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mostlysignssomeportents · 8 months ago

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Prime’s enshittified advertising

Prime's gonna add more ads. They brought in ads in January, and people didn't cancel their Prime subscriptions, so Amazon figures that they can make Prime even worse and make more money:

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2024/10/amazon-prime-video-is-getting-more-ads-next-year/

The cruelty isn't the point. Money is the point. Every ad that Amazon shows you shifts value away from you – your time, your attention – to the company's shareholders.

That's the crux of enshittification. Companies don't enshittify – making their once-useful products monotonically worse – because it amuses them to erode the quality of their offerings. They enshittify them because their products are zero-sum: the things that make them valuable to you (watching videos without ads) make things less valuable to them (because they can't monetize your attention).

This isn't new. The internet has always been dominated by intermediaries – platforms – because there are lots more people who want to use the internet than are capable of building the internet. There's more people who want to write blogs than can make a blogging app. There's more people who want to play and listen to music than can host a music streaming service. There's more people who want to write and read ebooks than want to operate an ebook store or sell an ebooks reader.

Despite all the early internet rhetoric about the glories of disintermediation, intermediaries are good, actually:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/12/direct-the-problem-of-middlemen/

The problem isn't with intermediaries per se. The problem arises when intermediaries grow so powerful that they usurp the relationship between the parties they connect. The problem with Uber isn't the use of mobile phones to tell taxis that you're standing on a street somewhere and would like a cab, please. The problem is rampant worker misclassification, regulatory arbitrage, starvation wages, and price-gouging:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/29/geometry-hates-uber/#toronto-the-gullible

There's no problem with publishers, distributors, retailers, printers, and all the other parts of the bookselling ecosystem. While there are a few, rare authors who are capable of performing all of these functions – basically gnawing their books out of whole logs with their teeth – most writers can't, and even the ones who can, don't want to:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/19/crad-kilodney-was-an-outlier/#intermediation

When early internet boosters spoke of disintermediation, what they mostly meant was that it would be harder for intermediaries to capture those relationships – between sellers and buyers, creators and audiences, workers and customers. As Rebecca Giblin and I wrote in our 2022 book Chokepoint Capitalism, intermediaries in every sector rely on chokepoints, narrows where they can erect tollbooths:

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

When chokepoints exist, they multiply up and down the supply chain. In the golden age of physical, recorded music, you had several chokepoints that reinforced one another. Limited radio airwaves gave radio stations power over record labels, who had to secretly, illegally bid for prime airspace ("payola"). Retail consolidation – the growth of big record chains – drove consolidation in the distributors who sold to the chains, and the more concentrated distributors became, the more they could squeeze retailers, which drove even more consolidation in record stores. The bigger a label was, the more power it had to shove back against the muscle of the stores and the distributors (and the pressing plants, etc). Consolidation in labels also drove consolidation in talent agencies, whose large client rosters gave them power to resist the squeeze from the labels. Consolidation in venues drives consolidation in ticketing and promotion – and vice-versa.

But there's two parties to this supply chain who can't consolidate: musicians and their fans. With limits on "sectoral bargaining" (where unions can represent workers against all the companies in a sector), musicians' unions were limited in their power against key parts of the supply chain, so the creative workers who made the music were easy pickings for labels, talent reps, promoters, ticketers, venues, retailers, etc. Music fans are diffused and dispersed, and organized fan clubs were usually run by the labels, who weren't about to allow those clubs to be used against the labels.

This is a perfect case-study in the problems of powerful intermediaries, who move from facilitator to parasite, paying workers less while degrading their products, and then charge customers more for those enshittified products.

The excitement about "disintermediation" wasn't so much about eliminating intermediaries as it was about disciplining them. If there were lots of ways to market a product or service, sell it, collect payment for it, and deliver it, then the natural inclination of intermediaries to turn predator would be curbed by the difficulty of corralling their prey into chokepoints.

Now that we're a quarter century on from the Napster Wars, we can see how that worked out. Decades of failure to enforce antitrust law allowed a few companies to effectively capture the internet, buying out rivals who were willing to sell, and bankrupting those who wouldn't with illegal tactics like predatory pricing (think of Uber losing $31 billion by subsidizing $0.41 out of every dollar they charged for taxi rides for more than a decade).

The market power that platforms gained through consolidation translated into political power. When a few companies dominate a sector, they're able to come to agreement on common strategies for dealing with their regulators, and they've got plenty of excess profits to spend on those strategies. First and foremost, platforms used their power to get more power, lobbying for even less antitrust enforcement. Additionally, platforms mobilized gigantic sums to secure the right to screw customers (for example, by making binding arbitration clauses in terms of service enforceable) and workers (think of the $225m Uber and Lyft spent on California's Prop 22, which formalized their worker misclassification swindle).

So big platforms were able to insulate themselves from the risk of competition ("five giant websites, filled with screenshots of the other four" – Tom Eastman), and from regulation. They were also able to expand and mobilize IP law to prevent anyone from breaking their chokepoints or undoing the abuses that these enabled. This is a good place to get specific about how Prime Video works.

There's two ways to get Prime videos: over an app, or in your browser. Both of these streams are encrypted, and that's really important here, because of a law – Section 1201 of the 1998 Digital Millennium Copyright Act – which makes it really illegal to break this kind of encryption (commonly called "Digital Rights Management" or "DRM"). Practically speaking, that means that if a company encrypts its videos, no one is allowed to do anything to those videos, even things that are legal, without the company's permission, because doing all those legal things requires breaking the DRM, and breaking the DRM is a felony (five years in prison, $500k fine, for a first offense).

Copyright law actually gives subscribers to services like Prime a lot of rights, and it empowers businesses that offer tools to exercise those rights. Back in 1976, Sony rolled out the Betamax, the first major home video recorder. After an eight-year court battle, the Supreme Court weighed in on VCRs and ruled that it was legal for all of us to record videos at home, both to watch them later, and to build a library of our favorite shows. They also ruled that it was legal for Sony – and by that time, every other electronics company – to make VHS systems, even if those systems could be used in ways that violated copyright because they were "capable of sustaining a substantial non-infringing use" (letting you tape shows off your TV).

Now, this was more than a decade before the DMCA – and its prohibition on breaking DRM – passed, but even after the DMCA came into effect, there was a lot of media that didn't have DRM, so a new generation of tech companies were able to make tools that were "capable of sustaining a substantial non-infringing use" and that didn't have to break any DRM to do it.

Think of the Ipod and Itunes, which, together, were sold as a way to rip CDs (which weren't encrypted), and play them back from both your desktop computer and a wildly successful pocket-sized portable device. Itunes even let you stream from one computer to another. The record industry hated this, but they couldn't do anything about it, thanks to the Supreme Court's Betamax ruling.

Indeed, they eventually swallowed their bile and started selling their products through the Itunes Music Store. These tracks had DRM and were thus permanently locked to Apple's ecosystem, and Apple immediately used that power to squeeze the labels, who decided they didn't like DRM after all, and licensed all those same tracks to Amazon's DRM-free MP3 store, whose slogan was "DRM: Don't Restrict Me":

https://memex.craphound.com/2008/02/01/amazons-anti-drm-tee/

Apple played a funny double role here. In marketing Itunes/Ipods ("Rip, Mix, Burn"), they were the world's biggest cheerleaders for all the things you were allowed to do with copyrighted works, even when the copyright holder objected. But with the Itunes Music Store and its mandatory DRM, the company was also one of the world's biggest cheerleaders for wrapping copyrighted works in a thin skin of IP that would allow copyright holders to shut down products like the Ipod and Itunes.

Microsoft, predictably enough, focused on the "lock everything to our platform" strategy. Then-CEO Steve Ballmer went on record calling every Ipod owner a "thief" and arguing that every record company should wrap music in Microsoft's Zune DRM, which would allow them to restrict anything they didn't like, even if copyright allowed it (and would also give Microsoft the same abusive leverage over labels that they famously exercised over Windows software companies):

https://web.archive.org/web/20050113051129/http://management.silicon.com/itpro/0,39024675,39124642,00.htm

In the end, Amazon's approach won. Apple dropped DRM, and Microsoft retired the Zune and shut down its DRM servers, screwing anyone who'd ever bought a Zune track by rendering that music permanently unplayable.

Around the same time as all this was going on, another company was making history by making uses of copyrighted works that the law allowed, but which the copyright holders hated. That company was Tivo, who products did for personal video recorders (PVRs) what Apple's Ipod did for digital portable music players. With a Tivo, you could record any show over cable (which was too expensive and complicated to encrypt) and terrestrial broadcast (which is illegal to encrypt, since those are the public's airwaves, on loan to the TV stations).

That meant that you could record any show, and keep it forever. What's more, you could very easily skip through ads (and rival players quickly emerged that did automatic ad-skipping). All of this was legal, but of course the cable companies and broadcasters hated it. Like Ballmer, TV execs called Tivo owners "thieves."

But Tivo didn't usher in the ad-supported TV apocalypse that furious, spittle-flecked industry reps insisted it would. Rather, it disciplined the TV and cable operators. Tivo owners actually sought out ads that were funny and well-made enough to go viral. Meanwhile, every time the industry decided to increase the amount of advertising in a show, they also increased the likelihood that their viewers would seek out a Tivo, or worse, one of those auto-ad-skipping PVRs.

Given all the stink that TV execs raised over PVRs, you'd think that these represented a novel threat. But in fact, the TV industry's appetite for ads had been disciplined by viewers' access to new technology since 1956, when the first TV remotes appeared on the market (executives declared that anyone who changed the channel during an ad-break was a thief). Then came the mute button. Then the wireless remote. Meanwhile, a common VCR use-case – raised in the Supreme Court case – was fast-forwarding ads.

At each stage, TV adapted. Ads in TV shows represented a kind of offer: "Will you watch this many of these ads in return for a free TV show?" And the remote, the mute button, the wireless remote, the VCR, the PVR, and the ad-skipping PVR all represented a counter-offer. As economists would put it, the ability of viewers to make these counteroffers "shifted the equilibrium." If viewers had no defensive technology, they might tolerate more ads, but once they were able to enforce their preferences with technology, the industry couldn't enshittify its product to the liminal cusp of "so many ads that the viewer is right on the brink of turning off the TV (but not quite)."

This is the same equilibrium-shifting dynamic that we see on the open web, where more than 50% of users have installed an ad-blocker. The industry says, "Will you allow this many 'sign up to our mailing list' interrupters, pop ups, pop unders, autoplaying videos and other stuff that users hate but shareholders benefit from" and the ad-blocker makes a counteroffer: "How about 'nah?'":

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/07/adblocking-how-about-nah

TV remotes, PVRs and ad-blockers are all examples of "adversarial interoperability" – a new product that plugs into an existing one, extending or modifying its functions without permission from (or even over the objections of) the original manufacturer:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability

Adversarial interop creates a powerful disciplining force on platform owners. Once a user grows so frustrated with a product's enshittification that they research, seek out, acquire and learn to use an adversarial interop tool, it's really game over. The printer owner who figures out where to get third-party ink is gone forever. Every time a company like HP raises its prices, they have to account for the number of customers who will finally figure out how to use generic ink and never, ever send another cent to HP.

This is where DMCA 1201 comes into play. Once a product is skinned with DRM, its manufacturers gain the right to prevent you from doing legal things, and can use the public's courts and law-enforcement apparatus to punish you for trying. Take HP: as soon as they started adding DRM to their cartridges, they gained the legal power to shut down companies that cloned, refilled or remanufactured their cartridges, and started raising the price of ink – which today sits at more than $10,000/gallon:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/30/life-finds-a-way/#ink-stained-wretches

Using third party ink in your printer isn't illegal (it's your printer, right?). But making third party ink for your printer becomes illegal once you have to break DRM to do so, and so HP gets to transform tinted water into literally the most expensive fluid on Earth. The ink you use to print your kid's homework costs more than vintage Veuve Cliquot or sperm from a Kentucky Derby-winning thoroughbred.

Adversarial interoperability is a powerful tool for shifting the equilibrium between producers, intermediaries and buyers. DRM is an even more powerful way of wrenching that equilibrium back towards the intermediary, reducing the share that buyers and sellers are able to eke out of the transaction.

Prime Video, of course, is delivered via an app, which means it has DRM. That means that subscribers don't get to exercise the rights afforded to them by copyright – only the rights that Amazon permits them to have. There's no Tivo for Prime, because it would have to break the DRM to record the shows you stream from Prime. That allows Prime to pull all kinds of shady shit. For example, every year around this time, Amazon pulls popular Christmas movies from its free-to-watch tier and moves them into pay-per-view, only restoring them in the spring:

https://www.reddit.com/r/vudu/comments/1bpzanx/looks_like_amazon_removed_the_free_titles_from/

And of course, Prime sticks ads in its videos. You can't skip these ads – not because it's technically challenging to make a 30-second advance button for a video stream, and doing so wouldn't violate anyone's copyright – but because Amazon doesn't permit you to do so, and the fact that the video is wrapped in DRM makes it a felony to even try.

This means that Amazon gets to seek a different equilibrium than TV companies have had to accept since 1956 and the invention of the TV remote. Amazon doesn't have to limit the quantity, volume, and invasiveness of its ads to "less the amount that would drive our subscribers to install and use an ad-skipping plugin." Instead, they can shoot for the much more lucrative equilibrium of "so obnoxious that the viewer is almost ready to cancel their subscription (but not quite)."

That's pretty much exactly how Kelly Day, the Amazon exec in charge of Prime Video, put it to the Financial Times: they're increasing the number of ads because "we haven’t really seen a groundswell of people churning out or cancelling":

https://www.ft.com/content/f8112991-820c-4e09-bcf4-23b5e0f190a5

At this point, attentive readers might be asking themselves, "Doesn't Amazon have to worry about Prime viewers who watch in their browsers?" After all browsers are built on open standards, and anyone can make one, so there should be browsers that can auto-skip Prime ads, right?

Wrong, alas. Back in 2017, the W3C – the organization that makes the most important browser standards – caved to pressure from the entertainment industry and the largest browser companies and created "Encrypted Media Extensions" (EME), a "standard" for video DRM that blocks all adversarial interoperability:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2017/09/open-letter-w3c-director-ceo-team-and-membership

This had the almost immediate effect of making it impossible to create an independent browser without licensing proprietary tech from Google – now a convicted monopolist! – who won't give you a license if you implement recording, ad-skipping, or any other legal (but dispreferred) feature:

https://blog.samuelmaddock.com/posts/the-end-of-indie-web-browsers/

This means that for Amazon, there's no way to shift value away from the platform to you. The company has locked you in, and has locked out anyone who might offer you a better deal. Companies that know you are technologically defenseless are endlessly inventive in finding ways to make things worse for you to make things better for them. Take Youtube, another DRM-video-serving platform that has jacked up the number of ads you have to sit through in order to watch a video – even as they slash payments to performers. They've got a new move: they're gonna start showing you ads while your video is paused:

https://www.usatoday.com/story/money/2024/09/20/youtube-pause-ads-rollout/75306204007/

That is the kind of fuckery you only come up with when your victory condition is "a service that's almost so bad our customers quit (but not quite)."

In Amazon's case, the math is even worse. After all, Youtube may have near-total market dominance over a certain segment of the video market, but Prime Video is bundled with Prime Delivery, which the vast majority of US households subscribe to. You have to give up a lot to cancel your Prime subscription – especially since Amazon's predatory pricing devastated the rest of the retail sector:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/28/enshittification/#relentless-payola

Amazon's founding principle was "customer obsession." Ex-Amazoners tell me that this was more than an empty platitude: arguments over product design were won or lost based on whether they could satisfy the "customer obsession" litmus test. Now, everyone falls short of their ideals, but sticking to your ideals isn't merely a matter of internal discipline, of willpower. Living up to your ideals is a matter of external discipline, too. When Amazon no longer had to contend with competitors or regulators, when it was able to use DRM to control its customers and use the law to prevent them from using its products in legal ways, it lost those external sources of discipline.

Amazon suppliers have long complained of the company's high-handed treatment of the vendors who supplied it with goods. Its workers have complained bitterly and loudly about the dangerous and oppressive conditions in its warehouses and delivery vans. But Amazon's customers have consistently given Amazon high marks on quality and trustworthiness.

The reason Amazon treated its workers and suppliers badly and its customers well wasn't that it liked customers and hated workers and suppliers. Amazon was engaged in a cold-blooded calculus: it understood that treating customers well would give it control over those customers, and that this would translate market power to retain suppliers even as it ripped them off and screwed them over.

But now, Amazon has clearly concluded that it no longer needs to keep customers happy in order to retain them. Instead, it's shooting for "keeping customers so angry that they're almost ready to take their business elsewhere (but not quite)." You see this in the steady decline of Amazon product search, which preferences the products that pay the biggest bribes for search placement over the best matches:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/06/attention-rents/#consumer-welfare-queens

And you see it in the steady enshittification of Prime Video. Amazon's character never changed. The company always had a predatory side. But now that monopoly and IP law have insulated it from consequences for its actions, there's no longer any reason to keep the predator in check.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/03/mother-may-i/#minmax

#pluralistic #amazon #enshittification #ads #prime #ad-tech #discipline

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lanadelspray02 · 20 days ago

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HOLD ME ANYWAY: CHAPTER 7

paige x azzi

Hey guys, I am going to try and start making the chapters longer as requested :) Let me know if you like it and what you'd like to see! I hope you enjoy.

crossposted ao3 here

masterlist here

wc: 4538

--------------------

The morning light bled lazily through the dorm blinds, painting faded stripes across the wall. Paige blinked up at the ceiling, slow and heavy-limbed, her body tangled in too-warm sheets. Her phone was half-buried beside her, the screen dark, abandoned after hours of restless flipping between apps she hadn’t read.

No new messages. Not from her.

She rolled onto her side with a groan, tucking her hand under the pillow. Somewhere in the hallway, Nika's voice carried, teasing someone about being a lightweight at Ted’s last night. Paige tuned it out.

Last night flickered behind her closed eyelids, the blur of neon lights, the heat of bodies pressed together, Azzi's soft laugh melting into the noise. And later: the Uber ride, the porch light catching the curve of Azzi’s smile, her voice barely more than a whisper when she said thanks.

Paige pressed her thumb against her mouth, breathing in through her nose. She was so screwed.

The group chat buzzed, screen lighting up with a series of blurry photos, KK’s failed karaoke performance immortalized forever. Paige let it slide by without a smile.

All she could think about was Azzi, wrapped up in her hoodie, looking at her like, like maybe she didn’t want to run for once. And now? Silence.

Paige flopped onto her back again, huffing out a breath, and stared at the ceiling like it had answers.

“Brooding alert!” Nika’s voice floated through the door, bright and merciless.

Paige flipped her off without lifting her arm. And kept thinking about Azzi anyway.

--------------------

The sun was higher by the time Azzi stirred.

She woke slowly, the dull ache behind her eyes pulsing in time with her heartbeat. Her mouth was dry, her shoulders sore, and something small and warm was breathing against her chest.

Ruby.

Azzi blinked blearily at the ceiling, the smell of baby shampoo and soft breath grounding her. She looked down and found her daughter sprawled against her, bunny tucked tight under one arm, tiny face squished into Azzi’s hoodie.

Guilt prickled low in her chest.

She shouldn’t have gone out. Shouldn’t have stayed so long. Shouldn’t have let herself want things that didn’t belong to her.

Ruby shifted, murmuring something in her sleep, and Azzi closed her eyes again, squeezing her tighter.

You’re enough, she reminded herself fiercely. Even when you’re tired. Even when you want stupid things.

A beat passed. Two.

And then, like a floodgate swinging open, Paige’s smile. Paige’s hand steady on her waist. Paige’s voice, low and easy, singing into the chaos of Ted’s like Azzi was the only person in the room.

Azzi swallowed hard against the lump in her throat.

She slid carefully out from under Ruby, tucking the blanket up around her small body, and padded toward the kitchen on aching legs.

--------------------

An hour later it was time for breakfast. Ruby climbed onto her booster seat at the table, bunny hanging from her elbow, and blinked up at Azzi with wide, solemn eyes.

“Chockit?” she asked, hopeful.

Azzi huffed a laugh under her breath. “Chocolate pancakes? You trying to give me more guilt, Roo?”

Ruby nodded seriously. “Chockit good.”

Azzi cracked an egg into the bowl, the motion automatic. Mix. Stir. Pour. Flip.

Her mind drifted while the batter sizzled in the pan, back to another morning, not so long ago, when Ruby was only a few weeks old. Azzi remembered sitting at the kitchen table in the dark, Ruby wailing in her arms, the walls of the house feeling like they were caving in.

She had thought, then, that her life was over. That she’d never have anything normal again. College dreams. Basketball. Late nights singing badly at a bar. Soft smiles under porch lights.

All gone. All burned away.

But now... Now Paige Bueckers was in her head, reckless and stubborn and stupidly kind, refusing to be shut out.

Azzi flipped a pancake too hard, splattering batter across the stovetop.

“Mama, messy!” Ruby chirped happily.

Azzi let out a watery laugh and wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie. “Yeah, Roo,” she murmured. “Real messy.”

She stacked the pancakes high and set them in front of Ruby, who clapped her hands and immediately tried to drown them in syrup.

Azzi sat across from her, resting her chin in one hand, and watched her daughter devour breakfast with sticky-fingered glee.

She was so small. So fearless.

Azzi wondered when she had lost that.

And, if Paige kept looking at her like that, whether it was possible to find it again.

--------------------

Later, when Ruby finally went down for a nap �� sprawled across the couch, bunny tucked under her chin, Azzi sat stiff and restless at the kitchen table, her thoughts moving too fast to hold still.

Her phone buzzed.

Caroline Facetime Incoming…

Azzi answered without thinking.

“You alive?” Caroline grinned the moment her face appeared, messy bun falling sideways, blanket half around her shoulders.

Azzi rolled her eyes, leaning her cheek on her fist. “Barely.”

“You looked like you were having fun last night,” Caroline said. “Someone was smiling a lot.”

Azzi gave a half-hearted shrug. “Was I?”

Caroline narrowed her eyes. “You’re not gonna play dumb with me, Fudd. I know that look.”

Azzi didn’t answer, just stared down at her chipped nail polish.

Caroline’s tone gentled. “You wanna talk about it?”

Azzi shook her head. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Uh-huh.” Caroline didn’t look convinced. “You’re quiet. That’s when I know something is up.”

Azzi exhaled slowly through her nose.

After a beat, she said, “I think... something’s changing. And I don’t know what to do with it yet.”

Caroline tilted her head. “Changing how?”

Azzi hesitated. “It’s complicated.”

Caroline was silent for a moment — then nodded. “Okay. I get it.”

Azzi looked up, surprised.

“I’ll be here when you're ready,” Caroline said simply. “Just... don’t shut yourself off from something good before you even know what it is.”

Azzi swallowed hard, throat tight. “Yeah.”

Caroline gave her a small smile. “That’s all I’m saying.”

They sat in silence for a few more seconds, the soft sounds of Ruby’s breathing just barely audible in the background.

Then Caroline added, with a smirk: “But when you do spill? I want details.”

Azzi huffed out a reluctant laugh and ended the call before she could say anything she wasn’t ready to.

--------------------

By the time the afternoon stretched into long golden shadows across the backyard, Ruby was fully back to her energetic self, barreling across the grass, bunny dangling from one hand, chasing invisible monsters.

Azzi sat on the porch steps, elbows resting on her knees, a half-drunk coffee cooling beside her. She watched Ruby's chaotic movements with a soft ache building in her chest.

The Caroline call had left her raw. Exposed. And now, sitting here, it was too easy to let the doubts crawl back in.

“You thinking too loud again,” Katie said, stepping out onto the porch with a fresh mug of tea.

Azzi shrugged without looking up. “Just tired.”

Katie didn’t press. She lowered herself down beside Azzi, careful, patient, the way she always was when Azzi needed space and didn’t know how to ask for it.

Ruby squealed, spinning herself in dizzy circles.

“Long night?” Katie asked casually.

Azzi snorted under her breath. “Something like that.”

They sat in silence for a while, the easy kind that only existed with people who knew all your worst parts and loved you anyway.

Finally, Azzi spoke, voice low. “There’s… someone.”

Katie said nothing. Just sipped her tea.

“She’s—” Azzi hesitated, gnawing at the inside of her cheek. “Kind. Relentless. She makes me feel like... like maybe I’m allowed to be more than this.”

Katie set her mug down. Turned her full attention to her daughter.

“When you were little,” she said softly, “you used to build towers out of your blocks. Higher and higher, until they always fell over.”

Azzi frowned, confused.

“You hated it,” Katie continued, smiling faintly. “You’d sit there in the rubble, furious. Like the world owed you stability.”

Azzi let out a shaky laugh. “Sounds about right.”

Katie reached over, brushing a strand of hair out of Azzi’s eyes. “You’ve always been scared of anything that feels unstable, Az. Anything that doesn’t come with a guarantee.”

Azzi swallowed hard, throat tight.

“This girl,” Katie said gently, “she’s not a guarantee. She’s a risk.”

Azzi looked down at her hands, fingers knotted together. “I know.”

“But some things…” Katie said, her voice thick with certainty, “some things are worth the risk.”

Azzi blinked fast, fighting the sting behind her eyes.

“What if I’m not enough?” she whispered.

Katie didn’t hesitate. “You’re already enough. For Ruby. For us. For yourself.”

“And for her?” Azzi choked.

Katie smiled, slow and sure. “That’s not a question you have to answer alone.”

Azzi sat there, breathing in the evening air, feeling the warmth of her mother’s hand resting against her back.

Maybe, she thought, some things really were worth breaking for. Maybe.

--------------------

Later, when the sun had dipped low and Ruby’s chaotic energy finally burned out, Azzi knelt by the bathtub, sleeves shoved up, wrestling soap through wild curls.

Ruby giggled under the spray of warm water, splashing until Azzi’s hoodie was soaked to the elbows.

“Duckie!” Ruby shrieked, grabbing a plastic duck and launching it across the tub like a tiny missile.

Azzi laughed, catching it on the rebound. “Easy, Roo. I’m not trying to get a concussion tonight.”

She worked carefully through the tangles in Ruby’s hair, fingers gentle despite the day’s exhaustion pulling heavy at her bones.

“Pretty?” Ruby asked solemnly, craning her neck to look up at her.

Azzi’s chest twisted so sharply she almost couldn’t breathe.

“The prettiest,” she said hoarsely, pressing a kiss to Ruby’s damp forehead.

They curled up together afterward, Ruby in her bunny pajamas, clutching her battered stuffed animal; Azzi in clean sweats and an old hoodie, head resting against the couch cushions.

Ruby fell asleep mid-sentence, thumb creeping toward her mouth, breath slow and even against Azzi’s side.

Azzi didn’t move.

She stared out at the darkened backyard, the faint glow of the porch light flickering, and thought about Paige.

Paige, who laughed like gravity didn’t apply to her. Paige, who sang to crowded bars like it mattered who was listening. Paige, who looked at Azzi like she wasn’t broken at all.

Azzi tightened her arm around Ruby, feeling the fierce pulse of love hammering behind her ribs.

Maybe, she thought. Maybe, she could find a way to have both.

She just had to be brave enough to try.

--------------------

Monday Morning

The alarm blared at six-thirty sharp, and Azzi jolted awake, heart pounding.

For a second, she thought she was still back at Ted’s, sweaty, half-dizzy, reaching for Paige’s hand in a blur of light and noise.

Then Ruby stirred against her side, mumbling something about pancakes, and the real world clicked back into place.

Azzi exhaled, scrubbing her hands over her face. Back to reality. Back to being the responsible one.

The daycare drop-off was a rush of backpacks and tiny sneakers and promises of post-practice ice cream.

Azzi balanced Ruby on one hip, duffel bag slung over her other shoulder, trying not to spill coffee all over herself as she signed the check-in sheet.

Miss Ella beamed at Ruby. “Morning, superstar!”

Ruby preened, dimples flashing.

Azzi crouched low, setting her gently on the floor. “Be good, Roo. I’ll see you after practice, okay?”

Ruby threw her arms around Azzi’s neck in a sticky, syrup-scented hug.

“Love you, Mama.”

Azzi swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Love you more, baby.”

She stood there for a moment after Ruby skipped away toward the reading corner, watching, breathing, trying to stitch herself back together.

And then she grabbed her keys, tightened her hoodie around her, and drove toward practice.

Toward Paige. Toward all the terrifying possibilities waiting for her.

--------------------

The gym smelled like old sweat and new beginnings when Azzi walked in.

The team was already halfway through warmups, sneakers squeaking, balls thudding against polished wood, laughter bouncing off the high ceilings.

Azzi tightened her ponytail and slid into the layup line like she hadn't been spiraling for the past twelve hours.

Keep your head down. Get through it.

Simple.

Across the court, Paige caught sight of her almost immediately.

Azzi felt it, that subtle shift in the air, the way her heart stuttered in her chest even though she forced herself to look away. She focused on the drills, the ball, the squeak of her shoes. Anything but the way Paige’s gaze burned into her skin.

Paige spun a ball lazily between her hands, watching Azzi out of the corner of her eye.

Something was wrong.

Azzi's movements were sharp, mechanical, technically perfect, but missing all the effortless grace Paige had gotten addicted to noticing. No teasing smirks. No light bump of shoulders when they crossed paths. No stolen glances that made Paige's pulse jump.

She wasn’t just focused. She was closed.

During passing drills, Paige tried to joke, tossing a fancy behind-the-back pass toward Azzi’s line, but Azzi barely flicked her eyes at it before passing it off with clinical efficiency.

No smile. No eye contact.

Paige’s gut twisted.

Nika jogged past her mid-drill, clapping her on the shoulder. “Quit staring, lover girl,” she teased under her breath.

Paige shot her a half-hearted glare and dribbled the ball hard against the court.

By the time practice ended, Paige felt like she was vibrating out of her own skin.

Azzi vanished toward the locker room faster than usual, towel slung around her neck, shoulders hunched tight.

Paige stood frozen by the bleachers for a beat too long, sneakers squeaking past her, team chatter filling the space she couldn’t seem to breathe in.

KK jogged by, tossing her a water bottle. "You good, Bueckers?"

"Yeah," Paige lied.

She wasn't.

--------------------

The locker room buzzed, showers running, hairdryers whirring, Nika and KK arguing good-naturedly over who needed more recovery time.

Azzi sat at the far end of the benches, lacing her sneakers methodically, eyes fixed on the floor.

Paige watched her for a long moment, heart hammering.

Move, Bueckers. Say something.

She crossed the room slowly, casual on the outside, terrified underneath.

"Hey," she said, voice pitched low.

Azzi glanced up, fingers pausing on her laces.

"Hey," she echoed, neutral.

Paige shuffled her feet, trying to find the right words. "Good practice."

Azzi nodded. "Yeah. You too."

Short. Clipped. A wall six feet thick.

Paige felt the ache bloom sharp in her chest.

"You okay?" she asked finally. "It’s just... you’re pulling away."

Azzi froze, hands tightening into fists.

The noise of the locker room faded into white static.

For a long, agonizing second, Azzi didn’t answer.

Then, so quietly Paige almost missed it: "It’s not you."

Paige’s shoulders sagged with relief and frustration all at once.

"Then what is it?" she asked, stepping closer, lowering her voice even more. "Talk to me, Z."

Azzi’s throat worked as she swallowed hard.

"I’m trying not to want something I know I can’t have," she said, the words cracking halfway out of her.

Paige’s heart twisted. "You think you can’t have me?" she asked, stunned.

Azzi flinched, looking away. "It’s complicated."

"I’m not asking for simple," Paige said softly. "I’m just asking for honest."

Azzi looked up then, really looked, and what Paige saw in her eyes wasn’t rejection. It was fear. It was longing.

It was everything Paige had been hoping for.

"I’m still here," Paige said, voice steady even though her whole body was shaking. "Even if you're scared. Even if you're not ready."

Azzi stared at her, breathing hard.

And then, slowly, almost like it hurt, she nodded.

Paige didn’t push. Didn’t reach for her. She just smiled, small and real, and turned away, giving Azzi the space she clearly needed.

But inside, her heart was soaring.

Because for the first time, Azzi hadn’t shut the door.

--------------------

Later that night, Paige lay sprawled across her dorm bed, her phone resting on her chest, a forgotten documentary playing low on the laptop across the room.

Nika poked her head in the door, toothbrush dangling from her mouth.

"You good?" she asked around the foam.

Paige hesitated.

And then, because if she couldn’t tell Nika, she couldn’t tell anyone, she nodded.

"Yeah," she said softly. "I think I am."

Nika grinned around the toothbrush. "Knew you were whipped."

Paige threw a pillow at her head.

But later, when the dorm was quiet and the hallway lights buzzed faintly, Paige whispered into the dark:

"I’m not giving up."

Not now. Not ever.

--------------------

Across town, Azzi lay curled on her side in the dark, Ruby snoring softly against her back.

She closed her eyes and let herself remember the way Paige had looked at her today, steady, patient, safe.

For the first time in a long, long time, she didn’t feel like she was drowning alone.

She didn’t feel like a mistake.

She didn’t feel like she had to run.

Maybe... Maybe she didn’t have to protect herself from everything.

Maybe she could choose something for herself, too.

Azzi pressed her face into the pillow, heart thudding painfully in her chest.

"I think I want you anyway," she whispered into the silence.

--------------------

The library was quieter than usual that afternoon, the soft whir of laptops and the occasional cough the only sounds filling the wide open study floor. Light streamed through the high windows, dust motes drifting lazily in the beams.

Azzi hunched over a heavy textbook at a table near the back, highlighters uncapped but forgotten, one knee bouncing under the desk. Caroline sat across from her, flipping absentmindedly through notes, while Ines scribbled furiously beside her, earbuds tucked loosely into one ear.

"You’re not even reading," Caroline said after a moment, voice pitched low in teasing amusement.

Azzi startled, snapping the book shut and tucking her hands under her thighs like a guilty kid.

"I’m trying," she mumbled, cheeks heating.

Caroline arched a perfectly skeptical eyebrow. "You’ve been staring at the same page for, like, twenty minutes."

Ines pulled out one earbud, grinning. "Bet she’s thinking about a certain someone."

Azzi slumped forward onto the table with a groan. "Can you two not?"

Caroline leaned in, chin propped on her hand, eyes dancing. "We’re just observing facts. Like good teammates."

Azzi hesitated, chewing on the inside of her cheek. The words burned in her throat, sharp and terrifying.

But maybe... maybe if she said it out loud, it would feel less impossible.

"I..." She ducked her head, voice barely above a whisper. "I like her."

Caroline and Ines exchanged a victorious high five across the table.

Azzi scowled half-heartedly. "I mean it. It’s not, it’s not a crush. It feels... bigger."

Caroline’s smile softened instantly. "We know."

Ines set her pen down, folding her arms across the table. "So what’s stopping you?"

Azzi fiddled with the zipper on her hoodie, tugging it up and down anxiously. "I’m scared," she admitted finally. "She’s... different. It’s not just about me anymore."

Something flickered across Caroline’s face, understanding, sharp and quiet.

"You’re scared of letting her in," she said gently. "Of letting anyone in."

Azzi nodded miserably.

"And of what she might find if she looks too close," Ines added, voice equally soft.

Azzi flinched, fingers tightening on the zipper.

Caroline reached across the table, squeezing her wrist lightly. "Hey. You’re allowed to want something good. You deserve something good."

Azzi swallowed hard.

She opened her mouth, almost ready to spill everything, and then shut it again. Not yet. Not until she knew what this was, what it could be.

"It’s complicated," she said instead, voice cracking on the edges.

Caroline and Ines didn’t push. Didn’t demand.

They just smiled, easy, patient.

"So go tell her," Ines said, nudging Azzi’s foot under the table. "Before she thinks you don’t care."

Azzi followed their gaze.

Across the library, a few tables over, Paige was sprawled in a chair with KK and Nika and Aubrey, a messy tangle of laptops, notebooks, and basketballs. Paige had a pencil tucked behind her ear and a faint crease between her eyebrows as she scribbled something furiously on a worksheet.

Azzi’s heart kicked hard against her ribs.

She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans, took a breath, and pushed to her feet.

"I’m gonna throw up," she muttered under her breath.

Caroline snickered. "Iconic. Go."

Azzi shot them both a withering look and made her way across the library, every step feeling like a slow-motion walk through quicksand.

Paige noticed her immediately, because of course she did.

Her head snapped up, blue eyes wide and startled, pencil dropping from behind her ear onto the table with a clatter.

KK and Nika immediately exchanged grins so obnoxious Azzi could feel the secondhand embarrassment radiating off them.

"Hey," Azzi said, voice steady only by sheer force of will.

"Hey," Paige echoed, sitting up straighter, trying, and failing, to look casual.

Azzi tugged at the strap of her backpack.

"I, um. I was wondering if..." She cleared her throat. "If you could help me with this stats assignment? I’m.... kinda lost."

KK made a dramatic gagging noise behind her hand.

Paige glared at her, then turned back to Azzi, softening immediately.

"Yeah," she said, smiling. "Of course. Sit."

Azzi slid into the empty seat beside her, careful to keep a respectable distance, even though her body was practically vibrating with nerves.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Caroline and Ines giving her enthusiastic thumbs-ups like total idiots.

--------------------

They started with math.

Or, rather, Paige tried to explain probability formulas while Azzi stared at the curve of her wrist as she wrote, the soft fall of her hair into her eyes, the way she stuck her tongue out slightly when she concentrated.

Paige nudged her lightly with an elbow after a few minutes.

"You’re not listening," she teased, voice warm.

Azzi flushed to the roots of her hair. "Sorry. I’m... distracted."

Paige chuckled, low and rough. "I’m flattered."

Azzi twisted the hem of her hoodie between her fingers, heart hammering so loud she was sure Paige could hear it.

"Actually," she blurted out, "I didn’t come over just for help."

Paige froze, pencil stilling mid-scribble.

Azzi forced herself to keep going, voice shaking only a little. "I want to get to know you. For real. If you still want to."

Paige turned toward her fully, resting her elbow on the table and propping her chin in her hand.

"I thought you'd never ask," she said softly, grinning.

Azzi exhaled a shaky laugh, tension bleeding out of her shoulders.

"It’s weird," she admitted. "I barely know you. But it’s like... I’ve been drawn to you since the start."

Paige’s smile turned gentle, almost wonderstruck. "Yeah," she said. "Me too."

They sat there for a moment, the hum of the library fading into a soft, easy silence between them.

"Maybe we could hang out after practice Friday?" Paige offered, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. "My dorm's usually pretty chill."

Azzi smiled, real and wide, her dimples peeking through.

"I’d like that."

Just as Paige reached for her notebook again, Azzi’s phone buzzed against the table, screen lighting up with a familiar name.

Facetime Incoming: Mum

But it wasn’t Katie’s face frozen on the screen, it was Ruby, tiny and bright-eyed, waving the phone with both hands like it was a toy.

Azzi’s heart lurched. Panic flared bright and sudden.

Without thinking, she flipped the phone face-down and shoved it toward the far edge of the table, fingers trembling.

Paige’s eyebrows lifted slightly, noticing, but she didn’t say anything.

Azzi forced a smile, reaching for her pen. "Sorry. Mum stuff."

She quickly thumbed a text under the table: Sorry! At study group. Home soon.

When she glanced up, Paige was still watching her, not suspicious, exactly, but… curious. Soft.

Azzi’s chest tightened painfully.

She didn’t want to lie. Not to Paige.

But she wasn’t ready to hand her whole life over yet either.

"Everything okay?" Paige asked quietly.

Azzi nodded too quickly. "Yeah. Just… distractions."

Paige smiled, small and knowing. "Distractions I can work with."

And somehow, just like that, the tension eased.

--------------------

They bent over their worksheets again, shoulders almost brushing, pencils scratching against paper.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Azzi let herself imagine what it would feel like to stop running.

Maybe, Just maybe, She didn’t have to be scared of everything forever.

The study session faded slowly into a quiet rhythm, the sun slanting lower through the tall windows, casting warm orange light across the bookshelves. Around them, the rest of the team packed up one by one, KK loudly declaring she was “done being intellectual” for the week, Nika dragging her into a debate about comma splices, and Aubrey quietly collecting her things with a smile and a wave.

But Paige and Azzi stayed.

Their books remained open, pages half-flipped, pencils abandoned somewhere between a math formula and a doodle of a basketball with a smiley face Paige had sketched without realizing.

Azzi leaned forward, chin resting on her folded arms. "Feels like everything’s moving really fast," she said softly.

Paige turned toward her, her voice equally low. "We don’t have to rush. We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for."

Azzi smiled, a little lopsided. "I want to know who you are when you're not on the court. Off the highlight reels. Just… Paige."

Paige looked down, a little shy for once. "I want that too."

Azzi hesitated, then nodded toward the clock. "Friday still good?"

Paige grinned. "I’ll even clean my dorm."

Azzi laughed. "That’s bold."

They packed up slowly, lingering even as their bags were zipped and chairs pushed in.

Paige bumped her shoulder against Azzi’s on the way out, and Azzi didn’t pull away.

That night, Paige lay sprawled across her bed, arms folded under her head, a lazy smile stretched across her lips.

She scrolled through her texts, rereading the last message Azzi had sent.

Azzi: Thanks for helping me today. And for being patient.

Paige: You make it easy.

She hesitated over the keyboard for a long moment before typing again.

Paige: Friday. Me + you + snacks + vibes. Deal?

The reply came seconds later.

Azzi: Deal.

Paige tucked the phone under her pillow and stared up at the ceiling.

Somehow, knowing that Azzi wanted to try, even if she was still scared, felt like enough for now.

--------------------

Meanwhile, across town, Azzi sat on the edge of her bed in a quiet room lit only by the soft glow of a nightlight.

Ruby was curled up beside her, bunny tucked under her chin, cheeks flushed from sleep.

Azzi held her phone loosely in her hands, thumb brushing over the words Paige had sent.

Her chest felt too full.

Not just with fear. But with hope.

She leaned over and pressed a kiss to the crown of Ruby’s head.

Then, quietly, like a secret between them, she whispered:

"She’s not what I expected."

Ruby stirred faintly in her sleep, and Azzi smiled.

"But I think I like her anyway."

#pazzi #pazzi fics #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #uconn wbb #paige x azzi

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lyralit · 1 year ago

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3.1.24 - writing resources for the new year

isn't lovely to feel like you have the opportunity to start fresh again? here are some fo the resources I'm using going into the new year!

flocus is a pomodoro app with pretty backgrounds, availability to be customized, and it also tracks your productivity streaks, which is definitely a motivational booster

in addition to this, flocus' newsletter, the flow, is a weekly email on how to be more productive! it's one of the things I like to tuck away in my inbox and read.

calmly is a blank page. all you need to do is bring the words.

medium doesn't necessarily focus on creative writing, but it's an interesting place to find similarly interested people and all kinds of articles

characterhub is a website community that promotes interaction among OCs (and is great for artists also!)

poetry foundation has an enormous collection of writing that's great to read for fun, or inspiration, or if you're in a slump

and not necessarily writing related, but here are other things that I've been trying out:

via li's youtube channel. something about it radiates warmth and I listen to her videos like podcasts.

baking! it's so comforting and I love seeing the results. smitten kitchen has the best recipes.

also knitting. not necessarily specific sites, but I have these ideas of all the things I want to make.

and that's all for now. however I did up my wordcount! I hit 15k today, so hopefully by next monday I'll have everything I need done. I'm working on deadlines for the first time for a project, and I can definitely feel the pressure.

tag any other websites below and I'll be sure to reblog them!

#lyralit #writerblr #creative writing #writers #writing prompts #writblr #writers block #writing #writing ideas #writing resources #resources

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rod-tf · 3 months ago

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Hey, I'm a super skinny white theatre kid, some of my friends recommended that I go work out and told me about this place. I decided to finally try it out, maybe it can help me out in the relationship department as well as help me feel more confident

Liam had always been unlucky in love. At 5’9” and barely 120 pounds, he was all lanky limbs and sharp angles, nothing like the muscular men he dreamed about. He spent hours swiping on dating apps, fantasizing about being wrapped in the arms of some tall, strong gym bro. But no one ever swiped back. Maybe, he thought, if he put on some muscle, guys would finally start noticing him.

That’s how he found himself stepping nervously into *Herculean Gains*, wearing an oversized hoodie that swallowed his tiny frame. The place smelled like sweat and iron. His heart pounded as he looked around at the mountains of muscle lifting impossibly heavy weights.

“Bro are you new here?” a deep voice rumbled behind him.

Liam turned, craning his neck up to see a towering mass of muscle staring him down. Rod. The kind of guy Liam had always thirsted over.

“Uh—yeah,” Liam stammered, forcing a nervous smile. “I, um, just thought maybe I should get bigger… you know, to have better luck dating?”

Rod raised an eyebrow, then smirked. “You wanna get bigger bro? Yeah, bro, I could help you with that.”

Before Liam could respond, Rod slung a thick, veined arm around his bony shoulders and guided him toward the benches. “First thing’s first, bro you need fuel.” He grabbed a black bottle from his gym bag and handed it to Liam. “Shake. Special homemade blend.”

Liam hesitated. “What’s in it?”

Rod chuckled. “Trust me, bro. Just drink it.”

The moment the thick, protein-packed shake hit Liam’s tongue, a warmth spread through his chest, trickling down his arms, his legs, his core. It felt… good. He downed the whole thing in seconds, his stomach tingling with heat.

Rod clapped him on the back. “Atta boy. Now, let’s train.”

The workout was brutal. Liam had never lifted more than a textbook, and now he was pushing weights heavier than he thought possible. But every time he wanted to stop, that warmth inside him urged him on. He could feel his limbs filling out, muscles swelling with every rep.

*Stronger. Bigger. Better.*

His hoodie felt tight, uncomfortably so. He tugged it off mid-set, revealing arms that were already thicker, veins beginning to pop. Rod grinned approvingly. “C'mon, bro. Keep pushing.”

Liam barely noticed his voice drop an octave. Or how his posture shifted, no more slouching, no more nervous fidgeting. By the time they hit the bench press, he wasn’t struggling to lift anymore. He was powering through, feeling the burn, loving the burn.

“Yeah, just like that,” Rod encouraged. “You feelin' the adrenaline yet?”

Leam grinned, his face sharper, more defined. “Hell yeah.”

Rod laughed. “That’s what I like to hear.”

By the time they finished, Leam felt like a different person. He wiped sweat from his face with the hem of his now-too-tight shirt, exposing abs that definitely hadn’t been there before. His legs were thicker, his chest broader, his shoulders squared. His shining blond hair was messier, more rugged, his once-soft features now striking, dominant.

Rod handed him another bottle, this one labeled simply *STRAIGHT TESTOSTERONE BOOSTER*. Leam popped the cap and chugged without hesitation. It burned on the way down, but in the best way possible.

And then, it happened.

A flood of memories rewriting themselves in his mind. He had never been some scrawny, pathetic twink desperate for attention. No, he had always been a man’s man, a natural-born jock, built for power. Why the hell would he have ever wanted a boyfriend? The very idea made him scoff.

*Pussy. That’s what real men chase.*

Rod patted his shoulder. “Lookin’ good, bro. No homo.”

Leo furrowed his brow. "Huh? Of course bro."

Leo rolled his neck, feeling the tension leave his body, feeling right. He flexed his arms, admiring the strength he now owned.

A busty blonde babe walked by, her tight gym outfit leaving little to the imagination. Leo smirked, catching her eye. “Yo, sweetheart,” he called out, flashing his biceps. “You ever seen a real man lift?”

She giggled, twirling her hair. “Guess I have now.”

Rod chuckled. “Damn, bro, already making moves?”

Leo grinned. “You fucking know it bro.”

“Anyway, bro,” Rod continued. “We gotta hit the showers, then you got a frat meeting. Noé and Skyler are waiting.”

Memories of Beta Alpha Sigma where his best bros, Noé and Skyler, were waiting for him. They were the powerful, dominant, pussy-obsessed kings of the campus. The frat was their kingdom, the ultimate place where the strongest, most alpha men ruled. Every weekend, they threw the wildest parties, packed with booze, music, and a fresh rotation of sorority babes just begging for a real man’s attention.

As they made their way to the locker room, a scrawny, nervous kid brushed past, mumbling an apology. Leo’s nose wrinkled in disgust. Pathetic. He could smell the weakness on him from miles away.

Rod smirked. “Something wrong, bro?”

Leo chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, man. Just thinking how embarrassing it must be to be a little bitch like that.”

Rod laughed. “Not everyone’s built to be an alpha, bro.”

Leo flexed his pecs. “Everyone should.”

That night at the frat party, Leo had a girl on each arm, laughing and drinking, thinking on which one is getting bred first. He wasn’t just another guy anymore, he was a king. The frat was his home, his legacy, and he’d never been happier.

#male tf #muscle tf #jock tf #gay to straight #reality change #jockification #ai generated #Herculean Gains

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goddessinnerglow · 5 months ago

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Become Your Best Version Before 2025 - Day 22

Developing New Skills

Let's talk about something super exciting, learning new skills! But wait, before you think "ugh, I don't have time for that," I promise we'll keep this fun and totally doable.

Remember when we were kids and tried new things just because they looked fun? No pressure, no expectations, just pure curiosity! Let's bring some of that energy back into our lives.

Want to hear something cool? Our brains literally light up with joy when we learn new things. It's like giving ourselves tiny happiness boosters throughout the day. How awesome is that?

Here's the thing about learning new skills, you don't need fancy equipment or hours of free time. Seriously! Some of the most fulfilling skills I've picked up started with just:

Watching YouTube videos while eating lunch

Using free apps during my morning routine

Practicing for 10 minutes before bed

The trick? Start so small it feels almost silly. Learning a language? Start with just one word a day. Want to draw? Doodle one tiny sketch while your coffee brews. Interested in cooking? Master one simple recipe before moving to the next.

I used to think I needed perfect conditions to learn something new, like you know, lots of free time, the right equipment, maybe even a class to sign up for. But then I realized waiting for perfect conditions meant never starting at all!

Instead, try this: pick something that makes you curious. Something that makes you think "ooh, that looks fun!" Then find ONE tiny way to explore it tomorrow. Just tomorrow. That's it!

Maybe it's:

Downloading a language app and learning how to say "hello"

Looking up one simple yoga pose to try

Learning one new keyboard shortcut

Finding a beginner's tutorial for something you've always wanted to try

The magic happens when we stop thinking about becoming experts and just enjoy being beginners. Every single expert started exactly where you are, just curious and willing to try!

Today's Challenge:

Pick ONE skill you'd love to learn

Find a super simple way to start (like a 5-minute YouTube video or a quick tutorial)

Spend just 10 minutes exploring it

Share what you picked in the comments!

See you tomorrow for Day 23!

♡ ☆:.｡ Keep glowing, babes! ♡ ☆:.｡ With love, Goddess Inner Glow.

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yuzukult · 11 months ago

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from home 03 || jjk & reader

title: from home pairing: jungkook x reader genre: richkid!jk, baker!reader, fakedating!au, fluff, angst, e2l, smut in future chapters word count: 8.1k prompt: jungkook is the youngest of five boys, the last in line to truly inherit any his parents’ money. but what if his mom suddenly cuts him off due to his current poor behavior and he’s forced to learn how it feels like to be part of the working class? a/n: .......... LMFAOOOOOOOOO SORRY FOLKS I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE ORIGINAL... anyways hopefully i copied the right chapter hahahhahahah

“You going to the staff dinner tonight?”

Raising a finger at Hoseok, Jungkook slips his phone from his pocket, skimming through the pages before landing on an app, typing a few things in before he looks up with a saddened expression on his face. “... I guess not.”

“Why? What’s wrong? Why can’t you go?” He turns his phone to show the both of you.

JEON JUNGKOOKACCOUNT BALANCE: ₩33,258.75

“Jungkook!” You and Hoseok in unison exclaim in disbelief. “How the fuck do you only have $30 in there?” Jungkook shrugs, slumping his shoulders as he leans against the conveyor belt. “My mom hasn’t given me the modeling money yet. Our accountant is still calculating all of my earnings. You’d think with how much my parents pay him that he’d work a little faster...”

“We just got paid two days ago,” Hoseok points out, completely baffled as to how Jungkook was able to go through that money so quickly. “What did you do?”

Standing in the middle of Jungkook’s apartment, you and Hoseok just heave out a heavy sigh, shaking your heads in disappointment. He has new curtains, one that makes it easier for the sun to shine through in the mornings which has been an incredibly huge mood booster for him. His futons now have pillows and a blanket to claim their own. Then there was the fridge— full of almost every type of frozen meal from the aisles of the grocery store. And the pantry was an entirely different story; stacks of ramen, chips, cookies— they were practically spilling.

“Jungkook, you need to learn how to control your spending.” You say with great dismay, skimming through the labels of all the ramen bowls and packets that pile on top of each other. “If you keep going at this rate, you’re going to be so broke that you’ll be living on our couches on rotation.”

His face brightens. “You’d let me live on your couch if I needed to?”

Ignoring his question blatantly, you start browsing his apartment with Hoseok. His suitcases and boxes remain full of things that he brought back from the estate which has you going through them in pure amusement. “You guys... wanna help me unpack or something?”

“Unpack or something. Either or.” You pull out a velvet royal blue suit from one of the boxes that’s still in its clear plastic jacket for the outer protective layer. “Jungkook, want to give me a reason why you have this?”

“Oh. That’s this year’s Hugo Boss. Haven’t worn it yet, I needed to get it fitted.”

Your nostrils flare at the words. “... OK, so why do you still have it? You’re a lower middle class guy living in a studio apartment that’s still probably being paid by his parents who have a butt load of money so they honestly don’t even know they’re still putting money into this. Why they hell would you have a suit that’s...” flipping the label around, your jaw nearly pops off when it drops to the floor, “₩665,175,000.00? Jungkook, what the flying fuck—”

“What?” Hoseok drops the bag of chips he’s in the midst of opening from his hands. Despite also coming from money, he was never that rich in comparison to Jungkook. “Yeah, Hobi, you heard that right. $600,000.00 buckaroos. That’s the cost of a house right there.”

“The Jeon estate is actually—“ You place your index finger against Jungkook’s lips to hush him. “Don’t even. You need to sell this suit.”

“Sell—“ Breathless, Jungkook looks like he’s going to pass out. “I can’t sell a limited edition suit. It was hard to even get it in the first place! What makes you think I’m going to sell it?”

“Because you have 30 bucks to your name.” You respond bluntly before picking up another suit that he has lying underneath the first. “Or sell this one.”

“Not the 2021 Vintage Gucci Men’s Suit!”

“How— One, how can something be vintage if it’s in 2021? And it’s not even 2021 yet?”

The sun begins to set; the rays peering through the curtains gradually dissipates, leaving the three of you sprawled across Jungkook’s new apartment with clothes splattered on every possible surface in the poorly lit room. He still lacked another lamp, but the one his mother left was going to have to do. The staff dinner plans are cancelled, mostly because reorganizing Jungkook’s belongings has been an unanticipatedly gratifying yet a fraught chore that took up more time than predicted. Jungkook was hoping to attend the dinner, but after seeing how much effort you and Hoseok put in trying to make his living space a bit more comfortable, the hope for going to the event has been pushed to the back of his mind.

“Do you guys want to order take-out?” Jungkook suggests, and both you and Hoseok nod while sharing each halves of the futon. “But we’ll pay since you barely have any money. You can get us next time.”

Next time, which means that you guys want to hang out with Jungkook again.

To him, this is a huge step in the friendship direction. Throughout the entirety of his life, having friends had never really been a thing. Sure, he had play-dates per request from his mother, but those kids were fans of the stuff he owned, they didn’t even like him for him. It had become a recurrence up until high school, where the replacement for the need for friendship had been occupied with flings with women instead. People hung around him for the image, but he never felt a connection with anyone.

That was, until he met you and Hoseok.

Although he’d known Hoseok from showing up at the same parties, he never actually got to talk to him on this level until he visited the supermarket that fateful day. He was always the fun guy at parties; attention constantly gravitating toward him, whether he liked it or not, and he came from money as well, so Jungkook wasn’t sure if those people were surrounding him because of it. Sure, Hoseok’s parents weren’t as rich as Jungkook’s, but they were pretty high up there and could afford almost anything they desired.

Yet, he preferred this sight of Hoseok. Baggy hoodie and jeans, skin greasy from spending the day at work then coming to Jungkook’s apartment to unpack. He’s nagging at you for taking up too much space, covering the surface area that Hoseok had claimed to be his under an unspoken contract as you frown when he slaps your leg.

He likes this. There’s no gowns and tuxes in a ballroom with hors d'oeuvres worth the price of a car per bite; there’s no young people at a party, getting wasted and high, fucking in bedrooms that they weren’t sure who it belonged to; there wasn’t a dining room full of both family and strangers that attempted to start small talk about things he didn’t care about— there was none of that. Just comfort from people he genuinely wanted to impress and make proud of him. He’s not sure if he’s ever felt this way before and he’s barely even known either of you that long. Jungkook has been spending most of his life trying to fill a void in him and has been unsuccessful. He’s finally feeling like he’s going somewhere.

You and Hoseok finally agree on what to eat and he learns that it’s your favorite. Pizza. Extra cheese, pepperoni, sausage, spinach with an ungodly amount of jalapeño peppers, Hoseok mentioned earlier that night that your tolerance for spicy foods is stronger than the pits of hell.

“Jesus, how are you eating this?” Jungkook cries, snot dripping from his nose while Hoseok wipes his tears after taking another bite. You sit there, unfazed, picking up the abandoned slices of peppers that sit in the box, dropping them into your mouth. “It’s honestly not that spicy. Don’t be dramatic.”

“Bitch, we are not being dramatic, your stomach is made out of whatever Captain America’s shield is made from...”

Jungkook’s phone buzzes in the midst of your argument with Hoseok and just from the name on his lock screen, his heart drops. Jeon Junghwan.

There were a couple things in life that Jungkook wanted to attain— the acceptance from Junghwan and his parents being on top of that list. Ever since Jungkook was younger, Junghwan had been the golden child, the rest of the four were just barely making it, arduously following in his footsteps. But he failed, he hasn’t been able to win the approval from him.

Jeon Junghwan [7:55PM]: Mother is having a charity banquet on Saturday. She would have called you but figured it’d be best if I contacted you instead. Something about ‘inspiration’. Please be at the estate at 7:00PM sharp.

Jeon Junghwan [7:55PM]: Goodnight, Junghwan.

“Why does he text like an old man?” Jungkook flinches, head turning sideways to meet with Hoseok hovering over his shoulder. “Junghwan, I mean. But cool, I was supposed to go to that banquet too, until I got called on a shift. Luckily you’re not scheduled.”

“Yeah...” He says quietly, seated on the floor as he leans back against the sides of the futon. “This is the first time I’m seeing my family after moving out. I need to plan this out right.”

“Well, what’s the plan?” Cheeks full of fries, you’re munching away on the other side of Jungkook as he contemplates the next steps he’s going to have to make in order to reach his goal. “One thing is for sure. You’re going to be my date.”

The breath has been stolen away from his lungs and his heart feels like you’ve pierced through his chest cavity and squashed it into the palm of your hands. He doesn’t know what it’s called (maybe a blowout) but the way your hair cascades down to your shoulders is marveling. In a black long dress with a slit that exposes the entirety of your legs, his breath hitches when his eyes meet the skin of your thighs, the spaghetti straps drape over your décolletage with the v-cut neckline only finishing it off right. He thinks this is his fatal moment. He’s never seen you dolled up like this before; cheeks brushed with a peach blush, lashes emphasized with mascara, liner that makes you look even more fierce, and lips... so buttery pink and plump that almost wishes he could—

“Jungkook?” He shivers, immediately pushing the thoughts out of his head. You’d probably stab him in mere seconds if you knew what he was thinking about. “H-Hey. You look good.”

You grin, adjusting the fabric that hangs around your legs. “Thanks, you don’t look so bad yourself. Anyways, let’s get going. You said your brother sent a car for us?”

Even though Jungkook is a model and has posed in magazines in suits, it’s still a surprise to see how stunning he manages to look in person. He keeps his hair casual today, despite the formal attire, but when his fingertips rake through those luscious locks, it makes sense why he went with that decision. If you didn’t know any better, you wouldn’t believe that this hunk was living off of frozen meals and instant ramen for the past week.

He’s pretty, yet there’s something that you can’t help but loathe about him.

Jungkook is still from money, despite the amount of times you’ve seen him in the supermarket’s uniform and apron. It’s something you’ve been trying to force yourself to remember when you feel yourself slowly falling into the traps of his smile and looks. The reminder is there when a Mercedes Benz S-Class pulls up and Jungkook isn’t as astonished as you are. The window of the driver’s side rolls down, revealing a middle-aged man who wears a chauffeur’s hat and a grin upon his lips. “Jeon Jungkook, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“Hyungjin,” He dips his head in acknowledgement before saying your name, “... this is my date. This guy has been my driver since I was born. Park Hyungjin. He’s going to be taking us to the estate tonight.”

Jungkook opens the back door for you as you slide in with ease, completely in veneration at the characteristics of the vehicle. It feels luxurious, from the leather seats to the center console, and when you see Hyungjin beginning to raise the customized partition between the front and back seats, you’re shocked it can even do that until Jungkook halts him from doing so. “Uh, sorry, Hyungjin, she’s not one of those nights.”

Oh, you think to yourself, this was a routine. His preceding lifestyle is starting to unfold before you.

Arriving at the ‘estate,’ which was something you’d had been stuck with trying to adjust yourself in calling Jungkook’s family home, it’s an unreservedly different part of the home compared to your first visit however a sudden coldness hits your core from incredulity. How could anyone need a home this big? Jungkook guides you out of the car before you could even register the visuals of the home, waving Hyungjin goodbye and brisk “thank you.”

“Hold my hand.” His fingertips brush against the back of your hand discreetly, and as a reflex, you slap him away while he whimpers in pain. “What the hell was that for?”

“Sorry. Habit.” When you try to reach for him again, he opts for resting his palm on your lower back instead, keeping you close. “It’s okay. Is this alright?” You nod. “This is better anyway. We look close yet at the same time professional.”

When you step into the ballroom, you quickly learn that your previous time at the Jeon estate had only been a glimpse of what Jungkook’s sumptuous home had to offer. There’s something of a mezzanine or indoor balcony of some sorts with staircases that branch around the perimeter where a couple people stand idly. The chandelier that you saw in the dining room before was no comparison to what was currently hanging from the ceiling right now— there’s diamonds that hang like raindrops, intricately scattered with clear clarity that only the rich could identify and have the opportunity to see in person. The guests are dressed like those diamonds— sparkles and jewels of women that bathed in the crystals, accompanied by men who simply wore tuxedos and suits.

But the real stars of the show were the Jeons. With Mrs. Jeon’s hair in an updo, it accentuates her collarbones and shoulders where her dress lies; a beautiful detailed lavender gown that you can already sense the weight of when she drags it behind her. You see where Jungkook gets his genes from.

The filler music from the orchestra that plays in the corner stops, the chattering along with it as they all divert their attention to the Jeons that stand by the railings of the balcony— the four boys and their dates. All that’s missing is Jungkook who stands beside you, hand graduating from your lower back to your waist.

“Hello, everyone,” Mrs. Jeon greets, a pearly white smile upon her lips. “I am so thankful for your attendance here. As you know, tonight is dedicated toward the Cancer Research Foundation of Seoul, known as the CRFS, and I will be the host tonight but the true genius behind this all is my son, Jeon Jungsik.”

Jungsik approaches his mother from the side, dressed just as well as the rest of his siblings, shaking his head in disapproval. “Mother, I couldn’t have done this without you,” He says humbly, eyes browsing the crowd but pauses when he sees Jungkook with you by his side. There’s something hidden behind his stare, Jungkook hypothesizes, because his modest brother suddenly wants the spotlight whereas previously, he’d be standing in the audience. He can’t tell if it’s because it’s the first family event where he’s sober or if truly there’s something about Jungsik that’s different. “But tonight is a different kind of night. We’re here today not to just donate what we can to a good cause, but celebrating as well. I’m announcing my engagement with Kim Nari.”

An abrupt realization washes over Jungkook.

Kim Nari. The daughter of a tech mogul whose relationship with Jungsik would further advance the Jeon Corporation and skyrocket their profits. Her marriage with Jungsik would link the two companies together, creating possibilities for what seemed to be impossible. Which brings to question, why would Jungsik be interested in Nari? She’s a reflection in the mirror of Jungkook himself— uncontrollable, spoiled, and dependent with no future planned. Why would Jungsik, someone with passions, dreams, and stability want to be with someone like that? Something was up, and Jungkook can taste the bitterness in his mouth.

“Penny for your thoughts?” You ask, but you genuinely don’t care. Anything would be better than listening to conversations that were beginning to start up again at the hasty announcement. Nari has one of her hands sitting upon the rail, waving as if she’s the Queen of England, with a dress that may be deemed inappropriate for a setting like this. It seems that the rest of the family is hearing the engagement for the first time though because Mrs. Jeon looks like she’s going to faint and Mr. Jeon is holding in his anger rather than noticing Nari’s attire.

“Nothing, just... something weird with my brother.” He says before turning to give you his attention again. “Anyway, should I introduce you to my horrific bloodline?”

When Jungkook guides you toward his family members that have begun trickling down the staircase, you’re appearing to have heart palpitations from the suspense. The way the Jeons walk is intimidating alone; shoulders pushed back, straightened posture, and smiles that resemble authenticity on the surface but daggers will be pulled at their disposal if anything goes haywire.

“Mother, Father, this is my girlfriend...” You altogether miss when Jungkook says your name from the sight of his family up close until he squeezes your waist gingerly to capture your awareness again. “Oh, yes, hi,” You bow speedily, “I’m uh, Jungkook’s girlfriend.” Wait. Didn’t he just say that?

“Are you now? Last time we spoke, you said you weren’t,” Mrs. Jeon comments, and albeit her words sound harsh, the draw of her lips upwards say otherwise. It feels a bit forced, but you know it’s from the sudden news coming from Jungsik. There’s a façade of happiness when deep down, she’s disappointed. “We... we met after that night and he treated me to dinner for taking care of him. We’ve been... seeing each other ever since.”

Mr. Jeon stands there in silence, observing the conversation between you and his wife before unexpectedly speaking up. “Did you attend University? And have you graduated yet?”

Jungkook knows what this is. The Interrogation. Every Jeon child’s significant other has gone through this and you were next. He had completely forgotten about it— mostly because his other brothers had gone through it years ago, and Jongseok’s ‘girlfriends’ had never really been girlfriends, so their dad had given up on that until someone serious came by.

He never thought it’d be him before Jongseok.

“Yes, back in 2016.” You state, fingers fidgeting with the metal chain of your purse. It was a simple question yet the way it’s executed is as if he’s searching for a particular answer.

The older gentleman tilts his head, the space between his brows crinkling in perplexity. He looks so much like Jungkook, except matured with wisdom, and if Jungkook was of any replication of his father when he’s that age, he’d probably still have a line of women after him. “So you’re older than Jungkook.”

“No, father,” Jungkook chimes in, “... Quite the opposite. She’s actually a year younger than me. Graduated University rather early. Or... well, she finished high school early.” He can see from his peripheral vision that he has captured the ears of his other siblings that stand languidly. “Gifted, really. Child prodigy. Despite all the talented Jeon children, we’ve never had one of those.”

There’s a glimmer in his father’s eyes. He’s impressed. “Really?” His stiff tone has shifted to a lighter one. “Did you study in Seoul? What was your degree in?”

“No, uh, I actually studied abroad in New York after graduating high school. I was about... maybe fifteen at the time? I chose Food Science— I thought about being a Chef because my inspiration is Guy Fieri but someone told me to be a bit more realistic with my brain so here we are.”

Guy Fieri? Jungkook stifles a laugh at your secretive role model, rubbing your sides comfortingly. It’s something to tease you about later, but right now, you have a job to do. Swoon his father.

Mr. Jeon nods, hands slipping into the front pockets of his slacks. “Remarkable. We could use someone like you in the Jeon Corporation.”

Both you and Jungkook choke, clearing your throats at the sudden suggestion, glancing at one another. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m thinking about opening a chain of restaurants, something high end, something different.” Jungkook’s brothers are stepping in closer to listen shamelessly to the conversation, the look of disarray stamped onto each one of their faces as if it’s the first time they’re hearing this information, for the second time tonight. “I would love it if you gave me your take on how to proceed on some things, and help the chef formulate something that makes sense without him cheating me out on prices. Jungkook, tell Maeri to schedule something for us so I can discuss further details.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” You blurt, palms growing sweaty. “But you just met me, and Jungkook and I just started dating. Are you sure you trust me?” It’s another experience of déjà vu; Jungkook mirroring his father’s actions at the yacht party when he claims that he’d pay for your aspirations.

“Of course. Jeon Jungkook doesn’t have girlfriends.”

Just then, someone taps his shoulder and whispers something ineligible into his ear before he turns to you with his hand extended, and you take the offer with a firm shake. “I’m needed elsewhere. It was nice meeting you. Glad to know Jungkook chose someone fitting.” And with that, he leaves.

“Well, that was pleasant,” Mrs. Jeon comments, hand resting on Jungkook’s shoulder. “Seems that sending you off to live alone has brought nothing but good impressions on your father. Keep it up, Kook-ah. I’m going to go accompany him, so in the meanwhile, introduce her to your brothers, why don’t you?”

Turning your body to face Jungkook, you let out the hugest breath you’ve ever held in your entire life. “What was that?”

He looks equally as stunned as you. “I don’t know but that went so much better than I actually thought. I think that was the fastest he’s ever been fascinated by any of our girlfriends.”

Jungkook’s father had strict outlooks for the company, one of them being that he wanted nothing but pure Jeon blood leading the corporation. This meant that the significant others of any of his children weren’t allowed to be part of the trade. So why did he ask you particularly for a hand in the family business?

“Jungkook,” One of his brothers calls out, your heads sharply jolting at the sound of his voice.

Have you ever watched Boys Over Flowers? When the Flower 4 walk through any entrance, it’s like time slows down and their hair flows through the wind like they’re models?

That’s what pretty much happens.

“Hyungs.” He says; it’s their own version of a hello and the atmosphere between them is tense. “It’s nice to see you sober, Jungkook.”

His jaw tightens. “I wasn’t an addict, just you so know. Made it easier being around you all.”

“Yeah, yeah,” The one you assume is Jongseok from your previous google search waves his hand, disregarding Jungkook’s statement before pointing his finger directly at you. If only you could bite it off along with his rude mannerisms. “Girl toy?”

“Girlfriend,” Jungkook corrects him and his other brothers are intrigued. “This is my girlfriend,...” As he says your name, your eyes immediately are drawn to the woman behind one of the males; shiny caramel colored hair with the simplest white dress that hugs her small waist that still manages to make her look like a goddess with a smile that was so sweet your teeth start to hurt. You recall catching a sight of her in the same magazines that Jungkook featured in and on the posters at the mall whenever you’d walk into a store but how she looked in person was flawless compared to those photos. She was like the real life version of a photoshopped picture.

“This is Hayoung, my brother Junghwan’s wife.”

“Uh, H-H-Hi,” why does she make you so nervous? Do you get anxious around extremely beautiful women? “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” She hums, cheekbones high with her grin. “Kookie never mentioned he had a girlfriend, let alone brought anyone to meet his family before.”

“Kookie?” You reiterate with a mocking tone. He knows you’ll never let him live this down. Least he still had the Guy Fieri thing up his sleeve. “Noona, it would’ve been nice to keep that away from her for a bit. I’m trying to ease her into this madness. She’s probably still recovering from that conversation with our father.”

“As if!” Hayoung counters back. Her husband, Junghwan, wraps an arm around her waist before dipping his head slightly toward you. “I’m Junghwan, Jungkook’s older brother.” He then begins to point at the other gentlemen. “Jonghyun, Jungsik, and Jongseok, respectively.”

Frankly, it had been a lot to unpack for the night, and you assumed that the boxes back at his apartment were a lot, but this was truly a lot. Within an hour, Jungkook introduces you to almost anyone that plays a significant role in his life and elaborates on each of their backgrounds.

Junghwan, his eldest brother, is married to the international supermodel Na Hayoung, and he’s the next in line to inherit the CEO position when his father steps down from the company. He’s been trained all his life for this role, apparently, and it’s evident in how he carries himself. Jonghyun, the second oldest, stands behind Junghwan in the company, supposedly his right hand man when it comes to business, joined at the hip although their personal relationship with each other isn’t as close. He’s also married, Jungkook mentions, but his wife is currently very pregnant and at home. He skips over Jungsik, only because you’ve met him over dinner, but he doesn’t miss a beat when he says that Jungsik is purportedly the angelic Jeon. Lastly was Jongseok, the last sibling before himself, and was described as something along the lines of, “the most useless, right after myself, and if it weren’t for his involvement with the marketing department because of his diploma, he’d be living in a studio apartment downtown, cut off from this family too.” Jungkook’s words, not yours.

The night slowly reaches an end, people scattering to leave the estate, thanking Jungkook’s parents for hosting such a charitable event. Just before you’re about to step out along with Jungkook, his mother had her fingers wrapped around your wrist. “Jungkook, you and your lovely girlfriend should stay the night. Downtown is far and your siblings will be here as well. Maybe you can show her to your bedroom? I know you’ve been missing your bed and well... maybe show her around your childhood home.” She pauses for a moment as Jungkook hesitates as you eye him suspiciously before interrupting his thoughts. “Your father wants to speak to you and your brothers in the morning anyways, so it would be nice for you to stay for breakfast, dear.”

“Are you fucking dense, Jeon Jungkook? I do not want to stay the night here.” Contradicting your angry words, you’re already unlatching the attachment on the straps of your heels, sliding them off while seated on the bay window seats of his bedroom, rubbing the soles of your feet. “I’m sorry,” He mutters weakly, falling on the foot of his bed. “I don’t know how to say no to my mother.”

“Well, quit being a fucking momma’s boy and call an Uber. I want to go home, Jungkook.”

“Uber’s don’t run this late at night in the area. We live too far off the grid.”

“Well, then ask Mr. Hyungjin to pull up in his whip and take us home.”

His face drops, a guilty look pooling in his orbs. “We sent him home. He’s technically off on the weekends. Hyungjin only came out because Junghwan asked for him beforehand.��

You grumble, laying back on the cushions, locks tangling along with your mood. “What are we supposed to do here? Share a bed? What am I supposed to wear to sleep? Did you already ask your housemaids?”

“No,” He answers bleakly, standing up. “But I’ll go ask now. In the meantime, you can watch some TV? Then when I come back you can shower and do whatever you need. I think I have a spare toothbrush for you to borrow. As for the bed thing...” Jungkook looks over at that California King that he misses so much. “... it’s more than big enough for the two of us, I’ll keep my distance from you without a problem.”

Before you can counter the suggestion, he’s already out the door.

Perusing through his bedroom, you soon learn that this ‘room’ of his is the size of your childhood bedroom times five with a closet the size of your apartment with a connecting bathroom that was equivalent in surface area.

Then it has you thinking. Jungkook grew up like this, in a life of grandeur where everything he had, he had a plethora of. Whether it be education, belongings, or the aid of people who tended to every need he had, it never seems to run out. He had a driver since he was born while you struggled to learn how to take the bus alone at the age of 7. Or running out of money to pay for a new notebook for class since you’ve been using the same one for the past two grades in order to save cash so your parents could put food on the table. While Jungkook over here was probably tearing down trees in his yard to make all the paper in the world. What about noticing that you were ahead of the kids in your class? No one seemed to have realized it until you said to someone that you were bored, and needed more challenging material when you got sent to the Principal’s office per request, begging to be with the bigger kids.

If you had the money Jungkook had, you would’ve been able to pay off both yours and your parents’ debt in addition to opening your bakery all within the same year.

But you aren’t Jungkook, and jealousy just runs through your veins alongside the enmity.

Entering through the housemaids’ chambers was a nostalgic feeling that he couldn’t exactly say was his favorite. Sneaking down here during the late hours of the night for quick sex and running back up to his bedroom felt like such a teenager thing to do at the age of twenty, so he instantaneously gave up on that.

There’s two wooden doors to choose from. Nayeon, the house servant he slept with several times before realizing that she had falling for him while thinking it was some forbidden love, and Hana... also a servant that he had sex with until she also fell in love with him.

So which one of them would be less upset about him asking to borrow their sleepwear for his new girlfriend?

Answer to that question: neither because they both slammed their doors on him after asking. He should’ve figured that sooner.

Next stop: Junghwan’s room. Maybe Hayoung had something for you.

He hesitates when he’s standing outside of his brother’s bedroom door. It takes him back to when he was a kid all over again, desperate for his big brother’s attention who didn’t even have enough time to dedicate to him. Taking in a deep breath of courage, he does it yet again, his knuckles tapping against the wood that makes the same knocking sound.

Peeking out, Junghwan looks at Jungkook with a perplexed expression. “Jungkook, what’s up? Are you alright?”

“Uh, yeah. Is noona with you?” He nods. “Yeah, of course. She’s washing her face right now, wanna come in?” Jungkook steps into the room, ambivalent with each movement because he’s never been invited into Junghwan’s room before. It’s almost exactly what his room looks like, except all the shades are dark, varying from grey to navy, with his bed, closet, and bathrooms in the same locations.

“Hayoung, Jungkook is looking for you.”

“Kookie?” Coming out the bathroom with a robe on, her hair is drenched as she attempts to towel dry it, face pretty even without makeup. “What’s up, bub?”

“Uh, my girlfriend,” He starts, rubbing the back of his nape anxiously because he’s never said those words before, “She doesn’t have anything to wear tonight. I have some clothes, but I think she’d feel more comfortable if she at least has some pants.”

“Tell her to sleep in her underwear, what’s the problem?” Because she’s not really my girlfriend, is what he wants to say, but he takes a different approach. “We’re... still in the early stages. So, uh, you know. She’s shy.” She shakes her head with a smile upon her lips. “Okay. Give me a second. I have a bunch of clothes that I left when we used to live here.” With that, she disappears into the closet.

“I’m... proud of you, Jungkook.” Junghwan speaks up, protruding through the silence. Jungkook just stares in bewilderment, unsure what he even did to make Junghwan say those words he had dreamt to hear coming from his eldest brother. “Other than landing a girlfriend who is definitely way out of your league, you’re actually showing some progress living alone. I honestly didn’t really agree with the plan that Jongseok proposed but... I see it’s working well.”

“W-What do you mean?” Jungkook questions. He still can’t believe what he’s hearing.

Junghwan hums. “You were able to find a job yourself. I haven’t seen you coming back begging for money again, and you found someone who doesn’t have the facilities to give you the lifestyle that our parents gave us. You found love without money and I think it really makes a person humble.” He’s fiddling with the strings of his sweatpants now, comprehending that the two of them don’t really talk one-on-one. “I know I changed a lot when I met Hayoung.”

“Kookie, I think I have a couple options for you— whoa, why does it feel so sad here?” She remarks, stopping in the midst of her walk toward Jungkook. “You guys... alright?”

“Nothing,” Junghwan responds quickly. “I just wanted to tell Jungkook that I’m proud of him.” This does nothing but prompt Hayoung to roll her eyes, laying out a pair of shorts and a silky baby blue nightgown. “Junghwan is always proud of Kookie, just not always the decision he makes. Anyways,” She completely brushes off the topic that Jungkook wants to hear, but he’ll circle back to that later. He had a pretty girl waiting in his room who had the temper of the Hulk. “I have two options for you to give her. Maybe you’ll get lucky and she’ll wear the night gown?”

Jungkook scoffs. “If I brought that to her, she’d probably wrap it around my neck and choke me within seconds. Keep the gown, I’m taking the shorts. I’ll let her wear one of my T-shirts.”

“Are you sure?” Hayoung sings and Jungkook tells her he’s almost confident that he’s going to die tonight if he so much reaches the door with that thing in his hands.

Jungkook chucks the shorts at your face while you’re laying on your back on his mattress. “Here you go, Mrs. Fieri. The girls wouldn’t lend me anything because well... I may have slept with them both and they were hopelessly in love with me. Hayoung noona gave me those shorts instead.” He’s babbling on about how rude the housemaids had been when he asked, but you’re canceling his voice out because the coolest chick you’ve ever met just lent you her shorts.

“... Are you even listening to me?”

“Huh?”

He snaps his fingers in front of your face but registers that it’s no use. You’re too busy trying to decipher how God decided to gift Hayoung the looks and the personality that you miss when Jungkook leaves the closet, throwing a plain white t-shirt at your direction. It’s huge compared to you, yet seems like it would fit him well. “Go shower. I’ll be in there after you.”

It’s awkward.

So goddamn awkward.

Jungkook is wearing a black T-shirt of some band you can’t recognize because the majority of the print has been worn off paired with grey sweatpants that hug his ass so beautifully. Scratch that. You never thought that. They look soft. That’s what you meant.

While you’re currently occupied with attempting to avoid looking at Jungkook, he can’t stop staring at your exposed legs and notice how small and cute you are. Soft. It’s tempting him to want to wrap his arms around your frame and snuggle his nose into the crook of your neck while inhaling the scent of his body wash on your skin. He wants to blame it on the dry spell he’s having because all he does is work nowadays that once he gets home, he’s completely drained. Alcohol doesn’t even appear in his mind either. Or maybe he genuinely thinks you’re pretty and having you in his bed doesn’t make it any better.

Sitting on the farthest opposite ends of the bed, Jungkook clears his throat. “See? I told you that the bed is way too big for the two of us. Should be easy to steer clear from each other.”

Wrong. Incorrect. You should’ve known that Jungkook would be fallacious.

The sun gleams through the sheer white blinds of his prodigious windows, illuminating your faces on an unironically Sunday morning, emitting a groan from a stiff beside you. Your body feels heavier than usual, almost like something was pressing down on you.

You panic. Were you having a stroke?

After forcing your eyes open from the dry boogers, you can’t believe the sight. Jungkook has his arms and legs tangled in the sheets with yours, nose brushing against your shoulder. He’s so cosy, the most he’s ever been, and the warmth from your body is like a different feeling of home for him. It’s comforting like a cup of hot chocolate during the harsh weather in the Winter or swaddling yourself in a blanket in front of the fireplace. Now knowing how it feels to be in your embrace, he’s not sure if he wants to let go.

“Jungkook, please get the fuck off me.” You bite. Cuddling was not what was discussed in the terms of agreement. Not that there was one but having a buff guy curled up beside you that wasn’t actually dating you was making your heart do cartwheels when it shouldn’t be. He doesn’t seem a bit rattled knowing that he’s snuggling up against you because he scoots even closer. “Five more minutes.” He mutters. His dreams of taking in the aroma of your natural scent mixed in with his shower gel were coming true.

You push him off with as much strength as your body could gather, yet you fail underneath those muscular arms. Those big, thick—

There’s one knock and someone just immediately flings the door open with a gasp.

But then you see them. Jungsik and Jongseok.

You don’t know why but you care about how Jungsik sees you, but you care. He’s the closest to your ideal type— as unrealistic as it is for him to ever have a relationship with you, especially since he has a fiancé now— yet at the same time, he knows you’re ‘dating’ Jungkook, and whether or not he believes it, you’re not sure, but your chances were already wearing thin as it is, even worse now that he’s witnessing you in the same bed as his youngest brother. You may have a teensy weensy little crush on your fake boyfriend’s brother.

“Cute,” He chuckles, already dressed in his daily attire; grey slacks that crop at the ankle and a navy dress shirt that doesn’t button up all the way, hugging tightly around his pecs that doesn’t leave much to the imagination. “Well, we’re sorry for intruding. Father wants us down for breakfast within an hour. Wake up your boyfriend for us, will you?”

“I’m not sorry,” Jongseok adds with a devilish grin before he quickly shuts the door and leaves promptly with Jungsik. Jungkook hasn’t even moved, not even twitching the slightest bit despite his brothers’ abrupt invasion.

You officially hate Jungkook even more... if that was even possible.

There's an abundance of choices for breakfast foods that sits on the length of the dining room table that you had gotten a glimpse of during your first visit to the Jeon estate, more food than you've ever seen in one place. They had waffles, pancakes, sausages, bacon, toast—all that’s expected of a typical American breakfast laid out like it’s a picture from the Food Network Magazine. He has servants, shuffling through in and out of the room, placing plates and utensils in specific detailed orders before they pull out the heavy upholstered wooden chairs for each and every member of the family in invitation.

"Uh, it's okay, thank you, I got it—" The woman who has her hands gripped on the framing of the seat tightly as she clenches her jaw, has a glare shooting lasers in your direction. Maybe you'd just take the offer and sit instead. She might be one of Jungkook's late night affairs, you never know what she'd do to your food if you didn't comply.

Sticking out like a sore thumb, you settle yourself by your now claimed to-be-boyfriend who sits comfortably in his own seat since he's owned it for two decades now. You, however, it's your first day and you're not even sure how to feel. Hayoung seems to be doing the opposite; eyes shiny from excitement at the sight of all the options that are laid out in front of her. You can agree to her interest, the Belgium waffles that's stacked at the center of the table with a square of butter residing on top makes your mouth water.

"Thank you all for coming," Jungkook's father announces, the chair he's rested on makes him look so tiny at the head of the table. "I want to discuss some matters with all of you and also invite Jungkook's new love into the family. Honestly never thought this day would come where I'd see my most troublesome child make such advancements in a short span of time."

There's reticence along the table, Mrs. Jeon beside him, eyes searching the table for something in particular. "The proceedings with this engagement with Kim Nari, Jungsik. What did you expect would happen with that?"

And there it was. The conversation that had been put off last night due to guests being on the residence. It's because of two of the things that Mr. Jeon stood by when it came to his family and business: no bloodline, no business entrance had been challenged and the Interrogation had never been in place.

"Father," Jungsik clears his throat, pressing his back against the cushion. "I'll have you know that I'm only thinking of the future of our company."

"Without talking to me about it?" He snaps, agitated. He doesn't even care that a complete stranger is sitting at the table with them. "What gives you the right to be the only person to know what's good or not for the company? Why not consult with Jonghyun and Junghwan? Why am I told that no one knew about this?"

"Well, I thought—"

"You thought wrong." He confirms, and the Belgium waffles don't seem as appealing anymore. His firmness makes your stomach queasy, despite not being his current victim. "Terminate your engagement. You don't love her anyways. I don't need any affiliation with a self-obsessed tech company."

"But father—"

"None of that." He shushes his son, laying a beige cloth napkin on his lap. "I'm tired of having to teach you how we run this business. I gave you a percentage of the company and I expect you to know what to do with it, which is not to share it with some airhead who doesn't even understand what her own father's company does." Jungsik's body stiffened at his father's lecture after he made a decision solely for what he believed was beneficial for the family business. "Anyways, let's eat."

"Why do you favor Junghwan over the rest of us?" Jungsik spits, fist slamming against the table. The cups, silverware, and plates trembled underneath his strength, startling you. "I can't believe that I let you walk over us for so long. I can't believe that any of us has let you do it. In reality, none of us get your fortune, just Junghwan. What about the rest of your children? Do you have the only one? Or did mother have an affair for the remaining four?"

Yum, drama. You admit you were getting a little bored last night at the banquet, but his conversation was perking you up in interest. Jungkook oddly remains cool, turning to tap one of the housemaids to pour you some apple juice, patiently waiting for the go to eat.

Jungsik is disparate in this light because he's not the compassionate and gentle soul you had assumed he was during your first encounters and what was seen on the internet. He’s fierce and competitive, in actuality, with this hidden duel behind doors against his eldest brother. The description written of him was all an image that was portrayed to the public and you start to see what Jungkook means now when he says "apparently" or "supposedly" whenever talking about his older brother.

And Jungkook... he's strangely distinctive as well when sitting amongst his siblings. He's quiet, actually, and attentive, but you take note that he mentions before how he often comes to these things under the influence, and that your presence was what halts him from doing so.

"Just eat. We'll talk privately later." Mr. Jeon says through his gritted teeth, tips of his ears fading red from Jungsik talking back.

"I saw you eying that waffle earlier," Jungkook says in a hushed tone, leaning into you. "Want one? I'll grab it for you."

OK, maybe he wasn't that bad. He knows what you like and he’s getting it for you. You’ve waited long enough.

The Jeons are awfully good at pretending the argument between Mr. Jeon and Jungsik didn't occur. Everyone sits in lull, occasionally exchanging comments with whomever sits beside them but consuming their breakfast with glee. It wasn't something you were used to.

When you're back into Jungkook's room, you slip on a jacket that you brought the night before, zipping it up. "Is that... normal?"

"What's normal?"

"That whole thing with Jungsik and your dad. Do they fight often? And do you guys normally just... sit there and forget it even happens afterwards?"

He slides onto the bed one last time, inhaling deeply in the scent of lavender, wishing he could take this bed with him as he absentmindedly responds, "Mmm. Yeah."

What kind of family dynamic is this? "Yeah? And you just... watch?"

"Well, what else are we supposed to do? Join in? Take sides? Hell no. It's a different sibling each meal and every time there’s always someone being jealous of someone else. We don’t really get along here and it’s just what we’re used to.”

Treading into Jungkook’s reality was starting to become comprehensible. Almost justifying the way he is, how he’s utterly clueless in basic situations and disconnected he was from the world. Because this is his world; his parents, four brothers, and house full of servants, and he knows nothing outside of it. Their home is completely off the grid, separated from people living regular lives, he even has his own tennis court (you learned from the view from his bedroom), and no one normal has their own private tennis court. His mother has been shielding him his entire life, letting him grow and become a shell of a man in an empty home.

Family isn’t family to him, is what you’ve come to terms with and something he hasn’t yet accepted because he hasn’t seen what a real family looks or feels like. His home isn’t a real home but brimming with employees who work for his family that probably see him more than the people who he called relatives.

It makes you pity him and want to show him what it’s like to be home.

#jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #bts #bts fanfic

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