#Y’all I went and apologized to those boys after next recess because I was really like “wow. I’ve done wrong. Bothering my peers 😔😔😔”

[caterpillarinacave]

For the True/False assumptions game: You are good at chess.

I’ve never played chess actually!

[rewrite-the-wrongs]

introductions / howdy, pardner

My first short story was about a fishboy and his human best friend. They battled a mutant piranha (whose name I think may have been Mutant Piranha, such was the monumental daring of my creative endeavor) and his army, who were out to destroy a mountain that held a whole planet together. The boys won singlehandedly, because scale was apparently a bit of a mystery to me.

This was the second grade. My teacher--who held me every day as I cried for weeks, confused and miserable and stranded in the throes of my parents’ divorce--understood before I did that I create to a ploddingly slow and steady drumbeat. A sentence is always so much more in my head than I’m able to let out, at first; I have to pore over it again and again, fleshing and flourishing (and often correcting) it, the same way I often have to reread paragraphs or pages or whole books to truly capture their meaning. In a word processor, this back-and-forth is as easily said as it is done; on double-wide ruled paper with dashed-line handwriting guides, the task is magnitudes more time-consuming, especially for somebody as messy as I am. So, while nearly everybody else played at recess on the sandlot and the jungle gym around us, a select few stragglers laid our reading folders on our laps and finished our stories.

My villain, that dastardly Mutant Piranha, found himself in prison at the story’s close. Awaiting trial, I guess; I never ventured that far ahead, seeing the big fishy bastard for a coward. “When no one was looking, he stabbed himself.” That’s the last line, stuck in my memory, not for its own sake, but for my poor teacher’s horrified face as she read my final draft there on the playground.

A mom volunteered to type up the class’ stories and get them printed and bound. For years afterward I reread that collection, always proud to have written the second-longest piece therein. I felt the weight of the pages, inhaled the tiny but acrid breeze that came from rapidly leafing through them. Knew it was a whole smattering of worlds inside, that one of those worlds was wholly mine, and I had the power to show it to people however I wished. Yes, I thought, I want this.

*

I’ve been introduced to writing many times over, by many people. Don’t get me wrong--I nightowled the first several chapters to many half-baked novel concepts all through my youth. But teachers have a way of showing a thing to you from new angles.

The first person to impact me as such was a high school teacher who was essentially given carte-blanche to construct a creative writing workshop in the English curriculum. The first semester was structured--you practiced poems, short fiction, humor and essay writing, drama, the gamut. Every semester after, the carte-blanche was passed on: A single assignment due a week, each a single draft of a poem or a minimum of two pages’ worth of prose. Forty-five minutes a day to work, and of course free time at home. By the time I graduated, I’d finagled my schedule such that I was spending two periods a day in the computer lab, and several hours after school every day working the literary arts magazine before I went home to get the rest of my homework out of the way and write some more..

My next big influence came in the form of  a pair of writers who taught fiction at my university, a married couple. One had me print stories and literally, physically cut them up section-by-section as a method of reworking chronologies. Told me stories happened like engines or clocks or programs--pieces that meshed differently depending on how they were put together, rules that held each other in place. The other showed boundless confidence in me, listened happily to some older students who recommended I be brought on board for a national arts mag. They both encouraged me toward grad school, but toward the end of my junior year I began to stumble, and by senior year I was, to be frank, a drunken asshole. Time I could be bothered to set aside for writing began to dwindle. I limped through the editorship with the help of my extremely talented, utterly more-than-worthy successor--and come to think of it, I’ve never truly thanked her. Maybe I’ll send her that message, now that I’m feeling more myself.

*

On feeling more myself:

That drunken rage was brought on by a myriad list of factors, the primary ones being 1) I am the child of recovering alcoholics, and our inherited family trauma runs deep, 2) An assault that will likely be mentioned no further from hereon in, as I have reached a solid level of catharsis about it, 3) Some toxic-ass relationship issues, and 4) I was a massive egg and had no idea (or, really, I had some idea, just not the language or understanding or even the proper empathy to eloquently and effectively explore it).

I had a recent relapse with drinking, technically--a mimosa at Christmas breakfast at my partner’s parents’ home--but I’m not honestly sure I can call it a legitimate relapse. I’m not in any official self-help group, I’ve never engaged in the twelve steps or a professional rehabilitation. I had a very wonderful therapist for a few years but reached a point at which I could not pay her any longer and we parted ways--I miss her dearly, as she truly became my friend and confidante; she was the first person I came out to, and very well-equipped to handle it, lucky for me--but I’m still on behavioral medication. That tiny smidgen of alcohol pushed my antidepressants right out of my brain, and I became terribly anxious and angry and sad all at once, and briefly lashed out during a conversation with my partner behind closed doors. Not nearly the lashing out I’ve released in the now-distant past--more on that maybe-never, but who knows, as I am obviously a chronic over-sharer.

Frankly, I don’t deserve my partner. She endured my past abuses, told me to my face I had to be better, and found it in herself to wait for me to grow. She’s endlessly and tirelessly supportive of me. She sat with me to help me maintain the nerve to start this blog tonight. I came out to her as a trans woman just under a year ago, now, and I’m happier than ever, and we communicate better than ever. Our relationship is, bar-none, the healthiest and stablest and happiest I’ve ever been in.

So, naturally, I apologized fairly quickly at Christmas, and continuing where I’d left off at two and a half years, decided I’m still solid without booze.

If we’re all being honest, though (and I’m doing my best to be one hundred percent honest, here, though I will absolutely be censoring names because no shit), I still smoke way too much fuckin’ weed. High as balls, right now. 420 blaze it, all day erryday, bruh. That self-medicated ADHD life. I should be on Adderall and not antidepressants, probably, but it’s been a while since an appointment and psychiatrists are expensive, so I’m at where I’m at for now. Sativas help a lot. It helps with the dysphoria, too.

I don’t have a legal diagnosis for gender dysphoria, but tell that to my extreme urge to both be in and have a vagina. I’m making little changes--my hair, an outfit at a time, no longer policing how I walk or run or how much emphasis I put on S sounds. If I manage to come out to my parents sometime soon--and it feels like that moment is closer every day--maybe I’ll tell y’all my real, full chosen name. For right now, call me Easy.

*

Anyhow. My goals here are pretty simple:

1) Share words, both those by people I like/admire/sometimes know! and occasionally words I’ve made that I like. See the above screenshot from my notes app. Steal some words if you want, but if you manage to make money off some of mine, holler at ya gurl’s Venmo, yeah?

2) Discuss words, how they work, and how we create them, use them, engage with them, and ultimately make art of them. I am not a professional linguist, but I went to undergrad for creative writing, so, hey, I’ll have opinions and do my best to back them up with ideas from people smarter than I am.

3) Books! Read them, revisit them, quote them, talk about them, sometimes maybe even review them, if I’m feeling particularly bold. No writer can exist in a vacuum, and any writer who insists they don’t like to read is either a) dyslexic and prefers audiobooks or b) in serious need of switching to a communications major (no shade, but also definitely a little shade @corporate journalism).

5) I added this last, but I feel it’s less important than 4 and does not deserve bookend status, and I am verbose but incredibly lazy, so here I am, fucking with the system. Anyway: Art! Music! Video games! I fucking love them. I’ll talk about them, sometimes, too. Maybe I’ll finally do some of the ekphrastic work I’ve felt rattling around in my brain for a while now. Jade Cocoon 2′s Water Wormhole Forest, looking right the fuck at you.

6) Ah, shit, I did it again. Oh well. Last-but-not-last: This is obviously, in some ways, a diary, or a massive personal essay. I will sometimes discuss people, places, or experiences that have informed my work just the same as other people’s art has.

4) Be an unabashed and open Trans woman. TERFs, transphobes, ill-informed biological essentialists not permitted. Come at me and my girldick and prepare to be dunked on and subsequently shown the door via a swift and painful steel-toed kick in the ass. Everybody who doesn’t suck, if I screw up on any matter of socio-ethics or respect for diversity, please feel free to correct me.

*

Punk’s dead, but we’re a generation of motherfucking necromancers. Be gay, do crime, fight the patriarchy, and fart when you gotta. May the Great Old Ones select you to ascend to a higher plane and learn the terrible truths of existence.

Much love--

Easy

[abominablepencil]

I wanna yell all this into the void real quick if it’s cool with y’all

My school “career” really sucked. I probably blocked out a few of the events but I’m gonna write down what I can recall. Not all of these will be bad, by the way, just stories. If you don’t wanna read a bunch of school stories then that’s fine I just wanna share this. If you have similar stories I’d love to read em though!

Let’s start in elementary school.

- There was a boy I liked in kindergarten, but he didn’t like me back. We were both in the am class at the start of the year but for some reason he kept switching between am and pm so I of course asked my mom to swap me as well to match. This went on for maybe a month if I had to guess, switching weekly, before my mom said no more. We wound up being in different classes but ah well.

- The class was making gingerbread men for Christmas but they had to bake while we were out at recess, when we got back they were gone! The teachers put on an act about not knowing where they’d gone before leading us on a scavenger hunt around the school, finally ending at the principals office. He pretended to be surprised we made them and apologized for apparently eating all of them. We each made at least one and we were a class of 20-30 so I have no idea what actually happened to those or why but it was still fun!

- During class one day I fell asleep at my desk and when I woke up everyone was doing tests, mine was sitting next to me. I don’t recall the specifics but I recall casually saying “I’m gay”, feeling embarrassed, and then starting my test without anyone noticing. I meant in the definition “happy” and not “homosexual” though because I was maybe six and knew of nothing more relationship wise than what I saw in Aladdin and the Aristocats.

Switch to the second elementary school

- We had a bunch of classes in the portables and there was a loose board along the side of the wooden deck between them. I found it amazingly amusing to just hide under there and look for treasure! The faculty didn’t, however, and they had to bolt it shut so I’d stop breaking in and crawling around under the classrooms. I found Pokémon cards and foreign coins down there!

- I caused so much trouble at school the principal decided maybe letting me bring a toy would make me behave. She let me bring one small stuffed animal to school each day and play with it in the covered area at recess. This wasn’t really monitored, however, and my teacher was new so I got around it by bringing a marionette. If the class behaved I got to do a puppet show before recess, where I’d make the marionette sing phineas and ferb songs while dancing on a table.

- There was a boy who constantly picked on me but had a soft spot for girls crying. Whenever I was stressed out I’d hide in the tiny space between the top of the CPUs and the table the monitors sat on. He’d try and lure me out by being rude but when I started crying he’d apologize and leave me alone. This worked out well for me, it was really comfy in my hiding spot.

- As prior mentioned my teacher was new and didn’t know how to handle the class yet, and I was a troublemaker. She tried moving me to a private table to do spelling tests but I made forts out of math textbooks and folders. She then tried having me do spelling tests on the computers in Microsoft word. That program has spellcheck, guess who never failed a spelling test!

- During state testing to see where everyone was knowledge wise in fourth grade I tested at an eighth grade level. The teachers took note of that. The next year they decided I wasn’t being challenged enough so they let me decide if I wanted to learn basic algebra with my class or join the sixth graders in an advanced algebra class. I accepted the offer and took the entire class period to play with my marionette instead of learning the weird ways to do math that made no sense to me at all. Eventually that teacher decided I wasn’t paying enough attention and swapped me back to my regular class but that wasn’t till after they’d already learned the basics, meaning I was started in an advanced class and then dumped into the middle of the regular one. Algebra makes absolutely no sense to me to this day and I obstinately refuse to use PEMDAS.

- One day I was particularly upset for no particular reason that I can recall so I hid under the table as per usual until lunch time came. The teacher demanded I come out and go to lunch with the class but I refused and demanded to stay under the table alone because I just couldn’t bear to be seen. That of course didn’t fly because she couldn’t legally leave a child alone in the classroom, nor send the others to lunch unsupervised. This lead to one of many occurrences where a specific sixth grade teacher and whichever other male teacher was available dragging me to the nurses office for time out. The first hooking his arms under my armpits and putting them over the lower half of my face, the second holding my feet. It was always that first teacher because he was used to me gnawing on his arms the entire ten minute walk. This particular time I was instead taken to the teachers lounge because I was kicking and screaming and throwing a tantrum. They called another truant officer to help while they contacted a family member to come get me. I was held captive in that room for 30-60 minutes, either restrained to a teacher in a chair or pinned to the floor by the officer so I wouldn’t run. The entire time I screamed as loud as I could and, while pinned down, yelled that my arms and legs were numb. They didn’t release me till they got my grampa there and then they drove me to his retirement home. I never went back to that school. I went to therapy though, they had dogs and talked about club penguin with me.

And now my third elementary school

- Right before WASL testing started in fifth grade I switched schools. When I was finally processed into a class they were in the middle of the testing so I had to just sit around and make it up during remedial testing. During one day of that, while all ten or so of us were sitting in the computer lab doing the test, I noticed a balloon sitting behind a CPU near me. Instead of ignoring it I chose to try and grab it. The teacher got mad at that and told me to do the testing so I tried but quickly got distracted again. I think at this point she went to get the principal or something so I took my chance to bolt from the room! I ran to the bathroom and hid. The teacher found me quickly and demanded I get out of the bathroom, but I refused. She threatened to get the janitor to come take the stall door off it’s hinges so she could get me cause I wouldn’t unlock it but still I sat defiant. So she left. I waited a minute or so after her footsteps stopped and creeped out, guess who was behind the bathroom door! She tried to grab me but I ducked and ran down the stairs, out the cafeteria doors, to the playground, around to the front parking lot, and down the street to my grandmas house. They grabbed a truancy officer and came into my grandmas backyard to try and coax me out and back to school. I refused to until all the teachers were back in their cars and it was just the officer. Big trouble came my way that day, and it all started with a half deflated balloon!

- At this school if you misbehaved you went in one of the time out closets. They weren’t that bad. Just two cubbies without doors in the office, each had a desk, chair, and a motivational poster. I spent a lot of time in them. It was nice and quiet in there.

- My second fifth grade teacher didn’t like when kids farted during class. She always said it was a distraction and that if you had to do so then ask to use the restroom and do so in there. However if you asked to use the restroom she’d ask why you didn’t go at recess and told you to hold it till the next one.

- Did you know that different schools teach drastically different curriculums? Cause I didn’t till I switched mid-year. I went from being taught algebra to being taught about “Big One” and basic multiplication. In fifth grade. It really wasn’t that useful and only lead to confusion.

This is getting really long so I’ll do middle school in a new post!

[mintyoongiskookie]

B r o k e n   F e e t

Requested: Yes~  

You should do 2 and 32  

Member: Jeon Jungkook Fuckboy!au

Genre: Humor, fluff, slight angst, implied smut

Word Count: 3,110

#2- “I’m gonna need you to put on some underwear before you say anything else.”

#32- “Look I know you really want that seat, but I do too now you should move before I sit on your lap.”

A/N- I’m sorry this just had to be a fuckboy one but I’m totally not sorry Well, here it is, my friend requested so I hope y’all like it~ THANKS LOVELIES

     A harsh knock disrupted you from your sleep, which, mind this dream snatcher, has been the first good few hours of sleep you’d gotten in a long time. Begrudgingly, after enough knocks to think the door would break down, you slid out from the covers of your loft that seemed surprisingly soft and mumbled a quiet, “coming”. When you threw open the door to confront the person who might get punched in the face from you, you surely did not expect to see the fuckboy of the campus, Jeon Jungkook. Oh god, how you hated his guts. You had always hated fuckboys, I mean, who other than sluts liked them? Unfortunately, you two had known each other for quite sometime. You had both grown up in the same hometown, and graduated in the same class. You frequently questioned the universe why you couldn’t have been born a year or two before, just anything to get away from this boy. He used to be so cute and shy - the little boy who was ever scared to accept dandelions from the girls on the playground when he was on the swings for recess. Hell, you two used to be friends, even though you would tease him for having boy cooties. You would always walk with him, wrestle him in the mud when no one else would, and he would finger paint you some picture that meant the world to him and pick you first for flag football on his team. He was your closest friend, your everything. He would never make fun of you for wearing cargo shorts and not dresses, for playing football and blocks instead of house and dress up. But, alas, not all good things last forever. Around sixth or seventh grade, things changed. Puberty hit, and you went from wearing cargo and basketball shorts to leggings and denim shorts. He got taller - surprisingly taller. But you thought that this lanky alien was still the boy you loved, the boy who would stick with you through thick and thin.

     But shit, you couldn’t be more wrong.

     You pretty much acted the same - you’d rather stick to basketball and soccer rather than dance and softball, but hormones got the best of him. He was one of the cool kids, obviously too cool for you. And you knew this was going to happen, but never that fast. You both expected to stick together until out of college, where you’d both either have your own lives and families, or just end up marrying each other. But nope. Life doesn’t ever want you to have what you want, and you had learned that the hard way. He stuck to his sports, but he tried to get as far away from you as possible. He’d ask to switch his seat if he ever got one next to you, and frankly, most people could see how hurt you were. You two had always been glued at the hips, you being one of the only people who he would actually talk to. It almost hurt other people to see this happen, but you learned to get over it. You’d learned to cage up your heart at a young age, and let only a few people crack that barrier, but never infiltrate it. With everything you did, every step you took, you told yourself, don’t ever get close to anyone again. You stuck to two friends, both girls who were like you in many ways, and you all understood each other well. You’d eventually turn into a pop, but not the “Oh look at me, I’m a slut who wears skirts and plays sports and has had one hundred boyfriends already”. Oh no. Far from it. Everyone knew you as the girl who would fight for herself, the girl with the good grades, and the girl who will beat you to a pulp if you’d ever insult her. So, that being known by the whole school, people were decently nice to you. You heard the rumors people say, since your friends give you all the gossip, but couldn’t ever find a shit to give about what anyone had said anymore. You’d basically cut everyone out from your life except those two special friends, to the point where you wouldn’t talk to your parents and they had almost reached out to a therapist. And honestly, you couldn’t even try to believe this all happened because of some measly boy, and you’d try to tell yourself otherwise. He’d hang out with the jocks, and do anything in his power to stay away from you. By eighth grade, you just gave up and blocked him out too. He was a no one to you at this point, you’d pretty much forgotten about him.

     But on that faithful day, when he showed up to your college dorm dripping wet and naked, you were quite amused from the look of pure horror that slapped him in the face.

     Apologies spewed out of his mouth like water from a fountain. Your attention had drifted down to his bare torso. Seeing as it was only 2 in the morning, nothing could really keep your focus for more than a minute. With a lift of a single finger from you, his ranting ceased, and your eyes looked back up to his face. A heavy sigh drifted out of your lips, and you were ready to just crawl back into bed and forget that any of this happened.

     “I’m gonna need you to put on some underwear before you say anything else.” You laughed at his red face, thinking, Wow, the one and only Jeon Jungkook, just blushed. This must be a dream. You moved to slam the door shut in his face, but as the action happened, he moved his bare foot between the door frame and the door. A howl of pain erupted from his throat, and you could’ve sworn you heard a few bones crunch. Sighing, you opened your door back up and ignored his hopping figure as you went to find some kind of cover for him. Settling on a towel, you threw it at his chest and slammed the door shut.

     “(Y/N)!!!! Please, open the door, you’re the only person I know for at least three square blocks!!!! I’m sorry for what I did, and what has happened, and I know that none of this should be happening because if I was smarter as a kid we might be in a better college in a nice apartment with better friends and-”

     “Fuck off, Jeon. You made your choice, and I chose to block you out from my life completely. Now keep the damn towel, spare the early birds some nightmares for later tonight, and get the fuck away from me.” Ouch. You could tell that hit something in him, because it even plucked a few of your heart strings. Hearing the soft sigh and the receding patter of feet, you decided to just head back to sleep and persuade yourself that all of this was a dream.

____________________

     “He did what?” You rolled your eyes at the question from your friend and went on to sipping your coffee.

     “He showed up to my dorm, naked, dripping wet, spewing out some kind of apology and asking for what I assume was clothes and a towel. I won’t be surprised if he comes out to find me again. Oh, and I probably broke his foot.”

     “Why the fuck would you break his foot?!” Her exclamation earned you both a few shushes and judgmental stares, as well as a hard glare from you. You answered with a shrug and something simple:

     “He wouldn’t move his foot.” That, also, earned you a groan from her.

     “That’s when you report him, or shove him out, not shatter his bones!”

     “That is very well an option in that situation, and you know it.” A sigh escaped her lips, and she moved to gather all of her stuff into her bag.

     “(Y/N), you know he can sue you, right?”

     “And you know he wouldn’t, right?” You mocked, putting your book mark in your book and placing it in your bag while getting up. “He won’t do it knowing what he did to me and how badly he screwed up my life. I can guarantee you that the little boy is still in there, but he’s just caged up.” You shrugged at her and walked out of the cafe to your classes.

     “… Oh for god’s sake, your literature major is getting to you. Bring the old (Y/N) back, please.” Her hands clasped together in a dramatic show, earning the finger from you. A laugh poured from her lips as she waved and walked to her art building. “There she is. Anyways, see you at lunch!” She jogs away from you as you head to your class, giving her a small wave. Today’s going to be pure hell, you thought. You knew word of what happened had already gotten around, but you also knew that you didn’t care. And that no one cared enough to ask you about it, but just simply play telephone until the story is completely twisted and wrong.

____________________

     You thought you’d heard everything by now. You heard that he’d fucked you. You heard that you stabbed him, and attacked him, hence the broken foot. Hell, you heard that you were actually the leader of a gang and called your members over to kill him. You liked that one the best, it made you laugh. Your classes had ended now, and you’d had one too many run-ins with some of Jungkook’s friends. Luckily, and surprisingly, one of them was your friend. Park Jimin. He was one who stuck with you through your little experience, and had always comforted you when the stories got to your head. Anyways, you two had made plans for you to come to the theater downtown with him for the midnight viewing of “The Mummy”. Now, you were planning to go alone some night that wasn’t the opening, but how could you resist the absolute sweetheart named Jimin? So, your friends being your friends, they invited themselves over to your dorm to, “Help you with your outfit,” despite their lack of fashion sense.

     “So Jimin, huh?” Both of them snickered at your irritated face as you slid into the simple outfit of black denim jeans, a cut off Obey crop top, and some black Vans.

     “Oh, you’re both so fucking funny. Don’t pull that bullshit on me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a movie to watch with my friend and I would appreciate it if you both got the fuck out of my room.” With sarcastic smiles, they both trudged out of your room as you shut and locked the door. Just as you hit the stairwell, you heard one call after you.

     “Don’t forget to tell us the details (Y/N)!~” Once again, her comment earned another finger and you trotted down the stairs and meet up with Jimin.

____________________

     Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

     Those were the only two words running through your head as you saw the silhouette of someone who’s build looked a hell of a lot like Jeon Jungkook’s.

     Including the bulky quad of someone who would be wearing a boot.

     Perhaps the boot of someone with a broken foot.  

     Which may have been caused by someone slamming said foot with a door.

     Yeah, that was him.

     You were contemplating turning and sprinting away while you still could, but it was too late at that time, seeing as you could hear Jimin calling out your name. Damn you Jimin. But, the closer you approached, you saw the apologetic look in his eyes, now fully understanding that this was all the little brat’s choice, and Jimin couldn’t have possibly stopped him. So, you chose to walk in with them, ignoring the gaze that was burning holes into the back of your skull. After everyone but Jungkook found their seats, you took up the duty to gather the snacks and drinks. One your way back up the isle, you knocked shoulders with Jungkook, setting him off balance. You knew he was more confident today, your outburst from last night, or rather early this morning, boosting his esteem.

     “Don’t get to rough just yet Princess, it’s only the first night.”

    Princess? God, you were so close to barfing and breaking his other foot. How were you both friends once? But, choosing to just walk away and get back to your duty, you came back later with snacks for everyone. But that wasn’t the only thing you came back to. He was in your spot. Your spot. A growl was threatening to tear from your throat, but you just quietly handed everyone their food and went to block his view. You gulped as you saw his signature smirk glued onto his face as he gazed at you, and wait, why were you nervous? Why is your heart hammering? (Y/N), keep it under control! A sigh escaped your lips, and you chose to go the simple way, seeing as the room was much too quiet for the both of you to start up a fight.

     “Look, I know you really want that seat, but I do too now you should move before I sit on your lap.” Oh shit, there’s that blush again. You couldn’t believe this. The Jeon Jungkook, blushed at your words for a second time. That was absolute madness. You even caught how he adverted his eyes for a second, and how he uncomfortably squirmed the slightest bit before patting his thighs and smirking all over again.

     “Have at it.” And so you did.

     That was something he wasn’t expecting.

     And fuck, you realized that he’s still a guy, let alone one who goes around fucking girls, and that’s when you felt it. Ohhhhhh no. Please, let that be something in his pocket, please oh please oh please oh please. But by the groan that came from his lips that he tried to cover with a cough, you knew it wasn’t something in his pocket.

     Ladies and gents, you had just given him a boner.

     In some way, you were sort of proud, because hey, don’t fucking mess with me bitch. But, you also were aware of the bright blush on your cheeks as you trained your eyes on the screen. This was going to be a long night.

____________________

     Around the mid way point of the movie, you slipped out to use the bathroom, yet almost everyone in that damn theater knew that wasn’t the case, seeing as you didn’t dare to move for majority of the movie. With that being said, you opted out on chilling on the sinks for a bit before you heard the footsteps of a limp enter. Your eyes widened as Jungkook limped his way in, trying to be as quiet as possible for someone in his situation.

     “What the fuck are you doing in here?!” The sharp whisper left your lips as you jumped down to pull him out of sight of anyone who might come in. “You’re gonna get us kicked out! What if someone saw you?! Oh god, someone saw you didn-” Your sentence gets cut off by the soft feeling of his plush lips pressed against yours, and the first thing you noticed was the sweet strawberry taste of the Twizzlers he had been eating. Your cheeks burn, and he pulls you flush against him with his arms draped around your waist. His tongue swiped over your lips, and you graciously granted access.

     After a few minutes of hair pulling and tongue fighting, you both broke away gasping for air, and that old bunny-like smile plastered over his swollen lips.  “I had to shut you up one way or another, so I went with the one I would’ve liked best.” He was back, the little boy you loved so much, the one who you had found out loved you back. “(Y/N)… I’m still sorry about all that happened… I was so stupid, and naive, and I honestly don’t know why I thought I could ever live without you in my life.”

     A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you tilted your head to look up at him. “Yes, you were all those things, but I still love you and I don’t really think any dick move you did could’ve eliminated my feelings for good. Jeon Jungkook, I love you, always have, and always will.” A smile graced your lips as you ended, and a grin placed itself on Jungkook’s.

     “I love you too (Y/N).” And he topped it off with a kiss.

     You were right, tonight was going to be a long night.

____________________

     “Corinna, come on, mommy needs to get you to school on time!” The giggle of your daughter lit up your eyes, and you set off to find her and your son. Your husband peeked out from the bedroom, looking down over the upstairs railing at you.

     “Hide and seek again?”

     “Yes Jungkook, now instead of playing with them again, could you please help me try to find them?” A laugh bubbled out from his chest, and you couldn’t help but grin and the melodious sound.

     “Okay baby, just a sec.” He goes to find them, hands fiddling in an attempt to tie his tie. But he certainly didn’t expect the door of his childrens’ bedroom to slam shut on his foot, a yelp of agony slipping from his throat.

     Both of the children joined in yelling for you, saying that, “DADDY’S FOOT GOT STUCK IN THE DOOR AGAIN!!!” You rushed up the stairs to see your husband cradling his foot on the floor and a laugh broke out from your lips.

     “Really Jungkook, what is it with you and breaking your foot in doors?” This made a smile tug at his lips, and you swoop in for a quick peck. The kids chide in with sounds of distaste as you both laugh, and you pull out your phone. “I’ll call in for you, and we’ll get you to the hospital after dropping the kids off at school.”

     “Thanks baby, I love you~”

     “I love you too, now go rest that foot.”

     And suddenly, all of your childhood fantasies had come true, and you knew you could never ask for a different life.