#and in the midst. one actual person that i almost blocked | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hengqarae · 1 year

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to the victor go the spoils

PAIRING ❄ lee chan x afab!reader WORD COUNT ❄ 11.3k GENRE ❄ chan is a bartender au, romance, smut (minors dni), mutual pining, angst WARNINGS ❄ legal alcohol consumption, making out, swearing, oral (f receiving), not proofread

chan is the bartender at your favorite restaurant, and you're his favorite patron: the person that comes in every single week with a new guy, always wearing the same perfume and always ordering the same thing, always complaining to him about the losers that your father keeps setting you up with. he'll lose his mind soon if he keeps having to watch you on these shitty dates. how much longer until he's declared the winner and you finally choose him?

PLAYLIST ❄ love language by sza / go crazy by leslie odom jr. / vanilla by kai / lies by marina and the diamonds / what can i do by reneé rapp / nervous by john legend / chance with you by mehro / maroon by taylor swift / toy by block b FROM THE AUTHOR ❄ thanks for reading <3 the beginning is stronger than the end because i got covid in the midst of this and lost my motivation, but i hope you enjoy it regardless! have a safe and fun transition into the new year, if you observe it :)

Chan thinks that he must be losing his mind.

He started bartending when he was in college, just as soon as he was legally able to do so. Known for having a competitive streak, the fact that he needed to pass a test to obtain licensure to serve alcohol spurred him on more than it should have. He was even more motivated when his friend, Soonyoung, wasn’t able to pass it himself. He landed a job at one of the more upscale restaurants almost immediately and being downtown meant that the people were more affluent and, thus, more generous. It was a total win for him, and nearly three years later, he’s still around. Chan only really bartends on weekends, reserving his weekdays to get his schoolwork done. In all honestly, he doesn’t need the job. He’s never needed it, but he’s stuck around for so long because he enjoys meeting different types of people; he likes hearing the deep, dark secrets that spill out once enough alcohol has been consumed; and he really appreciates the ego boost that he gets every time an older woman comes in and tips him generously, just because they think he’s cute.

It’s not his job that’s making him feel like he’s losing his mind. He likes his job, and he’ll be satisfied with the time he’s spent behind his bar once he finally graduates and moves on to something more applicable to his degree. No, he feels like he’s losing his mind because of one specific patron. There’s this one gorgeous individual that comes in every Friday night, always meeting a different man, but always wearing the same floral perfume and wearing the same silver necklace that dangles around their neck, resting on their sternum, glinting in the dim lights of the restaurant. This person always arrives early and sits at the bar, talking with Chan about school, about their family, about how poorly they know their date will go. They’re always sitting at the same table, one of the ones closest to the bar, and they always order the same thing. The dates always last two hours and not one minute longer, and Chan always feels a sense of longer after they bid him farewell and leave the restaurant, the scent of their perfume never lingering for long enough.

Chan is absolutely enamored with this one individual, but he’d rather plead insanity than admit that.

“Hi Chan,” You sigh, sliding onto the barstool that was situated directly in front of him. You shift until you’re comfortable, placing your bag on the counter. Chan, in the middle of washing and drying his shaker, offers you a smile without actually looking up at you. His heart has been racing since he caught sight of you walking in, and he’s afraid that if he looks at you, it’ll induce a heart attack. He could already tell from across the restaurant that you looked good, even better than usual. You smell even better than usual, too. He’s sure that nothing has actually changed, though, and that serves as just another sign that he’s losing his mind. “How was your week?”

You follow his movements with your eyes as he places the shaker on the counter, throwing his hand towel over his shoulder and wiping his forehead with the back of one of his hands. One of his rings catches the light and you’re drawn to his hand, shifting uncomfortably on your stool when you notice how pretty his hands are. It takes you another minute to notice, but his hair’s lighter this week than it was last week. He must have had more free time than usual, dying it and all. “It was okay. I lost a bet and had to dye my hair. I’m also considering sleeping with my neuroscience professor so that I pass the class. “

“Your exam didn’t go well, then?” Chan shakes his head. “Is she cute, at least?”

“Yeah, he’s pretty easy on the eyes!”

He’s able to make you laugh so effortlessly. You throw your head back, hands gripping the countertop so that you don’t lose your balance and slide off your seat. Chan smiles to himself, turning so that he can start mixing you up a drink. This week, like every other week, you were going to get whatever he decided to give you. It’s not like he charged you for drinks anyway. When you finally settle your laughter, wiping away a tear that had started to collect at your waterline, you watch him make his drink. You smoothen your expression when you realize the fond smile that was plastered on your face for everybody to see, and your heart aches when you think about leaving Chan to sit through another dry, humorless, boring date for two hours.

This was the reason you always made sure to arrive early at the restaurant. You always insisted on driving yourself, you always made sure to arrive thirty minutes early, and you always soaked in as much time as you could get with Chan before you were subjected to yet another torturous date that your father had planned out for you. Your dates were never able to hold a conversation as well as Chan could. With him, words flowed naturally. He didn’t talk about himself too much, and he remembered anything that you told him, and you had considered, on multiple occasions, skipping your dates in favor of sitting with Chan through your shift. Up until now, you had never been able to find the courage to do so.

Only recently, you had realized that maybe, possibly, you had started to harbor a little crush on him. Keeping that in consideration, it was unlikely that you would ever find the courage to engage in anything further with him. Your weekly chats were doomed to remain as weekly, thirty-minute occurrences, no matter how much more of him you found yourself craving.

“What about you? How was your week?”

“It was okay.” You echo his words, eyes trailing his movements again as he sets your drink in front of you. He steps away to tend to the other patrons, and your heart aches again as you watch him laugh and flirt with the females perched at the bar. You aren’t jealous, per se – you've known Chan for long enough to be able to recognize his fake, polite smiles from his genuine ones, and you’re able to find some comfortable in the fact that the smiles he gives you are different from the one he’s offering to those other customers right now. You hum quietly and take a sip of your cocktail, eyebrows knitting together as you taste it. When Chan returns, you ask what he made you.

“It’s called a Painkiller.” He grins, grabbing the bottle of rum he had mixed in to show you what he had used. “I figured you were going to need one. Today is lucky number seventeen, right?”

You raise your eyebrows, a smile growing on your face. “How did you remember that?”

“It’s a good number.” He shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the other side of the bar. “So, your week was okay? Why’s that?”

You sigh, massaging your temples to prevent the headache that tended to appear whenever you recounted everything that was stressing you out. “I have my thesis proposal in a few weeks, and my defense closer to the end of the semester, but my dad is still incessant on setting me up on these dates. He wants me to be engaged by graduation, but I don’t even know if I want to be married. It feels like a war of attrition.”

“Should I make you another one? A little stronger?”

He’s just joking, evident by his grin, but you almost want to take him up on his offer. Tonight’s date, whose name you couldn’t even recall, was projected to be especially bad. The guys that your dad seemed to like the most always ended up being the worst. You straighten yourself back up with another sigh, and Chan curses under his breath as you offer him a tired smile that makes his stomach somersault in response. Your lipstick smudges against the glass as you take another sip of your drink, and he thinks that the shade you’re wearing tonight would look good on him, too.

Just not on his lips.

“It’s so tiring.” You take another long sip of your drink, your tongue poking out to collect the liquid that had gotten caught at the corner of your mouth. Chan has to look away, face nearly contorting in pain as he feels himself straining against his pants. He’s thankful to be hidden behind the bar tonight; you looked and smelled even better up close. He’s more thankful that your outfit is a little more conservative than what you had worn last week. That white outfit had revealed just enough to put his imagination into overdrive. He was still thinking about how good you had looked. He had jacked himself off to thoughts of removing the outfit, draping it carefully over the back of his desk chair before fucking you into his mattress, more times than he’d feel comfortable admitting to anyone. He has to squeeze his eyes shut and take a few breaths to keep from getting hard again, turning around only when he’s ready. You had descended into a rant about your love life, and he wishes that he hadn’t entered the conversation that you were having with yourself.

“--like, what if I don’t want to be married? That’s not crazy, it’s almost 2023! I haven’t even had sex in months because my dad keeps setting me up with losers. It’s not for lack of trying, either; these stupid dates occupy all of my free time, and the only redeeming part of these dates are the free meals and being able to sit with you beforehand. I’m exhausted, though, Chan. Seriously. I-I don’t even know who I’m supposed to be meeting tonight! My dad says that he really likes him, but I don’t even know what his name is. It’s either Minho, or Mingyu... it could be Minhyung, too, though. I don’t--”

As much as Chan would enjoy talking about your sex life with you, his attention is brought from you to the door of the restaurant, and he straightens up as a young man walks into the space. There’s no doubt that he’s your date, Minho or Mingyu or Minhyung or whatever, if his Armani suit, Rolex watch, and excess of hair gel is anything to go by. Chan clears his throat, looking from the man to you and then back as the man continues his trek toward the bar. “Should I start a tab for you?”

That was code. You straighten your own posture, taking a deep breath before turning in your seat, a saccharine smile decorating your features. Chan knows you too well by now to be fooled by the mask that you slip on whenever you’re on a date. He collects your bag as you’re led away by your date, tucking it underneath the bar while he starts washing some glasses. The sight of you getting whisked away had become nausea-inducing for him, and tonight was no exception. As soon as you had taken your date’s hand, Chan had looked away to avoid getting sick. He keeps an inconspicuous eye on you as your date pulls out your chair for you, busying himself as you get your date started. He knows that you’d much rather be spending your time with him – you'd said so just earlier, after all – but he can’t help the dull ache in his chest at the sight of seeing you with another man.

The only consolation for him was that he would see you again in a week’s time, laughing once again at his jokes, further exacerbating the symptoms of his lovesickness. He mutters under his breath as he finishes cleaning his glasses, setting them on the countertop to dry. He offers one final glance in your direction, his chest clenching when he sees that you’re already looking at him, in a plea for help that you both know he can’t answer.

The bar gets crowded as the night continues, and Chan occupies himself with other patrons. He’s trying to compartmentalize, trying to forget that you were somewhere else in the restaurant, but it’s hard; with every fake laugh that he hears from you, a warmth blooms in his chest. He’s the only person in the whole joint that has ever made you genuinely laugh, and he carries that knowledge with pride.

Two hours come and go, and just like clockwork, you bid goodbye to your date. It was unusual for you to settle back at the bar following your dates, but you chose to do so tonight. Chan knows that usually, you’re so tired from listening to your dates talk about themselves without reprieve that you just bid Chan farewell and leave immediately after your dates. He’s happy that you’re back, but there’s always a fear that lingers in the back of his mind that one day, the reason that you’ve come back is to tell him that you had a really good date and that you’d be going on another one with the same guy. He hasn’t prepared himself for when that day comes.

“That fucking sucked,” You groan, covering your face with your hands. Chan tries, and fails, to bite back a smile, setting a glass of water down in front of you. You grumble a quiet thanks, sipping your water as the bartender floats around behind the bar, checking in and cashing out his patrons. You lean back as best as you can while sitting on a barstool, watching him as he starts cleaning up. His shift should be over soon. You always scheduled your dates halfway through Chan’s shifts so that, whenever you stuck around, you could walk out with him. It felt like a reward for getting through the awful date in the first place.

Your breath hitches every time that Chan breezes past you, and you curse yourself for that. While your date with Minhyuk – you had learned his name, finally – hadn't been the worst date that you’d ever experienced, he was definitely getting struck from your father’s (dwindling) list of potential sons-in-law. You try to wrack your brain and figure out how many people were left on that list. Once you reach the end, you’ll need to find a new reason to come to the restaurant every week; having a crush on one of the bartenders, you’d rationalized, was not a good enough reason to come all the way downtown every Friday.

It feels like your heart is being squeezed when you dare to look to your left and see Chan flirting with one of his female customers. Her fingers are dancing on his chest, and you nearly fall off your stool when she dares to unbutton his shirt a little more. You know that you can’t fault him for someone else’s behavior, but if generous tips meant that you could help him out of his shirt, you’d start bringing some cash with you.

“Gimme a few more minutes!” Chan offers in passing, causing you to perk up a little. It was cathartic, spending time with him. Your dates were draining but being with Chan had the opposite effect. You felt like being with him recharged you, like you could endure another two hours with another loser if you had time with him in between. Two hours with one of your father’s dates felt like a torturous eternity, but two hours felt like ten minutes with Chan. It didn’t feel fair.

Your stomach does a flip when Chen rounds the bar. The sleeves of his black button-down have been pushed up to his elbows, and his shirt is unbuttoned dangerously low. You knit your eyebrows together, beckoning him closer so that you can button him back up. He laughs quietly as you do it, and you hope that by ignoring the warmth that’s flooding into your face, he won’t notice it. You use his shoulder to steady yourself as you dismount from your stool, smiling as he offers you your bag. You take it, slipping it over your shoulder, tailing him as the two of you make your exit out of the restaurant. He bids farewell to the remaining staff, holding open doors for you until you’ve both made it into the elevator.

Chan’s heart is thudding heavily against his ribcage, and he hopes that the elevator music is loud enough that you can’t hear it. This wasn’t a weekly occurrence, per se, but it was still rare that he was afforded the opportunity to walk you back to your car. His fingers itch to reach for you, to pin you against the wall of the elevator and to press his lips on every inch of your exposed skin, but he refrains. Instead, he leans against the wall, trying to appear nonchalant, while you stand, rigid, next to him, wringing your hands together. It’s not necessarily awkward, but you’re suddenly missing the bar that usually separates the two of you. Conversation flowed easier when you were able to sit safely on the other side of the bar.

“How was your date? Bad, you said? N-No, wait, you said that it ‘fucking sucked,’ right?”

You groan, shaking your head at the reminder of why you had come to the restaurant in the first place – something that had been lost as you sat at the bar, daydreaming about what it would be like to go on a date with Chan instead. “I-I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. It would be so easy to just, like, tolerate someone, right? I don’t know why I can’t just find someone that I can tolerate and call it a day.”

“You have standards. Big deal.” He scoffs, trailing after you once the elevator opens. Your pace is slow as the two of you meander through the parking garage, in pursuit of a goal (your car) but with no sense of urgency. You shake your head, letting your hands fall to your sides.

“Standards are one thing, Chan, but I haven’t had sex in months, and I haven’t even kissed anyone in weeks. I’m just so worn out from all these shitty dates. Between writing my thesis, studying and reading for my classes, and then carving out three hours every Friday night to listen to a different loser talk about himself and his stocks, I feel like I’m on a downward trajectory.”

Chan’s eyebrows raise, but he quickly smoothens his expression because you’re turning to look at him, expectant, like he should be offering something insight or helpful. He has nothing prepared. As soon as you mentioned kissing, he started thinking about how it’d be to have you pinned against the flat surface, to have your lips on his. He clears his throat. “W-Why haven’t you been kissing your dates?”

“I used to!” You groan, propping your hands on your hips. “I used to, but then they’d always call me the next day. So, I stopped kissing on the first date, and they stopped thinking that there would be a second date. None of them were any good, either! It was like kissing cement.”

“Soft yet firm?”

“Cold and wet.”

“God, where did your dad find these guys? Reddit?”

You laugh, and it echoes through the parking garage, and Chan feels light on his feet. He tucks his hands into his pockets, looking down at the asphalt as the two of you continue your stroll. He’s considering his options of what he could say next, and suddenly, he wishes that he’d thrown back a shot or two during his shift. “Y-You can teach someone how to be a better kisser, though. I don’t think that should be, like, a dealbreaker.”

“I mean, sure. Yeah, that’s true. It’s... less about the actual kiss, though. Y’know?” Chan knits his eyebrows together, confused, and you sigh before elaborating. “Like... I didn’t feel anything. There should be sparks or something, but there was nothing like that. It’d probably be more gratifying to kiss a piece of cardboard.” You catch a glimpse of a column and an image of Chan pushing you up against it, lips fiery against yourself, causes you to grimace. If only.

Chan hums in response, at a loss for words, afraid that there’s nothing left that he could offer to the conversation unless you were looking for him to get on his knees to beg, to plead, for you to give him a chance. He was a good kisser and everything! You stop walking and he lifts his head, his heart falling as he realizes that the two of you have reached your destination. He’d wasted all of his precious time convincing you that you should be less harsh on your dates if they were bad at something teachable.

How nice of him.

“Thanks for walking me.” You say, eyes fixating on the strands of hair that had come undone and that were resting in front of Chan’s eyes. You're itching to reach forward and sweep them out of his face, but you refrain.

“You’re welcome.”

The two of you lapse into silence, staring at each other. There’s a warmth that’s creeping across your body, starting in the pit of your stomach. Maybe it was tactless to talk about kissing other men in front of Chan, but a small part of you had been hoping that he would contribute differently. Maybe he would offer to kiss you. Maybe you could fulfill your desire to have his hands on you. Maybe he would press his lips against yours, and there’d be fireworks, and you wouldn’t have to feel guilty about coming to the restaurant to see him instead of going on your stupid dates.

Chan is kind. He’s handsome. He’s gentle, and he’s funny, and he’s sexy, and there’s nothing more that you want in this moment than to have his tongue down your throat.

He forces a smile, nodding before turning on his heel, but you reach forward to wrap your fingers around his forearm. He turns back to you, eyebrows quirked upward. It’s sitting there, right at the tip of your tongue. Can you kiss me? Can we kiss?

You aren’t able to convince yourself to verbalize your desire, though. Instead, you open your mouth, and then close it, and release him. “S-Sorry.”

“Are you okay?”

No, I’m not okay, but it would make it better if you kissed me. “Yeah! I’m good. Sorry.”

He doesn’t seem convinced, and he hesitates to say or do anything else. He’s providing you with a window of opportunity, but you aren’t ready to take it. You want to take it – God, you want him pressed against you so badly – but you just aren’t ready. You’ll suppress your feelings, at least for another week. Maybe you’d have the courage next time that you see him.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. Yeah! I’m sure. I’ll see you next week.”

He knows you too well to accept the fake smile that you offer him, but he’s too dejected to say anything. Next week. On another date. Another date with a different man. What did he need to do to show you that he was better than all of your stupid dates, combined?

“Okay.” He offers you a fake smile in return. “Goodnight.”

+ + +

You should have kissed Chan.

It was pathetic, the way that you got home that night, unable to stop thinking about him. You couldn’t stop imagining him, imagining what could have been, even after slipping your fingers into your underwear and making yourself cum... twice. You had hoped that you could scratch the itch and it would go away; that was not the case. You touched yourself while imagining that it was him, deep and slow, planting wet kisses along the column of your throat while your hands roamed all over his body. Even after orgasming, you still felt unsatisfied.

Maybe, if you had kissed him, your curiosity would have been squashed. Maybe there wouldn’t have been any sparks. Maybe he could have told you that he wasn’t interested, and you would have been able to return to the platonic relationship that you’d had before you’d fallen in love with him. Maybe you would lose out on Chan but, eventually, you’d meet someone that you could tolerate.

Or, maybe, you would have kissed, and it would have become something more. Maybe you could have asked him to take you in your backseat and he would have, deep and slow, fogging up the windows. Maybe you could have ignited the spark that’s always been there, and you would be able to convince your father that you were happy, that you didn’t need to meet anybody else.

That’s why it’s Saturday night, the very next day, and you’re contemplating getting dressed up and going down to the restaurant. You didn’t have a date – you never scheduled dates outside of your Friday nights. You would be getting dressed up and fighting traffic just so that you could sit at the bar and talk to Chan. Just so, for one more night than usual, you could bask in the attention that he gave you. You could take advantage of his availability and take more than you deserved from him.

Your body trembles at the thought of seeing him again. You could wear something more revealing; you could dress up even nicer than usual, and you could tempt him. You could dangle yourself in front of him and see if he, too, has an itch to scratch.

But would that be fair to him?

No, it wouldn’t. You might as well be throwing yourself at him, showing your tits and forcing him to look. Chan is a sweet guy. He’s kind and gentle, he’s funny and he’s compassionate, and you don’t need to stoop to the level of some of his other patrons, the ones that touch him and flirt with him and make him work even harder for his tips. As much as you’d love to have your hands on him, to flirt with him (and have him flirt back), you know it wouldn’t be fair to him. You’re friends now, after everything.

You’re friends. That’s how you rationalize showing up to the restaurant in a hoodie instead.

He spots you as soon as you walk in, smiling and laughing with the hostess, and your heartrate quickens as you cross the space. His eyes are on you the entire time, like he can’t believe that you’re real. It’s Saturday night, right? You wouldn’t be wearing that on a date, right?

“I never thought I’d see the day.” He laughs, nervously, arms crossing over his chest as you situate yourself on your usual barstool. Why are you here right now? Should he be worried?

You offer a bashful smile in response, face already feeling warm under his gaze. “Jenn said the same thing.” Chan continues staring at you, still trying to gauge if you were a mirage or not. You adjust the strings of your hoodie, shifting uncomfortably on your stool. “W-What?”

“It’s not that I’m not happy to see you,” He starts, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “I just don’t know if I should be worried that you’re here right now. This is out of character for you.”

“I just wanted to see you.” You scoff, suddenly scrambling to add to that once you realize how it sounded. “T-To hang out with you for m-more than, like, thirty minutes.”

Chan keeps his expression even, but internally, he’s screaming gleefully. Still, he can’t hide the small smile that blooms on his face. “Are you drinking tonight?”

You hold up hands up, absolving yourself from the responsibility of choosing a drink. “I have no free will here, Chan. You know that.”

“If you had done better research before showing up and asking for a ‘blue motherfucker,’ whatever the hell that even is, then I wouldn’t have taken away your freedom of choice.” He scoffs, turning around to start concocting you a drink. Today, you’ll get a vodka martini, just to keep things simple. Chan still isn’t fully convinced that he should be happy that you’ve come by, even though the warm feeling in his chest says otherwise.

You’re grateful to be able to take your drink and gulp it down. Hopefully, the alcohol will loosen you up. You’re practically buzzing, as if you were being risky or adventurous by visiting the restaurant just to see Chan, outside of your normal routine. He’s alarmed that you’re drinking so much right from the start, and so he leans forward, resting his arms on the bar top and speaking as low as he can. “Are you okay? Seriously.”

“Stop harassing me.” You frown, waving him off. “I’m fine, Chan. I’ll let you know if that changes.”

He’s not convinced, but still, he steps away and takes some time to check in with the other customers. It was slow for a Saturday night; you were surprised, and also thankful, that there were barstools open. Had you not been able to sit at the bar, you probably would’ve turned around and driven home. There was no reason to come to this place if you weren’t going to be able to see Chan.

“I’m just worried.” Chan sighs, sliding back in front of you. You groan and he holds his hands up. “Look, this is the first time I’ve ever seen you on any day other than a Friday, and this is the first time I’ve ever seen you in casual clothes, too. I’m trying to figure out if this is one of the signs of the apocalypse. There’s gotta be something you aren’t telling me.”

“I already told you that I came to hang out with you.”

“I’m not worth that.”

“Says who?”

You realize what you’ve said only after the words tumble out of your lips. You’re quick to raise your glass back to your lips, turning your face away. If Chan heard you, he doesn’t act like it. Instead, he clucks his tongue at you and steps away to tend to one of the waitresses that had approved the bar. You feel like you can stop holding your breath only after he’s stepped out of your zone of proximity.

Chan heard you, though. He heard you loud and clear, and now he’s afraid that his heartbeat is so loud in his ears that he won’t be able to hear anything else that anyone might tell him tonight. He fumbles his way through two Cosmopolitan orders and chooses to clean his spills immediately so that he has some time to even out his breathing before he faces you again. You really came all the way downtown to see him? It doesn’t seem real to him. Was this an episode of Punk’d?

He’s gone for long enough that you start to panic. You hadn’t betrayed yourself that badly, so why was he keeping his distance? Maybe he’s known all along that you have a crush on him, and maybe you just confirmed it for it, and now, you’ve ruined your friendship and any possibility of becoming more than friends, which means you can’t come back to the restaurant anymore and--

“Do you want another, or do you want something different?”

Chan gestures to your drink. You look down, see it’s empty, and realize that you hadn’t even realized you had finished it off. “Surprise me.” Preferably, with something stronger.

Your knowledge of cocktails and liquor in general was, admittedly, poor. However, you feel proud of yourself when you’re able to identify what Chan has made you before he even hands it to you. In fact, if you had to pick a favorite cocktail, you’d probably say Shirley Temple. Chan notices how wide you smile when he sets your drink down, and he makes a mental note to add Shirley Temples into your rotation of drinks.

“How much longer ‘til you’re off?” You ask, stirring your drink. Chan takes a moment to check his watch.

“In... eight minutes.”

You raise your eyebrows, checking the time for yourself on your phone. You had intended to leave your apartment right at seven, but it was already almost nine. You must have spent more time than you realized to deliberate coming here or not. “What are you doing after you’re off?”

“Usually, I’d be going home. Unless...” Your heartrate quickens in anticipation. Chan takes a breath, steeling himself. “I have another neuroscience exam coming up in a few weeks. What are the odds you’d want to help me study?”

“I’m better at human anatomy, but I can try.”

Chan realizes what you’ve said before you do, and he’s laughing so hard that he has to turn around to compose himself. You groan, rubbing your temples, a nervous smile decorating your features. If you had only used a different tone, you could’ve taken the opportunity to try and flirt with Chan. Instead, he wipes tears from his eyes, still laughing quietly. You’re left to ruminate while he starts his final rounds, cashing out patrons and bidding his farewells with a newfound pep in his step. You don’t notice, too focused on cursing yourself internally.

You’re forced to chug down your drink only when you notice that Chan is already rounding the bar. He gapes at you before laughing again. “You’re gonna be so drunk later.”

“I’ll be fine.” You huff, taking his outstretched hand to help yourself down from your stool. You almost whine at the loss of touch when he pulls his hand back, but your chest flutters when he settles behind you, hand pressing against your lower back to usher you through the restaurant that had finally started to become crowded. He bids one final farewell to Jenn, the hostess, his cheeks burning as she gestures between the two of you and winks. Chan’s thankful that you didn’t notice.

He knows that it’s only a matter of time until your intoxication hits, and since he’s never seen you drunk before, he needs to get you to a more controlled setting. Chan can only assume that you’re a lightweight based on the partying stories you’ve told him, and his hand had been a little heavier tonight than usual – he was going to blame that on you, breaking your routine and thoroughly shaking him up.

“This is the part where I find out that you’re actually a murderer, right?” You tease, rocking back and forth on your heels as the elevator makes it descent.

Chan laughs, shaking his head. “Unfortunately, I’m not a murderer.”

“Unfortunately?”

“That’s what I said,” He’s nonchalant as you follow him out and back into the parking garage. You’re getting déjà vu, but you’re trying your best to swallow down the same urges that you had last night. Instead, you’re quiet as you follow him through the garage to his car. Chan hums quietly to himself, his hands tucked into his pockets again. Only once you’ve reached his car does he pull them out, opening the passenger door for you. You quirk your eyebrows at him, an amused smile ghosting your lips. The tips of his ears bloom red almost immediately. “D-Don’t look at me like that!”

“Like what?” You laugh, feigning innocence as he closes the door, and you twist to buckle yourself in. He shakes his head at you again, climbing in and getting the car started. Almost immediately, his fingers itch to reach out and lace with yours, but he swallows thickly, choosing to ignore that urge. “Your car will be safe here while we’re gone.”

“This means that you’re committing to bringing me back here, though. No matter when we finish tonight.”

Chan holds up one of his hands while he eases his steering wheel with the other. “I promise to uphold that commitment.”

“You’re annoying.” You scoff, without any real bite to your words. Chan smiles in response, and soon, the car lapses into silence. The radio of his car plays softly while he navigates the car through downtown, but to your surprise, he’s pulling into another garage only a few minutes later. “Wait, do you live downtown?”

“Is that surprising?”

“Yes, actually. Why aren’t you walking to work?”

“Because it’s winter. Plus, I don’t want to get kidnapped.”

“Why would you get kidnapped?”

“Cute people get kidnapped.”

“So why are you worried?”

Chan sucks in a breath before he reaches over and pinches your thigh. You swat him away, laughing, warning him that he was going to crash if he didn’t pay attention to the road. Begrudgingly, he returns both of his hands to the steering wheel, but not without muttering a few insults back at you under his breath. You left that slide since you’d instigated it, but if it meant he’d put his hands on you, you’d probably try to rile him up a little more time.

He parks the car without any further hitches. He lets you open your door for yourself while he opens up the backseat, pulling his backpack over his shoulder. Your heart skips a beat at the sight of him, messy hair and unbuttoned shirt with a backpack slung over his shoulder; he looked less like Chan the bartender and more like Chan the student.

He looked good either way, but being a student yourself, you’re a little more partial to the latter.

It’s nice, being able to spend time with Chan outside of your... arrangement. Each time that the two of you fall quiet, it feels less and less awkward. The two of you stand closer to each other in the elevator this time, and even though the desire to ask him to stick his tongue down your throat is ever-present, it’s not as prominent. Chan is your friend. He’s your sexy, intelligent friend, and you’ve gotten off to thoughts of him fucking you with his tongue more times than you’d like to admit, but you feel happy, being invited to see this other part of his life.

“How are you feeling? Drunk yet?”

You shake your head, tailing after him as he lets himself into his apartment. Your first impression is that it’s clean, cleaner than you had expected from a college boy. After slipping your shoes off, you follow him into his living room, beelining for the pictures that were hanging on one of the walls. “Holy shit, is this you?”

“Don’t look at that!” He whines, grabbing you by your shoulders and turning you around. He shuffles you back toward the couch despite your protests. “You’re here to help me study. You are not here to look at my pictures from high school.”

“Your hair was so bad!”

“Do you want some water?”

You ignore him in favor of advancing toward his pictures again and he groans, grabbing you by your waist and dragging you back to the couch. You were definitely starting to feel the effects of the liquor, whether you realized it or not. “I’m going to tie you to the couch if you don’t stop.”

That’d be hot. Please do. “Fine, fine! I’ll look at them next time.”

Next time. That makes Chan’s stomach do a somersault. He can’t fight the smile that blooms on his face, sitting cross-legged on the floor and opening his backpack. You mimic his sitting position, tucking your legs under one another. He holds out a stack of index cards, holding them out for you. You take them, shuffling through them while Chan continues to dig through his bag. Once you look at him again, he’s wearing glasses, and you have to refrain from moaning out loud at how good he looks.

“Read me the cards. Does your vision go blurry when you’re drunk?”

“I’m not drunk, Chan!” You huff, lifting the first index card closer to your face to read it. “Broca’s Area?”

“Um... it’s where someone can, like, recognize something, but they can’t speak.”

“Hemisphere?”

“Left.”

“Is this the kind of study session where I’m supposed to remove a piece of clothing for everything that you answer correctly?” Chan’s eyes widen at your proposition, and you just laugh, setting the first card down next to you and moving onto another one. “Just kidding. Wernicke’s Area?”

“Th-That’s -- fuck, you distracted me – it's, like, the opposite of Broca’s Area. S-So, the language production component is still intact, but the words don’t really make sense.”

“Hemisphere?”

“Also left.”

You hum quietly in approval, picking another index card from your stack. “Hemispheric lateralization?”

“Okay, so, we have the left and the right hemispheres, right? Basically, the brain isn’t symmetrical. The left hemisphere doesn’t function the exact same way as the right hemisphere, and vice versa. The left hemisphere is responsible for certain things, like language production and stuff, but the right hemisphere is responsible for other things, like visual stuff.” You simply nod while Chan tries to fully answer the question, as if you have any idea what he’s talking about. Maybe with a clearer mind, you could contribute a little bit better. “There’s this whole debate about being left-brained or being right-brained, and also about how people are determined to be left-handed or right-handed.”

You look at the backside of the index card for a few beats before giving up. “I don’t know if you answered the question or not.”

“Because you’re drunk, or because I didn’t answer it correctly?”

He takes the card from you. His fingers brush with yours, and you suddenly feel like you’re on fire. “I think I’m a little drunk, actually.”

“That’s crazy!” He smiles, reading the card, his tone indicating that he does not find it to be crazy. “Do you want some water now?”

No, I think I just want to kiss you.

“W-What?”

“What?” You realize too late that you’d said that out loud and gasp, covering your mouth. Chan is equally surprised, eyebrows raised as far as they could physically go, and for a few moments, the two of you stare at each other like that.

Calmly, Chan clears his throat. There’s a hint of smile on his face that, unfortunately, you aren’t able to catch. “W-We can revisit that when you’re sober.” He wishes that he could be a little less polite in this situation – adrenaline is pumping through his veins at your sudden confession, and he wants nothing more than to pin you to the couch and give you exactly what you’d just asked for. But you’re drunk, and even though he knows that he’s not going to be able to retain any more information, all that he can do is continue studying while waiting for you to sober up. Hopefully, you’ll still want to kiss him when you aren’t being driven by your own intoxication. Chan, personally, has never needed alcohol to get the urge to kiss you, and he hopes that the same can be said for you by the end of the night.

You, on the other hand, are mortified. The alcohol is only just starting to hit you, and you had started off strong by telling Chan that you wanted to kiss him. You’re afraid now that you’re going to end up saying something even more embarrassing – that you love him, that you’d always loved him, or that you want him to fuck you until you’re seeing stars. Any of those things would certainly result in your own demise, and the destruction of your friendship, and for that, you’re terrified.

For better or for worse, you and Chan get through the rest of the index cards without any additional love confessions.

“How are we feeling now?” He asks, setting down a glass of water on the table after he finally convinced you to take some. To answer his question, you’re dizzy. You don’t dare try to stand up, but you’re also starting to feel tired. Crashing on Chan’s couch was definitely not what you had planned to do tonight.

“My head hurts.” You groan, massaging your temples.

“Drink your water, then.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Because.” You huff, grimacing at the thought of putting any additional liquids into your body tonight. Chan quirks an eyebrow at you, arms crossed over his chest. You shake your head. “I don’t want it.”

“Yeah, but you need it.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You’re gonna have a monster hangover.”

“I’ll be fine, Chan.”

“I’ll kiss you if you drink it all.”

Truthfully, Chan is not this bold. He’s been longing for you since he met you, but he knows that he doesn’t have a shot in hell. Your dad wants you to be with a particular type of person, the kind of person that he is not, even if Chan knows that he deserves you more than any of the guys you’d seen so far. He deserves you, and you deserve someone that can make you happy, to keep you laughing, and that will take care of you. He knows this, and he’s been waiting for you to figure it out, too.

He knows why you told him that you wanted to kiss him. He can easily think back to the night before, when you had been complaining about the physical contact (and lack thereof) that you’d suffered since being forced on all of these dates. Chan is convenient for you, and he’s safe, and fuck, if he can’t have you completely, then he’s willing to settle.

“Y-You’re blackmailing me.” You huff, snatching the glass of water and drinking from it, nevertheless. You choose to look away, to focus on drinking the water and not on Chan and the kiss he had just promised you. You’d make yourself choke if you thought too hard about that.

“No, I’m bribing you.”

You’re already feeling better by the time that you finish your water, and the expectant way that you look up at Chan drives his heart rate up. Still, he’s a man of his word. He takes a seat on the couch next to you, laughing quietly when you close your eyes, tilting your face toward him. He cups your face with both of his hands, holding you still while he leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You scoff, eyes flying open, grabbing his wrists.

“That is not the kind of kiss that I wanted, and you know that.”

“You’re still drunk! I can’t kiss you.”

“Fine, then stay still.”

Chan’s heart is pounding so quickly that he’s afraid he’s going to blast off. You, on the other hand, are eerily calm. Time almost feels like it’s standing still as you lean in, slow that you can offer Chan an out if he wants to take it. He doesn’t, and that’s how you’re able to press your lips against his. It’s a chaste kiss, devoid of any tongue or teeth or movement, but Chan is practically trembling against your lips. He wants to pull you onto his lap. He wants to let his hands snake underneath your sweatshirt and roam across your skin. He wants to stop holding back, but he can’t. Not right now.

You pull away after a few moments, still slow, offering him a chance to chase your lips. Your heart falls when he doesn’t, but you do your best to keep your expression even. You let your hands drop into your lap, staring at him.

He clears his throat. “More water?”

Only if you kiss me again. “Yes, please.”

+ + +

You don’t remember much about that night with Chan. You remember the kiss, and you remember going through his neuroscience flashcards again, but that’s it; any additional details have been buried in your consciousness, and when you woke up in your own bed the next morning, you have no idea what course of events led you there. You can only assume that they involved Chan.

And that’s why, contrary to how you usually felt in the days leading up to your weekly visit to the restaurant, you’re nervous tonight. Debilitatingly nervous. You don’t feel excited at the thought of visiting Chan. You don’t want to spend your whole date feeling his eyes on you. You’re afraid to face him, all because of what you can remember from last weekend. You kissed him, and he didn’t kiss back. You had forced yourself on him and you weren’t ready to face the consequences of that tonight.

That’s why you don’t come to the restaurant early. You meet your date in the parking lot and walk in together, and you burn with shame as you walk through the restaurant to a different table than usual. You can feel Chan’s eyes on you, practically burning a hole through you. You don’t dare to twist in your seat and look in his direction. You don’t get up, even when you need to use the restroom. You keep your eyes glued to your date the whole time. Maybe it’s the lack of alcohol in your system, or the fact that you hadn’t had a meaningful conversation beforehand to tide you over, but this date was especially bad. You can’t even remember his name when everything is said and done, after two torturous hours have passed.

Your date was awful, and you don’t know if you did the right thing by avoiding Chan, but at least it was over. Maybe you could start having your dates at a different restaurant. Maybe you would be able to peacefully disappear from Chan’s life, and convince yourself that it was never love in the first place, and--

“So, you’re hiding from me now?”

The voice makes you freeze, fingers stilling in your bag since you’ve been searching for your keys. You don’t need to look up to confirm what you already know. Instead, you stay in place, a feeling of dread pooling in your stomach. “I-I’m not hiding.”

“Then look at me.”

That you can’t do. Chan scoffs, shaking his head even though you don’t see it. Internally, he’s pissed off. He, too, has been overthinking everything since Saturday night. He should’ve just kissed you, properly, like you’d asked. He should have just scratched the itch that had been plaguing him for months, taking advantage of your drunken state to confess how he really feels about you. He’d make mistakes, but he wasn’t expecting everything to backfire on him so badly. Were you upset with him for not going further with you? Had he done something wrong? Maybe, but does that excuse your actions tonight? Absolutely not.

“What did I do?”

“Nothing!” You scoff this time, squeezing your eyes shut. That same feeling of shame, that burning feeling, was beginning to overtake you. “Y-You didn’t do anything. I did something wrong.”

“What, by kissing me?”

“Yes!”

That hurts Chan, but for reasons different than you realize. His expression falls, and the prolonged silence is why you finally dare to look at him. The expression on his face squeezes your heart, and you scramble to try and rectify things as best as you. “I-I shouldn’t have kissed you. I was drunk, and I-I forced myself on you, and I’m sorry.”

“You...” He trails off, clenching his jaw. That’s what you think? “I-I don’t--” He doesn’t know how to respond, but it’s becoming increasingly clear to him that the two of you are on different pages. “I wanted to kiss you, too.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Your words come out louder and clearer than you had expected. Chan pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, trying to calm his own irritation, but unable to look past the fact that you’d ignored him all night because of a misunderstanding.

“You were drunk.”

“It was just a kiss!” Your own anger is starting to flare up. You’d been led to feel like you had seriously crossed a boundary, but as it turns out, Chan was just chivalrous to a fault. How annoying.

“You were drunk, and I was not, and that wouldn’t have been okay!”

“It was just a kiss, Chan!”

“Fine, since you’re telling me that it shouldn’t have mattered--” Chan is quick to bridge the distance between the two of you, cupping your face with one of his hands and gripping your hip with the other. He pulls you flush against him and then leans in, pressing his lips against yours. For a few moments, you don’t know what to do; it’s not a matter of whether you should kiss him back, but you don’t know if you and him need to talk through anything else. Ultimately, you decide that talking can wait and you wrap your fingers around his forearms.

You pull away just enough to dive back in, lips slotting between Chan’s. Your hold on him couldn’t get any tighter as he holds your head in place, capturing your lips again and again and again. Once bitten and twice shy, you wait for him to slip his tongue into your mouth to go deeper with things. The feeling of your mouth against Chan’s, your tongue sliding against him, quickly becomes intoxicating, but your desire to taste him trumps your desire for air. It isn’t until your lungs are burning that you finally break away, just enough to breathe. Your lips, swollen and chapped, remain pressed against his even as you pant quietly, eyes squeezed shut. His grip on your hip was tight enough to bruise, but when he finally realizes and relaxes his hold, he rubs his thumb against you to soothe the dull ache.

Chan doesn’t know when he’s supposed to release you, and truthfully, he doesn’t want to. He’s aware of how un-romantic it is, standing in the middle of a parking garage, clinging onto each other like this, but Chan will take whatever he can get from you. He isn’t involved in the revolving door of those stuffy businessmen that your father has been forcing you to date. He’s just... Chan, the bartender that’s in love with you. And he knows that fact won’t be able to sustain the relationship that he wants to have with you.

Where do you go from here? Neither of you have any idea.

“Chan...” You sigh. You’ve finally gotten exactly what you wanted from him, and unfortunately, you’re still craving more. The scent of his cologne is making you dizzy, and the feeling of being pressed against him is intoxicating. You’re afraid you’ll never be able to pull away from him.

“Don’t say my name like that. It’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous for who?”

“For you.”

You’re glad that Chan is holding you and supporting you, because otherwise, you might’ve keeled over at his response. You can’t count the number of times that you’d thought about Chan while touching yourself, fingers playing with your clit while imagining that it was him instead. There’s a carnal desire that has been driving a large part of your interactions with Chan, and yet, in this moment, you don’t have those same urges. Right now, you want tender touches and soft kisses. You want him to keep you grounded, to hold you and to never release you.

You want what you can’t have.

“Should we keep standing here like this, or should we go back to my place?”

You sigh deeply, and from that response, Chan knows what’s coming next. He’s gotten a taste of you, just enough to get addicted, and now...

“I still have a date scheduled for next week.” You say, reaching up to thread your fingers through the hair near the nape of his neck. “And the week after that, too, I think.” Your heart practically splits and shatters at the look at Chan gives you, but you spill out the rest of your thoughts as quickly as you can. “I-I’m going to talk to my dad. Tomorrow. Just... wait for me, okay?”

Chan has always waited for you, so it shouldn’t be a problem.

+ + +

It’s definitely causing problems for Chan, still having to watch you on your stupid little dates.

He shouldn’t be jealous, he knows that. You’ve already made it painfully obvious that you want him, and he’s still had a hard time wrapping his brain around the fact that he can finally call you ‘his’ -- almost.

You’d asked for time so that you could talk to your date, to tell him that you’d found someone and that you were done with the dates. Your dad hadn’t taken the news well, insisting that you needed to marry within your family’s tax bracket, that your marriage needed to help the family politically and fiscally. Chan didn’t know the rest of the details because you’d been too distraught to recount them, but he knew that you were still bound to go on your dates. He’s been understanding, but that doesn’t stop the ugly jealousy that rises in his throat whenever one of your dates leans in too close, gets too touchy.

Tonight, as he’s done every other night, he’ll just look away. He’ll take a deep breath. He’ll tend to his patrons and avert his eyes, even though he’s dying to get another look at you. Then, after his shift, he’ll go back with you to your apartment and remind you that you love him, that you’ve always loved him, and that he’s always felt the exact same way about you.

“How was your date?” Chan asks. It’s much later in the evening now. The two of you had gone back to your apartment. He’d tidied up your living room and kitchen while you changed out of your date outfit and taken off your makeup. Eventually, once both of you were ready, you’d both slumped on the couch. Chan was on you in an instant, touching you after another torturous evening of only being able to look at you. One of his hands is splayed against your head, his fingers pressing against the upward curve of your jaw while his palm cups the underside of it. He’s pressing wet, feverish kisses against the other side of your neck when he pauses to ask about your date. He doesn’t really care, though.

“Terrible.” You sigh, leaning in against his hand to grant him better access to your neck. He responses positively to this, dragging his tongue against your skin. You groan lowly as a result, clutching his t-shirt a little tighter. “I thought about you the whole time.”

“The whole time?” His tone is patronizing, but the words go straight to your cunt. “What were you thinking about?”

You bite your lip, suppressing a sigh that bubbles up as Chan sucks a patch of skin between his lips. “Y-You. This.”

“Yeah?” The feeling of his teeth forces a hiss through your lips, followed by his laughter. You would consider withholding the details of your thoughts from earlier if the desire to reenact them wasn’t so overpowering.

“Don’t tease.” You huff, threading your fingers through the hair near the back of his neck so that you can hold him a little closer to you. “I-I was thinking about being rescued from my date. You, meeting me in the bathroom and fucking me against the mirror.”

Chan has to still his movements so that he can fully process your words. The same thoughts now race through his mind, and he groans against your throat. He would be toast if he ever tried anything at the restaurant, but he could still indulge the thought – especially if those same thoughts were keeping you sane through your dates. He drags his hands down to your hips, squeezing and pulling you closer to him on the couch.

You’re folded underneath him in a matter of sixty seconds.

“F-Fuck, Chan--” He’s moving so fast that you don’t even realize he’d shimmied his way to between your thighs until he pauses, hands planted atop your thighs. Your heart is racing, and your lungs feel constricted, and as badly as you want this, there’s something terrifying about each and every new step that you take into this uncharted territory with him. You’ve been dreaming about having Chan inside of you, in every way possible, since you met him; your dreams never considered anything beyond that, though. “W-We-- hold on--”

“This doesn’t have to be c-committal.” Chan rasps, eyes flickering between yours and your core, likely indicated by a wet patch on your shorts. “I-I just really want to taste you, this doesn’t h-have to be anything-- y-you said--”

You want it so bad that you’re afraid to give yourself any additional time to overthink and ruin things. “P-Please, Chan, I want you.” He tugs your shorts down only enough for access to your cunt, flattening his tongue against the wet spot on your underwear. He rubs his hands up and down your thighs as he goes in for another taste, hot and wet and separated by such a thin layer. Your cries for more are weak but unnecessary; he hooks a finger around your underwear, pulling them aside for full access. His mouth is watering at the sight of you, and the moment that he gets his first real taste of you is one that he’ll cherish for eternity.

Chan eats your pussy like a man starved. You know that you don’t imagine the ripping sound that you hear before your underwear ends up on the floor, but then Chan immediately crams his tongue inside of you and fucks you with it, and you accept his form of apology. He pulls away only to press himself flush against you, slurping and sucking against your slit and collecting all of the arousal that’s been pooling out of you. You swear that your grip on his hair can’t get any tighter until he kneads your clit with his tongue, and then you’re pulling even harder.

“Chan, y-yes, fuck, p-please--”

“K-Keep saying that--” He groans into your pussy, and you involuntarily roll your hips in response to the vibration of his words against your folds. “--my n-name.”

You sigh his name again, untangling one of your hands from his arm to drape it across your face, eyes falling shut as you focus on the feelings of Chan’s tongue laving over your clit again and again. It feels even better than you had imagined it would, soft and slow and warm. Each involuntary clench of your thighs against his head is met with firm hands prying you back open, and the few times that you’ve dared to look down at Chan, you’ve been brought closer and closer to your orgasm. There are two reasons for the feverishness that’s overtaken your body: because you’re with Chan, and because you’ve never wanted anyone the way that you’ve wanted him.

Your orgasm rips you out of your bliss. It’s like you’ve been struck by the lightning, the way that your body writhes and shudders while Chan sits back, his lazy grin covered in your slick, admiring his work as you fall apart. He tells himself that, if this ever happens again, he should record you; the sound of you moaning his name is what he hopes will play on an endless loop for him in his afterlife.

His touches are soft as you come down from your high, brushing stray strands of hair out of your face. You grab a fistful of his shirt to pull him down to meet your lips, groaning softly when you taste yourself on his tongue. At the risk of doing too much too quickly, though, Chan pulls away from the kiss once he senses it’s about to escalate again.

“W-We— s-sorry, I--”

You’re, admittedly, disappointed, but you pull him back down into your arms, nuzzling your face into his neck this time. He relaxes in your hold, and the two of you lapse into a silence punctuated by the ticking of a nearby clock and each other’s heartbeats. Even in the comfortable silence, you still feel compelled to say your piece, though.

“I really like you, Chan.”

He only hums in response. He hopes that you can’t feel his heartrate increase as he lays against you. You wouldn’t break up with him right after he fucked you with his tongue, right? Of course, he knows that you wouldn’t, and yet...

“We’re gonna be together soon, okay? I promise. I-I'll find a way to stop the stupid dates, and then we can be together. That’s all I wanted to say.”

God, he hopes that you can find a way to keep your word.

+ + +

Truthfully, Chan can’t figure out if he’s lost his mind or not. He still thinks that he might be stuck in his own fantasies, dreaming up a life with you that doesn’t really exist.

Even as he helps you carry boxes from your apartment out to the moving van that you rented out, he’s not sure that this is reality. He pinches his fingers as he sets down one of the boxes in the truck, and still, he thinks that he’s imagined the pain. You plant a kiss on his cheek as you breeze past him and back into the building, and yet, he still can’t fathom that things had ended up as they have.

You’d actually been able to keep your promise. He still can’t believe that.

After months and months of dating in secret, you had managed to convince your dad that the family could survive without the nepotism marriage that he desperately desired. It had taken a few sabotaged dates where you’d spewed on and on about your sex with Chan, and countless conversations where you begged and pleaded with him to see things the way that you did, and somehow, Chan ended up victorious. You were someone that he only deserved in his dreams, and somehow, he had found a way to dream while he was awake.

He has to take moments to ground himself, to let himself remember that you are real, that you do love him back. That’s how you find him on your trip back to the van, zoned out and staring at the ground. He doesn’t snap out of it even as you slam the doors of the van shut. Only when you hug him from behind, cheek pressed against the center of his back, hands sliding along his chest does he finally descend from the clouds. You inhale deeply against him, smiling involuntarily at the scent of him that you were expecting to fully engrain to memory soon enough.

“Hey. Sorry.”

“Daydreaming again?”

Chan laughs, turning in your arms so that he can hold you, too. “Trying to convince myself that this is real.”

“Why wouldn’t it be real, Chan?”

“Because since I met you, I knew that I loved you. But that didn’t matter until recently.” When you open your mouth to reply, to scold him because he could’ve said something sooner, he shakes his head. “I always hoped that you’d be mine. I just didn’t think it was realistic.”

“It was never us against the world. Just... us against my dad.”

“Yeah, well, regardless of that,” Chan kisses you softly, pulling away only far enough to put distance between your lips as he speaks again. “I feel like I beat the world, and your dad, and won the most precious gift in the process.”

“You won?”

“I did. I won you.”

“Do I need to remind you that I’m not a prize?”

“You’re my prize.”

#dino x reader #lee chan x reader #svt x reader #dino scenarios #lee chan scenarios #svt scenarios #svt smut #seventeen smut #seventeen scenarios #hengqarae

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lovelylogans · 8 months

Text

the parent trap

CHAPTER SEVEN: operation augstus

The realization of having an identical twin does quite a bit to spur some out-of-the-box levels of creativity.

⁂

The rest of the day passes in a giddy, unreal blur.

They eschew camp activities and communal meals—who needed any of that when you’d just found your twin brother for the first time?!

The wedding photo, placed as close to reunited as they could manage, has taken place of pride in the midst of their communal bulletin board.

Cubby and Paddington—in their own way, reunited, long-lost twins—are put in pride of place at the forefront of Roman’s dresser, the best-lit location in the room at the moment. They even look like they’re holding paws.

They spend a lot of time going I can’t believe it! and who’d have thought and I really, really can’t believe it! but that one’s mostly Roman, but Remus can totally get the urge.

Because seriously. A long-lost identical twin brother.

A long-lost identical twin brother who is currently telling him all about life with Dad—who exists and walks and talks and is generally a real person with thoughts and opinions rather than a frozen figure in just one picture—and Dad’s cousin, Uncle Logan, and their Grandfather (“we have a Grandfather?!”) who all live together in—

“How big’s the townhouse?”

“Oh, don’t make me try to translate proper measurements to your awful system,” Roman complains. “I don’t know—big enough that we all have our own bedroom? It’s a house.”

“Still—you’re in London, you all have to be squished in between other houses. That sounds really—”

“How could they have never told us about each other?” Roman says, and that stops Remus in his tracks.

He tries to come up with something. Anything.

All he can come up with is “I dunno.”

“I know that Dad doesn’t tell me everything in his life, especially if it has to do with Papa,” Roman says in a small voice. “But I’d have thought he’d at least tell me something as important as this.”

“And hiding this is totally unlike Pa,” Remus says. “He’s a total open book. He’s so lovey-dovey with so many people, and he’s all about that importance of family junk, he schedules in bonding time and everything. Almost a little too much, sometimes.”

“...maybe he schedules too much with you because—”

“—what, because he’s missing you?” Remus says, then stops to think for a literal second. “No, yeah, that actually sounds a lot like Pa. Huh. That’s definitely part of why he’s so…”

He struggles for the word, then, “You’d get it if you met Pa.”

“I wish I could,” Roman says glumly. “If our parents didn’t even know that we were going to meet each other—”

But that jogs a thought for Remus and he interrupts immediately.

“So you haven’t written Dad about me, right?” Remus checks. “Like, back in the fencing match or whatever.”

“Certainly not,” Roman says, affronted. “He’d be lecturing me for weeks that I managed to get caught pulling tricks on someone else.”

“Me either, with Pa,” Remus says, “except he’d just be lecturing me for weeks period. Dad sounds cooler about that sort of thing, but I’m getting off track: you never mentioned the name Remus or Parker, right? Because I never said anything about a Roman or a James.”

“No, I was so sick to death of the conversation that I just completely blocked out the fencing match from my letter,” Roman says. “And then—well, all the trouble started. I think I mentioned going to play poker, but that would be it.”

“Well,” Remus says. “They can’t know that we’ve met.”

Roman looks stung. “Why not?”

“Uh, hello?!” Remus says. “I don’t know about you, but I think a letter home going Dear Pa, Guess who I met! My identical twin brother, and you’ve got some explaining to do! might not get the results we want, will it?”

“But we can’t not write about anything,” Roman says. “I don’t know how I’d feel waiting to talk to Dad about camp until we got home again, I’ve been writing him fairly consistently, unless—”

Roman pauses.

“Unless?” Remus prompts.

“...unless we come up with an alias,” Roman says slowly.

“A what?”

“An alias! Like a codename,” Roman says. “That way, we can write home saying we’ve made a new friend this and that, and then when we get home we can lay all of our cards on the table. Like, we know we have a brother out there, look at this Polaroid for proof and explain yourself!”

“That’s a pretty good idea,” Remus admits. “What’s our codename, though? Like, Harry M. Welsch?”

“That’s a movie character, isn’t it.”

“Oh yeah, for sure.”

“That would give it away immediately. No, we need something unique…”

Roman hand-to-God starts tapping his finger against his chin, like some kind of movie character, before: “I’ve got it! Well, part of it.”

“Well, tell me your part, and I can come up with my part.”

“Roman,” he says, placing a hand to his chest, then pointing, “Remus.”

“Yeah…?”

“You’re familiar with the story of the creation of the Roman empire, aren’t you? Isn’t a name for something related to both of our names obvious?”

“Your codename cannot be Rome.”

“No!” Roman laughs, then, “I’m saying the real-life founder of Rome instead of the mythical ones. Our codename should be Augustus.”

“...Huh,” Remus says. “You know, that’s… not terrible.”

“I’m making friends with a boy in my cabin named Augustus,” Roman prompts. “We play poker and we’ve found an abandoned cabin—”

“—no mentions of our exile then—?”

“—of course not—and we hang out together a lot more, we’re getting to be really close, practically like brothers…”

“Oh, I catch your drift,” Remus says. “Hm. I guess I should come up with a last name, then…. oh!”

“Is it going to be awful?”

“Augustus Plotka!” Remus says, nudging him. “Because Augustus is key to our plot?”

“Awful.”

“I could just call him last name Operation, first name Augustus.”

“Plotka’s fine,” Roman says hastily.

⁂

Hi Pa and Virgil,

Sorry I haven’t written in a while! I got real caught up in stuff with a guy from Pine. He’s pretty cool, I guess, he knows a lot about fashion and fencing and poker and stuff. His name’s Augustus Plotka and we’ve had to spend a lot of time together lately since it’s raining like crazy here so it means we spend a lot more time talking to other people.

Which also means more letter writing, since there’s not a lot to do out while it’s raining. I guess everyone needed a rest anyway, so much has been happening here that you probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you. There’s been a bit of a shuffle around for scheduling since I guess the counselors trust us enough to know our way around now and me and Gus found this abandoned cabin—I’ll stick a Polaroid in the envelope—isn’t it spooky?! It looks like someone’s going to come and murder us in the dead of night and this cabin used to belong to the founder of camp who haunts it to this day, I love it.

I haven’t actually found any evidence of hauntings or grisly murders. Yet. But give me time!!!

I think Gus would probably like that if just through a storytelling perspective. He’s kind of squeamish but I guess everyone is compared to me. You should’ve seen his face when I started making Sludge at the dinner table! He didn’t think I would eat it! It’s like he’d never even met me!

How’s stuff at the vineyard? How’s Sprout doing? Apparently there’s going to be some rinky-dink old donkey down at camp sometime, but there’s no way that ass is gonna hold a candle to Sprout. (I can write it! That’s the technical name for a donkey!)

Send suggestions of junk food to st request from the kitchens!!! I think Gus is Amish or something, he’d never tried a Dunkaroo or a Fruit Roll-Up until he came to camp, can you believe it?!

Pet Sammy and Sprout for me, and also don’t even worry about whatever noises are coming from the closet in my room,

—Remus

⁂

Dear Dad (and Uncle Logan, and Grandfather),

At last, some semblance of home here! The downpour we’ve had lately is truly something; Augustus from my cabin keeps trying to tell me various American turns of phrase for it, but I think at least one of them is fake. Probably “the devil’s beating his wife,” because that seems rather uncouth, doesn’t it? But Augustus swears up and down that’s what Americans say when it rains while it’s kind of sunny outside so long as his last name’s Plotka.

This means much more time for drawing and painting—we got to explore a bit more before the rain shut us in, and Augustus and I found this abandoned cabin (sketch enclosed) that makes for a nice quiet area to sit in shelter without worry of any interference from other campers, who seem to ignore this cabin’s existence entirely.

Augustus likes to paint too, but he tends to a bit of a more… impressionistic style, let’s say? Lots of bright colors, lots of interfering with any brushstrokes with using his fingers because “the paint’s not going where I want it,” but it turns out pretty good, so I suppose I know what he’s doing.

We’ve rather settled into a rhythm here at camp, and the counselors seem to trust that we know where we’re going now, so we have much more freedom in picking our tasks. So that means less basketball (I really am rubbish at it) and much more footie, arts and crafts, and hanging out by the lake, which is as I prefer rather than trying my best to avoid being tackled by the brutish sport that is American football.

Anyway, this weather ALSO leaves us plenty of time to play poker (Augustus gets close but he’s hasn’t beaten me in three matches, even though he tries to count cards and is absolutely unrepentant) and talk about things. His home sounds interesting, but I find myself missing you all more and more.

Your son/cousin-once-removed/grandson,

Roman James

⁂

And now, to close the night, they’ve pushed their beds together, arms tucked under their heads, talking and talking, the way they’ve been talking and talking all day, and it’s just—

It’s just so weird. Even for Remus.

“Did Papa ever remarry?”

“Nah,” Remus says. “He always says he’s too busy with me and the vineyard, and that romantic love isn’t the end-all be-all of life anyway and that he’s perfectly happy with the platonic love he’s got. How about Dad?”

“No—he said that marriage isn’t much for him,” Roman says, then, thoughtfully, “I’m sure he’s gone on dates, but nothing too serious.”

“Same as Pa, then,” Remus says.

“That’s rather poetic, I suppose. Both of them mirroring each other even after all this time.”

“I don’t know if they sound too much alike,” Remus says. “Actually, they sound real different. They did end up getting divorced for some reason, you know.”

“Do you know?” Roman says. “The reason our parents got divorced, I mean.”

“Not really—Pa doesn’t talk about it, much. It makes him too sad.”

“Dad either. He always changes the subject. I don’t know much about their partnership, really. Well—clearly, neither of us knew that much, considering our current predicament.”

“Do you know much about how our Dads met?” Remus asks, adjusting slightly so he can see Roman better.

“Some,” Roman says. “Probably the same as you.”

“Say it anyway, in case you know any little details different from me.”

“Well,” Roman says. “Dad’s scared stiff of flying, you see, so when he had to go from London to the States he booked a ticket on the Queen Elizabeth II, an ocean liner. Dad was put next to Papa at dinner, and I’m told that was history. They were married onboard the ship in less than the two weeks the voyage took.”

“Going from strangers to marrying them in two weeks,” Remus says with a shake of his head. “That’s wild. And I’m saying that.”

“Well, I think it’s rather romantic,” Roman declares.

Remus wonders, in a daze, if hearing about the opposite life he could have had is as strange for Roman as it will be for him… if they’d just been switched at birth, it’s the life Remus could have had, knowing his Dad instead of his Pa, but then…

But then it clicks.

“Roman,” he says, turning to grin at his brother—his brother! “I have a completely perfect, totally awesome idea!”

Roman blinks at him, briefly lifting his head, propping himself up on his elbows.

“You want to know what Pa is like, right?”

“Well, of course,” Roman says.

“And I wanna know what Dad is like,” Remus pushes. “I’m thinking—Roman, when camp is over, I think we should switch places.”

Roman gapes at him.

“I’ll go to London to spend time with Dad and Uncle Logan as you,” Remus says, then, “so weird I have an Uncle, by the way—”

“—he’s not technically our uncle, he’s Dad’s cousin—”

“—same difference—and you’ll go to California to spend time with Pa as me!”

“Remus,” Roman protests, “we’re so completely and utterly different—”

“Roman, we’re identical twins!” Remus urges. “This is the kind of thing that pranksters dream of! We can teach each other—you can tell me about why I should like beans on toast—” (“they’re good!”) “—and I can teach you cool things, like how to build stink bombs—look, I can be you already!”

Remus covers the streak in his hair with his hand and puts on his haughtiest English accent.

“But do you want to know the real difference between you and me? That I know how to fence and you don’t? Or is it that I have class and you don’t? Take your pick.”

Roman grins sheepishly.

“Come on, Rome,” Remus urges, clasping his hands together under his chin. “I gotta meet my Dad—and I know you wanna meet your Papa.”

He juts out his lower lip and widens his eyes in his best possible puppy-dog eyes impression.

Roman chews his lip. Then—

“You know,” Roman says, some realization dawning over his eyes. “You do realize, if we switch…”

“Yeah?”

“Then Dad and Papa are going to have to reunite to switch us back.”

Remus gasps, the realization hitting him.

“And when they do—” Roman prompts.

“They’ll have to reunite again!”

“After all these years…” Roman sighs, “oh, it’s like a romance movie, I could just die!”

“Ugh, I dunno about romance,” Remus complains.

“Oh, hush,” Roman says happily. “So… if we were to switch…”

Remus nudges him with an elbow. “You’re gonna have to work on your accent.”

“Oh, as if yours is any better.”

previous chapter | masterpost | next chapter

#my fic #my fanfic #tpt fic

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incarnateirony · 1 year

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Genuinely funny watching my haters realize/panic I put all my years of work into this fandom, on the path I chose, for a reason.

The same people that mocked working with author rapport, just to feel entitled to attack authors, now scream about what is or isn't possible because they didn't think to do the same.

They're still doubling down into delusion that "authors intended nothing till S15" to save their own lies, like WB just paid for deancas market testing For Giggles in S12, and like Bobo almost quit for no reason, and only suddenly decided to re-sign his contract for One Thing like. That moment. It was all magical, it's not that they were fighting corp and I was right, because 2po and scripthunt are screaming into the internet being unable to let go of being wrong.

The same people that mocked the spiral narrative that came from long years of picking certain author brains are now acting like they can't see, read, or perceive anything said about the show and nothing means anything, because boy would that be awkward.

The same people that got shrill calling basic alchemy story study a "cult" in a classic conservative christian panic of pearl clutching have no comment in half the goddamn crew now being alchemists, because boy would that be fucking awkward, much less Jensen wearing gnostic swag now like ouroboros rings, all seeing eyes, and designing this entire show, or his Tower radioco shit.

It's just. It's genuinely funny. They can now see nothing, read nothing, understand nothing, because if they let themselves understand a single thing, their inexcusable behavior for the last several years starts feeling REAL AWKWARD.

Hey buddies. Clocks ticking. You're out of moves.

Learn to think beyond your personal ego pacification within the Present to start actually seeing roads ahead. You can do anything once you think outside yourself, or worse, your mindless group hive identity.

When you know Who You Are and What You Want, a thousand voices in the crowd screaming "stop, now" doesn't do much. And it's not gonna stop Jensen either.

youtube

And the best part is? Their support isn't near as huge as they try to project. All it took was blocking 3 old hate nonnies and boom, hate stops. Almost like they DESPERATELY want to try to increase the appearance of their size by hiding on anon, but are too mortally embarrassed to act like this with their name attached, making it all nothing but noise, hate, panic, and crumbling egos. A literal small handful of obsessed losers, people that literally lost, desperately looking for a hole to convince themselves that what's true isn't true. And perceiving gaps where there are none, because they never bothered to Understand before trying to argue.

So allow me to roar in the woods again. Here I am, spnscripthunt. Next time come at me instead of doxxing innocent people around me. Or, better and smarter, start facing reality. (Aside: If 2po screams I don't have sources, can anyone explain, beyond him being a compulsive liar in general, why he would try to doxx out a Misha assistant he simultaneously thinks is telling everything in my midst? So... you ADMIT I have sources, you're just clueless who and want to retaliate like it'll change the end. NEAT.)

But sure, paranormal freemasons aren't real, paranormal freemasons hired on crew for exactly these reasons can't hurt you. Nevermind you're standing in their clubhouse, just as a start. Must not exist I guess. Some loser that failed out at leaking a thousand times and mistakenly attacked a fan as proxy to the crew itself for these topics--that loser can't cope, so it can't possibly be real.

#Youtube #he's ours now #sorry #and i don't even just mean the destiel dumpster #guess jensen joined The Cult #sorry guys

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no-ctrl · 1 month

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My period is approaching and I’ve been in a funk of self sabotage. A few updates: today I had an exam for my accounting class and got a B, I may potentially get laid off, my finances are looking a bit better despite my pay cut (take u fafsa), and… I’ve been missing Israel. No we aren’t shocked. I’ll elaborate on why I think I may be getting laid off. My coworker got laid off last week and she has a higher risk job which led both her and I to believe I will be on the chopping block next. I’m not too sure if it’ll happen since I have a feeling my employer won’t want to pay the unemployment but I guess we will have to wait to see what comes next. Overall I’m upset because no one likes to get laid off but I am a bit excited since 1) I hate the job/environment, 2) I had the intention of leaving this job behind in 2024, 3) I have quite a few jobs I’m highly interested in applying for which provide benefits and other opportunities. I’ve been feeling lacking of motivation and discipline. Not sure what is going on, potentially it’s just me being burnt out but I hope I can snap out of it. I know I can do whatever I set my mind to but my lack in discipline is creating a great disservice to myself. I have no been content with myself, I’ve been feeling ugly, feeling like I have neglected myself. I need to work on balance because when I have an unbalance in my life that’s when there tends to be issues. Right now I want to start going back to the gym, pursuing hobbies, overall just be the best me possible. Lately I’ve just been into bed rotting and staying in which I’m trying to break out of.

As for missing Israel… I can’t tell is this just routine or a genuine longing for him. When I talk about it with friends and speak from the heart I find myself saying things like “I’m lonely but I don’t want just anyone, I want him.” Maybe it’s the comfort of my past with him. It’s tough to navigate these feelings. If I wasn’t so prideful I would have just reached out to him by now but that is not the case. I wish we could catch up. I would love to update him on my life and hear about his life. I tend to think about the possible scenarios between him and I when I do something out of my norm. Such as getting a new job at my school, returning back to school, going a day trip to Vegas with my friends. It’s experiences like these that I wish I could share with him. Whenever I am happy I wish I could be happy with him. I’m not going to put any words in his mouth but I can’t help but feel like he didn’t want that with me bc he made the decision to leave me. In moments like now when my self esteem is on the ground, I almost feel like I deserved getting walked out on. In midst of the self loathe I feel like I deserve the bad things he put me through. I can’t explain why it’s just a toxic spiral I fall into when I don’t feel too great about the person I am. It’s truly tough trying to move forward. There is a small deeply rooted belief/hope I have that he still loves me and will return one day but unfortunately that is not reality. It’s a tough pill to swallow and I just want security in a partner. I’m not boy obsessed but it’s actually about just wanting to build a community/family for myself where I can be myself without a facade. There was a point where Israel was that for me but that is the past not my present.

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samaqmalfiction · 3 months

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In the Name of the Lord - First Person

I prayed for my death.

For the longest time in my life, I held my breath. I was huddled underneath the stairwell that connects Block B’s ground floor with the rest of its upper levels. I wrapped my arms around my legs to minimize myself, an attempt to further hide myself. Time passed by – or did it? The last time I checked my phone, it was 2:46 AM. I had lost track of how long it had been since everything had happened. The patter of footsteps – three of them, to be exact – echoed in the stairwell as they ran searching for me.

“Did you find him?!” One of them asked, in a strained loud whisper.

“No, he’s not in his room.” Another answered with a pant. I felt a slight pride in outwitting my pursuers. In the midst of darkness, I feel myself cracking a victorious smile that was so quickly quelled when I remembered I was praying for death.

“Well, he can’t be that far! Keep looking!” One of them barked. They ran down – or maybe up? – the stairs.

I had no idea where they were. All I knew was that I was too afraid to even breathe. There was an itch on my back but I ignored it, fearing any movement would give me away. Death - right here, right now - was easier to imagine than what they had in store for me. The shadow of the stairs consumed me, but that night I felt that even shadows would betray me.

They dragged me. I don't know how they found me, but they did. The three boys took me by the arms and dragged me, and in the darkness of the night without any lights, I could only guess where they had taken me. It was the showers. Block B's haunted showers.

The lights weren’t turned on. Only the distant lamp post light seeped in through the windows to illuminate their features. Shafeeq and Naz were by my side, holding me by the arms before shoving me to a corner. Adam was behind them, tagging along.

“You shouldn’t have hidden. You are wasting our time.” Naz was almost growling. He cracked his knuckles, purely to add effect since I knew he was the last person in that room to be throwing a punch. The lamp post light was not fair in outlining their haunting figures, and I wished I could turn on the lights overhead.

"Don’t cry, don’t cry". That was the thought that went through my head. Three boys have cornered me, and they were probably planning to beat the shit out of me, but I can’t cry. Predators feed off of weakness. "Don’t cry", I repeated to myself. I would stand strong and get out of the situation I got myself in.

“Give me your phone.” Adam sounded cold - bored, even. The emptiness in his voice made me shiver, scarier than Naz's outward anger.

I stood still. I wasn’t going to answer. I wasn’t going to give Adam my phone. "Defend yourself", I thought to myself.

“Guys, look, I just want – ”

Something hard – or was it sharp? – hit me across the face. It didn’t hurt too badly; I figured it was intentionally meant to not leave a mark. It was meant to humiliate and, humiliate, it did. For a moment, I even believed that I deserved that hit. I collected myself and held in my tears. Naz was too far away, and Adam would never.

“Give him your phone,” Shafeeq said with venom, his face a grimace. His hand was raised again. I flinched at the sway of his open palm.

I took out my phone from my jeans pocket, trying hard not to tremble as I passed it to Adam.

“You know,” Shafeeq started as he circled around me, like a vulture that is stalking its dying meal. “We actually looked up to you... I mean, best student in the school!” He scoffed, standing so close I could almost smell his breath. “And yet, here we are.”

Shafeeq threw a punch at me; hitting me square in the abdomen. I folded over and toppled to the cold tiled floor clutching my abdomen, trying to soothe the instant searing pain. “Here we fucking are,” he hissed.

“I didn’t mean to – ” I tried to explain. I’d never been punched in the stomach before, and it hurt. I wonder how some people could pick themselves up and walk it off because I was sure I could not.

“It really is you." Adam interrupted. "I thought it could have been a joke, but you were the one who texted it". I wondered if the warm liquid running down my face was tears. “ 'Want a blowjob?' ” Adam said, his face eerily lit by my phone screen as he read the message out loud. “ 'Let me know where you want to meet and I’ll come suck –'”

“Stop it.” Naz said as he glared at Adam. Shafeeq spat, but where? I couldn’t feel anything land on me, but it must have been for me.

“I’m disappointed in you. I thought you were better than this but it turns out… you’re worse than I could ever imagine.” Naz commented. I wished I was punched in the stomach again instead of hearing those words. I was disgusted, but I wasn’t sure if I was disgusted by the boys assaulting me or by myself. I wish Naz would kick me too, but instead, he said, “Did you ever think about how people would think about you? How your parents would think about you? How God would think about you?”

How would God think about me? I didn’t care.

“Fucking faggot.” Shafeeq murmured before kicking me on the floor. I kept count for a while; three kicks to the thighs, one to the stomach, one to the back. I squirmed in an attempt to lessen the blows, but I don't think it worked. After a while, I lost count of the number of kicks I was awarded. I bit my lips to stop myself from sobbing at the pain pulsing through my body.

The kicking stopped. How long has it been? I don't know. I only knew the pain. I was wet and sticky – was it sweat or blood? I appreciated their ironic mercy – no injuries would show when I put on my uniform tomorrow morning. “Just let me go, please. Just let me go.” I heard my plea in my own ears and winced at how pathetic and helpless I sounded.

“You asked for this!” Shafeeq continued, and I counted two more kicks close to my groin.

“Enough.” Adam commanded. “Tell me why I should let you go.” Again, his lack of emotions scared me. Adam should be just as angry as Shafeeq and Naz. I welcomed Adam’s anger; it was better than seeing him calmly leaning against the door on one of the shower stalls with crossed arms.

“I won’t do it again, okay? I wasn’t thinking, and I didn’t mean it! Just stop!” I spurted, ashamed of my own words. When did I plan to say that? I didn’t mean anything I said; I was simply saying whatever it took to get me out of this. “Adam!” I knew who I had to beg to. It wasn’t God, or Shafeeq, or Naz. At this moment, it was Adam. Adam was rational and – most importantly – the leader of the wolf pack.

“Swear it. Swear in the name of God, you’ll never be a faggot.” Adam said before Naz and Shafeeq could react. I wanted to hear him yell it to me and not say it so priestly.

“I swear in the name of God,” I said it crisp and clear, without hesitation. It didn’t matter to me. It never will. I just wanted to run to the showers in my Block, wash off the blood, and count the number of bruises I couldn’t properly tend to. The Lord won't mind me swearing in His name.

“We just want what’s best for you.” Naz started, going off of Adam. “I understand that this is hard for you, but all this is just… wrong.” Naz sounded annoyed but sincere, much like a grandmother who is tired of giving the same advice to her rascal grandkids. “We might be hard on you now, but you’ll thank us later for this. We’re looking out for our brother here.” He paused. "God can fix you, you know?" Silence after that, as if they were giving me time to think about God. I just wanted Him to get me the fuck out of there.

“Apologize to Shafeeq. Then, leave.” Adam broke the silence.

I looked up to face Shafeeq but couldn't bear to look into his eyes. “I’m sorry.” What for? I don't know, and I don't really care either.

“Go.” Who had said it? It was probably Adam, but I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t looking, and I wasn’t paying attention. All I knew was that I heard it. I got up from the floor and took off, almost slipping. I felt warm blood trickle down to the waistband of my shorts. Despite my body’s painful protest, I ran as fast as I could for the stairwell in Block C that would take me to my room. In the dark of the night, the echoes of my loud footsteps reminded me that I was wide awake.

As I ran, I prayed for my death.

END

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crossfoxbuns · 6 months

Text

I’m in the midst of reinventing how I deal with social media.

Right now I got 3 social media accounts. (I don’t count chat apps since they aren’t “one-to-public” kind of things) I’ve got this tumblr account, a mastodon/fediverse, and a bluesky. And none of them have been all that satisfying to use, both as a reader and as a poster. (Mostly as a reader. I don’t wanna brag, but my posts have been read by at LEAST seven people worldwide.)

So I’ve been rethinking. And it comes down to posting certain things on certain accounts, and being deliberate about what is on my feed in each place. Here’s what I’ve got so far.

Bluesky

This is the place where the people I actually, personally know are. So I’m going to keep it that way. I’ll pare back who I’m following to just be friends. I’ll interact with them and post stuff that is a bit more personal, but okay for the public to see. Bluesky ain’t private after all.

Mastodon

The server I’m on and contribute to is focused toward furry technical engineers. As such I’ll probably keep it to that - that is to say, mostly work stuff or stuff a technical crowd would find interesting. I’ll trim down my feed to include that sort of thing to match. By trimming that list and by taking more advantage of mastodon’s awesome feed control I can get a feed full of techno-juiciness without the political, doomscroll-y stuff that’s also pretty common there.

In paring down the bluesky and mastodon feeds it means unfollowing a lot of artists and creators that I do actually want to keep up with. There’s an idea for that though - later

Tumblr

Tumblr’s in a weird place. It’s the old kid on the block but also somehow the freshest? The big thing that Tumblr has going for it out of these three is that there’s no real limit on the posts. I can ramble.

I like rambling.

So that’s why you’re seeing this post here. I got the room to express a whole idea, something I can’t do with bluesky’s 200-something characters or mastodon’s 1000-ish characters. (And that’s after using a forked version of mastodon that lets you up the limit from the usual 500)

Long form posts will go here, on Ye Olde Blog Platform. I think there will be more ways of defining what gets posted here, but I don’t know what that is yet, since I just started. I’ll figure this out as I go. As for the feed here I’m kinda ignoring it honestly. The idea eventually is to automate a thing to grab the posts from this blog (and my other socials if I can figure it out) and drop them into a big repository of “things I posted online”. Then I can use that repo when I eventually redo my personal website. Why build myself a CMS when every other platform already has, and with a way I can share my stuff built-in?

Let the corpos do the coding and heavy lifting, I’ll just nab my content as I go and keep it in my little box. :3

RSS - Really Still Something

Yeah, RSS ain’t dead yet. Oddly enough, it’s more alive than ever! Every tumblr blog has a feed. Same with every WordPress blog, every mastodon account, and oh, how about EVERY PODCAST IN EXISTENCE.

RSS is going nowhere. Which is why my main reading feed of choice isn’t any of these socials, it’s my dang RSS reader. Almost a hundred webcomics, and almost a thousand more blogs, artists, news sources, YouTube channels (yup they got RSS too), and more, all sorted into different feed flavors, ready for me to read through, chronologically, without ads or scripts that slow the site down, whenever.

That is where the creators I’m no longer following on socials went. Somewhere where it’s impossible for them to get lost in the feed, because the little badge will nag at me that there’s something to read until I’ve seen everything. No algorithm to satiate, no firehose to get drowned in.

The downside of course is that if you’re an artist who doesn’t post on anywhere with an RSS (looking at you, FA), then I can’t see you. Sorry. There’s feeds for like almost everything out there, and if you’re only on FurAffinity and Twitter and that’s it, then I can’t help you, sorry.

Maybe that’s another post for the future. Some of these service’s RSS feeds are pretty well hidden, but they’re there. A post for a later date, though. This one has dragged on enough.

That’s what my social media use kinda looks like at the moment. I post and interact lightly but deliberately, though most of my reading/following is done over RSS.

Enjoyed the TED talk? There’s plenty more where that came from. Leave a note or a blaze or whatever it is tumblr does nowadays. I don’t mind shouting into the void, it’s pretty therapeutic, but it is nice to be heard now and then, especially with word counts like this. Anyway, until the next one!~

#blog #intro post #social media #rss feed #ranting about the state of the world #furry

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spnfan1998 · 7 months

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Dean Comes Back from Hell

warnings: none

word count: 2264

i know the timeline is way off from the timeline in the show but thankfully it’s called fanfic for a reason!

Y/N almost couldn’t believe what she had found on her hunt. She had to call Sam immediately. Y/N told Sam she found Dean unconscious on the side of a dirt road on a solo hunt she is on in Arizona. When Y/N called Sam, she was relieved to hear Sam was just over in Nevada and would be there in less than three hours to help. Y/N managed to shove Dean into the backseat of the minivan she boosted since her car was stolen in the midst of her hunt. Dean still didn’t wake up, even when she had to drag him across the gravel. Y/N was getting more and more worried as the time passed and Dean wasn’t waking up. The important thing is that he was breathing.

Y/N brought Dean into her hotel room as inconspicuous as possible but of course, there were a few concerned bystanders. Y/N waved them off with, “tequila, ya know?” with a smile. Everyone once concerned nodded and grinned in an empathetic way. She has a beautiful smile and a welcoming disposition so she is able to get herself and the boys out of tight situations easily.

Y/N threw Dean onto one of the beds and laid down next to him for a few moments to catch her breath, she never gave much thought to how large Dean was until now. She pulled out her phone to give Sam a call to find out his current ETA. Before she could even do so she heard a knock on the door. “How the hell did Sam get here so fast, it's only been an hour or so” Y/N thought to herself. She went to check the peep hole but she found herself being shoved to the ground with the door flying off the hinges, she couldn’t see who was breaking into the room at this point. Y/N was just worried about getting off the floor to get to Dean. As great a hunter he is, no one is good at hunting when they are out cold.

Y/N got to her feet and saw the person who broke the door down, she had no idea who he was or why he was there until she saw his eyes. They went from normal human eyes to pure black with one blink. The demon left the person after he had stared at both Y/N and Dean for a few moments. The man previously possessed came to and asked the typical “what happened?” and “where am I?”. Y/N said she would call him a cab to take him back home if he wanted, thankfully it seemed that he was only possessed for less than an hour. He was only a few blocks from his house.

Some time passes and Y/N is working on cleaning up the debris from the demon breaking down the door when Sam comes in, Dean asleep in bed. Sam slowly walks around the bits of broken door and plaster and looks at Y/N with concern and asks “what the hell happened here? Are you guys okay?”. Y/N looks up at Sam with a frustrated and exhausted expression. Sam knelt down and quickly helped her finish cleaning up the floor so they could focus on Dean. “Coming back from Hell probably isn’t the easiest trip, I’m not surprised he’s still sleeping. He probably lost what felt like decades down there” Sam said. Y/N just nodded in agreement with Sam, not disclosing what actually happened.

Y/N and Sam ordered take out and Sam walked to the liquor store on the corner across from the motel to pick up some beer. Dean was again still sleeping so they figured they might as well make themselves comfortable while they’re waiting for him to wake up. Sam got back to the motel room and started telling Y/N about how Dean might not be the same person he was before and he might not remember what happened in Hell and yadayadayada. She was half listening to Sam, half watching Dean’s chest rise and fall. Dean started to toss in the bed. Sam and Y/N got up quickly and went to his side. Sam with holy water, Y/N with drinking water.

Dean opened his eyes and Sam started splashing holy water on him. “What the hell man cut it out” Dean said to Sam. Both Y/N and Sam sighed in relief and hugged Dean. She gave him the water to drink; she could only imagine how dehydrating the climate is in Hell. Dean gladly accepted the offer and asked Sam and Y/N to catch him up to speed on what happened. Y/N explained she found Dean on the side of a road in Arizona about one hour from their motel so she brought him back with her. There wasn’t much for her to tell, or so the boys thought. Dean asked “what happened to the door?” gesturing to the door that isn’t attached to its hinges. Y/N explained “I got up to get the door because I thought it was Sam but a demon busted in. It just looked at me and then you and then left. It didn’t say anything or do anything except break the door. I’m not sure what it wanted but I would imagine Hell isn’t too happy with you being out of Hell”. Dean shrugged his shoulders in agreement, he didn’t have the energy to ask more questions.

Throughout the night Dean slowly started to sound more and more like himself thankfully. Sam was beyond relieved for obvious reasons. Going to Hell can change a person and probably not for the better. The next morning they all pile into the Impala to start heading back to the bunker. “Hey Y/N, show me how to get to where you found me yesterday” Dean said. She gave him directions to the site and they all got out of the car to investigate. They all took a direction and searched. They didn’t find anything until Sam yelled “come check this out”. Y/N and Dean run over to see Sam holding some sort of talisman. “I’ll have to look into what it’s used for when we get back, I’ve never seen these scriptures before” Sam said. They all got back into the car and continued on the long drive home

During the drive home Y/N was visibly anxious, twittiling with her thumbs, shaking her leg up and down, biting on her nails. “ You good Y/N?” Dean asked, looking at her in the rearview. “Yeah all good, just still a bit worked up over what happened with the demon” she lied. “Well we're all safe now so that's a positive, and Dean is back so that’s another win too” Sam said was trying to see the glass half full.

They get back to the bunker and Y/N says goodnight and practically runs to her room for the night. Sam and Dean shared a confused glance but decided not to ask her what the issue was, she had just been attacked by a demon so they just figured she needed space. Y/N starts unpacking from her hunt and decides to put a load of laundry in. She starts walking down the hall to get to the utility room and Dean passes by. Dean stops her once they cross paths and motions to her hamper to put it down. She puts it down and Dean pulls her in for a bear hug. He whispers to her “I’m sorry”. Y/N breaks from the hug somewhat to look up at him confused, not in a way that she doesn’t know what he’s talking about but in a way that says she was just doing her job. Dean looked down at her with a stern look on his face and pulled her back into his chest, just embracing her for a while and stroking her hair lightly. He lets go of his grip, picks up the hamper, hands it back to Y/N and walks away without another word. She’s not sure why Dean did that considering he had always treated her like a friend in the past, which is what she wanted. The hug given didn’t feel like a friendly “hey thanks for saving me”, it felt like Dean wanted it to mean more.

Later that night Y/N gets up to grab a beer from the kitchen. She sees Sam sitting there with his laptop open with what looked like enochian symbols on his screen. “I literally have no idea what this thing is,” Sam says, picking up the talisman to show Y/N and then drops it back on the table. Sam doesn’t realize but Y/N takes a short and stressed out inhale when Sam carelessly drops the talisman on the table. He rubs his eyes and then his jaw in exhaustion. Sam is just about to get up to go to bed but Dean joins them in the kitchen and convinces Sam to stay up longer.

Y/N gets a couple of drinks in her and accidentally lets the truth come out “I pulled you out of Hell Dean” she says out of nowhere. They were talking about new movies coming out soon actually but this was weighing pretty heavy on her mind. The boys turn to her in confusion and worry and disappointment and many more feelings coming through their facial expressions. They couldn’t make out any words and then Y/N followed it up with “and the talisman was basically the key I needed to get in. I thought I had it on me but I guess it fell out of my pocket when I was dragging Dean to the car.” Sam finally said something “how does it work?” he looked beyond concerned. He had never seen anything like it so he was scared to see what magic Y/N did with it. She curled herself into a ball in her chair, she was trying to make herself feel as small as possible. She buried her head in her knees and squeaked out “part of my soul is in it, I can’t get it back and if it breaks…” Sam and Dean’s eyes start to widen, they share glances, and Dean lifts Y/N’s head up and asks “why would you do that?” in a stern, disappointed voice. Y/N started to cry “I couldn’t stand to lose you and see everyone else's pain with not having you. You weren’t there to see how Sam was or Bobby or Cass or…” her voice trailed off and she cried harder. Sam and Dean were actually happy to see her cry, at least she has the part of her soul that holds empathy.

Sam took the talisman and ensured Y/N that he was going to put it in a safe place so it doesn’t get damaged. Dean sat with Y/N for a while just trying to absorb everything she had just told them. “So what exactly happens if the talisman breaks?” Dean asked. Y/N went on to explain that if the talisman breaks, she dies and Dean gets a one way ticket back to hell. The only being that could safely take Y/N’s soul out of the talisman and give it back to her without Dean going back to Hell is an archangel, which they are not on good terms with any of the living ones currently so that plan is off the table. Dean starts rubbing his jaw as if he were trying to come up with a plan to fix everything. “Dean, you’re back and healthy and safe. Please just let it be” she begged him. Dean stares at her, clenches his jaw and says “we're calling Rowena tomorrow” he gets up angrily and goes to his room.

Y/N waited a few minutes to let Dean cool off before knocking on his bedroom door. He swung the door open fast and looked annoyed. Y/N apologized and started to walk away. Dean loosened his shoulders and face and pulled her back to his room. “What part of your soul did you give up?” he asked her. “The part that makes me capable of loving. I figured, if the spell didn’t work at least I wouldn’t hurt as much anymore… but if it did work then I wouldn’t have to worry about feeling anything towards you anymore. I was hiding that part of me for a while now and it was never reciprocated from you so I thought it was time to give up.” Dean didn’t know what to say to this so he hugged her again for what felt like years and again said “I’m sorry” this time sounding like he is sorry that Y/N gave a piece of her up for him. “We are calling Rowena tomorrow. I can’t see you like this” Dean told her, “just because I didn’t reciprocate my feelings outwardly doesn’t mean they don’t exist”. Y/N looked at Dean waiting for him to tell her if he wanted her to leave the room or not. It’s been difficult for her to discern social cues since she gave up some of her soul. Dean sat on the edge of his bed “just please stay with me tonight” he asked Y/N. She nodded and sat beside him. They laid down and finally went to sleep for the night.

#dean winchester #supernatural #supernatural fanfic series #supernatural fanfiction #fanfic #sam winchester

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gayluigi · 10 months

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Ok, Tumblr, I need your advice

I have come to the realization that I probably have BPD. I thought I had it many years ago, but my psychologist was like “well I don’t treat Cluster B patients, and I would know if you had it”, so I took her at her word. Well, turns out that I probably DO have it, and it’s made my life hell.

I had a friend that I made in 5th grade, let’s call him Jack. He was my very best friend from 5th grade until freshman year of high school. His family was known for moving place to place and completely cutting ties with everyone they knew in their previous life. He moved away when we were in middle school, but miraculously, we kept in contact.

However, freshman year, he suddenly stopped replying to my texts. I was in the midst of a very abusive relationship at the time, so I was already very frazzled. One day, I was home alone, it had been about a week since Jack had replied to my texts, and I was waiting for the other shoe to drop with my ex since I could anticipate when a blowup was about to happen. I was in a very bad place. So, I did a BPD freakout on Jack. I was panicked that I’d never get to see him again, and so I freaked out on him, thereby ensuring that I’d never see him again. I scared him so bad that his mom had to call our house and tell me to stop calling him and that he’d talk to me when he was ready. Turns out, that day was NEVER, and he blocked me on everything and never spoke to me again.

It’s been about 11 years since this happened. At some point, a couple years ago, I was kind of digging for information on him online and I happened across his Tumblr blog. Ever since then, I go to his blog sometimes to check up on him, see how he’s doing, all that. For a while, he was posting some pretty wild stuff, so I didn’t really wanna reach out to him since it didn’t seem like we’d have anything in common these days. Well, I checked his blog tonight, and his blog looks almost exactly like mine in terms of content. I was like “oh shit, we could probably actually be friends now, we’d have stuff in common.”

However. I know that he’d probably just block me as soon as he figured out who I am if I followed him. It would probably freak him the fuck out that I was able to track him down after all this time. For 11 years, I’ve respected his choice to not speak to me. I wouldn’t want to make him uncomfortable by reaching out and retraumatizing him. What I did to him that night was NOT okay, and if there was anything I could do to make it better, if I could possibly explain my actions, I would. But doing so would probably scare him.

BUT. There’s still that little teeny weeny optimistic spark inside of me that’s like “maybe it’s been long enough that he’d be ready to talk!” Like, it’s been 11 years. Surely he can’t still be mad at me, right? But even if he wasn’t still mad at me, he’s had all this time to reach out to me, and he hasn’t. That should be enough of a hint that he wants nothing to do with me, right? But yet, that stupid optimistic spark won’t shut the hell up. It keeps telling me to reach out to him, to try to explain myself, to try and make things better. Even though it’s been 11 years and any normal person would’ve long since forgotten about this friendship.

Basically... my question is what the heck do I do? Do I listen to my rational side and stay in my lane? Or do I give into that optimistic spark and try and reach out to him?

BPD and autism make socialization so freaking hard, I swear to god.

#actuallybpd #actuallyautistic #autism #bpd #bpd vent

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tea-with-evan-and-me · 1 year

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“there's a couple of distinctively misspelled words from that anon. i'm not going to try and call them out, honestly,”

What do you mean by misspelled words? I think not everyone here on this blog is good enough in English! some of them maybe they're trying so hard to spell the words and write them correctly so that we can understand. And you said it already, there's a bunch of different countries with different time zones reading your blog, so not all of them their first language is English. Also not every french is the mysterious girlfriend, Idk about her but she's probably feeling embarrassed after what happened recently when we discovered it was a made up thing.

absolutely, i know i have many readers and contributors who don't speak english as their primary language! and honestly, most of them who mention it outright are actually excellent at communicating in english lol the tumblr mystery girl anon is but one person, so you're right, every french visitor to this blog is not her! after reviewing old messages (i delete a lot of questionable asks for various reasons, but i almost always screenshot them with a timestamp because i like to document everything) i came to believe that she had at least one friend in on the plot who also sent messages to bait. i can't prove it but that's my belief... aaand i realized i had received other asks seemingly unrelated to tumblr mystery girl that i deleted, that were also from this anon. again, a very distinct word that was misspelled is what clued me in.

i spend a lot of time analyzing written communication. so it's second nature for me to read through messages and pick up on little idiosyncrasies that are unique to a particular person, not just anyone/everyone who is not a native speaker. there's other giveaways. there's another anon, who is american.. and i delete a good portion of their asks because they are frequently argumentative and generally just go out of their way to be obstinate. i know ''who'' it is in the sense that i am aware it's a repeat offender, i recognize their syntax. and i can obviously see what state they're writing in from. running a blog where 99% of the contributors are anonymous means you can't just block the people who want to lie (like tumblr mystery girl) or be rude (my american anon pal) so you just kind of get used to them being in your midst lol if anything, it's kind of funny to think we're all just parked here having a chat from different corners of the world.

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hello-kaneez · 2 years

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Broke my V-card... to Covid

So here I am, in the midst of my quarantine (Day5) and counting down to when I can head out again. Spent the first 3 days sleeping and in a daze because I was just so tired and bleeding like siao from my period (that is another story which I shall not go into). I am slowly losing my mind because Hanna got Covid from my aunt one week prior and I was already home the whole time taking care of her. If this was H he would have been so happy to be left alone in a room with nobody talking to him for a week. As of now, the 2 boys are still virgins but then we highly suspect that they have gotten it before but somehow the ART showed otherwise.

Thankfully we have a helper again so things are still somewhat manageable at home. I was slowly unraveling with so many things on my plate. So, as much as it has been nice to have personal space at home, we really needed that extra pair of hands in the household now. Hanna is 9 months old now and crawls/moves so fast we need to constantly have our eyes on her. With all the restrictions easing, I will be happy to plan something for both the H siblings upcoming birthdays.

After taking care of both genders I realized the stereotypes and generalization are actually true to an extent. Hanna is definitely more of a sweetheart but I am so thankful that she is not as picky as Hyder. Feeding Hyder makes me despair at times, especially when I am an amateur cook to begin with. This one eats almost everything and will make noises if you feed her too slowly. Maybe it also comes with experience but I feel like I can enjoy the baby stage much more this time even though I was way more tired.

Ending this here because I have mental block or covid or just lazy.

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bidstrup92hewitt · 2 years

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Have You Ever Heard the Rhino Tale?

This is a new story about exactly how we all proceed through life being trained to think a certain solution to keep a few else happy. This particular will hopefully open your eyes to the options you include in life, so My partner and i is going in order to explain what I actually mean by the Rhino story next relate it to be able to how you are the Rhino. It was about the herd of cows that had developed up together. They all ate together, rested together, grazed collectively. Day in day trip, year in season out they would the same thing all the time. Additional info were trained to be a new certain way and even were fine with that because that they were taken health care of by the particular farmer. They have been given food and refuge and in go back they did while they were told. But in the midst of them was one that felt different, acquired thicker skin, had different aspirations in addition to wanted more is obviously than just existing lifespan of mediocrity. He knew his / her heart wasn't throughout being like the particular rest of typically the cows. But failed to realise why he would likely want to quit the security regarding being cared for upon the farm plus wanting to get different from almost all his friend and even family. Having been puzzled and didn't realize what to carry out about his emotions. ( and not any I am not necessarily talking about him or her taken from the closet). Eventually instead regarding being in the middle of the field he or she chose to just take a seat on the advantage of the field by himself. It was here that whenever he seemed around he observed a greener pasture through the inclines and mountains, in addition to knew that was where he wanted in order to be. He knew there then that was what he was going to do, even though they didn't know precisely how to arrive there. That was all he'd dream about for days. It had been some sort of dream big good enough to wake him up early in addition to keep him upward late every single day. Thus one day he or she broke free from the fences in addition to made his solution to the greener pastures. Along the way he discovered road blocks, hurdles and info reasons for him or her to turn back and get back into his comfort zone, but nonetheless decided to keep working at it because he knew he or she had made the mind in needing something better intended for himself. He wasn't focusing on exactly what he didn't desire he just visualised being on the particular greener pasture. Sooner or later he got to the greener meadow and the perception of satisfaction regarding was amazing. When he looked back in what he had to overcome in order to get there they saw the pasture where he came from, and do a person know what they saw? He noticed a read about Rhino's. This individual then realised he too was a Rhino and understood precisely why he felt different. It all manufactured sense all of a sudden. The only concern was that the rest regarding the heard were all made to believe they had been cows. We were holding just about all conditioned to consider and act the fact that farmer wanted them to be. The as well as side was that will he knew he or she had finally busted free from typically the brainwashing. He understood he probably had not been the only 1 who felt typically the way he did, but he was the only person to get action on his / her dream. That is the only variation between the prosperous and the unsuccessful in life, taking actions on dreams plus carrying on when others give up. Ideally you can discover how this pertains to those who are used and online marketing business people. The employed happen to be the Rhino's which are led to believe they can be cows. A person can go on being brainwashed to consider of which the job you are in that gives an individual a pay take a look at and hence lets you meet your monetary commitments and appearance after your loved ones. An individual can carry in thinking it's ALRIGHT to climb someone else's career step ladder, get paid a tenth of exactly how much you create your employer, have your working hours and holidays dictated to you. Oh and have typically the threat of bonus cuts, reduced pay, redundantcies etc along with functioning for a supervisor (who is probably not qualified in order to be in of which role) and most the stress plus pressure of the particular goals and focuses on you should achieve marinated together with the red tape buearocricies of. My partner and i bet you decide to go house with a massive smile on the face and jump off the bed eager to be able to get there every morning... right? Just about all because you get a regular shell out check? If you are employed all your existence and were under the impression there this kind of thing as a purpose of life the present overall economy is probably starting your eyes upwards to the severe realities of the world, specifically if you include been laid off from work however still have all your current financial commitments to honour as well as a family to support. This particular is where a bunch of people resort to be able to the internet as their alternative due to larger pay checks to be had. Although if you are a technophobe this can be this kind of scary thought, right? Extra and more technophobes are turning in order to the internet and also making a lot involving. The age group old myth associated with 'you have to be able to be some type of computer nerd to make funds online' is out and about of the windows now( apologies to be able to all the personal computer geeks ). Individuals from all strolls of life, based on a educations, backgrounds in addition to occupations are finding success as on-line marketers. They may be existing the lifestyle of their design, working the particular hours they decided to go with and writing their own pay checks from the safety of their own home. That stops lots of individuals from joining this entrepreneurial revolution is the mindset in addition to the fear of doing something innovative. They are brainwashed to thinking they can be cows and of which they have to job for someone otherwise, because that is definitely all they have done. But in life the biggest enemy you are going to face is definitely the voice within just your head. Once you control this an individual can achieve anything, just like the particular Rhino that shattered free within the story. The concept associated with working the hrs that you simply chose, coming from home and composing your own pay checks, being your personal boss and having the ability to spend more time with my family members completely floored me personally. It had been then I decided to take my life in to my own hands in addition to that I had been heading to learn the particular skills necessary to write my pay check for living. Now that some sort of technophobe such because myself has reached it, my quest is to encourage others who are usually wanting to get out of the rat race of life plus achieve their desires though internet advertising and marketing. If you are usually fed up with your existing situation and wish to make a lasting change, join me in this path to flexibility, and empowerment. I PROMISE i will provide you with all the resources necessary to let you to write your own give check and simply no longer allow your existing situation hold you down. Is obviously men and women succumb to typically the mediocrity of life simply by not necessarily knowing just what alternatives are available with them. All I need to do is give people the options and in the event that they decide to be able to come out of their comfort zone then I will provide them with total support and development to help them achieve their very own goals and hopes in every area of your life. It's just like that scene by 'The Matrix', whenever Morpheus gives Neo the option involving taking the red pill or the blue tablet. Allow me to show a person how deep the rabbit hole goes my friend. The particular mission is to be able to inspire and empower visitors to change their particular circumstances so that they can live some sort of life they choose, with the make more money they deserve. Should you be needing the assistance and guidance regarding mentors to aid you produce a solid long term company, and work inside a community of business people that actually care regarding each others success then you may would like to check out and about; [http://www.LearnToEarnWithShiraz.com/?t=ezinearticles]

#How to Develop Great Customer Service #click here #more info #here #read more #website #get more info #check here

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bonny-kookoo · 3 years

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Delicate (JJK x Reader) 🐾💜☁️🔞

🧶Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

🧶Genre: hybrid!AU, Tsundere (slightly), Fluff, a bit of Angst, smut

🧶Warnings: Jungkook is a brat, Catboy!Jungkook, He basically hates everyone but his kitten, HUman! Reader, Wet dream, masturbation, big dick! Kook but whats new, Sweet reader, Spanking (and not on her butt if you know what I mean), Rough handjob (fem. Rec), doggy style, Desperate koo, overstimulation, forced orgasm, multiple orgasm, slightly angsty moment, but nothing bad lol, confessions, basically owner/Hybrid to lovers lol

🧶Summary: Jungkook does whatever he wants, whenever he wants. Changing for you might be harder than he initially thought- but maybe he doesn't even need to. Maybe you'll love him just for who he actually is.

Jungkook was a maine coon hybrid. He's been at the shelter for years now, adopted just to be returned a week later, every time. He's got serious additude problems, thinks way too highly of himself, is just overall too much to handle. He knows that. But that doesn't mean he wants to change.

No, he actually actively decides to be a dick. Simply irritating others is like some sort of game for him, feeding his ego to no ends whenever someone gives up on him. It's like he's winning.

Jungkook loves winning.

It all however, changes as soon as he spots you. You're small, and not in a sense of short- no, you actually look like a doll to him. So delicate, so adorable, Jungkook can't help but stare with wide, green cateyes. His pupils are contracted as if you're too bringt for them to handle, yet its only the amount of sudden emotions that's making them look like that. As soon as you turn around, spotting him, smiling at him, they widen like the moon itself; making the cat-hybrid next to him wave a hand in front of his face, since he completely blocked out the fact that the older hybrid was talking to him. He irritatedly swishes his hand away, ears now perked up as his fluffy tail twitches every second or so. He can hear your voice, soft and sweet, and he's whipped already.

Jungkook wants you.

He stands up suddenly, completely dismissing the hybrid that he'd conversed with earlier, as he walks over to you, who's standing in front of another area filled with dog hybrids. He scrunches his nose in disgust; you don't need one of those mutts, you need him. He stops a footstep away from you, and the worker sighes as you look up at the hybrid. "Oh, thats Jungkook-" he explains. "He's one of our problem cases, so I wouldn't really reccomend him for you." He explains, and Jungkooks brows furrow. Who the fuck does he think he is, calling him a problem case? He knows its true, but that doesn't mean he can just say that out loud to anyone, especially not you. How's he supposed to gain your trust now?

You smile, now visibly a little intimitated. Jungkook knows why, knows that his physique is pretty much yelling strength and confidence. He suddenly gets an idea, and decides to try it out. No hurt in playing around a little.

So he lets his ears droop, and slowly walks back towards the corner of the room, simply sitting down there before flopping to his side, huffing out a breath as if exhausted. He hoped it works, otherwise he's pulling this stunt without reason, making a fool of himself for nothing. But it seems as if it works, slowly, because he can spot your now slightly worried eyes watching him as the worker leads you along, to meet some other dog hybrids. He knows he's got you. He just has to wait.

Jungkook loves taking naps.

And this time, it helped time pass by easily, as he suddenly smells your fabric softener again, as he can hear the worker try and talk you out of it. He can feel you behind him as he'd rolled around on his spot to face the wall, and he visibly shudders as your hand touches his tail. He turns around slowly, tired eyes spotting you squatting down close to his back, as he sits up. He looks at you curiously, and you suddenly smile, leaning your head slightly to the side, your earrings dangling prettily from your ears as he can't look away. You're even prettier up close and personal like this. "So, you're Jungkook?" You ask, and he forgets to answer for a moment, nods after he notices the awkward silence, as he blushes. You giggle, and sit down properly, obviously intending to get to know him more.

Good.

He sits properly as well, not saying anything, as you ask away. "They said you're quite the troublemaker." You amusedly state, and Jungkook suddenly has the urge to roll his eyes. He doesn't however, knowing all his acting would've been for nothing if he slipped now. So he simply looks down, his ears slightly bend backwards as he scratches his neck. "But I think you're just a bit rough around the edges." You explain, and his eyes move, looking at you as you continue. "Like a diamond, you know? They need to be handled carefully, and then they turn into the prettiest things." You say, and he already decides he loves your voice. He carefully answers.

"You think so?"

He can see the surprise in your face, it's to be expected. His tone doesn't fit his current act at all, but he can't change that. But you smile, nodding, and he internally sighs at that, at the fact that you simply accepted that. "Look-" You suddenly say, pulling out your phone and showing him a balcony, with pretty flowers blooming. You swipe, and it shows what he assumes is your apartment. It's small, he notices, but for some reason it looks more inviting than any place he'd ever been to. It looks cozy, well taken care of, and a tad bit unruled; it looks like a home. His eyes sparkle with actual genuine interest. "We could put some blankets here, the sun shines there nicely throughout the day, so you could take some awesome naps there-" You explain, and his ears perk into your direction at that. "Oh, and during the summer you can always stay on the balcony- its really nice there when its hot you know? The cool breeze is nice." You say, and suddenly notice how he's looking at you, expecting something. "I mean-" You stutter suddenly, locking your phone and growing a bit shy at him being so close to you. You have to admit; he's really handsome. "Only if you want to come with me, that is." You ask, and he suddenly nods.

Jungkook would love to come home with you.

That was a year ago, and your home slowly became his own home as well, more perfect than those photos could ever convey.

As you walk around the apartment, he notices how you carry some of your own stuff into another room- smaller than the original bedroom. At his confused glance, you scratch the back of your neck, right where he knows your scent is strongest, and he gets the urge to bury his nose into the spot. "Oh! I just uhm.. last night you slept in front of my door, so I thought you may want to change rooms? You're bigger than me, so you need more space, i think?" You say, and he shakes his head with a soft smile, walking up to you and stopping you in your tracks.

"N-No.. Actually, I wanted to ask you something." He wonders, now not looking at you anymore, as you look up at his eyes. "I uhm.." He starts, swallowing some saliva to finally get the words out. "I was wondering if I could sleep in your room."

Its quiet for a moment, and he grows anxious at this, thinking that he had just overstepped some boundary he didn't know of yet. "Like- I mean, I get lonely during the night, and you said once that you need to hug something to sleep well and maybe you could hug me and we would safe costs for heating because two people are warmer than just one and-" He rambles on, and you put your hands on his shoulders, making him shut up in the midst of talking. Your touch does that to him, most of the time. It's like magic, addicting, and he can't help but swallow again, now however not because of fear.

"You should've said something sooner, silly!" You say, reaching up to scratch his ear, which involuntarily makes him purr as he presses against your hand. "Of course you can. Don't worry so much, kookie." You say, and he smiles at this, happy that he was finally closer to you.

Jungkook is such a sweet cat, in your eyes. He's gentle, always so ready to help you with whatever problem you have, lending you a hand with household chores; he's truly the perfect hybrid at your side.

So, so sweet.

Scratch that.

Jungkook was currently eyeing your best friend down, ears pinned back while his fluffy tail was standing tall, agression clear in his entire posture. "Wow, ok. What's with him?" Yoongi asks, unsure on what exactly was going on. Maybe it was Hoesok's scent on him that agitated him? But he couldn't know for sure. Instead of you however, Jungkook answered in his low voice, clearly offended by something. He doesn't klnow why this always happens.

"Don't talk like I'm not here, asshole." He spits out, and your eyes widen. Jungkook was such a sweet guy around you, it was hard to imagine this was actually happening time and time again. He was watching Yoongi with careful eyes, pupils contracted to slits as his greenish eyes pin the older man down with their stare. He's cautious, and you don't quite know about what, until Yoongi makes the mistake of reaching out for you.

Before so much as his fingertips can reach you, Jungkook has already jumped from his spot, shoving the shorter man back with so much force he almost falls into the small coffee table behind him. "Jungkook!" You exclaim scandalized, as he turns around at your tone of voice. Looking at your posture, taking in your scent, he can sense immediately that you're scared, confused, and he hates it. "Apologize." You demand, and Jungkook shakes his head, unwavering, before you sigh out, pointing towards the bedroom door. "Then get inside. And don't come out until I say so." You say, and his ears pin themselves back again, however his shoulders slump down as well, visibly deflating. He's actually sorry now- but it's too late to force himself to apologize to Yoongi; that intruder who's clearly here to claim territory. "Now." You say, and Jungkook suddenly breaks eye contact with you, letting himself be defeated for the first time since he was adopted.

For some reason, your voice hangs heavy on his muscles, heavier than any collar ever hung around his neck.

He hates this. He hates that he has to give up the fight to this complete stranger just because you said so; yet he can't will himself to go against your will. He wants to stay, he wants to be good, but he cant help but grow hostile with another guy in the same apartment as you. It's as if he's giving you up, and that's definitely not what he wants to do. But its ultimately whats happening.

And he hates it.

Jungkook isn't a sweet kitty. He's an untamed tiger, just simply agreeing on living with you, and that has become very apparent these months. He likes to pick on you, and loves to make a mess. There's nothing left of the oh so sweet and caring catboy you adopted a year ago, but it somehow doesn't bother you. You know that he was eager to get out of the shelter, and that he had been pretending for long enough.

This was Jungkooks true nature, and you were okay with that.

He was a bit of a brat, throwing down objects placed by you whenever you weren't home, simply to show you his unhappiness about that fact. He knew that you had to work, but that didn't mean that he liked it.

He also had a major enemy now.

Seokjin across the street, Namjoons prized silver labrador hybrid, or so he calls him. He's handsome, you have to admit, but Jungkook can't see anything visually appealing about the mutt. He hates him with a passion, and its quite possibly because of his very flirty nature, especially towards you. Jungkook wasn't talented in that department, he rather enjoyed picking on you than complimenting you. Compliments got boring after a while. Calling you shorty and watching you struggle to reach the highest shelf would never get old to him, however.

He likes to call Seokjin a rat for his grey features, just to see him get all offended, and he doesn't care much that you always scold him for it. He likes to do whatever he wants, whenever he wants, and he's been testing you long enough to somehow know when the fun is over. He'd never intentionally hurt you, emotionally nor physically, but that doesn't mean he can't pick on you now and then.

Its his own way of showing affection. You just don't quite get it, it seems.

Its when you leave for a late night business gathering to celebrate the company's anniversary that he breaks. He simply pretends to be asleep as he waits for you to leave, simply peeking at your dress though almost closed eyes, and he wishes he didn't do it. Your scent is driving him crazy already, yet you were always careful to cover up around him, seemingly conscious about him and the fact that he is, apart from his cat side, still a young man. He wont ever be able to burn that image of your perfect legs in that perfect little dress out of his mind now that he's seen it. And its the kiss you place on his cheek that pushes him over the edge, makes him struggle to stay composed until he can hear the front door close shut.

He whines out, turning around on the bed as he buries his face into the sheets, into the spot that's usually occupied by your form. It still smells like you; not like you when you try to use perfume, which he hates, but your unmasked smell he absolutely loves. It fills his senses, makes him squirm on the mattress as he turns, bunching the sheets between his legs as he begins to hump into nothing, the friction of the bed sheets enough to rile him up as he bites the pillow your head usually rests on. He can see it in front of him vividly like a dream he's experiencing right in that moment. You, laid out underneath him, his teeth not clamping down on fabric but your delicate skin, making such wonderful noises as he takes you like the good and sweet girl you are for him. How enticingly you would mewl, arching your back as he guides his leaking cock inside you, stretching you out as his hands would hold you close, keep you upright so you wont just smash onto the mattress onto your face. He curses as he picks up his pace, simple movement not enough anymore as his hand reaches down, frustratingly palming his impatient erection hidden underneath his sweatpants as his dream continues, showing him how you would say his name, breathlessly, as you would look over your shoulder.

Then it shifts, as his mind is suddenly focusing on your face. Would you be into giving him head? Oh god, if you would, he knows he wouldn't be able to last; with your innocent eyes, kneeled in front of him, so eagerly taking his cock he couldn't help but cum inside your throat. And he knows you would be such a good kitten, you would swallow him down prettily, and he would praise you so good. "Hnng, fuck..!" He exclaims, as he writhes on top of the sheets, messing everything up, but he doesn't care.

He never really thought about that weird missionary position humans liked, but he could actually see the appeal of it, if he was doing it with you. To be able to see every change of your features, how your soft lips would part in pleasure as he fills you up like you should be, oh it would be a sight for him to see. His eyes squeeze shut as he turns his head, groaning loudly as he almost sobs brokenly into the pillow, feeling his release stain the fabric of his sweats uncomfortably. But he doesn't care, as he sniffles, breathing heavily before he chuckles.

"Fuck, I'm pathetic."

Can hybrids outgrow their owners?

It certainly feels like it. Jungkook has been growing more and more distant to you, and you feel as if its your own fault. You must've done something wrong, you assume, as he distances himself more and more not only from you, but everyone else as well. He doesn't pick up a fight with Seokjin anymore, hell, he even let Yoongi inside yesterday. And you try to push back your tears as you walk inside the living room, where he's currently sitting, watching the window, tail lazily swaying softly. Maybe the apartment really was too small for him- you've head your neighborly lady complain recently about that when she saw him through the window. Maybe you weren't the right person for him.

"Jungkookie?" You carefully ask, as you see his tail twitch, a sign that he noticed you. "We need to talk." You start, and he gets up, ready to leave the room.

"Well I don't want to though, your bad." He responds, and you reach for his hand, as he whips his head around, ready to bite an answer out, but he spots something in your gaze that makes him stop in his tracks.

"We need to.. I can't- I can't make that decision for you, we need to talk about where you wanna go." His brows furrow as he tries to figure out what you're implying, a weird feeling in his gut telling him that it's something he wont like at all. "I want you to be happy, even if its not with me kookie." You sigh out, and he connects the dots, suddenly realizing what you're saying.

"Ho- wait no no-" His eyes widen, and you look at him as he shakes his head at you, suddenly defensive. "You want to give me away?!" He barks out, bushy tail behind him angrily whipping from one side to the other. "I don't want to! You said this is my home, you can't make me leave!" He spits at you, and you grow confused.

"But-" You start. "You've been so uncomfortable around me Kook, it's okay if you don't want to live with me anymore, really. Namjoon said that sometimes Hybrids outgrow their owners-" You say, but Jungkooks eyes glint angrily.

"Namjoon doesn't know shit!" He yells, and you shut up at that. "I don't want to go, I won't ever go!" He finalizes, and you are on your last leg. He's completely confusing you at this point.

"Then tell me what I'm supposed to do! You're clearly not comfortable around me anymore, what am I supposed to do?!" You yell back, voice by far not as strong as his, but it riles him up enough that he snaps.

"There's nothing you can do about my fucking hormones giving me wet dreams about you like a teenager!" He says, and your eyes widen, making his ears grow red in shame. "There, I said it. Want me to spell it out? I want to fuck you, there you go!" He says, throwing his hands in the air for good measure as he breathes heavily, giving both of you a moment to process his confession. He suddenly grows more quiet, more calm, his voice in no way as harsh and loud as before. "No.. no that's not right." He admits, and comes to conclusion that its now or never. "I want to hold you at night like a lover does, not just a hybrid and his owner. I want you to see me as a partner, not just as a pet." he states, gaze falling downwards as his ears flop to the sides, tail unmoving behind him.

"I never saw you as just a pet, Koo." You say, and he perks up at that, as you walk closer to him, hugging him closely, as he stands a bit awkwardly, before deciding to hug you back. "I didn't want to take advantage of you." You say, and he grows hopeful.

"Does that mean you.. like me like that?" He asks, and you nod into his chest.

Making him grin like an idiot.

Its after this moment that things slowly change a bit. He's still picking on you whenever he can, but he's also being awfully suggestive ever since your talk. Its like he wants to know what runs your gears more clearly these days, as he's making sure to flaunt his post workout body every now and then just to see you turn red at the sight.

He loves how he makes you shy.

Its you however, who breaks him first.

The day he can't keep his hands off of you is the day the spider in your shower decided to jump down on you, scaring the life out of your body as you screach in horror, fleeing the scene in nothing but a towel as you safe yourself into the bedroom, where Jungkook had been taking a nap before hearing your scream. He's ready to laugh at you, until he notices the towel barely hanging onto what you hold against your chest, skin still slightly damp as only your hair is still dry. He can't help himself anymore. "Hm.. how about I get your mind off of that scary little insect?" He humms from behind you, and you open your mouth to retort a snappy remark, but you don't get that far.

He's already behind you, his legs placing themselves next to yours on the bed as he hooks his own over yours, spreading your legs for him as he takes the bits of towel out of your hands, making it fall to the sides, revealing your body to him, at last. He can't help but lick his lips at the sight he gets from over your shoulder, purring loudly as he licks at your neck, finally getting a taste of you; and it's energizing, like a drug, making a shiver run through his spine as his tail twitches behind him in pleasure. You gasp out loud as he bites down, hand reaching between your legs to move his middle and ring finger inside your already wettening center, making him groan. "So ready.." He muses, loving the sounds you make, as he obnoxious noise of squelching from the wettness between your legs with every movement of his fingers fills the room. You struggle to close your legs at the sensation, but he doesn't let you; instead gently hitting your cunt as if to put you back into place, while he groans. "Bad girl. This is mine, isn't it?" He asks, and you can't answer for a moment. "This-" He says, his hand forcefully coming down onto your pussy again, as you squeal from it. "Is mine, isn't it?" He asks again, and you nod over and over again, making him smile. "That's right. And I do what I want with it." He says, before he pumps his fingers in and out at a relentless pace, uncaring of the mess he's making as you squirm and mewl in his lap. He loves this, loves how the sounds he imagined you making can't ever compare to what he's currently hearing. He has to take you.

He removes his hand, undressing himself impatiently as he turns you over for him, behind presented to him as he licks his lips again. "So pretty." He praises, and pumps his length once, twice, before he enters your smooth center, already feeling as if he's in heaven. "I promise I-" He starts, but has to moan out as you clench around him particularly hard. "I promise I'll be gentle next time-" He says, before his palms find your breasts, kneading them in his palms as he kisses along your spine. "But I need you." He whines out, making you huff out a breath as you look over your shoulder, just like he imagined. "Fuck!" He presses out, skin against skin one of the many sounds apart from your heavy breathing and shared sounds of pleasure inside the room, spider long forgotten as you suddenly arch your back into him. "My kitten's gonna cum? Hm?" He asks, and a cute moan is all he gets- all he needs, as you try to get up a bit more, making him push your neck into the pillows below, careful to let you breath as your cheek is what meets the fabric below, his other hand brushing away your hair lovingly, so that he can watch you come undone. "So sweet, so submissive.." He humms out, as he dips down, your back against his chest as he kisses underneath your earlobe, amusement clear in his voice. "Such a cute little whore for me, my sweetest princess, so beautiful.." He praises, and you moan out obscenely as you come, his pace never stopping once. "You're gonna have to-" He says, moving more desperately now to reach his own peak. "You're gonna have to take it baby." He presses out, holding your hips as he forces them onto him with more strength, making you whine in overstimulation. "Almost there- there we go-" He exclaims, uncaringly rubbing your clit between your legs as you shiver violently underneath him, second orgasm hitting you so quickly that your body can't seem to prepare itself as you feel wetness escape you, making him groan loudly. "What a good girl, look at that- ah!" He exclaims, pushing himself as deep as he can as you feel him spurt his load inside you, finally stopping, finally calming down.

"Jungkook?" You ask out of breath, as he simply holds you close, still buried inside of you, falling to the side as he buries his nose in between the crook of your neck.

"Hmm.. no, lets stay like that.." He humms sleepily, and you simply close your eyes, agreeing to his statement.

Jungkook is not a sweet cat- but he certainly has his moments.

"Kitten?" He asks, as he notices you being weirdly quiet next to him on the couch, now noticing the tears on your cheeks. "You're such a crybaby!" He laughs, as he wipes away your tears with his sweater sleeve, making you pout.

"Not fair." You mumble out, and he simply chuckles, placing a kiss ontop of your nose.

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