#i need to break my curse after two consecutive arm breaks over the past 2 yrs | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sketchguk · 5 years

Text

lover to lean on; pjm

➳ pairing: neighbor!jimin x florist!reader

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

➳ wc: 20k

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

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

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

Wake up and smell the roses.

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

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

And he’s right.

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

That, you can get behind.

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

It’s anything but charming.

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

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

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

“Shit,” you hear from the other side.

Did he come? Is it over?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not at all.

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

“Sorry!”

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

He’s talking to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everyone’s been there before.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s a loaded question.”

Now it’s your turn to stay silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you want to?”

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

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

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

“Sorr—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Harsh,” he echoes back.

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

“Want to talk about it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re perplexed. “Wh-? She’s not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can hear him before you can even see him.

“Good morning!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Love it,” you gulp wryly.

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

The silence is refreshing until it isn’t.

“Is the coffee good?” He queries.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jimin?”

“Yeah?”

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

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

“They’re white roses.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know she will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Newsflash, you’re not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look at me, not at your feet!”

“I don’t know where to put them!”

“You’re stepping on my toes!”

“Sorry!”

“Oh yeah, you’ll be sorry!”

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

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

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

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

And it works for the most part.

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

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

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

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

Thankfully, these moments are only temporary.

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

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

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

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

But of course all good things come to an end.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, and how’d it go?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your neighbor hums, letting you continue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t sound very happy?”

“No, I am,” he deadpans.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s cute,” you smile fondly.

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

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

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

“Yeah… I don’t know either.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why’d you get into the business then?” He asks, silently offering his fries to you, the ones you’ve been eyeing ever since he revealed his lunch.

“Because I love flowers,” you say plain as day, reaching to grab a fry. “Because they make me happy, and when I send them off to someone, I know it’ll make their day a little brighter too.”

You wave the fry around in the air before sticking it in your mouth. Capping off your empty bowl of salad, you don’t seem to notice how Jimin looks at you and the understated beauty you exude.

“It’s cheesy, I know! You don’t have to look at me like I’m crazy,” you whine, briefly looking up at him with round eyes, turning around to toss your garbage.

Jimin flashes you a big, toothy smile, “No, you’re not crazy. You’re just... exactly what I thought you were.” His voice is low, almost as if he’s thinking to himself. As if they’re words you’re not meant to hear.

“Thanks? I think,” you giggle, unsure what he means. “Are you saying I’m predictable?” You inquire.

“I meant refreshing.” The crinkles at the corners of his eyes form as he grins. “I’m just trying to figure out why you don’t have a date for Valentine’s Day.”

“First of all, I don’t need a date,” you say in defense, teasingly offended.

“I know that, and you know what I mean. But you deserve to be treated like you’re speー”

“Second of all, I do have one.”

“Oh. You do?” He asks, creasing his brows and biting his plush lips.

“Yeah, with myself,” you jest with a smile, elbows resting on the counter with hands cupping your face.

Jimin’s chest deflates with an exhale, finally letting out the breath he’s been holding. “What, are you gonna watch The Notebook until you cry?” He pokes at your shoulder like a tease.

“I’m not that predictable,” you eye him with a gleam in your iris, fully knowing that it is the case. “But maybe,” you affirm with a sly smirk, “after I close up the shop at midnight though.”

“Knew it,” he scoffs. “But why are you closing so late? You should go home early so you can cry and watch The Notebook.”

“Mmm.” You hum, standing up from your stool and turning to hide the downturn of your lips. Running a rag underneath the faucet, you turn to wipe down the counter free of any crumbs. Jimin lifts his elbow up as you glide the cloth across the glass until it’s squeaky clean. “Let’s not forget that it’s Valentine’s Day, and I run a flower shop, Jimin. People are going to come by for a bouquet until the last second.” You exasperate, shaking your head in disapproval of all the last minute shoppers.

“You can’t get anyone else to lock up?” He suggests.

“They’ll hate me forever if I force them to work until midnight,” you reason, “Besides, it’s not like they’re single, so it’s fine. I can do it myself.”

“I really think you should be resting though. You haven’t been sleeping well lately, right?” He asks with concern in his intonation.

“I can take care of myself, I promise. I’m gonna treat myself after work anyways.” You do a little dance that consists of shimmying your shoulders and bouncing up and down on the balls of your feet.

He smiles at you endearingly with wide eyes, “I don’t think crying to The Notebook is a form of treating yourself.” He repeats as if the joke will never die.

You shake your head and click your tongue exclaiming, “If you must know, I’m gonna bake cookies.”

“Are you gonna share with me?” He pleads.

Your tongue pokes at your inner cheek as if you’re thinking about it. “Hmm, I don’t know. I might eat them all in one night.” Your lips purse in a taunt.

His mouth forms a pout, and you’re forced to give in to him and his bright puppy dog eyes.

“Ugh, fine, but only because you asked so nicely, I guess I can make some extras,” you groan, pressing your lips together straight like an arrow. You nudge his shoulder with your own despite the squeeze at your heart and the softening of your eyes, “For you and your girlfriend.”

It’s not like you had to mention it. But it’s been on your mind since yesterday, and you’re sure that the only way to fix a broken heart is to learn to accept it. Even if it means plucking out the thorns that are lodged in your heart until it feels numb. Empty and devoid of life.

“Girlfrie- oh, right, right. That’d be nice,” he sputters out, body stiffening, “Butー”

“Maybe I can bake them Thursday night?” You offer. “So you can pick them up on Friday if you buy flowers for her?” Your eyes blink in a failed attempt to wink.

Jimin stifles a laugh at your pitiful endeavor. It’s really pathetic how hard you try, pretending that you’re not hurt right in front of the guy who stormed into your garden.

But you suppose flowers can’t grow without a little bit of downpour.

He licks his lips, and his smile falters. “Riiight, but it’s okay, you should enjoy your cookies on Friday night because I’m not sure I’ll be around to buy flowers that day anyways.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, perplexed, head cocked to the side.

“Uh, don’t worry about it, okay?” He says, brushing it off before taking a look at his watch. “I have to head back to work though, my break is almost ending.” You watch him carefully with narrowing eyes as he collects his belongings, scrambling to head out the door. With the exit half opened, he turns around to bid you goodbye. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

The bell chimes and he’s out of sight.

You can’t even process his words because you’re too busy staring at the exit trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

Adulthood is just an endless cycle of sleeping and working, but it seems like you’re lacking in the former activity seeing that all you do is work. In the final stretch of Valentine’s Day, with a few more days to go, you’re just about ready to crash and burn.

Upon entering your quiet apartment tonight, you fail to do anything productive. You nose dive into bed and curl up into a cocoon at the strike of 10 pm. Somehow, you don’t even care enough to tug off your jeans or remove your smudged makeup. You’re ready to accept the consequences of bad skin and a stained pillowcase because the only thing that matters is that you knock out the moment your head hits the soft linen. There’s no time to replay the events of today or plan for tomorrow when your eyelids weigh you down into a deep slumber.

There’s not a single thing that can spur you. Not even the shining of the moonlight over your profile or the rhythmic whizzing of cars on the empty street beneath you. Even when there’s a police siren ringing in the distance or a rumble from a descending airplane in the atmosphere above you, you don’t bat an eye. You can’t even hear the hum of the rusty pipelines when your neighbor hops into the shower at the breach of dawn. Even the whirring radiator and the ticking clock blurs into nothing but white noise.

They’re all there to keep you company as you lie down in a bed of withered roses. To offer you comfort in your barren Renaissance garden.

You can’t seem to put your finger on it, but you wake up feeling like it’s the best night of rest you’ve gotten in the last week despite it being a short lived slumber. It’s definitely the most consistent night of sleep you’ve had in a while. And even though you went to bed without dinner, it didn’t hinder your sleep whatsoever. It only means that you can eat a full breakfast to power through the day.

And powering through is what you do best.

Apparently, the world is up against you because you can’t remember the last time you even got to sit down. You’re constantly on your feet, attending to customers and fulfilling orders. There’s no time to breathe even when you’re literally enclosed in a greenhouse. There’s always something to do, and stopping to take a break means slowing down the process. It’s not an option you want to take.

At the end of each day, you’re wobbling back home with sore muscles and blurred vision. Your ability to function is beyond your own imagination. Your definition of “functioning” has diminished to standing on your own two feet although that still bears a challenge for you.

The sustenance in your body is nearly nonexistent, especially because you’ve been neglecting your self-care. Typically, you don’t think about eating on the job. It’s honestly not on your mind because there are only two things that occupy your brain space: (1) Work and (2) Jimin.

Somehow, Jimin takes better care of you than you do yourself. And without him around, you’re a walking corpse. He’s always providing you with lunch and snacks, leaving you sticky notes with reminders to hydrate yourself. You didn’t realize that you needed him this much to remind you of the simple tasks like drinking or eating or… smiling.

Sometimes he draws cute flowers or scribbles plant puns on the post-it notes, sticking them onto obscure places that are hard for you to find. Your favorite one being the time he wrote “I love it when you call me big poppy.”

He claims that the notes are designed to make you laugh, even for the few that are not very funny. They definitely do brighten your day, especially when you have the ephemeral chance to glance at them hanging up above your desk in the back office. Smiling at the itty-bitty illustrations has become second nature to you. When you’re going through a rough day, aka everyday, and you’re in need of a breather, you wander into the back room to pace around, only to come face to face with a kaleidoscope of doodled butterflies spanned across a string of rainbow post it notes.

He once drew a sunflower and said something cheesy about how your laughter is the embodiment of sunshine— how it would be a crime against the flora population if you were to go a day without laughter.

It was corny and far from being right, but it was so perfectly Jimin.

When he does stupid shit like that, it makes you feel like the biggest lovesick idiot in the world. In your naive past, you thought that the smiles he sent your way were ones reserved for you and only you. You were convinced that the shameless flirting was a silent mechanism used to express his inclination towards you. You assumed that the daily visits to your flower shop were formidable attempts to get to know you better. A little part of you hoped that the songs he shared with you equated to sharing a piece of his heart.

You absolutely were sharing. You just didn’t realize that you’d be sharing with someone else.

So when Jimin consigns adorable puns that melt your heart, and he stops by with a cup of coffee, just know that they’re acts of friendship. When he spends his lunch breaks at the flower shop and sings songs that remind him of you, he’s coming from a place of kindness, not attraction.

It is true that Jimin’s your sunshine, but it’s also a fundamental principle to botanists that too much of something is bad enough, and too much of nothing is just as tough. And deceiving yourself into believing that he was all that you needed had scorched up all the flowers in your garden.

The drought he put you in didn’t prepare you enough for the brewing storm.

It pains you to say that you need him more than he needs you because even if he isn’t romantically interested in you, you would have hoped that he’d stick around as a friend. His waning presence leads you to believe that he’s simply not interested.

Maybe you were too invested in what could have been between the two of you, you failed to see what was right there in plain sight.

Somehow, you still wonder if he thinks about you as much as you think about him. And it’s pathetic granted you’re incredibly busy with work and your own crippling health. Yet thoughts of him still pop up throughout the day more than you would like. No matter how much you want to forget about your infatuation, you simply can’t will him away because of how often his beautiful face flashes before your eyes. You want to push him to the back of your mind, but whether you’re in need of a breather during your hectic schedule, admiring his stupid puns and butterfly mosaics, or you’re in need of some company in your eerily quiet apartment, doing laundry or having a meal all to yourself, you still can’t get the sound of his sweet laughter out of your head.

You don’t know how it’s possible, but you manage to close up shop long before midnight. It’s a blessing and a curse because you are absolutely wiped out. Not only are you mentally checked out, but ironically, your flower shop is destitute of flowers, completely sold out from the holiday. As you clean up the barren space, you can’t help but feel as if a big weight has been lifted off your shoulders. The stress of Valentine’s Day is over, and you can finally go home, lie in bed with a tray of cookies, and enjoy the beauty that is Ryan Gosling.

You even consider closing the store all of tomorrow because you need the day off to recharge. So as you print out and paste your notice on the glass door, you’re dumbfounded to come across a sliver of paper that’s already attached on the other side. Opening up the door and letting in a gust of cold air breeze by you, you remove the sticky note that’s been unknowingly attached to your entrance.

Not a daisy goes by that I don’t think of you.

The smile that tugs on your lips grapples against the ache in your heart. Quickly, the fond smile melts into one of hurt and disappointment. Your left hand balls into a tight fist, marring crescent moon shapes into your palms. Meanwhile, your right hand delicately fiddles with the tiny square between your fingers, debating whether or not you should crumple up the paper and toss it away to be long forgotten. You’ve never been so confused about your feelings until Park Jimin came into your life, but you tuck the little daisy doodle into the pocket of your coat with a sigh.

With every passing year, Valentine’s Day becomes a little more bearable than the previous. Tonight feels like any other night, but better. You’ve come to accept that if there isn’t someone who can make you feel special, you might as well do it yourself.

Making a meal for you that doesn’t consist of ramen or 5 minute rice while dimming the lights and sparking up some candles is undeniably part of the healing process. And that’s what tonight mainly consists of. It’s all about love and self-care.

With your laptop perched on top of your dinner table and your Netflix queue lined up, you mindlessly mix at your wet and dry ingredients with a wooden spoon. Nothing has made you feel more at ease than the comfort of watching your favorite movie on repeat and the sweet taste of raw cookie dough on your tongue. Sometimes it’s the simple things in life that can put a smile on your face.

As you wait for your cookies to bake, you settle into bed with your legs crossed and back pressed against the headboard. Laughter from the speakers of your laptop fill the space, and you can’t help but laugh along with the characters, disrupting the peaceful ambiance of your apartment complex. The rumble of your laughter subsides, and the movie rolls on from scene to scene.

Your ears perk up like Pavlov’s dog when the oven goes off. You turn your head so quickly you nearly get whiplash, but it’s all worth it for the love of chocolate chip cookies. The aroma of sugar is enough to will yourself out of bed and conveniently press pause on Ryan Gosling’s charming face.

Pulling on your oven mitts to retrieve the hot platter, your body begins to sway around to the sudden echo of music. The soft guitar strums reverberate through the walls and against the vacant space of your studio. Your body stops moving to the acoustics when you realize where the noise is coming from. Looking up, your eyes bore into the eggshell walls as if you can see through it. But you soon space out, focusing on the vibrations of the nylon strings instead.

The song fades out and the quietude breaks you out of your reverie. You blink in confusion, trying to remember the last time you heard from your neighbor. Although you haven’t spent much time in your apartment in the past week, you miss the late night chats with him. Lately, you’ve been knocking out as soon as your head hits the pillow for some much needed rest. You haven’t heard his voice in forever, and especially not his angelic singing voice. Even tonight he refrains from singing in place of just practicing his guitar.

It’s a bit out of the ordinary.

His side of the wall is surprisingly quiet tonight. You would have expected him to be out and about with his girlfriend, but at this point of the night, they would have been jumping at each other's bones. Yet the gentle patter of footsteps and the lack of banging would suggest that he’s flying solo tonight.

Despite your curiosity, you’re not sure whether or not you’d want to bring it up in case it reopens some wounds. You think it’s best to leave it alone for the time being until he’s ready to come to you instead.

So as you proceed with bingeing your movies, there’s something in the back of your mind that still distracts you. It’s literally a crime that you’ve sat through 2 hours of The Notebook, yet you haven’t shed a single tear because you’re not even focused on the film in front of you. Rather, you’re thinking long and hard about the last time you heard your neighbor laugh in sincerity.

You really couldn’t care any less about the end credits that roll in front of you. Rather, with your chin propped up in the palm of your hands, you listen intently to what’s happening on the other side of the wall. It’s bizarrely quiet, aside from the sad symphony of string instruments that ring in the background of the ending credits.

When your screen turns black, you shut off your laptop and stow it away, knowing in your heart that you’re no longer in the mood for a romantic movie marathon. You make your way into your kitchen and reach for the cookies that have cooled off by now. But somehow, it feels wrong to sit here in enjoyment of your own company. Yet at the same time, this batch of cookies was the only thing you were looking forward to all week.

Nothing seems to satisfy you.

The only desire that creeps upon you is the desire to spend the night with someone else by your side. Frankly, it’s stupid because you know that you don’t need a man, and even the whole world knows that you don’t need one. Especially not on Valentine’s Day because you’ve made it abundantly clear that you hate February 14th with every fibre of your being.

However, the idea of having a friend at your side doesn’t seem so bad at this point.

You transfer all the cookies from the tray onto a smaller plate, arranging the delectable morsels into a presentable fashion.

With your slippers on, you make your way out of your apartment, letting the door close softly behind you. Standing in front of your neighbor’s abode, you nervously shift your weight on the heels of your feet. Midnight is approaching, and you wouldn’t want to disrupt his night like this, but it just feels right to knock on his door and offer your company. Just to check up on him because perhaps he’s in need of some companionship just like you. And who wouldn’t want some chocolate chip cookies? Baked with 80% sugar and 100% love.

Mustering up all the courage in your body, your hand comes up in a tight fist, knocking at the wooden door. You wait a moment, but to your dismay, there’s no evidence of movement on the other side of the partition. You would have heard his footsteps by now, and perhaps the turning of the deadbolt, but it’s dead silent.

Perhaps he didn’t hear you, so you knock a little harder this time.

Nothing.

As you stand outside, lost in naivety, you wonder whether you should try to make a fool of yourself and knock again. It’s been a good 5 minutes of you debating between speaking up to get his attention or giving up and retreating to your studio in embarrassment. Then you mentally facepalm yourself remembering that it’s incredibly rude of you to drop by without any kind of warning.

But still, you had his best interests in mind.

You think that the third time’s the charm, so in a last attempt, you knock with full force.

“Uhh, hey!” Your voice shakes and cracks. Blame it on the nerves. “I made some cookies, and I thought I’d share some!” You semi-yell in hopes of catching his attention.

“One second!” Oh, thank God. You can hear the bed frame creak on the other side and the skid of footsteps across the floor boards.

Your heartbeat weirdly picks up because of the fact that this is quite literally the first time you’ve come face to face with your neighbor. The late night chats with him have always made you feel comfortable, but there’s a certain nuance to meeting him that shakes your nerves.

You brace yourself as you hear the lock turn, eyes casting down towards the plate in front of you.

“I didn’t know that today’d be the day we meet like thiー” He says as the door swings open.

You look up expecting to greet him with a smile, but the one you had prepared falters from your lips.

“What’re youー”

“Y- You liveー”

You stutter over one another, lost in confusion. Staring into the very familiar set of brown eyes in front of you, you’re confounded by your new discovery.

Jimin stands before you, running his hand through his black locks as he opens the door wider, stepping aside to let you through.

“Hey, neighbor?” He sounds disoriented, untrusting of his voice.

You’re stood frozen at the foot of the entrance, unsure as to how you could possibly process all of this.

“I heard you made cookies?” He asks, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Here, come in.” He gently tugs on your sleeve, coddling you because of the state of shock you’re in.

You nod your head, barely cognizant of what’s being said. But your feet still shuffle through the entryway, and you slide off your slippers at the front door.

“This is so crazy,” he says, taking the plate of cookies off your hands. You’re both surprised that you have yet to drop them. He places the plate onto his coffee table, and his back is turned to you as you stand to the side, playing with the sleeves of your sweater.

How much weirder can this situation possibly get?

“You mean to tell me that we’ve been neighbors all this time and we didn’t even know?” You ask, sucking your lips inward, cocking your head to the side. Your words are a jumbled mess, but Jimin has become a master at deciphering your incoherent words through the thin walls many nights in a row.

“I’m just as surprised as you! I can’t believe I didn’t connect the dots?” He exclaims in dismay, patting the seat beside him on the couch as an invitation to you.

Your brain feels as if it’s lost all of its cells because you have so many questions, yet you can’t seem to articulate them. As you sit down, you close your eyes and rub at your temples, praying that you’d wake up from this odd dream.

“There’s no way I could have connected the dots,” you sputter in collection of your thoughts, completely exasperated. “I just don’t understand.”

You fiddle with your fingers, and Jimin takes your hand in his. His touch is soft, and as much as you want to pull away, you give into him because there’s no way you’d ever deny him, especially not when he looks at you with those big round eyes.

“I have so many questions,” you admit, rubbing at your eyelids.

“Shoot.”

“Uhm,” your head shakes wildly. “I don’t even know where to begin?” Your eyes widen, shocked by how nonchalant he’s acting. As if he didn’t just lead you on and ghost you days on end, pretending that everything’s okay now.

“Take your time,” he chuckles reassuringly, offering you a calming smile.

“Uhm… How are you? I guess? Th- that’s kind of the first thing I wanted to ask you before… I- you know.”

Your heart gallops because he’s looking at you, biting his lip. And you, you are completely weak for the man who holds all of your affection in the palm of his hands, yet you can’t handle his smoldering stare, so you avert your eyes elsewhere. This is downright cruel and unusual punishment.

You continue, “Because I haven’t spoken to you much lately, you know?”

“You wanted to check up on me?”

You blink away, eyes now focused on the vase of wilting flowers on the coffee table. Pink and red variegated carnations. You inhale deeply, trying to calm yourself and regulate your breath. Your body stiffens and your shoulders tense. Even your jaw tightens, but you manage to nod your head.

“I’ve been better,” he admits sullenly.

Your hand lets go of his, pulling back to seek comfort at your side. It just doesn’t feel right to hold his hand so intimately when he’s made a mess of your head and your heart. You just can’t do it to yourself, and you can’t do it to him or his girlfriend. Especially not when his heart belongs to her.

You open your mouth as if you have another question to ask, but none of them are coherent enough to utter. There’s plenty of noise ringing in your head, but it’s all nonsense.

Jimin gently rests his hand on the ball of your knee, almost like a graze, but his touch is hot, and you brush him off with the recoil of your leg.

His shoulders slump, and his eyes soften. His hands retract to his lap, respecting your wishes. He gulps, and noticeably the lump in his throat goes down in a swallow.

“Hey, it’s just me, okay? You don’t need to be scared.” He displays his palms out to you as a peace offering. A symbol of vulnerability. The tension in the air is palpable, but you still manage to keep your guard down in front of him.

Because this is Jimin. The guy you’ve come to know and unfortunately love. But it’s just that you’ve never seen Jimin like this.

“Yeah and that’s kind of the problem,” you breathe out. Your brows knit into a frown, and he looks at you in bewilderment, with wide eyes, parted lips, and stress tousled hair. “I- I don’t know if you’re Jimin the mysterious neighbor who’s been nothing but nice to me, or Jimin the guy from the flower shop who pretty much made it loud and clear he doesn’t want to see me,” you scoff.

“B- butー What do you mean? We’re the same person.” His eyes narrow, and he shakes his head subtly trying to convince you. He fiddles with his fingers, cracking his knuckles out of bad habit. Shifting his body so his knees are pointed towards yours, nearly in contact, he refrains from the much needed skinship. The heat radiating from his body is something you’re familiar with, and although it once brought you comfort, you can only feel resentment.

“Of course I want to see you? Iー I?” He’s a stuttering mess, shaking his head from side to side as if you’ve got it all wrong, but you interject because you have so much to say, yet you haven’t expressed yourself to your liking just yet.

“I don’t know about that!” Your hands clench up at your sides until your knuckles turn sharp. “Because neighbor Jimin is telling me he has a fuck buddy he thinks he’s in love with, and flower shop Jimin has a girlfriend he doesn’t want to talk about. So what is it? I’m hearing a lot about mixed feelings for this one person, and… if you’re involved with someone, I don’t want to get in the middle of this,” you spit out more harshly than expected, inching further and further away to the edge of the couch with your arms crossed over your chest. You gulp down a thick glob of spit in hopes of washing down the acidic sting in your throat, but it’s like bile just sits there on your tongue.

“Let me explain, okay?” He begs of you.

You sit there in sullen silence, staring at the carnations in your peripherals, ready to have him break your heart all over again. You nod, but you don’t even bother turning to face him, unsure whether or not you’d be able to hear him talk about how he’s in some complicated relationship with someone else.

“Please, look at me?” he pleads with a sniffle, “I need to know if you’re okay.” His voice cracks, and you finally look his way. You’re far from okay, but seeing him with glossy eyes, you also know that he isn’t either.

He licks his lips, and his hand comes up in desperate need of tucking the stray strand of hair that’s fallen in front of your face. But he decides against it in fear of rejection, and he rests his hand on the ball of his knee instead. Your line of sight falls to his shaking leg. You hesitantly reach across to close your hand softly around his in comfort. His movement stops instantly as he lets out a huff.

Licking your lips, your eyes gaze towards your hands, and you can’t help but imagine how they’d slot into one another so perfectlyー

“_____?” Your eyes shift to lock with his and there are tears that brim at his corners, but they’re kept at bay, refusing to fall.

“I-” He exhales.

You squeeze his hand a little tighter, and you don’t know if it’s more for yourself or for him, but it gives him the strength to continue on.

“Look, that girl and I? We weren’t in a relationship. I promise you. I told you that we were friends with benefits because that’s what we were.” He insists, hoping the message gets across to you, but your heart drops lower into your stomach at his admission. You don’t even want to picture him with some other girl, yet you know way more about their relationship than you would have ever wanted.

Hell, you were even convinced that they were in love. A highlight reel of the last few months spent in your apartment flashes before your eyes, and your grip on his hand loosens. You think back to the days when Jimin was just some faceless guy, dancing around with his supposed girlfriend, having pillow fights, running warm baths, making out beneath the stars, and fucking around with her like they were in love.

But he continues in hopes that you’d understand his point of view. “It was easier to tell you the truth because you didn’t know who I was, and you wouldn’t have judged me for it. So I was an idiot, and at the flower shop, I told you she was my girlfriend because it would have been easier to explain this complicated mess.” A single tear cascades down his cheek, and he wipes it away with the crook of his elbow.

“I mean, she wanted it to be serious, but there was just something pulling me back. And do you know what that was?”

You shake your head no and pull away, unsure how much more of this you can take.

He looks you dead in the eyes, but you can’t even look at him for another second because the wilting carnations are sitting there, mocking you.

“_____, you asked me the other day what I liked about her, and I was wracking my brain trying to come up with an answer... It wasn’t easy because you were the only person I thought about.”

A sudden tear escapes from the corner of your eyes, unbelieving, but you compel yourself to look back at his visage, checking for any tells of a lie. He doesn’t even falter.

“She and I? We fought so much because she was convinced I had feelings for someone else. And you know?” He shakes his head, “…It’s true. I couldn’t think about the things I liked about her, but then when I thought of you. My god, it was just so much easier to talk about the things I loved about you because you’re the one I like. I didn’t know how to express that, okay? The songs that I wrote? The ones you hear me sing day and night? Fuck…” He rubs at his eyes, and they’re evidently red from all the tears welled up. “They’re all about you, and you didn’t even know,” he sobs out. The first drop of tears came out steadily, but as you examine his face in total shock, the tears begin to cascade down his face.

You wrap your arms around his neck, now understanding where he’s coming from. It’s all a little more clear to you, and there’s no need to continue on if he’s in hysteria like this. His arms instinctively squeeze around your waist, holding on tight, too afraid that he’d lose you if he were to let go.

“I didn’t have my feelings sorted out because I was comfortable with where I was, but it’s not like it made me happy,” he confesses. You hush him, running your fingers through his hair and caressing his slumped back. Sitting in silence, you can only hear the sound of your breathing falling into sync with his. Occasionally, the radiator would go off and a car would drive by on the street beneath you.

You tell him that it’s all okay and that all is forgiven, but he still continues in justification of himself. “And I was convinced that you’d think I was a horrible person for liking someone else when I’ve got a complicated relationship going on, okay? Because that’s how I felt about myself, and I swear we broke it off, but I was too embarrassed to come to you because I didn’t know how to explain the mess I got myself into. It’s all my fault, and I’m so so so sorry, you have no idea.”

He’s wracked with sobs, but you hum, listening intently to his every word. They’re coherent enough for you to realize that you’ve both made mistakes because of a huge misunderstanding.

The Jimin that you know and love is right here in your arms, and there’s nothing you can do but forgive and forget.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he cries out with a hiccup. “I promise you that you’re the only person I care about.”

You whisper sweet nothings into his ear, hoping that he calms down because there’s really nothing to apologize for. “What did I say? You don’t have to be sorry, okay?” You remind him.

He lets out a breathy exhale, “I messed up,” he hiccups, “I don’t deserve this. You.”

Your hands rest on his shoulder, gently pulling back from him, but he clings on tighter to your waist. Looking down at the sweet man beneath you, you smile to yourself.

“Jimin,” you murmur.

“Hm?”

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” You shake your head, and a soft chuckle vibrates through your chest. Still, you keep him in your embrace because although it may seem like Jimin is the one in need of a hug, you need it just as much as he does.

“Can I tell you a story?” You ask.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, tickling the skin at your sternum.

“I think I caught feelings for you the first time we met. Do you remember that?” He hums as you reminisce on the memory. “It was some random Sunday, and you walked in looking for a bouquet for your mom, but you realized you didn’t have enough cash on youー”

Jimin laughs beneath you, and it’s the way that he laughs that makes you realize you need that in your life. A cheshire grin spreads across your lips, and that’s when you know you can’t go a single day without hearing his laugh again.

“You didn’t have enough cash, so you pulled out a post it note and scribbled an IOU.” You can barely get the sentence out without chuckling to yourself. Jimin has stopped sobbing at this point, being reduced to a few sniffles here and there. You deem it as the right moment to pull back from his embrace so you can look him in the eyes.

“You drew a little daisy for me and that’s when I knew you were really something else.”

You cup his cheeks, and a grin tugs on his lips, matching the one on your face. His eyes shine in the dim light, just like how the sun radiates in the day time. A single tear trickles down his plush cheeks, and you wipe it away with the pad of your thumb.

“Look, I’ve liked you for as long as I can remember, and I have to admit that it hurt me when you said you had a girlfriend, but it really hurt me when you left without saying anything.”

His eyes cast downwards as if he’s ashamed, but you place your hand beneath his chin, bringing his attention back up.

“Know that I’d never judge you for the decisions you make and for the relationships you have, okay? And I don’t think you’re horribleー”

“You don’t?” He cuts you off with his big pleading eyes.

“No, far from it,” you beam, “I still think you’re the most selfless person I know.”

Jimin’s face drops at your confession, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry if I ever made you feel like you’re not special, because to me, you’re the most extraordinary person in this world.”

He cups your face, noticing that your eyes are starting to well. Drops of tears roll down your face, and Jimin’s quick to dry them away, pressing his lips against your cheeks to collect the drops of salt water. As you smile, another stream of tears pour from your ducts. Soft pecks are trailed against your skin, and you think you’ve successfully washed away all the pain.

You can feel the flowers in your heart slowly starting to bloom in preparation for spring.

“Why’d you stop?” You ask, opening up your eyes. He’s merely a few inches away from you, stuck in a daze.

His eyes can’t decide whether they want to look at the gleam in your irises or at the curvature of your lips, flickering between the two.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” Your whimper is hardly loud enough for your own ears, but he hears you loud and clear.

His hands rest at the sides of your neck as his thumbs run over your cheeks, grazing over the flesh of your lips. “Can I show you how special you are to me?”

You nod your head, and Jimin is overcome with the urge to kiss you, inching closer with puckered lips. They’re soft against your own, plush and pillowy. You melt into his touch as if he’s the light of your life. You think you could cry again from the sheer amount of euphoria built up in your little heart. Having him in your arms is all you could ever ask for.

He pulls back slightly in need of a breath, and you take the opportunity to climb into his lap, with knees settled on either side of his taut thighs.

“Missed you,” you whimper against the column of his neck, nosing at the sensitive skin.

Jimin’s breath hitches as he bites back a moan, “Missed you more.”

“Not possible,” you trail gentle kisses against his collarbones, pulling back on the cotton of his t-shirt to expose more of his neck.

His hands rest on your outer thighs thighs, squeezing tight on the muscles. You reach behind you to grab at his forearms, urging him to move his hands higher onto your body. He takes the hint immediately and experimentally squeezes at your ass. Your lips part from his neck, and Jimin takes the opportunity to latch his mouth back onto yours.

His lips are gentle in contrast to the firm grip he has on you. But with your weight resting on top of him, core pressed up against his crotch, you can feel how hard he is beneath you. In need of some release, you start to move your hips back and forth, grinding over his hard on.

Jimin gives you a lingering kiss on your lips, pulling back with a harsh groan. You offer a teasing smile, and he leans forward. He supports your weight at the bottom of your ass as your legs wrap around his waist. You nearly yelp when he stands, holding you up in his arms.

“I got you,” he reassures, pressing his lips firmly against yours, walking towards his unmade bed space. He lays you down gently on top of the messy covers, climbing between your legs. You whine upon the release of his lips, but his mouth leaves hot kisses down the column of your throat, causing you to gasp.

“Is it okay if we take this off?” He asks, thumbing at the hem of your sweater.

You nod sitting up, and he tugs the material off for you, tossing it to the edge of the bed. Upon sight of your bare chest, he molds into you, lips suctioning around your pebbled nipple. His other hand massages at your unattended breast, squeezing at the supple flesh.

“You’re beautiful,” he hums against your body.

You’re easily affected by his words as your back arches and your legs hook around his torso. Canting your hips upward, you signal to Jimin with a whine that you’re desperate for his touch.

“There’s no need to rush, baby, we have the whole night,” he warns you, leaving a kiss between the valley of your breasts.

You cry out in frustration, but it soon subsides when he satiates your needs. You relax when his hand lowers into your sweatpants, cupping at your heat. His middle finger traces at your entrance, running it up and down your panty clad slit. Your hips lurch once again, but Jimin presses your hips down, flush against the mattress.

As his tongue circles around your sensitive nipple, his fingers decide to dip into your underwear. The obscene sound of your juices squelching can be heard when he presses his finger into your tight hole. Inserting a finger in, you can feel your walls stretch around him. A cry falls from your lips as he begins to rub at your clit with the pad of his thumb.

Jimin inserts another finger, and your cunt feels so hot with the amount of friction. Pumping two fingers in and out, there’s a pleasurable burn that ripples throughout your body. Beads of sweat form on your hairline, and you wipe them away with the back of your hand. You can practically feel your heart beating out of your chest.

“Tell me how it feels, okay?” He asks, switching over to your other breast.

“You feel so good,” you mewl. He hums against your nipple in affirmation, biting lightly at the perky bud.

“Jimin?” You call out for him.

He parts from your chest to look into your eyes, fingers still pumping in and out of you with flexing biceps.

“I think it’d feel better if you’d fuck me,” you admit, no filter needed.

“Shit,” he groans, slowing down the pace. “I want to eat you out first though.”

He retracts his hand, and you feel empty without him inside. Your sweatpants and panties are tugged off in one swift motion, casted to the side along with your sweatshirt. Looking up with stars in your eyes, you can see that Jimin is still fully dressed. You open your mouth to tell him about your wishes, but he must have read your mind because he pulls off his t-shirt and throws it with no regard.

Beneath his clothing, he reveals to you his robust body. You’re dripping with lust, and it must be so obvious from the way you stare at his abdominals. Everything about him is so well-built, and you curse the talented dancer in front of you.

“Like what you see?” He teases, winking at you as he descends down your body.

“Love it,” you moan.

His breath is hot against your wet pussy. With juices dripping down your ass, you ruin the linen sheets beneath you. His fingers play with your core, spreading your swollen lips to reveal your flower, admiring how pretty your cunt is.

Sitting up with elbows propped, you look down in frustration between your bent legs to see Jimin licking his lips, staring at your heat like he’s ready to devour you. He kisses at the long, dark lines of stretch marks that reside on your inner thighs before his tongue presses softly against your wet clit, kitten licking at the bud. Reaching out, your hand balls around the white comforter to anchor yourself down. As you spread your legs wider, Jimin’s hands hook around your limbs to rest at your thighs. He presses them down, restricting your movement.

His tongue laps at your heat with no mercy, licking a stripe up your sex and tracing letters onto your clit, sending your nerves aflame. Your breaths are shallow as you pant, melding yourself to the mattress. He flicks his tongue, prodding it against your hole and delving in and out. He massages your tight walls as it clenches around his tongue.

There’s a knot in your stomach that forms embarrassingly fast, but you can’t help it when his plush lips give your cunt so much attention, sucking harshly on your clitoris. He looks over at your features, taking notice of your reactions, licking over and over the parts that make you squirm the most.

Your face scrunches in pleasure, nearly toppling over the edge. But you’re not ready to come. Not yet at least. Not without having Jimin’s hard cock inside of you.

Jimin is relentless against your pussy, but he doesn’t even let up when you call his name out. Your grip around the comforter loosens in favor of digging your fingers into Jimin’s luscious black locks.

“Jimiiiin,” you whine, tugging lightly at his roots. “I need you, please, please,” you beg.

He leaves a kiss at your bud, and you shudder in response. Jimin climbs up your body, and you shiver at the loss of contact.

“You need me, huh?” He teases, “You want to come?” You nod your head ardently when he presses his red, swollen lips against yours. He grapples with your mouth in a bruising, passionate kiss. With clicking teeth and suckling tongues, you can taste yourself off of his plush lips, completely drenched in your arousal.

Trailing your hand down Jimin’s sturdy body, you can’t resist running your hands over his perfectly sculpted abs. But on your descent, you pull on the strings of his heather gray sweatpants, loosening the elastic around his waist.

Your palm slides beneath the band, tucking beneath his boxer briefs. His eyebrows scrunch, and he gasps against your mouth when you wrap your hand around his hot, veiny cock, stroking at his erection. His cheeks flush as you swipe your thumb over the head, collecting beads of precum on your fingers.

He shudders at your touch. “Oh my God, I might die if you keep doing that,” he nearly cries.

You smile against the skin of his neck, sucking at his pulse point. Meanwhile, Jimin reaches over to his nightstand, pulling out a condom. He nearly falls off the bed, losing balance on his knee when you stroke his cock a little faster.

As Jimin sits up, trying to open up the packaging, you careen forward to pull off his sweats. You can hardly pull it down below his thick ass given the position he’s sitting in. But it’s enough for you to pull his dick out and wrap your hand around his girth in all its glory.

While waiting for Jimin to take out the condom, you decide to tease him like he deserves. Switching positions, you lie down on your stomach in front of him. With a glob of saliva built up in your mouth, you spit onto the head of his cock, watching it drip down the shaft and onto his balls. You glide your hand up and down to spread the saliva, making sure he’s nice and wet. His balls tighten the moment you suckle your lips around his slit.

You look up at Jimin with wide eyes in hope of some praise.

His eyes stare into yours, but he quickly throws his head back. “Fuck, fuck, fuck I’m not gonna last, please, I know your mouth is like heaven, but I want to be inside you,” he rambles.

He tucks your hair behind your ears and rests his hand beneath your chin, tilting it upwards. His lips meet your forehead in a sweet kiss before you lie back down on the bed, spreading your legs wide open as an invitation.

Jimin ungracefully pulls off his pants down the rest of his legs. He pumps his thick cock in his hands before sliding on the condom and lining himself up at your entrance. You groan, reaching out for his wrists as he glides his length up and down your folds, making sure you're nice and wet for him, fully prepped.

The callous on his thumb is rough against your clit as he rubs down on it, easing the discomfort of penetration. Your velvety walls stretch around his member as he sinks into you inch by inch.

You’re gasping for air as he sheaths himself inside you, but you remain calm because Jimin peppers kisses all across your face.

“Are you okay?” He asks, concerned.

“Mhmm,” you hum, “Might need a second.”

His nose nudges at your cheek, “Take all the time you need, baby.”

Moments go by until you’re comfortable with the stretch. You don’t know how Jimin has so much patience with you when you can literally feel his dick twitch inside your pussy, impossibly harder than he was moments prior. But like the angel he is, he still waits for your go-ahead.

“Jimin, you can move,” you whisper, cupping his cheek and offering a butterfly kiss.

His mouth finds his way to yours, and he kisses you with so much fervor. You’re too distracted by the kiss to notice him slide out of you.

But your lips part slightly, letting out a gasp when he drives his dick back into you, setting a moderate pace. Your hands reach for the skin of his back, latching your nails onto the smooth surface. The slap of skin on skin is obscene as his hips meet yours, pumping himself inside of you. The delicious burn has you digging your nails into his shoulder blades, scratching at his taut muscles.

You weren’t wrong to say that you can’t go another day without hearing Jimin’s laughter, but at the time, you were not privileged enough to hear his moans against the shell of your ear. That is the one thing you don’t want to ever live without, too spoiled by the sensual man above you.

Jimin fucks into you deeply, changing his angle as he shifts his weight onto his knees. His calculated thrusts to your g-spot sends you closer and closer to the edge. His eyes focus on your pussy, watching his dick disappear inside of you like an addiction. With a firm grasp on your hips, he lifts you higher to help you reach your orgasm.

“Jimin, I’m gonna come,” you gasp, gripping your walls tightly around his length.

“I know, baby, you can come.” He lowers himself onto his elbows so he can come face to face with you. His hands reach down between your bodies, and he rubs harsh figure eights on your swollen clit. You lean forward, pressing your lips to his as waves of pleasure crash over you. Your body trembles beneath him, moaning his name like a vice.

Jimin rides out your high, pumping into your tight hole until your legs nearly give out. He doesn’t dare pull away, continuing to circle your clit until you’ve nearly reached your limits. Your walls pulse around his cock, squeezing around his shaft until he’s nearly at his edge. His hair is matted to his forehead, slicked by sweat. You brush away the loose strands with the tips of your fingers.

“Are you close?” You breathe out, hush and quiet, cupping his jaw with the palm of your hands.

“Mhmm,” he gulps, rutting into you, pumping your cum in and out as it sheaths his shaft.

His pace falters as he approaches his orgasm, hips stuttering against yours. Jimin nearly collapses on top of you as he spills himself into the condom, moaning into the cusp of your ear. His chest presses up against yours as he attempts to catch his breath.

You trace soothing circles onto his back as he basks in the afterglow of post orgasmic sex.

His breathing soon evens out, and it’s comfortably quiet, that is with the exception of the radiator hissing in the corner of the studio.

“Wow.” He kisses your temple before pulling out, letting the remains of your cum flow out of you. He rolls over onto his back, pulling you into his warm embrace.

“So on a scale of 1-10, how special would you say you feel right about now?” A smug smirk tugs on his lips, and you playfully smack his pecks.

“Does this answer your question?” You ask, peppering 10 kisses onto his lips.

“Mmm, no, I didn’t quite hear your answer” he says, leaning in for another kiss, “Tell me one more time?”

And as Jimin kisses you goodnight, you know in your heart that the heartache and the loss of $5 are all worth it in the end if it means you get to wake up and smell the roses with Jimin at your bedside.

3K notes · View notes

dreamscapefics · 4 years

Note

Cockslut!Jaskier getting bred by his Witchers during a visit to Kaer Morhen 😳 Maybe with dp if you don’t mind writing that and praise and aftercare?

Anon, thank you so much for sending this prompt! The moment I read it I was hooked. But hoo, boy. This got way out of hand. This is clocking in at almost 4k and it’s honestly the filthiest thing I’ve ever written. 🙈

Additional tags: spit roasting, double penetration, breeding kink, overstimulation

The rest is gonna be under the cut ‘cos, um, it gets really filthy. I hope you enjoy!

~*~

Being romantically involved with Geralt brings a lot of benefits in Jaskier’s humble opinion. The list is fairly short and it goes like this:

1 He’s horny all the fucking time. And Geralt, thanks to his Witcher mutations, has a lot of stamina. It helps that his dear While Wolf is just as horny, if not hornier, as Jaskier.

2 He loves cock. He loves the feel of a thick, veiny dick in his mouth, loves the taste of precome and cum, enjoys tonguing the slit and sucking the balls. Jaskier especially loves it when Geralt grips the back of his head with both hands and uses him to his pleasure, that long, thick length reaching places no other has.

3 He and Geralt are not only lovers, they’re also best friends, which means they have a profound understanding of one another. Meaning that they trust each other and respect each other’s boundaries and limits. And lastly;

4 He trusts Geralt to take care of him. Whether it’s a night of roughly fucking Jaskier through the mattress to fight off the effects of the potions he took, or whether it’s hours of slow lovemaking that makes Jaskier sob with overstimulation -- Geralt is always attentive to Jaskier’s needs after every session.

Which is why Jaskier isn’t surprised that when they arrive at Kaer Morhen for the winter - the third consecutive winter he’s spending with Geralt - his dear witcher broaches the topic of sharing him with his brothers.

“You can say no, they’ll understand,” Geralt tells him on their first night at the keep.

Jaskier smiles sweetly at him and cranes his neck to kiss Geralt’s cheek.

Silly witcher, as if Jaskier would pass up the opportunity to take not one, not even two, but three Witcher cocks. All fucking winter. It’s basically heaven on earth!

“I can, but I don’t want to,” he replies, voice rough from choking on his witcher’s dick earlier. Geralt’s eyes darken when Jaskier smirks at him. “Really, darling. The more the merrier, right?”

“Are you really sure?”

“Yes, Geralt.”

“It’s not going to be like how we fuck, Jas.”

Jaskier arches a brow, intrigued at Geralt’s slightly sheepish expression.

“If they fuck as well as you do, and I’m sure that they do, then I don’t see a problem.”

Geralt shakes his head. “Not that. When I said I’ll be sharing you with them, it means that the three of us will be fucking you. Together. We will ruin you, Jas.”

Jaskier blinks at him, his calmness belying the sudden pounding in his chest.

“Well, that’s the point of sharing, isn’t it? In fact, I can’t fucking wait to have your brothers’ cocks in me. I bet they’re just as gifted as you, if you get my drift.” Then he winks at Geralt with a salacious grin.

Geralt returns it with an unimpressed look. Then Jaskier yelps in surprise when he’s suddenly rolled onto his stomach, huge witcher hands grasping his cheeks and pulling them apart to expose Jaskier’s puffy, come-soaked hole. Jaskier makes the prettiest noises when Geralt proceeds to eat him out for the next thirty minutes.

Okay, so maybe Jaskier got a bit overconfident.

He meant it when he said that he couldn’t wait to get a taste of their cocks, Jaskier basically salivating at the image of him on his knees and servicing the other witchers. A shiver of pleasure runs down his spine at the thought of having his throat abused all winter long. So it’s no surprise when he was proven right that Eskel and Lambert were just as well-endowed as Geralt.

Still, nothing prepared him for the night Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert took him apart and pieced him back together.

Jaskier the Bard walked so that Jaskier the Witchers’ Whore could run.

As a way of ‘breaking him in’, Eskel and Lambert spend the next few days getting acquainted with Jaskier in the biblical sense.

It starts with Lambert cornering Jaskier in the halls one afternoon. He drags Jaskier into an alcove where he proceeds to test his cocksucking skills. The witcher grabs his hair in a bruising grip, one hand pressed to the wall in front of him, moving his hips languidly so as to see how far Jaskier can take him. The bard rises to the challenge. To Lambert’s utter shock, Jaskier manages to take his whole length, nose buried in the short, wiry curls on his pelvis.

Jaskier wraps his hands around his cloth-covered ass and starts bobbing his head enthusiastically. He licks a stripe down Lambert’s veiny cock, sucking his balls into his mouth before kissing his way up the length. Jaskier then takes just the tip into his mouth and sucks it, cheeks hollowing as he tongues the slit, milking the precome and moaning at the bitter taste.

Lambert lets out a loud groan and murmurs, “Fuck, fuck, how are you — fuck, just like that — so fucking good.”

Jaskier’s eyes roll back into his head when he feels the head of Lambert’s thick cock hit the back of his throat. Lambert curses up a streak and moans fuck, Geralt was right, your mouth is made for sucking cock and you take me so well, baby, you feel so fucking good. It’s Jaskier’s turn to moan, throat vibrating as Lambert tilts his head further back, grip tightening a fraction as he thrusts one, two, three, four times before he shoots thick ropes of cum down Jaskier’s abused throat.

“I’m gonna fucking breed you next time,” Lambert growls as he continues to come.

Jaskier feels his own breeches dampen, coming untouched at that proclamation, and he closes his eyes in bliss when he finally gets a taste of the brash witcher’s cum. He looks up at Lambert, teary-eyed and glazed, and makes a show of swallowing every single drop of his spend, tongue poking out to lick a drop he missed. Lambert curses and then pulls Jaskier up to his feet, only to shove him against the wall and kiss him breathless.

Jaskier is in the library dusting the shelves and rearranging the scholarly books to Vesemir’s preference when Eskel finds him. The quiet and kind witcher quietly shuts and locks the door behind him before striding towards Jaskier, who’s unbeknownst to the witcher’s presence until he feels strong hands grip his waist and bend him over the empty shelf.

“My brothers sing their praise of your mouth,” Eskel rumbles in Jaskier’s ear. Scarred, sweaty hands trail up the bard’s flanks before moving down to unlace his breeches and shove it down past hairy, creamy thighs. Eskel mutters a curse under his breath when he takes in Jaskier’s plump ass, still bearing the marks and bruises that Geralt left him last night. “But I want another hole of yours.”

“Please, please, fuck,” Jaskier moans, cock already swelling as he arches his back and shoves his hips to grind against Eskel’s hardened length. “Anything, you can do anything to me, just — please, fuck. Want your cock so bad.”

Eskel chuckles before he grips Jaskier’s hair and pulls back to lick and bite bruises on his throat. He nips at an earlobe, Jaskier’s surprised yelp turning into a moan when Eskel whispers in his ear. “Hmm, you’re such a slut for cock, aren’t you, pretty boy? Want me to fuck your throat raw? Want me to fuck your perfect little hole, breed you like the bitch you are?”

Jaskier’s moans echo in the spacious room, beads of precome leaking from the tip of his aching cock . “Yes yes yes! Fuck, I want everything you want to give me,” he sobs brokenly. “Please, Eskel, let me be your good boy.”

“Fuck.”

It’s a bit of blur after that. Eskel pushes Jaskier’s back so he’s bent at a ninety-degree angle on the shelf, his naked ass in full display. Eskel nudges Jaskier’s legs to spread wider before he pulls his cheeks apart.

“Fuck, you’re still wet.”

Jaskier’s hole is still loose from Geralt's cock earlier that day, the rim slightly puffy and moist. Eskel doesn’t hesitate to insert two fingers in his hole, and he sucks in a breath when the bard takes them easily. He starts to pump his fingers in and out of Jaskier, drawing out moans and pleas for more, more, more. So Eskel does, pulling out briefly to spit on his fingers and going back in with a third digit. His cock is throbbing, tight against his braies as Eskel leans forward and starts licking at the rim, groaning when he can taste Geralt’s cum. Jaskier’s thighs tremble as he sobs in his arms. Then all of a sudden, he makes a high keening noise and comes untouched when Eskel points his tongue and starts fucking into his loose hole, along with the three fingers brushing against his prostate.

Eskel finally gives in and pulls his fingers out. He fumbles to unlace his pants, quickly shoving them down past his thighs before he grasps Jaskier’s hip with one hand while the other guides his cock to the winking hole. A groan punches out of his chest when the tip of his cock moves past the ring of muscle, and he keeps pushing until he bottoms out. Jaskier whimpering and begging for Eskel to fuck him, please is a beautiful accompaniment.

He sets a fast pace, relentlessly ramming his cock into Jaskier, and his aim remains true if the bard’s sounds of pleasure is anything to go by. He’s so fucking tight after all the fucking Geralt’s done to him, and Eskel thinks he and his brothers are going to have so much fun with Jaskier. They’re going to ruin him and he’s going to be theirs.

Theirs for the taking anytime, anywhere. Whenever they fucking please.

He comes several minutes later with a loud groan, and his chest swells with pride when he hears Jaskier cry out and come untouched again. When he pulls out, Eskel turns Jaskier around and lifts him up, only to shove the bard against the shelf and kiss him breathless.

And just like that, Jaskier’s patience is rewarded.

It’s a week later. A week of quick blowjobs and desperate fucking. And one particular memory of Lambert ambushing Jaskier in the stables and fucking him against an empty stall.

Tonight, they’re in Geralt’s room and Jaskier is on his back in front of the blazing fire, legs spread obscenely wide and pulled up to his chest as Geralt grips the back of his knees and continues to drive his cock into Jaskier’s stretched hole in a punishing pace. The furs underneath him are already soaked with their combined spend, Geralt having cum once and Jaskier twice already. Jaskier has one hand wrapped around Lambert’s cock, the raven-haired witcher thrusting against his hand and toying with Jaskier’s nipples. Eskel is on his other side, one hand stroking Jaskier’s cock while the other strokes his sweaty hair, cooing and murmuring praises.

“You’re doing so well. You’re such a good boy, Jas.”

“You’re our good boy, aren’t you?” Lambert adds. At Jaskier’s nod, he pushes two fingers in his mouth. And Jaskier, who wants to continue being a good boy, starts sucking at Lambert’s fingers, tongue swirling around and between the digits and hollowing his cheeks like he’s sucking cock. “Fuck. You even take my fingers so well. Do you want my cock, baby?”

Jaskier moans a yes around his fingers.

He wants more, wants everything.

Above him, Geralt’s pace starts to falter. It takes another dozen thrusts before he grunts and comes inside Jaskier. Jaskier whines when he feels Geralt’s cum shoot deep inside him, thick ropes painting his insides, and the thought of getting knocked up (a filthy fantasy Jaskier recently started indulging, thanks to them) makes him moan louder.

“My turn,” Lambert announces the moment Geralt’s still half-hard cock slips out. Jaskier whimpers at the loss of fingers in his mouth, and he hears Lambert chuckle. “Don’t worry, baby. You can suck my cock later. Right now, I’m gonna breed you.”

“Fuck.” Jaskier sobs. Please.

He gets the sensation of having his body moved, and before he knows it, Jaskier is on his hands and knees. His head is shoved back, and he dutifully opens his mouth to accept Eskel’s thick length. Jaskier looks up at the witcher from underneath his lashes, cornflower blue eyes teary as he makes a show of sucking the blunt head, pulling out to tongue the slit and swallow the precome that drips from the tip.

“Oh, fuck.” Eskel’s mouth is hanging open. The scars on his handsome face look soft against the firelight, amber eyes wide in wonder and lust as Jaskier slowly takes his entire length in one go. “Fuck, your fucking mouth.”

“Told you,” Geralt quips smugly.

When Jaskier feels the blunt head hit the back of his throat, he breathes through his nose for a moment before slowly pulling away. He lifts one hand and taps Eskel’s hand, still gripping his hair. The witcher must’ve understood his meaning because he takes his other hand to grasp Jaskier’s jaw and sets a steady rhythm of fucking into Jaskier’s mouth.

Behind him, Lambert’s calloused hand tightly grasps Jaskier’s hip, the blunt head of his thick, veiny cock slowly sliding into Jaskier. He hears a deep rumble come from Lambert’s chest, and Jaskier sighs dreamily at the heavenly sensation of another enormous cock making a home in him. Lambert doesn’t wait for Jaskier to adjust to his girth, slowly pulling out until the tip remains, and then roughly thrusting back in. Jaskier’s cock twitches in interest once more, and it doesn’t take long until he’s hard and aching again.

“Oh, fuuuck,” Lambert gasps, tone blissful. “Hands down, the best hole I ever had— fuck, baby, you feel so good.”

Jaskier briefly abandons Eskel’s leaking prick to beg, “Harder! C’mon, fucking breed me, please. Wanna have your pups.”

Jaskier feels smug satisfaction when he hears all three of them groan and curse. To his left, Geralt leaves a wet trail of kisses across Jaskier’s back, hands wandering from his throat, chest, and sides until one hand moves to his ass to slap one cheek. Jaskier sucks in a breath, choking on Eskel’s cock when he feels a blunt finger tracing his swollen rim. Jaskier whimpers when he feels Geralt’s finger pushes into his fluttering hole, his heart in his throat when Geralt starts to shallowly thrust his finger in and out, the stretch burning and bordering on painful. But the discomfort eases, slowly paving the way for pleasure once more.

Jaskier has never felt more alive than in this moment, and he finds himself craving for more.

“Such a greedy hole,” Geralt comments, voice like gravel and dripping with want as he forces another finger inside him. “Bet you can take another. Would you like that, Jas? Hm? Would you like another cock in you?”

Jaskier’s eyes widened. He tries to nod around a mouthful of Eskel’s gorgeous cock, but settles for humming his approval. The vibration in his throat makes Eskel curse a long streak, hips twitching before he shoots his load down his throat, Jaskier happily swallowing every single drop. Still half-hard (honestly, bless Witcher stamina), Eskel pulls out of his reddened mouth, which allows Jaskier to turn to Geralt.

“Want it,” he gasps out, eyes bright and desperate and wanting. “Please, Geralt. Y-you and Lambert. Want you two s-splitting me open and f-filling my hole with cum— fuck, please.”

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” Geralt says before he gently pulls his fingers out. Jaskier whines at the loss, and he nearly sobs when Lambert stops thrusting too, the witcher pulling out with a curse.

Jaskier can hear himself begging. Begging for his witchers to fill him again because he feels so fucking empty, and why is he empty? Hasn’t he been a good boy? He doesn’t realize that his head is pillowed in his arms, gentle hands running through his hair and sweaty while another set of hands holds his hips up so Jaskier doesn’t topple over. After several moments, he can make out Eskel’s soothing voice telling Jaskier that he is a good boy, that he’ll have to be patient because his reward is going to take a bit more time but it’ll be worth it.

Through lidded eyes, Jaskier is barely aware of his limbs being moved accordingly. He purrs when he feels lips pepper kisses on his face, neck, and shoulders. Three sets of huge, sword-calloused hands roam over Jaskier’s body, stroking and pinching before they lift him up. One of them spreads his knees wider than normal to accommodate the brawny figure lying beneath him. Jaskier’s purrs turn into a blissful moan when he feels a cock - Lambert’s, his mind supplies - nudge against his gaping hole before sliding back inside him.

Finally.

“Mmhm, welcome home,” Jaskier purrs, smiling dopily at Lambert who snorts and starts shallowly thrusting up into him. Eskel and Geralt choke on their laughter, but Jaskier ignores it because everything’s okay now; he no longer feels empty.

Lambert’s pace remains slow and steady for the next few minutes, but before Jaskier can start complaining, he feels slick fingers tracing his swollen rim. Jaskier hisses at the burn of having two thick fingers glide in alongside Lambert’s cock, the long digits scissoring him further. It takes several minutes before Geralt adds another finger, and it’s a testament to Geralt’s patience and attentiveness that Jaskier doesn’t feel pain at having his hole stretched wider to prepare him for another cock.

“Fuck, Jas, you take Lambert’s cock and my fingers so well,” Geralt purrs, chest rumbling. Jaskier moans, loving the feeling of his fingers spreading inside him. “You’re going to look so fucking beautiful taking our cocks, too.”

“He’s born for us to fuck and breed,” Eskel adds from where he’s on his knees in front of Jaskier. He’s hard again, one hand gripping the base of his cock as he rubs his length and balls across Jaskier’s face.

“Hhng,” Jaskier moans, tongue lolling out to lick Eskel’s balls. Then he arches his back and rolls his hips. “I’m - fuck - I’m ready. Please please please, want your cock now!”

Thankfully, Geralt deems him prepared as well, gently pulling his fingers out of Jaskier with a loud squelch. Jaskier doesn’t have to wait long, though. He can sense Geralt get into position behind him while Lambert stops moving. A hand grips one cheek and Jaskier waits with bated breath as the slick blunt head of Geralt’s cock painstakingly breaches his hole. The stretch burns and it lasts longer this time, but Jaskier grits his teeth and breathes heavily through his nose as inch by inch, he takes Geralt’s enormous cock until he’s buried to the hilt.

There’s a long moment of silence.

“Holy fuck,” Lambert chokes out, and Jaskier looks down to meet lust-filled amber eyes staring up at him in amazement. “Jaskier. Jas— fuck, baby.”

“Gorgeous,” Eskel breathes out from above.

“Ours,” Geralt growls from behind.

“Yours,” Jaskier agrees with a wanton moan. He rolls his hips, and the trio who are connected hiss in unison until Jaskier demands, “Move.”

Lambert’s hands take hold of his hips and Geralt pulls his cheeks apart. Then they start to move. It takes a few thrusts before they build a steady rhythm, Lambert pushing in as Geralt pulls back, and so on. Jaskier’s thighs tremble as they start to pound harder into him, the burning stretch already a distant memory as Jaskier pants on Eskel’s cock. His insides feel full, stretching to accommodate two thick cocks plowing into him like a fucktoy.

Jaskier chances a glance down and can’t help but gasp at the bulge he sees on his belly. Lambert adjusts his position then, bracing his feet on the fur-covered ground before he shifts his hips. The new angle brushes Jaskier’s prostate, and his cock twitches against his abs, precome dripping on Lambert’s belly. Behind him, Geralt’s grunts deepen as he also changes his angle to hit that little bundle of nerves.

It’s all so much and it’s becoming too much. Jaskier feels like he’s about to burst, and yet.

He wants more.

It takes a few attempts but eventually Jaskier manages to take the head of Eskel’s cock into his mouth, the witcher squawking in surprise. Jaskier hums before he hollows his cheeks and sucks, moving his head to swallow the rest of Eskel’s length. Like before, Eskel grips his head and snaps his hips into Jaskier’s tight, hot mouth.

“Fucking insatiable,” Eskel growls. “You’re gonna be so full of our come, pretty boy. Gonna feed you and breed you every single day. Gonna smell like us so that no one in this Continent will think you’re not ours.”

“By the time the snow melts, prepping you won’t be a problem ‘cos your hole’s gonna be so loose,” Lambert adds in between grunts.

It’s Geralt’s turn to growl, the rhythm they established long gone as his hips piston in and out of Jaskier’s gaping hole.

“He’ll be with me on the Path,” he pants, hairy chest heaving and glistening with sweat. “Gonna make sure our whore stays open for business.”

Jaskier takes his mouth off Eskel to let out a loud, broken moan, shouting, “Yes!”

Then his body convulses, breaths shallow as he clenches down on Lambert and Geralt’s cocks. His vision whitens out and he comes so hard he passes out.

When Jaskier regains consciousness, it’s to the sounds of skin slapping on abused skin and three horny witchers grunting as they chase their release. He distinguishes Eskel’s breath hitch before he groans out loud and Jaskier feels something warm splatter across his back. Lambert follows with a choked gasp, hips stilling as he paints Jaskier’s inner walls with his cum. And Geralt - wonderful, competitive, possessive Geralt - tightens his hold on Jaskier’s spread cheeks, nails digging into the meat of his reddened ass. He ruts into him once, twice, thrice and then howls before he pulls Jaskier flushed against him. Jaskier can feel thick ropes of cum join Lambert’s, their combined spend filling up his insides more.

It’s like there’s cotton in his ears and mouth, the rest of the world muffled as Jaskier’s eyes roll back into his head, saliva dribbling from the corner of his mouth when it dawns on him how fucking full he feels. And he loves it.

He loves it so much that he finds himself craving for this to happen again. And again, and again.

Jaskier must’ve passed out once more because the next time he opens his eyes, he’s no longer in front of the fire. He’s curled up on his side, head pillowed on a broad, scarred chest while two pairs of hands wipe him clean of the sweat and cum. Jaskier moans, hips twitching when he feels someone gently run a warm, wet cloth between his cheeks. His ass feels sore and numb at the same time, and it’s plain to see that it’ll at least be a few days before Jaskier can request for a repeat performance.

“Such a good boy,” Eskel rumbles. “Our perfect boy.”

“No way you’re getting rid of us now,” Lambert says next. Jaskier feels a hand on his nape, followed by slightly chapped lips kissing a trail from his shoulder to his neck already littered with lovebites. “You belong to us, baby.”

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he hears Geralt murmur beneath him. Ah, so it’s Geralt he’s draped over. “And you did everything so perfectly. We’re so proud of you, Jas.”

Jaskier purrs and settles comfortably on Geralt’s chest. He closes his eyes and lets himself be pampered by them. After all, he’s their good boy.

It’s only a matter of counting down the days until Jaskier can feel whole again, being fed and stuffed full of his witchers’ cock and cum.

~*~

A/N: Sooo I hope this was okay. 🙈

As for the length, it’s my first time filling out prompts so if there’s anything you don’t wanna read or want to read more of, please feel free to send me a message ‘cos I really do want to improve! 😀 I’ll also likely cross-post on AO3, but that’s gonna be at a later date.

Thank you for reading!

#dreamer fics #cw dp #cw breeding #cw spit roasting #witchersexual jaskier #tagging is difficult wow #this turned out softer than I planned??? like I wanted it rougher but the result was this #im kinda proud tho #dreamer jaskier x witchers

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