I LOVE YOU JUNG JAEHYUN

Jaehyun must’ve gone through it, for a while.

To finally admit it. The fact that he cant even look at the camera until he’s admitting he’s not perfect and how hard he tries to be.

He’s telling us this because he wants us to give him our love and support. With his bare face. and not because he’s wearing the sexiest clothes, having the best abs or his face is looking particularly fine that day.

Having abs, flawless skin and physique and face. EVERYDAY? He’s human. Not a robot. He would waste waste his life away pretending to be otherwise.

Stans are always praising Hyuk, Doyoung and Taeil for vocals or Mark and Taeyong for rapping or dancing. But Jaehyun? There’s never a fuss till he makes a boyfriend video or pulls up his shirt.

HIS DANCING. HIS SINGING. HIS HARD WORK. HIS KINDNESS. HIS HUMOR.

Lets reward his honesty with support. And make this guy fall asleep with a smile because he knows his fans absolutely adore him and not just cause they lust for him. Because they appreciate all the work he puts into perfecting his skills and who he is as a person. And they let him know this.

Imagine busting sleepless nights to perfect a performance, checking your fan cam and seeing that all anyone talked about was that half second your torso was exposed and nothing else.

Reduced you to something so superficial. It’s more than okay to fan girl but remember to praise their hard work once in a while. It means so much to them.

And don’t pretend to support idols but the moment they show you they have flab, scars or pimples like a normal person, you say “This isn’t who I remember him to be” this is who he’s not forcing himself to be.

Lets stop please putting so many labels on idols that are impossible to fulfill. Like the most perfect face, the best dancer, rapper or singer of the century, the person who’s perfect and never makes mistakes. The idol who can do it all.

No one is fully capable. All the time. They are just trying their hardest and trying not to let you see the parts that are less than perfect.

Lets support honesty so that idols feel like they can be themselves around fans and not enforce this flawless manufactured doll mentality.

written in (1)

📝 — pairing: cha eunwoo (astro) x reader 📝 — genre: slow burn au, author!reader, character!eunwoo 📝 — rating: sfw 📝 — warnings: its got a lot of angst in the plot, but overall its fairly safe to read :) 📝 — a/n: this is the first part of the series!! please look forward to the rest, and feel free to leave feedback! it’s always appreciated :D

— posted; 11.26.19

You found him feeding some pigeons like he was part of your world, part of the living breathing world. He was a boy you wrote in a tenth-grade creative story, the boy in the yellow sweater. You fell in love with him, only to remember just how you ended it.

The ringtone for Seventeen’s ‘Smile Flower’ filled your small studio apartment, the name of your editor and friend appearing on your screen, the offer of a video call vibrating your cell that was resting on your desk, two inches from your pinkie.

Grasping the phone, you slide the green icon right and taking the call. Your face appears in the small upper right corner, eye bags more prominent than a blood splatter over a blank white canvas. The face of Kim Myungjun took over the screen, a coffee cup in hand as he displayed it to you.

“I’ve brought coffee! Open up the door, it’s cold outside!” He shouts into his phone, though you lower the volume of the call to lessen the noise. “It’s your favorite! Hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows.”

“I thought you brought coffee,” you tease, moving from room to hallway to door, opening it for him and letting him bring his four grocery bags into your studio. Taking the cocoa, you took a sip, reveling in the sweet whip taste that left your taste buds craving a second drink.

“I thought you hated coffee. Absolutely despised coffee.” He mocks, unpacking the snacks and food and stuffing them into various cabinets and the fridge, discarding foods close to expiration. “Plus, you don’t need any more caffeine. You need sleep, gremlin.”

“I could fire you for calling me names, MJ.” You tease again, taking a gulp of the drink to find it nearly empty. You didn’t even realize that you had taken that many sips. “Two calls and I’ve got a new editor, you know.”

“But you won’t fire me, though. No one else would put up with your insane sleep schedule and weird tactics for inspiration.” He retorts, pulling you into a hug and squishing your face, pulling your cheeks out only to release them a moment later. “Who even goes to a park to watch pigeons and think of the worst ways to die? How is pigeon watching scary, at all?”

“Dunno. Speaking of, later this week, I need to go there and get some inspiration for the new book.”

“Which scene?”

“The sex one between JiHoon and LiUi.” You say, shaking your head. As much as you loved writing, that scene wasn’t even yours to write. Publishers had flocked far and wide, and the one who would take your new book for the highest bid required a sex scene in it. So a sex scene you would have.

You had to pay the bills somehow.

“Geez, why didn’t we just take the lower one. They would be fine with a children’s book, for God’s sake.” He thumps his hand on the counter, knocking twice before downing the rest of his coffee and rinsing the cup out, tossing it into the garbage. “You don’t even like writing those type of scenes.”

“I plan on giving you a raise, Myungjun. You can’t keep getting so little for all the work you do. Plus, I need to fund your coffee and amazon prime addiction.” You smile, giving him a soft hug.

“It’s not an addiction to amazon prime, it’s just a hobby I have.”

“Tell that to the ninety sun pillows you have. I’ve seen so much yellow in your room and house that I can’t go in there anymore without having white spots in my vision.”

“You’re so mean, you know. Without me, you’d still be the dork in high school with ninety friends and no bestest best gay friend in your life!” He put on a mocking high pitched voice, his eyes rolling around like a pinball machine. “Isn’t that right?”

“I swear, you need to stop drinking, you’re delusional. Stop buying yellow pillows too, it’s depressing how cheerful your apartment is.” You begin pushing him out of the studio doors, wrapping a random small blanket over his shoulders and putting a cap from your closet on his head.

“You’re such a mom, Y/N. Let me have fun with my too-fast heart rate.”

“Don’t die before you edit the final drafts, bozo. You need something to pay for your funeral and cremation.” He laughs, shutting the door behind him and leaving you to sit alone in your studio once more, the vibrant energy that makes you shoot up like a plant in the sun recessing to nothing as it follows him.

He was the best infection you could have. Every time he was near you, he always made you feel loved and appreciated. He made everyone feel that way; not even the wallflower was left out. MJ was probably the second best thing to ever happen to you.

You sat back in your office seat, pressing the keys on your keyboard randomly and watching as letters formed a long string of incomprehensible gibberish. You just wanted to go to sleep, rest for a few hours. But the deadline was due in four hours, and you were still halfway through the fourth to the final chapter of a book that had over 5k words in each section.

You don’t remember when, but eventually, after finishing the drafts and resting your head on your folded arms, you fell asleep.

Dreaming was a luxury you wouldn’t deny.

In this dream, you were wearing a plaid dress with a black shirt underneath, and a pair of red shoes and black socks. Oddly, this was an outfit you had in your closet, and one you had been wanting to wear for a while.

You just never had a reason to wear such a date-like outfit.

Not like you couldn’t wear it for yourself, you just didn’t want to. Not without a good reason to show it to the world for the first time. Bah, you thought, bored with the trail of thoughts your dream had taken you to. You had bigger things to do.

Your dream self was sitting in the park you frequented, a notebook sitting in your lap with little doodles of flowers and suns with smiley faces grinning up at you, pencil in the action of sketching another lily to the banquet.

You glanced up from the sketch, hand ceasing when the figure of a man seemed to be staring at you. One of his hands lifted, waved, then dropped back to his side. You waved in return, confused by the lack of face the man had.

He was well dressed; a pair of beige slacks with white cuffs, a yellow sweater, and white sneakers. Though he was built like a grown man, his features had a boyish hint to them. His legs were muscular, and his shirt hung around him like he was skinnier than the fit of it.

He was holding a banquet of lilies, blue and pink flowers scattered around his feet like a florist decided he needed a flower shower. Squinting at his face, you couldn’t see anything. It wasn’t that he didn’t have a face, it was like everything from the shoulders up was blurred.

You could your vision was messing you, but it wasn’t. Everything else was clear and picture-perfect. It was like you weren’t meant to see his face, at least not in real life. But that’d be dumb, right? This wasn’t some sort of fantasy fiction or love story or book, this was real life.

Right?

He moved closer towards you, holding out the banquet with a friendly energy. If he was aggressive, he might have shoved it at you. Who knows? All you knew right here, and right now, was that he was giving all the indicators of friendly body language. Loose composure, upright standing, his free arm loosely hanging at his side and swinging as he walked.

Just as he was a couple feet from you, he seemed to vanish. There was no puff of smoke, no acrid smell in the air, nothing. It was like someone had turned on Sims cheat mode and deleted him. Not even a peep from him.

Then you disappeared.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” You heard your editor shout, the curtains being ripped open and flashing bright streaks of golden light that was too harsh for….. noon.

Nevermind.

“Today is my day to escort you to the park and leave you there,” MJ told you, patting your back as you groaned, covering your eyes from the terrible daytime glare. “I’m a great parent, god, I should have kids.”

“Don’t have kids.” You murmur, rubbing your eyes and getting up from the swivel seat of dreams. He sat outside your room door as you got dressed, talking about everything you missed and what the publisher was going to pay for the final drafts and what the ideas for cover art would be.

“So, how’d you sleep?” He asks as you step out, a note of surprise passing his lips before he concealed it with a smile. “You look good. Where’d the dress come from?”

“Bought it a while ago.” You smoothed the plaid dress down, a peek of black socks appearing before being mostly concealed by the red shoes. “I figured I’d look nice today since I won’t have another opportunity for a while.”

“Why not?” He asks, bumping you out the door and giving you a piece of toast with butter smeared on it.

“Just didn’t have an opportunity.” You respond, falling into the car and stretching out your legs. Everything seemed to line up with the dream. The notebook and pencil was in the backseat,

You wondered if you’d see the dream boy.

No, you wouldn’t. You couldn’t.

None of your dreams were real. It was a dream. Nothing more, nothing less. That was how dreams worked. It was just left over thoughts that made themselves tangible for you to mull over while you slept.

MJ dropped you off at the park, leaving you to yourself once more. You sat at a random bench, watching the birds flock around you with the prospect of food. One coos at you, then they all begin to harass other park-goers for scraps.

Turning back to the sketch, you found that nothing had been drawn in a sheet formerly covered in lead markings. Flipping the pages around, you found the entire notebook was empty. You could have sworn there were drawings in there, plot ideas, character drawings; but there wasn’t. It was like they disappeared.

You pulled out your cell, dialing MJ. He picked up on the fourth ring, breathless. “Please don’t tell me I called during that time of the day.”

“Workout time? No, I just ran to answer the phone. Been busy all day.” He let out a big wheeze, then a thump came from his side. “It feels nice to sit. Oof, so, what’s up?”

“Did you swap out the notebook? It’s empty.”

“No, I didn’t. Are you sure it’s flipped right? Or you haven’t been using invisible ink?”

“Why would I use invisible—“ You stopped speaking, startled by the sudden figure standing about 20 feet from you. The same one from the dream.

He was dressed exactly the same; business beige slacks with white cuffs, yellow sweater, white sneakers, even the same haircut. He was crouching, surrounded by pigeons pecking at him. He seemed content with it, feeding them the flowers from the blue and pink bouquet, the lily one put in the back of his waistband.

“I need to go, MJ, I’ll see you soon.” You told the phone, getting up from the bench and heading over to the pigeon-crowded man. He didn’t pay attention to your presence, instead, dropping another bud of blue petals for a pigeon to poke and prob at.

“Excuse me,” you spoke quietly, gently tapping his shoulder. He turned, his face reflecting the dark light of the golden rays and displaying the golden tones that were hidden underneath the paler toned facial features.

He was remarkably, freakishly gorgeous. Like, god-status beautiful. Something you would have written in a younger book series about some handsome detective or model who was an uncover cop or something.

“Yes?” He asked, standing up. He was nearly six inches taller than you, his head tilted downwards to look in your eyes. “Something wrong?”

“What’s your name?”

“Cha Eunwoo.”

“You’re kidding.” You blurt, eyes widening. This was too freaking real to be a coincidence. “Please say this is a joke.”

“No, it’s not. Born and raised Lee Dongmin, changed my name to Cha Eunwoo at 18, why?”

“You aren’t real.” You told him, amazed. “You’re my book character.”

“Book character?”

You pulled up the book cover, putting it next to his face. Amazingly, it matched perfectly. As if he had jumped right out the pages.

Right out of the pages.

If it really was him, you’d have to do everything in your might to change it. Or else, he’d die, and so too would the world.

40 notes View Post

solidkpoptrash