you know what, fuck it be free, keep reading that bad fan fiction, keep writing that bad fanfiction, keep using y/n, keep staying up to 4 a.m reading x reader, to be cringe is too be free
She pressed her palms hard against her temples, wishing she could physically block the sound bleeding through the thin drywall of her apartment. Exhaustion was a dull ache in her bones, yet sleep was impossible.
The reason? The man in Room 201, Mr. Bang, and his stupid, weekly escapade.
Was he a player, cycling through an endless roster of conquests? Or was he just... that loud? It couldn't possibly be that good, could it? The volume he reached was obscene—yelling, moaning, carrying on like a top-tier porn star. Every. Single. Friday.
"Stupid fucking MAN," she muttered, violently punching her pillow. The meager foam was useless against the acoustic invasion. It felt less like bedroom and more like she had a front-row seat to a Porno. For the love of God, just finish!
The sounds were currently in the demanding phase. His voice—deep, roughened, and vibrating with conscious authority cut through the wall. It wasn't just noise, it was an act of possession.
“You hear that? You hear what you’re doing to me?”
She flinched. The words felt too close, too directed. Then came the high-pitched, almost desperate noise—not his or maybe it was… it was sharp ,an undeniable cry that made her ears burn. A new partner maybe? She mentally rolled her eyes for the third time.He was a weapon, and her study hours were the victim .
Ten-page paper due Monday. Enough was enough.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Forget death metal; she was too tired for a protracted noise war. She grabbed her notebook, pulled out a fresh sheet and her pen furiously.The Letter. It was professional, precise and laced with absolute spite.
To: Room 201 (Mr. Bang)
Dear Mr. Bang,
Your weekly noise is absolutely unacceptable. I can hear every single part of your 'vigorous personal life' through the wall: the demanding yelling, the high-volume groans, and your specific, breathless whimpering at the end.
It is impossible to sleep or function. I am not your unwilling audience, and frankly, having to listen to your entire pornographic scene every week has moved past crazy and into outright disruptive.
Get soundproofing. Fix the volume. Immediately
The Resident of 202.
She folded the paper with the meticulous care of a surgeon, creating sharp, permanent creases. It wasn't a casual note; it was a formal grievance. She slipped it into a plain envelope, sealing it with a final, firm press. A quick peek confirmed the hallway was clear. She slipped out, every movement quiet and controlled. Two steps. That was all it took to reach his door, Room 201, currently bathed in the thick, heavy silence of aftermath.
She knelt quickly on the soft carpet. Lining the envelope up perfectly with the thin crack beneath the wood, she gave it a firm, aggressive push. The paper slid across the threshold and vanished into Chan’s apartment.
Job done.
She stood, took one deep, stabilizing breath, and retreated back into the safety of Room 202, closing the door as quietly and definitively as she could.
She pressed her palms hard against her temples, wishing she could physically block the sound bleeding through the thin drywall of her apartment. Exhaustion was a dull ache in her bones, yet sleep was impossible.
The reason? The man in Room 201, Mr. Bang, and his stupid, weekly escapade.
Was he a player, cycling through an endless roster of conquests? Or was he just... that loud? It couldn't possibly be that good, could it? The volume he reached was obscene—yelling, moaning, carrying on like a top-tier porn star. Every. Single. Friday.
"Stupid fucking MAN," she muttered, violently punching her pillow. The meager foam was useless against the acoustic invasion. It felt less like bedroom and more like she had a front-row seat to a Porno. For the love of God, just finish!
The sounds were currently in the demanding phase. His voice—deep, roughened, and vibrating with conscious authority cut through the wall. It wasn't just noise, it was an act of possession.
“You hear that? You hear what you’re doing to me?”
She flinched. The words felt too close, too directed. Then came the high-pitched, almost desperate noise—not his or maybe it was… it was sharp ,an undeniable cry that made her ears burn. A new partner maybe? She mentally rolled her eyes for the third time.He was a weapon, and her study hours were the victim .
Ten-page paper due Monday. Enough was enough.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Forget death metal; she was too tired for a protracted noise war. She grabbed her notebook, pulled out a fresh sheet and her pen furiously.The Letter. It was professional, precise and laced with absolute spite.
To: Room 201 (Mr. Bang)
Dear Mr. Bang,
Your weekly noise is absolutely unacceptable. I can hear every single part of your 'vigorous personal life' through the wall: the demanding yelling, the high-volume groans, and your specific, breathless whimpering at the end.
It is impossible to sleep or function. I am not your unwilling audience, and frankly, having to listen to your entire pornographic scene every week has moved past crazy and into outright disruptive.
Get soundproofing. Fix the volume. Immediately
The Resident of 202.
She folded the paper with the meticulous care of a surgeon, creating sharp, permanent creases. It wasn't a casual note; it was a formal grievance. She slipped it into a plain envelope, sealing it with a final, firm press. A quick peek confirmed the hallway was clear. She slipped out, every movement quiet and controlled. Two steps. That was all it took to reach his door, Room 201, currently bathed in the thick, heavy silence of aftermath.
She knelt quickly on the soft carpet. Lining the envelope up perfectly with the thin crack beneath the wood, she gave it a firm, aggressive push. The paper slid across the threshold and vanished into Chan’s apartment.
Job done.
She stood, took one deep, stabilizing breath, and retreated back into the safety of Room 202, closing the door as quietly and definitively as she could.
prguitarman
tangentwithtanner
andulkaphoto
izzy806
yousharknotpass
discoholicmusic
