidgeting with your letterbox keys, your fingers reaching out to snatch the letters. When you close the latch, San has his hoodie unzipped, and he’s removing said outerwear. 

“San, what are you-“

He’s about to hand you the hoodie, but he instead opts to put his parcels in your hands, and he fucking fits the hoodie around your shoulders, and when he does, his smell floods your senses. He smells like a mix of floral—with hints of spice and citrus, and although for a brief moment, you have it locked in some part of your brain. His fingers brush against yours as he takes his parcels and letters from you, and it doesn’t help that he’s in a black shirt that hugs his biceps, shoulders, and chest a little too well. You barely muster the strength to peel your eyes away, feeling your heart flutter when his fingers brush against yours as he retrieves his packages back from you.

You look up, hoping that the fluorescent lights don’t highlight the heat that’s rushing to your cheeks. You’re still shivering, but suddenly you don’t feel as cold as before. 

“Thank you, San”, you smile. “I’ll wash it and return it to you ASAP.” San smiles in response and the both of you walk to the lift together, light conversations and laughter filling the spaces as your body and your heart gradually warm up.

San is exhausted—he’s been at the lab back to back, drafting report after report, and it’s been taking chunks out of him. Palm against his neck, he tilts his head, shutting his eyes as he stretches his neck, and then he sighs. His superiors finally approved his reports and now he has the god-given chance of going home and catching up on his sleep for the night.

The muffled sounds of his doorbell stir him up from his sleep. He doesn’t shift for a couple of seconds. Then his hands shift across the bedsheets to feel for his phone. The doorbell sounds a couple more times and San grunts in his groggy state, his fingers hitting against the edge of his phone, which he pulls closer to him to check the time.

It’s 2 pm. He crashed for 14 hours last night. 

He slowly sits up, letting his sight adjust to the afternoon sun filtering through his windows before he walks over to the front door. He’s slightly grouchy from the amount of sleep he clocked in, but as he swings the door open, the remainder of his sleep dissipates when he sees that it’s you standing before him.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you up?” You ask, rubbing your neck. “I wanted to return you this..”, you bring up a paper bag to San’s view. San is still registering this.

“But you weren’t home for the past couple of days, and I don’t have your phone number..” 

San blinks. Then his hands reach out to take the paper bag, and his eyes glance downwards. 

Ah, it’s his hoodie. 

He looks up back to you. “Thank you. Don’t tell me you’ve been coming here every day to try to pass me this?” 

“Yes and no..?” you answer with a smile. It spreads to San, who suddenly feels a shot of guilt for making you come to his unit when he wasn’t even there half of the time. 

“I’ll treat you to dinner for the trouble I’ve put you through”, he says hastily. He thinks the way your eyes widen and how pink is flushing at the tip of your ears is so adorable, and then he cuts you off before you attempt to decline his offer, “Pass me your phone.”

The phone in your hand is in his now and he types in his phone number before he hands it back to you. 

He leans in slightly closer, and there is a particular scent that slowly starts to make its way to his brain. Is it coming from you? For some reason, he hasn’t been able to get it out of his head since the day he lent you his hoodie. And there it was again, faint, but it was definitely there.

“Is there anything else I can help you with, y/n?”

He’s almost disappointed when he sees you shake your head, but at the same time, he has lab work to do, so he shuts the door after he sends you off with a smile, not knowing that you omitted that you wore his hoodie a couple more times after washing (mostly due to the cold weather).

He drops off the paper bag on his bedroom floor before he heads off to his home lab.

Unfortunately, the extra 14 hours of sleep still doesn’t spark inspiration for his chemistry, and he ends up spending barely an hour in his lab, mostly tending to his flowers, before he decides to call it a day. 

San is back in his bedroom, and he decides to unpack his hoodie from the paper bag. His hands reach into the bag and retrieve the hoodie, and when he unfolds the hoodie, his mind immediately hazes at the scent coming off the garment. Fuck. It’s even more prominent. It’s the scent that he can’t get out of his fucking head, and now it’s pretty much in his hands. 

You smell like fucking heaven, San thinks, placing the outerwear under his nostrils once more, inhaling, the smell completely entering the crevices of his mind. He groans and curses at the way his erection is pushing against his pants just from your fucking smell. It’s more than just the detergent you use—it’s so much more intimate and intoxicating than that, and it’s undoubtedly driving San fucking crazy. He’s so sure that this is the scent that he’s been chasing after.

San walks over to his bed, comfortable on the mattress while he pushes his pants past his thick thighs, his cockhead pushing against his underwear, forming a dark and wet spot. He inhales shakily, teasing himself, the precum thickening and staining more of his underwear. It doesn’t take him long to kick off his sweats and underwear completely, letting his cock spring out with a relieved sigh, before he slowly starts fucking his hand while his other hand has his head filled with your pheromones. 

The thought of you on that rainy evening, the way the rain had drenched your white shirt through, your bra showing, cupping your tits so fucking teasingly. San wonders if you did it on purpose because he would have just ripped your shirt open right then and there. His repressed fantasies begin to bubble up—the thought of him inviting you to his unit instead, letting his hands feel you up, making sure your goosebumps are from his touches rather than the cold because he swears he can warm you up quickly. He would press himself against you, taking in your scent, before he’d slip his hands underneath your pathetic white shirt, cupping your tits, then sliding your pants off—he knows he can’t even wait till the both of you reach his bedroom—the furthest the both of you would go? The fucking couch.

Your smell floats, and it’s dragging him deeper and deeper. San bucks his hips against his hand, soft moans pouring out his lips, whining your name against the fragrant garment, his precum turning thicker by the minute. He’s liked you ever since he met you when you first moved in, and now you’re filling up every part of his olfactory senses. He’s desperate to fill you up with him, make sure you’re holding your shirt up with your teeth, your eyes filling up with tears as he slams his cock into your warm pussy, over and over, forcing yourself to stay quiet so the neighbours don’t hear.  

Fucking hell. San’s thighs shake slightly at the thought of it. He takes another inhale, and it’s like a dopamine reset once more, perfect at the moment when he’s bringing himself to the edge. Your voice echoes in his head, the pretty sounds you’d make, the expressions that he would indulge in for himself.

Thick streams of cum bubble from his silt, and he almost suffocates himself from the sick pleasure of burying his face in his hoodie drenched in your scent, he catches his breath as the scent slowly fades when he pulls the hoodie from his face, panting from an orgasm that he knows will never be enough one time. 

As San washes off his high in the warm showers, he decides to attempt to recreate your scent, wanting to keep it all for himself. And he knows just a hoodie isn’t gonna be enough.

You’ve been flipping your apartment upside down, looking for your panties. At first, you didn’t notice that one pair went missing—chalking it off as you misplacing your laundry. But when the second one you swore you dropped off in the fresh laundry hamper disappears, along with a third, you realise something was amiss. You retrace your steps—you did have a couple of people over recently, but the majority of them were your girl friends, if you minus off how you and San have been going over to each other’s places for meals ever since the both of you exchanged phone numbers. Undoubtedly, your feelings for him have grown exponentially, especially when the both of you spent time with each other in (almost) close proximity. San had always been polite and helped around with cleaning up the dishes, and he had a very endearing habit of leaning in closer to you—whether to just tease you or to hear you better—it would never fail to make you act flustered around him before you would roll your eyes and push him away. 

Needless to say, the relationship had blossomed since that rainy evening. You just didn’t expect to grow so close with your apartment complex crush, and while there were nights where San’s face, San’s voice, San’s body would bubble up to the surface when your orgasms washed over you, leaving you squirming and shy once the post nut clarity hit, you thought to yourself that the relationship between the both of you was good enough for now.

You scratch your head, racking your brains as to where your panties might have magically disappeared to. You’re lost in thought until the ping from your phone brings you out of it. You go over to check, and it’s from San—reminding you of dinner at his place. Right, the panties can wait for now. 

“I hope I’m not late”, you smile as San opens the door for you to let you in. San returns it, “No, I just placed the order. It’s gonna take awhile.” 

You take a seat on his couch. No matter how many times you’ve been to his place recently, you always feel that it’s still so spacious. 

Then he breaks your train of thought. 

“Is there something you’d like to do while waiting?” You let your eyes wander around his apartment again, and they land on the potted plants on his window sill. 

Your eyes dart away from how San is staring down—his body is facing towards you, giving you his fullest, and it’s making you slightly self-conscious. 

“I’m wondering what you’re always so busy with.”, you say. You’re ready to be rejected when San doesn’t answer right away. Right, it’s probably something personal to him too. But you can���t help but overthink when he doesn’t reply immediately sometimes. It makes you feel so childlike. 

He stands up, gesturing you to follow him. “It’s a little embarrassing”, San replies as he guides you to the tightly shut door. He presses his fingertip onto the keypad—it lights up green and San pushes the door knob down, and the door pushes open. 

It is as if it is another world. The lights are dim and the air is a lot cooler, albeit slightly more humid thanks to the myriad amount of plants littered around the room. He has so many species—differentcolours and different flowers. The scents hit you next, the floral scent floating around your nostrils at different intensities. 

“A whole nursery?” You exclaim, walking near to some of the flowers. 

“Yes and no. It’s more of a lab”, San corrects you, walking over to the heavy desk just full of lab equipment. “Sorry, it’s kinda messy.”

You shake your head, still taking in the sight of his botanically busy room, amazed. 

As you near more of the equipment, the scents grow stronger. The whole lab smells so fragrant, and you’re surprised that it’s not overpowering, to say the least. 

“So, what do you do here exactly?” You ask, taking another whiff of the fragrance while staring at the rows of test tubes before you. 

“I make scents. It’s just a side hobby of mine on top of my research”, San explains. He picks up a test tube and gestures you to take a whiff, and so you do, pleasantly surprised at how much the scent smells just like him. 

“Then what’s your little project now?” 

San pauses. He doesn’t look you in the eye for that split second. As he parts his mouth to answer, the doorbell rings, and it jumps him out of his thoughts. The food is here. 

Seated across San, as you always do, San is plating the takeout while you prepare the utensils. The topic of his lab comes up again, but you completely forget about asking about his projects.

Midway through the conversation, the rice cake that you were trying to eat somehow slips off the utensil and drops onto your clothes, causing you to jump in surprise, somehow toppling your plate with the leftover sauce, on top of staining on your clothes, much to your dismay. 

“Shit”, you curse, casting an irritated glance at the splatter on your clothes. The plate clatters on the floor. You stand there, slightly dumbfounded at the situation. You’re wondering if you should just head home to change out, considering that your unit isn’t too far from his. But before you have the chance to bring up that suggestion, San cuts you off.

“You can drop your clothes into the washing machine. In the meantime, you can borrow my hoodie. It should be on the clean laundry hamper.”

“San-“

He turns to you with a comforting smile. “It’s fine. Rice cake sauce isn’t the easiest to clean off when you leave it for too long. I’ll clean up the floor.”

You realise arguing with him isn’t work out in your favour, nor will it get the rice cake sauce off your clothes any quicker, so you decide to heed his words and head to his room.

Undressing yourself once you shut the door, you drop your soiled clothes into the washing machine. It was then you realise that you are pretty much naked, in Choi San’s fucking bedroom. Struggling to keep your head out of the gutter, you decide to focus on finding that damn grey hoodie. Your eyes scan his room, trying to search for the grey hoodie. And your eyes land on a thick-looking piece of garment on one of the laundry hampers. You walk over to pick it up.

You put his hoodie over, and there it is again—the spicy citrus smell. Choi San’s smell. Your thighs push against each other a little tighter this time. Then something in your peripherals catch your attention—a lace garment. You inch closer, and your heart drops. 

It’s a pair of lace underwear. 

Fuck. Is he seeing someone and he didn’t tell you? A thick lump forms in your throat. 

And then it goes away when you start picking up another two more panties from the hamper, and the realisation hits you like a fucking truck—these are your fucking panties. 

Things are not adding up in your brain, that’s for fucking sure. 

At that moment, San bursts into the bedroom, and a panicked expression scribbled across his face. His eyes are blown wide open when they land on the three pairs of panties in your hands. 

You stare back at him, almost mirroring his expression, the only difference being confusion for you instead. 

The corner of San’s lips pull into a half smile. “Oops.”

“San, what’s the meaning of this?” You ask, feeling your face flush rapidly. 

“Well”, San pauses. “you asked what scent I’m making next right? It’s yours.” 

“My scent?” You echo back in question to him. San sighs, his shoulders relaxing as he inches closer to you, trapping you underneath him when you finally hit his bed. 

“Yes, darling. Your scent”, his voice almost turning into a whisper, dropping octaves lower. “You’re so cruel—keeping something so intoxicating to yourself.” 

You swallow hard. San’s eyes still reflect his usual gentle demeanor, but now it’s slowly being tinted with something else. Something more ominous. Despite that, it only draws you in, like a prey being slowly hypnotized by her predator. You should be shocked, terrified even, but the only thing streaming through the nerves of your brain is the internal begging for San to just eat you up right now. 

You suddenly realise that the hoodie isn’t zipped up, the outerwear slipping down your arms. You remain still, your heartbeat slamming against your ribcage. 

“You can run out of my apartment now. I’m giving you five seconds”, San tells you, and your mind is spinning at the thought of him even giving you a chance to leave. 

Five seconds pass. You’re still staring up at the male above you, whose lips are curling into a satisfied smirk. 

His fingers cup your jaw, and he tells you, “Open up.” Sparks splatter across your eyelids the moment his lips collide with yours. You pull him closer on instinct, the feeling of his thick erection behind the two layers of fabric sending you into an orbit on top of his tongue teasing yours. He pulls back, licking off the strings of saliva between the both of you. His gaze is locked onto yours.

“Please? Let me taste you. I promise I’ll make you feel so fucking good”, his request sounding more like a beg. Your mind is hazy. Choi San? In between your fucking legs? You swallow hard, and then you nod. 

San lowers himself to your clothed cunt, his eyes shut in bliss when he presses himself against your pussy. 

“Heaven”, is all he mutters, his eyes casting you a glazed expression that was definitely about to drive you fucking insane, before his fingers pull against the waistband of your panties, slipping them off you. 

The moment you feel his tongue press against your pussy, your mind threatens to shut off. San is breathing heavily against your soaking pussy, taking in the sight, taste, and smell of what you’re finally giving to him. Every time your thighs jerk to shut at the sensation of his tongue licking you up, his hands push you open for him forcing you to take his tongue in your cunt, and it’s wiping out any remaining rational thoughts you didn’t even know you had. 

Your fingers tug against his scalp, pushing your hips deeper onto his tongue, your back arched from how fucking good he feels. His tongue is lapping you up, teasing your clit over and over again once he hits the sweet spot, his fingers leaving imprints on your thighs when he hears you whine and moan his name. 

All San can think about is how fucking amazing you taste—he knew it would be another fucking level than pressing his nose against the fabric of your panties and fucking into his hand for the past few weeks, but actually letting you fuck his face? He’s on fucking cloud nine. 

His glazed-out eyes shift to look up at you, watching the way you’re squirming under him, the sounds of his wet tongue fucking you, tasting you, echoing around his room. Your cream and pussy are the only things he can register, and he wants to keep it for himself, forever.

“S-San-“, you cry out, your mind just threatening to blank out at every flick of his tongue. He’s building your orgasm at such a dangerous pace, and tears are pooling at the corners of your eyes when you feel something funny bubbling at the pit of your stomach. “I think I’m gonna fuck-“

“That’s it. Let it go for me. That’s a good fucking girl”, San encourages, before his tongue presses against your clit, giving you another lick before white washes over you, your cunt pulsing violently against his tongue from the sheer pleasure, then clear fluids splattering onto San’s pretty face—who seemed unfazed, considering he’s still lapping your cunt up, while you’re almost thrashing above him as the overstimulation starts to sink in. Your moans sound like cries when you beg him to stop. San doesn’t relent, and he only stops when he suddenly whimpers, switching over to kiss your thighs, decorating your plump flesh with love bites. He pushes a finger in, letting you stain and coat his fingers, enjoying your whines before he pulls out and towers over you. 

“Fuck, if I’d known you’d taste this good, I would have stolen your panties sooner”, he mutters, cleaning his fingers with his tongue, desperate to taste you again.

You’re catching your breath from going through the most mind-blowing orgasm, watching San pulling his shirt over his head, and then slipping out of his sweats, your breath caught in your throat when his fat cock comes into view, thick and heavy, and covered in thick cum. 

San’s fingers curl around your neck, and he lowers himself to litter kisses across your neck and jaw, it’s giving you goosebumps, your arms automatically wrapping around his neck to pull him closer. 

He pauses right at the shell of your ear. 

“I want to wear you over and over again. I want to lock you up in me—bottle you up so I can keep you for myself.”

“Then do it. I’m here for you to dip into your pretty little fantasies in, San.”

You swear you see something snap in the poor male, especially from the way he takes a deep inhale—shakily— before he parts your lips with his, leaving you breathless when your little steamy make-out session ends. 

“You don’t know what you do to me, darling”, San cautions when he pulls back. His hair is tousled but fuck, he still looks so fucking good. “And I’m not stopping even if you’re screaming.”

Fuck. 

He fucks his hand, soft sighs leaving his lips, as his cum dribbles down his length, before he lines up to your hole and pushes in easily. 

You hear him groan above you, your eyes are fixated on the way he’s losing himself in your pussy, and your mind is finally growing blank the more his cock fills you up. He’s stretching you open so fucking good, filling you up to the hilt. 

“You’re squeezing me so much, darling. Fuck. Are you fucking kidding me?” His eyebrows are scrunched, his hands holding your legs up while he lets you adjust to his cock. 

But he doesn’t warn you before he starts moving, his impatience completely overriding any ounce of rationale he has left in him. 

“So good. San, you feel so fucking good”, your moans sounding like cries whenever his hips snap against yours, the obscene sounds only adding to the tension. 

“You take me so fucking well, darling”, San’s voice is ringing in your ears. “Look at your fucking pussy just swallowing me up like that.” 

You don’t even reply to that, your eyes are rolled to the back of your head, and your head is somewhere in fucking heaven where San is definitely fucking you into. 

Just when you feel that you were about fucking fall apart on his cock, he pulls out, and you barely manage to catch your breath when San instructs you to turn over. You do, your ass up for him, and he enters your cunt once more, before fucking into you from the back. You don’t fucking know how, but you swear that his cock feels even thicker from the back.

His hands press against your hips, fucking you deep before he lets his hands slide down your body and he stops at your neck, gesturing you to look up at him as he leans down to press his lips against yours—all while rearranging your guts from the back. 

He lets you pull back when you feel your neck is growing sore, and then he puts his body weight onto you, his arm tucking underneath your neck. 

“Such a good fucking girl for me. You feel so fucking amazing”, San whispers, tickling every crevice of your brain as he presses his nose against the curve between your neck and shoulder, his thrusts turning more like ruts. The arm lock around your neck isn’t cutting off oxygen thankfully, but the thought of him choking you out only drags you closer to your high. 

“Cumming, I’m cumming San-“, you whimper, tears trickling from your eyes from how much his cock is constantly hitting in such deep fucking spots of your pussy. 

“Me too, babe. Gonna fill you up so nice and good, that’s what you’d like, right?” San teases, his cock twitching in you before he groans, his warm cum filling you up so good right at the same time your orgasm hits you once more, making you squeeze even more cum from San, perfectly milking him dry in your pussy. 

“So fucking perfect”, you hear San mutter, and you can’t help but flush, even though he just fucked every ounce of sanity out of you. His lips trail down the nape of your neck, his eyes are locked onto you, hazy and tinted with a hint of a growing obsession you could never tell. 

He’s not letting go of you. 

[headspace-hotel]

I agree with the idea that a lot of humans nowadays have a severe lack of curiosity about the world, but I think there has to be a solution other than shame.

I think about this every day because the fate of our world hangs on curiosity: either we will rediscover the importance and wonders of the soil and bugs and flowers and water and finally with the whole natural world, or this way will be forgotten.

People raised in the great wasteland of the suburbs and roads and buildings have never seen most of the plants and creatures that are supposed to fill every field and meadow. So many humans have never seen with their own eyes more than a scant few of the most common of hundreds of wildflowers that are supposed to surround them. Some live in biomes designated forest and have never witnessed truly mature trees. They do not know what the birds sound like. When they see an ordinary deer, they are awed and amazed by it or even afraid of it. They have never eaten any of the delicious wild fruits that grow in their homeland; all birds except starlings and robins and sparrows are so strange and beautiful that they stare in wonder. They confront insects like people on an alien planet encountering an unknown life form: What is this? Will it hurt me?

I cannot even describe the grief I feel on behalf of humans that grow up and live in the wasteland of pavement and lawn. That we are expected to live in these brutal environments, that we are expected to be content without the right or ability to live alongside living creatures, to walk among wildflowers, to hear birdsong, to feel the plush softness of moss, to see even common bees and butterflies—the fact that we live, work, and raise our children in poisonous wastes where nearly everything has been wiped out, and the simplest and most abundant of natural pleasures are rare privileges—it's cruel. It's a crime against the human spirit. It makes me so angry and sad.

When I started researching plants, I had no idea that I would end up expanding my mind so much that I would be virtually a different person within the year. Before I learned, I could not have imagined the diversity and beauty that exists in the world. My mind did not have the tools to come up with it.

I lived for over twenty years believing that there was only one species of firefly. I lived for over twenty years not knowing that the Southeastern US has native bamboo. I had never tasted the indescribable flavor of a pawpaw or seen the iridescent vibrance of a red-spotted purple butterfly. I had only seen a Pileated Woodpecker out the window of a car. I had never touched true topsoil, the soft, living blanket of rich, sweet-smelling earth full of mycelium, as springy and plush as a mattress. Just one year ago, I knew nothing!

Humans, as creatures, are insatiably curious and hunger for beauty. It is so cruel to deprive a human of relationship with their natural environment.

It is no wonder that we are all addicted to the internet—we have a crucial need that is unfulfilled. Compared with a forest, the world of lawns and buildings is so ridiculously flat and unstimulating. You would expect humans in such a place to feel constantly bored, restless, frustrated, and incurably sad.

I feel that lack of curiosity can be a chosen thing, but it is also a defense mechanism against a world that will feel like sandpaper on the senses of the curious.

But we need curiosity to fix this—we need the ability to notice the living things that have crept in at the edges of the wasteland and be infected and tormented by their beauty. We need to recognize the forest reaching into our cage in the form of tiny saplings. We need to discard the word "weed," not because it is derogatory because it is fundamentally incurious—it designates a plant as needing no identity outside of its unwantedness. We must learn their names. We must wonder what their names are.

[colonelarr0w]

"My love, mine all mine"

JJK Characters as oddly specific romantic scenarios.

Contains -> Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Toji Fushiguro, Choso Kamo, Ryomen Sukuna, Hiromi Higuruma, Ino Takuma, Yuuji Itadori, Megumi Fushiguro

! PIECE BEGINS UNDERNEATH THE CUT !

SATORU GOJO as randomly giving flowers.  

The action is unpredictable, unexpected — very similar to the unpredictable tendencies of the Special Grade. Gojo is never a one-trick pony, never does he want you to grow bored or tired of him (not that you ever will, obviously). Money did not matter to him, not when it came down to you. If a bouquet of flowers cost an arm and a leg, Gojo would gladly take a saw and get to work.  

If he happens to see a bouquet of flowers that would just look gorgeous on your desk, he’s throwing various bills at the florist and beelining for where he knows you’ll be. Gojo loves you, which is absolutely not a secret to anyone around him, and him randomly going out of his way to buy you flowers only reminds you of that bursting love that he has for you … and only you. And maybe, just maybe, he'll leave a small handwritten note with a scrawled declaration of just how much you mean to him.  

SUGURU GETO as admiring the rain. 

How serene and tranquil it is to just admire nature’s tears with Geto. Neither of you have to say anything, not that you want to — lest you want the loving silence to be tainted with whispered words. You don’t mind the silence, and nor does he. It's comfortable, peaceful, and it allows you both to momentarily forget about the world that you lived in. Instead, you could bask in the warmth that Geto emanates, clinging to it like a moth would cling to a light that they found.  

Geto’s arm is loosely draped over your waist, your side molding into his own like two pieces of a puzzle. Your head tucked against his shoulder, ears perked to listen to the rain’s gentle pattering. Geto’s fingers trace mindless shapes into your skin, content to sit in your presence. You carry with you a softness that Geto knew could never be replicated, reminding him that the things that have been done to him and by him are things long left in the past. For now, he could be Suguru – and he would only ever be Suguru around you.  

KENTO NANAMI as tying untied shoelaces.  

Late night walks where your shoes just won’t seem to cooperate. For as tight as the knots initially felt, they only loosened with each step you took. Even his steps had noticeably slowed to be in sync with your own, being sure to not accidentally leave you behind. Always attentive to you, reminding you that he loves you with a gentle squeeze to your fingers. The eyes behind his eyeglasses soften as you return his squeezes, but their softness is replaced then by a flicker of concern as you stumble, nearly rolling your ankle against the pavement.  

And so he pauses your walk, releasing the gentle grip he has on your hand and touching his knee to the ground. Fingers loop through the undone laces, expertly knotting them before softened eyes flicker up to your own. Your cheeks flush at the sheer adoration that swims in his eyes, your gaze flickering away from his own as a mumbled thanks falls from your lips. But he does not miss the curl of your lips – wearing that sweet smile that Nanami wishes that he could forever commit to memory. Nanami imagines an alternate scenario from his position, one where he holds silver and slips it onto your finger. Eventually… 

TOJI FUSHIGURO as late night drives.  

With gentle music and the soft rumble of the engine, it’s no wonder that you feel so incredibly safe sitting in the passenger seat of Toji’s (Shiu’s) car. Your hand rests on the back of Toji’s, which lays against your thigh — squeezing every few seconds in a silent ‘I love you’. His declaration spoken in a language that only you understand, one crafted for you and one used only when you were around.  

Your drives aren't known to have a set destination, just filled with senseless turns that never have a true end thought out. Many of them are silent, the car only filled with the sounds of your pre-prepared playlist of songs that both you and Toji enjoyed, but there are times where the car is filled with soft conversation recounting past experiences or simply reciting the day’s events. But one thing is for certain, only you could make the great Toji Fushiguro soft. 

CHOSO as shared routines.  

Your presence in Choso’s life has brought about notable changes to the course of his day — namely his routine and how he decides to spend the mornings and nights. What was once simply waking up and immediately moving about has now become remaining tangled in the sheets for five (sometimes ten) extra minutes. What was once a simple brushing of the teeth has now become a multi-step skincare routine and lengthy shower. 

His day just wouldn’t be the same without your shoulder brushing against his own as you both cleaned your teeth. It wouldn’t be the same without you brushing through his hair and styling it for him with the gentlest of hands. His nights wouldn’t be the same without your body against his in the bath, sponge rubbing away the day’s tension. And it certainly wouldn’t be the same without you wrapped in his arms, gentle snores fanning against his neck as you doze off — wrapped in the comfort of his embrace.  

RYOMEN SUKUNA as shared glances.  

They say that the eyes are the true window into the soul, detailing the true feelings of what resides within and bringing it forth in a discreet, almost unknown, manner. Fleeting glances can speak the same amount as a full-length conversation. Softened irises can shine with love and narrowed pupils can convey rage equivalent to that of a freshly sharpened dagger. Sukuna’s eyes were no exception to the rule — the love he held for you couldn’t be hidden behind pointed glares, not when they softened immediately upon finding you.  

The moment your eyes met his own, soft and gentle, something in him promptly melts. How funny that the King of Curses would find himself staring at you — a simple sorcerer — with crinkled eyes. Was he smiling? No, no he’d never admit to ever smiling, but the sight of you just brings one to his face so naturally. Your head turns so that your gaze meets his own, silently reading each other’s eyes before you smile at him. And though he wants so badly to scoff and turn the other way, for you … he returns it.  

HIROMI HIGURUMA as being picked up from work.  

It was no secret that there were creeps lining the streets of the city, prowling around underneath the cloak that night provided and waiting for the best opportunity to strike. Wandering around at night, while not inherently dangerous, did not sit well in the stomach of Hiromi. He knew that you were able to handle yourself well, you were no stranger to defending yourself in situations where you needed to – but he still could not quell the pit of worry that bubbled in the pit of his chest whenever you were kept late at your office.  

And so, to keep a sound mind, Hiromi would wait outside the double doors of your office building, smiling against your hair as your body molds into his own. His nose nestles itself into your hair, inhaling the familiarity of your scent – a soft mixture of lavender and rose. The hug lasts for as long as you need it to, broken only when you decide to take a step back. The passenger side door to Hiromi's car is then opened for you, your hand is held as you step inside, and a kiss is pressed to your cheek all before the door shuts.  

INO TAKUMA as sharing food.  

Relationships are meant to be 50/50, an even split that ensures that one party does not contribute more or less to the relationship than the other. To say that Ino believes in balance in his relationship with you would be the understatement of the century – he never wants you to feel as if you're doing too much or that he's doing too little for you. Ino also believes very heavily in sharing everything with you; personal stories, clothes, drinks, and of course, food.  

Never will he order the same thing as you, knowing that at one point or another, you'd try whatever snack or meal he had ordered for himself. Your eyes would flicker to his plate or to the ice cream in his hand, then to his eyes, silently asking permission. With a smile akin to that of a lovesick teenager, Ino extends whatever it is that he's eating to you, feeling his heart warm at the sound of your satisfied hum. You kiss his cheek in thanks before offering him whatever it was that you had ordered. Rinse and repeat, and suddenly you're both sharing two meals as opposed to enjoying one for yourself – and neither of you would change it for the world.  

YUUJI ITADORI as stargazing.  

Something about the silence that night provides paired with the gentle light that the stars in the night sky had always been so calming for you, always carrying with it a sense of serenity that could only be replicated by something as soft as a mother's love or a hug. And like a moth drawn to a light, you found yourself admiring those very stars every single night – now you had someone to share that peace with, someone to bask in the warm light that the stars provided.  

Laid out over a blanket, two pairs of eyes watch the twinkling stars with a fascination only replicated by that of a child. For a moment the world is silent, filled only with the sounds of your breathing and Yuuji's. His hand is intwined with yours, thumb rubbing back and forth against the backs of your knuckles. Your cheek is against his shoulder, both your eyes and his shut in complete serenity. Those are the nights where you can just be children, as in reality, it is what you both are.  

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO as interlocking pinkies.  

Not everyone is affectionate, not everyone is able to easily convey their love through prolonged physical touches such as a hug or a passionate kiss. Certain love languages come easily to some people, but to others it may be a touch more difficult. Some convey it through words, others convey it through actions that are a little more hidden, secretive. Megumi, for as quiet as he is, falls into the secretive category when it comes to displaying his love for you.  

He loves you, hell, he would devote himself to you entirely if given the chance, he just finds it a touch difficult to display that love for you through means of physical touch. That does not mean he won't hug you or indulge in your kisses, it just means that he may not be the one to initiate those actions. But there is an exception to this little rule, and that is the fact that Megumi will always link his pinkie with your own when walking on your side. The smile that worms its way onto his face the moment that his skin touches yours is missed by everyone, but never ever will it be missed by you – and to him, you are all that matters anyway.  

[homunculus-argument]

To me, the interesting thing about travelling is noticing the things that nobody seems to photograph. What kind of birds dig through the trash here, what kind of weeds grow on peoples' lawns. The time we went to Arizona, we walked to the nearest grocery store (y'all aren't kidding about "unwalkable cities" btw) and one thing I noticed was how different city landscape there looks when it's run down.

In Finland, neglected pavement turns bumpy and cracks as the water in the ground beneath freezes in the winter and thaws and runs out again. Wild flowers grow through it, even brave saplings of birches and rowan trees. Moss starts to grow on the shaded walls of buildings where it isn't washed off, growing over graffiti. Seagulls and jackdaws swoop over town market squares, squirrels skitter across roads and at night, you see rabbits and hares.

In Arizona, the places that aren't maintained are taken over by sand and dust. The merciless sun scorches everything that's left outside, brightly coloured plastic fades into pastel shades and into white, as if the land itself prohibited these colours. Shaggy bushes and even cacti grow on neglected yards. I saw long-beaked birds, the like of which I had never seen before - the only sign of animal life.

I had never considered how desperately cities where I live long to return into being forest land, before I saw a city that was determined to remain a desert.

[yuzupurpletaro]

Two years ago during lockdown, I spent my time creating Aziraphale's bookshop using cardboard and various other random materials I had lying around, creating this piece which I could slot into my bookshelf (now it sits next to my growing collection of @neil-gaiman works).

In celebration of Good Omens Season 2, I decided to post pictures of the completed project and the process here! It's my first time posting on tumblr, so forgive me if I'm a bit green.

Details and process below!

Before we ever got to see what was on the bookshop's upper floor, I imagined a bedroom, perhaps lived-in. Maybe a certain demon had moved in, along with their plants?

The teeny pride flag in the window is one of the subtle ways I sneak in a celebration of pride into my room, away from homophobic prying eyes.

My favourite details! I printed out both signs on Aziraphale's door, the images of which I believe I got from fans that posted them online.

Due to poor planning on my part, I started making this flower shop as well before I knew how it would fit in with the bookshop. In the end, they remained separate pieces. There was even a mini chalkboard sign for the flowershop, which I have no idea where it has disappeared to now.

It all started out in August 2020, when I put pencil to paper. Initially I wanted to create a street view, with the bookshop and flower shop on either sides. But honestly my brain was too small to figure out how that worked, so it didn't happen.

The most fun part was folding the tiny paper books. The least fun? Cutting rectangles out of cardboard and painstakingly gluing them down to resemble bricks.

Painting was alright, but on closer examination, the walls were all of different colours due to my inconsistent paint mixing. To ensure that what was essentially a cardboard façade of the bookshop could stand on its own, I created a pavement with added flowering shrubs and a lamp post. The street sign on the lamp post says 'Garden of Eden', which I now know should have been Whickber Street :)

And that's it! I believe I spent ~62 hours working on and off on it, and it certainly kept my lockdown blues at bay.

Can I hear a wahoo?

[euphoricfilter]

the silent ‘i love you’

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: fluff || non-idol au

summary: sometimes you don’t need words

word count: 1.1k

tags/ warnings: fluff!!!! just very soft and nice and easy to read for tonight. intensional lowercase. sort of sleepy thoughts about love <3

where you can find my other works :D

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

some days jungkook simply felt like those three words weren’t enough. that the warm glow of his fragile soul couldn’t scream loud enough for your own precious existence to know how much he truly loved you.

that the whispered words of love as the both of you woke, or a gentle kiss before you both slept and met in your dreams— it simply was only the surface of how he felt. that the silent ‘i love you’ the both of you shared each day was somehow louder than the words themselves.

tender souls touching in a whimsical dance between your existence.

tangled so tight, unmoving, seeping out of you with that fluttery sort of love.

the kind of love that pulls a smile onto your lips at the mere thought of them. gentle touch enough to have your skin alight. obsessive, itching greed consuming every fibre of your being, needing them closer than humanly possible. bodies pressed together and heart beats in sync, tied together by a string of fate and life times you shared before this one.

and some days neither of you had to say ‘i love you’ but that didn’t mean the love wasn’t there. that either of you loved the other any less than you had the day before. or more than you would tomorrow. because it was ever-growing. blooming in both your chests, a flower that would live through all of eternity.

it would be him waking before you, purple and blue toothbrushes sat beside one another in the cup on the sink. or how on some days he’d pick your shower gel over his own. for no other particular reason that he loved everything about your existence, that he felt that little bit closer to you in the hours you had to part.

or remembering to tuck one of your hairties in one of his pockets, just in case.

the same hair tie you’ll find in the washing machine days later, smile tugging at your lips. because as much as you remind him to take everything out his pockets before putting them into the washing machine, there were things you could never get mad over. not when he thinks of you, even when you’re not there. a silent show of care that you never bring up because that was his secret to keep, dissolved into the back of your mind for safe keeping.

he likes to hold your hand as you cross the road, fingers interlaced. because he knows sometimes you get too caught up in your own head, unaware of the wider world around you. so he keeps you glued to the pavement before tugging you across the road. fingers squeezing yours when he knows the both of you are back to safety and you’ll let him pull you around, blind trust in him to take you where you need to go

you like picking him up from work, sat outside on a bench with a box of treats for the walk home. and he would indulge you, even if he had the car parked a block away. not caring if it would mean he had to walk the next morning. because he would never abandon those gentle moments with you, shoulders knocking as you kiss sweet cream from his lips, desperate to hear about his day just as much as you want to share yours

you liked to say ‘i love you’ through the stars. tugging him to the roof of the apartment building, legs tangled as you lay on a blanket.

you both look up at the sky.

so many questions slipping off your tongue. where you talk of fate and destiny and how you loved to believe that two souls so intricately intertwined like your own was probably crafted by something as beautiful as the stars, or another celestial being that just knew what the future held. speckles of fine stardust crafted and moulded, so, when you found a mortal body there would be no doubt he was the one for you, just as you were the one for him.

he likes sending you photos of cats. adopting the habit of carrying a small bag of treats around with him; though neither of you have a pet.

he remembers the frown that would tug on your face each time you’d come across a stray. and he’d stand there for as long as you like as your fingers pet over fluffy heads and behind furry ears. another silent vow of love to a lonely creature.

you liked to pack him lunches, hours spent in the kitchen of a nighttime experimenting, because you never wanted him to have a dull meal. and he’d sit there at the table, reading as a piano piece plays over your phone. not a word spoken between the both of you, and some nights you scuttle his way with a fork-full of something for him to try.

there was love in the tv shows you watched together, the music you shared, the space you both lived in. the closet was a muddle of clothes and accessories that he liked to steal from you just like you steal from him. racks of both your shoes line the entry way of the apartment, collection of mugs a sudden birthday tradition that will go on for as long as you’re alive.

you lived in his mind like you lived in the plants around the house. or the posters you’d put on the walls. and he lived in your mind with gaming consoles and photos of you hung up that he had taken, loved and forever cherished; thriving in the memory of you and how much he loved you then and how much he loves you now.

jungkook had tried to find a better word.

hours spent laying in bed, with your head on his chest, moon spilling into the room as he mulls over the thought of you.

how he likes how warm you are, how he likes sharing this space with you. that he’s glad he’s found you, grateful that you exist within the same time line as him.

your silly little stories of a wonderful sweet sort of love filling his own mind— because maybe you really were crafted for one another. and even if he forgets three simple words, the both of you know love lives within the sphere of your existence.

because maybe that’s what the both of you are when you’re together. maybe even in those moments you’re apart. perhaps you’re the epitome of the word love and that’s why all the silent ‘i love yous’ equal more than words ever will

[geopsych]

Secret garden

Flowers growing out of the pavement.

[cvtyvvitch]

💗💐✨Pick-A-Card: What Is Next for You in Love?✨💐

💕 Pick an emoji (⚡️, 🌸, or 🌊) for a reading on what is coming next for you in love.

✨ Focus your intention and remain open — if none of the images light up for you, there may not be a message for you in this reading! Alternatively, more than one image might connect with you. As always, trust your intuition and take what resonates, leaving the rest.

⚡️⚡️⚡️

#1 ⚡️ Lightning ⚡️

In French, love at first sight is called ‘coup de foudre’ — a lightning strike. This picture makes my eyes water, and I get a few different impressions off it. First, someone sees you and is completely taken back. This could be someone you have met already and they felt this, but for some it’s happening soon. Someone who literally stops in their tracks and is dazed by you. It’s a frenetic energy, hard to pin down. A bit of the madness that comes with a really intense new crush.

The second option I get is that someone reenters your life very suddenly, a bit of a Tower experience. It feels that things were left unresolved between you, and it’s a situation/feelings that still keeps you up some nights. It’s a feeling like horses straining under a harness and energy built up to the point of explosion. Not a bad feeling per se, but definitely volatile and shocking.

Key words: fire, volcano, out of control, thunder, chewed straws, bitten nails, knock on the door, feet on pavement, midnight, nokia cell phone, unknown caller ID, broken glass, be not afraid, late night gas/petrol station, buzzing silence

PS If you have any feedback, please let me know! Also if you save this reading and notice it being accurate for you, I’d love to hear about it!

🌸🌸🌸

#2 🌸 Pink Flower 🌸

For this group, I get the image of someone picking flowers from the garden for their grandmother. Someone very sweet on the periphery of your life who you know or may get the opportunity to get to know soon. They feel like someone with a lot of responsibility with maybe their family or community, but always find the time for you. Sweet, somewhat shy or quiet energy. Feels like a neighbor, maybe, or a neighbor to someone in your family.

There’s hesitation here, maybe on both ends? I don’t feel major turmoil but just the uncertainty mixed with curiosity that comes with a new person who isn’t obviously mutually interested in you. Friendly without being over flirtatious. The type of person who gives you a bucket of lemons because they’ve had a bunch extra in their backyard.

Keywords: bicycle, farmer’s market, pharmacy, picket fence, down the hall, shy, hedge, grandmother, dahlias, peonies, tuna can, plum

PS If you have any feedback, please let me know! Also if you save this reading and notice it being accurate for you, I’d love to hear about it!

🌊🌊🌊

#3 🌊 Waves 🌊

This connection coming in has a feeling of longing. It feels like a period of missing someone or a time in your life that you know you can’t return to. Grief that feels a little bit difficult to place because it feels like wanting something that even if you got it, things wouldn’t feel the same because you have also changed.

I know that’s not a super happy sounding message, but this is a period where you are asked to deeply reflect on what you loved and feel you’ve lost. Allow yourself to move past the surface of yearning to the deeper questions: why did I have this experience? Where did I learn what I wanted, and what does not truly help me grow and feel safe? It may feel very confusing right now in the face of perceived loss. It’s a murky time you must allow yourself to experience and pass through, but take care not to become trapped by the siren’s song of nostalgia. There is more for you to experience on the other side of this lesson, and a version of yourself waiting to embrace new joy based on a profound understanding of these past disappointing experiences.

Keywords: sighs, mirror, fingers along water, long hair, loneliness, emptiness, nostalgia, despair. Salt, tears, egg yolk, relearning, color, passion, glorious comeback and rebirth

[jjkamochoso]

Imagine… Feitan Stealing a Bouquet of Flowers for You

Fluff

Feitan Portor x gn!reader

Warnings: small mention of violence

It was a warm sunny day and you and Feitan were walking side by side through the busy city streets. It looked like a market was being held, booths and their vendors lining the pavement, and you fought the urge to stop and take a long look around because you knew you’d be left behind if you did. The mission you had just finished a few hours ago left you both exhausted and ready to hide out for a while and recuperate. Feitan was adamant about not making any unnecessary stops on the way back to base but you couldn’t help yourself as you slowed down your pace, your eyes landing on an especially appealing cart to your right. It was like your legs had a mind of their own as you left Feitan’s side and changed course to satisfy your desire of seeing the beauty that caught your attention up close. You stood in front of a vendor who was selling the most gorgeous bouquets of flowers. They were absolutely ginormous and each one contained a different type of flower a person could ever ask for. As you ogled the vendor’s creations, you felt a menacing presence behind you and you knew your partner had found you but you were completely unbothered. You didn’t even notice Feitan’s eye roll or huff of annoyance, too enthralled in the sickly sweet smell enveloping you.

“You finished?” Feitan asked from behind his cowl.

“Not yet. One more minute, please,” you replied dreamily. Another sigh left his mouth as he crossed his arms and watched you with his deadly gaze. He had never seen you this happy before and he wasn’t sure why he liked it so much. It was totally unlike him to relish in the joy of others and it almost made him sick when he realized that he didn’t want to see the smile leave your face. When you turned away from the booth and began your trek back to your original destination, both of you felt tugs at your heartstrings for different, but still related, reasons.

“What wrong now?” he asked, taking notice of your dejected aura.

“Hmm? Nothing,” you replied. The man in all black stopped walking and grabbed your arm with an iron grip.

“Don’t lie to me. You never this quiet.”

“It’s silly, just forget about it.”

“No.”

Feitan was never this unyielding when you brushed him off, usually opting to not press further when you said you were fine, so this was a bit of a shock to you.

“I just… wanted a bouquet, that’s all. I’ve been all over this country and I’ve seen countless people presented with them and I… it’s something that I’ve always wanted. It’s trivial, really, forget I said anything.”

You waited with bated breath, expecting a harsh cackle in your face and some name calling about how juvenile you were being, but none of that came. Instead, you watched in awe as Feitan ran over to the vendor and came back in a blur. His speed never failed to surprise you, but what surprised you more was the bouquet of flowers that he thrust into your unsuspecting hands.

“Here,” he said, “for you. Now stop frowning.”

You didn’t know what to do or say. This was something you’d never expect from the Phantom Troupe’s most macabre member and the gesture made your stomach do flips.

“Feitan!” you cried out, the short man now many steps ahead of you now due to your stupor holding you back, “I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

“They’re just plants,” he replied, but you saw the way his eyes softened when you came into view with the flowers he stole.

“You tell anyone about this and I cut out your tongue,” he tutted, shoving his hands in his pockets and ripping his stare from you as you just chuckled a bit.

“Deal,” you said, opting to go with the story that you stole them yourself, if anyone asked. Feitan knew they wouldn’t speak a word, though, as the whole Troupe (minus you) were privy to his growing affections toward you.

Two weeks later the flowers in the bouquet eventually died and you decided to preserve one of the flowers in a notebook (also stolen and left on your bed by Feitan). Finished with your work, you closed the book shut and leaned back in your chair. You gasped in surprise when pale fingers reached around you and took another wilted flower from its vase.

“I like dead things,” Feitan shrugged as you gave him a look. You wouldn’t know this until much later but he saved that flower in a notebook too (along with some hair that he had plucked from your head).

[the-irreverend]

I know a lot of people like to point out the parallels that TOH and MAWS share, but one parallel that I think needs a little more recognition is how both of these shows give such a powerful message of holding onto and fighting for your identity, especially in the face of powerful people and systems that seek to take it away from you.

As an aroace autistic, it always brings me to tears whenever I (re)watch the struggles and successes of Clark, Lois, and good ol' Luz Noceda, and they will always continue inspire me (and many others) in a world that's full of Braniacs and Beloses.

No matter how much pavement they try to cover us with, us "weeds" will always find a way to grow and flower in the cracks.

Because as my favourite video game of all time once said,

"Despite everything, it's still you."

P.S. And yes, I am a huge Undertale fan as well.

[headspace-hotel]

some times i see people talking about the Earth and climate change saying things like "now i know it is difficult to deal with utter hopelessness, terror, and visiting the thoughts of death"

and it's like wow I am so deeply sorry about the suffering. but...concern. Concern. Tell me, am I missing something important? Why do I feel a sense of hope for our planet? Am I a lonely fool? Have I been consumed by naïveté and misguided optimism?

That would be weird. It feels weird. It feels like I would be well suited to despair. My natural temperament is Mortal Terror making my body crushed for a thousand years at the bottom of the deepest trenches of the ocean. I've thought before "I can't live any more. This exceeds the tensile strength of the human spirit."

And then? After irreversible catastrophic failure of the soul, there is...what?

We try to imagine the future where we fight to save our home and it is very painful. The resistance feels so small and the machine of death feels so vast. But something's missing.

Everyone else is missing—the plants, trees, bugs, beasts, and creatures. Hello? Are the other humans seeing this? Nature wants you to know that she is not a princess in a tower. Look! Look at the chaos moving through every cell! Iterating! Adapting! Becoming! Thriving! Watch the pollinators tirelessly at work, observe the mycorrhizal network in the forest floor distributing the rich fruits of decay and photosynthesis for every inhabitant! Pay attention! We belong here too. They feed and shelter us, give us the very air we breathe, and in return we plant and propagate, cull, thin, and burn, shape, trample, till, shepherd and sprout seeds. Our species can look toward the future, to the world of our descendants. We can call every plant and animal by name and teach our children to use and care for them responsibly. We can feel this anger, pain, and grief on behalf of the family of Life, OUR family, and we can love the smallest beetle and the humblest moss.

Look at it! This thing is nothing like me, it does not benefit me, it has no use or purpose for me, but LOOK at it! Look at its intricate structure! Look at the marvelousness of its behaviors and biological functions! Look at its uniqueness throughout the whole universe! Look at it, and see its infinite value!

I saved a baby tree from the scorching hot gravel of a parking lot. I watched it grow and thrive in the hands of its caretaker. Many more followed, trees and herbs and flowers, rescued and carefully placed in cups and old tubs that once held yogurt and sour cream. This is so strange, I thought. They're everywhere, offering themselves for free, and no one thinks to take them. Everyone thinks transplanting a tree is hard and that nothing grows on the edge of the pavement but weeds. But it's so easy??? This is weird. Plant Nurseries Hate Her: Get Free Plants With This One Weird Trick.

I protected an old barren garden patch where nothing had thrived from being mowed and weed-whacked, and transplanted little plants that I found. I marveled at the bees that came. Chicory bloomed, then asters and goldenrod. I shed actual tears over a spicebush swallowtail. I ordered some milkweed from the internet, and the monarchs came for them. Less then twenty-five bucks for a divine experience like this. Wow, everyone else really needs to know!

I started volunteering at a nature center, and was allowed to transplant flowers where they sprouted in inopportune locations. I collected tons of seeds all fall and winter long.

There is much, much more, all of it bigger than I ever would have imagined. But this spring there were more birds, in number and in species, than I'd ever seen in my back yard before. Chickadees, swallows, finches, nuthatches, jays, cardinals, warblers, sparrows, woodpeckers of every kind...I remembered just a couple years prior when all I ever saw out there was a couple grackles or starlings or robins, with the occasional sparrow. Those birds come in flocks rather than couples now. And then the bumblebee arrived. An American bumblebee, endangered now, a queen. For a few days she was always out there, would fly out and buzz around me when I came out to tend to my now-innumerable plants. It's nesting time for them. She chose this place I was creating. She saw that this place would take care of her.

A week ago, I discovered wild strawberries growing in my Mamaw's driveway. I found lyreleaf sage growing beside a gravel road. I've become a master of transplanting; I took several of each home. Yesterday, I saw a tiny, metallic blue bee, an Osmia mason bee. Today, I saw an oriole and a strange, very fancy fly. I see something new almost every day. Every day I am being irreversibly changed as a person. How did I ever fail to see how much this matters?

I said I feel hope...do I feel it? I don't think it's a feeling, I think it's a practice. It's being part of our communities and our ecosystems. Nature's interconnectedness is both reality and example: to survive, we take care of one another. And when one member of the community helps another thrive, it creates a cascade that increases the thriving of all. Just by existing, you help us all survive.

You can only take care of so many plants before you have to give some away. You can only hold so much knowledge before you have to give it away. I gave seeds to a dozen different flowers to my next-door neighbor and she invited me inside and wouldn't let me leave without food, and we talked about plants and trees. A family friend lets me have goats' milk and heirloom vegetables in exchange for help around the farm, and I listen to him talk about trees, bugs, and soil and learn so much I feel like I'm about to explode from knowledge.

Being a caretaker is unavoidably a community-oriented, community-forming thing. You can't grow plants all by yourself. Your garden will make too many tomatoes. Share them. Your milkweed will make hundreds and hundreds of seeds. Spread them. Wild blackberries invite you to take and eat. Your lonely retired neighbor invites you to talk and keep her company. Once you grow delicious fruits or little oak trees, you always have a reason to greet someone and say, "Look, it is a gift!"

We're not alone. We are not separate. We take care of each other. Every species, every individual. A single action of caretaking creates a cascade effect of thriving. A single unapologetic love for a creature creates a blossom of curiosity and fascination in everyone surrounding. It's so powerful.

As my chemical romance says "I am not afraid to keep on living"

[jenosbliss]

🌷 ⌇ nct dream ! and small acts of love

pairing. gn!reader x nctdream | genre. fluff | wc. 1.4k | warning. none

MARK. leaving small notes

Everyday you find post-it’s all around the place with small notes like ‘I love you’ ‘You are amazing!’ ‘My pretty y/n’ ‘Smile :)’ ‘<3’ ‘Eat your meals on time’ ‘You did great today’ ‘I miss you’ ‘dude, you’re the best’

It’s not a mystery as to who left them inside your book, on the mirror, inside your closet, on the back of your phone, in your bag and all around the house because only one person can do this and that’s Mark Lee.

There are times when he leaves before you wake up and comes back after you have already fallen asleep. There are days when both of you could only talk through texts and days when you can’t talk at all due to busy schedules. At such times it pains him to see you still waiting for him, wanting to talk to him, understanding him, caring for him.

Hence, he decided to leave these small notes around the house and on your things which will give you a feeling of him always being with you. With these small one-liner sentences he tries to express all his love for you but these small notes can’t do justice to his love for you that’s why there is always a note reading “I’ll be back soon!” when you return back home.

RENJUN. giving unexpected gifts

Whenever he goes out there’s always something that reminds him of you, maybe a small rock which looked different from others lying covered in sand at the sea or a wildflower growing on the side of pavement, he brings it for you.

Renjun’s gifts range from expensive perfume to roadside flowers but one thing they have in common is that they’re always unexpected. You have always asked him not to give you so many gifts but he just can’t help himself from doing that. How can he stop himself from not buying the bouquet of your favourite flowers or your favourite ice cream when he happens to cross by those shops?

Some days he surprises you with the paintings or sketches he made for you and his chest fills with happiness and pride as he watches you cherish them. He just loves you so much that for him giving these unexpected gifts has become a portrayal of his love towards you.

With this he feels that he can make you feel special, cherished and loved. He thinks words can never express how much he loves you. That's why giving you gifts is his small act of love for you.

JENO. giving a massage

Jeno is someone who believes that ‘I love you’ isn’t the only expression for confessing his undying love for you and there are a number of ways he can show you how much he loves which includes writing songs about you to making breakfast for you on some days.

But the thing he always does is massaging your back and feet after a long, stressful, exhausting week or day at work. He skilfully massages your soft skin while you ramble about all the extra work your boss is putting you through this week or how stressed you are about the new project.

He listens to everything you say carefully while working his hands on your back magically which makes you relaxed and forget about the tiring days as you fall asleep peacefully.

Jeno never misses to put his thoughts on your struggles at work and comforting you by telling that you always have him, that he’s your constant of love and happiness. These little massage sessions end with you falling asleep and him peppering kisses on your face and pulling you close before falling asleep himself.

HAECHAN. initiating skinship

Everyone knows that Haechan loves skinship and gets clingy to the person he adores dearly. And you’re no exception to that. Not only is his love language physical touch but it is also one of his ways of showing love to you.

At this point in your relationship you are immune to him suddenly popping out of nowhere, holding your face in between his palms, peppering your face with sweet kisses and then getting busy with his own work.

If you’re out on a day, he won’t let go of your hand. If you are sleeping he has to have his leg thrown over you and face buried in your neck. If you’re cooking he’ll be having his arms wrapped around your waist, leaving butterfly kisses on your neck and just listening to you talk about your day or talking about his day.

This is his small act of love for you which might be very random or common to anyone else but for him it’s a way of telling that he’s always there for you, keeping you close to him makes him feel warm and he tries to make you feel safe with him. His kisses and touches are always soft and a subtle way of him saying that he’ll always protect you.

JAEMIN. cooking your favourite meals

Jaemin loves you and is never shy away in telling you that either verbally or physically, if he can, he will confess how much he loves you every minute of the day but that seems quite impossible right?

Therefore he sought another way to tell you that and that is by cooking for you, your favourite dishes every once in a while. There are numerous days when you wake up to the sweet smell of pancakes being prepared by him.

Or coming back home to the dinner table full of delicacies prepared by him. On holidays he doesn’t even let you wander around the kitchen forget about helping him, saying it’s your rest day. He prepares all your favourite dishes and the look of content on your face is his biggest compliment ever.

If Jaemin can he’ll cook for you everyday just to be able to see you smile and be relaxed, it’s his way of saying that no matter what happens you will always be greeted by his love and affection when you come back to him, he’ll always be here waiting for you and that he loves you.

CHENLE. braiding your hair

If he’s captivated with anything apart from watching Stephen Curry play it’ll be your hair. Boy just can’t get enough of them, if you’re near him he has to have his fingers run through your dark locks every moment.

One of his favourite activities with you, when you both are together and doing absolutely nothing is braiding your hair. He seats himself on the couch or corner of the bed with you down on the floor trapped between his legs while he softly braids your hair in various hairstyles he has saved all over the week.

Chenle spends hours sitting there leisurely braiding your hair while chatting with you about everything and nothing. Sometimes you sit there reading a book to him or maybe playing games or petting daegal.

Often in between you whine about him taking so much time and he pulls at a few strands lightly to tease you, his giggles filling the room. After putting on a cute hair clip or a bow —mind you he buys you a lot of hair accessories— he finishes and clicks a ton of pictures of his creation, not forgetting to compliment you on how beautiful you look every time.

JISUNG. creating playlists

The first time Jisung sent you a playlist he was shaking due to nervousness. What if you don’t like the playlist ? What if these songs aren’t of your liking? What if you think he’s a creep? And many more questions like these clouded his mind until you texted back about how much liked his taste in music.

From then on it’s almost like a routine for him to make playlists especially for you, share songs which remind him of you, or songs which he loves. His members call him cheesy for doing this but paying no attention to them he sometimes spends hours on creating playlists for you.

If you feel overwhelmed by work or studies he sends a playlist for you to calm down, if he’s away from you he’ll send a playlist full of love songs which makes you feel as if he is next to you. Boy is so helplessly in love with you that he often confesses his feelings through playlists sometimes with songs and sometimes with the titles of them.

He has never been good with words and whenever he says ‘I love you’ he gets so shy that his face burns like a tomato and then he often finds himself regretting that. But sending you playlists like this seems much more comfortable and meaningful to him.

masterlist.

a/n. hii, thank you for interacting with my work <3! this is my first fanfic on Tumblr and I hope you liked it. I’ll really appreciate comments, messages or even requests! Tysm for reading 🩵 looking forward to making friends here

[gyuswhore]

Dahlia

🎁 Em Birthday + Dino Mixtape Special 🎁

PAIRING: lee chan x reader

SYNOPSIS: When Chan brings you a bouquet filled with promises and hope to begin your birthday, you're happy to accept them with the love they come with. Chan, however, is quick to remind you that the flowers were only the beginning.

CONTAINS: fluff, smut (MINORS DNI) bikerboyfriend!chan, fem!bodied reader, soaked chan (literally), tiny bit of crying (happy tears!!), loads of acts of service, making out, handjobs, breast play, clit stimulation, fingering (f. rec), penetration, chan wont let reader breathe kjgfnekfjn, these two are so in love it gets sappy at the end lmk if theres anything else

WORD COUNT: 4.4K

masterlist

[AN]: if yall didnt think that insane meltdown i had on the tl a while ago wasnt gonna spawn into this, you would be crudely mistaken. ANYWAY in honour of em day falling on dixtape release day i present to you this thing i wrote out of the worst brainrot ive had in a very long time. have fun with channie lol

“Thank you!” Chan yells behind him to the flower shop owner as he walks out, the small tinkle of the door chime making itself known despite the near midnight time. Chan checks his watch as he approaches his motorcycle that stands on the empty sidewalk: 11:38 PM.

He might be able to make it, swinging his leg over the seat as he thanks his luck that he was able to catch the last florist before she closed for the day. The owner sends him a smile as she begins her own trek to her car, lights out. 

Revving his engine to life, he attempts to tuck the bouquet into his riding jacket, praying the delicate petals would hold up during the short ride to your place. His helmet is strapped on within seconds as he kicks up his stand to take off into the empty streets, making a beeline for your apartment. He stops at a red light, taking the chance to check his watch again: 11:47 PM. 

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, whipping his head around to check the ghostly empty streets of the intersection. He briefly wonders if he can afford a ticket when he sees the droplets fall on his gloved hands. 

“No. No, no, no, come on!” The light turned green as the rain began to thunder down onto his helmet, seeping through the collar of his jacket and trickling down his skin. He pushes away a shudder, trying not to shiver in the now even colder November night, wanting nothing more than to get to your place as quickly as possible. 

The rain grows nothing but stronger as he finds himself needing to wipe his shield every few seconds, his desperation increasing with the strong winds. By the time he’s kicking his stand and yanking his helmet off, the pour seems to have slowed itself to a drizzle, something he thinks he would’ve appreciated just a few minutes ago. In the few seconds it took him to kill the engine and inspect his flowers, the slow droplets infiltrated his hair, too. 

The flowers are soaked, Chan finds out soon enough as he inspects the droplets that have collected on the short petals of the red dahlias he’s picked out. He dumps the bouquet upside down to pour out the accumulated water onto the pavement, watching the amount of liquid that continues to spill out. 

So much for the flowers holding up. 

“I think you need some flowers for your water,” Chan flicks his sopping wet hair off his forehead to look up at the sound of your voice, eyes meeting your delighted face over your low window. 

He glances back down at the water-specked flowers, and hears a ghost of a chuckle escape him. Chan realizes in the moment how frazzled he looks, dripping wet with a thing of dejected flowers in his grip. 

You’re still smiling at the sight, “Come up before the hypothermia sets in, idiot.” 

He’s quick to oblige, bounding inside despite the droplets he leaves in his wake, checking his watch in a glance: 11:58 PM. You’re quick to open the door for him just as he reaches your place on the first floor, folds upon folds of bath towels in your arms. 

“You look like a wet dog,” you snort, laying down a towel for him to step inside on. 

“Wait!” he yells, and you freeze in your crouched spot. You’re slow to come back up, watching him stare intently at his watch. 

11:59 PM… 12:00 AM.

His face breaks out into a big smile, causing you to mimic his elated expression. He grabs your limp hand and thrusts the bouquet into your hands. 

“Happy birthday, babe.”

You can’t help but huff out a little laugh. The sight of dripping hair, sodden socks on a towel, his hand that pushes the flowers into your own, all complete with a stupidly accomplished look on his face. 

You push forward, flowers in hand, as you wrap your arms around his neck in a tight embrace. Pushing your chest into his, you leave no room between what your clothing would allow. It’s wet. Really wet. You can feel your shirt grow warm under the retention, but you pay no mind as you continue clinging to him with all you have. 

“Thank you, Chan.” He can hear the elation in your voice, and it’s enough to make it all worth it. He hugs you back, cautious at first, but relents when he realizes you don’t care about coming out of the hug as soaked as him. It isn’t until you feel the unnatural cold of the tip of his nose kiss your neck that you realize he’s probably freezing. So you pull away, albeit reluctantly. 

He keeps his hands on your hips as you continue, “Let’s get you dried up first.” 

Thus, a freshly washed and clothed Chan exits the bathroom, finding you in the kitchen huddled over the island. It isn’t until he’s engulfed you completely from behind, arms coming to pull you into his bare chest, that he sees what you’re doing. The crimson flowers had been tended to, placed into a pretty vase as you fiddle with the petals to spread them into a pleasing arrangement. 

“It’s freezing, Chan, put a shirt on!” you gasp as you turn around to realize your boyfriend is sporting nothing but trousers and a towel around his neck. 

“In a minute,” he mumbles as he drops his forehead to your shoulder. 

Running your fingers through his wet hair, you attempt to comb them out. “Why didn’t you stop when it started raining? You catch colds so easily.”

“I was running late, and the flower shop fucked my order. It was my fault. Spent ages trying to find one open that had these ones.” 

“You still could’ve stopped.”

“And miss being the first to say happy birthday? Fat chance.” 

You sigh as you give in to him. “Thank you. For testing your immune system for me.”

He snorts at the comment, coming back up to face you, forearms resting on the counter as he pushes your body against the edge. He glances at the flowers briefly.

“This wasn’t the end of it. We still have another twenty-four hours to go,” he murmurs. “The rest of the surprises will be less chaotic, I promise.” 

“It’s not you if there’s no chaos,” you comment with an undertone. “I’ll like anything you give me, no matter how chaotic or calmly you deliver it.”

He hums for a moment, and you sense the mischief coming from a mile away. The half-serious warning leaves you before you can help it, “Don’t make me eat my words.”

He barks out a laugh at that, coming in to capture your frown in a momentary kiss, giving you one peck after another. You stand in each other’s arms for a long while, barefoot in the kitchen, as you talk about your plans for when the sun eventually comes up. Most of which Chan refused to relay to you anyway, so you were really just making guesses. 

His drying hair doesn’t leave your fingers throughout, combing through the strands as you massage his scalp along the way. He melts under the touch, moving the towel around his shoulder way so you can rest your arms on him. He falters slightly at the feeling as he continues to talk. 

You can’t help but notice the wonders the kitchen light seems to be doing for him, the blue-ish glaze illuminating the highs of his face and hair, the glowing lines moving past his neck to his shoulders, and undoubtedly casting the rest of the ridges of his body aglow — you aren’t sure if you can handle finding out if you gaze any lower. The little you can see of his eyes past the flop of hair that covers them is sparkling in the low light. 

Chan doesn’t stop you as you slot your mouth against his, taking the way the light illuminated his lips as a sign. He’s equally as quick to reciprocate, moving his mouth against yours, almost more eager than you. His hands have left their place on the counter and move to grip your hips instead, pushing your lower half against him with a force that has you breaking away from his lips. 

He doesn’t stop, moving his mouth down to leave his own open-mouthed kisses on your jaw as you grip his bare bicep, a content sigh leaving your lips. 

“Have a really pretty thing waiting for you when you wake up,” he whispers delicately in your ear, placing a kiss on your earlobe. “The nice satin thing you’ve been eyeing for a while.” 

Your breath stops short in your chest, the thought of the pretty piece of lingerie you briefly mentioned you liked a while ago. 

“Chan,” you groan at the thought. 

He continues to mumble with a slight chuckle, “Don’t know if that’s a present for me or you.”

His hands have migrated everywhere at this point, moving up to squeeze of your breasts in his hold, his other hand continuing to run over your ass and hips. It’s your own hands that drift past his abs to toy with the drawstrings of his pants when you begin to fall impatient, needing to feel him. 

Feeling his hard-on through his underwear is easy, and you wonder how long he’s actually been horny with how defined you can already feel him to be. You watch as he grinds into your palm, groaning into your neck at the feeling. You continue your ministrations through his boxers till you feel him wrap his hand around your forearm to yank it out of his pants. 

“I’m not fucking you on the kitchen counter,” he says, pulling you out of the blue fluorescent lights and into the hall to your bedroom. 

It’s easier for him to discard your clothing with the space he’s given, yanking your shirt off to leave you in your barely-there sleeping shorts. Sparing no second, you watch him push off the soft plush of the mattress, moving away to get rid of his own clothing. 

Chan’s lips meet yours once again as he hovers over you on the bed, continuing to feel up your sides as he shoves his tongue into your mouth, massaging it over your own as he continues to push you up the bed. 

You arch your back, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra, only to find him beating you to it as he unhooks it, flinging the padding somewhere amongst the flown clothes on the floor. The cold hits your chest in a way that has you gasping, his hands immediately cupping over both your breasts before attaching his mouth to a nipple. His other hand toys with your other nipple, rolling the perked bud between his fingers before running his thumb over it repeatedly. It’s so easy to zero in on the feeling of his tongue gliding over the sensitive area, the contrast of his warm mouth, and the air that hits the glistening surface of your skin. You can’t help but hum, hands grazing over his own that pinch and press into your other nipple. 

You realize soon enough that his knees are spread just wide enough for you to shove your own leg in between, bringing your knee up to grind it slowly against his crotch, feeling him through his underwear. The motion comes unprovoked, a vibrating groan escaping him as he cursed against your skin. 

“Fuck, babe, you’re so impatient.”

Removing his mouth from your chest, he pushes your knee down in haste to give himself room to pull down your shorts, pushing your thighs apart when he’s done as he kneels back. His gaze wanders across your near-bare body, his thumb rubbing circles into your hip as he locks you in place. His eyes hover but choose to remain on the visibly darkened patch on your panties. You feel his fingers move slowly, ghosting over the insides of your thighs, moving ever so close to where you screamed for him. 

Right as you’re about to say something out of growing frustration, he hooks his fingers under the waistband of the final obstruction, pulling them down your legs to expose yourself to him completely. His unprovoked compliance comes as a bit of a shock to you, but you assume he’s being nice for the sake of your birthday (not that you’re complaining – anything that gets him in your pants faster counts as an automatic win in your book) 

You can feel him massage the skin of your thighs as he stares, making sure you keep your legs wide open for him. His gaze doesn’t wander, you find, locked in as he bites his bottom lip at the sight. His eyes hold a dangerous lace, one that you wish he’d unleash. He all but pushes your thighs even further to get a better look at your undoubtedly sopping wet cunt. It took a lot for you to not attempt to bring your knees together despite the embarrassment – you know he liked to look. 

“Chan.” His name leaves your lips in a desperate attempt to get him to do something, anything. His lips all but lift into a curl of trouble.

“What is it, baby?” 

“Please,”

“Please, what? I know it’s your birthday, princess, but I won’t know what you want if you won’t tell me.” His eyes graze over your contorted expression, urging you to say it. “Say it, my love.”

“Chan,” you whine. “Touch me. Please.” 

His grin morphs into something downright diabolical as he taps your hips. “Get up, baby. On my lap.” 

Chan pushes his back on the headboard as he invites you on his lap, your hips over his thighs as the rest of your body lays on the sheets. 

It isn’t until then that he finally migrates his hand, placing his middle finger on your clit, spreading your lips apart with his pointer and ring finger. He grazes over it lightly as he moves down to your hole, feeling the pool of arousal that’s accumulated in the area. He gathers your arousal on his fingers, moving back up to pay attention to your clit. 

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” Chan’s voice comes out hoarse, and it somehow has you gushing even further. 

The angle gives him perfect access to work on your cunt as he likes, pushing your legs apart when you’d close them subconsciously. His fingers are merciless as they take turns circling over your nub before rubbing through them up and down. He places open mouthed kisses on your thigh, the one he holds open against his bare chest. 

You’re writhing at the feeling, trying your best to not move in his hold too much as you let out the most desperate streams of moans, only encouraging him to keep going. Your hands grope everything in your shaken state: your breasts, his thigh, his arm that holds your legs apart – anything to keep you tied to the feeling. 

Chan’s fingers slow before coming to a complete halt, wet fingers trailing up your thighs, leaving a trail of your arousal in their wake. He brings them back, fingers now lower as he traces a lone finger at your entrance. You feel yourself clench at the feeling. 

“Fuck!” You clamp your hand over your mouth, the profanity leaving your mouth before you can stop it. Chan pushes that finger into your tight hole, clenching around the digit. He pumps in once before pushing in another. 

“Uh-uh,” you hear him tut. Yanking your hand away from your mouth, leading it away. “Let me hear you.” 

His statement has you letting out another groan, the sound of his voice adding to the pleasure you’re receiving at the mercy of his fingers. He continues to pump in and out, his other hand moving to continue circling over your clit. 

Your back is arching off the sheets at this point, hands desperately gripping the sheets as you throw your head back. The feeling is building to a breaking point, your pants growing louder as your jaw falls slack. 

The knot breaks, and it has you fluttering your eyes shut, your mind going completely blank as the only thing that consumed your being becomes Chan’s godly hands. Registering absolutely nothing is easy when he refuses to stop his fingers, letting you ride out your high as far as it would take you. He doesn’t stop, even while you're squirming in his hold from overstimulation.

“Ch-Chan, I can’t!” Your own hands attempt to grasp his arm, his wrists. 

Your now blown out pupils catch a playful look on his face as he quit brushing his fingers on your spent cunt, letting you lay back for a breath. Your chest heaves as you attempt to come round from the feeling, vaguely registering Chan, setting your lower half off of his lap. He hovered above your frame, leaving pecks all over your face, neck, and chest, waiting for you to recover. 

“Good?” he asks you with a smile once your breathing seemed to have evened out. 

“Yeah,” you reply with a laugh, attempting to sit up from your position to kiss him. He lets you. 

It isn’t until you’ve pushed him back on the headboard that he realizes what you’re trying to do. You’re legs that straddle him begin to wiggle lower as you detach from his lips, fiddling with the waistband of his boxers to pull them off. He obliges, letting you take the fabric off, watching you as you pump his hard length in your palms. 

You doubt you’d ever get over the feeling of having him in your hands, the weight of him fitting into your palm like his dick was meant to fall straight into your hands. Chan is gracious in how he lets you have your way for a few minutes, using his precum as lube to begin pumping him faster and faster.

The feeling is overwhelming, considering how long his lower half has been waiting for this, for you. He reminds himself what he’s really here for and somehow finds it within himself to stop you, flipping you over on the mattress so he’s back to hovering over you. 

“Not today, baby.” 

“Chan, let me–” 

He knows the only way to get you to quit insisting is by occupying your mouth, so that’s exactly what he does as he places his mouth against yours, kneading both your tits under his hands to get you all worked up again. It works as you let out the smallest whine against his mouth, all of that fighting drowning in your chest as you melt into putty in his hands yet again. 

Chan continues to tease, bringing his tip to your entrance, circling it before dragging it up to your clit, spreading the mix of both of your arousal all over your cunt. Your hips buck and stutter at the feeling, still sensitive from your previous orgasm. 

It isn’t long before he’s dragging himself back, tip pushing in hard as he continues his pressure. You’re both moaning at this point, mixing in profanities as he begins to thrust into your cunt, setting a pace for himself. You wrap your arms around his neck as he holds himself in a hover above you. 

Soon enough, you feel him begin to brush against a particular spot inside you, one that has you moaning louder than you have all night. It’s almost like he knows what those sounds mean, angling his hips in a way that thrusts directly into that one spot that has you seeing stars.

“Chan, I’m—” 

“I know, princess, I know,” he grunts out in response. “Let go, baby.” 

And you do, hurtling into your second orgasm as you clutch the forearm he’s rested on the bed. Your back that arches off the sheets is met with his hand that runs over the expanse, coaxing the feeling out with the intimate touch. 

You feel him pull out, moving away from you to let you breathe. You want to have the energy to tell him to come close to you again, but it sires difficult when you can barely breathe. You find yourself not needing to open your mouth, though, as you realize Chan’s mercy lasted barely a few seconds before you feel him push into your entrance again with no warning. 

The gasp that leaves you is muffled by the mouth that’s put on yours as Chan fully engulfs you in his arms again. You take the opportunity to touch him, wrapping your arms around his torso, hands roaming as you feel up the expanse of his back and shoulders. He’s thrusting into you slower than before, his moans coming in directly into your ear now. The sound is enough to have you gushing around him again, your fingers finding his nape to tangle them in his hair.

“Fuck — you’re not keeping me in,” he groans, and you suddenly realize why he was going so slow. 

It wasn’t like you could help it when you continued to clench around him like your life depended on it, but he didn’t seem to really mind it either when you felt his own cock twitch. Once he’s had quite enough, he pulls back momentarily to push your legs up against your body. Your thighs are pressing against your chest as you register that he’s basically folded you in half, giving him the room he so desired to properly fuck you. 

“Keep those legs up for me, baby,” he orders as he helps, letting you rest them against his shoulders.

He slips himself out before going back in entirely, moving his hips at a pace that has you seeing stars. You feel him move his head to kiss the inside of your thighs, dragging his tongue over every surface he can reach. With his mouth occupied, the only sounds that encase the room are your own string of moans, paired with the absolutely lewd squelch that comes with every slap of Chan’s hips. 

With the force he’s going at, you don’t doubt the bruises that’ll grace your lower half once he’s done. The fact that this wasn’t gonna be the end of it has you wondering how you’ll handle the next 24 hours with him. You decide you’ll think about that later as you let the feeling of him engulf you now. 

“Oh, I’m so close,” he announces, and you can tell by the way his pace grows increasingly sloppier. He lets down one of your legs to free up his hand to bring back to your bruised clit, rubbing haphazard circles to make up for his also haphazard hip pace. 

You can’t imagine minding, though, especially not right now when the desperation of it all has you building up your third high, “Me too, fuck, me too.” 

Chan thrusts into you a couple more times before you announce that you're cumming, and the way you're clenching down on him harder than ever before has him letting out the loudest moan of the night as he begins to cum mere seconds after you. You can feel his hot liquid shoot into your walls, the slickness making your head spin even further. 

You’re near passing out when Chan pulls out of you, flopping down on the bed next to you. Neither of you speak as you catch your breath for the nth time that night, somehow finding it within yourself to turn over to land your head on Chan’s outstretched arm. He doesn’t hesitate to bring you in as you curl up under his arm, head on his shoulder. 

“Where do you get all that energy from?” you mumble into his arm. 

He laughs a little at the question, dropping a kiss on your head, “Comes naturally when you have such a pretty thing to please.” 

You snort in response, trying to hide the very apparent fluttering in your chest. Even after the amount of time you’ve spent having him all for yourself, you doubt the butterflies would ever leave – especially when he continues to drop his corny yet effective lines at any given opportunity. 

“Shut up.”

“I don’t think you want me to,” he retorts, lolling his head to look at you, hair flopping on his forehead as he smiles at the sight of you. 

“Fair enough.” 

You both giggle a little, a little dazed at the cloud in the room. It falls into comfortable silence after, as you continue to gain your bearings after a session like that. Your mind begins to wander, thoughts landing you in the kitchen where the red flowers are now decorated. 

“I know you’re a sap, which is why I’m asking you this,” you start, shifting to look at him. His face is glistening. “But what made you choose those flowers in specific?” 

He thinks for a moment.

“The dahlia itself means… lasting grace. Beauty that remains, love to be declared.” 

You stare at him as he licks his lips, “Red dahlias, those mean perseverance. Strength, power.”

He shifts so he isn’t on his back anymore, facing you entirely. “I don’t know much about flower talk, but I hoped both of those things together would tell you that… my love for you is stronger than the years. And I intend to prove it to you if you’ll let me.”

You’re tearing up now, and he can see it in the way your eyes turn from shiny to an overwhelming pool. Before he can say anything, you’re lurching forward to kiss him, smashing your mouths together in a way that you can only call dramatic, your tears dropping to hit his cheeks. 

He brings a hand up to steady you, cupping your face to hold you there as you continue to peck his lips over and over. 

“Thank you for loving me,” you mumble against his lips in a nasally voice. 

“Thank you for loving me. Thank you,” he kisses you again, “for being born.”

You laugh a little, wet cheeks and sniffles to complete the look. 

Chan can only wipe your tears away with a brush of his hand and hope that those tears remain happy, with him, for the rest of your days.