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ddaenghoney · 4 years

Text

chapter four

masterlist link in blog description.

As a successful songwriter, you want nothing more than the acknowledgment that the chart-topping musical pieces are your own creations. But contracts, relationships, and the difficulty of facing the stakes involved head on, keep your mouth shut until pressure builds too much.

Pairing(s): Park Jimin x Y/N, Min Yoongi x Y/N

disclaimer: any characters depicted do not represent the actual personality of the respected idol in real life.

Series warning(s)/genre(s): Chapter-based written fic, Slow-burn relationship(s), Fake-dating, Unrequited love, Songwriter/producer!oc, idol!Jimin, idol/songwriter/producer!Yoongi, friends with benefits, drama, romance, smut, angst, fluff (updated as needed)

Chapter warning(s): graphic sexual depictions (fingering, like really minor dirty talk; it’s mostly dirty praise idk, oral; female receiving, cum swallowing, vaginal penetration via male penis(typing this made me laugh so hard lmao), male ejaculation without condom); i’d say it’s entirely sweet sex but uh-

Word count: 4931

if you enjoy please, please let me know!

Yoongi stands outside of the CEO office, his back against the wall beside the elevator. Waiting until the door shuts behind you, he straightens, pressing the button next to his waist to signal the elevator. Meeting eyes with his, you know there’s a lot he wants to say, but the vagueness of his expression doesn’t give you an idea of a tone. Another lecture you’re sure. Just to continue the growing streak. Yerin’s secretary glances towards you then Yoongi, curiosity taking over her to hope for something interesting to occur.

You simply follow him into the elevator.

“What was all of that?” He asks you when the door shuts, eyes peering in frustration, but you believe him to be shocked more than anything. “I’m now your fake boyfriend?” A single, breathy laugh leaves his mouth. Bitter.

“I guess,” You’re unable to meet his gaze, instead staring at the unlit elevator buttons and the lack of movement from other people calling for the elevator on this oddly slow day. “I don’t even know.”

“If I knew this would happen,” He sighs, rubbing his temples and never finishing the end of the thought. Leaving it to himself.

“This is my fault.” Your voice is barely a whisper, severity of everything catching up with you and how you’ve managed to cause trouble for Jimin and now Yoongi, who’s new to SoundWave and probably hating the employment.

“No.” Yoongi shakes his head, then exhales once more, trying to rationalize. “This is complete shit, but it’s not your fault.” In the first place, Jimin having a contract forbidding him from dating is one that Yoongi thought was just a bad rumor in the industry-- something that people didn’t actually have. There wasn’t a single employee in his last company that was forced under that rule, even though it had been frowned upon to be in public relationships. Incredibly frowned upon in a certain case. Still, Yoongi never figured the lack of a dating-ban clause in his contract and the new direction of his stage persona would lead him into a fake relationship. Irony with no humor. “Why aren’t you publically an employee?”

You reach for the elevator buttons, clicking the ground floor. The machinery shifts, starting the descent.

“Because,” You’re still hesitant about the prospect of explaining your situation. Anyone at SoundWave that has anything to do with music production knows, and Yoongi shouldn’t be an exception. It’s not like he is an intern, or part-time assistant. You may even work with him in the future, but you can’t remember ever explaining your position to someone other than Jimin. And that was only because he was whom you worked with often when first starting. “I write songs and produce, but I don’t ever get credited for it.”

“What?” Yoongi sounds like he thinks he didn’t correctly hear you. “Wait, what do you mean? Who gets the credit then?”

You sigh, eyeing the floor number that grows smaller and smaller, but not quick enough. “Whatever group or idol that ends up using them.”

“You,” He’s without comprehension, expression on his face ridiculously confused. Maybe even appalled by your job, or that he is also a part of the extremely large group under the assumption that they aren’t being lied to. Only to find out that it’s an acceptable and ongoing aspect of the company. One you’re acceptant of; otherwise you would’ve quit years ago or never taken the job to begin with. “You let your work get used under someone else’s name-- you’re lying to people, and you’re just letting that happen?”

You glare at him, but stay silent. Even if you want to argue, that’s how it is. You don’t have the power to change it, and years earlier you didn’t actually mind sliding ethics aside. You want to tell him that you’re not letting the lies occur willingly, but by the looks of his face-- something appearing increasingly unsettled and distant about your untruthful position-- you know it won’t matter. He won’t understand and maybe is even right to have his opinion of you drop to the ground.

The elevator door opens prompting you to practically jump out. “I’m going home.”

Yoongi stays inside of it, posture weighted in contempt of everything that he’s just gone through. As if the merger couldn’t get anymore terrible, now he is in a falsified relationship with someone that helps SoundWave lie to the general public just for the sake of appearances, and he’s stuck dealing with it. He groans when the doors shut again, taking a moment to bask in the nonsense of it all before clicking the button to his studio’s floor.

Outside the building you pace, considering the option of calling Jimin, but then also considering that he hasn’t texted you and is likely angry and sorting through his own thoughts of this mess. You groan, startling a passerby on their walk to wherever. Taking no notice you shake your head, pulling out your phone and ripping the bandaid off,

Y/N, 3:43pm: Can we talk?

You stare at the message thread for a passing minute, then lock the screen. He could be busy doing a thousand other things, there isn’t a reason for him to automatically get back to your message, and he could still be upset-- the screen flashes with a notification, and you immediately unlock,

Jimin, 3:44pm: Yeah, I get off close to nine.

A breath releases from your lips. At least he responded. Another message appears, the contents seizing up the next beat of your heart.

Jimin, 3:44pm: Can I call you right now?

Y/N, 3:45pm: Yeah, of course.

You descend south of the company, heading towards a nearby coffee shop when the call comes in. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Jimin sits in the recording booth, waiting for the producer to meet him there at the start of the next hour. His legs gently push on the floor, swaying the computer chair side to side. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” The concern in his voice eases you, as well as the seemingly calm demeanor. Though there is a chance he’s feigning it, you suppose. “I’m so sorry about the thing with Yoongi. I swear nothing happened-”

“I believe you, lovely.” Softly spoken, head nodding even though you couldn’t see him. Jimin bites his lip, bothered that you’ve likely been incredibly worried about what he thought ever since Yerin dropped the words. “You wouldn’t do that to me. I trust you.”

His sincerity is warm, nearly causing the fuzz of emotions in your eyes to trickle because of how much your mind was pressured from the idea that he would misunderstand. You breathe through your lips, cracking the air audibly. Jimin sits upright on his end, concern raising his voice’s volume,

“Baby, are you crying?”

“No.” You’re quick to cover up but the word itself sounds like a tremble. Jimin frowns, rubbing his face,

“I’m sorry, I would’ve texted you but I was worried your phone’s notification would be loud while you were talking to Yerin. I didn’t want it to interrupt and make her angrier.” You rub your eyes feeling no tears and just the annoying heat that seems to release from all of the stress of the past couple of hours. “What did she tell you anyways? You didn’t get in more trouble did you?”

“No, it’s nothing.” Just a speech that put you in your place, but it’s not worth mentioning. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer you over the weekend, Jimin.”

“It’s fine.” Jimin taps his index finger on the armrest, then pausing the motion as you speak up,

“No, it’s not fine. I shouldn’t have ignored you. I wasn’t being fair.” You sigh. He’s quiet at your words, surprised at the conclusion of your actions.

“I was acting like an idiot, Y/N.” He glances to the clock, knowing the producer is usually early. “I’m not mad at you for it, I deserved it. Anyways, I need to go. I just called because I wanted to hear your voice and make sure you were okay.” You smile softly at the admission. “Come to my apartment later and we’ll talk more, alright?”

“Okay,” You nod, glancing to the sign on the coffee shop that stated they are closed for the day. Unusual for a Monday. Yet fitting for the kind of day it is. “I’ll make sure no one notices me going in.”

---

Jimin can’t help chuckling at you when he opens his front door. A large zip-up hoodie drapes over you with the hood covering your face, and sunglasses complete your, to your opinion, lowkey look despite sunglasses being useless at night. You’re pouting as you remove the shades, stepping into the apartment.

“I bet the cab driver thought you were having a day.”

“He wouldn’t be wrong.” You shrug, slipping the hood off and dipping your eyes from his. Jimin sighs, head nodding in agreement. “He was telling me I was lucky to get a cab tonight and everyone is close to the city center today, so at least I got a ride if nothing else.” Jimin’s head tilts at your seemingly lack of awareness to the date,

“You know it’s New Year’s Eve don’t you?” His sentence barely completes before you’re looking back at him in shock. When you consider all of the closed establishments and lack of people at work, it makes sense, but you’re in disbelief that you forgot. Jimin smiles in endearment, reaching for your hand, “It’s been a complicated week.”

He leads you to the couch, and still calm. With all of the information he heard from Yerin, you assumed Jimin would act differently. At least be asking fervently for answers. He said on the phone that he trusts you, but despite that you wonder how he’s not appearing to be upset about it. Sitting down beside him, you watch Jimin pull his knee up on the cushion facing you. His hand fiddles with yours, thumb stroking the top.

“What should we do?”

The question isn’t one you anticipated on your way over. The diverse amount of things Jimin could mean with it flutter your mind like gusts in a tree, and the lack of strong emotion in how he spoke make your eyebrows harden in thought. “What do you mean?”

“You know,” His eyes fall to where your hands meet. Jimin squeezes tighter. A pound in his chest. “Don’t you think we should stop this all?”

Muscles tense throughout your body. The concept is so far removed from what you expected. His passive attitude to go along with it drives your head to draw a blank. You thought coming here there could be strong words in an argument of explanations, and apologies for the things Yerin called you both into the office for. Not this. Your hand squeezes around his and Jimin casts his gaze back up. Nervousness is apparent, paired with your head shaking.

Jimin bites his inner lip, trying to remain rational despite the hurt in your eyes, “We,” He hesitates, remembering the first time that he kissed you. “We’re just hurting each other, love.”

“How?” Voice higher, confused. “We’re,” You swallow dryly, “Not even dating, Jimin, why do you sound like you think we should break up.” A tiny, hollow laugh, devoid of humor. You watch helplessly as he nods,

“I know, so before it gets worse than what happened today, we should stop.” Jimin’s voice slows down, like he doesn’t want to complete the sentence. Sadder. You inhale, trying to reason his tactics in your mind,

“Then let’s date.”

“Love-”

“I don’t want to stop.” Jimin bites his lip, frowning at you while feeling the ducts of his eyes well because of your pleas. Your hand shakes in his grip, and he wills himself to stop from hugging you. “Please, I don’t want to stop. I like how we were, I,” You remember saying the opposite to him at the club. He recalls the same thing, smiling joylessly.

“We can’t stand up for each other, baby. I can’t be there for you like you deserve.” Jimin talks about the company, but also in society’s perspective. Yerin made it clear that he can’t be in a relationship publically, and for that reason the relationship between you started. Hidden. Incomplete. Jimin told you at the beginning that you should both stop if you caught feelings for somebody else and you agreed because it was just fun when it started. It wasn’t serious, but it turned into something deeper. You know that and know Jimin knows it too.

“I care about you so much.”

Jimin’s lips part at the simple, yet utterly sincere and loving words. Contrasted by the sadness of the entire situation. His hand clenches around yours. He thinks the same, but with what he knows about himself, he shouldn’t let this continue. The few cool tears dripping from his eyes plead with him as well. To admit to you the feelings that he has, but it’s more complicated.

“Jimin,” He loves hearing his name through your lips. His tear-stained face watches you move, knowing he should stop you. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t and your lips are on his. Jimin’s hand abandons yours for your waist, to keep you from getting too close, but he kisses you back, relishing in your touch against his better judgement.

“Baby.” Jimin’s hand tightens around the side of your waist when you attempt to move closer. Mere inches from your face, his eyes lock with yours, searching for your thoughts.

“Please,” Air hitches in Jimin’s throat while your arms cascade around his neck. Your voice soft. Begging once more, by your lips kissing him sweetly. Like candy. Familiarly. “You don’t want to stop.”

“We should though.” A waver in his tone. Jimin really doesn’t want to stop, let you go, force you from his life.

“Just kiss me.” Believing you can convince him otherwise, your arms gently tug. Coaxing. In a more sensible time, you know this isn’t how to keep him with you. You know that there are problems, and the way Jimin and you are now won’t work. But you love him.

And this isn’t a sensible time.

Your hoodie is left on the couch, stripped off before Jimin lifts you to take you to his bedroom. Your lips attach along his jaw, trailing until you come in contact with the spot that elicits an expected grunt. Your arms tighten around him, holding yourself to him while working at the skin, leaving it sensitive and bruised before he lays you down.

His fingers caress on the area, smirking softly at your quick, thorough work, but his jaw tightens when you waste no time and remove your long sleeve. Inhaling a long breath, Jimin crawls over top of you,pressing your head back into the mattress as he kisses you firmly.

“What if you regret this?” Jimin’s voice blisters against your neck, syllables left in the skin like a trail leading to your collarbone where he pauses, kissing feverishly. He knows you won’t change your mind, more so when you audibly sigh and mix your fingertips into his hair,

“I can’t regret you.” You raise your hips the short distance to rub against Jimin’s, listening to his groan when he feels you against his growing bulge, “I want you, Jimin.”

For more than just the night.

Jimin’s face equals with your own, lost in your eyes until you kiss him again, prompting him to flatten against you more. His hips rub slowly over yours, firmly pressing his hardened erection against your pelvis. You moan against his lips, fueling Jimin’s emotions to win over logic. His hand reaches for the button on your jeans quickly, desiring more contact. He halts when you nudge him upwards, immediately thinking you want to stop until your fingertips are undoing each button on his top. He smirks at your hands, watching you through the sultriness in his irises.

Jimin lets you be the one to push his shirt off his shoulders, then he lets it slip off his arms to lie next to your hips on the bed. Your palm finds his chest, cementing the beat of his heart to memory. He observes quietly, curious of the slowness in your actions. The intimacy of feeling his skin in a calm manner. The moment passes when your hand moves to cup his cheek, guiding him back down to you for a kiss labored in passion, but just as vulnerable as tears.

You grind your hips opposite of his motions, creating a deeper pressure that causes a small piece of profanity to fall from his lips. Jimin’s hand finds your cleavage, squeezing over your bra to make you gasp. The article is removed then in your haste for him to touch you more, earning darkened chuckles from his lips when you lift your back from the bed to unclasp the bra, your chest pressing to his. He admires you, “You’re so precious.”

“Then don’t break up with me.” Labored words escape when you’re back against his sheets. Under his focused stare you slip your arms from the bra straps, but hesitate to remove the cups when Jimin’s chest fills with air from a sharp inhale. Watching so intently, and you swear his eyes gaze lovingly as well. He reaches his hand over yours, guiding it to slide the lingerie from your chest, exposing yourself to him for a countless time. Beautiful.

“It’s better for us,” Jimin has the nerve, the stubbornness to say this in a low voice, despite the fact that the actions currently show he’s trapped in the thing he’s deemed no good. You shake your head, then are halted by the ghosting kiss from his lips, “You mean so much to me, lovely.” A longer ministration follows, filling your thoughts of the familiarity how sweet he’s always tasted. “But we can’t become a couple. I can’t let you deal with how lousy I am.”

“You’re not,” You pepper Jimin’s cheeks, fingers trailing along his back.

“You know how I am in the company.” You don’t speak against that idea, the one you never want to bring up because it felt like an instant argument. One you didn’t think Jimin realized. “And you’re wonderful and talented,” His kisses are short and repetitive against your lips, “And deserve better than all of the crap you’re put through. But I can’t help you with it. And I don’t want to be a reason you hold yourself back.”

Before you’re able to retort at his nonsensical words, Jimin’s hand reaches between your legs palm pressing against your jeans and rubbing friction into your core. Words are lost to a whimper unprepared for the contact as well as the proceeding action his hand takes rubbing roughly, making your hips move into him craving more. Jimin kisses at your neck listening to his name fall from your lips in a needy murmur.

His hand leaves your growing pile of nerves, eliciting a breathy whine that he kisses back into your mouth. Jimin unbuttons your jeans, “Take them off.” The demanding tone is contrastingly soft, leaving your heart beating in anticipation and complying in moments to help him rid the clothing. “God,” He lifts himself upright, knees pressing further into the mattress from his weight, while he looks you over: skin already appearing glistened from need, chest concaving from breaths that leave the mess of lovebites in view on your upper body. “So beautiful.” His head tilts watching the blush on your face grow from his words. “You know that though,” A coy smirk plays at his lips, while he reaches for your thighs, gently sliding you upwards on his bed, so your head comes close to the headboard. “I tell you,” Your mouth releases a moan when his fingers press against your clit through your panties, his lips leaving airy pecks on your thighs, “Every time I can,” His smirks grows when the swipe of his thumb against your wettening heat makes your legs jerk. Trying to close, but he removes the hand to grip them back in place, respreading, “I’m going to make you feel good.”

Profanity slips from your lips in a breathless stutter when he strips you completely, Jimin’s fingers rubbing into your clit like a map memorized. Easily causing your legs to wiggle, moans slipping out when one dips inside. “Jimin,” Needily begging for more as the digit slides in and out, readying you for the second while he continues laying kisses on your chest, decorating it with heat in every spot. “Feels-” You gasp when his thumb works against your clit, the sensation mixing with his fingers pumping inside of you making your hands grip his shoulder.

Nails graze the skin as Jimin’s fingers push all the way, he grunts from the force of your hand, but leaves a kiss to your jaw, “Don’t come,” Another ministration on your lips as you whimper, already knowing you were leaving his fingers wet along with his sheets from how he was expertly edging you along, “Not yet, lovely, wait for my mouth to take you over.”

Every piece of will to listen nearly disperts from just the tone of Jimin’s voice: slow, confident. You’re so willing to be pushed over that you’re unable to stop your hips bucking into his mouth when his tongue graces the entrance of your throbbing cunt. He chuckles against you, the vibrations themselves feel good, and your face heats from your own eagerness, but you’re more focused on giving him the satisfaction he wants, “Jimin, you’re so-” You gasp as his tongue dips deeper, moaning your next words, “Good, fuck; please, I want to come.”

“Let me taste you, baby,” Jimin’s hands hold your hips as you writhe from the pleasuring sensations. He groans low when your hand leaves the bed to tangle in his hair as your orgasm coaxes through. You tremble releasing yourself with long moans, hazy while Jimin’s lips lap up your arousal, muttering praise into your core. Your head lies against his mattress, chest taking full inhales, as Jimin sits upright. His tongue drags along the remainders of you on his lips, while his eyes take in your fucked body. He crawls overtop of you, kissing you and staining your tongue with your own taste.

“I want you inside me,” You cup Jimin’s face as you murmur the words. His eyes are lidden with desire at your statement, sharply inhaling when you go on, “Fuck me, baby, please I want to make you cum in me.” Jimin kisses you, moaning to your lips as your hand rubs his shaft through tight jeans. “It’s not even fair for you to still have these on,” He chuckles, and you can’t help the tiny smirk on your lips.

“You want to come again, baby; so needy for me.” Jimin kisses your nose, his pelvis moving into the motions of your hand. His inhales grows slightly labored when you give a squeeze to his hardened bulge before you’re unbuttoning his jeans. They’re removed in moments, Jimin’s own efforts to pull of his boxers, exposing his dick, erect and sensitive enough to cause his breaths to shake when he palms himself, “You’re sure about no condom?”

“You know I’m covered there,” You say staring at his length, swallowing in anticipation for the feeling of Jimin inside of you. He notices your sultry gaze and leans back towards you, kissing you tenderly.

The emotion takes you back for a second, feeling somewhere between melancholic and warm, you’re brought back to his conviction that this would be the last time Jimin intends to be intimate with you. When his lips leave yours, your eyes are focused on Jimin’s. There’s so much you want to ask him, but when he’s as convinced as he is, what good would it do. You’re the only one with feelings surpassing love, or else he wouldn’t do this.

Jimin kisses you again, using the remnants of your previous orgasm to lubricate his length, before he’s aligning himself with your entrance and easing himself in. Your chest raises from a breath, listening to Jimin’s moans against your lips as he tops out into you, “You’re so good around me, baby. Fuck,” He grunts when your hips buck to his. You moan as his grinding begins slow in full movements to get your walls acclimated to his dick, though you’re already well stimulated.

“Fuck,” You gasp as his pace suddenly changes, Jimin pulling out only to pound back in and make you moan his name loudly. He kisses your lips before moving back to your cheek, jaw, and neck, every inch he could while he pumps into you over and over, every audible sound from you encouraging his actions. “Jimin, Jimin,” You beg using his name, feeling his hand find yours, fingers meshing as your voice grows higher from an oncoming wave wanting to burst through. “I’m close- shit--”

“God, you feel so good; your pussy takes me so well, baby,” Jimin kisses your lip hungrily, “Come for me, lovely; I’m going to,” Your hand squeezes him as the orgasm washes over you, listening to Jimin’s moaning as his seed fills you, “Fucking,” You come undone with him, the ride going through your core and releasing around Jimin’s dick as you moan loudly, senselessly, not caring if anyone could possibly hear.

Labored breathing flows into the silence of his room. Your free hand guides Jimin’s face to yours for a sweet kiss that he lets linger into a honeylike warmth. Pulling out, Jimin then lets himself fall into the bed beside you, hand still holding yours with a seeming refusal to let go. He watches quietly while you look at his ceiling aimlessly, breathing still full as your bodies calm down. “You still want us to stop.” A statement with the tone of a question.

“Yeah,” He bites his lip as you turn on your side to face him. He feels your hand grip his with a tiny tremble, and your eyes alone make his heart nearly shatter. You try your best to force the tiniest of smiles, but Jimin gently shakes his head, “Don’t pretend for my sake, sweetie.”

“It hurts.” You whisper to let out the emotions that want to escape as tears. Jimin frowns, pulling you towards him and embracing you so you could hide your face against his chest. “Are you sure this isn’t because of the thing with Yoongi?” You ask in a trembling voice while tears build in your eyes that you try to blink back.

“It’s not.” Jimin kisses the top of your head, his hands rubbing soothingly along your back, “It’s really not, baby.” He pauses, knowing there his reasoning isn’t completely selfish as he goes on, his voice sad and his reflecting that, “We just really can’t be there for each other like we’d need to be in a relationship, lovely. We’ll just hurt each other, more than we have been lately.”

You exhale a choppy breath, trying to even out your emotions for the sake of the last night with Jimin not being only tears.

You both flinch as the night sky outside flashes, with a medley of booming sounds murmuring out in the air. Jimin’s grasp on you strengthens, contemplative of what was going on as you shift to get sight of the window, covered except for the gap between the curtains.

“It must be midnight.” Your voice is hollow and you remove yourself from his warmth to crawl off the bed. Jimin’s eyes follow you inquisitive, a pit of worry brewing that you intend to leave until your hand pushes back one of the curtains, leaving the sheer set behind it out in the open. The colorful fireworks continue in happy, vibrant colors, spilling remnants of their energy as a reflection on your skin. Jimin stares in awe, silent as you turn back to face him, picturesque and ethereal in the celebratory lights. A contradiction to the events of his apartment.

A veil in the thin curtains acts as a separator between you both in the dimness of his room and the continuation of the world outside.

You walk back towards Jimin, crawling to his open arms on the bed as he greets your return with a kiss. You take it and any following in case they’re the last, settling into Jimin’s bed with him as the blankets cover your cuddling frames. It’s a long time of contentment in each other’s arms, while you both ignore that day means an end; trying to let the fireworks and their beauty be enough of a distraction between longing kisses.

Inevitably you fall asleep first, breaths soothing in sound and sight as Jimin admires the grace of your figure in his arms. He strokes your hair like you still needed to be lulled to slumber. He thinks what it would be like if he was on your side from the first instance of you bringing up that you wanted to be credited for your work, or if he hadn’t kept quiet about his opposite, selfish opinion this long and forwards.

Your sleeping body shifts, arms tightening around his waist. Jimin can’t help the little smile, wishing he had the same outlook as you just so it wouldn’t be the last night of you being practically his. Jimin’s lips find your peaceful forehead in a warm kiss, saying a whisper that he doubts he’ll ever get to say again, “I love you.”

if you enjoy please, please let me know! i hope you enjoy the series, i’m working really hard on it! : ) also don’t drag me for the smut in this chapter it may or may not be good idk im worried lmaoadsjfgk

tag list (send an ask to be added): @jaiuneamesolitaiire @tsvkino-usagi

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one-abuse-survivor · 4 years

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Tired is when you're sick of life, or feel weighed down by the stuff around you. Sleepy is when you want to go to bed. That's how me and my friend do it, anyhow. At this point, I'm fucking exhausted to the point where I feel too tired to let it out but im gonna anyways. There's bits in here that I can't tell my friend, or anyone, so i'm hoping bc this is anonymous i can let it out. Right, intro done lol. Onto the story. Last night, i have no idea what time, maybe five or six, (all i know is this

thing ended at 7pm), my mom storms out of the room and comes back holding a bottle of water and her bag. She proceeds to tell my dad she found the bottle at the bottom of my bed, (basically im not supposed to have anything at the bottom of my bead bc asian tradition believes that youre on top of it and thats dirty or whatever). Then she pulls out my school photo, puts it on the table and tells my dad to look at it. Starts ranting about how I never listen, i look horrible, worst photo i've ever taken.

Basically, I go to a private school, and they think I should look good, and then they spent some time lecturing me about how i was supposed to look right when i was in the school, I look like a boy, i act like a boy, my hair's a mop, I look like a hooligan. Start talking about when i dress to go to school, how my shoes aren't polished and one of them has laces that show the white inner. How my hair's messy at the back, if i saw someone in jeans and someone in a suit in the street, who would i think was respectful? They told me they shouldn't have let me into the school, they loved me too much, that's why, they should have let me go to this public school that has a reputation for being a mess, that i belong there, waste of money, they regret letting me go here, thought i was a respectable girl.

Dad asked me again, who wouldd i think was respectful, the jeans or the suit, and I told him I don't know. We'll get to that later, but at that moment he sneered and snorted and looked at my mom. 'says she doesnt know' he jeers. I'd meant it as in 'i have no idea, please help me'. He took it as 'she doesn't know, and doesn't give a fuck'. I don't know how to look proper. they never taught me. they tell me that something looks good so i wear it. mom still buys my clothes for me. I have no fucking clue what looks proper and what doesn't.

Anyways, somehow they moved onto uni, and my current work, and how I pull all-nighters and how dad thought i was smart but nopw he has no hope, how he sees me get up in the morning and know i'm going to fail the assessment, how i get distracted, how i take too long to shower, how i never learn, how i never help them around the house, they do everything for me and if he was in my shoes then he would work until 'smoke came out' (vietnamese saying), how he would be so grateful but i'm not and they're going to leave me (which is a normal threat for them lol) and how they're going to die (another normal threat, dad has a lifelong illness and mom has been struggling with leukaemia for years) and they're not going to pay for uni if i get a stupid degree, only if i get a good degree like they want which will actually help me (law), if i want to become an engineer (something im considering) then i can pay for it myself, then again it's not like i'm even going to get into uni, when they look at me, they have to think of the girl i was when i was five because if they think about me now they feel sad, they won't look at me because I make them sad, they had so much hope for me, now down the drain, no, down to the sewers, look at my cousins going out, one of them had piercings and infections and almost got tattoos and is a nurse in a prison with a husband who stressed her out so much she passed out at work, do i want that, that's what i will get if i dont work, basd job, assisstants have to buy pads for their bosses, horrible child, this will end one of two ways, one i listen to them and come back years later to thank them or i'll look up at the stars and wish that i'd listened to them and they regret having me and caring for me, if only they'd been better parents, they'd been too lenient, but i don't care do i because if i cared it'd show in my working to please them and i haven't done that so that means i don;t care about them.

Dad told me it was too late to change, then switches to tell me it's not too late, they ramble on about my internet use, (i have to ask them for internet) and i'm not acutlalyu doping work on it, i'm just fucking around, they kjnow, they know, i can lie all i want nbut it's true. Horrible child, they'll die, they'll die, That's the end of the conversation, we're not going to talk about it anymore. No, stop talking. I'm going to tell you this until i die. I'm going to keep saying it, beccause it's better that i say it and you not listen than i dont say it and regret not saying it. (okay, i can;t currently remember anything else of what they said lol.). By the way, you wanna know abt

[asks didn’t arrive and I asked for the last bit again]

ok lets hope to god this sends then. i think i know where i was up to - 'do you want to know about what was wrong with the photo' i think was meant to be that. anyways, yeah. guess what was wrong with it. i had a fucking splinge. like my hair was parted and a bit of the part was split. that's all i can see that's wrong with it. maybe my hair looked oily? idk but that's all i noticed. also said something after that about do u remember when dad asked me abt who did i think looked better the suit.

also can i add something i just remembered which is that one of them put folders on my shelf and mom told me she knew i put them there to hide what i was looking at on my laptop from her when i??? didnt??? put them??? there??? in the first place???? (the layout of my room allows the folders to block the view of someone from the door basically) i put new folders there after i think my dad put them there but i didnt originally put them there??? sorry it was a full ask rant and i have no idea what the freak i typed and what i didnt lol. but u get the gist i think. big fat lecture.

i am tired. my eyes were puffy and there was like this pool of snot floating on top of this pool of tears if you did get the ask sorry u had to read that twice. :(. i mean even tho u didnt see it i was able to let it all out. not sure if it made me feel better about anything but being able to do it at all is rlly nice. Thank you for that.

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No wonder you’re tired, nonnie... I’m really glad you could get all of this off your chest, and really sorry that you have to hear those awful things about yourself coming from your parents.

I’m a white European, so I don’t share many of your experiences and I don’t know how it is to live in a Vietnamese family, but I hope it’s okay to compare it a little bit with my experiences in my (very Christian) family--if not, you can absolutely skip the next paragraph!

I have had a bunch of conversations with my therapist about traditions, religion, and misogyny, because since I cut my mother off, my grandfather has lectured me many times about how I am a bad daughter for looking out for myself and putting my life first instead of being devoted to my mother’s wants and needs. He told me that she’s sick and I’m horrible for not caring about that and abandoning her, and that if she doesn’t love me, I just have to work harder until I "crack her walls”. (As if I haven’t tried already, and as if she didn’t use her very mental illness as an excuse to abuse me). My therapist basically told me that sometimes, being the Disney villain in some people’s stories means you’re doing something right, because their vision of what’s right and what’s wrong (especially when it comes to daughters and women in general) is designed to hurt you, to make you put your family before yourself. That it’s never wrong to put yourself and your needs first, and that kids don’t owe their parents anything just because the parents brought them into this world--that was the parents’ choice, not the kid’s, and therefore it’s the parents’ responsibility to care for their kid, whoever that kid turns out to be; and not the kid’s responsibility to be the model child that the parents had in mind or to care for them.

Your parents belittling you for things you have little to no control over and accusing you of being responsible for their future deaths, for not knowing things that haven’t been explained to you, for not living up to their expectations without even giving you a chance to try, and for not “working for them as hard as they would in your place”, are all red flags of emotional abuse. Accusing you of things you don’t do and constantly drilling into your mind that they “know” you’re a horrible person who doesn’t want to learn or change is a red flag too, and probably an excuse to take the guilt off their shoulders for not taking the time to guide you in life and to explain anything to you before accusing you of not knowing it already. “It’s too late” puts the blame on you, but what it actually means is probably something along the lines of “It’s easier to scream at you than to put realistic expectations on you and then help you achieve them while respecting your boundaries and allowing you to make mistakes, but I don’t want to feel guilty about it, so let’s pretend you’re a lost cause, yeah?”

I used to go to a private school too, and my mother repeatedly told me that was the reason she struggled economically and that I had ruined her life. It wasn’t until I talked about it in therapy that I realised that I never had a choice in what school I went to. Same as I never had a choice in anything my mother decided for me. So how could I be to blame for the consequences of those decisions? And how can you? If they buy you certain clothes, then they have no right to criticise how you look in them. If they chose to put you in a private school, then the money spent is on them, not you. You shouldn’t have to “prove” you’re worth their decisions for you or their basic care for you--they chose to give you that unconditionally the moment they decided to have you in the first place, and if they refuse to give it or threaten to take it away, it’s becuase they’re neglectful and/or abusive, not because something intrinsic about you justifies it. You’re not a bad kid; you’re just a normal kid with very bad parents. And I’m really sorry that you have to put up with them. You deserve better 😔

I’m here if you need to vent again in the future, nonnie. Sending a virtual hug ❤

#Anonymous #Vent #Ask #Abuse tw #Abuse #Abusive parents #Emotional abuse #Long post #Threats #Guilt tripping #guilt tripping tw #Threats tw #therapy mention #christianity mention #neglect mention #(I'm nonbinary btw but it's not like my grandfather knows or would care 🙃)

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