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1kook · 4 years

Text

disney+ & bust

this is part of my netflix & chill collection !

summary; There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb. It’s not. It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door. warnings; arguments, feelings of insecurity, bit of asshole jk, smut in the forms of degradation, dumbification, choking, fingering, spit kink, self punishment, unprotected but [ passionate ] sex, jk losing his cool, return of mean jk, he is actually an emotional mess in this one wtf miscellaneous; ANGST, anniversaries, the L word😳, app developer kook, rip ‘pretty girl’ </3, we all become phineas and ferb stans word count; 13k !!

notes; me: *writes couple who’s whole arc is being silly* y’all: MAKE THEM SUFFER GIVE US ANGST!! u ask I deliver so now we all suffer 😐 ngl it was hard writing this fic n u might notice there’s some parts that seem weird n that’s bc this was TWO fics w diff wording but I ended up mixing them bc I’m insane. still had a lot of fun! felt like I challenged myself!! not proofread bc when I say we suffer we SUFFER

please let me know what you think!!! a simple ask goes a long way <3

previous part: kissanime & foreplay

Approximately one week after The Bullet Bestie’s rise to prominence, Jungkook grows annoyed with it as his weirdly competitive nature rears its ugly head the more and more orgasms that little vibrator coaxes out of you. It turns on a weird switch in him, something slightly stuck up and snooty that he’ll never admit to out loud but is there nonetheless. By the following Friday, The Bullet Bestie is nestled deep in your garbage can and Jungkook’s back to pleasuring you with his tongue and fingers alone.

He had those moments in him, the ones where he liked to think he was better than any and everyone else, and occasionally they manifested against inanimate objects like a bullet vibrator.

Despite his polite and generally soft exterior, you catch glimpses of that cocky spirit more than anyone else. Over the past year, you’ve come to realize that Jungkook’s personality was like a coin that had been left out in the sun too long. He had this sweet and reserved nature you saw most times, a kindhearted boyfriend who adored you almost as much as you adored him. He was your angel whom you knew had a heart of gold, even if you were slowly bringing out his more childish tendencies. You knew him like the back of your hand, knew what his mom’s favorite color was and how he liked to stack the plates in his cabinet according to size and make. It was a side that was rusted from years of being out in the sun, basking in its adoring warmth, and you loved every inch about it.

And still, there was this other side to him you rarely saw. This cocky asshole who hid beneath the soft smiles and careful hands, making his appearance only through sly smirks and a tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek. He was a braggart, a man who knew his greatness yielded for no one and wanted that fact shoved down everyone’s faces. This Jungkook, this other side that never saw the light of day, was like the Hyde to his Jekyll. An unexpected, almost mean side to him that only dared make his appearance when his exhilaration was at an all-time high. Like when he was fucking you into another dimension, or kicking your ass in Mario Kart, or like now, when he was receiving an award at an annual tech ceremony.

On the eve of your one year anniversary, Jungkook’s company invites him to an awards ceremony for other web and app developers like him. It’s a grand event, filled with all the biggest nerds in the developing industry here to present the baby nerds with awards. Jungkook lies somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, both a seasoned player and a rookie all at once. He spends the night tolling you around in a floor-length gown and fangirling over all the “legends” in the room.

You know next to none of these people and none of their accomplishments but still pretend you respect them to hell and back. By the end of the main dinner, you’re sympathizing with Barbie’s ever-smiling features because your cheeks feel sore.

Towards the end of the night, Jungkook wins that random award— okay, who were you fooling? He wins the Platinum Mobile Standard of Excellence Award, recognizing him for all the hard work you’ve seen him put in this past year. It’s probably the highest recognition he can receive at this point in his career. It was an esteemed award that was bestowed upon only the most innovative developer of the year among tech companies, something Jungkook had briefly mentioned he always wanted. It’s basically the equivalent of placing first place in his field, but given Jungkook’s competitive industry and his young age, you think it’s like telling all these old Facebook lords to suck his big fat cock. (But that was your job when you got home.)

He gives a short little thank you speech, promising to work hard and own up to this title. The people around you are swooning, obviously endeared with his soft puppy dog features and melodic voice. They don’t know him like you do, don’t know that uppity twist to his grin like you do. It doesn’t slip off his face even when he steps down off the stage, arms wide open as he comes barreling towards you. Even with you in his arms, the congratulations that are thrown from every direction ring loudly in his ears and swell that ego of his.

The night goes like that for the most part, Jungkook’s acquaintances approaching him every few minutes to rain down their praises. He goes a little crazy at the open bar after a while, shoving the gold trophy into your arms as his beloved work seniors whisk him off for drinks. You don’t mind because you resigned yourself to a night of playing Jungkook’s perfectly perfect partner anyway, watching him politely mingling with his coworkers. Despite his earlier success, you know he won’t brag about it verbally. No, he’ll wait until the two of you get home—your place or his—and remind you how amazing he is with a quick snap of his hips.

As you said, he’ll never boast aloud.

However, that doesn’t mean you won’t.

“That’s my boyfriend,” you explain to the seventh person that greets you that night, excitedly pointing to where said boyfriend was slowly losing all sense of self by the bar. You don’t know anyone here beside Jungkook, and you’re pretty sure no one in their hammered minds is going to remember who you are anyway, so a little gloating never hurt anyone. “He won the ‘I’m Better Than Everyone Else’ award tonight,” you emphasize to the tipsy woman beside you who only laughs at your exaggeration. You assume she’s like you, accompanying one of the many developers here, because as soon as you finish boasting about Jungkook she moves to brag about someone too.

Truth be told, you spend the whole night re-analyzing the Zootopia movie you saw on Disney+ the other night in your head. So if the little fox fellow didn’t control himself would the city have fallen to ruins? Why was the useless sheep girl so evil and bitter? Why was there an unreal amount of romantic tension between the fox and the rabbit? Whatever, you’ll have to rewatch it some other night, and with your new Disney+ account, you could watch it anywhere you wanted to.

Now, you had never bothered to purchase a Disney+ subscription or even tried to swindle Jungkook for his password before. As far as you know, Disney+ was filled with old tv shows from your childhood, sitcoms that made you laugh when you were ten. There’s nothing wrong with that, but personally, you were a firm believer that that which was perfect should not be touched once finished; in other words, you were utterly terrified you’d rewatch an old episode of The Wizards of Waverly Place, only to find out the same joke you’ve been regurgitating for the past ten years doesn’t actually go that way.

However, the harsh reality was that Disney+ was good for a few things. Ugh, you hate when giant corporations provide decent services. Aside from Zootopia, you’ve watched about every animated media on there as well, all of which you replay in your mind as Jungkook has the time of his life with these nerds, knocking back champagne glass after champagne glass.

Anyway, the night ends a little past midnight, and Jungkook who is buzzed on alcohol and high on exhilaration ends up calling an Uber for the two of you. Your apartment— the new one he had not only helped you hunt for but also helped you move into, greatly cutting the cost of movers out with those glistening biceps and thick thighs —is still going through her rebellious phase where the potted plants are trying to take over, courtesy of Kim Namjoon. So for now, there’s a potted plant in an awkward corner that both of you stub your toe against on your way to your bedroom.

You’re thinking Jungkook is going to go to town tonight, given the fact he’s on Cloud 9 and has had his ego stroked by a bunch of dudes for the past couple hours. Maybe you guys can try out the hot role-playing scenario you saw on GirlsWay a few weeks ago, or the handcuffs you impulsively bought from Amazon one Monday night. Or maybe, and this one really makes you flutter, he’ll let you fully take the reins for once.

All those lewd fantasies end up being for naught because just as you shimmy out of your gown (with the help of his hands, of course) and turn to climb him like a tree, he’s on the other side of the room getting your makeup remover out for you. And also talking. A lot. And way more than usual.

“Did you see him, babe?” he sighs, dare you to say, dreamily, handing you the cotton pads as he begins pulling a million pins out of your hair. Slowly and with a lot of confusion, you pull your fake lashes off and begin cleaning your face. “He was amazing.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, having absolutely no idea who ‘he’ is or why Jungkook is so in love with him and not you at this very moment. “But so were you,” you add. Perfect. Stroke his ego and then stroke his cock.

Jungkook sputters at your praise. He’s carefully placing your hairpins on your thigh, cheeks flaming red every time he leans over you. “Was I?” he murmurs, voice sweet in that cute little way it always gets when he’s downed one too many shots of whiskey, enough to be buzzed but not enough to be wasted.

You turn and the pins clatter to the floor and across the bedsheets. “Yes,” you confirm, ignoring his sad huff at the mess you’ve made. Instead, you grab him by the collar of that pink button-up he taunted you with all night. “You were fucking incredible and I think incredible men deserve to have their dick sucked.”

Jungkook laughs at your vulgar statement, holding you gently by the hips as you climb into his lap. “Is that so?” The soft, shy persona is gone now, replaced by the gentle stirring beneath his dress pants. You nod hurriedly, plopping down on his lap and running your hands through his styled hair.

“Yes,” you confirm, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Luckily for you, I know this nymphomaniac who would gladly gobble up your cock at your every command.”

He snorts just as you push him into his back, nose adorably scrunched up. “First of all, you know I hate that word,” he chuckles, finally gracing you with a sweet peck that only makes you want him to fuck you into the fifth dimension. “Secondly, please don’t ever say you’ll gobble my cock up ever again.”

Something inside of you squeals with excitement as he rolls the two of you over, firm body pressing down on yours. “Oh, baby,” you groan, lazily throwing a leg over his hip. Jungkook grins and then decides to entertain you for a few minutes with a sloppy kiss.

You say a few minutes because just as things are heating up, he pulls away. He smiles apologetically. “As much as I’d love to be here with you, I actually have an early morning tomorrow.”

You frown at the sudden change in events. “Huh? They’re gonna make you work the morning after a Gatsby party?” you gasp, sitting up as he gets off of you. With every step he takes away from the bed your heart breaks a little more. “They can’t do that— that’s illegal!”

From the doorway he levels you with a comically raised brow. “No, it’s not.”

You scamper after him down the hall, watch the muscles in his back flex as he pulls his suit jacket on. “You can’t work on our anniversary— that’s illegal!” you offer instead.

He stops at your front door, feet squeezed back into his shoes. “Baby, it’s not,” he rolls his eyes, leaning down to peck your forehead. “It was either I work in the morning or work at night,” he explains, giving your messy hair a soothing caress. He’s looking at you with those eyes, the ones that make your heart lodge itself into your throat and make life a tightrope experience. There’s a devastatingly lovesick part of you that wants this moment, this kind face, to be engraved into your mind for the rest of your life. You want this to be the first and last thought you have and nothing else: just Jungkook’s adoring gaze on you for the rest of time.

The moment ends too soon when he flutters one last peck against your lips. “I’ll be done in the afternoon, okay?”

You pout. “Okay, your place?” you huff, making sure to get one last octopus squeeze around his waist. He nods. “Promise you won’t be late?”

The corners of his gaze soften. “You know I won’t,” he smiles, leaning down to bump your noses together playfully. “Can’t stay away from my pretty girl too long. Besides, I have a gift for you tomorrow.”

It’s with that sentiment and a hammering heart that you let him go. With Jungkook gone, there’s really nothing for you to do now. You took the next two days off in preparation for your anniversary sex, so you don’t have to head to sleep early like usual.

With nothing else planned, you decide on rewatching that Zootopia movie that had plagued you all night, ready to dissect every plot hole to hell and back. You don’t think Jungkook’s seen this movie yet so you add it to your long list of animated movies you’re forcing him to watch.

Part of you is actually really surprised Jungkook left. Well, kinda sorta, very, but not really. Jungkook was a good boy, that much was obvious. He took his job seriously, and if his job wanted him to come in at the asscrack of dawn, then he’d come in before the sun even rose. He was a goody-two-shoes, but even so, you were occasionally able to bring out that darker side in him.

Jungkook working, like actually working in an office setting, was pretty rare though. The dude had a chill job that let him stay home most of the time, and essentially clock in whenever he wanted. Every now and then you were able to convince him to stay, tucking him beneath your body or the covers, depending on the night, and refusing to let him go the morning after.

Once he had eaten you out until the wee hours of the day, ravenous between your thighs, and then went to work the next morning like he hadn’t broken you. Another time you had persuaded him into watching every season of the 2017 DuckTales reboot through the night. When the alarm had rung in the middle of the season finale, he had simply gotten into your shower and gone off to work.

So maybe you were a little confident in your skills, and Jungkook slipping between your fingers tonight was a huge bummer. But there was no use crying over spilled milk, you tell yourself, flinging your bra off somewhere in the corner as you snuggle back into your sheets. You’re ready to tear this Zootopia movie apart, scene by scene.

Even though your apartment is a little cold, you’re comforted by the fact Jungkook will be here to keep you warm all day tomorrow.

All men do is lie.

Despite his promise to come home early the next day, Jungkook ends up lying. The meeting he had been in all morning— the same one that had stopped you from getting bent like a pretzel the night before —drags on well past noon. Then, Kim Namjoon, AKA Jungkook’s favorite senpai in the entire world, catches wind of Jungkook’s success last night and absolutely has to take him out to lunch to celebrate.

You scoff, glaring down at your phone and the impulsive messages you’d sent out an hour ago when Jungkook had first texted you telling you he would be late.

You whirl around to stomp off in the direction of his living room, where all of yours and Jungkook’s favorite foods were growing colder by the minute. You had spent the longest time carefully laying them out, making sure the fried chicken was closer than the pizza but not closer than the breadsticks. Truthfully it’s a nightmare. There are about eight stomach aches worth of food sitting on his coffee table, the greasy stench makes you gag and will certainly stick to your hair for weeks, but none of that mattered because it was all for your beau.

Your very late beau who was making you grow more and more agitated with each minute that passed. Ugh! How inconsiderate of him to test your patience on a day like this. You didn’t want to be upset with him, but this was your first, real milestone as a couple with him. You had wanted to spend the whole day cuddled up, maybe finally tell him how much he really meant to you— definitely not waking up alone with eyeliner crusted eyes and an aching heart.

Deciding you’re being a little too dramatic, you head into the bedroom to calm down. This was fine, you tell yourself, carefully laying out the damn near harlotrous lingerie you had yet to put on. Jungkook would come over soon and everything would be A-okay.

Except for the part it’s actually F-not okay because soon it’s nearing sunset and the food has gone cold so you’ve stocked it into the fridge, and the pretty sheer bra has a wonky wire that’s two seconds away from piercing through your heart, but that doesn’t even matter because Jungkook being late for your all-day anniversary celebration has already ripped it to shreds anyway.

You plop down on the couch in defeat, impulsively opening up the Disney+ app to cry through another episode of Phineas and Ferb. You’ve abandoned the satin robe that came with the lingerie in favor of donning a big t-shirt that smells like him and makes your heart hurt even more. The setting sun paints the living room in muted oranges, the chirping of birds outside the soundtrack to your lonely day.

You end up watching some other cartoon on Disney+, avoiding the Marvel section because you had promised Jungkook he could be there when you lost your Marvel virginity. Well, at least one of you was good at keeping promises, you think bitterly. For a second, you think about randomly watching one of the infamous MCU films out of order just to spite him. But then you think of that soft puppy gaze and how disappointed he’d be in you.

Whatever! It wouldn’t ever match up to the way you felt now.

Anyway, you circle back. When you’re five episodes into Phineas and Ferb you hear the doorknob rattle.

You sit up just as the door swings open, visible from your spot on the couch. He meets your gaze almost immediately, big doe eyes caught in the act. What act? You’re not really sure. In fact, you don’t even know what you’re looking at when he walks in because he’s drowning in shopping bags. His lips twist into a grin. “Honey, I’m home,” he says playfully.

You don’t laugh.

Jungkook frowns, dumping all his bags down at the entrance before waddling over towards you. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, coming to stand before you and cupping your face in his hands. He’s towering over you, so tall and gorgeous but for the first time, you’re not dazed by his beauty.

“Kook, you said you’d be back hours ago,” you say slowly, avoiding his gaze. You try to keep the frustration out of your voice, but you’ve had hours to dwell on it now, and those annoying cartoon characters, though charming at first, had only served to multiply your annoyance.

Jungkook blinks, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I mean… yeah. But I got you presents?” he beams, glancing back at the mountainous pile he made by the door. You look over too. There are some luxury bags squeezed in between other shops you like, the occasional jewelers' logo on the side.

You stand with a sigh, sauntering off into the kitchen with him on your tail. “I don’t want presents,” you mumble, reaching to pour yourself a glass of water. You’re briefly aware of how childish you must seem. Jungkook hovers behind you.

“What? Yes, you do,” he says. “You had an entire wishlist on my Amazon of things you wanted.” It’s his turn to level you with an unreadable expression, slowly crossing his arms over his chest.

Your frown only deepens as you turn to match his stance against the counter. While it may be true that you did indeed have an entire list of impulsive items on his Amazon, that didn’t necessarily mean you wanted them all. Sometimes you just wanted to stare longingly at a pair of satin gloves without actually buying them. You don’t know how to explain this much to him. “They’re not…” you stop with another deep breath. “Forget it. Thank you for the presents.”

Now it’s Jungkook’s turn to question you. “What,” he says in an unimpressed tone, padding over to you before you can escape back into the living room to watch the entire princess movie collection on Disney+. “No, tell me what’s wrong.”

For some reason, that’s exactly what you don’t want to hear. “Jungkook,” you say flatly, narrowing your eyes at him. “You come home six hours after you said you would without telling me why, and normally I wouldn’t care, but today was supposed to be a special day for us.”

Jungkook reels at your bluntness. “Babe, I was out getting stuff for you. I know it’s our anniversary— that’s why I wanted to treat you,” he responds, oddly condescendingly like you’re a child who doesn’t understand what exactly he was doing.

You brush his hands away from your shoulders. “Yeah,” you huff. “Now I know that. But I spent all day waiting for you,” you stress, chest puffing as you grow more and more agitated by his inability to understand you. God, can he let you go now? At least a bunch of animated, geometrically drawn cartoons won’t question you like this and make you feel as childish as he was.

When he doesn’t say anything else you stomp back into the living room, snatching up your phone from its forgotten spot against the couch. “I’m going to bed.”

At that Jungkook seems to kickstart back to life. “What? ___, it’s barely six,” he says as he follows after you into your bedroom. You ignore him, shuffling beneath the covers. In all actuality, you’re going to bed to mope and watch more animated family shows, maybe cry under the guise of the plot just being so sad. Jungkook sits beside you just as you click back on to finish off your episode. “Baby, I don’t get it,” he sighs. “You’re always talking about how much you want this or that, and I go out and get you it all but now you’re mad?”

You bite down on your lip, eyes lasered in on the pictures moving before you. “Jungkook, just forget it.”

“No,” he says, more sternly than he’s ever been with you before. “If there’s a problem, tell me.” There’s a heavy pause, and then he says, “don’t make me waste my time guessing what’s wrong, okay?”

“Waste your time?” you scoff, sitting up with pinched brows that you find match his. “I’m not trying to waste anyone’s time— in fact, that’s hot coming from you, Jungkook.”

He rolls his eyes. “What are you even saying? You’re mad because I took a little long getting presents, for you, might I add,” he huffs, plopping down on the edge of the mattress beside your knee. “You’re always saying you want this and that, but you can’t handle me going out to get those things? Do you hear how weird you sound?”

You whip the covers off of you. “Me talking about things doesn’t always mean I want them,” you defend.

Jungkook snorts. “Yes, it does,” he says. “Anytime you ramble about stuff for minutes like a little kid it’s because you want me to buy it for you.”

You blink. “Like a little kid?” you repeat, stunned by his comparison. Granted, you always knew you were the more childish of the two, but you never thought that would equate Jungkook thinking of you as a child. Something red and nasty flares in your chest. “Well sorry,” you spit, crossing your arms over your chest defensively, “sorry we all can’t be perfectly mature golden boys who would never see the light of day if I constantly wasn’t dragging them out.” You know it’s a somewhat low blow, especially because Jungkook’s told you before how his introverted tendencies were a sensitive issue growing up, but you can’t help it.

Jungkook groans, dropping his head into his hands. “Baby, don’t do this now,” he warns, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Stop acting like this.”

“Like how?” you spit, “like a kid?” Jungkook says nothing, leveling you with a blank stare from the corner of his eye. You roll your eyes, phone falling off your lap. Another episode of Phineas and Ferb had started, the corny opening tune filling the space between the two of you. “At least now I know what you think of me,” you mutter over the guitar riff.

“Oh my god,” Jungkook blurts, sitting up wildly. “Of course I’m gonna think of you as a stupid little kid, look at you,” he seethes, gesturing at the phone beside you. You flinch. “All you do is watch kids shows and whine whenever I wanna watch anything normal adults watch. You complain every single day about the most normal things, like your job? Why should I fucking care that you’re working a dead-end office job in a field you didn’t even study for— that’s not my problem, __!” he snaps, eyes narrowed into little slits. “I just won an award last night,” he says suddenly, voice back to its regular volume. “I’m at the height of my career and I’m only going up, but I can’t even enjoy that because I have to come home and cater to you,” he finishes, a loud scoff punctuating the final word.

You had never imagined Jungkook finally bragging about himself would be at your expense.

A beat of silence passes, the angry glint in his eyes quickly fading away the longer you don’t say anything. You sniff once, turning your head idly to the side where Phineas and Ferb is still blaring loudly from your phone speaker. Picking up the device, you throw it across the room where it hits his closet door with a terrifying bang the breaks the silence.

The sound snaps Jungkook out of whatever shock he’d been in. “Baby…” he says slowly, carefully, like you’re a caged animal that’s just escaped the zoo.

“I’m going home,” you say, also a little too calmly. You saunter over towards his closet where your shattered phone screen glares up at you as you yank a pair of sweats off a hanger. Jungkook is still frozen on the edge of the bed, watching you with wide eyes as you move about the room.

It’s when you’re in the hallway leading downstairs that Jungkook finally snaps out of his daze, scampering behind you as you descend the stairs. “Baby,” he rushes out, loudly bounding down after you, “___, wait,” he gasps, catching you by the kitchen counter collecting your keys. “I-I didn't mean that,” he rushes out, eyes wide and frantic as they flicker over your expression. “I don’t think that—I don’t, baby, please, just… let me explain, please.”

“Jungkook, let go of me,” you respond, shaking your wrist in an attempt to release yourself. He’s not even holding you tightly— he never would—but the sound of your heart pounding in your ears makes your movements jerky and erratic. “I wanna go home.”

“No,” he chokes, cornering you against the counter. “No, baby, please just listen to me, I-I—“

“You what, Jungkook?” you snap, placing a hand on his chest and forcefully pushing him away. He lets you, stepping back with a wobbly bottom lip. “You need to tell me how you’re too good for me? How much I hold you down because I wasn’t lucky enough to get a job like yours straight out of college?” He says nothing, swallowing roughly as you jab a finger into his chest. “Well let me tell you something,” you snarl, chest heaving, “I may be childish and a huge complainer, but I’m not stupid enough to let someone walk all over me like this.”

With that, you make your great escape. Truthfully, you don’t want him to see the tears in your eyes as you yank his door open, stomping down his steps and in the direction of the nearest bus stop. The door opens right after you tug it shut, painting your shadow across the sidewalk. There’s the scrambled sound of house slippers against the concrete that follows you down. “Go the fuck back inside,” you snap without missing a beat.

Sensing your obvious anger, he pauses before he can reach you. “Text me when you get home?” he calls out quietly.

“No,” you respond.

You would never admit to anyone that you spend the entire night eating a tub of mint chocolate ice cream. It’s disgusting and makes you gag, but it’s the only one you have in your apartment. And of course, it was brought over by none other than Jeon Jungkook himself a few days ago. Even when you’re trying to comfort yourself over how mean he was, on your anniversary night no less, you’re plagued by thoughts of him everywhere.

As much as you want to brush his words off, put on that cool girl exterior you’ve maintained since high school, there’s something different about this situation. You guess it’s impossible to brush off such hateful words when they come from someone you love and adore so much.

Were you too childish? You had always believed that side of you was what made your relationship with Jungkook so perfect. The two of you meshed well because of your differences, like yin and yang. So how had he been able to so easily deconstruct every inch of that balance in a matter of a few seconds? Was this perfect reality all in your head this whole time?

You want to tell yourself it was just a heat of the moment outburst from Jungkook, give him the benefit of the doubt because he’s never snapped at you like this before. Of course you’ve fought a couple of times in the past year, but neither of you had ever stooped as low as you did yesterday. Furthermore, the insecure part of your brain says he obviously felt this somewhere in his heart to bring it up at all. What he had said to you wasn’t something someone could make up on the spot.

You don’t text him when you get home, partly to spite him, but mainly because you had left your phone at his place anyway. You know he tried calling you last night because the call log is synced up to your laptop. He called on and off for about thirty minutes before he probably found your phone in his room. Whatever, he can mope in his regret for all you care

—is what you wanna say, but the longer he goes without showing himself to you the more your insecurities and hurt fester. Was this it? Was this the end of what was probably the best year of your life? It’s too painful to think about, to even consider the possibility that Jungkook might have gained a new insight last night and decided, hey, maybe this is for the best after all.

You drown yourself in an ungodly amount of sugar for breakfast, your laptop blaring yet another episode of Phineas and Ferb on the dining table. Muscle memory has you making Jungkook’s favorite pancakes before you can stop yourself, and by the time you do realize, you’ve resigned yourself to the blueberry smell anyway.

There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb.

It’s not.

It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door. You open the door with a fright, jumping back when he slumps forward and almost crashes face-first into the floor. “You didn’t call,” Jungkook cries, leaning a little too much of his weight onto you when you reach out to steady him.

The thundering of your heart slows upon registering it’s him. “Kook?” you frown, nose pinched at the ungodly stench of alcohol wafting off his clothes. “Have you been drinking?” you ask even though the answer is staring you right in the face (and in the nose).

He groans, staggering deeper into your arms. You blindly push the door shut behind him, resigning yourself to this new situation while your pancakes grow cold in the other room. “Baaaby,” he slurs, letting you guide him into the living space. He’s unceremoniously dumped onto the couch, half-opened eyes gazing up at you. “Let me,” a hiccup, “explain.”

You won’t lie. There’s a very obvious sense of discomfort sitting in your chest, torn between two paths that you don’t wish to choose between. His skin is warm and flushed like he’s just walked all the way here in this morning sun. You step over to the window that faces down onto the street below. There’s no sign of his car; you would have killed him if he ever tried to drive in this state.

“Did you walk here?” you ask instead, deciding there’s no need for one singular path, not when you can walk straight down the middle, both cleaning him and grilling him at the same time.

Jungkook’s response is delayed, head lolling from side to side as you help him out of his sweater. His skin is sweaty beneath, scorching to the touch. “Uh-huh,” he groans. Jesus, you sort of assumed but him confirming it really set things into perspective.

By no means did you and Jungkook live on opposite ends of the earth. On a good day, a drive from your place to his took about ten minutes. But walking? Easily an hour. Had he walked all the way from his place, drunk on top of that?

You brush his hair away from his face, his eyes fluttering shut at your touch. His lips are pouty yet chapped, dehydrated from the sun and the alcohol he reeks of. “Sit up for me,” you instruct, scampering off to your room for chapstick and water.

“Anything for you,” Jungkook wheezes, throat probably dryer than a desert. When you return, he’s two seconds from face planting into the coffee table and breaking that pretty face of his. You catch him with a hand on his shoulder, keeping him balanced. “Tell me what to do,” he chokes out, voice hoarse.

“Just need you to drink some water,” you say, pressing a cup against his lips. He drinks it, but a drop still dribbles down his chin.

“No,” he groans, catching your wrist in his hand when you reach up to apply some chapstick on him. “Tell me what to do,” he stresses, “to fix this. Fix us.”

His words make you pause, the tube of chapstick hovering over his plush lips. “You don’t have to do anything,” you respond quietly, trying to finish the application so you can pull away.

Jungkook doesn’t let you go. You try to look away, but there’s something about him that looks off. Maybe it’s the raw skin under his eyes, red and swollen. Or the sad droop to those same eyes that hold you captive. Or maybe it’s the subtle tremble in his hands, the fingers that hold tightly to your wrist, not to keep you there but to ground himself. “I don’t wanna lose you,” he rasps out, shakily bringing your hand to his mouth, where he presses one airy kiss to your knuckles. “Tell me ho-how to fix this and I’ll do it,” he pleads, a vulnerable look in his eyes.

Unable to withstand the sheer amount of agony on his expression, you look away. “___, please,” he chokes out, stumbling off the couch in his drunk and desperate haze until he’s kneeling in front of you. “I can’t… I can’t,” he sniffles, tears clouding those pretty eyes you’ve come to love so much. “I don’t know who I am without you.”

You clench your jaw. “You’re Jeon Jungkook,” you murmur, slipping your hand out of his hold to run through his hair. It’s knotted and a little too greasy, two things Jungkook would usually never allow. “This year’s Platinum Mobile Standard of Excellence Award recipient,” you remind him, trailing your thumb across his cheekbone when he turns to look up at you with those big Bambi eyes. “Sweet and shy, but you love being rowdy with your friends. You love movies and TV and organizing your shirts according to fabric type. You work harder than anyone I know and never complain. You date me, even though I’m a huge child,” you smile sadly.

“No!” he jumps, turning that frantic stare back into you. “Y-You’re not— it’s not,” he stammers, words still slurring together. “I’m a liar,” he cries, resting his forehead on your knees. His shoulders shake. “I don’t deserve you,” he weeps quietly. You place a hand on his shoulder. “Y-Y-You make my life so much better, ___, so colorful and fun. I-I wish I knew you in high school,” he admits, “maybe I wouldn’t have been so emotionally constipated now.”

“You’re not,” you reassure him softly.

He disagrees. “You bring out the best,” he hiccups, “the best in me.” Your heart skips in your chest. “I-I love you, you know that?”

You sputter, eyes wide at his sudden confession. “I… love you so much, y’know? I think about you ev-every night, ___,” he rambles, eyes dreamily gazing off into some miscellaneous spot on the wall behind you. “I can’t get you out of my head. Like you're a song, o-on repeat but it’s not annoying because it’s my favorite song, and I could listen to it for the rest of my life, y’know? My favorite song, I know all the words b-because it’s all I think about! I love... My love… I love you so much.”

“Kook,” you rush out, cheeks flaming as you try to pull him away from where he’s slumped over your legs. His passionate speech has you abuzz, body tingling everywhere until you feel overwhelmed, head spinning like you’re on a rollercoaster. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He nods sleepily, seemingly coming down from whatever alcohol induced rampage has allowed him to walk for an hour straight in this searing heat just to confess to you. “Y-You don’t have to say it back,” he continues to stutter as you guide him through the living room on wobbly legs. “I just-I just— can I?” he babbles. “Can I love you, ___?”

You pass through the kitchen space, where whatever you were watching on Disney+ is blaring loudly. It distracts Jungkook for about two seconds before his attention returns to you. When you don’t answer, he presses on. “Is that okay?” he asks, whirling around to face you, catching your shoulders in his hands. He towers over you by the entrance to your bedroom, dark curls tickling your forehead. His eyes are dark and glazed over, both in tears and an emotion so raw and unfiltered it squeezes around your chest until you can’t breathe. “Is it okay for me to love you?” he murmurs softly, knocking his nose against yours.

Your cheeks blaze. “Yes, th-that’s fine, Kook,” you blubber, placing a hand over his chest, where his heart is also hammering away. “Just need you to go rest now, okay?”

He nods sleepily, nudging your nose with his one last time, like a soft almost-kiss, before letting you push him into the room. “Yes, yes,” he breathes, his body finally crashing from his adrenaline spike. He flops down onto the bed unceremoniously, dark waves fanning across your pillows. You try to wiggle him out of his shirt, but it only gets about halfway up his chest before he blindly reaches for the covers. His legs stick out awkwardly, clad in the sweatpants you’ve come to associate with him.

When he’s all swaddled up in your blanket he finally goes limp, tiny snores leaving his lips as he dozes away from reality. You sigh, pressing a palm to his forehead. He’s still warm and clammy, but at this point, there’s nothing you can do but wait for him to sober up.

With a final kiss to his forehead, you leave the room, closing the door behind you before sliding against the wooden surface. There’s a trapped bird in your chest, wildly flapping its wings in an effort to get out, and it’s all stupid Jungkook’s fault in the next room. Stupid Jungkook who demolished and remodeled your heart all in less than twenty-four hours. It doesn’t calm down, even when you rush off into the kitchen for a glass of water, or when you try to immerse yourself in some other show on Disney+. It stays beating against your ribs and your chest until you’re forcing yourself to sit down on the couch and process.

He wakes up a little before dinner. You hear him from the living room, where you’re flicking through the options on Disney+ for the nth time that day. You’ve seen the first fifteen minutes of about twenty different series and movies by now, always growing antsy and abandoning them early on. The only reason you know he’s awake is because the shower turns on for a few minutes, and then his bare feet are heard padding across the hallway back into your room.

By the time he resurfaces in the living room, you’ve resigned yourself to just more Phineas and Ferb, nonchalantly watching the silly cartoon. (Except you’re anything but nonchalant, and your heartbeat rings in your ears.)

Jungkook hovers by the door, clad in a pair of shorts he’s left here before, and a t-shirt you stole from him. “Hey,” he says quietly, lingering by the doorframe. You nod back in response. “Can I watch with you?” Again, another nod.

Slinking over to the couch, he’s rather careful as he sits down, leaving a few inches of space between the two of you. You don’t even think he can see the screen of your laptop until he murmurs, “he’s my favorite character,” when Perry the Platypus appears on the screen.

You hum. “Thought you didn’t like these kids shows?” you ask. You don’t mean it to sound as petty and backhanded as it comes out, but that’s really no one's fault but his own.

Jungkook’s breathing tightens beside you. “No,” he admits, “I don’t. Only watch them because I know you like them.” You contemplate pausing the episode and engaging in a real conversation with him, but at this point, you’re very tired from the events of the last day. Jungkook doesn’t press either, just shuffles more comfortably beside you.

You get about five minutes in, quiet chuckles shared between the two of you, before he strikes. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says, so hushed you almost don’t hear it. His hand is resting in the space between you, pinky brushing against yours. “About… being late. And the presents.”

You inspire slowly. “That wasn't even the problem, silly,” you brush off. From your peripheral, you see Jungkook’s slow nod. “I didn’t want any presents,” you mention, “I just wanted you.” You look away from the screen immediately after, pretending like the spot on the ceiling is actually really interesting.

The two of you fall into silence, the animated characters on your screen rapidly chattering away. “Oh,” Jungkook says after a moment.

You roll your eyes. They’re moist but you don’t want him to see. “Yeah, oh,” you parrot back softly, relaxing into the couch again. “Did you eat the food I left out?”

Jungkook shuffles beside you, the soft lull of the speakers soon being cut as he reaches over to pause Phineas and Ferb. A couple of seconds pass and then he’s leaning into you, head resting on your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, placing a palm over the hand he had been teasing for the past few minutes. “I thought I knew what I was doing but I was wrong.”

His voice is so soft and sincere, it makes your chest ache. You try to burrow your face against your opposite shoulder, try to hide the stray tear that escapes out of the corner of your eye. “It’s fine,” you brush off, voice choked off and hoarse.

Jungkook leans up, pecks your cheek so tenderly it makes you go mushy. “No, it’s not fine. I acted like a know-it-all and said something way out of line,” he murmurs, raising his head to look at you. His hand feels warm over yours. It’s the touch you craved all day and yesterday, the warm feel of his body against yours. You’re embarrassed at how easily you melt into it. “You’re the best thing that has happened to me in a long time,” he tells you, holding your hand close to his chest. “I had no right to say those things to you.”

You sniffle, resting your head against his shoulder now. His heart beats loud enough for you to hear. “Was it true?” you mumble. “Do you really think of me like that?”

He shakes his head, his soft breaths fanning across your forehead. “No, never,” he answers. “I think you’re incredible. My brain was just trying to justify my dumb anger.”

You nod, even if you don’t believe it just yet. But that was a conversation for later, you suppose, sometime in the future when you aren’t on the verge of tears and threatening to crumble apart at the simplest word that leaves his mouth.

“I should have come home like you wanted, thought about my words before saying them,” he says, snuggling closer to you. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop,” you sniffle, covering your face with your free hand as he presses a kiss to the vein that runs over the back of the hand he’s holding captive. “Now it just sounds like I'm just being inconsiderate of your gifts and a crybaby.”

Jungkook kisses your temple softly, gently. “Don’t think about the gifts,” he says. “Just tell me what you wanted to do, doll.”

His voice calms you, has you like putty in his arms. “Watch movies,” you mumble, toying with a thread on your couch cushion. “Be with you.”

He hums. “Then we’ll do that,” he says, reaching for your laptop again. The screen nearly blinds you when it flickers back to life before you, Jungkook’s low breaths against your ear making it near impossible for you to process the titles on the screen. “You liked Disney+?”

Belatedly, you nod. “I like the animated movies,” you admit quietly, the anxieties of before slowly melting away, even more so when he slides his arm around you, pulling you close against his chest.

Unlike other times where he’ll critique the hell out of such childish films, Jungkook says nothing as he starts up the Zootopia movie instead, the same one you had wanted to show him before, right from the beginning. “That bunny looks like you,” you murmur when Judy Hopps first appears on the screen.

Jungkook snorts. “You say that about every cartoon bunny.”

You turn your head to glance at him over your shoulder. He meets your gaze with a small smile you return. “It’s because you’re so cute,” you say softly, lips twisting playfully when his cheeks grow scarlet.

He knocks his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut. “Not cute, just lucky,” he chuckles. “Lucky enough to have you.” Your heart turns over in your chest, threatening to burst out of your rib cage at his words. You try to turn in his arms. Before you can say the words that have been sitting on the tip of your tongue for months now, he’s beating you to it once again. “I love you,” he confesses in a hushed whisper, no alcoholic influence.

Something inside of you blossoms, eyes wide as he chastely kisses you. He pulls away without you ever reacting, too caught up in surprise to kiss him back properly. He stays close, curls tickling your forehead as he leans over you. “You don’t have to say it back, I just wanted you to know. I love you,” he says again, long lashes blinking down at you. “So much. It makes me feel like a stupid teenager again, going to the mall to buy a gift for my crush.” He laughs sheepishly, reaching down to tangle your fingers together. “Is that okay?” he asks quietly, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

It mirrors the confession he’d given you that morning, those slurred words and teary eyes. It had been difficult to pinpoint the legitimacy of it before, the meaning scrambled by his hazy mind. But with him staring at you like this now, like you single-handedly plucked the stars from the sky to put them in those sparkly eyes of his, it makes something inside you ache.

Still, you choke on your own spit. “I-Is it okay for you to love me?” you sputter incredulously, realizing the oddity of the same question he’d thrown at you earlier. But now, you’re both sober and you can really tear apart that sentence. Jungkook nods a little too seriously for your liking. “Are you crazy?” He blinks in confusion, brows pulling together as you slowly but surely lose the last bits of your sanity. “You’re an idiot, Jeon Jungkook,” you huff, “a stupidly handsome, rich, walking dream, idiot who goes out with stupid girls like me.”

“Not stupid,” he murmurs, closing in on you again as he finally understands the truth behind your masked insults. He smells minty and like his favorite body wash of yours.

“No,” you deny. “You’re actually, like, insane. You have a bachelor pad, make enough money to sustain an entire litter of kittens, look and talk like every teenage girl’s dream boyfriend— but you mess it all up by dating evil, conniving hoes like me who lose their shit over Disney cartoons.” He says nothing, watching you with an amused grin as you talk over yourself, basically regurgitating his statement from yesterday except it kinda seems plausible now that you’re over it. “It’s stupid. No, you’re stupid. No— I’m stupid.”

Jungkook chuckles, kissing the corner of your mouth gently. “Done?” he says, a dimple appearing on his cheek. You could kiss it away, but you need him to know the amount of stupidity in this room was astronomically high. “You’re not stupid, baby,” he says. You level him with a look. “Well. You have your moments.”

“Moments?” you repeat, standing up in a hurry that has him flopping down beside you. Your laptop is lost somewhere on the cushions, the voices faded as they grow farther away. “I am so stupid. I called Namjoon a whore for taking you out for lunch!” you cry. “I am the stupidest person in the world.”

Jungkook cackles, standing up beside you. “Yes, yes, you’re my stupid girl,” he teases, tapping the pout on your lips playfully. “So stupid she slanders herself instead of just telling me she loves me too.” He bumps your noses together, dark eyes staring at you almost daringly after his claim.

You fold soon enough. “I love you,” you mumble, “even if I’m too stupid to say it.”

He rewards your confession with a kiss, pulling you into his arms soon after. He sighs, almost wistfully. “Whatever shall I do with my very stupid girl?”

After exactly three minutes of feeling safe and loved in his arms, he abandons the living room in favor of leading you back to your room, where he pushes you down against your mattress. You cling to him, leaving him positioned over you at an angle. His chest presses against yours, arm curled around the back of your head. “Gotta get up, baby,” he laughs.

You shake your head, caging him in your arms. “Nuh-uh,” you murmur, legs wiggling when he places a hand on your hip.

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss against the side of your ear. “Your movie is still playing in the other room,” he reminds you, thumb drawing soothing circles on your hip. You don’t release him, his mindless touch only encouraging you to keep him close. “Babe?”

You say nothing, relishing in the comfort of Jungkook’s presence. His hair smells good and feels even softer against the side of your face. The cotton shirt he found is crumpled beneath your fists, dark blue pattern wrinkling. Finally coming to terms with his new home, Jungkook eventually relaxes into your hold with a sigh.

“Alright,” he hums, patting your hip as he repositions himself more comfortably. “I get it. My pretty girl must’ve missed me, huh?” You nod, soaking in every detail about him in this moment. Jungkook shifts, the hand on your hip suddenly falling over your thigh instead. “Or should I say my stupid girl?” he purrs, hand slipping between your thighs. “My stupid, little girl?”

A gasp catches in your throat when he runs his fingers over the front of your panties. Your legs kick out wildly at the sudden touch, toes curling at the hands you dreamt about all day and night. “Oh,” you pant, each brush of his fingers feeling better than the last.

“What?” he says, mouthing against the side of your neck. His tongue feels warm, but the trails of saliva he leaves have you shivering. “Too dumb to speak?” he scoffs, biting down against a particular spot on your neck. You whimper, unsure if it’s because of his hands or his mouth.

“N-No,” you try to sneer back, fingernails digging into his skin through his shirt. His hands are getting braver now, the pad of his pointer finger dancing over your engorged clit. The sheer material of your panties certainly doesn’t help, each touch feeling like it’s being magnified three times over. And if it felt this good with underwear, you can’t even begin to imagine how it’d feel without.

You don’t have to ponder for long, because soon after Jungkook is slipping his hand beneath your waistband, touching your sensitive pussy head-on. “Kook.”

He uses your momentary vulnerability to ease himself from your hold, finally recoiling enough to smother your mouth with his. You moan in surprise, thighs quivering as he gets to work circling your hardened bud sans your panties. Jungkook isn’t the least bit kind as he kisses you ruthlessly, likes he’s trying to compensate for something with his movements. When he finally pulls away it’s with an obnoxious pop and cherry red lips. He huffs, glancing down to see where he’s got his fingers pleasuring you.

Your thighs are squirming back and forth, closing around his hand every few seconds. Jungkook snorts. “Huh, look at that,” he mutters, trailing down until his fingers are gliding over your quickly sopping folds. “Stupid girl is good for something.”

Your cheeks burn. “Kook, I’m not—“

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed glare. “Not what? Not stupid? But I could’ve sworn you just spent the last few minutes saying you were,” he drones meanly, landing one light slap against your cunt that makes your hips buck.

You bite down a whimper. “I was just…” you trail off, eyes rolling back when he teases one finger against your opening.

“Kidding?” he supplies. “Well, I wasn’t.” Your heart stutters in your chest, eyes growing wide as he finally pushes himself off of you, propping himself up with an elbow beside your head. His gaze is dark and unrecognizable. “I think you’re so fucking stupid, doll,” he sneers. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

You should have seen this moment coming, the manifestation of that shiny side of the coin finally reaching its full potential.

While Jungkook wasn’t exactly shy about his interests, he certainly wasn’t tripping over himself to tell you every new kinky thing he wanted to try. You sort of guessed he had some interest in this sort of play a few weeks ago when you watched the Barbie movie at his place. A lot of that night had branded itself into your three am wet dreams, but there was one particular moment that stood out to you. That was you, on your knees, with him condescendingly patting your head. Or just last week, you vaguely remember the term slipping through his lips as he pleasured you with The Bullet Bestie.

The thing about Jungkook was that, until last night, he would have never admitted, or so much as even thought, that he was better than you. That was fine because you would say it enough for the both of you anyway. Did you think Jungkook was amazing, an absolute diamond among these measly rocks? Absolutely. (Were you slightly biased because you were his girlfriend? Skip.) However, you also had this insane evil villain complex that made you want to brag about everything you possibly could, especially if that meant bragging about your boyfriend.

Realistically speaking, he was better than you, that much you could look past yesterday’s anger to admit, and not even in a stuck-up, conceited way; he had a really good job, an architecturally amazing house, and a hot girlfriend. Meanwhile, you had a mediocre job, an okay apartment, and an insanely sexy Calvin Klein boyfriend, half of which he had pointed out yesterday. Regardless of how powerful that third factor was, he still outnumbered you three to one.

Sue you, Jungkook was amazing. Anyone could see that! Except, maybe, himself.

And if the only time Jungkook would openly brag about his greatness or establish how much better than you he was, was in a post-fight, sex-induced setting, then you were more than happy to be his punching bag. So long as it was on your terms, and not as a result of his weirdly bottled up feelings.

(Yeah, you would have a long talk about that tomorrow.)

But for now, you pout up at him, clamping your thighs shut purposefully. “You’re stupid too,” you defend, “stupid and mean.”

Something in his expression changes. Suddenly, he’s moving at superhuman speed as he snatches his hand out from where you had previously trapped him between your legs, yanking you up by the front of your shirt. “Mean?” he mocks. “Isn’t that what you always wanted?” You shiver, fingers wrapping around the wrist that holds your sweater. “Wanted me to be mean and push you around like a little rag doll?”

Jungkook looks at you for another two seconds, before he’s slowly pulling away from you, leaning back on his knees. His tongue is pressing against the inside of his cheek, jaw tightening from the movement. “Baby,” he says so quietly it instills a prickle of fear in you, tainted with delicious excitement.

“Yeah?” you whisper, sitting up tentatively as you watch him, He was a bit frightening, like a wild animal about to devour you whole.

Jungkook rolls his neck, the joints in his spine cracking as he begins tugging off his shirt. You salivate at the sight, too focused on the sinewy muscles of his body to catch the dark gaze he levels your way. He throws it off to the side, his sleeve of tattoos that wraps around his bicep and begins to crawl down his chest wonderfully unobstructed now. “Eyes up here,” he says and you quickly meet his gaze. He leans forward, muscled arms coming to cage you against the headboard. “Stupid little sluts don’t have the room to make such comments,” he rasps out, unamused expression adorning his normally soft features. “Don’t you think so?”

“I-I don’t know,” you stammer, leaning away as he comes closer and closer, eventually just turning your head to the side to avoid that emotionless look. It’s the wrong move, and Jungkook lets you know as much by forcefully digging his fingers into your cheeks and turning your face back around to meet his gaze.

A hand grabs beneath your knee, tugging harshly until you’re flopping down onto your back with a squeal. You settle with his knee pressed hotly against your core. Jungkook stays towering over you. “Dumb little girls who make me watch cartoons,” he spits, tracing a hand over your chest, molding your breasts beneath his hands roughly enough to make you gasp. “And watch little animal movies on Disney+. Aren’t they just so stupid?”

“So stupid,” you concede, subtly shifting your hips for some desperately needed friction. Jungkook snorts, finally granting you your wish with one rough slide of his thigh against your core.

“I agree,” he says, and surprises you with a hand around your throat as he leans in to properly grind his thigh into you. “All they’re good for is being dumb little sluts with good pussy,” he murmurs darkly, thumb pressing into the side of your neck forcefully. “Sometimes, they don’t even do anything,” Jungkook continues, his other hand on your hip hauling you higher up his thigh. You mewl, soaked panties rubbing roughly against your folds. You miss the soft swirl of his thumb, the gentle prod of his fingers. Even so, you can’t deny this change in Jungkook is doing something to you, riling up a part of you that you hadn’t known existed. Maybe it’s the horniness from yesterday that was left unfulfilled, the one year anniversary sex that was put on pause. “Just lay there and take it, too fucked out and dumb to say anything.”

His fingers loosen for the briefest of seconds and you gasp for breath. “That’s terrible,” you whimper, rolling your hips up into his thigh, so close to his swollen cock.

Jungkook chuckles without an ounce of humor, pressing your foreheads together as he helps grind you to completion. “Isn’t it? I think that stupid little girl is cute though.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, vision spotting as he tightens his hand back around your throat. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you moan, stomach tight from all the stimulation.

Jungkook hums, slowing you down with a tight grip on your waist. “Hm, what are you sorry for?” he croons, pink lips pulling into an evil smile. “You said you weren’t that stupid girl, __.”

You shake your head, trying to roll your hips up again but he’s holding you too tightly now, rendering you immobile beneath him. “I am,” you choke out shamefully, grabbing at the hand on your hip in a feeble attempt to remove it. “I am a stupid little girl.”

Jungkook smirks, leaning down to slot his mouth over yours. “That’s right,” he murmurs, “nothing but a dumb little slut.”

You shiver, opening your mouth when he slides his tongue against your bottom lip. He’s not the slightest bit nice, and more messy than usual. He pulls away with a bite to your lower lip, meeting your trembling gaze with that same unrecognizable glint in his eyes. “Come on, dummy, keep up,” he snarks before devouring you again. You try to, you really do, but he’s moving like an animal today, despite his slow and drunken movements from that morning. So you end up with his saliva dripping down your throat, clinging to the corners of your lips as he begins slowly grinding you against his thigh again. He flashes you a wicked smile, pearly teeth on display for you as he glances down at your messy appearance.

“Are you gonna touch me?” you ask, lower lip trembling at the thought after your desperate rutting. Jungkook purses his lips together in thought.

“Mmm,” he hums. “Don’t know yet.”

You whine. “Jungkook, please,” you whimper, wrapping your legs around his waist. “I need you.”

Jungkook chuckles, running his hand up your waist and taking your shirt with him. He slips his fingers beneath your bra, pushing the wire over your chest as he mouths at your neck. “Cute,” he says. “Can’t do it yourself?”

You tremble, chest arching into him as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. “I-I can,” you gasp. “Just feels better with you.”

Jungkook follows your statement with a nip against your skin, tongue soothing over it right after. “Why? Because I do everything better than you? Even make you cum better than you?”

Your cheeks heat up at his blatant ego rearing its head, hands carding through the hair at the nape of his neck. You say nothing, and that only eggs Jungkook on. “Come onnn,” he teases, finally, finally rolling his hips down onto your core. You squeak, head falling back against the pillows as you’re granted the one thing you’d been chasing. “Say it.”

“Say what?” you ask, voice wobbly as he continues to slowly rut against you, the front of his shorts pressing against the soaked crotch area of your panties. “Oh, oh, Jungkook,” you whine.

Suddenly he bites down harshly, teeth digging painfully into your skin. You yelp in surprise, pussy throbbing at the pain that shoots throughout your body. Jungkook pulls away and doesn’t bother soothing over it as he leans up to capture your jaw this time. “Say you’re a stupid little slut who can’t do anything without me,” he purrs, kisses too soft for the words he says.

Your mind blanks, torn between the humiliating phrase he wants you to say and properly checking him in his place. In the end, it’s with a twisted need to please him that you’re repeating the words back to him. “I-I’m a stupid slut,” you whimper, fingers digging into his shoulder blades as he continues pushing you right along the edge. The rope pulled tightly in your core is slowly being pulled apart, threads hanging on for dear life. “Can’t... can't do anything without...”

“Without who?” he asks, reaching down and untying the front of his shorts. “Can’t do anything without who, baby?”

“Without you, without you,” you cry, bucking your hips up against his, the combined movements of both your bodies making you shake like a leaf. “Ah, K-Kook,” you wail, hips stuttering as your orgasm finally swallows you up. Your panties quickly grow wet and icky from your own arousal that pools between your thighs. Jungkook lets you writhe beneath him as you chase your high, mouth sucking a pretty blossom against your jaw.

You know better than to expect the night to end here, especially after seeing the glint that had been in his eyes as he watched you unravel.

He leans close, let’s his nose brush against yours as you catch your breath. “So perfect for me,” he groans, slotting his lips against yours. You can barely keep up with him, languidly going along with his hot tongue. “Perfect, perfect girl,” he murmurs, a stark change from the less than friendly adjectives he used just moments before. “Tell me you love me?” he says softly.

You nod, mind fuzzy as you wrap your arms around his neck. “Love you,” you exhale, letting your fingers knot in his hair. Your proclamation does something to him, makes him grind the front of his cotton shorts hard against you. For someone that was often rough and brutal with you in bed, he sure was sensitive to the mushiest of things.

“Don’t deserve you,” he huffs, hot breath fanning across your skin. He switches gears fairly quickly. “Tell me you hate me,” he begs hoarsely, rutting against your soiled panties. “Tell me I’m a piece of shit and you could do better without me,” he pleads, voice too airy to be another one of his usual sex-induced thoughts.

You shake your head, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he rolls his hips. “It’s not true,” you whisper, “I love you more than you’ll ever understand.”

Jungkook groans, suddenly winding back and tearing your ruined panties down your legs. You gasp in surprise, letting him haul you about in his blind, self-inflicted rage. “Stupid, stupid,” he huffs, though at this point you can’t tell who it’s directed at. With your underwear out of the way, he wastes no time plunging his fingers back into your cunt, bypassing the tight ring of muscle around it without any of his usual care. “You should hate me,” he snarls, lips pressed against your ear.

You moan, back arching at the sudden pleasure that blossoms between your thighs. “I-I don’t,” you gasp, toes curling.

Jungkook groans, the sound traveling down your spine and straight into your pussy. “Stupid girl,” he huffs, slipping an arm around you to pull you so close until you can’t breathe, chests lined up together. His skin is warm to the touch, scorching almost. “Fuck,” he groans, curling his fingers inside of you. You whimper and moan, incapable of staying still beneath him as he tortures you with a thumb to your clit. “Tell me you hate me,” he seethes again.

Despite the fog that’s settled over your mind, you still manage a resolute shake of your head. “N-no,” you cry, digging your nails into his back. They run dark red lines over his skin, making him hiss at the sting.

Whatever punishment he’s trying to put himself through is falling through with your refusal to admit such a thing. It aggravates him even more, your adamant stance on loving him so, and he’s retracting his fingers before you can cum again. “Please,” he chokes, face tucked into your neck. He’s sloppy with his movements; as he pulls his shorts down and kicks them away, he nearly suffocates you with his weight. “I don’t deserve you, ___, please.”

“I love you,” you whimper for lack of explanation. Jungkook leans back, that same madman gaze in his glossy eyes. He’s looking at you in disbelief almost, pouty lips puckered and swollen. Your hands slip from around him, falling on either side of your head.

Like a cobra he strikes, collecting your wrists in one hand he pins above your head. The sudden movement has him leaning in close, lips brushing over yours. His lashes are coated in a wetness he refuses to acknowledge, looking at you like you drive him insane. “If you ever try to leave me,” he whispers, jerky breath fanning over your skin, “I’ll lose my mind.”

He loves you so much it aches.

“I won’t,” you whimper, feeling your own eyes well up with an emotion that consumes every inch of your being. “I’ll never leave you, you stupid, stupid boy.”

A faint smile crosses his features at your words, lips quirking to the side. You relish in it for all of two seconds before he’s ramming his cock into you, your sensitive walls spawning around him. You sob loudly, eyes rolling back into your head. Your legs instinctively hook themselves around his waist, digging into the base of his spine as he rolls his hips into you.

You feel full and complete like he belongs there in this moment and every moment after this. It makes your heart constrict painfully. Jungkook’s soft groans follow your more unraveled noises, the vulgar slapping of skin on skin the underlying melody to it all. “Ffffuck,” he spits, greedily swallowing your moans up. You whine, arms bucking in an effort to hold him close. But he’s determined in his act of restraining you, long fingers tightening around your wrists until they hurt. “I warned you, didn’t I?” he huffs, snapping his hips into you.

Your walls clench around his hard cock, the drag as he exits sending shivers throughout your body. Jungkook’s body towers over you, glistening in sweat as he nails you into your mattress. “Remember what I said?” he asks, voice but a shuddery exhale. You shake your head numbly, overwhelmed by the rough drag across your walls. “All those months ago, when you first came over,” he adds. The hand on your hip abandons its post to cup you beneath the jaw, palm pressing sinfully against your throat enough to block the tiniest of airflow. “I’ll fuck you and keep you forever,” he murmurs, voice deeper than the pits of hell. He licks a fat stripe over your cheek like you’re nothing but a sweet for him to devour. “Do you remember that, pretty girl?”

You nod jerkily, hips arching up into him when he thrusts into you again. It’s a memory that replays in your mind every so often, your first night with the man you had planned to humiliate over a mere misunderstanding, now your boyfriend of one year. “Want that,” you gasp, tears blurring your vision when he begins picking up the pace. “Wanna be y-your pretty girl forever.”

Jungkook groans, kissing the corner of your mouth. His thighs are some magnificent beings, keeping his pace consistent even as he loses himself in his overwhelming need to kiss you. “Always,” he manages, soft lips pressed against yours. “I won’t ever let you leave.”

A shriek tears itself from your lips as he picks up that harsh piston, releasing your jaw to hold both wrists above your head. It makes his curls dangle in front of his eyes, covering that beautiful dark gaze. It makes his thin little necklace swing back and forth too, though it’s too small to actually touch your face. The rhythmic swing has you hypnotized, just like everything else about Jungkook.

With the length of his hair, you’re left staring at his lips, pulled taut between his pearly white teeth. The word from before sits heavy in your chest, begs to drip from the tip of your tongue. But he’s moving too fast and too hard, scrambling your thoughts until all you can think about is the cock plunging into your heat. His name falls from your mouth like mindless blubber instead, arms thrashing as your second orgasm swallows you up. It sends you crashing, body spasming as the sheer euphoria waves over you slowly and then all at once.

“Perfect,” he grunts, leaning down to slot his mouth against yours, “my perfect girl.” Your cum makes the sound of his hips erotic, the loud squelching following your panting. Still sensitive from your high, your body unconsciously tightens around him, keeps his cock from fully leaving. It brings a soft whine out of Jungkook, one he tries to muffle against the side of your face.

“Inside,” you whimper, even though your body feels like jelly beneath him. “Cum inside, Kook, please,” you beg.

It only takes a few more thrusts into your leaking hole for him to finally reach paradise, hips stuttering when that first shot of pleasure hits him. “Fuck, fuck,” he growls, wildly snapping his hips into your achy cunt. You moan, feeling just about brainless at the overstimulation. His cum leaves you full, almost makes your belly bulge from it. When he’s done he doesn’t bother pulling away, simply slumping into your limp form. His cock, though quickly softening, serves as a plug for the cum threatening to spill out of you.

There’s a muted noise coming from the other room, the faint sound of the mail slipping through your letterbox, the quiet chattering of the street outside. And of course, the loud blaring of your laptop playing the Phineas and Ferb theme song. Jungkook registers it at about the same time as you, a soft chuckle leaving his lips.

He pushes off of you soon after, leaning on his palms over you. He’s got that molten look on his eyes, the heat of a thousand suns burning behind those irises as he looks at you. Like he can’t get enough, even though he’s just about taken everything there is to take. “Love you,” he murmurs quietly.

A drop of sweat rolls over his forehead, clinging to the end of his eyebrow. You reach up and brush it away, let your hand trail down his face to cup his cheek. Immediately he leans into the touch, eyes falling half shut. “Love you more,” you respond.

“Impossible,” he scoffs.

Soon after you’re both stumbling out of bed, clothes haphazardly shrugged back on as you drift through the living room. There’s a thin, hot pink package sitting at the door, just having slipped through the letterbox; the stark Sexuality Unleashed logo is printed on the visible side, so you have to wonder what Doyeon could have possibly ordered this time that could be so thin. The laptop is awkwardly sandwiched next to a throw pillow, barely open a crack. Jungkook retrieves it, sets it on his lap as you scamper over to the couch.

“More Phineas and Ferb?” he asks quietly. He hates it, you know he does. And still, he wants to watch it with you.

You nod. “Please.”

He isn’t so concerned with the plot as you, clicking some random episode to start. You snuggle into his side, quietly singing along to the opening. After a moment, Jungkook speaks again. “Phineas and Flirt?” he offers cheekily.

You roll your eyes. “That might’ve been your worst one yet,” you sigh, trying to drown out his indignant huff by focusing on the screen.

“I don’t exactly see you coming up with these,” he points out, obviously feeling wronged.

Without missing a beat you say, “Disney+ and bust.”

epilogue

commercial break one ; the resolution

#goldenclosetnet #networkbangtan #bangtanhq #ksmutclub #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jeongguk smut #jjk smut #jeongguk smut #bts smut #jjk♡#jeon jungkook #mine

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theroguequeenaniki · 3 years

Text

Questions 2009 -> 2021

This is from my Facebook. It popped up on my memories page thing. I originally answered this in 2009 when I was 15, it’s now 2021 & and I am 27, so I’m gonna do it again. Leaving the original answers. Original answers will be italicized. Commentary on the original answers in parentheses & crossed out? Lol. (I’m not gonna tag anyone, but, like, I guess if you want to answer these random questions from Facebook 12 years ago, go ahead lol)

Questions

Can you fill this out without lying? You've been tagged, so now you need to answer all the questions HONESTLY. At the end, choose people to tag. Don't forget to tag me so I can see your answers! To do this, copy this entire message, then go to “notes” under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, delete my answers, and type yours. Easy! Next, tag people that you think may enjoy this (in the right hand corner of the app). Click publish (at the bottom). Have fun! :) 1.What was the last thing you put in your mouth? My cup with my Big Red in it The straw to my Kate Spade tumbler to drink my HEB Cola Lol.

2.Where was your profile picture taken? I got it off the internet. it's a random anime girl. My bedroom. 3.Can you play Guitar Hero? Never played it. Probably wouldn't be good at it. Not to good at video games. But I am good at Mario Cart, both 64 and the Wii. plus I'm good at some Sonic games. Still never played it. Idk if I’m any good at Mario Cart or the Sonic games anymore, I haven’t played either in years lol

4.Name someone who made you laugh today? Doctor Who TikTok. My cats.

5.How late did you stay up last night and why? Umm, probably about 10:00 cause it took me forevor to get into bed. Uh..Past 4am. Lol. B/c my sleep schedule is fucked. I was in bed by 3am though, but I was playing games & watching TikToks on my phone. Lol.

6.If you could move somewhere else, would you? Yes. I'd move to either New York or Sweden. I don’t know. Part of me says yes. But part of me says no..b/c even though Texas has it’s faults (a LOT of them), I cannot imagine living anywhere else long-term..

7. Ever been kissed under fireworks? HAHA. Yeah right. I've never even been kissed! Still nope. I have been kissed though. He just didn’t kiss me under the fireworks the one NYE we spent together...

8. Which of your friends lives closest to you? Um, I think R, but D might also. D is accross Stasney from me and R is a couple blocks down (I don’t talk to these people much anymore & I’m not going to share their names on Tumblr) Uh. I think Maybe Raven? B/c they’re the only one who lives in the same city still. But, Sarah might technically be closer distance wise? Hold on. Ok, yeah, Sarah’s closer, even though she doesn’t live in this city anymore.

9. Do you believe exes can be friends? It all depends on the situation.(I totally stold M's answer but it's true) (I don’t talk to this person anymore & I’m not gonna share their name on Tumblr) I mean, yeah. Two of my best friends are each others exes and they’re still friends. I haven’t stayed friend with my ex, but, uh, he ghosted me so? Lol.

10. How do you feel about Dr. Pepper? I love it. I still love it. Lol.

11. When was the last time you cried really hard? I can't remember. I don't think it was that long ago, I had a light cry on Saturday, but I don't remember the last time I cried really hard. When we got back from our trip in July. Had a full on breakdown that night. Overheated all weekend. Overwhelmed. Anxiety. It was not a very good vacation..I cry a lot though.

12. Who took your profile picture? I got it off of google. I did.

13. Who was the last person you took a picture of? Umm, either myself, or one of my family members. Aside from myself. I think my dad, on his phone, b/c there was a cicada on his shoulder and he wanted to ask the family group chat if he could keep it. Lol. I take a LOT of pictures of cats though. Lol.

14. Was yesterday better than today? Hail yes! To much drama today! And I couldn't avoid it cause I was in the middle of it! (Oof, what drama was 15 yo Linda dealing with that she couldn’t avoid? Lol. I mean, I guess, Sophomore year was a bit full of drama lol) Anyway, I mean, they were pretty much the same. One wasn’t better than the other. One wasn’t worse than the other.

15. Can you live a day without TV? yeah. Now Music there is something I can't live without! Yep, Do it almost everyday. Sentiments about music remain the same. Lol.

16. Are you upset about anything? Yes. I'm annoyed about something and it's making me upset. (I assume this has something to do with the the drama mentioned earlier lol) Always. Anxiety & depression are a bitch. My rooms a mess & I can’t get myself to clean it. My shelves are still a mess.

17. Do you think relationships are ever really worth it? yeah. though i havent really had one yet. I mean, yeah. Even though I haven’t had one last, aside from friendships, but they’re worth it.

18. Are you a bad influence? I hope not. If so, let me know.(again I took M's answer but it's true) Probably. Idk. Lol.

19. Night out or night in? Depends on what's going on and how I feel about it. Night in usually. I do like going out sometimes, but, like, to dinner. Maybe a movie or a show. But, you know, we’ve been in a panini press, the only thing I’ve been comfortable doing is going to dinner (fully vaxxed & masked). But I also prefer staying home anyway. (Like I usually just go to dinner with my family lol)

20. What items could you not go without during the day? my computer. my book. my journal and a pen. My phone. My journal (b/c I write in it every night, as a diary, 14yo Linda wrote stories). Uh. I didn’t take food or drinks into account in the og, so I won’t in those. But, yeah. My phone & journal. I can go a day without my laptop if I need to. (Went the whole trip in July without pulling it out, though maybe that’s not a good example since my anxiety on that trip was so high..) I want to say a book, but I’ve been in a massive reading slump so...I wish I read as much as 15yo Linda did..

21. Who was the last person you visited in the hospital? I don't remember. I think it was myself.(if you want to know, ask me in person) I honestly don’t know. I don’t remember the last time I was in a hospital.

22. What does the last text message in your inbox say? "Mrbobbybones: wish ted would finally meet their mother already. geez. get to it. However, I see myself in that character more and more each episode." yeah. That's what it says. It's from Twitter. (Huh? and I can’t even go check b/c my inbox doesn’t go back to 2009 on Twitter?? (I haven’t had my account that long) Wait wait wait just remembered I used to get tweets to my phone as text messages lol)

Facebook messenger: “ Cool” From our group chat. Lol.

From actual text messages on my phone: “ heeey! Just put up the Tuesday PDS just for you it’s a big one.” From Phillip Defranco’s text line Lol.

23. How do you feel about your life right now? I'm loving and hating it. but hey nobody gets out alive right? Uh..I mean. I’m alive. I have WiFi. Food. Family. I haven’t seen my friends in 2 years. (Minus Alex, b/c they were here in July to cat/house sit, but I saw them for like, one night..) There’s a lot that could be better. A lot that could be worse.

24. Do you hate anyone? yes!!! Oof. I mean, kinda.

25. If we were to look in your Facebook Inbox, what would we find? some random conversations. most of my convos on her though have been in chat or through comments. Facebook Inbox is now Facebook Messenger. So you’ll find all my Facebook Messenger convos. Mostly our group chat. And side group chats for secret planning (birthdays & stuff). Plus other chats? Lol.

26. Say you were given a drug test right now, would you pass? I better! (excuse me miss 15yo Linda you absolutely could have passed a drug test you ALSO didn’t drink or smoke or take any drugs lol) Yeah. Absolutely. I don’t drink or smoke or take any drugs so, yeah? Lol.

27. Has anyone ever called you perfect before?

Yes. But I can't remember when... Yeah. Pretty sure.

28. What song is stuck in your head? Gee by SNSD(Girls Generation) They're Korean. A few My Chemical Romance songs

29. Someone knocks on your window at 2:00 a.m., who do you want it to be? EDWARD CULLEN! Joke! lol. No I don't know. If it was Edward, I'd call the cops. whoever it is though better have an explaination or they are gonna get hit in the head with my Book of Shadows. (Maybe I wouldn’t mind Edward at my window though? Lol.) Uh. My friends? Lol. Idk if I want anyone knocking on my window at 2am.

30.Wanna have grandkids before you’re 50? I don't know....... Uh. No? Idk. Most likely not gonna happen.

31. Name something you have to do tomorrow? I can't think of anything right now... Eat. Should probably clean my room.

32. Do you think too much or too little? Way to much! lol. Way way way too much

33. Do you smile a lot? i try to. I think I do. I get told that alot in Theater...

I think so

#questions #throwback #is this a get to know me #idk

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tatertotthethot · 5 years

Text

The Doms Next Door 2.0

THIS IS A TEMPORARY REUPLOAD FOR THIS CHAPTER CUZ TUMBLR IS RAN BY A BUNCH OF BOTS. 2.1 HERE

Warnings/AN: frequent, casually cursing; comical, gay Jimin; insecure reader; steamy flirting; tattoo/sexualized Tae 🙃. Enjoy~ (TAEKOOK EDIT ABOVE IS ARTKOOK DONE BY NONCONMAN ON INSTAGRAM)

_________________________________

Your tires came to a stop outside of the tattoo shop you've seen online— a brick building, covered in spray paint and street-style art. A sign buzzed over the awning of the entrance doors, with the built-in UV lights and graffiti-styled font displaying the name of the place in neon-red letters. Kink For Ink! The name alone was what first caught your attention last week, when you Googled "Tattoo shops near me" and it pulled up a list, with "Kink For Ink" being the first option. It just seemed so uncanny and fitting at the time, considering the previous run-in you just had with the sex-crazed neighbors a couple nights before. You couldn't help but to click the link to their Instagram.

A profile came up with 53.4k followers, which immediately blew your mind... but you quickly saw why. Every tattoo and piercing, no matter the body-placement, skin-type, or quirky design, was vividly appealing— certainly done by the articulate hands of certified experts. Even in the comments of the piercings that were posted, people were praising them for the "minimal" amount of pain they experienced, despite the fact that some of piercings were done in places you couldn't even fathom the thought of having a needle jammed through.

It said in the bio that the shop is owned by the two artists that work there— Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook. You couldn't find out much about them, all their pictures showed was their work. You even went back to search for a personal account of their own, but nothing came up. You then went back to the bio and clicked a link to the official website, hoping to find out something, but you were met with a disclaimer rule at the top that automatically deemed your chances of even getting your piece done by them, slim-to-none.

• No walk-ins allowed.

• Every request/idea must be sent in through the DMs of our Instagram page. You will only be accepted only if it spikes our personal interests.

Yikes; You were instantly discouraged by this. The piece you wanted was something so common and cliché, that you actually got the image out of a child's coloring book.... It was the cartoon layout of the glass vase and enchanted rose, from the Beauty and the Beast movie. Cheesy, yes. But it was something of personal, nostalgic value. You remember when you were little— roughly around 3 or 4 years of age— when your parents started fighting and would spend all day screaming and throwing things at each other, putting you in a constant state of anxiety. But then you'd go to bed at night and pop the VHS tape, and the movie never failed to put you in a peaceful state of mind— a hopeful one. It's remained as your all-time favorite love story throughout the years. Which, is ironic, considering that the relationship itself was different, but almost as dysfunctional as your parent's. However, the fact that even the Beast was capable of change, and everything wound up so perfect and happy in the end, makes your heart happy. And even now, at age 19, it still puts you in your feelings. The previous remake of a movie is what actually inspired you to get the enchanted rose as a tattoo, after seeing it in 3D not too long ago. But you're only willing to shell out up to $200 for it, at most. You've just started college, and even though Jimin's parents own the house and let the two of you live there, rent free, you're still responsible for half the utility bills from month to month. Blowing every bit of money you have saved up, right at the start of the semester, would just be irresponsible. But $200 was manageable, and you're looking for anything that'll give you a little extra "oomph" to break you out of this introverted shell you've always known. Pushing it off would just delay it, and you were ready for change. The nose piercing you want is just a small little thing that'll hopefully add a bit of flare to the features of your face. These two guys could probably do the piercing/tattoo with a blindfold on and a hand tied behind their back. So, if it meant that you'd be able to get these things done in confidence, without having to worry about the outcome, you figured it wouldn't hurt for you to at least ask, even if they straight-up ignore you. So, after spending an unnecessary amount of time overthinking the wording of your text, you finally constructed a message in your notes and DM'd it to business page, after sending them a small, simple outline of the cartoony rose, and pressed send.

• You: Hello! I've been wanting to get this tattoo done for a very while now, and was hoping one of you will be willing to do it for me... along with piercing my nose? I know it's a very mediocre and cliché piece, and a nose piercing can be done anywhere. But I'm new to the area and I've never gotten a tattoo/piercing done before and I haven't really checked out any other places either because I found this page first. And from what I can see, you guys are pretty efficient and CRAZY talented. So, I trust it'll get done right.... only if you want to! I'm willing to pay $200 for this, but if it costs that much for just the outline I've sent then that's fine as well. But I understand if neither of you want to do it cuz that is really cheap compared to the ones I've seen lol. But either way, thx for ur time 😁

A few minutes went by and you had just unlocked your phone to check the message again, when the word "seen" popped below the message. You held your breath for a second— but seconds turned to minutes, and time went by with no reply, what-so-ever. You figured maybe you sounded a little too immature to take seriously; kind of like a prepubescent 12-year-old asking someone out for a dance... and you blew it. Which was disappointing, but predictable. So fuck it. Maybe it's a sign; you shouldn't get it after all.

11pm rolled around, many hours later. You were now hiding beneath your covers, beginning your "amateur threesome" exploration on PornHub. You were ready to see what this whole "2 guys, 1 girl" thing was all about. But just when you were about to type it into the search bar, you were interrupted by an Instagram notification dropping down from the top of your screen.

"KinkForInk sent you a message."

You audibly gasped, eyes turning to saucers as you clicked on the notif and switched over to the Instagram app.

• KinkForInk: Hi (Y/N). This is Tae, one of the artists of the shop. The tattoo you sent in is worth roughly $100... but I want to run an offer by you in hopes that you'll be interested.

— Your brows scrunched in oddity, stomach fluttering. An offer? For you?

• You: Okay, sure. What's that?

• KinkForInk: I've been looking for someone willing to showcase the custom design I've come up with, specifically for a much more... exclusive version of the Beauty and the Beast tattoo you sent. And if you'd be down for letting me and my partner put it on you, it'll be free. No charge. BUT you'll also have to sign a contract saying that you'll do a little bit of modeling for us once it's done. You think you'd be in to doing something like that, even if you get it?

— Your head spun for a second, reading the message over and over again until you could fully wrap your mind around what he was saying.

• You: Hold on... YOU wanna put a tattoo on ME so that I model for you? And it's FREE? Are you sure about this? I'm not even model material lol.

• KinkForInk: Yes, yes, and yes, you are. You'd be perfect for this.

• You: How do know that? Is it a face tattoo? Cuz I only have 6 selfies on here and you can't see anything past my shoulders.

—"Seen" came up as soon as you hit send, but a couple of minutes rolled by with no reply to the message, nor was he even typing. Maybe you came off a little rude. But it was already sketchy and it was a logical question.

— An image suddenly popped up: a screenshot of your Facebook profile. Then another— and much to your horror, it was the photo Jimin tagged you in last week, when the two of you were swimming at a local community pool. You were wearing a simple two piece, sitting at the foot of the lawn chair Jimin was also sitting in, as his legs were visible on either side of you and his lap was practically framing your ass. The photo was at an upward angle and looked so scandalous— but really, you had just asked Jimin to put sun screen on your back and he didn't want to stand up because the pavement was too hot against his bare feet. But you actually liked the picture at the time; it was just a silly joke and your ass actually looked quite nice from that angle. Plus, everyone knows nothing sexual actually goes on between the two of you, for obvious reasons. But Taehyung doesn't, so you couldn't help but dreadfully cringe when you saw the caption of the screen shot.

"Babymama 💦🍆"

• KinkForInk: Is this you??

• You: Yes, that's me. The caption is a joke tho... pay no mind to that. But this is like, really happening? You really think it'd look good on me?

— Why that picture though? You couldn't help but wonder.

• KinkForInk: Yes. Like I said, you're perfect for this piece. Are you down to at least see what the tattoo will look like? We don't expect you to be experienced with modeling or anything, but if you listen to us and cooperate, you'll do just fine.

• You: Yes I wanna see, and I'll do the best I can if I decide to get it... I'm just a bit shy, is all.

• KinkForInk: You'll be in good hands. I promise.

• You: Okay... are you going to show me??

• KinkForInk: Can't send it over a message, I don't want it plagiarized or the concept stolen. But the piece itself isn't necessarily crazy or anything, just more creative. I'd be more than happy to show you at my shop some day this week, if you'd be willing to swing by.

• You: Yeah, I can do that. When should I come?

• KinkForInk: Are you available after 5 tomorrow?

• You: I am, I get off at 4:30.

• KinkForInk: Great. Be here by 5:30, and make sure you've eaten in case you like the piece and wanna get started. It's pretty big for a first timer and gonna take a lot of time and patience. It'll have to be done in sessions but I hope you have a fair enough pain tolerance to at least get the outline of it done first.

— It can't be any worse than a bikini wax, you thought, shivering at the memory. That a story for another time. You decided on an alternative scenario.

• You: I give blood from time to time... but that's easy and doesn't really hurt that much. I think I can handle it though... maybe. I honestly don't know lol, I'm sorry 😣. But I can try my best. Can I ask where it's supposed to go?

• KinkForInk: That's okay, I'll work with you. It's supposed to go down the middle of your back. Starts between the center of your shoulder blades, and trails down the length of your spine to your lower lumbar. You'll see how it looks once we transfer a template on your back. But if you don't like it, there will be no hard feelings from my end. I can still do the tattoo you want if that's the case, free of charge just for your time.

• You: Oh no, you don't have to do that! I'd still pay!

• KinkForInk: Not if I don't accept your money. Trust me, I'm not worried about it. The nose piercing is gonna be $30 regardless, though. JK isn't so lenient.

• You: Of course. Will I have to take my shirt and bra off for the tattoo?

• KinkForInk: Yes, and for the pictures once it's done.

— Your mind blanked at that; thumbs froze over the keypad. He was typing again.

• KinkForInk: Don't let that discourage you. Again, you're in good hands. You can bring something to cover your chest. And the pics will be if your back as well.

• You: Okay, I can handle that. So 5:30 tomorrow?

• KinkForInk: Yes, please don't flake on us!

• You: Lol, I won't. I'll be there.

"They're gonna knock us the fuck out and sell our organs to the black market," Jimin declared. He had parked next to you outside of the shop, and was now sitting in the driver seat of his car with his door locked and windows all the way up, refusing to get out. You were standing right outside his door, still having to talk on the phone. "And is this Tae-guy an AllState representative or something?"

Jimin is petty. You wanted him here for moral support— which he's usually reliable for— but this time, he's just plain salty right and doing everything he can to remind you of that. Reason is, he's been begging you to get a matching tattoo with him ever since your 18th birthday, and you've always refused because of what he wanted to get.

Cupcakes. Jimin wanted to get matching cupcake tattoos... in honor of Cupcakke the legend. Sorry, but H E L L no.

You rolled your eyes, growing frustrated. He only has enough time to pop in and confirm that these two aren't gonna kill you, and then he's gotta head home to get ready for work. You were already supposed to be in there. It was 5:33pm, 3 minutes past the time.

"Jimin, you're the one that insisted on coming along! And now you're making me late!" you ranted. "I'm going in without you."

"Hold your horses, hoe! I'm finishing my blueberry slushie," He retorted, sassily bringing the straw to his mouth and loudly slurping it into the phone. He then abruptly flinched away from the straw with a disgusted expression, nostrils flared, body locking up; lips drawing into an air-tight knot that was so extreme and unnatural, it caused an ugly snort to break out of your nose.

He smacked his lips in exaggeration to the taste, face falling back into stone as an eyebrow arched over the top of his aviators; unamused and saltier than before... Like you were at fault for that, too.

"Or... Blueberry-ass, I should say."

That forced another giggle out of you as Jimin stiffly rolled his window down, phone still pressed to his ear and eyes still scowling at you behind the inspector shades. He bit down on the straw and withdrew it with his teeth before dumping the dark-blue contents of the drink out of the window, making it a point to shake the styrofoam cup empty of every drop before tossing it over his shoulder and into back seat. He then spat the straw out of his mouth with an audible "PLUUUUH!" of a French accent, and waited until the window rolled all the way up again, just so he could hang up the phone. You scoffed at this as you shoved your phone back into your pocket, scornfully watching Jimin exit the car and slam the door behind him. He snatched his glasses off his face as his cotton-candy hair swayed in the breeze, revealing his scornful eyes right back at you as he gestured for you to lead the way in exasperated manner— as if you were the one wasting his time now.

"Go on, lead us to the grave," He shooed, a snippy little shit. You sauntered away, walking up the side of the shop, then paused just before reaching the glass entrance door, when you remembered how much of a coward you are. You've never even stepped into a parlor before, and supposedly, this was a famous one. Which makes it more and more surreal when you think about it.

"Are we doing the mannequin challenge now? Is that what we're doing?" Jimin sardonically inquired.

"You go first, I'm nervous!" You whisper-hissed.

"You don't want me to go in there first— I'll show out," he reasoned, simply stating a fact.

"Please don't," you whined.

"Then, again, I'll show out?" He reiterated, as if to say duh. "How else am I supposed to break the ice? I look like Timmy Turner's Fairy-Gay- Parent."

You gave him a wary look... he's right. You sighed, slightly kicking your foot in distracted defeat. Fuck, you hated making an entrance to new places—

"Hold up— is that Drake?" Jimin suddenly blurted, holding his hand up to silence you. You honed in on the muffled track playing from behind the glass door, and Jimin's face soon light up like a Christmas tree before he spun around you, unstoppable.

"Jimin, NO—!"

"KIKI, DO YOU LOVE ME—?!"

It was already too late. The door was flying back behind him as he Milly-Rocked his way into the shop, leaving you no choice but the chase in behind him.

"—ARE YOU RIDING? SAY YOU'LL NEVA-EVA LEAVE FROM BESIDE ME— hello there."

You were panting, coming to a stop right behind Jimin, where you instantly latched on to the back of his shirt as you met the face of the man behind the studio counter. And, as corny as this is gonna sound: the world actually stilled for a solid beat... or maybe you were in the verge of cardiac arrest.

A pair of glossy-Black eyes looked up at the two of you; A series of silver-studded earrings trailed along the outer cartilages, peaking out beneath a head of soft, layer-swept hair. It was a Carmel-tinted blonde in color— thick and shaggy, and neatly spilling in waves around a headband that proudly sported a high-dollar brand-name you've never seen anyone wear in person before. G U C C I, it read— Meaning that the headband alone was probably worth more than some of your college text books, put together. It sat just a few inches above a pair of dark brows, that oddly brought out the shape of his cat-like eyes— irises like polished marbles. His ample lips had a sharp, well-defined Cupid's-bow, and a natural shade of pink that fit the porcelain appearance of his melanin-kissed complexion, to the finest degree.

And here you are, looking like an actual bum. You had just enough time to clock out of work and head straight over here to make it in time. You didn't even have any makeup on, and the only thing hiding your raggedy hair from those captivating eyes is your old baseball cap from high school. It took a second for him to take the bold presence that was Park Jimin— who was also frozen to the spot as he openly checked the guy out. He was hunched over the counter, a v-neck hoodie covering the rest of him with a thin, loose-fitting material. It was Black and allowed a full visual of his tan neck, and prominent collar bones. And it certainly didn't hide the fact that he had a pair of wide-set shoulders, either. A pencil sat in his hand— one that was laced with masculine veins, and lot of decorative ink. There was a silver ring on his thumb.. and a very heavy-looking Rolex watch.

The man cracked a grin at Jimin— a boxy one that dimpled in at the corners.

"Love the hair," he humorously began, twisting a quirky eyebrow at Jimin. You subconsciously snagged the bill of your hat as your eyes went a little wide at how mature the man's voice was.

"Love the watch," Jimin retorted, then reached around and gripped you by the wrist before pulling you into full view beside him. "You wouldn't happen to be Taehyung...?"

"Mhm," the man hummed, absentmindedly moving his wrist at the mention of his watch. His eyes cut over to you, and you swore you could see a minuscule reflection of yourself in his eyes, before they flashed back at Jimin and blinked. "You must be the babydaddy?"

Blood rushes to your ears. It's really him... a guy who looks like a high-dollar model himself, asking you to be his canvas model. Your own conscious didn't even know what to say right now. So you stayed quiet and still as Jimin took charge... which was a mistake.

"She wishes, but no. I'm the best-friend— and a gay one, at that," Jimin replied, and you knew he did that for his benefit. Thot. "I'm just here to make sure you're not gonna sacrifice her to Satan, or anything of that nature. I need her around in case I ever forget the Netflix password."

Taehyung chuckled at that, mouth opening to reveal a row of teeth shinier than Chip Skylark's. But then, you caught something behind his teeth that caused your gut to leap. A silver ball... a tongue ring. Your thoughts clouded over for a second.

"Well, I can assure you, she's safe with me," he said, looking over at you again. You blinked, nothing more. His brow arched at your lack of response, but this time, it was done more handsomely as he was still smirking at you. "Still, you don't look too thrilled to be here... You sure you wanna do this?"

"She's just nervous because you're really fucking hot," Jimin announced, unyielding. "You should feel how sweaty her hand is."

"Don't listen to him— I'm gay too," You lied in panic, trying to defend yourself from the absolute truth Jimin spoke just then. You snatched your hand away from him and jutted a finger at the door, eyes beading and lid twitching as your nerves ran amuck. "Goodbye, Jimin."

"She's a lonesome hetero," Jimin told Taehyung, assuring him with a face that showed no bluff. "One look at her camera roll, and you'd see for yourself—" You were yanking him away by the arm now, in a tug-of-war game that Jimin obviously could've won if he really wanted to. But he figured you suffered enough and eventually let you drag him out of the shop, waving bye to Taehyung before turning to look at you with beading eyes.

"I think he wants to fuck you— text me as soon as you can," Jimin uttered with unmoving lips as before he walked to his car. You stopped for a second, noticing he was actually being serious. How could he possibly think that he wants to fuck you, just from that small encounter? And what is the odd sensation currently coiling in your stomach? Things grew awkward again when you re-entered the shop, coming to a stand at the same spot... only alone now. He was still amused, it seemed. And so calm and cool despite this odd, intense look in his eyes. It gave him a Casanova effect, where all he had to do was give you that look and it'd instantly make you blush.

"He seems like a fun person to be around," he noted, somewhat honestly, but more so making fun of the red-hot appearance of your face.

"He's a pain in the ass," you muttered, trying to conjure up a smirk but hardly even able to speak properly from how dry your mouth was. It felt like there was a white-hot iron expanding in your throat. "I'm really sorry about him."

"Don't be. I'm just glad you're here— thought you'd chicken out." You nervously wiped your clammy palms over the back pockets of your jeans as Taehyung got up from the barstool behind the counter and approached you on the other side of it, a whole head-and-a-half taller than you. He was wearing black cardigan jeans and matching combat boots.. his headband and jewelry the only thing not black on him. And oddly enough, he made it look fucking fantastic.

"Mh-mm," You hummed, not trusting your voice. You've never needed a sip of water so bad in your life— he even smelled expensive.

"Well, It's very nice to meet you," he formerly began, and you mustered up the normality of placing your (dried) hand into his much larger one, as he held his out to you in greeting. And boy, was he close. So close that the heels of your spine itches to lean back from the proximity.

"It's nice to meet you, too. I'm really sorry if I'm acting weird. I'm just nervous." — Your mind struggled to stay focused on your words, arm tensing at the skin-to-skin contact. You were extra-effected by the firmness in his grip. You really wanted to look down at all the bold ink you saw dashing across the veiny surface of his tanned hand, or see if those were images or scripted letters on the knuckles of lengthy fingers... But you were held captive by those God-blessed eyes... And that fucking tongue ring. It was infecting your head in ways that weren't necessarily healthy for your current state of mind, as you saw it peering in and out at certain words.

"And physically shaking," Taehyung pointed out, brows twitching down at your trembling hand in his as if he was concerned for it. But his smirk gave off an odd sense of fascination to the involuntary symptom, like it was cute or something? Hm. He glanced back up at you, causing your dehydrated throat to bob as his other hand came to clasp over the rest of yours, swallowing it completely from the wrist down. "Intimidated?"

"V-Very," you spluttered, a small slither of saliva copulating down your throat as you looked back up at him. He absentmindedly rolled his tongue ring over the button row of his teeth as he watched you with tainted eyes— undoubtably getting cocky with that damn grin of his and proudly teasing you about your reaction to him. It gratified the effortless sex-appeal he had. You were even beginning to imagine that tongue ring elsewhere, and you literally just met him. Then, as you felt the band of a ring move along with the pad of his thumb as gently ran it across your trembly knuckles, chills shot up all the way to your shoulder. Oh... oh wow. You glanced down at his knuckles on reflex this time, and saw a four-letter word scripted in black ink across the bottom row of his knuckles, and another word scripted on the middle section of his fingers. A silver band on his naked thumb. STAY TRUE, it said.

"And why's that?"

"I.. feel like you're a celebrity," you sheepishly admitted, your other hand wedging into your back pocket as you had to stop yourself from reaching for the bill of your hat again. Is he flirting? The words seem too innocent for the way he was making you feel. It was getting so hot in the oven of his massive palms, and he wasn't even squeezing you hard enough to cut off any circulation, but yet your fingers were beginning to tingle.

"Mm, no. Just a little popular, really," he granted, teetering his head a little as he pondered the thought. You could see his vocal chords contract in his sleek neck as they project his smooth, pungent voice. "You still trust me?"

"Mhm," was all you could muster. He'd gotten even closer, to where his hand had gone into a prayer stance around yours. You were aware of how wide your eyes had gone from the awe you... you knew this was just the beginning. He was going to be very handsy throughout this whole process. But in a very twisted way, you were more than okay with that. Even if it meant you were at risk of fainting from actual dehydration. Maybe you were in over your head. But you couldn't will yourself away from this now. And then, just as a wide, heart-stopping smile edged out on that mind-numbingly handsome face, the door at that back of the room swung open, and heavy-metal rock blasted through the quiet vibe of the scenery and caused you to jump a little at the disturbance. Taehyung shot a wicked smile over his shoulder, and his next words nearly knocked you out right then and there as you beheld yet another, breathtaking sight.

"Oh, there you are," Tae eagerly acknowledged, one hand still holding yours as he walked around to grab your with the other, presenting you to the.. hulking presence in the room. "This is (Y/N), our next little experiment."

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rabbithaver · 3 years

Text

i have known for awhile that i'm completely replaceable and forgettable. it isn't just my depression saying this. it is actual quantifiable fact. in the past 23 years of my life, i've just been finding more and more evidence that proves this to be true, so you think i would be used to it by now. you'd think it would have stopped hurting by now. after two decades i've had countless experiences proving that no one would notice if i vanished completely from the face of the Earth, but every time it happens, it still cuts deep.

last Friday i caught a seven day ban on Facebook, meaning i am unable to post, comment, react to or like other posts, share posts to my feed for others to see, moderate the groups i run, or even edit old posts. i can’t do ANYTHING except message other people. so for the past week i have been completely silent. inactive. i even deleted the app from my phone so i couldn't instinctively go back and scroll through my feed.

i am much more active on Facebook than anywhere else. i have about 400 friends on my Facebook account, and i often share posts (memes, stories, etc) for them to see. i will share other posts or make my own up to 60 times a day, and it’s extremely rare for me to go radio silent for more than 24 hours. in the past, when i’ve gone quiet, they’ve noticed and checked on me.

they didn’t notice this time. at all. not one person out of the 400 people on my friends list has noticed. if they did notice they never said anything. maybe they didn't care. or maybe they were even relieved that they had a break from me. maybe they're hoping that if they stay quiet, i'll never come back

when i'm having a hard time and posting about it to vent, sometimes my friends say that they always notice when i’m gone because they have my posts marked under ‘Favorites.’ when you mark a person as a ‘Favorite’, their posts will always appear at the top of your feed when you log in -- basically, their posts are given priority over others. this means that the absence of my posts should be very clear. maybe they somehow missed it. though... a horrible part of me wonders if they were just lying out of pity.

in just 3 hours, the ban will be over. it's been seven days since i last posted, liked, commented, or shared, and... nothing. nobody has reached out. nobody has commented on an old post checking that i'm okay. nobody has tagged me, asking if something is wrong. nobody has DMed me. nobody has made a post of their own. hell, nobody has even reached out to my mom to ask if i'm even still alive.

i know they probably have things going on in their own lives, the world is busy and all. but... some of these people are my best friends... and none of them have even realized ive been gone. i know it isn't out of malice; none of them would try to hurt me on purpose like that. they're good people.

it happens on Tumblr, too. every single time my blog has gone inactive for months at a time, when my queue has run out completely, nobody has send in asks or messages. nobody has missed me. it makes sense, though. most people follow well over a thousand other blogs. i'm just a name to them. i'm just a name to you.

it isn't just on the internet. it happens in real life, in almost every single relationship i have with other people. why? it's who i am as a person. i am forgettable. i am replaceable. i am not special in any way. my mediocrity is the only trait i possess that isn't negative.

any possible good quality i could have is worthless because every single person i will ever meet in my entire life is going to know someone better than me. maybe i'm funny sometimes? well, Brad is funnier. maybe i'm okay at drawing? well, Melvin, Steven, and Sarah are all a billion times more skilled. maybe my writing is slightly better than the average person's? yeah, well, that doesn't fucking matter, because everyone on the face of the fucking planet is going to know someone who's a billion times better, so i'd be wasting my time publishing anything.

when people do remember me, it's for the horrible shit i've done. it's for the way i've treated them both in the past and now. it's for the faux pas. it's for the horrible beliefs i held growing up. it's for the biases i still hold now and can't seem to shake. it's for the countless awful social habits i've developed that i can't seem to kick. it's for the endless ways i have disappointed them. it's for the pity they've had for me. it's for the horrible shit i've said to people when i'm in distress. it's for the times i've fucked up so badly in public that they've suffered the worst second-hand embarrassment of their life. it's for my inability to grow as a person. it's for the fact that i am apparently too fucking stupid to unlearn all the awful habits and traits i've picked up from growing up in a conservative family. it's for my abusive personality. it's for my manipulative behavior. it's for the public breakdowns. it's for the failed friendships. it's for my impulsive behavior. it's for my lack of a brain-mouth barrier. it's for my abusers, who i have emulated in all of the worst ways. it's for my refusal to take responsibility for my actions. it's for my tendency to run away from the conflicts i can't handle. it's for the guilt-tripping. it's for my ugly face. it's for the disgust they feel when looking at my body. it's for my complete inability to shut the FUCK up about shit nobody cares about. it's for the fact that i am a judgemental prick. it's for the fact that i am inherently worthless. it's for the fact that i haven't changed in years -- i'm still the exact same piece of shit i've been since middle school. it's for the fact that i somehow get away with every single fuck up, every single argument, every single horrible insult. it's for the fact that i relapse over and over and never make any progress in recovery. it's for the fact that i have never, ever, EVER been good enough. it's for the fact that they're afraid of saying how much they dislike me because they don't want to trigger my worthless fucking feelings. it's for the fact that i brainwash people into caring about me, into thinking i'm a good person with value. it's for the fact that i manipulate people into thinking a friendship with me is a good idea. it's for the fact that i trap people in my life and dont allow them to move on and find someone better.

when people remember me, it's because i am worse than my abusers in every single fucking way. i am just as stupid, angry, bitter, hateful, toxic, manipulative, and dangerous to be around as they were, if not worse. and the best part? they were doing it on purpose. i'm like this because it's intrinsic to who i am. if it wasn't, the years of energy i've put into trying to better myself would've made a difference. they didn't. i really am Like that.

one of these days i'll get over my fears and do myself -- and everyone else -- a favor. if i'm dead they don't have to feel bad about forgetting i exist. if i'm dead, i can't hurt anybody. if i'm dead, i can't trap every single person in my life in a friendship they feel too guilty to escape. if i'm dead they don't have to worry about forgetting me. if i'm dead they don't have to see my stupid 23498234-paragraph-long posts. if i'm dead, they don't have to hear me talk for hours about the stupid shit i like. if i'm dead, they can move on without fearing that i'll panic over being "abandoned." if i'm dead they can be happy. i just need to stop being afraid of pain and i can fix it for everybody.

when people remember me, it's because they wish they never met me.

#terin struggles #suicide cw #self hatred cw #i just want to know what's wrong with me. i just want to know why its so hard for me to be a better person #why is it so hard for me to be good?#good people don't have to try to be good. they just are. the fact that i try so hard and fail anyway? thats proof that i am actually bad #there's a reason so many people have turned on me. it's because they woke up #they saw what i am really like #they tried to warn the others in my life! but i have those people so brainwashed into thinking im good #that they think that the people who woke up were just being mean or toxic #i have them so brainwashed that they think im a good person #which is honestly the worst part #i turn people into zombies.#this is so fucking embarassing hahahah #im sorry. im sorry i keep doing this.

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jasonbehrs · 3 years

Text

i wanna read every word, chapter 2

by airauralintensity (aka me, jasonbehrs!)

“Have you ever fallen in love with someone you’ve never met?” “Uh, do you mean like we’ve-been-doing-long-distance-slash-online-dating or like I’ve-been-crushing-on-the-cute-barista-at-the-library-cafe?” “Ummm, more like I’ve-read-their-poems-and-sure-they’re-very-talented-but-their-handwriting-alone-makes-me-smile.” “… That’s oddly specific.”

fandom: kpop, super junior characters: eunhyuk, ryeowook; guest appearances by the rest of sj-m and yesung ship: eunwook genre: romantic comedy themes: alternate endings, strangers to lovers, handwriting, identity reveal setting: college chapter: 2/4 word count: 5.2k

read it below or on ffnet, aff, wattpad

A/N (6.6.2021): Welcome to the next installment folks! Some clarifying things:

- This is the first of two alternate endings to the story, which answers the question, 'What if Ryeowook finds out first?'

- I got some interesting reviews/PMs about the last chapter? Eunhyuk isn't pining after Yesung or anything, and I didn't mean to indicate that would be an aspect of the story. If you were looking forward to it, I'll be disappointing you today haha. Feel free to let me know how much you hate me in a review ;)

Also, today would have been my grandmother's 102nd birthday, so I'm dedicating this chapter to her since she always loved seeing me write. Love you, Nanay!

~~~

He and Hyukjae haven't hung out alone before, but he's sure this won't be awkward. Their only real link may have just been Yesung, but Hyukjae successfully ingrained himself into their entire friend group in the short weeks since they first met. Besides, even if Hyukjae weren't so willing to help him with his twisted scavenger hunt for love, Ryeowook thinks he'd like to hang out with him some time anyway. He's grown to like Hyukjae, really.

At least, that's what he tells himself when he turns the corner and sees Hyukjae sitting alone on a bench in the quad with his legs crossed, a laptop over one knee and an open notebook on the other, waiting for him to arrive.

Ryeowook takes a breath to steel his nerves then heads over to plop himself right next to the other. He doesn't say anything and takes out his own work instead. They don't have to start with the crush thing.

"Ah, my favourite person under 5'2". How do you do?" Hyukjae snarks without pausing his typing.

In response, Ryeowook uses a single finger to tip Hyukjae's notebook onto the ground without remorse.

"Ya!" Hyukjae picks up his notebook and slaps Ryeowook with it.

On the downswing, Ryeowook freezes.

"Oh shit, did I hit you that hard? Sorry, I didn't mean to," Hyukjae hurriedly apologises, but that's not it at all.

Ryeowook had caught a glimpse of the notes hurriedly scrawled across the open book. He would recognise that handwriting anywhere.

"Why don't we get started then," Hyukjae offers uneasily, eyeing how Ryeowook's stance hadn't relaxed yet. "Um, did you bring a copy of one of the notes like we discussed?"

Of course he did. Ryeowook was so excited to be one step closer to identifying the person behind the song lyrics that took up as much space in his brain as his Food Sciences lecture notes, he had brought the whole ass scrapbook with him, eager to show off his favourites to a new and willing audience.

But now, Ryeowook is panicking. He found the object of his affections much sooner than for which he was ready; and said object is sitting right next to him, staring at him expectantly and eager to help.

Not letting himself think it through, Ryeowook rummages through his bag looking for viable scraps of paper. There is no way he is going to hand Hyukjae's own work to him, so he makes do with what he's got.

He bypasses the lyric samples he actually prepared for today's meeting and found ones of his own making which he had intended to recycle weeks ago but never got around to. He silently thanks himself for this terrible habit as he frantically smooths out the small squares of paper before handing them to Hyukjae.

The other raises his eyebrows as he reads through the papers. "Damn, I was hoping that maybe one of these things had even a little similarity to an assignment we've heard so far, but no dice."

Ryeowook nods, affecting understanding disappointment even as he privately rejoices.

"Do you mind if I keep these? I can, like, surreptitiously check people's notebooks during group assignments," he offers with a laugh. "Pearl blue sticky notes can't be that common in a class of 50, right?''

Ryeowook smiles, wide and fake. "Fingers crossed!"

~Even though we're making awkward conversation, it's clear that we're happy to be together.~

Thus proceeds their search for Poem Person. (The gender-neutral nickname Mi had come up with stuck even after Hyukjae revealed those were not actually poems being left behind. Alliterative nicknames are just so catchy.)

"Okay, what if we tie a balloon to your chair and hope Poem Person likes balloons enough to take it with them around campus?" "No way, they won't take it." "How could you possibly be so sure?"

Sometimes, it's Hyukjae coming up with ridiculous plots.

"Trust me. They curl their lowercase L's." "I'm gonna let this go, but I want you to know that makes zero sense."

Plots which Ryeowook foils with equally ridiculous reasoning.

"''We might have never known each other, but we crossed faraway paths and came together. We crossed the distance of a stranger that's farther away than space.' Huh, not bad." "You think so?"

Sometimes, it's Hyukjae asking to read more of the scraps that Ryeowook collects, partially so Hyukjae can make fun of him, but mostly so that he has more clues.

"Yeah. I mean, it doesn't help me at all, but your man's got a way with words. I wonder why he doesn't submit any of the stuff you've shown me for class. It's worth critiquing."

An ask which forces Ryeowook to wrack his brain for passable imitations of song-lyrics-that-could-be-mistakenly-construed-as-poems and to get used to writing with his nondominant hand.

"Pass. Pass. Pass. Pass." "Really? You're passing on Park Hyungsik?"

Today, neither of them are feeling very motivated, so Hyukjae pulls up the Facebook profiles of his classmates and let Ryeowook play smash or pass because "it's fun to hear strangers' opinions on people you know."

"Oh, absolutely. Does that guy look like he cares where he dots his i's and j's? Hard pass," Ryeowook maintains.

Hyukjae shakes his head in amazement as he pulls back his phone. "You'll meet him one day, and you'll regret this moment; mark my words. Hyungsik is universally loved. Honestly, I'm not convinced yet Poem Person isn't him. He fits basically all of your criteria."

Ryeowook has to actively smother a knowing smirk. "What a shame."

He didn't come clean to Hyukjae in the quad that day because he panicked. Ryeowook was not mentally ready to meet the object of his affections so soon, much more confess, so he acted on impulse to buy himself some time.

Once he had it, he got curious.

It's no secret that Ryeowook had built up an idea of what Poem Person is like. The lyrics provided some insight, of course; but most of his intuition came from the handwriting itself. From what he could see, Poem Person was supposed to be intensely passionate, excitingly impulsive, and almost sickeningly romantic.

"Okay, how about this guy?" Hyukjae asks as he passes his phone over again.

Ryeowook takes one look at the screen and snorts. "Very funny. Pass."

The app is opened to a photo of Hyukjae himself posed unnaturally on a couch wearing a forward-facing snapback perched atop his head and an awkward half-smile, and Ryeowook refuses to look at it any longer before he does something he'll regret, like coo affectionately.

"Pass!?" Hyukjae repeats with mock-incredulity. "Don't you think he looks charming and witty and oh-so-loveable?"

Ryeowook indeed had a lot of thoughts about what Poem Person would look like, and 'charming,' 'witty,' and 'oh-so-loveable' have indeed flitted through his mind. Actually, Ryeowook finds that Hyukjae and Poem Person aren't altogether dissimilar.

Hyukjae is passionate about his craft, to be sure, but it doesn't occupy every one of his waking moments like Ryeowook expected. He is as much of a romantic as the next person is, but really Hyukjae is poetic, a distinction Ryeowook learns and appreciates very early on. Hyukjae is a little too thoughtful to be so impulsive, but his quick wit and ability to do/say/become whatever a situation calls for more than fulfill the quota for chaos that underlay Ryeowook's original supposition.

So yes, Ryeowook is withholding the truth so that he can slot the person he made up in his head into the person Hyukjae is, but it's been worth it.

"He looks like a brat and like his feet smell." "YAH! My shoes don't breathe!" "Get better shoes, then." "Give me the money, then." "Get a job, then." "That's not fair! Helping you find Poem Person is basically my part-time job!" "Consider it more of an unpaid internship."

Before Hyukjae takes his turn to volley back, his phone rings in his hand.

"Ah, as much fun as this was, I gotta go. I have a mini-showcase coming up, and I've been slacking on rehearsals." He shakes his phone towards Ryeowook, and the latter could see an alarm screen that reads "get your dumb ass to the gulliver center!"

Ryeowook's heart beats a noticeable thump thump all of a sudden. "Can I come with?"

"S-sure," Hyukjae says, shocked by the offer. "But why?"

That's a great question. For now, he says, "Because your internship is getting in the way of your studies, and I feel bad," but later, he'll know it's because he didn't want his time with Hyukjae to end so soon.

A grateful grin spreads across Hyukjae's face, and Ryeowook will add that onto his list of reasons later as well. "An audience is always welcome."

In no time, Hyukjae is in a practise room in the athletic center stretching his limbs every which way while Ryeowook watches as intently as possible while feigning interest in literally anything else in the room.

The bass-heavy noise music that Hyukjae puts on startles his attention back onto the dancer, and Ryeowook can no longer hide how blatantly he stares.

Hyukjae moves through the choreography so fluidly it almost looks lazy. He goes from jagged angles and harsh lines to sinewy curves and rolling waves to strong stomps and high jumps with no hesitation. He plays with the rhythm of the music, and he makes full use of the space available to him. Ryeowook is barely processing one impressive move when Hyukjae executes another one; and before he knows it, the performance is over.

"So," Hyukjae pants, "what'd ya think?"

"It's…" Jaw-dropping. Powerful. Hot. "… impressive," Ryeowook says at last.

Hyukjae smiles tightly. "Thanks. It actually needs a bit of work for the showcase, but I don't think the routine is all too shabby."

Ryeowook watches as Hyukjae watches himself through the mirror, redoing parts of the choreography over and over again at different tempos just to fine-tune his movements, and he can't help but feel like Hyukjae needed more from him.

"Um, I wonder if maybe it's lacking emotion?"

All movement halts. "What?"

Ryeowook didn't mean to say that; but now that it's out, he finds himself needing to continue. "You move well, um, obviously," he gestures awkwardly to Hyukjae's person, fighting a blush. "It looks physically difficult, sure, but what is it that you're trying to say? Like, I'm guessing you chose that song, too, right? So, why?"

Hyukjae stands in the middle of the room, arms limp by his side, and staring at Ryeowook with an unnervingly blank look on his face. Ryeowook hastily backpedals, "But hey, what do I know? I'm sure your professors will watch you and see all the nuances I can't with my untrained peon eyes. I was just… talking to talk, I guess."

"No, but I think you have a point," Hyukjae interjects.

Ryeowook perks up. "I do?"

"Yeah, like… I was so focused on trying to show what I can do with something only I could do, but that means basically nothing when any one of my classmates could learn my routine with only a week of practise. The only way I would be able to stand out is from whatever I put into it, but you made me realise I didn't put anything into it." He plops on the floor, eyebrows furrowed in consternation.

Ryeowook shakes his head adamantly. "No, no! There's clearly something there! You just need to, like, bring it out more. You have that whole idea—that this is something only you can do. You can take that, morph your routine into a testament to your need to prove yourself. Start with some trepidation, throw some desperation in the middle, and end with triumph. Honestly, I think I saw a little bit of that in your performance already. Maybe it was an accident, but now, just… do it on purpose."

"'Do it on purpose,'" Hyukjae repeats to himself. His head is down, so Ryeowook can't immediately tell what he thinks of the idea. He's ready to apologise again, even offer to go home so that Hyukjae can concentrate better, but then Hyukjae raises his head. "Alright, let me give that a try."

His eyes are filled with will and determination. Ryeowook, of all people, put those there.

He sits back and watches Hyukjae rehearse his routine over and over again, getting better and more evocative each time.

The Hyukjae before him is not a Hyukjae Ryeowook would have been able to guess based on his handwriting and lyrics alone.

Ryeowook knows basically nothing about dancing; but over the past few weeks, he's really come to know Hyukjae. He's noticed how the other is prone to express himself through movement, like when he accentuates his stories with body language and physical reenactments. It belies a comfort and confidence with his body and what it can do with which Ryeowook could never empathise. It's a subtle thing, but impactful nevertheless.

He smothers it down because he doesn't want to give Hyukjae the wrong idea, but he wants to laugh.

Only he could fall for a dancer's words first before anything else, and only he could fall for the same person twice.

~Where should I start? When should I say it? Darling, our seconds, our minutes together were beautiful.~

"Ryeowook, why haven't you asked to see my handwriting yet?"

"What?"

They had commandeered a study room in the library, but honestly neither of them are making a lot of headway in their respective assignments. Ryeowook didn't want anything to do with Organic Chemistry, but this conversation is making him reconsider his previous stance.

"Isn't that what you're into? Trying to infer people's personalities based on their handwriting?"

"I'm not into it. It just happened."

"Okay, sure, but aren't you, like, good at it now? Read mine! Tell me what it says about me."

Ryeowook, desperate to squash this idea immediately, blurts out. "It… It won't work!"

"Why not?" Hyukjae pouts.

Ryeowook scrambles. "Because I know you already. Yeah. I'll see and interpret things in a way that confirms what I already know."

Hyukjae eyebrows furrow in what Ryeowook can presume is consternation. "Sorry," he offers feebly.

Some more time passes, and Ryeowook makes mild progress on his O-Chem work, before Hyukjae speaks up again. "So if you can't do me, can you do my friend?" he asks with an excited tone that makes Ryeowook wary.

"I do not want to do your friend." You, however…

"NO! I mean: can you interpret my friend's handwriting? Here. He left it at my place last time we studied together."

Hyukjae's smirk radiates smug self-satisfaction, and with one look at the paper, Ryeowook understands why. He actively controls every muscle in his body to prevent the facepalm that's threatening to break loose.

He has to give Hyukjae props, though. If Ryeowook weren't already so intimately acquainted with the handwriting on the page before him, the other's ploy could have worked.

Regardless, he still finds himself in the position he was trying to avoid in the first place.

All the best lies are based in truth, right? "So I can tell your friend has a very high-stress major. The handwriting is cramped and small, like he can't waste a single stroke or else he'll miss something he needs to write down. Ah, see how he doesn't fully cross his t's and dot his i's? He thinks he'll be able to read his own handwriting later. He probably has decent memory or just has a lot of faith in himself."

Hyukjae nods with an impressed frown. "Huh, not bad."

It would be so, so easy to stop there, but Ryeowook can't. He loves Hyukjae's handwriting too much. "And look here," he points excitedly to a cross-out near the center of the page. "He could cross out his mistakes with a single line or a little squiggle, but he completely blocks it out instead. It suggests he has more confidence with the obvious; but really, I think he needs the reminder. Like, 'Yeah, I made a mistake. I'll move on, but I won't let myself forget. That way I don't do it again.'"

A moment later, Ryeowook realises with a jolt that he had been holding and smiling at the scrap paper a little too tenderly. He whips his head up in embarrassment, an explanation-slash-apology at the tip of his tongue, but Hyukjae doesn't seem to notice.

In fact, Hyukjae has been silent the whole time. Ryeowook chuckles awkwardly. "Am I right?"

"Huh?" Hyukjae intones as he's brought out of his reverie. Ryeowook thinks he sees something in his eyes when their gazes meet, but Hyukjae blinks and it's gone. "I'm sorry, what did you ask me?"

"I was wondering if I was right. About your 'friend,'" Ryeowook reminds, air quotes clear in his tone.

Hyukjae shuffles uncomfortably in his seat. "I think you're more right than even he's ready to admit," he says with a hand at the back of his neck and a sardonic quirk of his lips.

The sight causes an unexplainable swell of affection within Ryeowook, and he turns away. "He can take his time," he assures, eyes trained on his textbook even though he can't read a damn thing.

Hyukjae nods his thanks and turns back to his homework, but Ryeowook doesn't feel right letting it end here.

"Hey, wanna give my handwriting a try?"

~You always lift your head to look up at me. I want to take my big hands and cup your small cheeks.~

Next time they're meant to hang out, it's the weekend; and Hyukjae texts him to meet him at Bomnal.

"Both of us were here just two days ago, and we have to be here again in two days. Don't we spend enough time in Bomnal as it is?" Ryeowook complains as soon as he enters the atrium of the academic building.

"Think of it like a field trip. Come on, Wook," Hyukjae says as he leads them to the second floor lecture hall.

"Pretty sure field trips are meant to take us out of the classroom, but sure, whatever," Ryeowook grumbles as he follows along.

He's testy. He knows it, but he can't help it.

This is the first time both of them will be in Bomnal 235 at once. It feels like a turning point, like he's going to learn something today whether he wants to or not. He wonders if Hyukjae feels the same sense of impending that he does, or maybe it's just worse for him because he's in love.

As soon as they open the doors, the automatic lights flick on and douse the room with a very awake yellow.

"So… where do you normally sit?" Hyukjae asks as he motions to the empty seats before them.

Ryeowook freezes. Now that it's upon him, he can definitively identify this as the thing he was anxious about.

What if he tells the truth, Hyukjae realises Poem Person is him, and he feels awkward about it? Their comfortable but still-very-new friendship would evaporate on the spot, and Ryeowook won't have him in any capacity, much more a romantic one.

So, in another impeccable display of judgement, he decides to lie again.

"Oh, you know… I change it up," he mildly comments as he moves to somewhere near the middle of the first row. He sits down and gives an unassuming grin to his friend, who makes a face. "You're one of those people? Haven't you heard of the same seats code of conduct? You fed me some crap about curling L's when really it's your fault the balloon trick wouldn't have worked," Hyukjae jokes in that way where he's completely serious but is phrasing it with humour.

Ryeowook feels a genuine, fond grin spread across his face before he can help it, and he quickly ducks his head. "Why are we here, again?" he asks instead of dwelling on the validating comfort of being known.

"Why not?" Hyukjae asks as he moves to sit down. "This is the place it all began, right? Might as well."

Ryeowook, for his part, only stares.

Hyukjae went up to a seat in the rear right quadrant of the lecture hall. Ryeowok's own, real seat is directly in front of where the other is sitting. That can't be a coincidence.

"Um, I'm guessing that's where you sit?" he asks as casually as possible.

"Huh? Oh! Haha, yeah. It's funny, I didn't even think of sitting anywhere else. My feet just automatically guided me here."

"So funny," Ryeowook squeaks out.

"Yeah, my friend in the class actually used to sit with me, but it became very apparent very quickly that we would never get anything done if we did, so he moved down there." Hyukjae points with his foot to Ryeowook's seat, and Ryeowook's breath hitches in his throat. "Sometimes when I'm bored, I just can't help but throw stuff onto his desk just to annoy him." Hyukjae mimes a free throw shot towards the desk and smiles.

Well, if there were any doubt before in Ryeowook's mind that Hyukjae was Poem Person, it has summarily been erased.

Ryeowook hums but says nothing else, letting a companionable silence stretch between them as he acknowledges the warmth that settles into his chest when he confirms with himself that yes, he is glad that Hyukjae is Poem Person.

"Why are you helping me?" he asks, curious and without judgement. The abrupt question startles the other out of whatever reverie he had settled into during their respite, but Hyukjae bounces back quickly, as he always does.

"You know, I had to figure that answer out myself," Hyukjae answers with a laugh. He leans back in his chair with his hands folded behind his head, staring out at the empty lecture hall. "I told you I would at first because it was obvious that I was the only one in a position to actually help. It wasn't even an option in my mind that I wouldn't… But even after my sense of obligation ran out, I wanted to keep going.

"You're cool, Ryeowook. You're fun to be around, you're sassy, you're down to try anything once. You're totally comfortable being yourself, and your 'self' is crazy. Like, who else trusts in their gut enough that this person you're chasing after is worth the effort? Who else would go to the lengths to which you're willing to go just to meet him? Honestly, I think that's pretty awesome. I don't know if I could have that same confidence you do."

He tilts his head towards Ryeowook then and gives a close-lipped, self-convinced smile. "If anyone's gonna find love based on a few scraps of paper and a dream, it's gonna be you."

Ryeowook nods mutely. He hopes the distance between them is enough to disguise the blush on his cheeks.

Hyukjae faces forward again. "If I think about it, I guess I'm being selfish, too. I want to believe a love like that is possible; and if I help you find him, I'll get to see it happen for myself… I really hope this guy is worth it, Ryeowook. I think it would break my heart as much as yours if he weren't."

He is, though. He's so worth it. "Me too."

~Longing is a beautiful pain I thought I could endure.~

Ryeowook walks out of the campus mail room, and life couldn't get better.

He just picked up a care package his mom sent him; he got a 94 on his last Nutrition Essentials quiz; and Hyukjae loves the new low-fat, protein-enhanced strawberry scones recipe he tried out yesterday.

Speaking of whom, he thinks this whole Poem Person plot is going to wrap up soon. The last time they must have actually worked on a strategy to find out who Poem Person was, like, two weeks ago at least; and Ryeowook's glad he can stop pretending he has any interest anymore.

Their friendship has wholly evolved beyond the point of needing a project to work on in order to spend time with each other anyway. Why pine after a fictitious man when he has a whole Hyukjae right there, who buys him coffee lattes simply because he's Hyukjae's dongsaeng and who helps him study for his quizzes even when Hyukjae himself is stressed.

Ryeowook tells himself that with some more time, the whole mystery will just fade into an inside joke between the two of them, a white whale they can reminisce about when they're sipping soju and reminiscing… preferably cuddled on a couch and with his head on Hyukaje's shoulder.

However, his friend group did not get the memo.

"So, uh. What happened to Poem Person?" Henry asks one weekend while everyone is at Ryeo-Mi's apartment.

"Shut up!" Kyuhyun admonishes with a slap to the back of Henry's head. "Ryeowook hasn't annoyed us with that in weeks. Aren't you grateful?!"

"I actually am very curious about what happened there. Weren't you and Hyukjae supposed to find him together?" Yesung asks.

"The gen—" "Maybe I'm manifesting, Mi! Ever think of that?"

Ryeowook cuts in before Mi's feelings get even more hurt. "Yeah, we were, but honestly I've kinda given up on the whole thing."

He expects some shock, but he couldn't have predicted who would be the most affected. "You're just gonna give up on finding love!?" Mi despairs.

"Actually, the potential for a romantic relationship was never confirmed," Henry quips. Yesung gives Henry a high-five.

"It was just a little crush," Ryeowook defends. "I've moved past it, as I was bound to do eventually." He says this last part to Kyuhyun, who he knows was the most annoyed with his actions back then.

"'Eventually' doesn't end in time for finals week, Wook," Kyuhyun retorts.

"Well, now you never have to worry about it, Hyun."

"Is love dead?" Mi desponds aloud, but no one pays him any mind.

Ryeowook pats his roommate's shoulders in a half-hearted attempt at consolation. If Mi turns out to be the only casualty in this whole ordeal, Ryeowook will count this as a win.

What he doesn't count on is the fact that Hyukjae would invariably hear about it.

"Is it true?" Hyukjae corners him after Ryeowook picks up his order from the on-campus cafe.

"You know, I don't think so. I think she's just Henry's accompanist for rehearsals," Ryeowook responds genuinely, certain that the latest gossip about Henry's potentially secret girlfriend is what Hyukjae must have been referring to.

"What? No!" Hyukjae stops in confusion but stomps after Ryeowook once he gets his bearings back. "No, I heard that you gave up on finding him, that you gave up a while ago. Is it true?"

Ryeowook hesitates to sit down at the open table he found, and Hyukjae's entire posture seizes in betrayal. "Alright, got it," Hyukjae says with an edge to his tone. "Do me a favour, yeah? Never talk to me ever again."

"Wait!" Ryeowook calls once Hyukjae turns on his heel and storms off. "Hyukjae, wait!" He pays no mind to the fact that he's abandoning his belongings as he chases Hyukjae outside. "I get that you're angry, but don't you think this is a little much?"

He reaches out for Hyukjae's upper arm, but the other immediately shrugs it off. Ryeowook flinches and retreats slightly. Despite the other's obvious fury, Hyukjae is stopped in place and seems willing to actually talk to him, and Ryeowook holds onto that hope instead.

"No, actually," Hyukjae sneers. "I think this is the perfect amount of much when you find out your best friend has been wasting your time for who knows how long!"

Of all the things Hyukjae could have said in that moment, Ryeowook didn't expect that reaction at all. It stings more than he expects, cuts through his defensiveness; and despite his position in the situation, he can't help but need comfort. "What do you mean?" he asks in a confused, desperate voice.

"What do I mean?" Hyukjae repeats exasperatedly. "Ryeowook, we spent weeks together trying to figure out how to get you your dream guy! We never even got anywhere, and, and… And it's all because of you! You shot down basically every one of my ideas practically from the beginning, even after I told you how much it would personally mean to me. That is, like, the textbook definition of a waste of time!"

"You weren't having fun?"

"What?" Hyukjae demands incredulously.

"All that time we spent together," Ryeowook clarifies as he steadfastly meets Hyukjae's angry gaze. "You didn't have fun?"

Hyukjae is silent, and his body posture screams obstinate defiance, but his eyes remain trained on Ryeowook.

"You didn't come to look forward to spending time with me? You didn't spend your free time thinking of ways to make me laugh?"

Hyukjae rolls his eyes. "So what? What does any of that mean when you were just stringing me along? You… you weren't even using me!?" he exclaims, voice rising in a hysterical question. "That was literally the whole basis of our friendship, and you couldn't even do that? Like, what could you have possibly gained from lying to my face like that for all this time?"

Ryeowook gives a watery smile at the non-answer and looks down at his fingers fidgeting together. "I did, too," he says in a voice so quiet it was like he intended to keep that to himself.

It's silent for a long time after that admission. Hyukjae's lividness has dissipated, and he is only left with a disappointment so painful he doesn't want to dwell on it any further. He moves to leave Ryeowook alone outside of the cafe, but Ryeowook's voice stops him.

"W-What did you say?" Hyukjae asks with apprehension.

Ryeowook ignores the tears falling from his eyes as he repeats himself. "I'm in a rush to catch you, but you're in a hurry to leave. Should I just surrender? Now we're like an old and worn notebook filled with scribbles."

Hyukjae simply stares, and Ryeowook takes that as his cue to keep going. "Take your beautiful smile with you. Don't leave it here. You saw me with tears in my eyes."

By heart,

"I was a selfish man, but my life is divided into before and after I knew you."

Ryeowook recites lyric,

"When I first saw you, it felt like a miracle."

after lyric,

"I'm thinking of you more today. I wonder how tomorrow morning will be. Will I miss you more than I do today?"

after lyric;

"I'm honest because I don't know lies before love."

and before he knows it,

"I'd place my feelings on the thawing snow. I'd hang my wish on a disappearing star, but only if you ask me to."

Hyukjae is within arm's reach.

"It's me?" Hyukjae whispers into the scant centimetres between them. "It's really me?" he asks again when Ryeowook had simply nodded.

Ryeowook can't even help it when he recites, "Even when you ask me again, for me, it's only you." with a breathy laugh as he shyly looks away.

Hyukjae moves to gently hold Ryeowook's hand. "And you're okay with that?"

Ryeowook wants to laugh and melt and cry and run away, but instead he settles for an earnest nod and a hesitant smile. "Are you?"

Hyukjae answers him with a kiss, and it feels like a dazzling melody.

~Together, we can make all our unfulfilled dreams come true.~

#super junior #super junior fanfiction #eunwook #eunhyuk #ryeowook #jaso*#iwrew

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arcticdementor · 4 years

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In the summer of 2014, I gave birth to a baby boy. He was born with a perfect Apgar score, after a very easy delivery. But my labor had not been smooth—in fact, throughout the day and a half of contractions, I believed there was something decidedly wrong. I also felt that way as I held him for the first time, and he writhed violently under my hands. In a video taken about 10 minutes after he was born, he can be seen lifting his head up off my chest. “Ooooh, look at how advanced he is!” someone can be heard trilling in the background, before her voice is overtaken by my own. “Don’t do that, love,” I say. Then, to the camera: “Does he seem like he’s in pain to you?”

It took my husband and me three years to understand that in fact I was right that day in the delivery room. Our son was hurt. And it will take him years to heal—longer than it should have, and that is on top of the injustice of the original wound—though I thank God every day that we figured it out.

The first breakthrough came when my husband David remembered a book about brain science he had read a decade earlier, by a doctor named Norman Doidge. It changed our lives, by allowing us to properly understand our son’s injury (and to understand why we couldn’t manage to get a straight answer about it from any of the “experts” we had seen). It’s been a tough road, but from that moment on, we at least knew what to do—and why.

A year or so later, we met Doidge and his wife, Karen, for dinner, and it is here that the story may become pertinent for you.

After we ordered, I told Norman I had a question I’d been wanting to ask—and that I wanted his honest answer to it, even if it meant that I had done something wrong. I proceeded to relay to him the entire tale, from the very beginning to that very moment, of what felt to me like our Kafkaesque medical mystery journey.

How was it, I then asked, that it took my husband and me—both children of doctors, both people with reporting and researching backgrounds, among the lucky who have health insurance, and with access through family and friends to what is billed as the best medical care in the country—years to figure this out, and that in the end we only did so basically by accident?

Norman looked at us sympathetically. “I don’t know how else to tell you this but bluntly,” he said. “There are still many good individuals involved in medicine, but the American medical system is profoundly broken. When you look at the rate of medical error—it's now the third leading cause of death in the U.S.—the overmedication, creation of addiction, the quick-fix mentality, not funding the poor, quotas to admit from ERs, needless operations, the monetization of illness vs. health, the monetization of side effects, a peer review system run by journals paid for by Big Pharma, the destruction of the health of doctors and nurses themselves by administrators, who demand that they rush through 10-minute patient visits, when so often an hour or more is required, and which means that in order to be ‘successful,’ doctors must overlook complexity rather than search for it ... Alana, the unique thing here isn’t that you fell down so many rabbit holes. What’s unique is that you found your way out at all.”

I had barely started processing this when Norman moved to change the subject: “Now, can I ask you two something? How come so much of the journalism I read seems like garbage?”

Oh, God.

David and I looked at each other, simultaneously realizing that the after-school special we thought we were in was actually a horror movie. If the medical industry was comprehensively broken, as Norman said, and the media was irrevocably broken, as we knew it was ... Was everything in America broken? Was education broken? Housing? Farming? Cities? Was religion broken?

Everything is broken.

…

For seven decades, the country’s intellectual and cultural life was produced and protected by a set of institutions—universities, newspapers, magazines, record companies, professional associations, cultural venues, publishing houses, Hollywood studios, think tanks, etc. Collectively, these institutions reflected a diversity of experiences and then stamped them all as “American”—conjuring coherence out of the chaos of a big and unwieldy country. This wasn’t a set of factories pumping out identical widgets, but rather a broad and messy jazz band of disparate elements that together produced something legible, clear, and at times even beautiful when each did their part.

…

This was the tinder. The tech revolution was the match—one-upping the ’70s economy by demanding more efficiency and more speed and more boundarylessness, and demanding it everywhere. They introduced not only a host of inhuman wage-suppressing tactics, like replacing full-time employees with benefits with gig workers with lower wages and no benefits, but also a whole new aesthetic that has come to dominate every aspect of our lives—a set of principles that collectively might be thought of as flatness.

Flatness is the reason the three jobs with the most projected growth in your country all earn less than $27,000 a year, and it is also the reason that all the secondary institutions that once gave structure and meaning to hundreds of millions of American lives—jobs and unions but also local newspapers, churches, Rotary Clubs, main streets—have been decimated. And flatness is the mechanism by which, over the past decade and with increasing velocity over the last three years, a single ideologically driven cohort captured the entire interlocking infrastructure of American cultural and intellectual life. It is how the Long March went from a punchline to reality, as one institution after another fell and then entire sectors, like journalism, succumbed to control by narrow bands of sneering elitists who arrogated to themselves the license to judge and control the lives of their perceived inferiors.

Flatness broke everything.

…

Today’s revolution has been defined by a set of very specific values: boundarylessness; speed; universal accessibility; an allergy to hierarchy, so much so that the weighting or preferring of some voices or products over others is seen as illegitimate; seeing one’s own words and face reflected back as part of a larger current; a commitment to gratification at the push of a button; equality of access to commodified experiences as the right of every human being on Earth; the idea that all choices can and should be made instantaneously, and that the choices made by the majority in a given moment, on a given platform represent a larger democratic choice, which is therefore both true and good—until the next moment, on the next platform.

…

“You might not even realize you’re not where you started.” The machines trained us to accept, even chase, this high. Once we accepted it, we turned from willful individuals into parts of a mass that could move, or be moved, anywhere. Once people accepted the idea of an app, you could get them to pay for dozens of them—if not more. You could get people to send thousands of dollars to strangers in other countries to stay in homes they’d never seen in cities they’d never visited. You could train them to order in food—most of their food, even all of their food—from restaurants that they’d never been to, based on recommendations from people they’d never met. You could get them to understand their social world not as consisting of people whose families and faces one knew, which was literally the definition of social life for hundreds of thousands of years, but rather as composed of people who belonged to categories—“also followed by,” “friends in common,” “BIPOC”—that didn’t even exist 15 years ago. You could create a culture in which it was normal to have sex with someone whose two-dimensional picture you saw on a phone, once.

You could, seemingly overnight, transform people’s views about anything—even everything.

The Obama administration could swiftly overturn the decision-making space in which Capitol Hill staff and newspaper reporters functioned so that Iran, a country that had killed thousands of Americans and consistently announces itself to be America’s greatest enemy, is now to be seen as inherently as trustworthy and desirable an ally as France or Germany. Flatness, frictionlessness.

The biological difference between the sexes, which had been a foundational assumption of medicine as well as of the feminist movement, was almost instantaneously replaced not only by the idea that there are numerous genders but that reference in medicine, law or popular culture to the existence of a gender binary is actually bigoted and abusive. Flatness.

Facebook’s longtime motto was, famously, “Move fast and break shit,” which is exactly what Silicon Valley enabled others to do.

The internet tycoons used the ideology of flatness to hoover up the value from local businesses, national retailers, the whole newspaper industry, etc.—and no one seemed to care. This heist—by which a small group of people, using the wiring of flatness, could transfer to themselves enormous assets without any political, legal or social pushback—enabled progressive activists and their oligarchic funders to pull off a heist of their own, using the same wiring. They seized on the fact that the entire world was already adapting to a life of practical flatness in order to push their ideology of political flatness—what they call social justice, but which has historically meant the transfer of enormous amounts of power and wealth to a select few.

Because this cohort insists on sameness and purity, they have turned the once-independent parts of the American cultural complex into a mutually validating pipeline for conformists with approved viewpoints—who then credential, promote and marry each other. A young Ivy League student gets A’s by parroting intersectional gospel, which in turn means that he is recommended by his professors for an entry-level job at a Washington think tank or publication that is also devoted to these ideas. His ability to widely promote those viewpoints on social media is likely to attract the approval of his next possible boss or the reader of his graduate school application or future mates. His success in clearing those bars will in turn open future opportunities for love and employment. Doing the opposite has an inverse effect, which is nearly impossible to avoid given how tightly this system is now woven. A person who is determined to forgo such worldly enticements—because they are especially smart, or rich, or stubborn—will see only examples of even more talented and accomplished people who have seen their careers crushed and reputations destroyed for daring to stick a toe over the ever multiplying maze of red lines.

So, instead of reflecting the diversity of a large country, these institutions have now been repurposed as instruments to instill and enforce the narrow and rigid agenda of one cohort of people, forbidding exploration or deviation—a regime that has ironically left homeless many, if not most, of the country’s best thinkers and creators. Anyone actually concerned with solving deep-rooted social and economic problems, or God forbid with creating something unique or beautiful—a process that is inevitably messy and often involves exploring heresies and making mistakes—will hit a wall. If they are young and remotely ambitious they will simply snuff out that part of themselves early on, strangling the voice that they know will get them in trouble before they’ve ever had the chance to really hear it sing.

…

I’m not looking to rewind the clock back to a time before we all had email and cellphones. What I want is to be inspired by the last generation that made a new life-world—the postwar American abstract expressionist painters, jazz musicians, and writers and poets who created an alternate American modernism that directly challenged the ascendant Communist modernism: a blend of forms and techniques with an emphasis not on the facelessness of mass production, but on individual creativity and excellence.

Like them, our aim should be to take the central, unavoidable and potentially beneficent parts of the Flatness Aesthetic (including speed, accessibility; portability) while discarding the poisonous parts (frictionlessness; surveilled conformism; the allergy to excellence). We should seek out friction and thorniness, hunt for complexity and delight in unpredictability. Our lives should be marked not by “comps” and metrics and filters and proofs of concept and virality but by tight circles and improvisation and adventure and lots and lots of creative waste.

And not just to save ourselves, but to save each other. The vast majority of Americans are not ideologues. They are people who wish to live in a free country and get along with their neighbors while engaging in profitable work, getting married, raising families, being entertained, and fulfilling their American right to adventure and self-invention. They are also the consumer base for movies, TV, books, and other cultural products. Every time Americans are given the option to ratify progressive dictates through their consumer choices, they vote in the opposite direction. When HBO removed Gone with the Wind from its on-demand library last year, it became the #1 bestselling movie on Amazon. Meanwhile, endless numbers of Hollywood right-think movies and supposed literary masterworks about oppression are dismal failures for studios and publishing houses that would rather sink into debt than face a social-justice firing squad on Twitter.

#tablet magazine #alana newhouse #read the whole thing

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returningwriter · 5 years

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There For Her

Part 1: By Her Side Part 2: At Her Place Part 3: At Her Work

Lena checks up on Kara after the events of Elseworlds

Stepping inside Kara’s apartment Lena almost tripped over a red boot which she bent down to pick up while looking around for the boot's owner. Making her way through the apartment she picked up the red cape that had been thrown haphazardly onto a coat-rack. Again looking around the apartment there was no sign of the Girl of Steel, correction, her Girlfriend of Steel.

Bending down, she took her heels off out of habit and spotted the other discarded red boot hiding under the kitchen table so she got down on her knees to retrieve it with a grunt. Getting back to her feet and smoothing down the form-fitting emerald dress she wore, she then picked up the other pieces of Kara's suit that were strewn all over the couch in the living room. The blue top was laying in a heap on a couch cushion and the red skirt and dark tan tights were thrown over the armrests.

Folding Supergirl's suit made her chuckle to herself imagining what if Lex could see her now, folding Supergirl's cape like a dutiful girlfriend. But, oh, how she wished that the blonde hero would ask her to design and build something better for her to wear and unknown to Kara she was already working on an upgraded super-suit for the hero. One that she planned to present to her girlfriend when it was ready while also working on something for herself in case she ever needed to lend a hand in the field.

Lena was worried, however, and that's why she was here. Kara had returned from a mission on another Earth. Earth-1 to be exact and who named these things anyways? But the blonde had not answered any of her calls or messages since coming back and from what she’d been able to get out of Alex over the phone, things had been rough there and now Superman was taking a sabbatical on Argo City.

Walking on bare feet through the blonde’s apartment she tidied things up as she went, threw out a picked clean Chinese take-out box and then got a bottle of water from the always well-stocked fridge. Kara had given her a key a few weeks ago but this was the first time she'd used it and came uninvited into the blonde's home like this.

Making her way around at the now slightly tidier apartment she carried the water bottle into the bedroom and as she guessed, sleeping on the bed with one long leg sticking out of the covers was Kara Danvers with her golden hair forming a halo around her head wearing a loose beaten-up tank-top and faded blue shorts that had seen better days.

“What incredibly heroic thing did you do this time, uh?” she asked the sleeping blonde putting the water bottle and her phone on the nightstand and sat down on the edge of the bed. Being careful not to disturb the rest of her hero.

The sleeping blonde beauty didn’t answer her question and instead gave a cute mumble which made her smile. Kara Danvers was when not being incredible, adorable or maybe better yet adorkable.

Still that feeling of worry didn't go away, even though she saw with her own green eyes that Kara was safe. If she was being honest with herself, every time Kara did something like go to a different reality or fight a towering monster or simply put on that blue and red suit she worried desperately about the blonde hero. This had been true even before they started dating.

“How am I to keep you safe if you keep throwing yourself into danger darling?” she quietly asked the sleeping beauty and reached out to stroke that soft golden hair.

Ever since they’d started dating following their moment in the hospital room at the DEO, things had been different, and she had been different. Because Kara Danvers made her happy and for the first time, she felt like her world made sense and like that she was in control of her destiny. Still, what also came with their relationship was the overwhelming urge to protect this perfect creature that had fallen, technically flown, into her life.

Tying her black hair up in a ponytail before crawling into the bed without making too much noise, she put an arm over the sleeping blonde and inhaled the earthy scent of the woman who she was definitely in love with. Gazing at the profile of Kara's beautiful and relaxed face she found herself smiling like a love-struck teenager and decided that maybe this would be a good time to test something in a controlled environment.

“I love you,” she whispered to the beautiful girl in her life and kissed her on the cheek which made the girl stir slightly.

“Well that wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be,” she observed feeling pleased with herself but then to her shock and surprise Kara’s strong muscular arm wrapped around her waist.

“Hi…” the blonde hero murmured sleepily but happily cracking one blue eye open and she felt the blood rushing from her face. Had she been caught? Was this something she shouldn’t even be doing?

“Hello... sorry didn’t mean to wake you up or you know... sneak into your bedroom,” she apologized softly, and Kara responded by kissing her on the forehead.

“It's alright and I'm glad you're here and I wasn’t really asleep… kinda dozing... I heard you come in and clean up the apartment," the blonde hero admitted in a shy little voice and it turned out that she wasn’t the only one being busted.

“I see…” she said slowly wondering how she’d gotten herself into this mess but sensing her hesitation Kara hugged her tighter.

“And... I love you too and I’m so sorry I didn’t call,” Kara said like it was no big deal with a brilliant albeit sleepy smile blossoming on her beautiful face.

“I… I assumed you had a lot on your mind, Alex told me about Superman leaving and those other worlds, that got me worrying,” she fumbled with her words as her brain tried to catch up to what Kara had just said.

“That and slowing down the Earth’s rotation takes a lot out of you,” the blonde hero shrugged and snuggled in closer. Kara Danvers loved her! It finally hit but was followed by a wave of worry and fear at the blonde's statement.

“You did what now? You could have been killed!” she declared in shock and had to fight not to raise her voice.

“I know… you’re not mad at me, are you?” Kara asked softly with glistening blue eyes pleading with her and she sighed because no she couldn’t stay mad at her hero.

“No, not mad, but I wish I could have been there to help you,” she admitted and kissed the blonde on her cute nose.

“Me too… there was this book you see and reality was all gooey and changing and in one reality there wasn’t... there was no you there… I was on a different Earth and I couldn’t hear your heartbeat and when I got back I was so tired,” her beautiful blonde whispered while falling over her words, and she pulled her in closer.

“Oh darling, come here,” she whispered as she stroked the girl’s blonde hair to soothe her and to show her that she was indeed real and not going anywhere.

“I… want to ask you something,” Kara said softly, and she nodded her head while still running her finger's through the girl's soft hair.

“Can you stay with me tonight? Like until tomorrow morning?” the blonde hero asked with a bit of unsure shyness in her voice.

“Are you sure?” she asked to which Kara gave her a tiny smile and a quick but eager nod.

This would be a big change in their admittedly young relationship. Despite her rather public display of interest, she’d put on at the CatCo’s offices they’d been taking things somewhat slowly. The key to Kara’s apartment had been for emergencies and until now they'd always retreated to their respective apartments after their dates. Though she suspected Kara often visited her sister to gossip, the pair were close after all and it was good that Kara had someone to lean on.

“I don’t want to be without you tonight,” Kara declared softly with her sapphire blue eyes full of love and affection and she felt her heart skip a beat.

“Kara, of course, I’ll stay with you. For as long as you want me,” she said with all the conviction in her soul. Finding herself smiling at the hero before being rewarded with a red lipstick ruining kiss from Kara's pink soft lips.

“Thank you and you’re the best girlfriend a girl from Krypton could wish for!” the blonde Kryptonian declared happily when she finally pulled back from the kiss.

That gave her an impulsive idea, reaching clumsily for her phone on the nightstand behind her because Kara was determined to hug her within an inch of her life, she managed to grab it and wiggle around until it was in front of her face. The wallpaper on the screen was a recent picture of her and Kara smiling into the camera, taken on their last date and the blonde gave her a curious look.

“How about we make that girlfriend part official?” she asked and opened up her social media app with a smirk.

“Really? Like Facebook-official?” the blonde asked, and she nodded already going into her relationship status section.

“Yes Facebook-Official and maybe LinkedIn too. What do you say, Kara Danvers, want to be in a relationship with me? It comes with lots of perks, but you will be called upon to attend various very boring functions as well,” she asked and in truth, she was asking the blonde a lot, because dating the CEO of L-Corp and a Luthor wouldn't be an easy task but if anything Kara Danvers was fearless.

“Duh! Yes! Does this mean I get to be your arm-candy?” the now giddy blonde hero asked, and she could only giggle at the mental image that conjured up. Kara on her arm or better yet her on the tall blonde's arm with the stunning woman in a tailored suit. The thought made her face feel hot and she put her hand on the hero's toned arm.

“Oh no I’m your arm-candy darling,” she countered, squeezing Kara's bicep in appreciation for the woman's goddess-like physique and a few clicks later they were official in the eyes of the internet and the world.

“And done! What do you want to do next?” she asked the goofily smiling blonde who was nearly vibrating with joy or maybe that was her phone blowing up.

“I do need a shower… and since you’re staying the night… maybe you could join me?” Kara suggested hesitantly with a hint of a flirty grin on her red lipstick stained lips.

“Well… you did just help save an Earth... “ she agreed with a smirk and ran a teasing finger down Kara's arm enjoying the sight of goosebumps as she went.

The words had barely left her lips when to her surprise her blonde girlfriend used her incredible speed to zoom out of the bed and she found herself being carried bridal-style as Kara marched them to the bathroom.

Behind them, on the bed, her discarded phone kept vibrating with incoming messages along with Kara’s phone on the nearby nightstand vibrating until it hit the floor. The following morning would bring blaring headlines of CEO Lena Luthor dating Journalist Kara Danvers and a slightly upset Alex Danvers at their doorstep, but right now Kara was looking at her with such clear molten intent that it made worrying impossible.

Next Up: Suiting Up For Her

#supercorp #kara danvers #lena luthor #karadanvers #fanfic #lenaluthor #lena lesbian luthor #supergirl #fan ficlet #fan fic

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radfem-moira · 5 years

Text

This never happens

I’m 19, back from a year abroad, ready for a fresh new start after a bout of depression. I spent my whole summer coming out to be people. It’s not that coming to a sudden realization during my depression made me want to scream it from the rooftops. It’s that literally every single of my parents friends’, my relatives, the neighbours, my high school friends, keep making that same joke. “Did you meet a nice foreign boy over there?” No. No I didn’t. I met a nice foreign girl. It didn’t go anywhere. I regret being such a coward. But I’m not a coward anymore.

I start college again, with a new direction. I’m a brand new person now. I know where I’m going in life (or so I think). I know what I can and cannot do. I know what I want and what I don’t want. I feel so self-confident, so done with this pushover doormat bullshit I used to pull as a way to avoid responsibility.

It takes a full semester before I try joining the GSA again, like I did before my gap year abroad. I'm apprehensive, but since I know most of the old members have graduated, including the one who’s been haunting my nightmares for over a year now, I feel relatively okay going in. I meet new people. New friends. New friends-of-friends.

Some of those friends-of-friends are trans. There were only three trans people in the GSA back when I left, but now almost a third of the membership identifies that way. Mostly “AFAB” nonbinary people and transmen. I think nothing of it. My LGBT etiquette is decent, I think. I know what’s fashionable to say and what’s not. The first time I hear someone call one of our members, a lesbian, a “TERF” for stating that she could not have sex with someone who has a penis, I stay quiet. I don’t think the other lesbian ever came back.

I’m 20. One of our senior executives at the GSA is another lesbian. But then one day, at an educational panel which I’ve organized (I was elected president by that time) at the request of a teacher, she suddenly declares, to an auditorium of over 100 people, that she’s actually “homoflexible”. She tells the whole 100 people that lesbian is the label that she’s “most comfortable with”, because most people “understand it right away”, and anyway she doesn’t think it’s likely she’ll ever date a man again, but she likes to “keep an open mind”, because “you never know”.

A cold feeling of betrayal invades me. I ask myself why. Why? Why not “bisexual”? What’s wrong with “bisexual”? Why do you have to do this to me, and to other lesbians? Why do you have to launch yourself on a diatribe explaining why you, as a bisexual woman, feel more comfortable telling everyone that you’re a lesbian? When actually, you’re perfectly aware that you’ll be a lesbian until the right man comes along? You’re literally playing right into dangerous stereotypes that make existing as an actual homosexual woman a living hell!

Three years later, I’m 23, I have a minor disagreement with a bisexual friend on Facebook, over some unimportant semantics. We’re settling it quite calmly, like adults. Enter homoflexible girl, barging in, berating me for saying something she perceives as “biphobic”, accusing me of “transphobia”. Through that interaction, I learn that homoflexible girl is now dating a “pre-operative trans woman”. Her friends join in for a good old-fashioned dogpile. Eventually, I have to block all of them.

I’m 19 again. One of the friends-of-a-friend I’ve met through the GSA is a transwoman. Well, our GSA has two transwomen. But the other one is different, and we don’t interact much. She’s “straight”, for one (as in, she’s a transwoman who dates men), and lived as a gay man for years before starting her transition. She passes better (because she’s been transitioning for longer, and also because she’s very invested in replicating femininity), and I feel like I relate more to her, although I can’t put my finger on why. I now know that it’s because I related to her same-sex attraction and experiences of homophobia.

The other transwoman is a “lesbian” - she only likes women. Specifically, she likes lesbians. Particularly cis lesbians. I don’t really know how to respond to her awkward, even creepy attempts at flirting (she follows me to the train station multiple times). She’s clearly very nerdy and very socially awkward, and so am I. But beyond that, I can’t find it in me to return the affection. I know I should be able to experience it, but I never could. I just can’t do it. No amount of reading about terfs and genital fetishism and transphobia and how wrong and sick and worthy of death all this is can make me right. I desperately want to want her. I know I should be able to.

The school year ends. Summer comes. I meet my first girlfriend on some dating app. By the time I’m back to school, I’m unavailable. The transwoman switches her attention to someone else, to a new, younger lesbian. I say nothing.

I’m 23 again. Every single girl who called herself a lesbian back in my GSA day is either dating a man, dating a transwoman, or is now openly calling herself pan/bi. One of them berates me on Facebook for objecting her demands that we relabel the LGBT community as the “Queer” community. Continues to call me queer and dyke throughout the discussion despite my repeated expressions of distaste for the slurs. One of her friends jumps in and calls me “privileged” for being a "cis lesbian”. The former lesbian blocks me after I deadname her - that’s right, she identifies as a “him” now. I didn’t even know until someone else told me later. A small loss.

I’m 22. It’s Pride and we’re at a gay club, so while the club is full, I’m perfectly aware that the actual ratio of gay to straight is not typical of the establishment. I’m also very aware of how I look on a clubbing night. It’s fine if someone is attracted to me, if they try to flirt with me, even if they’re male. I get it. But once I’ve stated obvious disinterest, and once you see me clearly trying to hook up with someone else, you should leave me the fuck alone.

The transwoman who shows up with my friend - apparently she’s her roommate - doesn’t understand this simple rule of etiquette. She tries to hit on me in the most awkward, pathetic way, while I’m desperately trying to wriggle away. I don’t want to hurt her feelings. Tonight is a night of celebration, and I’m not actually mean, contrary to popular belief. I’m also drunk, and I’m not sure how drunk she is, but I really don’t want to anger her. And finally, there’s this other girl. Ex of an ex. She’s a cutie. I want to tap that. But it’s hard when a scrawny boy wearing a choker and eyeliner keeps trying to get between the two of you.

All night long, the transwoman interferes in the other lesbian and I’s attempts at finding some time alone. She follows us to the atm. She sits between us when we find a table on the rooftop. She keeps trying to talk to me about the most absurdly uninteresting things while I desperately try to stay in group conversations. She’s so obsessed with herself, talking about her job, her parents, hell, even her hormones, and I’m not even sure if she even asked me anything about myself at any point, or if I ever got to spontaneously share. It may have been the alcohol, but throughout this whole ordeal, all I could think of was how heterosexual our rapport felt. She, the male, talking at me, apparently not seeing utter disinterest in my silence. Me, the female, not wanting to hurt her male feelings, quietly enduring.

Finally, we all decide to call it a night. We all need to take the last subway to go home. But as I’m about to join my friends, the girl I’ve been trying to hit on holds me back. “Wanna go dance?” She asks. She knows I’ve been wanting to, but no one else would, so I didn’t. I’m elated. I say yes.

The transwoman turns around. Looks at us. And says “you know what? I think I’ll stay.”

I don’t remember ever feeling this angry at someone in my life. By this time, she was more drunk than anyone else - she’d even been sick (in the women’s bathroom, naturally). We were responsible for her. But all we wanted was to go dance and then go home and have good old fashioned gay sex.

The night had a happy ending regardless of this “woman”’s interference. I regret not simply telling her, at the subway station “sorry, but we’re going home after this and we’re going to have sex and you’re not invited”. But there’s something terrifying about saying no to someone who is supposed to be oppressed, but still behaves like they have privilege. You know others will quickly jump to their defense if you don’t handle their feelings like they’re made of glass. And at the same time, they still have the power to seriously harm you.

This was just a collection of ramblings about the modern LGBT movement. There’s no conclusion to it. This is just it.

#transmisogyny #lesbophobia #homophobia #growing up gay #musings

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laristocratebohemienne · 4 years

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30 day self-care challenge I’m starting today

I’m starting a self-made 30 day self-care challenge. I will update you on my Snapchat about my journey: @aristocratebabe (well, everyday except day 4, see bellow).

Day 1 - get glamed up and take a hot selfie

Make yourself feel glowed up. Put the nicest outfit on, do your makeup, do your hair and take that selfie. Or find someone to take your photos, even better.

Day 2 - get 8 hours of sleep and wake up by 9 am

As a person who got used to waking up at noon, I feel like I’m done with this. I love nighttime, but I feel so guilty when I wake up late. So join me in this challenge and wake up by 9 am if your sleep schedule is crushed like mine or 1 hour earlier if you already wake up at 9 am. Just make sure to get 9 hours of sleep.

Day 3 - go for a hike/swim/run/speed walk with friend/s

Do some fitness activity outdoors, but make sure to so it with a friend or two. Why? If you’re an overthinker and you want to start taking care of yourself, socializing will help you so much. And also, taking a good workout will help you get the dopamine boost and you’ll get one step closer to your healthier self.

Day 4 - don’t go on social media for a full day

Social media isn’t the root of all evil, but it can be the root of envy and comparison. Today do not check your social media at all. Remember, it’s just one day, you’ll be back at it tomorrow. Tell your friends and family to text you on Whatsapp or other messaging app or simply call you, because you won’t be available on it this particular day. Extra challenge: at the end of a day, journal how you feel without Facebook, insta or tiktok. Is there a difference in your day? What did you do instead of checking SM?

Day 5 - Meditate & visualize

Do this challenge right after your previous challenge. Why? Social media might make you think that you want some things that you actually don’t want. When you visualize your life, you should visualize what YOU want, not what a random person in your hometown wants. This is YOUR life. Live it for yourself. And meditate before you visualize to ground yourself better.

Day 6 - Reach out to someone new in your field

Go to Linkedin or somewhere where professionals you want to be like reside, and reach out to them. Whether is it an e-mail or a Linkedin message. Do this. Tell them you’d like to be in their position once and if they could give you any advice. Try this with someone who seems active online.

Day 7 - Invite someone for coffee with whom you’d really like to meet

Maybe you already know this person, maybe not. But today you will invite someone you’d be wanting to become friends with or simply engage in conversation with. If you already have someone in mind, keep them and do it.

Day 8 - Make dinner for friends or family

Today you will connect better with your friends or family by making a special dinner. Or if you really don’t know how to cook, take them out and put the bill on yourself.

Day 9 - Make a gratitude list

Something easier than a few previous days, but today make a gratitude list. Write down everything you’re grateful for. It can be the birds in the sky or having a home to live in. Or it can be something more, anything you want, write it down!

Day 10 - Ask someone who seems “out of your league” on a date

I’m pretty sure everybody has that someone with whom they’d like to go on a date with. But maybe they are too scared that they are “out of your league”. First of all, if you’re a woman who takes care of herself (and by this day, you really are), no man is out of your league! Same goes for men and everyone else. If you’re taking care of yourself, loving yourself and getting your vibes up, no one is out of your league. Text them!

Day 11 - Read a book with topic that is unfamiliar to you

Knowledge is power. And it really is. Read any book (non-fiction) which is centered around a theme which is quiet unfamiliar to you. For this, I will go for a finance book. Because I definitely need to work on my money management!

Day 12 - Eat super clean

You need a detox. I’m pretty sure. On this day, you have to cut out all processed foods, added salt, sugar or saturated fats. You’re going on a detox. If you’re a smoker, you can’t smoke today. Just one day. I’m a smoker, too, so I completely understand the difficult this challenge might present, but that is what challenges are for.

Day 13 - Share this challenge with a friend or someone you know

Nobody likes to feel alone. You don’t have to keep this challenge a secret, you’re already on day 13. Tell someone you’re doing it and ask them to join you. Tell them how much your life has changed since doing this challenge.

Day 14 - No complaints

“But how am I gonna do this? I’m complaining all the time.” - stop it, sweetie. I know you’re complaining a lot and where did all these complaints lead you to? You were miserable, let’s see what’s gonna happen after this “no complaints” day ends.

Day 15 - Apply for a job position you dream of

I desire to be a model for example. But I have never felt eligible to apply for a modeling job before. I’m sure there’s a job position which you have been dreaming of for a while, but you didn’t even dare to apply. Today, you have to.

Day 16 - Do something creative

Pretend you’re an artist, musician, singer, photographer or other arts professional. Make a music video, take great photos, paint a full picture, write a short story. Today you will explore your artistic abilities.

Day 17 - Visit a place in your town where you usually don’t go

Choose a different coffee shop, place or a restaurant which you usually don’t visit in your area. Explore new places.

Day 18 - Do a brain dump

Write every idea, thought, memory, regret etc. that is on your mind. Get clarity and get inspired.

Day 19 - Track everything you did today

Track every activity you do this day and at which time. This can feel obsessive, but is extremly effective for your time management.

Day 20 - Write down your bucket list

The craziest, most exciting and thrilling things you will achieve in your life will be written here. Write about places you want to go to, activities you want to experience, romantic pleasures, financial goals... this is an extended brain dump.

Day 21 - Flirt with a stranger you find attractive

If this isn’t on your bucket list, i don’t know what is. Maybe you’re dating that person from day 10, if so, flirt with them and make them feel like they’re living in a movie. Dress up nicely, move like a siren, and talk seductively. Find your flirting style this way. Do something similar with an attractive stranger in your grocery store.

Day 22 - Plan your day so the majority of it you spend outside

Try not to stay so much inside your home today. If you’re working or going to school/University, after those, don’t go home. Go to a park, sit by the beach or anywhere to be outside. Invite a collegue with you. Or grab coffee with them. Just try to be outside more than inside today.

Day 23 - Do something out of your comfort zone at work/school/University today

During a lecture, answer to professor’s question or ask him something in front of everyone. At work, think of something you want to do so badly, but didn’t have the guts to make it. Today you have.

Day 24 - Join a class where you can learn a new and valuable skill

Whether it’s a dancing, yoga, improv, digital marketing, language or any other class where you can learn a new skill. Do it. And I know it’s corona happening now, but try to do it where you can be connected with other attendees. If it’s done on Zoom, make sure it’s a public class and nothing private. You want to be around people. This could also mean joining a gym.

Day 25 - Get a tattoo or a piercing you’ve been wanting to have for a long time

It’s important to get out of your comfort zone and make things happen in this self-care challenge. If you’ve been wanting to get a tattoo, but you delayed it because you didn’t know which one, brainstorm today and make an appointment. Same thing for piercing. If you don’t want this, dress the way you have always wanted to dress today. Treat yourself with style of your choice.

Day 26 - Do not use any technology

On day 4, you didn’t use social media, today you won’t be using your phone, laptop, tablet, play station, TV or any other tech device. Be analog and vintage. Let’s see how it goes. Note: announce this to your friends, family, partner.

Day 27 - Plan a country you will absolutely visit in the near future

If corona is stopping you at this, do this the next year. Plan a vacation for a foreign country that you absolutely will visit in the near future. You don’t have to have the whole itinerary planned, but set the date.

Day 28 - Learn an easy dance

Imagine when you go to the next party and show your friends those new moves! Learn some simple dance today, take an hour out of your day and broaden your experience.

Day 29 - Make a vision board

In the past 28 days, you have challenged yourself enough to get the idea of where your life should go. You stepped out of your comfort zone and took care of yourself. Maybe some of these habits remained with you. So today make a vision board. Vision boards are awesome because they help you focus on what lifestyle suits you and your goals. And the more you see it, the more your subconcious will think you already have it, and that is the key to manifesting goals.

Day 30 - Challenge your beliefs

For the last day of this challenge, take initiative and do something yourself. When you wake up today, ask yourself: “if I could do anything today, what would I do?” Find the closest possible solution to that problem and do something different today. Something which is very specific for you situation.

And there they are! My 30-day challenge is done. It’s a mix of self-care, productivity, and social challenges. All essentials for one’s growth and happiness.

Check my Snapchat: @aristocratebabe where I will update my progress!

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etraytin · 4 years

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Quarantine, Day 36

Well, the bar exam results did not post at 12:01am on April 17 I didn't really expect that they would, but I had to check anyway. Like three times. Oh well. It's not like it's MY ENTIRE LIFE'S WORK or anything. Calm, we are so very calm around here. Very zen. We have put on the Tinykittens livestream on the television to watch one of their foster mamas get ready to have kittens, and we are intensely, rigidly, singlemindedly relaxed.

Today was sewing day! I signed up with the local food bank to help with a drive-through distribution on Monday because they needed volunteers, but I don't really have a proper mask. I've got an elastic-backed bandana headband that does well enough for running around and moving cats, but for something like this, I want to be masked up. And why should I not make my own masks? I'm crafty, I'm reasonably clever, and most importantly, I have my own sewing machine. Specifically, I have my mom's old sewing machine from the early nineties that I have never really learned how to use despite my best intentions, but let's not pick nits. It's a sewing machine, and it works. How hard could it be? (she asked with innocent hubris and massive amounts of unearned self-confidence.)

I spent the first part of the morning running more cats to the spay clinic, but that was so early in the morning it barely counts. After that, I pulled the sewing machine's rolly suitcase into the living room and set it up on a TV tray because we do not have an eating table and my husband and son were using both our desks for their various schools. A half hour of reading the user manual (copyright 1988) and watching some YouTube videos was enough to let me get the machine threaded, and I was ready to go! I was ready to... snap the thread instantly! I was ready to fuck around some with the tension dial so maybe it would not do that! I was ready to rethread the bobbin so it would not do that other thing! I was ready to make an absolutely unholy tangle, five or six times in a row! It was all amazing, I am clearly a prodigy.

It was around this point that I adjusted my expectations for churning out a couple masks and decided today would be a practice day. I cut a few squares out of an old t-shirt and practiced doing simple straight seams, which is apparently a lot harder than it looks. It took another four or five hours to routinely be able to make more than one seam in a row without rethreading everything, but I'm getting a lot better! And as a bonus,, I've been seaming rectangles on three and a half sides, then turning them inside out so the kiddo can stuff them with polyfil and sew them shut into pillows. His stitches, while a little large, are surprisingly straight! Good job. I think that with some continued work, I will be able to turn a pillowcase into a couple of credible masks before Monday. I hope, anyway.

Today was also exciting because it was GROCERY DAY. I have been waiting a very long time for this day, with my extremely large aspirational shopping list and very high hopes. The most important part first: they did include the 100 pack of colored pencils! I'm so excited! I ended up with eight unavailable items (including the pencil sharpener unfortunately), and 20 substitutions, but for the most part the substitutions were sensible and often much better than what I'd asked for in the first place. I am 1000% not going to quibble if they want to assuage my disappointment in not getting the pints of ice cream I wanted by subbing in gallons of a different flavor. That is more than okay with me, dudes! They also threw in a bag of someone else's groceries, consisting of some baby cheetos, a box of infant Midol, and a red onion, and I haven't seen my Sour Patch Kids anywhere. But for pity's sake, there's a pandemic on, and when you play Game of Groceries, you 'get what you get and you don't make a fit,' as one of the kiddo's preschool teachers used to tell him. I gave the guys a glowing five star review and left a comment on the corporate Facebook about the good job the store was doing. They are not allowed to take tips at Walmart, which blows, but hopefully that will help them a little at least.

So all in all, we have enough groceries to last us at least a month, though we'll probably have to go out for milk, OJ and bread a couple of times. The fridge is packed, as is the freezer (three gallons is a fuck of a lot of ice cream, my friends,) and the pantry. In looking at it all, I am willing to concede that I may have become a little squirrel brained this week, especially after the check came in yesterday, and that when I go to the food drive on Monday I should probably take a couple bags of stuff. Nobody needs fifteen cans of pasta sauce to last a month, and we still haven't eaten five of those cans of Spam I had before. There is a fine line between feeling good for having enough and feeling bad because you have too much and other people don't. On the other hand, I bought all the ingredients for key lime pie, plus a carton of fresh whipping cream. It's going to be _so good._ We also have five bunches of bananas, but that was just an accident. Good thing we've got that banana bread with chocolate chips recipe! Still no toilet paper to be had, but we have enough for now.

Found a fun free game on the App store called Seedship, that killed a couple of hours while I tried to save a sleeper ship full of the last remnants of the human race. Kiddo is reading Bunnicula for the second day in a row, he likes it! I'm glad, I used to love that book. He's also learning to do some fairly sophisticated math for fourth grade involving adding fractions of a circle's radius. I had to think for a minute to figure out what 5/8 of a full rotation would be, and then encourage him to think in the right way to figure it out too. It is 225 degrees, which we figured out in our heads by starting with the clue that 1/4=90 degrees, changing that to 2/8, then dividing it in half to get 1/8=45 degrees. He did nearly all of it himself, too, with just a little nudging from me, and then went on to figure out twelfths as well, then how to add various fractions to figure out total degrees. I'm very proud of him!

I wonder if it's going to be weird in future years if I or anyone else comes back to look at this and notices that I journal hardly at all about world events, and a huge amount about the contents of my pantry. The contents of my pantry is way less depressing. Reading the news is scary or sad or infuriating or frustrating, but digging out leftovers and cleverly combining them into a new casserole is both productive and fun. It's important, I think, to feel a sense of control, even when very little is controllable. That's maybe not the biggest reason I'm still trying to volunteer, but it's definitely on the list. You're not helpless if you can help others, even in small ways, even if that other is just a cat who doesn't even like you.

Still no bar exam results. It's gonna be a long day.

#quarantine #covid-19 #bar exam #sewing #sewing machine

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bonjourmoncher · 5 years

Link

You can contact Hamilton Lindley by: Phone at 254-759-5866 Email at [email protected] And mail at 1020 N. University Parks Drive, Waco, TX 76706

After ten years in Dallas, Hamilton Lindley moved his family of five to the home of the Baylor Bears. Hamilton P Lindley realized the brainwashing of his daughter was complete after she believed that the Baylor Bear mascots hibernate only after “eating all them Longhorns.” If you have the desire to see too many photos of Hamilton Lindley’s family, you can find Hamilton Philip Lindley on Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, and Instagram.

Let’s get straight to the point, shall we?

Busy people can be incredibly difficult to connect with.

You know the drill. You send an email, then you wait. And wait. And wait some more. You get no reply, so you try again. More of the same. Eventually, you give up.

If this sounds familiar, well, you’re not alone. Most men have struggled, at some point in their career, to try to connect with someone who is incredibly busy. Whether it’s a potential employer, a possible mentor, a dream client, or even just to connect with a girl so you can ask her out on a date, contacting a busy person can be very difficult.

Does that mean you give up? Heck no. Often, there is a good reason why busy people are so busy. Namely, it is because they are successful, and they’re successful because they are smart and well-connected and have access to resources or knowledge that might make all the difference in the world to you…if you can just break through.

But if you’re like most men, you’ve struggled with trying to figure out how to go about making that contact. How can you get the person’s attention? What should you say and how do you say it? Where do you even start? Should you follow-up if they ignore you? And new means of communication in the form of social media, Skype, text messaging, and blog commenting has made this issue even more confusing and challenging.

Throughout my career, I’ve tested just about every different approach for contacting busy people. I’ve also spent the past 2+ years reaching out to very busy entrepreneurs and authors to appear as guests on my podcast. I’ve tried techniques that work like a charm and other strategies that are guaranteed to bomb. Below, I include the best of what has worked for me.

Art of Manliness has previously covered how to write an email that will get a response. In this article, however, I want to share more of an overarching approach which can be (and often is) implemented using email, but which is also medium-agnostic. Email is what I’ve used the most and is still an effective vehicle. However, you should also consider other approaches such as face-to-face and social media where appropriate. To contact AoM’s reclusive McKays, you’ll even need to be willing to write a good old-fashioned letter! (Word is if they start getting too much snail mail to handle, they’re going to move to requiring messages by homing pigeon.)

Although it can feel like a daunting task trying to connect with a busy person, the rewards when you succeed can often be game-changing. You just have to be smart about how you make your first move.

Put Yourself in Their Shoes

At the outset, you must understand that busy people get hundreds, if not thousands, of requests for help, aide, or resources every week. Not surprisingly, a large portion of them look and sound exactly the same. “Can you help me?” “Can I pick your brain?” “I’ve got an awesome idea that I know you’re gonna love!”

Don’t kid yourself. You might think your request is incredibly original or immensely valuable to the busy person, but they’ve probably already heard it before (A new app that will make you more productive? NO WAY!) Naturally, they’re going to be a little apprehensive.

Before you even think about reaching out, you need to get your mindset right. Even if you have the best of intentions, and think your request is a relatively minor one, don’t expect an answer. By definition, “busy” people can’t possibly respond to every inquiry. They’re not being rude — they’re just prioritizing. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t be as successful as they are.

According to Steve Pavlina, author of Personal Development for Smart People, “If you can accept that busy people must triage in order to be effective and have a life, and you can respect them for setting priorities, you’ll have a much better shot at building a bridge with them.”

Here are 8 tips for contacting a busy person:

1. Try to Connect Before You Ask for Anything

The worst way of contacting a busy person is to ask them for something in your first attempt to connect with them. A much better approach is to reach out and contact the person long before you ever actually ask for anything.

One way to do this is via social media. Look for creative ways to quote, feature, or mention the busy person, by including them in a blog post or article you are writing, and then share it with them afterwards via social media. A single tweet might be all it takes to “grease the wheels” and get the conversation started.

Continue to build the relationship by doing things like sharing their content, promoting them, or simply sending relevant resources their way. To do this, you need to really get to know the busy person and understand what they are working on or could use help with. Be patient and allow the connection to grow organically before you jump in and start asking for favors. Don’t burn the bridge before you build it.

Another frequently overlooked option is to examine your existing network and see if you have any ties back to that person. A friend? Business associate? Anything that can be used to show commonality between you and the other person will help.

“Getting someone else to introduce you is one way to get someone’s attention,” says networking expert Lynne Waymon co-author of Make Your Contacts Count. “Find out who you both have in common and ask ‘Will you introduce me?’”

2. Keep Your Communications Brief

“Just a tip of advice. Never write on both sides of the sheet when you are sending a letter to a busy man.” –Jack London, Letter to Louis Stevens, March 24, 1913

Save your life story for another time. The shorter the message, the more likely you will get a reply. And the busier the person, the more important it is that you not waste their time.

First, always start your correspondence with a relevant subject line that’s clear and to the point. The recipient should be able to quickly tell why they would benefit from opening your message, how they know you, or ideally, both.

“Can you help me?” With what? Your business? Your math homework? There’s about as much value here as in a rubber crutch. You don’t have to be psychic to know that this one is headed straight for the oval file.

“Podcast Appearance to Promote Your New Book” is a much better subject line. By clearly stating what it is you want, and more importantly, how it will benefit the other person, you are much more likely to get your email opened.

Being brief also means excluding anything that isn’t necessary. It’s okay to open with a couple lines of pleasantries about your connection/affinity for the person. “I’m a big fan of what you do and I’ve been reading your magazine for five years now,” or “Seeing your TED talk made me decide to switch my major to biology.” A bit of praise will get your email off on the right start and build rapport. But keep your opening to no more than two sentences.

Keep the main body of your email as succinct as you can as well; aim to make your pitch in five sentences or less. You don’t need to attach your 100-page business plan or a dozen pictures of your prototype before you’ve explained what it is that you actually want. Remember, be respectful of a busy person’s time and wait for the green light before sending follow-up information, if they are open to it.

3. Do Your Research First and Ask Specific Questions

“I do detest being asked general advice, because, in reply, I must do one of two things: (1) Either write two or three books handling the replies or (2) damp the replies by giving only a few short sentences.

What I mean is, any time ask me for particular specific advice, and I shall be only too glad to place myself at your service.

Please remember that I write thousands of letters every year to unknown correspondents. And please remember, (1) that I do not like to write for a living…and that (2) therefore, when I have written all the books that I have written and upon which I work every day, that I am so tired of writing that I’d cut off my fingers and toes in order to avoid writing…

Anyway, please remember that you can call upon me any time for SPECIFIC PARTICULAR advice on any subject.” -Jack London, Letter to Cordie Ingram, April 9, 1913

When you reach out to a busy person, do so with very specific questions in mind. You may only get one shot at this, so you want the questions you ask to offer the most metaphorical bang for your buck; make them questions where you cannot find out the answers anywhere else, and for which you absolutely need the busy person’s unique perspective/connections/input.

So first research the answers to the list of questions you have in mind as rigorously as you can, and see what you can find out from easier-to-access sources. You need to show the busy person you’ve done your homework. Tim Ferriss, author of The 4-Hour Workweek, says “It’s amazing how many would-be mentees or beneficiaries ask busier people for answers Google could provide in 20 seconds.” In Ferriss’ words, “That puts you on the banned list.”

Not only should you do research before you reach out to a busy person, you should also try to get going on your project/business before you ask them for help. “Don’t ever ask a busy person to ‘pick their brain’ before you begin working on your project or idea,” says AoM’s own Brett McKay. “Instead, wait until it’s really underway, you’re in the thick of it, and you run into a specific problem.” Advice on starting something is typically plentiful and readily available. So save your “Phone-a-Friend” lifeline for when you’ve done all you can on your own and you’ve reached a wall you can’t figure out how to break through.

What specific question you should ask will vary depending on your situation, so it’s easier to explain what types of questions you should not ask. Typical examples of the types of generic questions you should not ask include:

I don’t know how to get started with ______. What would you recommend I do?

Do you think ____ would apply to my situation?

I’m confused about ______ and I’m not sure why I’m not getting it. Do you have any suggestions?

A better approach than these generic questions is to explain 2 or 3 specific options you are considering and ask for specific feedback on this discrete choice.

When you take this approach, you can “make use of your opportunity and ask better questions about specific topics rather than just peppering someone with general inquires,” says McKay. “The time you land with a busy person is valuable, so use it to ask the highest leverage questions you possibly can.”

4. Make Your Pitch Something to Which They Can Say Yes or No

If the question you have for a busy person regards whether or not they want to work with you on something, make your pitch as clear as possible. In other words, don’t ask an open-ended question like, “Would you like to partner with us somehow?” It’s not the busy person’s job to think of ways you two might team up. It’s your responsibility to come up with a specific proposal. A proposal a busy person can answer with a yes or a no.

5. Show Up in Person

Think for a minute about how many sales calls or how much junk mail you receive in a week. The majority of these items are deleted before they are ever opened. The multitude of requests busy people receive often suffer the same fate.

Now consider what you would do if the person making that same plea was standing right in front of you. Not quite so easy to ignore them now, is it?

Waymon says if there is a particular busy person you want to connect with, you should find out what groups or organizations they are part of and see how you can add value to those groups. Perhaps you can join a committee they are on or offer to help with something they’re passionate about.

“Studies show that it often takes 6 contacts with someone before they know who you are and have you placed in their mental Rolodex,” says Waymon. “So committee work and small group activities are good ways to create that continued contact.”

Being part of the same team can get your foot in the door, but you have to be ready when opportunity strikes. “Always have an agenda. Before the meeting think of three or four things you’d like to find out or know more about. Also, be ready to talk about three or four things you’re excited about — personally or professionally,” says Waymon. “Since people want to do business with people they trust, your overall goal is always to teach people to trust you.”

6. Keep Bringing Value

The chances of getting what you want become exponentially better when you offer something of value. A lot of people struggle with how to find something of “value” to offer, but really the options are limitless.

One of the best ways to provide value to a busy person is by helping them to promote their new book, project, business, or event. You can do this in a variety of ways:

Write an online review on Amazon, Yelp, or other review site.

Feature the busy person in an article on your blog or someone else’s blog.

Offer to introduce the busy person to someone relevant. But be sure to ask first.

Interview the person for your podcast, or if you don’t have a podcast, record a simple interview using a free service like FreeConferenceCall.com and upload it to your blog or SoundCloud (also free). Keep in mind that if your audience is very small, the busy person will likely make a cost benefit analysis and decide that the amount of promotion you can offer is less than the value of their limited time.

Create a Click to Tweet link explaining why you love the particular person’s work and share it with all your friends like this.

Even if you don’t have a blog or podcast, you can record a simple video with the webcam built into your laptop and upload it to YouTube, where millions of people will watch it before going back to watching videos of a cat playing the piano.

Bottom line: Find out what it is they need, or who they want to connect with, and make it happen.

7. Assert Yourself

When you make a request, not only is the message itself important, but so is the tone in which you present it. Michelle Lederman, author of The 11 Laws of Likability, talks about approaching the conversation from what she calls the “middle ground.” You should come off as “not passive, not aggressive, but assertive” says Lederman. Think confident, but not cocky. And definitely not meek.

Lederman also recommends going for the “convenient ask.” Make it as easy as possible for them to say yes to the request. For instance, give the busy person specific dates and times to choose from. Offer to meet them at the location of their choosing. Anything you can do to simplify the request can help.

Finally, Lederman recommends creating a sense of “scarcity.” Create a deadline for a blog post or article so that if the busy person wants to be included, they will need to respond by a particular date in order to make it happen. Having a deadline elicits more responses since these types of requests are harder to push off until later (which usually results in the busy person forgetting to come back to the request).

8. Follow Up (Within Reason)

Now, what do you do if you don’t get a reply? Should you follow up, and if so, how? “I think the secret to building meaningful relationships is following up,” says Jeff Goins, author of The Art of Work. But Goins cautions that you have to be careful how quickly or eagerly you follow up. “If you’re too aggressive, it can hurt you. But if you’re too lax, you can miss an opportunity.”

Goins says he will reach out once, then follow up a week later if he doesn’t have a response yet. If he still hasn’t heard back by then, he will “follow up after another week or two with a ‘hey if I don’t hear back from, I won’t bother you again’ email and then move on.” If Goins is really determined, he says he might try a completely different approach. “I may try another way to build trust with the person, like finding a way to meet them in person, but I won’t try the same way that failed before.”

Brett and Kate McKay have a similar suggestion. They say you should follow up once two weeks after sending the original email, and then 6 months later. “Sometimes the busy person will be in a different phase or season of busyness where their circumstances have changed and they’ll be more receptive to the reach out,” says Brett.

If you want to follow up after a week or two, you can use this script:

Hey George, I just wanted to follow up on my prior email once, in case my previous email got lost in your inbox.

If you aren’t interested, I won’t take offense. If you are interested, let me know. I will send one courtesy follow-up after this email in case the timing right now does not work for you.

-John

By indicating in your message that you are just following up as a courtesy and that the busy person need not respond if they truly are not interested, you are respectful of their time while also balancing the possibility that they really didn’t see your email the prior time around.

Start Contacting Busy People

Remember: busy people aren’t selfish and inconsiderate; I’ve actually found the opposite to be true — that some of the busiest people are actually the most giving types of people. But they also want to be efficient with their time. Remember that the time they give to you is time they sacrifice from working on their own businesses or spending time with their families. So contact them in a way that respects this reality and impinges on their schedule as lightly as possible.

While the entire process may sound intimidating and overly complex, you shouldn’t be intimidated. Like any challenge, connecting with busy people is a skill that you can develop over time. And it’s worth the effort.

“Don’t underestimate your value to someone else,” says Lederman. “There are so many things you can bring to the table that you don’t realize. A little bit of legwork goes a long way.”

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ghostofwriting · 5 years

Text

Untitled

Word Count: 3,755

Warnings: Okay so I don’t really know but probably light obsession? Is light stalking a thing? Not from the reader or towards the reader.

AN: So this is the thing I wrote that I don’t know what to call, what to do with or how to explain.

I figured I would just post it.

Tell me what you think.

She only has herself to blame. She loves him. She’s in love with him and it’s her own fault. She works for him, he’s her damn boss and she couldn’t stop herself from feeling things for him.

The worst part is that she has to watch him day in and day out with the person that he’s in love with.

It’s crazy how in tune she is with him, or at least she thinks she’s in tune with him.

She knows how in love he is because of the way he looks at y/n. It’s the same way she looks at him.

Y/n is oblivious to the way she brightens up his entire day when she walks into a room, or the way he’s always looking to find her in a crowd. He gravitates towards her and she to him but she doesn’t notice.

She loves him and she hates him but mostly she hates herself for falling in love with someone who could never love her back because she’s invisible and could never compete with his childhood best friend.

***

He kisses her in the early hours of one Saturday where they spent the whole night partying and getting drunk.

Right after he does he’s crying and sliding down a wall and holding his head in his hands, mumbling about how she’ll never love him.

He says something about her, not understanding, little does he know that she understands perfectly how unrequited love feels.

When they wake up it is midday and he’s apologizing profusely, talking about how unprofessional he was and how he hopes she’ll forgive him.

Of course, she will, she can never stay mad at him.

She finds out the reason he got drunk was because he had just found out the person he was in love with was taken.

She hides the smile trying to make an appearance and instead helps him nurse his hangover.

Maybe she does have a chance after all. Y/n had someone else and it’s his turn to have someone else.

So her plan starts on that cloudy Saturday.

Get Shawn to fall in love with her starts now.

***

She’s extra present whenever he needs her. She’s at his beck and call and that might sound desperate but that’s what love is right? It’s doing anything the person you love wants.

He’s really appreciative of her and he’s giving her more attention than he ever has and if anything, she falls more each time he gives her his crooked smile.

He’s trying to move on, has told her just as much, trying to forget the feelings he’s felt for his best friend for so many years and she hopes that he finally lets her go.

She knows it isn’t that easy though, if it was, she wouldn’t love him anymore.

Since she has the first-hand experience with trying to move on, she’ll be patient with him. She’ll be there whenever he has the urge to crawl back into the y/n spaced hole in his heart.

y/n isn’t around much, not since she got a boyfriend, it could also be because she’s busy with school but all in all, she hasn’t been around which gives her a chance to make herself part of his heart.

y/n is normal, y/n doesn’t understand his lifestyle, y/n deserves someone normal and he deserves someone who knows the ins and outs of the industry. Someone who can help him rise to the top.

She’ll always put him first and y/n can’t do that.

***

The days pass by and no one dares mention y/n when she’s around because she’ll always glare at them, they know not to upset him and her name does just that.

Whenever she finds him on her social media, she takes his phone and hides it, smiling at him when he groans sarcastically. She thinks he’s starting to feel something too.

She can’t win Brian over, it’s weird because everyone loves her, but she can’t seem to shake his glares like he’s in on something that she doesn’t even know.

When she walks into a room to talk to Shawn and Brian’s in there, he’ll huff and scoff, and glare. He’ll walk away from anywhere near her and wait until she’s gone to approach Shawn again.

She thinks he’s being childish for whatever reason but she doesn’t care, as long as his attitude doesn’t influence Shawn in any way.

***

She finds out that y/n breaks up with her boyfriend when Shawn storms into the green room and lifts her off her feet, kissing her cheek, all smiles, he’s glowing and she wants to know why.

“What! What is it?” She asks giggling as he puts her down.

“Y/n’s single! And she’s coming in three days.” He’s so happy he doesn’t even notice that he’s stabbed her in the heart. She thought that they were making progress, she thought that he at least thought of her as a potential romantic partner but y/n’s single and he forgets about her?

He’s laughing when Brian walks in the room, tackling his friend, the two men embracing. She doesn’t notice Brian’s glares, too busy being heartbroken.

“I’m gonna tell her,” Shawn says. She hears Brian say finally as she walks out of the room, the world spinning around her.

Doesn’t he know that this is a bad idea? That she’s just going to use him and break his heart? She isn’t good enough for him and she’s going to prove it.

She doesn’t know when she snaps, but she does and she thinks she’s right.

***

y/n being here is driving her insane, it’s her laugh and the way she talks and walks and exists.

The worst part is that y/n had never been anything but sweet to her. That made her hate her even more, someone couldn’t be that nice. She had to be hiding something, something that Shawn wouldn’t like and she was going to find out what.

And if she couldn't? She would make something up.

After all, she wasn’t above that, it was what was best for him. It was all for him.

***

She’s about to walk into the green room when he hears them talking, her heart stops and crumbles.

“I think I’ve always loved you, I’ve just been too afraid to admit it because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.” It’s her sickeningly sweet voice confessing her feelings for her Shawn.

Who did she think she was? She broke his heart. She dated someone else and ignored him for months and she thinks she can come back and just claim him?

She wasn’t there on the drunken nights when he drank himself sick. She wasn’t there to see him cry over her. She wasn’t there to pick up the pieces and put him back together.

Shawn was smart, he would see right through her act and remember who was there for him this whole time.

When Shawn does the complete opposite of that and he tells her how long he’s been waiting for this, how much he loves her and how he can’t wait for whatever they do next, she’s shaking with rage.

He’s so dumb. So stupid, how could he be so blind? She doesn’t deserve him and he’s going to show him.

Brian pops up from behind her and smirks, she puts a fake smile on her face and walks away.

She had to find something.

***

“I’m going on a coffee run, does anyone want anything?” y/n’s standing in the middle of the room, eyeing everyone, the smile on her face could not be real.

Great, she’s been on tour with them for two months and she’s already trying to take her job.

What is it about her that makes everyone swoon? What did y/n have that she didn’t?

She watches Shawn watch her. He looks at her like she put the stars and the moon in the sky.

He watches her like she put the universe together and gifted it to him.

He watches him like he’s the earth and she’s the moon and they’re being pulled to each other.

He watches her like he lives and breathes for her and it makes her want to puke.

She’s watching him so she misses the way y/n looks at him.

Like he’s the sun and she shines for him and only him.

She also misses the way Brian notices the scowl on her face.

***

When y/n comes back with their drinks she’s hoping that the woman got something wrong, that she could point it out and somehow everyone would turn against her.

Obviously, that wouldn’t happen because it’s just some drink orders but she was hoping that Shawn would notice that she’s better at coffee runs than his girlfriend.

That word makes her sick.

When everyone leaves to watch Shawn perform, she stays behind to work. She was going to wait it out, wait until y/n went back to school at the end of the summer to create doubt in Shawn’s head about her, but it was getting too serious so she had to do something now.

She waits a few seconds before she’s running across the room towards y/n’s laptop.

Y/n hadn’t even logged out, she wasn’t even smart. She doesn’t know what Shawn sees in her at all.

She’s snooping trying to find something, anything that will incriminate her in Shawn’s eyes, and when she finds nothing she wants to scream.

Her phone goes off startling her, it’s a message from her mom asking her when she’ll come home and visit. She ignores it looking at the messaging icon. Perfect.

She clicks on the facebook icon on the laptop and it takes her right to y/n’s account. She’s giddy on the inside, she’s going to get him back. It’s for his own good.

She finds y/n’s ex's name and starts typing a message to him, not before revoking all access to Facebook from any mobile app. Just to buy her enough time without alerting y/n.

He’s luckily online and responds immediately.

She channels her inner y/n and her plan starts.

She’s about to send one more when she hears footsteps approaching.

She jumps to the couch and pulls out her phone, the laptop still glowing but off the facebook page. She hopes whoever it is doesn’t notice.

Brian walks in, eyeing her before grabbing a sweater that’s too small to be his. Just like that he’s gone.

She breathes a sigh of relief and waits until she can play out the second part of her plan.

***

“I have to show you something my mom sent me but it’s logged me out and I can’t remember my password so it’ll have to wait.” She hears the sugary sweet voice say.

Shawn nods and kisses the side of her head and then her cheek. The sight makes her shiver.

“I’ll be right back, Brian needed me for something.” She internally groans. Brian hated her. She knew that much by now, she didn’t know why. And it pissed her off to no end that he seemed to adore y/n. Yeah, they had been friends for a long time too, but wouldn’t you be happy for anyone your best friend dates? As long as your best friend was happy? She doesn’t think Brian will ever like her so she’ll have to get rid of him too.

First y/n, then Brian.

Shawn’s surfing on his phone when she plops beside him.

“Hey, stranger.” She shoves his shoulder with hers and he smiles, looking up at her.

“Hey, didn’t see you out there.” He had noticed she wasn’t there, had missed her.

“Had to get some work done.” She puts on a sad face, a look of concern growing on Shawn’s face.

“What’s wrong?” She sighs, looking down at her hands and looking back up at him regretfully.

“y/n’s computer kept going off and it was annoying me so I went over to shut it but-” she cuts herself off, putting her hand over his and swallowing the ball in her throat.

“I’m so sorry.” She sees fear creep into his expression and he shakes his head.

“Is she okay? What is it?” His voice is shaking and she suddenly doesn’t want to break his heart, but it’s what’s best for him.

For them.

“Shawn, she’s talking to her ex.” Shawn sighs and she sees the tension leave his body.

“Yeah, I know that they’re friends, they have to be, they’re in the same year and same program.” Of course, she was one to be friends with her exes, that perfect little angel.

“These messages weren’t about school. They were more seductive than that.”

“No, no way.” Shawn’s in disbelief.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t believe you.” He’s shaking his head and he can see the doubt building.

“They’re right over there. Go see for yourself.” He’s hesitating, and she knows it’s because he doesn’t want to invade y/n’s privacy, so she pushes him.

“She’ll delete them before you can see that she’s cheating on you, why do you think she didn’t let you see the thing her mom sent herd? It was in case he sent her a message while you were using her phone.” That’s the push he needs to let the doubt win and walk over to y/n’s laptop.

She stays put in her spot and watches as he logs into her laptop that had gone into sleep mode, sees as he tenses and starts to shake with rage.

When he turns around, his eyes are dark, full of anger and sadness.

There’s silence for a few moments and she’s going to get up and comfort him when y/n walks in, Brian trailing behind her.

Shawn’s face morphs into something that breaks her heart when he sees y/n. He isn’t angry at her, he’s just devastated, he’s broken. She did that to him.

It’s for the best, she tells herself.

“Babe?” y/n walks over to him and reaches for his hand but he shakes her off.

“How could you?”

“How could I what?”

“You fucking know what!” Shawn screams, making her flinch. Y/n doesn’t bat an eyelash, her concern for him increasing.

“I really don’t.”

“I can’t wait to feel your lips all over my body.” Shawn recites one of the messages she typed out. y/n’s look of concern turns into confusion. She avoids eye contact with Brian and sinks deeper into the couch.

“I miss how you feel inside me.” Y/n’s whispering his name, trying to get through to him but he doesn’t listen, reciting more messages she had sent.

“I want it hard and fast.”

“Stop.” y/n says, her voice calm.

“No, you stop. Pack all your shit and get out.” y/n tries to speak but he doesn’t let her.

“Get the fuck out y/n! I never want to see you again.” She looks down when she sees the tears streaming down y/n’s face. When y/n doesn’t move, Shawn yells again, “Get out!”

Y/n moves past him, grabbing all her things and storming out of the room.

As soon as she leaves the room, she picks up her head and watches as Shawn crumbles. His knees crashing to the floor along with his hands.

Before she can go to him, Brian’s there, rubbing his back, trying to pick him up.

While Shawn’s crying, she’s there in shock.

This is what’s best. It’s for the best. It will get better. He will thank her.

***

“I know you’re behind this.” Brian is standing at the door frame, hands crossed over his chest, anger all over his face.

“What?” She sets her phone next to her, ready to play the part.

“Don’t play dumb. I see the way you look at him, at them, I know how you feel.” His voice is so certain of what he’s saying and it scares her that everyone else will believe him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I talked to y/n and she has no recollection of sending those messages.” Why couldn’t he just blindly follow Shawn and ignore y/n. Now she had to convince him too.

“She’s obviously lying.” Brian shakes his head clearly not believing a word she’s saying.

“I walked into that green room and the laptop wasn’t sleeping.” She shrugs her shoulders.

“A laptop doesn’t go to sleep after half an hour?” She moves her hand in a “so what” motion and Brian chuckles.

“I don’t know, maybe it’s a setting.” He’s not going to believe her, y/n has her claws too far into him.

“The only reason you’re getting away with this right now is that Shawn is too hurt to listen.”

“I’m not getting away with anything.”

“Not for long,” Brian says, slamming the door behind him. She glares at the closed door, her mind reeling.

Time to get rid of Brian.

***

She doesn’t even have time to get rid of Brian before Shawn is coming up to her, anger written all over his face and she’s already cowering before he’s in front of her.

“What the hell?” He screams. He’s so angry, he’s never seen him like this, never towards anyone and definitely not towards her.

“You know what? I don’t give a shit, pack your things, you’re fired, effective immediately.” His words shock her and she’s flying after him as he leaves.

“No! Shawn, please!” She’s gripping his arm pulling him towards her and he’s shaking her off.

“You have no place here, I don’t know who you think you are to mess with people like that but you need to leave.” He flings her off and security comes down the hallway as he starts walking away. She sees y/n standing next to Brian, her face not angry but sad.

“I love you!” She yells after Shawn.

“You don’t do what you did to me to people you love.” He turns around to look at her, a shadow cast over his face before turning back around and walking towards y/n and Brian.

She can’t break through to him, she knows that now, not when his heart belongs so completely to someone else. She should have realized earlier, her heart belonged to him and no one could break through that. She’s pulled away, her eyes not leaving his frame and the way his hands look for hers in comfort.

***

She’s packing her things when there’s a knock at the door and it opens right after before she can respond.

When she turns around, y/n is standing there. She stares at the woman, her hair framing her face perfectly. She has no makeup on, has bags under her eyes and is wearing sweats and a hoodie and she is still one of the most beautiful people she has ever laid eyes on.

She never wanted to admit it, but she always knew y/n was beautiful, tried to convince herself that that is why Shawn loved her so much.

Y/n isn’t alone, Jake is standing right behind her. He’s there too, she sees him peak his head in when y/n steps closer to enter the room, sees as his hand reaches out to pull at her sleeve so she doesn’t walk further into the room before stepping off to the side.

They’re probably scared they’ll hurt y/n. She would never, not like that, not in the way they’re thinking.

She’s glad she can’t see Shawn anymore, can’t bear to see the pure loathing on his face.

“Hi.” She wants to hate y/n more, the way she greets her with no animosity, just genuine concern.

“Hello.” She says softly. She can’t hate her though, not anymore, she’s exhausted.

“I just wanted to see how you were doing?” She wants to cry. How could she have ever wanted anything better for Shawn? Anything better than someone who cares about everyone, even someone who tried to ruin her relationship.

“Humiliated, ashamed, guilty, sorry.” Y/n gives her a gentle smile.

“It’s okay.” y/n was really here telling her that everything she had done was okay?

“How?”

“Feeling all that means that you learned something from all this.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I forgive you. It’s your turn to forgive yourself.” How could someone be so freaking special? How could someone be so understanding and nice? She knows what Shawn sees in her now, imagine having this energy in your life for your whole life? Of course, he couldn’t resist.

“Thank you.”

y/n goes to move closer and two hands jump out to stop her. One of Jake’s is gripping her shoulder, and Shawn is once again pulling her from her hoodie, this time from her back.

“No.” he whispers from the door.

y/n turns to both men squeezes Shawn’s hand and nods.

“I’m fine.” When she steps into the room, Shawn comes into full view, Jake is quick to follow y/n into the room, standing behind her once more.

y/n stretches her arms out and waits for her to come closer before wrapping her up in a hug.

She really does feel forgiven, at least from y/n because when she looks behind her, she catches Shawn’s eyes and the worry in them. The worry that his whole world is in the arms of a crazy person.

She can’t blame him. She would be scared too.

y/n pulls away, one hand on each shoulder and squeezes.

“Now you get to go out there and do better.” Is the last thing y/n says before she’s walking back to Shawn, the tension leaving his body once she’s back in his arms.

He doesn’t even look back at her and she’s okay with it.

She sees it now, sees it completely. They are meant for each other. They have been sculpted by the gods and put on this earth to be with one another and she can’t come in the way of that. She won’t. No one could.

To him, she’s the sun and he orbits around her and to her he’s the sun and she orbits around him. They are equal. They’re soulmates.

She needs to go out there and learn from this and find her own soulmate.

#untitled

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fictionalboysarejustbetter · 4 years

Text

Friendships from Afar

Distance creates a barrier of trust. There are no worries. There is always a safety net to fall back on that protects from hurt or pain. Beginning in second grade, my personal goal had always been to find a singular, perfect friend who lives far away. We could talk openly with each other, and I would have the ability to be myself. The plan is that years later, I would meet this person in the weirdest of circumstances, and we would be best friends forever. It’s even better if this friend is a guy, so then we can both fall in love and get married to live happily ever after.

In second grade, the entire class received school pen pals, and while my fourth-grade pen pal was not ideal, I knew I loved this “secret” letter writing system where I am just Rebecca, nothing more or less. Moving into fifth grade, Mrs. Smith found me a pen pal from China. Through our teachers, we would send each other letters back and forth until the school year was over. From this moment onward, I was hooked; pen pals didn’t care what I looked like or how shy I was or how involved my mother was with the school, I could just be me, and they only knew the information I told them. Without asking for help, I scavenged through the internet, trying to collect pen pals as if they were Webkinz. I was convinced this perfect friend could only be found on pen pal websites that look like they were made by my fellow fifth graders.

Starting in sixth grade, I would spend night after night stalking the profiles of random teenagers on Students of the World, a supposedly “safe” pen pal website for kids. Gender? Who cares. Age? About 10-16. Likes? Reading, of course. Language? English please. I would then press search and sift through hundreds of profiles, finding the perfect candidates to be my best friend. This process was extremely predictable, including:

The teenage boys “looking” for a relationship:

Nathaniel, Age 14, UK

HOBBIES:

Photo

Trips

Cinema, Television

Sports

Reading

Painting, Drawing, Art

Hi! Are you looking for a cool guy to write to? Send me a nice message otherwise you’ll miss something priceless.

I can speak:

English, French

The liars that claimed they like everything and speak every language:

Janhvi, Age 16, USA

HOBBIES:

Photo

Trips

Clothes

Cinema, Television

Sports

Sciences

Music

Reading

Animals, Nature

Cooking

Collections

Painting, Drawing, Art

Hello !!👩I'm Janhvi .I like to travel.I have traveled in to many countries .Such as india , sri lanka, china, france and more.I like make new friends.message me soon guys.👭👫OUR LIFE IS CHANGE , BUT FRIENDSHIP NEVER BE CHANGE.

I can speak:

English French German Italian Spanish Arabic Chinese Japanese Korean

The students making a profile for class:

Chaya, Age 13, USA

HOBBIES:

Clothes

Cinema, Television

Music

Reading

Animals, Nature

I am looking for a penpal for our school project. I would like to find some in Atlanta, Georgia.

I can speak:

English

I would scroll through these profiles so constantly that I rarely found new profiles. I was judging every profile based off of the person’s name, biography, age, likes, languages, everything. Most people without a profile picture wouldn’t receive an email from me. I tried to avoid messaging anyone from the United States unless they sounded like a major fangirl or fanboy over the books I liked. I automatically favored anyone from Europe, especially if they had an interesting name. But regardless if anyone from anywhere sent me a message first, I would respond back at least once.

Shortly after the search began, I received a message from a girl named Julia from Australia. She and I were the same age, we both needed a friend, and we both liked reading, animals, music, and clothes. Quickly, my life began to revolve around the fourteen hours that always stood between Australia and the United States. Throughout sixth and seventh grade, we would be constantly messaging on the messaging app “kik,” confiding everything deep and useless to each other like best friends do:

Becca says:

Hey, how are you?

Julia says:

Everyones well... Mum and dad start the long drive to melbourne this weekend so everythings kinda topsy turvy :p

How is your family and pets? Im sorry for my rudeness that i didnt ask earlier

Nearlytime for school?

Becca says:

Lol that is fine! I get to school around 8, so normally ill drop off right before, lol i try to remember to tell you but i tend to forget. Theyre good though. Willie and Apricot are happy my grandma left :-P mom and dad are helping me with my ancestry project and exploding of happiness because I got a position in that volleyball club and my sister has been working and spending money :-P her favorite thing to do

Julia says:

Ahh the christmas spirit... Lol is there anyone in the house who loves your grandmother?

Becca says:

Lol we love her because shes family, but no one loves her when shes here if you know what i mean.

What’s up?

For two years, the conversations would continue for hours, as we both wait anxiously for the “ding” on our tablets, indicating a new message. Julia’s father was a firefighter who fought the nasty bushfires that haunted their country. I interviewed him as my hero for my final paper and presentation in my eighth grade English class. I interviewed him through email after our initial plans to Skype were sidetracked by the active wildfires, and I so proudly presented the information about him that you would have thought he was my father.

One day, Julia told me about her divorced parents. Then, she told me about the twins her mom just gave birth to. Then, she explained that she actually has a twin brother and no younger siblings at all. Then, she became an aunt to twin nephews. Then, her house burned down, and she had to move across the country. Then, her parents just moved across town. The stories continued and continued only within months of each other, not adding up in any way, shape, or form. With hope still in my heart, I sent her all three books of The Hunger Games trilogy since she really wanted to read them, but two months later, the books came back in the mail as undeliverable. The address did not exist.

Unable to admit defeat or accept the idea that my best friend might not be real despite all of the evidence, I started to panic. What if she is catfishing me? I’ve seen that show before, and I even gave “her” my address. Whoever this person is could easily come to my house and kidnap me...maybe I should tell my mom and warn the police. But maybe, she just has a really hard life, and she compulsively lies to make herself feel better? Maybe, she just really wants attention, and that’s why none of her stories are adding up. Besides it could still be her, she may just be scared. She could have just lied and is younger than she said and is trying to sound cool to impress me.

With these panicked thoughts raging through my body like wildfire, I blocked her from kik and began to ignore her emails. I forced myself to just disappear, so then I would have nothing to worry about. I cannot trust that Julia is really Julia, so I will just watch “her” occasional emails come in, analyzing from afar who “she” may be. I’ll search for her on Google and Facebook and Instagram and Students of the World and anywhere else I can look. The emails would keep coming for years and years, but they never held much content to them, and I’m still left to question who “Julia” is.

My Julia investigation was stalled for now, and the void of not having a constant penpal to talk to quickly came back. Therefore, my search to find the perfect best friend needed to be expedited since Julia was certainly not cut out for the position. I continued to search Students of the World with my new smartphone every chance I had. In between games at volleyball competitions, Hope and I could be found by the nearest outlet on my phone, scouring the website for the perfect answers within someone’s profile. We would send out messages together to the nerdy fangirls and fanboys around our age. Every day during the bus ride home from school, Jenna and I looked through the website on our phones, judging everyone’s biographies and pictures. Jenna created a profile too, and we would have three-way Skype sessions with Sylvia from France until the two of them became too close and stopped inviting me to Skype with them.

Finally in April of ninth grade, I received a promising email from a 16-year-old boy from France:

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

My name is Kristopher and Im from France !

I watched a few days ago Divergent and it made me want to read the books !

I see you like tv shows and video games as I do !

I am not fluent in English but I can talk to you !

If you want I can learn you French ! :)

Typically, I would spend about twenty minutes every day responding to emails from random penpals on my way home from school, but within the first three or so emails to a person, one of us would just stop responding. In regard to Kris, I generally liked video games, but I wasn’t obsessed with them, and I had a weird taste in TV, so we probably couldn’t talk about that much. But Divergent by Veronica Roth was my all-time favorite book. As soon as I read that word in the email, I knew I would be responding until he stopped responding to me. It had always been my goal to fall in love with a fanboy, especially one with the same taste in books and movies as me, so I immediately responded with:

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

Hi Kristopher!

What part of France are you from? I live near Pittsburgh, PA, USA.

Yes, definitely read the books! They are amazing! I find myself gravitating towards video games and shows more than sports! :P

I don't know much of French as I take Spanish in school, but I'd love to learn some and help you with English as well!

Rebecca

He emailed me back within minutes, and we emailed for most of the evening, talking about books and food and the differences between the United States and France. That night though, my phone battery had died, and it was only for a few hours. After plugging it in, I found five unread messages from him, making sure I was okay.

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

Lol it works ! :) Good courage to go back to school ! :)

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

Hey sweetie 😆

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

How are you Miss ?

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

Do You use words like ain't or gonna ? 😆

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

Are you OK ?

As soon as I read these messages, my heart fluttered a little. This was just the beginning of our constant messaging and talking. I happily responded to him, and within days, Kris was my perfect, new best friend. The random space he left between the last word and the punctuation of a sentence would drive me insane, but I didn’t have the heart to explain the process to him. We talked so consistently that it would probably be considered unhealthy, discussing pets, family, being the youngest child, aspirations, atheism, languages, food, books, video games, and everything else under the sun. I was stuck to my phone all day, and every time I picked it up, I waited in anticipation for a notification with his name and the random spaces between his words and the punctuation.

The six-hour time difference between the two of us meant nothing, with him staying up late and me getting up early. Between classes, we would sneak each other messages about how our days were going. My week-long field trip to San Antonio, Texas was spent either messaging him or scouting out an outlet to plug my phone into so that I could talk to him. The more access I had to Kris, the further I distanced myself from my friends and family. When my phone would die or I wouldn’t have reception, I would look around, annoyed by whoever the people around me were. Kris was the perfect friend I always wanted; he was my best friend, and I was his. Neither of us needed anyone else, and hopefully, all of our talking and flirting would lead to love which would lead to marriage.

The summer before tenth grade came, and Kris seemed to be growing distant. Supposedly, he was travelling all summer, and he would rarely have access to wifi. I counted down the days until he would be back home, and after one measly conversation, he disappeared again. I sent message after message, finally receiving a response about his brother pushing him in the pool and his phone being in his pocket at the time, so it was destroyed. The summer seemed to be surrounded by disappointment, but hopefully when we went back to school, our relationship would continue to be as strong as it was before.

Tenth grade began, and Kris was still busy all the time. Apparently if he kept up his hard work, he would be valedictorian. Since I couldn’t spend lunch chatting with him anymore, I bragged that I was basically dating this amazing French guy who is valedictorian at his school. Until October hit, and then I would receive the dreadful message that he has a girlfriend. Ironically, this only made our conversation stronger than it had ever been, and he even picked out my new haircut, sending me endless compliments on it. The next day, he sent another message, explaining that his girlfriend didn’t want us talking anymore so it would probably be best if we just stopped. I was bad at listening to these directions, following this conversation up with many, many new messages in attempts to strike a conversation with him again. These messages earned me a nice block from Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and Snapchat.

My only method of contact would now be email, so night after night instead of stalking Students of the World for new pen pals, I would send Kris emails. I now began to understand that feeling that I caused upon Julia, who may or may not have been Julia. Throughout October and November, I received a few responses that sounded like an automatic email reply, but one email in mid-November stood out, as it was one of the last ones I would receive from him.

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

Hello Becca,

I did act stupid and didn’t answer your messages at all. When I emailed you first, I never thought our friendship would get that strong !

Guess what, there used to be a time I was really in love with you, but I haven’t dared say so … The one biggest reason was the 6000 km that stand between us ! You were the one I loved talking to ! So I talked to you and you never waited to answer and neither did I.

I don’t know, something went wrong, time changed, I’m sorry I haven’t answered you for long, this is all my bad. I wish I could go back to past to fix this.

This message will never ever be able to patch things up, but it (I hope ) will tell you that I never forgot you .

My mother would tell me time and time again that any type of relationship separated by physical distance would never work. I had never believed her, but after receiving this email, I understood. Why had I ever believed that the perfect friendship would be through time differences of at least five hours? These relationships do not automatically create a barrier of trust, often making it even harder to trust. There are always going to be worries about who that person is and what their intentions are. There is no safety net to keep you from being hurt or feeling pain. Once there is a roadblock within your barrier of communication, you cannot simply get it back after running into each other at Walmart or flashing them a fake smile as you pass them in the hallway at school. As soon as one person blocks the other or the number of unread emails increases substantially over months, that person is gone forever.

#penpals #love #lost love #memoir #longdistance #oops I fell in love with my penpal #those French boys

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