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lvlybin · 2 months ago

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𖦹 ̼ ᮫ DUMB N POETICᘞ̸⠀ ׁ ₊ KIM JI WOONG

summary ༝༚༝༚ … when you received your assignment for the professor you would study under for your student teaching, you were ecstatic. and when you met Dr. Kim, things got even better. he was intelligent, helpful, kind, and not to mention extremely handsome. he also seemed to not care about the fact that you were supposed to have no romantic relationship with him. and Jiwoong also seemed to think that you were too dumb to notice all of the things he was doing behind your back. but God forbid if you ever tried to leave him in the same fashion he never hesitated to do with you 18+ MDNI

wc 12082 ! ૮ ྀི◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ྀིა ۫ ੭̲ 𝓴jw & 𝓯!reader ⊹ teacher x student teacher, university!au ( short n sweet mini series ) ( library )

爱 ࿁ ⠀ ˚⠀ warnings … VERY oc Jiwoong (he would never act like this), toxic!Jiwoong, cheating, manipulation, age gap of 5 years, self-doubt, my attempts at writing angst, there’s some lowkey messed up things in this so be warned ︩︪ ׅ

✉️ thank you for all of your guys’ support and patience! didn’t expect to get this carried away with this fic, but o well. this IS NOT PROOFREAD lol, I wanted to get it out so I’ll come back around to editing it soon!

18+ warnings ... unprotected p in v sex, dry humping, nipple play, cum play?, Jiwoong really likes kissing, lowkey a possession kink

The amount of effort you put into everything was one of the qualities you admired most about yourself. Being hardworking was so satisfying to you, following the rules, and doing what was right. Those things set you on a solid path to follow your dream. Sure, you had never thought you would’ve wanted to become a teacher, but as you got older, you found yourself thriving whenever you spent time with kids. Surprisingly, instead of finding it draining, you were rejuvenated by helping them, and the thought of having a positive impact on such young minds was what ultimately drove you to pursue teaching. Everything that everyone has ever told you about the profession: “The pay doesn’t match the workload,” “You’ll get tired of it before the end of the first year,” “Are you sure you have the patience to work with kids?” never deterred you from it.

You wanted to teach kids about the qualities that were so important to you.

The years of schooling passed by quickly for you, concentrating on becoming the best you could and spending time with your friends to make sure you didn’t miss out on the university experience. And it was fun, the time of graduation seemingly so far away. Until it wasn’t, and the program was beginning to sort out the final hurdle that your class had to get through–student teaching. Teacher assisting, whatever you wanted to call it, the assignments were slowly passed out, and while your peers received locations at surrounding primary and secondary schools, you were one of the few who would work at a university.

“We think that a higher level of education would suit you better. You’re one of the best students we have in this program.” Was what your professors had told you when you’d requested to switch to a primary school. You were flattered, of course, your hard work was being recognized, but you didn’t understand why you would be working with an older group of students that might as well be as old as you when you were studying to work with younger kids.

And your plans to switch anyway were rudely interrupted when the email from the professor you would be working under came through. It was the basics: excited to be working with you, this is what we’re doing this semester, here’s what I need you to prepare for… etcetera. Signed Dr Kim. Maybe it was a bit immature of you to complain to your friends about this opportunity, but you proceeded to despite it.

Giselle’s eyes widened when you mentioned who you were studying under.

“Are you being serious?”

You had furrowed your eyebrows and nodded, confused at her surprised tone.

“YN-ie, Dr Kim is like, a big deal– didn’t even know he took student teachers…”

You huffed out a breath, annoyed as you scribbled over your notes a bit. “Yeah, well, then you can have him. All I wanted was to work with some primary students but nooo–”

“Older kids won’t be half the trouble little kids will be,” Giselle mumbled, and you figured she was probably thinking about her own assignment.

“Little kids wouldn’t judge me half as much as these older kids will,” you countered and that was that.

The thought still circled around your mind as you arrived at the university for your first day, nerves practically eating you alive as you navigated your way to Dr Kim’s classroom. Your parents had always taught you to be earlier than necessary, and thank goodness for that, considering it took you a good twenty minutes to find the room. You knew this place was big, but you thought that the online map would’ve been at least a bit more helpful. After asking one janitor and two other professors where Dr Kim’s room was, you finally approached the door.

Softly, you tapped your knuckles against the wood a few times. On the other side, a warm voice called out, “It’s open!” Another rush of adrenaline ran through you as you sucked in a deep breath, gripping the papers of the requirements for your program in one of your hands as you pushed open the door.

That breath was instantly stolen from you as you peeked inside, the man sitting at the desk in the corner of the room was more attractive than any other person you’d met before. Like an idiot, you stood in the doorway for a moment, eyes trailing over his sharp facial features, the curve of his pale pink lips, the way his glasses were sat on his nose, and how his dark hair was pushed back in a way that was clearly careless to him but looked anything but. You tried to ignore how his white button-up shirt clung to his arms and chest as he turned in his chair to look over at you. Suddenly, you felt very self-conscious about the black blouse and brown dress pants you were wearing.

“Ms Kang?” You blinked harshly as his uttering of your last name snapped you out of your thoughts.

A smile forces its way onto your lips as you take a step into the hall, closing the door gently behind you. “Yes, hi, nice to meet you,” you say, tilting your head in a small bow. You think your brain short circuits as he smiles back at you, but you can’t really tell.

Dr Kim leans back in his chair, “Nice to meet you too. Are you excited for your first day?”

No, you think to yourself as you remain across the room from him.

Instead, you keep the smile up as you nod slightly. “I’m excited. Mostly nervous though.”

He chuckles as he gestures for you to come over to his desk. The sound of the heels of your shoes clicking on the floor resounds throughout the space as you approach him. Unfortunately, he’s even more perfect up close. “Don’t be. You’ll be great, not that I’m having you do much today anyway.” You do your best to follow his words, eyes flicking everywhere but his own.

You miss the way Dr Kim tilts his head a little. “Hey,” he says, his voice the epitome of comfort to you already, and your eyes finally move to meet his. It’s difficult for you to decipher what he’s thinking, to tell if the caring gleam in his dark irises is real or not. “I’ll be here to help you. You’ll be great,” he repeats and you nod a little.

“Not to sound ungrateful, but I was supposed to be working with younger kids,” you laugh softly and the smile on Dr Kim’s lips doesn’t fade in the slightest.

“You want to work with primary students then?” You nod and he lets out a little sound of acknowledgment. “Well, Ms Kang, from what I’ve heard about you is that you’re exceptionally bright for your age.”

“I’m not–”

He cuts you off, “Ah, none of that.” Dr Kim extends a hand towards you, gesturing towards the bag on your shoulder. “You can just put that in my office and then come back out here. I’m excited to begin working with you.”

You don’t think the flush on your face goes anywhere for the rest of the day. Dr Kim told the truth, for the first day you barely did anything except pass out materials and help him organize things, but it was plenty for you. Thankfully, none of the students seemed to be too interested in you, all focused on the material of the class. And you found yourself falling into the same trap.

It was easy to understand why Dr Kim had the reputation he did, the way he spoke captured everyone effortlessly. You could tell he was intelligent and he was so well-spoken that he made even the most boring material seem interesting. The end of the teaching day was there before you could process it.

Small talk was made between you and Dr Kim as you stood at the podium at the side of the room, collecting and sorting through lecture notes from the day as he sat at his desk, grading something that according to him was from the previous week. As you finish, you glance over at him, collecting the papers in your hands before walking back over to his desk.

“All done,” you say quietly, setting the stack down on the corner of the furniture. Dr Kim looks briefly over at you as he nods his head once.

“Thank you for helping me with that.”

You laugh a little, “It’s my job.”

He smiles, “I know it’s your job, but I wanted you to know that I appreciate you helping me with these things.” Dr Kim pauses for a moment before continuing. “Good job today, I’ll have you get more involved as the week goes on. Hopefully, by next week you’ll be ready to teach some of the lessons.”

“Sounds good,” you agree. A beat of silence.

“And… I want you to know that I’m here to help you if you need anything,” Dr Kim says and when he looks up at you, you have to push away the way your heart speeds up. “I want to know if you’re struggling, if you don’t understand something, if you have any worries.” The soft look in his eyes appears again, and you can tell this time–it’s true. “This can be a hard career to be in, for many reasons, and I want to be someone for you to lean on.”

You nod again, feeling your face warm up just a bit, and you hope he thinks it’s just the blush that you’d put on that morning. “Of course.”

There’s a satisfied look on his face as he turns back to his monitor. “You can head home for the night, then. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Slightly dazed, you quickly retrieve your bag from his office before going to leave.

“See you tomorrow, Dr Kim! Have a good night,” you call to him as you open the door to his classroom.

“You too,” you hear him say. “And YN?” The use of your first name stuns you a bit, for more reasons than one, and you glance over your shoulder to look at him.

“Yes?”

“Call me Jiwoong.” Suddenly, the students judging you was no longer your main concern.

The rest of the week passes by in a blur, and you find yourself meeting those expectations that Jiwoong was hoping for. Students began letting you help them with things they didn’t understand, Jiwoong was letting you sit next to him and watch as he graded papers (no matter how boring it seemed), and you found yourself becoming comfortable. Any doubts you’d had about working with university students melted away because, not to jinx yourself, but it was surprisingly easy. Especially with Jiwoong helping you every step of the way.

You weren’t faring any better with his presence, every little compliment he gave you only made your cheeks warm as you would try to stifle a smile and avoid eye contact. Not that you would see the way he didn’t bother trying to hide how the corners of his lips rose. Because if you did, the small crush you had would only grow. You hated admitting it, but yes, it was a crush. A small, tiny, school-girl crush that you were positive at least half of Jiwoong’s female students had on him as well. It almost couldn’t be helped–he was so kind, he handled you with such ease, and he was so knowledgeable.

There was one night when you’d stayed with him in his classroom as it grew dark outside, expressing your worries for your future. Maybe it was wrong to open up in the way you had to someone who was supposed to be your mentor, your superior, but you had anyway. There was just something about him that made you feel so comfortable, so safe. You trusted him easily, and you barely began to notice the way things were progressing.

About two weeks after you’d begun student teaching, Jiwoong had messaged you late on a Saturday night.

The text itself wasn’t anything that should’ve been suspicious or out of the ordinary, just an update on a task he wanted you to complete over the weekend, it was the time he’d sent it at. Almost one in the morning. Against your better judgment, you’d asked him why he was up so late.

Dr Kim, Student Teaching Program

Sometimes I lose track of time when I’m grading things.

Sorry if I woke you up.

His response comes quickly, and you roll over in your bed as you think of how to respond.

No, it’s okay. I was up anyway

Dr Kim, Student Teaching Program

You should be sleeping.

The smile that fights its way onto your lips almost makes you forget that this man is five years your senior, and technically your teacher.

Too many assignments that I don’t understand that need to be done by Monday.

Dr Kim, Student Teaching Program

Call me.

So you did, and for half an hour he did help you with the work you had been struggling through, but eventually, the topics began to change. What did you do that night? What did you have for dinner? What are you doing tomorrow?

Jiwoong spoke to you like you were an old friend of his, and you hated the way it made you feel. It made you feel important to him, like he was telling you things he wasn’t sharing with anyone else and confiding in you. Even if it was just the type of wine he’d been drinking that night. The hours ticked on, and eventually, his voice grew just a bit husky, cluing you into how he was probably getting tired.

“I’m gonna take your advice and go to bed,” you say softly into the device, your phone lying next to your head on your pillow.

The noise he makes almost sounds like a protest. “What? It’s only… almost four in the morning, jeez–” You laugh softly, feeling your eyes droop. A moment of silence passes between the two of you. “Stay on the phone with me. Please.”

Somewhere in your dazed mind, you know if you were more awake then you would probably be kicking your feet while your heart would beat wildly. “I don’t know…” you mumble, eyes closed now.

“No, please, YN. Just… I like talking with you.”

You sniffle softly, not completely processing his words as you think about how your allergies must be acting up again. “Okay,” you breathe, giving up easily. Jiwoong lets out a breath of relief from the other side of the phone. “‘M gonna go to sleep, though.”

There’s a hint of a smile in his voice as he speaks up again, “You can go to sleep, sweet girl, I’ll stay on the phone with you.” The nickname makes your breath hitch. It feels like those two little words have erased almost every boundary between the two of you, and you nod even though he can’t see you.

“Good night, Jiwoong.”

“Sweet dreams, sweet girl–” You drift off before you hear the rest of his sentence.

The next morning, when you wake up, your phone is dead and you curse at yourself a little for forgetting to plug it in before you fell asleep. As you get up to brush your teeth and wash your face, you plug it in, and when you return, you notice the single message from Jiwoong from about an hour ago.

Dr Kim, Student Teaching Program

I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable last night. It won’t happen again.

The words are sweet and they make you feel giddy as you unlock your phone.

Not at all! It was nice, my phone just died cause I didn’t have it plugged in :(

Was the frowny face professional? Absolutely not, but neither was falling asleep on the phone with the professor that you were currently studying under. And when he sends back a smiley face, you can’t help but let the thought of him possibly returning your small crush grow a bit.

A little bit of worry creeps in as well as you think about the consequences that could come along with this, but you brush them off before you can consider it for too long. You trusted Jiwoong, he knew what was right and what was wrong. After all, you recall an hour-long conversation the two of you had had about his love for self-help books. If something went too far, he would stop it.

Repeating that thought to yourself is what helps you pluck up enough courage to accept his request to call again that night. And the night after that after you had stayed till almost eight at night in his classroom with him. The two of you hadn’t even gotten any work done, opting for talking about anything and everything as he skimmed the same essay at least ten times.

White noise from your ceiling fan fills your room as you stare at the blades, watching as they spin around and around while you listen to Jiwoong talk about some movie that is coming out soon that he wants to see.

“Is this wrong?” you ask him abruptly when he finishes his sentence. On the other side of the line, he’s quiet.

“What do you mean?”

“For us to be on the phone like this…” you trail off as Jiwoong chuckles a little.

“No. I’m making sure you’re getting the proper amount of sleep you need, remember?”

You scoff, smiling as you roll your eyes. “Cause you’re so boring.”

“You would not still be talking to me the way you do if I was boring.” There’s a double meaning to his words. You’re not dumb, you can tell, especially after working with Literature majors for what was nearing a month.

“...You know what I mean.”

Jiwoong hums, “I do.” His effortless acknowledgment of the subject has you reeling. How could he be so casual about this? Like he couldn’t get in trouble if someone found out about the way you two had been interacting outside of the workplace? “It’s not wrong. We’re both adults.”

“But you’re technically my teacher…”

You feel like you said the wrong thing as soon as the words leave your mouth. Like acknowledging it was making it all seem too real for him, and you hear Jiwoong sigh softly. “Not really.”

You open your mouth to speak but before you do, Jiwoong continues. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, and I know this situation isn’t… ideal. That is, if you feel the same way I do.”

It was like everything else was forgotten for you. Everything about how this shouldn’t be happening in the slightest, how either one of your careers could be ruined if someone ever found out about this leaving your mind because it was just you and Jiwoong now. Jiwoong. Not Dr Kim.

Your heart is racing as you speak softly into the phone, “How do you feel?”

The way he doesn’t say anything at first tells you he’s thinking deeply. Probably considering how to word things without making things seem more taboo than they already were. For a moment, it’s almost like he’s there with you–you can see his dark brown irises and the thin curve of his upper lip, and you can smell one of the custom blends of cologne he loves creating so much. You close your eyes and listen to his breathing, pretending that he’s lying right next to you.

“I like you. A lot,” he says plainly, the man that you know to be so poetic with his words suddenly gone. “You’re the highlight of my day, the person that I rely on to make everything better even though you don’t realize it. I want to see you all of the time, not just in the professional setting.”

You don’t know what to say, don’t know what to think, your thoughts a muddled mess of everything you believed to be right and everything that you had deemed wrong. This didn’t feel real. You must’ve fallen asleep. You pinch your thigh softly as you continue staring at the back of your eyelids. There was no way this wasn’t a dream.

“I keep picturing you across the table from me at a nice restaurant because a girl like you should be spoiled. I want to experience new things with you, I want to watch you achieve your dreams and grow as a person. I… I want to see you when I come home in my t-shirt with dinner ready, and I want to watch you fall asleep, and be there when you wake up–”

“Jiwoong,” you interject. “Come pick me up.”

When he arrives at your apartment, you don’t bother changing out of your pajamas as you lock the door behind you, rushing to the elevator and out into the parking lot. The air feels heavy with humidity as you spot Jiwoong’s car. Every shred of hesitance you have is gone, as you get into his car, breathing heavily as you make eye contact with him. It wasn’t just the temperature that was making you feel warm anymore, it was this feeling between the two of you as he put the car into drive and took you back to his place.

You couldn’t even describe it. Tension wasn’t the right word because it felt like so much more than that. Like you had found the right place to fit your soul and it was being kept from you. Like you were the positive end of a magnet being pulled away from the negative side. You never thought you’d be able to feel so deeply for someone, but as Jiwoong’s hand slips into your own and he guides you into his apartment, the concept of loving someone more than yourself suddenly makes sense to you.

Regret is the last thing on your mind when your back hits the door and his lips are meeting yours. The rim of his glasses knocks against your nose a bit, but all you can feel is his hands gripping the skin of your waist. Jiwoong kisses you like he’s done it before, handling your body against his like you’re all he’s ever known. His tongue gently explores your mouth, his teeth biting down a little on your lower lip as he pulls away to rest his forehead on yours.

“Do you want this?”

You let out a deep breath, “Yes.”

He kisses you deeply again, and you taste the wine he must’ve been drinking before calling you. Jiwoong’s hands are careful as he pushes you back towards his bedroom, laying you back on his bed and the look in his eyes is one that you don’t want anyone else to see as he removes your shoes.

They’re practically glowing as they trail back up to your face, his cheeks are the same color as rosebuds and his lips are swollen from the way he’d been working them against your mouth. Hesitantly, you reach up, fingers removing his glasses from his face. The action is almost domestic, as if it was something you’d done together countless times before. When he blinks softly, you can tell his vision is adjusting, probably a little fuzzy without the aid of his prescription.

His pupils are blown and his lips are slightly parted and, yeah, you don’t want anyone else to see him like this.

Jiwoong lowers himself back over you, body already acting on instinct as he leans to kiss you again. The feeling of the minimal amounts of your skin on his, his scent filling your mind, his hands coming up to hold your face to him as he deepens the kiss has you clutching onto his glasses still in your hand pathetically. His tongue practically licks into your mouth and your heart races at the feelings coursing through you.

“So good… You taste so good…”

“Jiwoong–” He wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to him as his lips continue moving against yours. His taste takes over you as his tongue slowly flicks over your lower lip, gently requesting entry for an even deeper kiss.

“You’re so good. I can’t get enough of you. My sweet girl,” he says against your mouth, each syllable muffled by the gentle press of his tongue against yours as his hands slowly glide down your sides, softly tracing over your frame.

All of your rationale is consumed by desire as you press closer to him, his hands trailing down to your hips as he flips over, helping to maneuver you onto his lap. When you feel his fingers dip beneath the waistband of your sleep shorts and dig into your flesh over the thin fabric of your underwear.

“I tried, I tried so hard to resist you. But I can’t help it, YN, I want to enjoy you. Want to feel you.” Jiwoong’s voice is thick with need as he looks at you.

You nod softly. You’ve never wanted anything so badly before. “Please,” you agree.

Jiwoong smiles as you speak. “Do you really want this?”

Trying to think clearly for a moment, you do your best to think of what this could result in. This wasn’t just going to be a one-time thing, you knew that, and you still had a few months left for your student-teaching. But you cared about Jiwoong. You cared about him and you knew that you could make this work. You weren’t dumb.

So, you nod a little again, “I’m sure.”

“Okay,” he breathes. “Promise to tell me if you want to stop?”

His nose bumps against yours as he speaks, arms encircling you tighter, his body slowly pushing up to you. Your hands find his face again as he leans back against the pillows by his headboard. “I promise.”

Your heart flutters when his hands slip under the bottom of your shirt. “I’ll be gentle, and I’ll stop whenever you want, I just want to hold you and– and feel you–”

He cuts himself off with a low groan, your hips subconsciously rolling down onto his. You’re glad for the thin layers of clothing you’re wearing as you watch his head tilt back. Jiwoong’s breathing quickens as he moves his fingers down your spine, body continuing to push closer to you and you can feel the outline of his dick through his sweatpants, his length pressing up into your clit easily.

“You want me?”

Jiwoong responds instantly, bodies still moving gently against one another with an underlying need. “I want you. I want this, I want more–” He seems to regain a bit of his control as he lifts your shirt over your head, your skin bare beneath it and his fingers go up to flick at your nipples instantly. You jerk against him, the added sensations making your body move desperately to get more friction on your clit.

“From the first time I saw you,” Jiwoong begins against your skin as he moves his lips from your cheek to your neck, teeth grazing your skin. “I knew you were going to drive me crazy because I couldn’t have you but– God, but you’ll let me have you anyway right?”

You moan weakly, feeling the wetness begin to build up in your panties, “Yes!”

One of his hands leaves your tit to go to your neck, tracing over a bite mark he’d left on the flesh. His voice has a hint of a tremble in it as his breathing becomes heavier, “I’ve never wanted anyone or anything more than I want you. I can’t resist you, can you feel it? Can you feel how much I want you?”

You can, you’re grinding down onto him and it must be painful–how much he wants you.

“I want to hear you, sweet girl, I want to hear you moan, and cry out.” He pinches your nipple softly and you yelp, feeling that coil in your stomach begin to tighten. “I want to see you come undone.”

His hands push you further down in his lap as you let out a plea of his name, teetering right on the edge. It’s pathetic, honestly, he’s barely done anything and you’re still so close. But you’re so pent up from his teasing and his words and how beautiful he is. His smell, his words, how easy this all feels.

“Don’t hold back, YN, it’s okay… I want you to feel good.” You grip at his shoulders desperately, eyes squeezing shut as your orgasm hits you suddenly. “There we go, baby, come for me. You’re doing so well.”

Jiwoong doesn’t give you a moment to breathe, moving you so you take his spot against the pillows while he removes his clothing. If you didn’t feel so dazed, you would be able to appreciate the sight of his bare torso more, the way the muscles ripple under his skin as he moves on to his sweatpants. When he’s just in his boxers, Jiwoong presses his lips to your neck again.

He continues to kiss and nibble against the skin, taking his time and enjoying you, just like he said he would. The thought makes your thighs press together, another wave of arousal already passing through you again. You press your face into his hair, breathing in his scent as his teeth meet your neck. Jiwoong lets out a soft, shuddering sigh as you press your nose into the strands, his hands going back to traveling over your bare torso, circling your nipples.

“You’re mine?” His voice is thick with emotion, his words almost slurred as his mouth travels downwards to capture one of the buds in his mouth, suckling it softly and making you whine. You press a hand over your mouth, biting against it and muffling a moan as his hands move over your stomach and near the edge of your panties. He squeezes your hips, biting the bundle of nerves he has between his lips softly.

“Don’t muffle it, baby, I want to hear you.”

Everything about this feels so intimate. Like you’ve never reached this level of connection with another person, and all you can do is continue thinking of him. Your thoughts simply being: Jiwoong, Jiwoong, Jiwoong.

He’s removing your shorts along with your panties, “That’s a good girl… I want to feel more, come on, sweet girl, are you okay? Do you want to go further? You’re doing so well.”

“Yes, I want more,” you respond instantly. You’d be a fool not to and your heart steadies when you glance down to see the smile on his lips.

“You’re doing so well, my sweet girl, I’m so proud of you.” Jiwoong places one last kiss on your stomach before he leans up to kiss your lips again. Your head is swimming with desire, from being with him, from tasting his skin, from feeling him close to you like this.

You suck in a deep breath when he parts from you. “You can keep going.” His fingers brush over your ribs as he holds your face again, mouth pressing firmly against yours, exploring every inch of you as your bodies meld together. Everything feels so warm and it’s getting hard to breathe, but you wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Please, Woongie, I want it–” The only thing separating your entrance from his cock is the material of his boxers, and you reach down to fumble with the waistband. Jiwoong chuckles softly, lips moving over your jaw. When you finally succeed in pushing them down enough to free his length, he slowly pulls back to look at you.

Jiwoong’s thumb runs over your lips at a speed that truly shows his control. “I want to be the only one who can make you feel like this.” You part your lips, taking the digit into your mouth. He lets out a low, soft moan as you swirl your tongue around his thumb, his eyes closing briefly before he opens them again. His gaze is the darkest you’ve ever seen it as he slides his finger out and away from your tongue.

“I want to be closer to you,” he trails off as he pecks your shoulder, and you groan when you finally feel the thickness of his tip run through your folds a few times before it finally gets caught on your entrance. “I want to know everything about you, want to explore every inch of you, to feel every part of you… I want to know what makes you feel good, how you like to be touched… kissed, every sound you make when I make you feel good.”

His mouth kisses over the shell of your ear as he speaks, “You’re mine. I want you, I want you so badly.”

“I know– I trust you.” It’s the last thing you get out before he’s stretching you open. The thickness of him fills you perfectly, every movement from him making you want to forget taking a moment to adjust and let him fuck you. His mouth is right next to your ear and you can hear every little breath, every little strained whimper leave him as you clench around him, shaping yourself to the shape of his cock.

Finally, after a moment of letting his hips sit against yours, enjoying the feeling of being connected, you whine. “Move, move, you can move–”

It doesn’t take him long to listen to you, thrusts beginning slow and deep as you cry out. His hands trail up and back down your side as he pushes into you at a pace that makes you want to sob from frustration. You feel your head spin as his mouth travels over your neck, lips pressed against your cheek before he kisses you again.

He starts moving a bit more, thrusts sharp as he quickly finds that little mushy spot inside of you, rubbing against it again and again to the point where you’re feeling the tears well up in your eyes.

“I’d do anything to have you like this. Always.” You barely register his words, the sound of skin slapping and the wetness of your juices almost drowning them out. Weakly, your fingers curl into his sheets as his pace slows, hips rolling against yours. “I want to be closer to you– closer, I need to feel you more.”

“How–” you get out before Jiwoong’s pulling you up towards him, holding your body against his tightly as his dick gets even deeper inside of you. His movements are shallow, but it feels like he’s in your stomach, and your moans are getting more and more strained as your throat begins to feel raw.

“Look,” he breathes, hand in your hair as he forces you to see where your bodies meet. The sight has you squeezing around him, the build-up already beginning in your lower abdomen again. Your poor clit looks so swollen as your walls stretch to swallow him with each of his movements, a ring of white settling at the base of his cock each time he fully enters you. “You’re so good for me.”

Your body continues pressing against his, and you cry out loudly, eyes squeezing shut.

“S’good… Lift your head back up– I want… I want to be able to–” He stops mid-sentence, his movements beginning to speed back up as he grips you tighter. You try to listen to him, but you think that your muscles are spasming as his mouth meets yours in a messy, passionate kiss. You can feel his body shaking, and you know he’s getting close too.

Jiwoong’s hands release you, and you fall back to lay against the pillows again, lower back arching to try and find his touch again. “Can’t–”

“You can, sweet girl… It’s okay, my baby, be good for me,” he speaks slowly, his words heavy with lust. “Be a good girl– Do it for me.”

“Okay,” you cry a little. Another soft moan slips from Jiwoong’s lips as he tries to get as close as possible to you again, moving his mouth near your ear.

“I’m almost there– Can I… Do you want–”

“Yeah, inside,” you breathe, chest heavy with the labored movement of sucking in air. And it’s barely a few more seconds before your high hits you. The sensation is so strong that your vision goes black for a moment, missing the way that Jiwoong’s eyes lock onto your face, hearing his name spill from your throat as his hips push against yours one last time. His hands grip your waist and his mouth opens with a loud groan of your name as he comes, body shaking lightly as he continues to hold onto you.

You feel warm as his body collapses, the weight comforting as the fuzziness from your orgasm begins to morph into exhaustion. You feel safe, like nothing could hurt you as he laughs shakily, kissing your cheek before he gets up to clean you up. You feel loved when he gets back in bed with you, cuddling you against him.

You don’t feel any regret at all when you wake up the next morning.

Later that week, Jiwoong takes you out on a date. Well, you can’t call it a date. He calls it a “professional meeting” as a joke because nothing about it is professional at all. Not the expensive restaurant he takes you to or how he pays for your meal or how the conversation is much too friendly for a teacher assistant and the professor she’s studying under. Especially not the way he fingers you as he drives you back to your apartment.

The nightly calls continue and so does staying later in his classroom. Things feel like they’re progressing at the normal rate for a relationship. Things feel like a normal relationship and suddenly, a month has gone by.

And you decide to bring it up.

“Are we dating?” you ask him one night, sat next to him at his desk per usual. You had just begun to grade small assignments from students on your own, Jiwoong checking over them once you were done, and he glances over your shoulder at the piece you’re working on. He doesn’t say anything. “Jiwoong.”

“I heard you,” he acknowledges before falling silent again.

Confusion enters your emotions as he continues working, completely ignoring your question. “So…” Suddenly, he groans, removing his glasses and rubbing over his face with one of his hands in a very dramatic fashion. You’re surprised at the reaction, to say the least, feeling your face scrunch up in the way he whined like a child. “What?” you press.

“YN, you know that’s not possible.”

You feel like you’ve been shocked. “So you’ll fuck me and take me out on dates but you won’t make me your girlfriend?”

“First of all, those aren’t dates–” You scoff, leaning back in your chair as you stare at him in disbelief. “And second of all, I’m technically your teacher– it just, a relationship wouldn’t work right now.”

You remember using those words towards him. You hate how he’s using them back towards you, it makes a weird feeling settle in your gut that you can’t really explain. What makes you feel worse is the way he slips his glasses back on and goes back to work like it was nothing.

“What about after I graduate?”

“That’s a ways away.”

“Okay… well, I want a future with you and I want to know where things stand–”

“And I told you where they stand, so drop it.” His tone is sharp, a timbre he’s never used on you before. Usually, he was so gentle with you, and the rudeness in his voice is something you’re not used to, making you shrink back a little.

After breathing heavily for a moment you continue, “Fine.”

“Don’t get short with me.”

Maybe you’re being a little petty. “I’m not being short, Jiwoong, I’m agreeing with you.”

You go back to the paper you’re reading, gripping your pen tightly as you consider what needs to be fixed. Anger is an emotion that you’re not fond of, you hate the way you let it control you, and you try not to focus on the emotion as Jiwoong sits silently next to you. Things feel cold all of a sudden, like a wall had been put up between the two of you.

“I’m sorry,” Jiwoong says abruptly, voice soft. You look back up at him to find him holding his hand out to you. Your eyes flick down to his outstretched hand, then back to his face. “Obviously I’ve never been in this situation before. I want to be careful with how we go about this, and I don’t want to date you privately–I want to show you off. It’s what you deserve.”

“It’s okay to have reservations, but I don’t want to waste my time if you can’t see this going anywhere,” you explain, voice matching his. Jiwoong nods in a way you think is supposed to show he understands you.

“Let’s give it a bit more time, okay? There’s no need to rush into things,” he says. And then he smiles a little, and you hate the way it instantly comforts you. Fighting back your own smile, you bite your tongue, which he notices, and proceeds to smile wider. “I care about you, and you care about me. Isn’t that all that matters right now?”

Begrudgingly, you place your hand in his and his fingers wrap around it, squeezing softly, “I guess.”

Against your better judgment, you stop fighting the smile. “Let me take you out tomorrow.” And you agree, because you think you’ve fallen in love with him.

When you arrive at his classroom the next morning, Jiwoong’s speaking with another one of the girls in your program. From the way her hair flows behind her perfectly and her tall height, you know it’s Xiaoting. You haven’t spoken to the girl a lot, but you know she’s very intelligent, or else she wouldn’t be assisting at the same university as you. Quietly, you slip into Jiwoong’s office, setting your bag down while trying not to interrupt their conversation. You stay in the room as you try to watch them through the crack in the door, trying to not make it apparent that you were attempting to eavesdrop. But she’s not there for much longer, and the blush on her cheeks is telling enough, along with her smile as she nods farewell.

That sinking feeling is back in your stomach again, and your heart feels heavy as you exit Jiwoong’s office, trying to look casual as the ugly feeling of jealousy grows within you. He greets you as usual, and you decide to take that as enough reassurance that everything is fine.

Everything is fine as the two of you joke throughout the day, as the two of you talk and work together. Everything is fine as he drives you back to your apartment, telling you he’ll pick you up at eight. Everything is fine as you get ready to go out and everything is fine as you sit on your couch, watching as the clock hits the time he’s supposed to meet you.

Maybe it’s traffic. Maybe he got held up with something else. You try to think of every possible scenario as you sit and wait, letting your mind run wild as you watch the hands of the clock hit nine. And then nine-thirty. When two hours pass you finally get up, trying not to cry as you go get ready for bed.

He hadn’t forgotten. There was no way. He had told you when he was going to pick you up. So what had happened? You want those feelings from the previous days to come back: the anger, the jealousy, but instead all you feel is embarrassment. You feel bad for yourself, and saddened at the fact that the small action that hadn’t even been explained yet chipped away at your trust for the man. You go to bed that night with a heavy heart, a sensation that was slowly becoming familiar to you.

The sound of your alarm is severely unwelcome the next morning. You lay in your bed for a bit, staring at your ceiling fan whirl around hypnotically. It’s easy to debate calling in sick, to want to lay in your bed for the rest of the day and to be dramatic over the fact that you had been stood up. You don’t want to see Jiwoong, but your curiosity gets the better of you. So, you go through the motions of your morning routine, make the drive to the university by yourself, and enter Jiwoong’s classroom to find him alone. You’re silent as you begin preparing the room for the day, even after he approaches you in the confines of his office and tries to give you a quick morning kiss.

A rush of satisfaction goes through you when surprise reads on his face after you dodge his attempt, pushing past him lightly. “YN…”

You don’t respond to him, pretending that you didn’t hear him as you go back into the main section of the classroom.

“YN,” Jiwoong calls again, following you. “Please, what’s wrong?”

Scoffing slightly, you turn to face him. “You really don’t know?”

The clueless expression he sports tells you enough and you press your lips together, nodding slightly. He’d always made you feel important and seen, and now you felt like the complete opposite. “I– wait, YN, I know. I’m sorry–”

“No, you don’t know!” you argue back. “Don’t act like you do, that makes it worse. Standing me up is bad enough, but you can’t even remember the fact that you did it? Do you know how embarrassing that is, Jiwoong?”

He shakes his head softly, trying to approach you again. When his hands try to hold onto yours, you rip them away from him, crossing your arms over your chest.

“No, of course I remember, sweet girl, of course I do– and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. The last thing I want you to feel is embarrassment.” You sniffle softly as you listen to him, and this time, you don’t push him away when his hands go to hold your face. “Something came up, YN, and I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t.”

“I want to trust you, Jiwoong, but I can’t–”

“Please believe me, YN, please, I can’t lose you.” Your eyes search his irises for anything that might tell you he’s lying, but all you can see is fear. He might not be telling the truth about what had happened, but he was scared. Scared that you weren’t going to hear him out.

You suck in a deep breath, “What happened?”

“Some teachers decided they wanted to get together and I couldn’t tell them that I already had plans and I didn’t want them to see me texting you and I… I’m sorry, I know it looks bad, but sweet girl, I swear I didn’t do anything to betray your trust.” You weigh his words for a moment as you look at him. If that scenario was true, you could understand where he was coming from. Anyone finding out about this relationship would get you kicked out of the program and cause Jiwoong to probably lose his job.

But that was the thing, you couldn’t tell if this scenario was true.

You wanted to believe him. After all, you loved him and you wanted to believe he would never do anything to hurt you. People always told you you were too forgiving, but you simply just put yourself in their shoes, trying to consider how they were feeling. This was just one mistake Jiwoong had made and when you thought about it, you knew he cared about you. He deserved a second chance.

“Fine.” His entire body relaxes instantly as he lets out a deep breath, pulling you into a tight hug. You feel his nose bury into your hair, inhaling deeply. “But don’t let it happen again. At least text me. Please.”

“It won’t happen again, my sweet girl, I swear.”

His lips press against your hair as he repeats that sentence over and over. And you believe him.

Jiwoong lives up to the promise. He showers you with his affections after that morning, getting you little gifts and taking you out more often. His words are sweet and sound like they could come from Shakespeare himself when he tells you he loves you. Buzzing with excitement and giddiness, you had told him you loved him too. But the thought of you still not being official with him was still planted in the back of your mind. You knew the reasoning, but that didn’t make you feel any better, even as you laid on his chest in his apartment while wearing his shirt.

It became customary for you to spend nights at his apartment after you both said the ‘L-word’. All you wanted to do was see him and to be with him constantly, it didn’t matter what you both were doing. And it seemed like the feeling was returned from him. Jiwoong bought things according to your preferences now and you had a toothbrush that sat next to his. With him, you felt safe, and as time passed, you felt more and more needed by him.

With the weekend finally arriving about three weeks after he stood you up, you had packed a bag, as usual, to go to Jiwoong’s for the weekend. Originally, you had told him you were going to stay back at your apartment and study that night, but as the night went on you missed him more and more. So you’d figured you’d surprise him. Was it crossing a boundary? You couldn’t tell, but you thought that he’d at least be okay with saying hi considering you might as well be his girlfriend at this point. And especially since he loved you.

Standing in front of his apartment door, you knock softly on the wood, forgoing the spare key so you at least wouldn’t barge in and scare him. For a moment nothing happens. You count to ten slowly before knocking again. In his apartment, you hear movement, before there’s the sound of the lock and Jiwoong’s peeking his head out into the hallway.

Your face lights up instantly at the sight of him, hair wet and face flushed. “Hi.”

“YN…” His smile looks forced as he keeps the door mostly shut. “What’re you doing here? I thought you were staying at yours this weekend?”

You take a step closer to the door, waiting for him to let you inside. “Well, I was, and then I was missing you, and I was hoping that you’d let me spend the night, but if not that’s totally fine–”

“No, no, of course, it’s alright, sweet girl, just give me a second to go put some clothes on.”

You think you see a flash of red hair as Jiwoong moves away from the door, closing it behind him quickly. Awkwardly, you stand in the hallway for another five minutes, playing with the strap of your bag as you glance up at the door every now and then. You play up the red hair you thought you saw to your imagination. And from how tired you were. Because who else would be in Jiwoong’s apartment this late at night?

When the door finally opens again, Jiwoong opens it fully, and to your relief, it’s just him. Him in a gray sweater and some pajama pants. He reaches for you, wrapping an arm around you as he kisses your hair. “You tired, sweet girl? It’s pretty late.”

You furrow your eyebrows as he closes the door behind you both. “I guess I could sleep… I was kind of hoping to spend some time with you though–”

“If you’re tired you should go to sleep.”

You laugh a little at the statement, following Jiwoong to his bedroom and dropping your bag on his floor. “Yeah…”

He goes over to his bed, pulling the covers back and motioning for you to crawl in. So you do, cuddling up to his chest like you usually do as he turns on the TV for background noise. For a while, it’s just the two of you talking about whatever, like you usually do, and slowly the tiredness does begin to set in, your eyes drooping as you listen to him ramble on. The soft sound of his voice always does wonders to calm you– a small bump from inside his closet rips that sense away immediately.

“What was that?” you ask, slightly scared.

Jiwoong laughs, pulling you back down to lay on him. “Probably just some shoe boxes that fell over. I’m going through my clothes right now… Why? D’you think it’s a ghost.”

Weakly, you hit his chest, “Very funny.” He chuckles softly once more, grabbing your hand to hold it against him. The lull of his heartbeat gets you to settle back down. Your eyes stay on the screen of the TV as he reaches over to shut off the bedside lamp, casting the room into darkness except for the blue glow from the device in front of his bed.

“I actually have a question for you,” Jiwoong says as you begin to drift off.

“Hmm?”

He pauses, and you know in typical Jiwoong fashion he’s thinking of how to phrase something. “If you’re okay with it… Would you like to officially be my girlfriend?”

The grin finds its way onto your lips easily, and you glance up to look at him. He’s also smiling.

“For real?”

“For real,” he repeats back to you, voice slightly mocking.

You laugh, a sleepy yet loving feeling taking over your heart. “Of course, I’ll be your girlfriend.” Jiwoong leans down, kissing you softly, and you bask in the sensation of his lips on yours, tongue pressing against yours in a way that somehow feels fond.

He pulls away, resting his cheek on your head, “I love you.”

As you fall asleep, those are the last words you hear, and you quietly repeat them back to him before slipping into unconsciousness. That night, you dream of Jiwoong going back to the entrance of his apartment, hearing him say goodbye to a woman with red hair. When you wake up, he’s still lying right next to you.

You feel so unbelievably happy as the two of you spend the rest of the weekend together and as you both get ready for the day when Monday rolls around. Jiwoong makes breakfast which you happily eat, only for you both to brush your teeth together and for him to sit and watch as you fix your makeup and hair before he drives you both to the university. You feel like you’re floating, like nothing could bring you down as you drop your things off in his office and as he kisses your cheek while you go off to one of the bathrooms.

In the girl’s bathroom is Xiaoting, standing in front of the mirror doing her makeup that she honestly doesn’t need in the slightest. You smile at her briefly, her returning it before you use the toilet and go back to the sink to wash your hands.

She flicks her hair over her shoulder, “Are my eye bags gone?” You glance at her face in the mirror, her skin practically flawless.

“I don’t think they were there to begin with.” The two of you laugh a little as you go to dry your hands.

“Well. I had a long weekend, so I was just double-checking.”

Going back to standing next to her, you watch as she fluffs her eyelashes with one of her fingers. “Was it at least a good weekend? Something about you looks different.”

“Ah, I got my hair done. Red’s cute, but I wanted to go darker for a little.”

You hate the paranoia that shoots through you at the mention of red hair, reminding yourself to trust your boyfriend as you maintain your smile at the older girl, “It’s pretty on you.”

“Thank you,” Xiaoting says sweetly, expression warm. “But, yeah, I had a good weekend. You?”

Subconsciously, your smile becomes a true one. “Um, yeah, the guy I’ve been talking to for a while asked me to be his girlfriend.” Xiaoting lets out a cute gasp that makes you laugh a little.

“Oh, that’s so exciting, happy for you.” She pulls out a lip liner, removing the cap before lifting the product to her lips. “Me, personally, I am taking a break from relationships right now…” she trails off, focusing on her makeup.

You hum softly in acknowledgment, “I thought you were seeing someone though? That’s what Sieun said.”

Xiaoting smirks a little, putting her lip liner away. “Ok, so, don’t tell anyone but I’ve actually been hooking up with one of the professors here.”

“Oh– wow,” you giggle, slightly stunned as Xiaoting nods.

“It’s nothing serious. I think he’s seeing another girl or something, but like– he’s hot and the dick is good so I can’t complain.”

Very girl’s girl of you, you think bitterly, but you can’t blame her. After all, she’s not the only one in a relationship with one of the professors here. “Can I ask who?”

The look she gives you has your stomach turning in a way that makes you almost feel nauseous, “Actually, it’s Dr Kim–”

You don’t hear the rest of the words she says. Everything feels like it goes silent as panic flares up in your chest. Not anger, not sadness, just pure panic because–what did this mean? You think that your hands are trembling as you nod robotically along to her words, cheeks hurting from the way your lips are uncomfortably turned upwards. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening, Jiwoong wouldn’t do this, there was no way. He wouldn’t betray your trust like that. No, Xiaoting was lying, she had to be because Jiwoong loved you.

“YN?” Her voice does little to break you from your thoughts, the shakiness of your panic and nerves still evident as you clasp your hands together.

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay? You look like you’re gonna get sick.”

“Ah…” You felt like you were going to be sick. You didn’t want to think about this anymore, but everything was starting to make sense: that night he stood you up, the red hair. Had he made you his girlfriend as a distraction? Is that what he was trying to do? You needed to go home. You had to get out of here, you didn’t care about figuring out if the girl next to you was lying or not, you just needed to get out. “I’m… yeah, I’m gonna go home.”

You don’t say anything else to her as you exit the bathroom, everything passing by in a blur as you rush out of the school. Unsure of where you’re even going, you start walking in the direction of the way you think leads to your apartment. You don’t really care though, because that’s when the tears begin to well up.

What had you done? Did you do something? Were you not good enough for him? Was your love not good enough for him? Sucking in small, shallow breaths while trying to calm yourself down, you can’t find it in yourself to care about the rest of the world as people on the sidewalk pass you, looking at you like they were scared of you. Tears slip down your face as you continue walking for an amount of time that you’re not even sure of. You feel your phone vibrating in your pocket, but you leave it there because you know who it is and you can’t talk to him. You can’t hear his voice because you know it’ll make everything seem fine again and it wasn’t.

There were small signs. You can’t believe you were dumb enough to ignore them.

You don’t know what time it is when you reach your apartment complex, but when you ride the elevator up to your floor and stand in front of your door, you realize that your keys are in your bag. And your bag is in Jiwoong’s office. It’s like that’s the final straw, and you're sobbing as you struggle with the doorknob. Nothing was fair. Eventually, you pick yourself up enough to go back down to the receptionist to ask for the spare key and she must feel the right amount of pity for you to give you the key without question.

Being in your apartment is a comfort you haven’t felt in a while. Partly because you can lay in your bed for the rest of the day and partly because there’s nothing that reminds you of Jiwoong here. It was always you going to his apartment. The apartment he took all of his girls to.

You don’t bother with checking your phone for the rest of the night, not caring about the way its vibrations have begun to slow down or how it rings before you put it on silent mode and leave it on your kitchen counter. Instead, you use your laptop to email the head of the program that you had left early that day because you were feeling sick, not having time to tell anyone else. You don’t care if she doesn’t believe you, you just want to lay in bed and feel sorry for yourself.

You fall asleep early that night, body exhausted from the amount of crying you’ve done and now numb to the hurt you feel. What pulls you from your dreamless sleep though, is the loud knocking on your apartment door. Sluggishly, you pull yourself out of bed when the knocking doesn’t stop after a while, looking through the peephole to find the one person you didn’t want to see. But that doesn’t stop you from cracking the door open a bit, and you suddenly get deja vu from the previous weekend.

“YN–”

“What do you want,” your voice is flat as you watch Jiwoong try to reach for the door. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you feel the first flames of anger begin to ignite. He didn’t have anything to say? He wanted to act dumb? “What do you want, Jiwoong?”

“Please, you just need to hear me out–”

“Hear what out? When did you start sleeping with her?” He doesn’t even try to deny anything, knowing he’s been caught and the thought makes you want to scream in frustration and pull at your hair. “When?” you repeat angrily.

Jiwoong sucks in a small breath as he runs his hand through his hair, “YN, you have to understand, Xiaoting doesn’t mean anything to me–”

“Clearly neither do I!”

“YN–”

“When, Jiwoong.”

He hesitates before speaking, “A week after you and I had sex for the first time.” He looks ashamed. You never thought you’d see a man like him look like a kicked puppy, but that’s what he did look like, and the sight didn’t even satisfy you in the slightest.

“I trusted you–”

“You still can–”

You push the door open, revealing the full sight of him. “Don’t. I don’t want to hear it. Let me talk, not you.”

Instantly, he nods, complying with your wishes. Trying to control your frustration, you breathe slowly. “I trusted you, considering everything. I gave you multiple chances, and you still did this, and honestly? I don’t even care why.” That’s a lie, you do care, you care a lot. You don’t want to cry, but all of the emotions are too much, and as you speak you feel the tears begin to fall down your cheeks.

“I don’t want to see you again. I’m going to transfer to a different assisting job, and I don’t want you to ever try to contact me again.”

Jiwoong’s gaze hardens, and suddenly, the man who looked so sorry just a few moments ago looks scary. His eyes look dead, mouth sat in a firm line as he stares down at you, rising to his full height.

“You don’t want to do that, YN, really.”

“Don’t threaten me, I’ll call the police,” you warn, not backing down despite the feeling in your stomach that’s telling you to slam the door in his face. “I want my bags back. For all I care, you can give them to Xiaoting and have her bring me them.”

His chuckle has a wary shiver running down your spine. “Don’t leave me, sweet girl, it won’t end well for you.”

When you look in his eyes, you don’t find any of the Jiwoong you used to know. Nothing of the Jiwoong you’re in love with and your heart somehow breaks even more. “Good night, Dr Kim.” You close the door, ignoring how angry he sounds on the other side of it as you lock it behind you, going back to your bedroom before letting the rest of your tears out into the sheets.

Peace is hard to find, you conclude as you take the next two days off from your student teaching, staying away from all and any forms of social media as you tried to heal as much as you could in such a short amount of time. You still loved Jiwoong, there was no way feelings as strong as the love you had for him would go away in two short days. The thought of it made you angry, but ultimately, you just wanted to ignore anything to do with the man for as long as you could. So on that third day, you had opened your laptop to request a change in who you were studying under.

You weren’t sure if that was even possible, changing your assignment, and you weren’t sure of what excuse you could come up with, but you figured you’d think of something.

“What…” you say softly to yourself at the email from your program already sitting in the inbox.

As your eyes skim over the first few words, your heart falls to your stomach.

“No, no, no,” you repeat softly to yourself, desperately clicking on the box frantically, trying to convince yourself that you were just having a horrible dream.

…Due to inappropriate advances made towards staff, you have been removed from this program… Your life is ruined in one email. In six words. You don’t feel anything and all you can think of is: How did this happen? But deep down, you know, and as the first sob leaves your throat, you hear his voice in the back of your head: “You don’t want to do that, YN, really.”

The air was humid as you entered the small bookstore, the heavy feeling in the atmosphere cluing you into the warm summer’s rain that was on its way. You fix your bag over your shoulder as the smell of paper and coffee fills your nose, a sense of safety grounding you as you look around the small space. Few customers are there, considering you weren’t working the busy hours that day, just from dinner time till closing.

“Hi Ms Park,” you greet the owner behind the checkout counter softly, and the old lady smiles at you as you pass behind her to hang your things up before you begin your shift.

Life was hard after you were expelled from your education program. You had been left to try and figure out where to go from there. Thankfully, you were able to find another program that would accept you. It was through a smaller school, and you would always have that expulsion on your record, but after a hard month, you could finally see your life getting back on track. And you were working in your favorite bookstore during the meantime, trying to save up money for your future.

You adjust the nametag on your top before going back out, asking Ms Park what she wanted you to do first and she was quick to direct you towards a cart of new material, kindly telling you to shelf the books. Doing work like this was good for you, you had concluded. The monotonous actions that you repeated over and over again silenced your mind, pushing those thoughts away that would try to creep into your still-healing mind. And heart.

Hours pass as you continue working, completing little tasks that the sweet owner asks of you, and as you tidy up one of the back corners, you hear her voice. “YN?”

“Mhm?” you hum, glancing at the mess you still needed to finish picking up as you turn around.

You think your heart stops when you see him standing next to your frail-looking boss. You feel yourself freeze, the fear that even just the mention of his name causes you magnifying by the thousands. When you catch yourself, you do your best to snap out of it, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you so timid.

“Jiwoong’s looking for something? Would you mind helping him find it?”

You grit your teeth a little, “Of course, Ms Park.” The old lady smiles as she looks up at Jiwoong, patting his arm softly before leaving you alone with him.

You do nothing except stare at him for a moment, not convinced that this was really happening.

“It’s good to see you.” You don’t say anything. Jiwoong smirks as he steps closer to you, head tilting to the side. “I don’t think you’re supposed to give customers the silent treatment.”

Pushing down your anger, you do your best to keep your face expressionless. “What can I help you with?”

The sight of his smile makes you resist the urge to hit him. “When do you get off?”

“What can I help you find?” you try again, shifting back a little as he moves forward again.

“You know… I’ve been going to this bookstore for a long time, and only recently did they move the poetry section.” You swallow harshly. “Care taking me there?”

Shakily, you lift your hand to point in the direction of the genre he was speaking about, “Head in that direction and they’re behind the shelf and to the right.”

“Mmm, you should come with me.” You don’t say anything, avoiding his gaze. His light touch on your chin makes you flinch softly and he coos a little. “Don’t be scared, sweet girl, I wouldn’t hurt you. But if you need another lesson, I’d be more than happy to give it to you.”

“Don’t–”

“I heard you’re entering a new program? One of my friends works at the place you’re going to.”

The combination of fear with the distant mix of love is something you thought never would’ve been possible. But even after everything he’s done, after the time you’ve spent away from him, you can’t ignore the love you’d once felt towards him.

Jiwoong smiles softly, “Come to dinner with me tonight.”

“No,” you reject softly and his grip on your chin tightens slightly.

“Come on, YN, I apologized for the whole Xiaoting mishap, didn’t I? I would hate to have a talk with your new program coordinator about… the things you’ve done. After all of the time I’ve given you to think about things too.”

You feel humiliated as your cheeks warm. Despite it just being the two of you in the back corner of the store, you feel like there are so many eyes on you. Most of all, you feel ashamed over the little flicker of excitement in your heart at the thought of seeing him like that again. Intimate. On a date. With you.

Your throat feels swollen as you nod slightly.

“Ah, there’s my girl,” Jiwoong says, and the happy tone of his voice is something that would’ve tricked you in the past. You don’t know what he’s doing. You don’t know why he’s still holding onto you like this. “I’ve missed you, my sweet girl. I knew you weren’t dumb enough to make the same mistake of leaving me again.”

Jiwoong’s hand runs over your hair, “I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

But you feel dumb as you silently agree with him, falling back into his trap and sealing your fate as he grins.

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abtrusion · 9 months ago

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Theories of the holy shit what did I just see back there on the street?

Because transmisogyny makes them so impossible to ignore, for at least the last 70 years transfeminized people have served as key material of Anglo-American gender/queer/trans theories, as laundered through anthropology, sexology, and uncited personal witnessing. The anaemic denial of this fact through snappy and surface-level distinctions between ‘queer’ and ‘trans’ and between different transfeminized groups has made it functionally impossible for these theories to seriously account for transf* life, and this failure is highly productive, because it allows for the continued use of both ‘premodern’ ‘third gender’ and ‘postmodern’ transgenderism as lobotomized material for the theories of other people. The last century of gender theoretic development has revolved around slowly refining methods of extracting transfeminized peoples’ insight, forgetting and re-introducing them to their field over and over again to frame them as perpetual novelties, leading to a pernicious form of feminist amnesia that repeats over and over again.

1 . MARGARET MEAD (1949)

The work begins with Margaret Mead, the ‘most famous anthropologist of our century’ (Behar and Gordon 1996), who made her career studying indigenous groups in Samoa and New Guinea, then joined the larger anthropological effort to inform the US Government’s genocidal re-education campaigns against Indigenous American tribes. She later enjoyed a prodigious career as a public intellectual and shifted to more explicitly feminist writing which extensively influenced the movements of the 60s and 70s. Mead argued that essentially all sex-gender roles were culturally determined, and used the specter of the transfeminized homosexual-transvestite both to make that argument and to advocate for gender abolition.

This can be seen most clearly in Mead’s 1949 book Male and Female: a Study of the Sexes in a Changing World. Mead chronologically traces individual gender development through an ethnographic-sexological narrative, beginning with ‘first learnings’ that a child receives primarily through observation. Then the family comes in, and the transvestite comes with it, existing as the primary motive (alongside Freudian sexual attachment) which motivates gendered socialization:

Too great softness, too great passivity, in the male and he will not become a man. The American Plains Indians, valuing courage in battle above all other qualities, watched their little boys with desperate intensity, and drove a fair number of them to give up the struggle and assume women’s dress. (Mead 1949)

Mead argues that “fear that boys will be feminine in behavior may drive many boys into taking refuge in explicit femininity,” but makes a distinction between this identification and what she calls ‘full transvestitism,’ the culturally-specific recognition of that status. This differential leads her to conclude that the physical traits seen as markers of ‘gender inversion’ are culturally specific, and that what is understood as physical sex (then existing on a ‘spectrum’ model) is therefore partially socially determined.

For Mead, gender must be abolished precisely because of the fact that she could even make this argument. As she says,

Only a denial of life itself makes it possible to deny the interdependence of the sexes. Once that interdependence is recognized and traced in minute detail to the infant’s first experience of the contrast between the extra roughness of a shaven cheek and a deeper voice and his mother’s softer skin and higher voice, any programme which claims that the wholeness of one sex can be advanced without considering the other is automatically disallowed.

The desperate need to reproduce these distinctions, to make sex clear and visible and obvious, leads Mead to ultimately argue for a gender abolition that rests on complementary sex-roles. The main benefit of this approach for Mead is the complete eradication of sex-gender ‘confusion’ and its incarnation in transfeminized people, so associated precisely because of their intense usefulness as a tool for undermining sex-gender distinctions. So Mead sees the construction of physical and social gender by using transfeminized people as a lens, but because of her own disgust she can only fix gender by unseeing it again, by displacing gender to ‘real’ physical sex and protecting herself by breaking the tool. This, unsurprisingly, leaves her exactly where she started.

2. BETTY FRIEDAN (1963)

The feminist theorists that came after Mead directly confronted this reversion to ‘complementary sex’ logics, most notably in Betty Friedan’s foundational work The Feminine Mystique. Friedan discusses the ‘paradox’ of Mead’s influence, the strange combination of her exposure of ‘the infinite variety of sexual patterns and the enormous plasticity of human nature’ and her ‘glorification of women in the female role – as defined by their sexual biological function.’ In the middle, Friedan cites a page-long quote describing a point of ambivalent warning in Mead’s writing:

The difference between the two sexes is one of the important conditions upon which we have built the many varieties of human culture that give human beings dignity and stature… Sometimes one quality has been assigned to one sex, sometimes to the other. Now it is boys who are thought of as infinitely vulnerable and in need of special cherishing care, now it is girls… Some people think of women as too weak to work out of doors, others regard women as the appropriate bearers of heavy burdens “because their heads are stronger than men’s” … Some religions, including our European traditional religions, have assigned women an inferior role in the religious hierarchy, others have built their whole symbolic relationship with the supernatural world upon male imitations of the biological functions of women. (emph added by me)

...Are we dealing with a must that we dare not flout because it is rooted so deep in our biological mammalian nature that to flout it means individual and social disease? Or with a must that, although not so deeply rooted, still is so very socially convenient and so well tried that it would be uneconomical to flout it…

...We must also ask: What are the potentialities of sex differences? … If little boys have to meet and assimilate the early shock of knowing that they can never create a baby with the sureness and incontrovertibility that is a woman’s birthright, how does this make them more creatively ambitious, as well as more dependent upon achievement?

Friedan attributes this ultimate focus on sexual difference to Mead’s Freudianism: she argues that Mead’s need to approach culture and personality through sexual difference, combined with her anthropological understanding that ‘there are no true-for-every-culture sexual differences except those involved in the act of procreation’ (Friedan and Quindlen 1963), combines to cause her to inflate the cultural importance of the reproductive role of women. Friedan intensely rebukes this reification of reproduction as another component of the ‘feminine mystique’ (very close to the modern ‘divine feminine’), advocating for programs which enable women to reject the mystique and housewife status and to seek education and employment, to combat the problem ‘which had no name’ but takes shape through spikes in female ‘sex-hunger’ and ‘overt manifestations’ of passive male homosexuality, both understood as ‘children acting out the sexual phantasies of their housewife-mothers.’ In a paradoxical return to Freudianism, Friedan characterizes husbands unwilling to let their wives work as being seduced ‘by the infantile phantasy of having an ever-present mother’ (the Freudian homosexuality-signifier), associating antifeminism with passive homosexuality with femininity which the aspiring feminist has escaped, learning to compete “not as a woman, but as a human being.”

3. THE MULTIPLICATION OF TRANSFEMINIZED SUBJECTS

As we can see, transfeminized subjects are frequently used as signs of system collapse, hypervisible enough to be easy examples and potent enough to rhetorically corrode existing sex-gender systems in preparation for the author’s own vision. Once a piece is published, these examples are usually then forgotten, assumed as scaffolding for the real theory; but the rhetorical strawmen of these transfeminized subjects still remain, trapped implicitly in the text, and they bleed into one another with every new addition to the corpus, every call to action invoking a new transfeminized archetype.

So far we have seen Mead’s anthropological-orientalist framing of ‘transvestitism’ among the anthropological Other and Friedan’s psychological framing of ‘passive homosexuality’ in the United States. The increasing visibility of adult ‘transsexuality,’ somewhat disjoint from the developmental sexology Gill-Peterson (2017) discusses because of its visibility in high-profile cases like Christine Jorgensen, was likewise framed for theory. Harold Garfinkel’s (1967) book Studies in Ethnomethodology, which described methods for observing ‘the objective reality of social facts as an ongoing accomplishment,’ used an intersex woman named Agnes as an avenue to expose how everyday social facts are constructed. Agnes was an ideal exemplar because her insistence on getting HRT and being seen as a woman was considered psychologically normal: “Such insistence was not accompanied by clinically interesting ego defects. These persons contrast in many interesting ways with transvestites, trans-sexualists, and homosexuals.” Of course, Garfinkel was later notified that Agnes did not have an intersex condition, and he then noted that ‘this news turned the article into a feature of the same circumstances it reported, i.e. into a situated report.’

Anyways, now it’s time for yet another transfeminized subject: the ‘transsexually constructed lesbian feminist.’

4. JANICE RAYMOND (1979)

As with her predecessors, Raymond sees analytical power in her particular transfeminized group, arguing that “transsexualism goes to the question of what gender is, how to challenge it, and what reinforces gender stereotypes in a role-defined society.” But she also has some concerns for ‘transsexual women,’ initially assumed heterosexual, none of which are particularly novel or interesting. Now that she’s writing in an environment dominated by Friedan’s mandate towards shedding femininity, feminist amnesia makes it novel to regurgitate Margaret Mead’s responses: that “male transsexualism may well be a graphic expression of the destruction that sex-role molding has wrought on men,” and that “men recognize the power that women have by virtue of female biology and the fact that this power, symbolized in giving birth, is not only procreative but multidimensionally creative” (Raymond 1979).

Her analysis of (new archetype) ‘transsexually-constructed lesbian feminism’ is much more interesting. While Raymond can understand heterosexual transsexual women as ‘reinforcing gender stereotyping’ by pulling primarily from medical archives already hegemonized by gatekeeping and passing requirements, the transsexual women in the lesbian-feminist movement achieved a certain degree of personal contact and visibility that undermined ‘hegemonizing’ logics. So Raymond uses three main arguments: an essentialist appeal to fundamental ‘maleness,’ a red-scare-esque appeal to transsexual lesbian feminists as ‘court eunuchs’ bent on monitoring and controlling feminist spaces, and finally, an argument that transsexual lesbian feminists are fundamentally epistemically corrosive to lesbian feminist spaces:

Whereas the lesbian-feminist crosses the boundary of her patriarchally imposed sex role, the transsexually constructed lesbian-feminist is a boundary violator. This violation is also profoundly mythic, for as Norman O. Brown writes of Dionysus, he as the ‘‘mad god who breaks down boundaries.’’

Contrary to contemporary transmisogynistic discourse which frames trans lesbians as personal threats to women in lesbian-feminist spaces, this violation takes its form not in any particular act but in the act of passing, the deconstructive question this existence seemingly automatically places on lesbian-feminist spaces:

One of the most constraining questions that transsexuals, and, in particular, transsexually constructed lesbian-feminists, pose is the question of self-definition—who is a woman, who is a lesbian-feminist? But, of course, they pose the question on their terms, and we are faced with answering it.

Raymond notes with some frustration that this transsexual question has been discussed ‘out of proportion to their actual numbers,’ using up valuable feminist energy, and frames this as a symptom and crime of transsexual lesbianism itself. The trans question is transsexual women; like the theorists before her, she sees transfeminized people as a gaping hole in the gendered world, but now they’re inside her house, feeding “off woman’s true energy source, i.e., her woman-identified self,” and inherently stand to break “the boundaries of what constitutes femaleness,” to dissolve lesbian-feminism itself.

I want to stress two main points in all of this. First, Raymond understands studying transsexualism as a crucial tool for answering ‘the question of what gender is’ and ‘how to challenge it.’ Second, Raymond’s anxiety about transsexual lesbian-feminists moves away from specific actions and towards the ‘penetration’ inherent in their existence in these spaces at all, the understanding that transsexual women are inherently corrosive to lesbian-feminist movements. These two points are clearly linked. Raymond understands transsexuality as a form of epistemic gender acid, something that can be useful at arm’s length but is deadly up close. Of course, the transfeminized people she discusses were not necessarily invested in asking the Trans Question themselves; trans women attended lesbian-feminist events like Michfest before and after their trans exclusion policies, and regardless of ‘passing’ many people enjoyed a form of don’t ask don’t tell (Tagonist 1997). But within these spaces, the Trans* Question long predated the actual existence of transfeminized people – so once they arrived, the Question and person were fundamentally linked. Trans theorists have negotiated this association extensively, but that’s not the topic of this essay, so I’ll leave you with some sources (Stryker 1994; Stone 1992) and move to Butler.

5. JUDITH BUTLER (1990)

This work has been done already by Vivian Namaste (2020), who argues that “contemporary discussions of Anglo-American feminist theory, exemplified in Butler’s work, begin with the Transgender Question as a way to narrow our focus to the constitution, reproduction, and resignification of gender.” This singular focus on the ‘Transgender Question’ has made it functionally impossible for Anglo-American feminist theory to consider the outsized role of work, particularly sex work, in motivating the discrimination and violence against transfeminized people of color: “framing violence against transsexual prostitutes as ‘gender violence’ is a radical recuperation of these events and their causal nature-a violence at the level of epistemology itself.”

Namaste attributes this focus on featureless ‘gender violence’ to a crippling lack of empiricism, a lack of researcher-subject equity, and an exclusion of subject knowledges. She provides an effective power-based solution to this epistemic violence – that feminist theorists should talk with the subjects of their theory and give them some measure of power in the transaction – a sort of endpoint analysis which means she doesn’t need to consider too much of the internals of the system she’s challenging. That’s a good idea for her work, but with the benefit of history we can move differently. The next section synthesizes Butler, Friedan, Mead, and Raymond together to provide a functionalist analysis of the feminist theoretic use of transfeminized people. What are the benefits of using transfeminized people as an epistemic tool in feminist theory? What are the dangers of using this epistemic tool, and how does feminist theory manage those dangers?

6. PATTERNS OF EXTRACTION AND DEFENSE

Looking past Butler and further into the past reveals that transfeminized people have been crucial not just to the feminist theory of the past 20 years, but have served as exemplars as far back as the 1940s. The ‘Trans* Question,’ which frames transfeminized people as the most visible signifier and most horrifying symptom of social gender, has been cyclically used in a form of feminist cultural amnesia:

A transfeminized group serves as a hypervisible example to 'deconstruct' social gender

Transfeminized deconstruction bloats beyond itself, undermining 'sex traits' or 'femaleness' or some other foundational category of feminist analysis.

Reconstruction of gender as 'biological sex,' alliance between feminist theorists and men of all stripes by arguing that post-gender eradication of transfeminized people will (a) allow men to be feminine without becoming women or (b) destroy femininity entirely.

New-generation feminist theorists realize their predecessors have reinvented social gender. Return to (1).

As Margaret Mead’s work shows, the use of transfeminized groups to deconstruct both physical and social gender has been observed regardless of transmedicalization. This helical pattern has a few general properties:

Each cycle introduces a distinct transfeminized group, positioning it against prior groups as uniquely suitable for analysis, but simultaneously blurs the new group into the existing melange.

This "Trans* Queston" is almost entirely devoid of group-specific context and rooted in transmisogyny, which positions them as horrifying and visible symptoms of social gender.

Each "Trans* Question" initially exposes social gender, but constantly threatens to dissolve other categories or even the theorist's own writing as socially constructed, against the theorist's will.

Each new cycle demonstrates near-complete historical amnesia as to the relevance of transfeminized people in the prior theoretical move.

So the “Trans* Question” allows for the basic feminist move, asserting that gender is socially constructed, but if improperly controlled it stands to dissolve virtually any definition feminist theorists try to build. To be clear, I do not believe in the total deconstruction of categories – you need definitions, even ones you acknowledge as imprecise, to say anything at all. But transfeminized people probably have pretty solid ideas about gender, having to, you know, live with it. The alienated ‘Trans Question*’ has none of this insight, appearing instead as a gaping epistemic hole in the world, and so feminist theorists are forced to come up with complicated quarantining measures to keep the Question from spilling over.

What jeopardizes feminist theory’s use of the Question? One answer (among many) comes by looking at Mead, who concluded that physical characteristics seen as ‘sex traits’ were socially constructed by looking at the culture-specific construction of what she called ‘full transvestitism.’ In this case, the Question undermined sex when the social position of transfeminized subjects were seen as simultaneously normative and anti-normative, existing in some normative ‘social’ role while being understood as distinct from non-transfeminized subjects via another ‘natural’ axis. The fact that these splits were made differently across different transfeminized groups undermined the distinction between social and ‘natural/biological’ aspects of gender, and because the alienated Question provides no means of making anything solid out of any of this, Mead retreated to the womb.

So understanding that the Question allows for the deconstruction of gender, and that it overgrows when multiple (studied as) semi-normative transfeminized groups are cross-compared with one another, we can consider aspects of contemporary feministqueertrans theory that enforce the epistemic isolation and normativization/antinormativization of transfeminized groups. The knots this ties in feminist theories seem relevant both to the ‘why does trans theory exist’ question posed by Chu & Drager (2019) and to the challenges and limitations of applying queer/trans theory to groups outside the anglosphere (Chiang 2021, Savci 2021). I’ll discuss that more in another essay.

SOURCES

Behar, Ruth, and Deborah A. Gordon. 1996. Women Writing Culture. First Edition. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Chiang, Howard. 2021. Transtopia in the Sinophone Pacific. Columbia University Press.

Chu, Andrea Long, and Emmett Harsin Drager. 2019. “After Trans Studies.” TSQ: Transgender Studies Quarterly 6 (1): 103–16. https://doi.org/10.1215/23289252-7253524.

Friedan, Betty, and Anna Quindlen. 1963. The Feminine Mystique. Reprint edition. New York: W. W. Norton & Company.

Garfinkel, Harold. 1967. Studies in Ethnomethodology. 1st edition. Cambridge Oxford Malden,MA: Polity.

Gill-Peterson, Jules. 2017. “Implanting Plasticity into Sex and Trans/Gender.” Angelaki 22 (2): 47–60. https://doi.org/10.1080/0969725X.2017.1322818.

Mead, Margaret. 1949. Male and Female: A Study of the Sexes in a Changing World. First Edition. William Morrow.

Namaste, Viviane. 2020. “Undoing Theory: The ‘Transgender Question’ and the Epistemic Violence of Anglo-American Feminist Theory.” In Feminist Theory Reader, edited by Carole McCann, Seung-kyung Kim, and Emek Ergun, 5th edition. New York, NY London: Routledge.

Raymond, Janice G. 1979. The Transsexual Empire: The Making of the She-Male. New York: Teachers College Press.

Savci, Evren. 2021. Queer in Translation: Sexual Politics Under Neoliberal Islam. Durham (N.C.): Duke University Press Books.

Stone, Sandy. 1992. “The Empire Strikes Back: A Posttranssexual Manifesto.” Camera Obscura: Feminism, Culture, and Media Studies 10 (2 (29)): 150–76. https://doi.org/10.1215/02705346-10-2_29-150.

Stryker, Susan. 1994. “My Words to Victor Frankenstein Above the Village of Chamounix: Performing Transgender Rage.” GLQ: A Journal of Lesbian and Gay Studies 1 (3): 237–54. https://doi.org/10.1215/10642684-1-3-237.

Tagonist, Anne. 1997. “Sister Subverter Diary August ’97.” Unapologetic: The Journal of Irresponsible Gender.

#transmisogyny #trans #transgender #my writing

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tloaak · 9 months ago

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youtube

today we lost the great Efeso Collins, during a charity event to raise funds for clean drinking water for children in the pacific. here is his incredible parliamentary maiden speech from just last week (transcript below). i encourage you to listen, and if you can, donate to childfund's water fund here

Tēnā koe, Mr Speaker. Mai i ngā hau o Ōtāhuhu-nui-a-Rangi, o Maungarei, o Motukaroa; mai i ngā awa o Hikuwaru, o Tāmaki e rere ki te Waitematā, kei te Mānukanuka-o-Hoturoa, ko Kaiwhare, ko Taramainuku kua tau, kua tau ki ngā whenua o Ngāti Toa Rangatira, o Taranaki Whānui ki Te Ūpoko o Te Ika. Tēnā anō tatou.

[From the winds of Ōtāhuhu, of Mount Wellington, of Hamlin's Hill; from the rivers of Hikuwaru, of Tāmaki flowing to the Waitematā, to the Mānukau Harbour; Kaiwhare and Taramainuku have arrived, have arrived to the lands of Ngāti Toa Rangatira, of Taranaki Whānui in the Wellington region. Greetings to us all.]

E fakatālofa atu ki te māmālu o koutou na tamāna ma na mātua, vena foki na uho ma tuafāfine kua mafai ke fakatahi i te po nei. Vikia te Atua ko tātou kua mafai ke fakatahi venei. Mālo ma fakafetai.

Fai mai ina ua teʻi ae Iakopo i le mea sa moe ai, ona ia fai ane lea, e moni lava e i ai Ieova i le mea nei. E moni lava e i ai Ieova i le mea nei. Faafetai le Atua aua e le faaitiitia lou viiga. Ua ifo i ati malie tuʻumoega o le taeao le sa tafa i vanu tafaoga o manu sisina, ae sa faalepa le au pea, sa fili ma le manoa le fetu taʻimatagi, ae sei faalaolao le puli matagi aua ua nofoia vao tutuʻi i le malumalu ma nuʻu malumau o le maota.

Ou te le fagota la i le sao aua ua uma ona fili le utu ma uu le vao fofou. Fai mai le matematega nai tumua, ua pei o se iʻa e moemauga o le atuolo, o foliga matagofie ia ma le maualuga, maualuga lava o lenei aso aisea, ae a lea ua malutaueʻe le tiʻa sa maluʻia, ua tapu lalaga foʻi le vaʻa o le Tuimanʻua mamana ua atoa laʻau i fogaʻa.

Faafetai le Atua le Tama, le Alo ma le Agaga Sa, aua sa tu i Fagalilo tapaau o le alataua, ae sa matemate foʻi aiga sa Tagaloa pe tua ma ni a lenei aso. Ae faafetai i le Atua, aua ua tepa i ula, tagaʻi i ula, foʻi atu lou viiga e faavavau. Faafetai i le tapuaʻiga a oʻu matua ma oʻu aiga, faafetai tele i matua o si oʻu toʻalua ma ona aiga, i le latou lagolago aemaise talosaga molia. Faafetai i uo ma e masani, aemaise o le paʻia o le aufaigaluega totofi a le Atua, i soʻo se fata faitaulaga—Faafetai tatalo. Ae faapitoaugafa saʻu faafetai i si oʻu toalua Finevasa Fia aemaise si aʻu fanau pele Tapuiela ma Asalemo faafetai tatalo, malo le onosaʻi. Ae tapuaʻi maia ma le manuia.

Mr Speaker, it is an indescribable feeling to stand up and address this House. As a son of Samoan immigrants who made the mighty Ōtara 274—Southside hard—their home, I am well aware of the giants whose shoulders I stand on and the masters whose feet I learnt at. The courage, foresight, entrepreneurial spirit, and hope of our ancestors who journeyed thousands of years ago through the vast waters of Te Moana-nui-a-Kiwa brings me here today.

My parents arrived in New Zealand in the early 1960s, told that this was the land of milk and honey. Dad started off as a taxi driver with South Auckland Taxis, and mum on the factory floor at New Zealand Forest Products in Penrose. We lived in a four-bedroom State house on Preston Road in Ōtara, and I attended local schools: East Tāmaki Primary, Ferguson Intermediate, and the great Tangaroa College. We're forever grateful for the State house that was our home for around 20 years, and the quality public education we received from our local State schools.

I did try my hand for a short period at a decile 10 school outside of Ōtara, but that experiment lasted only two weeks. It was during the time in the late 1980s, when families from poorer areas were being discouraged from going to local schools because they weren't considered up to scratch. I'm glad we changed course and decided to high school it in Ōtara, where the motto of our school was "Waiho i te tokā tu Moana"—"Steadfast like a rock in the sea".

Later, at university, I went on to write my Master's dissertation on brown flight, critiquing the Picot reforms that have wreaked havoc on our public schooling system. That period was also a challenging time for my family because we were being told by our teachers to stop speaking Samoan at home and only to speak English. My parents didn't want us to fail at school, so we were allowed to speak English at home and over time we stopped speaking Samoan altogether. In the end, I lost my language. I struggled, I was embarrassed, and I felt incomplete. Even speaking to you in Samoan this evening gives me major tremors.

There's a saying in Samoan: "E le tu fa'amauga se tagata"—no one stands alone, no one succeeds alone—and, for me, no one suffers alone. Over the past years, with the support of my family and friends, I've taken to trying to converse again in Samoan, reading more texts in Samoan, praying in Samoan, and sending our youngest to a local Samoan early childhood centre. Our beautiful language, Gagana Samoa, has returned to our home and is helping to overcome the inadequacy that had taken root in my soul.

As I speak this evening, I'm mindful of the many young people who are navigating these at times treacherous and unsettled waters in life, filled with so much potential, energy, and hope, yet too often misunderstood. In my time as a youth worker in South Auckland, I've spoken with hundreds of young people with massive dreams for the future. We need youth workers, we need social workers, and we need mentors to walk alongside our young people, and, yes, we want our youth to be responsible and caring and considerate. So it's our job in this House to resource the people and organisations who will model the behaviour to them that we expect, but who also won't give up on them and won't come with a saviour mentality.

Many of our societal challenges are driven by poverty. We can achieve greater social cohesion and lift our sense of belonging by addressing poverty. I've been honoured to run youth mentoring programmes for nearly 25 years—that's about how old I am—and to this day I mentor young people. When we undertook and published research on youth gangs some years ago, the youth we spoke to had the solutions and just needed the means to make it happen. Too many of our young people are filling our prisons, and it is wasted human potential. Give them the tools, the resources, and the means to make a meaningful contribution to the world, and they will. I was at a conference recently about the threats to democracy and an attendee spoke about their work in developing nations and used the familiar retort, "You can't eat democracy." And I couldn't agree more. This House, this centre of democracy, needs to do more to engage our people, all of our people, so that they can see this House is not just relevant but an essential part of their lives.

The greatest challenge facing our generation is climate change. The Pacific Islands nations are among the most vulnerable to climate change in the world. The world's continued reliance on fossil fuels, loss of coral reefs, rising sea levels, and increasing severe weather patterns means that our extended whānau in the Pacific are in immediate danger. We, as a collective, must do all we can to do as we say out south "flip the script". Truth is, those who've done the least to create this predicament are being the hardest hit. Our challenges, whether ecological, geopolitical, or cultural, are diverse, but we're bonded by the inextricable ties we have to our lands and our oceans. We've inherited philosophies, knowledge systems, and profound ecological wisdom that holds the answers and drives our collective resilience—from West Papua to Hawai'i. Our fight for a climate resilient, nuclear-free and independent Pacific remains as strong as ever. We are not drowning; we are fighting.

I haven't come to Parliament to learn—learning happens as a matter of course through reflection. I've come to this House to help. Helping is a deliberate act. I'm here to help this Government govern for all of New Zealand, and I'm here to open the door, enabling our communities to connect better with this House. During the election campaign, I spoke to people frustrated about their lot in life, scared for their and their children's futures, and feeling their dreams were slipping away. The people I spoke to expect the Government to do more and move faster. And I know that there are some in this House who believe Government is not the answer to these challenges and that less Government is better. But here's the thing: the Government cannot be a bystander to people suffering confusion and disenfranchisement. New Zealand must close the divide between those who have and those who have not, because the reality for my community is that those who have more money often wield more power, more health, more housing, more justice, more access, more canopy cover, more lobbyists with swipe cards, and more time. And the opposite is true for those who have fewer resources.

It's hard to be poor, it's expensive to be poor, and moreover, public discourse is making it socially unacceptable to be poor. Whether it's bashing on beneficiaries, dragging our feet towards a living wage, throwing shade on school breakfast programmes, or restricting people's ability to collectively bargain for fairer working conditions, we must do better to lift aspirations and the lived realities of all our people. To that end, I want to say to this House with complete surety that the neoliberal experiment of the 1980s has failed. The economics of creating unemployment to manage inflation is farcical when domestic inflation in New Zealand has been driven by big corporates making excessive profits. It's time to draw a line in the sand, and alongside my colleagues here in Te Pāti Kākāriki, we've come as the pallbearers of neoliberalism, to bury these shallow, insufferable ideas once and for all. And this, sir, is our act of love.

Paolo Freire, in his seminal work Pedagogy of the Oppressed, said love is an act of courage, not fear; love is a commitment to others. No matter where the oppressed are found, the act of love is a commitment to their cause, the cause of liberation. The most recent election campaign left many in our Māori communities bruised and targeted for the perceived privileges supposedly bestowed upon them. Shared governance is a rich concept about how we include those who've been excluded for far too long in the work of this House and the democratic institutions that are fundamental to our collective wellbeing. We are Tangata Tiriti and we have nothing to fear. As a New Zealand-born Samoan living in South Auckland, I've experienced, written about, and spoken about racism in this country. I've also been on a well-publicised journey in understanding the needs and views of our rainbow communities, and I have a long way to go. And my message to whānau who often experience the sharp end of discrimination—disabled, ethnic, rainbow, brown, seniors, and neurodiverse—is thank you for trusting us with the responsibility of facilitating a new discussion on how we move forward together and make possible what was once deemed impossible.

The American civil rights activist James Baldwin said, "Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced." We commit to working across this House as a nation and with each other irrespective of our post code, income bracket, skin colour, or level of qualification attained. But, in order for that work, we must come with humility, the desire to listen, and dare I say it, maybe speaking last. If I was to inspire anyone by getting to this House and my work over the next three years, I hope that it's the square pegs, the misfits, the forgotten, the unloved, the invisible—it's the dreamers who want more, expect more, are impatient for change, and have this uncanny ability to stretch us further.

#nzpol #the speech is only about 16 minutes #the last 10m are downtime between speeches #Vimeo #Youtube

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