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bunnysbrainrot · 1 year ago

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A Lesson in Manners

Relationship: Dean Winchester x f!Reader

Content: Romantic tension, protective Dean, alcohol consumption, a weird guy ft. the way Dean handles it.

Summary: After a long, exhausting day of hunting, Team Free Will unwinds with drinks at a nearby bar. You're enjoying your time until a stranger decides to pester you, but that won't go unnoticed by Dean.

The signature purr of the Impala faded as Dean turned off the ignition, releasing a heavy sigh, a defeated and tired noise. Whatever nasties they have down here in Georgia have been difficult. All signs in this case were pointing to a djinn, but without getting in closer, there was no way to be completely sure.

That risk was left to Sam and Dean, as they had told you yesterday, when the research finally fell into place.

Sam's lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at his laptop screen, his brows twitching. He deadpanned and looked to his brother, "Djinn. How the hell didn't we think of that yet?"

Dean matched Sam's frustration with a scoff. He simply shook his head.

Djinn were unfamiliar to you still. Though you had done a fair bit of research, helpfully guided by Sam, and learned quite a lot. But, you also knew that research and experience were very, very different for a hunter.

"Awesome, so... what?" Dean inquired, raising a brow at Sam. You sat in the small armchair in the boys' motel room, looking between them. "We gonna go into blood-sucking paradise-dream-world again?"

Sam flashed a quick smile, "Let's just hope it doesn't come to that. Do we have any more lamb's blood?"

Dean's expression changed to annoyance, "Not after that dickbag Balthazar used it for that stupid parallel-universe crap." He crossed his arms over his chest and threw his head back in thought. "And where are we supposed to get it, anyway? We're in the middle of friggin' nowhere."

"Cas?"

"If we could even get a hold of him."

"I'm sure he's still listening, Dean. I know he's been here and there for a while, but-" Sam explained.

Whirling to face his brother, Dean countered, "'Here and there'? Sam, we basically wait three to five business days for him to give us anything. If he's so focused on Heaven right now, let him stay up there."

You had seen Dean's rising upset with his friend for a few weeks now, seeing the angel's presence less and less. Castiel didn't indulge any details, and kept recollections vague - but, the lack of transparency had been taking a toll on the group.

He’d been absent for two weeks now. Nothing.

Dean's lengthy sigh showed his stress. He brought a hand up to his brow; Sam rolled his head to stretch his neck in the passenger seat.

"I need a fuckin' beer," Dean breathed.

You laid a hand on his shoulder from the seat directly behind his - Sam was more conversational on long drives, so sitting on the left side gave good distraction in the long hours on the road. Dean craned his neck to you, looking to you expectantly.

Because as much as he didn't like to admit it, Dean craved the moments when you touched him.

You couldn’t tell if you spooked him, judging by the way Dean froze in his seat, eyes boring directly into yours. A grin spread across your face, "Let's get shitfaced."

Dean shook his head and pointed to you, "You don't wanna get to shitfaced level with me, sweetheart. Just a few beers. Plus, I’ve seen you get tipsy even after one."

Each of you started stepped out of the Impala, respectively stretching your achy legs, or arms, or backs or neck and everything else. No matter the hunt, the soreness remained the same. You released a groan as you lean backward, flexing your stiffened spine. Dean neared and landed a gentle pat between your shoulders to get you moving along.

You noticed how quickly Dean pushed ahead to open the front door, before you had the chance to lift a finger. He looked into the cracked door - an assessing glaze cast over his eyes. Always on the lookout for danger.

Who could keep you safer than Dean Winchester?

After all of his impressive feats so far, it’d be hard for someone not to admire Dean. Saving the world was easier on the drawing board, and with having been to hell and back, you couldn’t fathom the willpower he gained to push past it. Not a semblance of that traumatic experience showed in that handsome, stoic face.

Dean pressed the door ajar to make way for you and Sam. You scanned the tables and stools at the bar; patrons scattered around in clusters, each chattering and laughing amongst themselves.

The thick smell of liquor filled the air. You noticed the hints of whiskey, oddly reminding you of Dean, and the way that scent mixed with his cologne. You memorized that smell from his occasional hugs, or times where you’d sit together, and you’d wondered if he could hear your heart hammering in your chest.

Sam led the way toward a taller table in the corner of the joint, settling in a stool closest to the back emergency exit. You eyed the stool at the outer side, but a creeping feeling dawns on you - someone is staring. Settling into your stool, you took the chance to swivel around, looking for the source of that persistent feeling.

At the bar, a man with a scruffy beard had his eyes trained on yours, roving over your form in the chair. You exhaled, fighting back the feeling of disgust, and turned back to Sam, plastering on a terse smile.

“What is it?” Sam asked, his brows furrowing in concern.

You paled slightly, the man’s stare still honed in on your back, “Dude at the bar has a staring problem.”

Sam leaned casually to reach for his pocket, craning his head for a swift second. A glint in his eye told you he’d found the perpetrator. Footsteps approached from behind - a familiar pattern, one you’d heard every day, and without turning you’d known it was Dean. A careful brush of his hand between your shoulder blades eased you, a gentle reminder he was here.

“Bottoms up, buttercup,” Dean teased, placing a shot of amber liquor in front of you, himself, and then his brother.

Three lime wedges rested on a plate, along with a salt shaker. You glance at Dean with a ‘seriously?’ look, and he gave a signature Winchester grin. You did say you wanted to get shitfaced. And hell, it could help with that looming creep. You licked the back of your hand and sprinkled some salt.

“To figuring something out,” you proclaimed, raising the shot glass. The boys follow your lead before clinking them on the table, and tossing their heads back.

The tequila burns the back of your throat, but the lime helps you ignore it. Sam held a steady face while Dean grimaced at the burn.

You giggled softly, “Can’t handle tequila, Dean?”

He flashed a toothy grin, and a quick middle finger. Your giggle evolved into a bright laugh that drew one from Sam, too.

“Bet you couldn’t handle pool, though,” countered Dean.

Sam eyed you from the side and threw a knowing smirk. You’d never back down from a challenge, especially when it was Dean testing you. There was a desire to beat him at his own games, to show him you could match his skill and then some.

Then there was the chase of it - cycles of teasing comments and passing glances, but never a break in the tension.

Your voice lowers, “I’ll take you on any day, Winchester.”

The jest made Dean grin. The chase was on again.

Sam stayed behind when you and Dean claimed a vacant pool table, letting you set yourselves up for the perfect one-on-one.

Dean nodded to you and eyed the cue ball. You bend at the waist over the table, and felt the creeping feeling again. It radiated along your spine to the nape of your neck, as if your body was set ablaze under the stranger’s stare.

Until suddenly, you had company.

“Say, think you could spare me a game when you’re done, beautiful?”

The voice matched the face. It was nasally with a copious amount of douchery; another entitled asshole who got involved when he wasn’t wanted.

Across the table, Dean’s brow twitched.

“Listen bud, we’re just getting started here. Plenty of other folks in here who can play you,” the edge in Dean’s tone was a warning in and of itself.

You hitched a breath awaiting the man’s reaction.

Out of the corner of your eye you spotted Sam sliding off his barstool, slowly making his way closer to your pool table. He idly looked at his phone, but kept a watchful glance.

“I’m sure you’ll have the time for another one, right, baby?” The stranger’s words slurred stupidly. He didn’t address Dean with meeting his stare, and instead fought to have yours. He closed the gap between you two further - the smell of alcohol lingered on him, thick and nauseating.

You bark, “You’ve got ten seconds.”

“Oh…. hic… ten seconds ain’t enough for me, sweetheart..”

Dean’s voice was taunting, probably trying to pull the dickbag away from you, “It’s plenty for us.”

Finally, the man looked to Dean, straightening his posture at the height difference. He was lean, but couldn’t hold a firm stance, by the looks of it. The man scanned Dean top to bottom before turning back to you.

Before crossing a crucial line.

A foreign hand stroked your spine, making you recoil. Anger contorted your features as you warned him yourself.

“Try that again, fucker,” you spat with disgust. You could still feel the touch on your back. Gross.

The man’s lips tug into a smile, and the anger continued to brew. Of course, you were not the only one with that bubbling rage. Dean has closed the distance before you could register he’d moved at all.

Dean loomed over the man with a haunting glare. To add fuel to the fire, the man had the gall to grin at the threat, raising his hands to Dean’s chest.

“Come on, jus’ gavin’ a lil’ fun,” said the stranger.

In one swift motion, Dean collected the man’s wrists with one hand, and delivered a hook with the other.

The blow knocked his head to the side. Other patrons turned to the scene unfolding - some turned back to their drinks, some kept staring. You gasped when Dean landed another strike, sending the man tumbling to the floor with a resounding thud.

“Dean, that’s enough, he’s-“

He didn’t react to your objection.

Behind the commotion, Sam’s eyes widen with shock, though he smiles with satisfaction at the takedown.

A final shove put enough distance between you and the pathetic drunk. You turned to see the bartender giving Dean a stern look, but they return to filling a pint glass.

You panted softly while the stranger walked away, bracing his bloodied chin with his hand. You looked to Dean and found his attention back at the pool table, letting out a frustrated grunt. There wasn’t a way to thank him. No need. The man had made great strides in protecting you, enough to reassure that you didn’t have to offer thanks. It came naturally, protecting one another.

Sam made his way back to the table and returned to his stool, shaking his head in disbelief, a smile on his face.

What a night, right?

It was Dean’s voice that brought you back to your senses. That same voice that calmed you, that ignited your body to its core.

“Alright, sweetheart, you go first.”

——

“Dammit, whathefuck- that isn’t fair-“ you protested. You’d lost, but kept trying to knock the striped pool balls into the pockets, insisting that there was some sort of rule to let you go until you were fully done, including the cue ball.

Sam handed you a glass of water, which you sipped on immediately. Your fingertips slowly grew numb against the cold glass.

Dean chortled as he collected the pool balls, “Shitfaced and pool don’t mix well, do they?”

You let out a tipsy laugh and shake your head at him. The moment stilled, where the rest of the scene faded away. Dean scanned you over, and held a too-long look. A small spark lit behind his eyes.

“Let’s getcha home.”

Thank you for reading! I liked this idea, and I think it could easily have a second part. Vote in the poll or me know in the comments if you’d like to see where this goes!

#fanfiction #supernatural #spnfandom #spn #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural smut #bunny writes #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader

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terfintheweb · 2 months ago

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i'm bitter and autistic but i think the internet actually has exacerbated the mental health crisis way more than we give it credit for. like we almost exclusively blame capitalism and the way society is set up and that's fair, but i think the unlimited access to other people is all that's needed in order to become the kind of person who hates people.

before every single person decided they needed to compulsively broadcast every little thing about them whenever we met a particularly shitty or fucked up person we could go, "hey, it's one person. they're just weird." now everywhere you look there's another sicko doing the same thing and/or worse

when i was a kid and struggling with my autism i'd think i was just an alien and everyone else had been born with this inherent knowledge of the world that was completely inaccessible to me and i would never be able to catch up. and that's definitely true. but now i think neuotrypicals are the fucked up ones.

i fundamentally do not understand other people and the things they think are okay and normal. i guess i'm a prude but i just think all of it is so fucking weird.

like how everyone is so obsessed with drugs and alcohol to the point where you're not even allowed to have your wedding not have booze there or you're called selfish?? and people get weird if you don't drink??? "even kids drink!" they say, as if that's normal??

and the normalization of being stoned ALL the time is just crazy. you need to be able to exist without marijuana SOMETIMES.

not to mention party/sex drugs being treated like a baseline experience for everyone young.

bdsm, "sex work", porn, kink/fetish, it's all fetishized domestic violence and it's everywhere.

"if your kids are online they've seen it all already" being treated like it's ok. it's not.

polyamory threesomes sex parties orgies yada yada and like when you're not on the internet you get to pretend most people are normal and doing normal shit. there's nowhere on the internet you get to pretend that.

the TRA nonsense??? misogyny is in its prime right now and nothings being done.

then there's people treating everyone they know like a potential notch on their bedpost. i saw someone talk about how their polyamorous friend came to them propositioning their husband. like that is supposed to be normal now?? you call yourself polyamorous so now you get to treat other people's relationships like pawns in your sex life. people shouldn't have to beat you over the head with the fact they're monogamous for you to think, "maybe i shouldn't try to have sex with my friend's spouse." that is CRAZY behaviour.

but i'm a prude for thinking sex should be private, non-violent, safe, consensual, and between two adults. even though you'd think that would be the standard. but now you get called a friggin puritan if you say not everything is ethically ok just because it turns you on.

cuz apparently you can either be okay with people walking their half-naked boyfriends on leashes in public where anyone can see or you're basically a caricature of an old timey woman, fainting at the prospect of showing her ankle.

it's all just so bad right now. tiktok is fun but it's also a dopamine pit fucking with our attention spans. the internet is being taken over by AI and somehow, despite decades warning about that exact thing, everyone's ok with it. the internet delivers vices right to your home. you can become a gambling addict on accident by downloading apps now. great! wonderful! so glad this is how we're spending our lives!

it's absolutely bizarre feeling suicidal at 26 for the exact same reason you felt suicidal at 7. i have just honestly given up on ever finding anyone who feels the way i feel atp. i used to get frustrated that i don't like (or relate to) my own ""community"" but i just don't like anyone, apparently.

ive been in therapy for e ver and they always insist i should try to socialize but honestly the more i try to mask and socialize the less i feel like a person at all. it just feels worse. i don't relate to anyone and no one relates to me. except my sister, but i basically raised her. so like, whatever. i give up. it would've been nice to be able to have friends or date or whatever but i'm so tireddddddddddd. hermits aint gotta do all this shit theyre onto smthn.

sometimes i miss being a part of the TRA cult like yes i was brainwashed and stupid but at least i was able to make friends and i felt like i wasn't the only person feeling the way i feel. i wasn't okay with all of it but i was able to convince myself i was. now i just... cannot seem to get around how i actually feel, which happens to be the opposite way that everyone else feels. classic

#radical feminist safe

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barblaz-arts · 1 year ago

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I think people have been accustomed to couples being in that honeymoon phase when they’re shown onscreen together. We ALWAYS see that with newly-established couples in pretty much any type of media… But that’s not Chaggie.

Charlie and Vaggie have been together for years. Their honeymoon phase has long past. They’re not doing outlandish displays of affection. They’re just, comfortable. Doesn’t mean they love each other any less, just that those sappy moments aren’t as common anymore

Yes! also the way a lot of people are surprised that charlie and vaggie aren't only best friends is such a good example of the double standards wlw ships get. thinking they aren't dating is understandable. Overlooking that Vaggie and Charlie were meant to at least be shipped together is INSANE.

If i never knew they were dating already, i and so many other sapphic ship lovers would be eyeing tf out of Vaggie and Charlie's relationship. Lookit some of the things that happened/are established before the "she's my girlfriend" line in ep 5

- the newcaster lady made a homophobic comment towards Charlie, saying she "doesn't touch the gays" when Charlie tried to give her a handshake

- THIS

- just all the times Vaggie would soften up as soon as she sees Charlie smiling or being her dorky self despite being previously upset/angry

- Vaggie's whole friggin verse in Whatever It Takes is very obviously meant to be romantic

- Charlie being worried about Angel Dust while Vaggie gives her the most "i love you and im sad that you're upset but i love that you're upset over something like this because it shows how amazing of a person you are" look at Charlie as she tucks her hair behind her ear

- Angel: I think this belongs to you *hands Charlie over to Vaggie*

- just all the casual touches they do that would totally be read as shipping fuel AT LEAST if it happened between a male/female duo or two men

- the fact Vaggie woke up?? Looking beside her to find Charlie?? To show that they sleep in the same bed?????

- Vaggie offering her hand unprompted when Charlie was having a stressful phone call with her dad and Charlie readily accepting it

And I'm sure there are people who'd go "But it's always shown from Vaggie's end! It looks so one-sided!" So? Aren't there tons of ships out there that seem one-sided but yall are perfectly fine shipping? And it's harder to see Charlie's love for Vaggie because Charlie at her core is a very loving and affectionate person. Of course it's gonna be more obvious for Vaggie since she's so prickly towards anyone else.

If all these things still happened without any of us knowing that they were actually girlfriends, we'd have a certain section of the fandom shipping it hoping they DO become canon while others would be claiming we'd be ruining a perfectly good platonic friendship by making it gay. They'd say we're reading too much into things.

But they ARE a couple. we aren't reading too much into things because it was meant to be read as romantic. And yet we're still the delusional ones for thinking an already established sapphic couple is "cute and interesting" because now they're claiming they simply dont have chemistry. It's frustrating.

Of course I have my criticisms too. The show could portray more of how Vaggie is more special to Charlie than anyone else, have them flirting more overtly or something. But any argument that they're "so boring i thought it was het" is invalid to me because i damn well know if at least one them was a dude a lot of them would be saying otherwise.

#asks #sorry you probably didn't want me ranting #but i am sick and tired of the 'theyre boring and have no chemistry' argument #they're just saying that because they can't say the 'theyre just best friends' line any more

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zepskies · 11 months ago

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What Does "Supporting Writers" Mean? ✍️

Apparently it's Fanfic Writer Appreciation Day! To all my fellow writers, I truly appreciate you for bringing me joy, making me smile on rough days, and giving me my weekly/daily dose of escapism and warm fuzzies. (Shoutouts to you personally below.) 💓💓

But what does it mean "practically" to appreciate your favorite writers, especially on Tumblr?

For example, I know some fanfic authors are starting to block "serial likers": people who'll go through someone's entire masterlist and hit the "like" button on 20-something stories without commenting or basic reblogging.

While I think blocking them is extreme, I understand the authors' frustrations. I've actually been asked if I'll ever leave Tumblr, since many of them have dropped off over the past few months, or even the past few years.

I'm still here for two very important reasons:

I love to write about my favorite characters. I write primarily because I love it, not just for the kudos.

I'm friggin' blessed to have a lot of friends and lovely readers on here and Ao3 who support me immensely on my writing and on this blog in general. I love and appreciate each and every one of you! Which is why I do my best to reply to your comments and reblogs. 💖💖

Of course, there are many reasons why a writer might take a break or stop writing entirely, but one of those reasons is also why the #supportwriters tag exists...

And why you'll see us include banners like this on our posts:

(Credits: cafekitsune, me, inklore)

That being said, here's my own rule of thumb on how I try to support my fellow writers when I read something I enjoy:

If I "liked" something, it means I had the time to read a story all the way through and I enjoyed it! (Or I'm bookmarking it for later in the day lol)

If I have the time to read it, I have the time to leave a comment on what I liked the most about it.

If I have the time to write out a comment (anywhere from a few seconds to a few minutes), I typically put that comment in a reblog -- maybe even add a gif or two for ✨razzle dazzle.✨ That way I can share it with the rest of my followers, so they can see it and hopefully enjoy it too...

Why? Because Tumblr isn't TikTok or IG. Reblogging is the best way to help a post gain traction on Tumblr. The algorithm doesn't care much about likes.

But on a more human level, supporting writers is just the basic thing of -- if you enjoyed something you read (that a writer shared for free), just let them know what you liked about it.

Remember that there's a person behind the content you enjoy. They might have been working on that story for weeks or months, or even years before they got the courage to post it.

They might really be putting themselves out there, writing about a topic or subject matter that they're not sure people will even like or engage with.

Maybe they're exploring something new, like a character or trope they've never written before.

Maybe they're expressing part of themselves that they haven't even told another living soul.

Maybe they just wanted to write something fun and smutty or angsty or fluffy and want to share the escapism with you.

Whether they've been writing for years or are just starting out, any and all is valid.

For me, as a writer and a reader, supporting my fellow writers often means supporting my friends. And 9 times out of 10, the way we became friends was by leaving feedback on their work and asking them questions, or responding to their awesome feedback on mine.

If you want a little jumpstart on how to leave feedback, whether encouraging or constructive, here's an awesome post about it (not mine).

Shoutout to some of my favorite writers 💞:

(In no particular order)

@waynes-multiverse @luci-in-trenchcoats @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior @thatonewriter15 @rizlowwritessortof

@waywardxwords @tofics @kaleldobrev @deanbrainrotwritings @deanwritings

@jawritter @deanwinchesterswitch @justagirlinafandomworld @ravengirl94 @waywardxwords

@spnbabe67 @deanwanddamons @ejlovespie @kittenofdoomage @venus-haze

@talltalesandbedtimestories @sam-is-my-safe-word @jacklesbrainworms @artyandink @princessmisery666 (I just starting reading your stories, but I'm continuing with Samnesia soon!) -- and I'm sure many more! 💋

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scary-noodlesblog · 3 months ago

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Soulbound Ch 3

Are You There God? It's Me, Dean Winchester

Soulbound Masterlist

1st Person POV:

Bobby is sitting in his make-shift library while Sam sits at a desk in the kitchen. I sit across from him while Dean paces around the room. Dean and I had just finished telling them about what happened while Sam was MIA and Bobby was ever so gently knocked unconscious by an angel.

"Well, then tell me what else it could be." Sam sighed, resting his forehead on his fist.

Dean leans forward slightly, "Look, all I know is I was not groped by an angel."

"Dean I saw his wings, his friggin' wings! Is that not proof enough?" I throw my hands up in exasperation.

"No! You wanna know why? Because I didn't see 'em! Why the hell are you the only ones that can anyway? I mean, Bobby didn't!" Dean raises his voice a little, gesturing his hand towards Bobby, who's just reading in one of his many books.

"Okay, look, Dean. Why do you think this Castiel would lie to you about it?" Sam's voice is calmer than his brother's, quieter.

"Maybe he's some kind of demon. Demons lie." Dean argues. I rub my forehead in frustration, these Winchesters always being the argumentative type.

"A demon who's immune to salt rounds and devil's traps... and Ruby's knife? Dean, Lilith is scared of that thing!" My voice starts to raise as well, feeling more and more overstimulated by each passing moment. I roll my eyes as Dean picks up a slice of pizza, sniffs it and tosses it back in the box. "Don't you think that if angels were real, that some hunter somewhere would have seen one... at some point... ever?" Dean waves his hands around, irritated.

Sam smirks softly, "Yeah. You just did, Dean."

"I'm trying to come up with a theory here. Okay? Work with me."

"Dean, we have a theory." I argue.

Dean stands up from where he was leaning on the counter, putting his hands on his hips, "Yeah, one with a little less fairy dust on it, please."

"Okay, look. I'm not saying we know for sure. I'm just saying that I think we --" Sam starts before Dean interrupts.

"Okay, okay. That's the point. We don't know for sure, so I'm not gonna believe that this thing is a freaking Angel of the Lord because it says so!" Dean yells.

Bobby interjects, looking up at us, "You three chuckleheads want to keep arguing religion, or do you want to come take a look at this?"

The boys and I walk over to Bobby's desk, "I got stacks of lore -- Biblical, pre-Biblical. Some of it's in damn cuneiform. It all says an angel can snatch a soul from the pit."

"What else?" Dean asks, making me smack his shoulder.

"What else, what?" Bobby's eyebrows crinkle at the question.

"What else could do it?"

Bobby folds his hands in front of him on his lap, "Airlift your ass out of the hot box? As far as I can tell, nothing. And nothing on why (Y/N) can see his wings while you can't."

"Dean, this is good news." Sam beams.

"How?" Dean furrows his eyebrows and looks at his brother.

"Because for once, this isn't just another round of demon crap. I mean, maybe you were saved by one of the good guys, you know?" Sam says, a little too excited about angels being real.

"Okay. Say it's true. Say there are angels. Then what? There's a God?" Dean's tone still holds disbelief.

"At this point, Vegas money's on yeah." Bobby shrugs.

"I don't know, guys." Dean sighs, rubbing his forehead.

"Okay, look. I know you're not all choirboy about this stuff, but this is becoming less and less about faith and more and more about proof." Sam waves his hands around.

"Proof?" Dean narrows his eyes.

"Yes." I say incredulously.

Dean raises his voice again, "Proof that there's a God out there that actually gives a crap about me personally? I'm sorry, but I'm not buying it."

"Why not?" I cross my arms over my chest and shift my weight to my left leg.

"Because why me? If there is a God out there, why would he give a crap about me?" Dean's voice breaks.

"Dean --," Sam starts but Dean interrupts him.

"I mean, I've saved some people, okay? I figured that made up for the stealing and the ditching chicks. But why do I deserve to get saved? I'm just a regular guy."

"Apparently, you're a regular guy that's important to the man upstairs." Sam smiles a little.

"Well, that creeps me out. I mean, I don't like getting singled out at birthday parties, much less by... God." Dean scoffs.

"Okay, well, too bad, Dean, because I think he wants you to strap on your party hat." I clap my hand on his shoulder.

A silence passes over us before Dean clears his throat, "Fine. What do we know about angels?"

My mouth falls open slightly as Bobby plops half a dozen heavy books in front of us, "Start reading." The older man says.

Dean's eyes widen and he looks at Sam, "You're gonna get me some pie." Then he grabs the top book from the pile. I sigh and grab the second book, plopping onto the couch and opening it.

~~~~~~~

1st Person POV:

Sam pulls up in the Impala as Bobby, Dean and I load the trunk of Bobby's car. Bobby tosses a brown duffel bag in it then walks up to Sam, telling him about his plan for us to go see a friend of his, Olivia Lowry. Dean walks around to the driver's side while I go to the backseat, Bobby going to his own car.

"Scoot over." Dean all but demands.

"Yeah." Sam responds, looking a little concerned. Dean grabs the bag of food from Sam and rifles around inside it. "Dude?" Dean doesn't look up from the bag.

"Yeah?" Sam looks at his brother while I giggle, knowing where this is going.

Dean looks at his brother, wide-eyed, "Where's the pie?"

~~~~~~~

We all walk into Olivia's house, all armed with guns and Bobby calling out to his friend. "Olivia?" I round the corner with the boys, seeing the woman dead on the floor, bloody and mangled. Bobby says nothing as he walks out of the room and out the front door.

"Bobby?" I follow him out, wanting to make sure he was okay. I see Bobby on his phone, dialing someone else's number. "Bobby?" He looks up at me, trying not to show just how distraught he is and failing. "Are you okay, Bobby?" He nods silently, bringing his phone to his ear. After a few seconds, he sighs and tries another number. He repeats this process a couple times, growing a little agitated. Bobby puts his down again, putting his other hand on my shoulder and leading me back inside silently.

"Bobby, you all right?" Dean asks him. Sam stands up from his position, previously crouched over Olivia's body.

Bobby keeps his hand on my shoulder, maybe a little worried if I wander too far I'll end up like Olivia, "I called some hunters nearby..."

"Good. We can use their help." Dean grimaces down at the corpse.

"...except they ain't answering their phones either." Bobby finishes.

Sam looks at Bobby sympathetically, "Something's up, huh?"

"You think?" Bobby leads me back outside, I can feel Sam and Dean's eyes boring into our backs.

~~~~~~~

Dean, Sam and I are driving to another hunter's house, a friend of Bobby's named Jed. Dean's been calling him every once and a while on the drive with no answer. "Jed, Dean Winchester again -- friend of Bobby Singer's. Look, we think something's happening. We think it's happening to hunters. Just want to make sure you're okay. Call me back."

Dean hangs up the phone and sets it on the dash as he drives, "Damn it."

I sigh softly, not having much hope that Jed is still alive, or anyone that Bobby has called.

~~~~~~~

"We're at Jed's. It's not pretty. He looks even worse than Olivia. What about you?" Dean speaks to Bobby through the phone as we walk down the front porch steps. After Bobby's response Dean speaks again, "What the hell is going on here, Bobby? Why did a bunch of ghosts suddenly want to gank off-duty hunters?" More silence as Bobby speaks, then Dean says, "We're on our way."

~~~~~~~

Dean is driving, on the phone, trying to get ahold of Bobby. Sam is in the passenger seat with bruises on his face, I try to assess his injuries, distracting myself from the growing anxiety of my surrogate father not answering his God damn phone.

"Damn it, Bobby! Pick up!" Dean yells, looking at his phone, then putting it back up to his ear.

"How you feeling, huh? How many fingers am I holding up?" I ask Sam, holding up three fingers.

"None. I'll be fine, (Y/N)."

"Henriksen?" Dean asks.

"The FBI dude?" I raise my eyebrow. Dean and I were both asleep in the Impala when Sam was attacked in the bathroom, Dean saving him with salt rounds, while I took the gas pump out of the car, unaware.

"Yep." Sam nods.

"Why? What did he want?" I ask, leaning back against my seat, arms crossed over my chest.

"Revenge, 'cause we got him killed." Sam sighs.

"Sam." Dean says sternly.

"Well, we did, Dean." Sam tilts his head.

"All right. Stop right there. Whatever the hell is going on, it's happening to us now, okay? I can't get ahold of Bobby, so if you're not thinking answers, don't think at all." Dean scolds, rather harshly, speeding to Bobby's.

~~~~~~~

Dean, Sam and I enter the house, guns cocked and ready. "Bobby?" I call out, moving throughout the first floor.

"Bobby?" Dean calls. He snaps his fingers, pointing to a fire poker on the floor.

"I'll go. You check outside." I gesture to the stairs, the boys nodding and going outside to the junkyard. I go upstairs, searching for Bobby, calling his name every once in a while. A door slams next to me, making my head whip to my right. Another door shuts at the end of the hall, then the last one opens.

"Come out, come out, whoever you are." I say as I slowly make my way down the hall. My breath becomes visible.

"(Y/N) Singer. Or should I say (L/N). Still so bossy." I turn around, seeing a woman a little older than me with (h/l) (h/c) hair. "You don't recognize me?"

My eyebrows crinkle, remembering a picture of my mom and dad Bobby grabbed when he found me. My mother was standing before me, looking as she did when I was a baby, albeit a bit dirty.

My mother takes a step forward, "This is what I looked like when you were tiny. You were only a few months old when that demon killed me and your dad."

"Mom?" I tear up a little, letting my guard down slightly.

She smiles lovingly, "Hi. It's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you, baby."

"You're my mom. Bobby saved a picture of you for me..."

"I'm glad he did, so you could recognize me now. You were too young to remember that demon possessing me. Too young to remember the demon in my body killing your daddy right in front of you. Then Bobby Singer showed up, your little self screaming and crying in your crib. The demon made me stab myself. So when Bobby exorcised the demon, I died too." She takes slow steps towards me.

"I'm sorry, Mom." I try to keep my tears at bay.

"Oh, yeah? So sorry that you're the reason the demon was there?" She tilts her head.

"W-What? What do you-?" My mom cuts me off, yelling.

"That demon was there for you! You're the reason your father and I are dead! It's all your fault! Without you, your dad would still be alive! I would still be alive!"

I sniffle, flinching slightly as a tear falls, "How is it my fault!? I was a baby!"

My mother takes another step forward, hitting me with a right hook, making me fall to the floor. My gun clatters to the floor and she kicks it away. "Mom." I grunt, bringing myself to my elbows before she kicks me in the face. I groan and roll onto my back. "I was a baby..."

My mom scoffs, crouching in front of me, "No...you're apparently more than that. Important enough that demons wanted you. Do you know what you are?"

"No, I don't." My voice comes out strained.

She grabs the collar of my shirt, I glance down, seeing a brand on her hand. "Of course not. Not a clue that the angel on your shoulder is the reason I'm like this..."

"What are you talking about?"

She shoves me back down, sending another harsh kick to my ribs. She stands over me, continuing her monologue, "Your daddy worshipped you. He was gonna be at your beck and call as his little girl. He died protecting you. He died because he was determined to not let that thing have you."

"Mom."

"You were the best thing to happen to us. We were already planning when to give you a little brother or sister. Picturing you running around with your sibling, being a mentor. But when that demon told your dad what you are, speaking with my voice! It's all your fault! I wish I never had you!"

Another tear falls down my cheek, I'm not sure if it's from physical pain or emotional at this point. "I'm sorry, Mom."

She grits her teeth and kicks me again. I grunt and get to my hands and knees, trying to crawl away, I probably have a broken rib...or two. I lay back down on the ground, pulling a pistol from my boot. I aim it at my mother, glaring slightly.

"Oh come on. Are you really that stupid? You can't get rid of me with regular bullets." My mother taunts.

"I'm not shooting you." I grunt, aiming my gun up to a chandelier, shooting the chain. It falls and immediately makes my mom disappear. "Iron. Bitch." I groan in pain, laying there for a moment.

~~~~~~~

Sam, Dean, Bobby and I are in the study, the boys looking away from me as my shirt is sitting on my shoulders so I can wrap an ace bandage on my ribs. Dark bruising covers my ribs and stomach, making me wince.

"So, they're all people we know?" Sam questions, his arms out disbelievingly.

"Not just know. People that died because of us. I saw something on my mom's hand, and I don't think she had any tattoos on her hands, it looked like a brand." I huff, struggling with the bandage. Sam walks over and helps me wrap it around myself, being gentle and not letting his eyes wander.

"I saw a mark, too, on Henriksen." He says.

"What did it look like?" Bobby asks.

Sam finishes wrapping my ribs, standing back up from his kneeling position, "Uh, paper?" Bobby hands him a piece of paper and a pencil, "Thanks." He begins to sketch the symbol on the paper. I pull my shirt back on as Sam shows me the symbol and I nod, "that's it."

Sam shows it to Bobby, "I may have seen this before." He says as the radio starts up and lights flicker, "We got to move."

Bobby hands Sam a couple books, "Follow me."

"Okay, where are we going?" Sam asks.

Bobby looks at Sam like he grew another head, "Some place safe, you idjit."

Bobby picks up a couple more books and leads us into the basement. We walk to the back of the basement and Bobby opens a big, solid iron door. We walk inside, the boys looking rather impressed, meanwhile I helped Bobby set this up a long time ago. The light turns on, revealing the devil's trap on the floor. It has a bed, weapons rack, desk and a couple other things. Bobby shuts the door and sets the books down.

"Bobby, is this..." Sam starts.

"Solid iron. Completely coated in salt. 100% ghost-proof." He nods, a little bit of boasting in his tone.

"You built a panic room?"

"I had a weekend off." Bobby shrugs.

"Bobby." Dean says.

"What?"

Dean holds up a rifle Bobby had on the gun rack, "You're awesome." Dean smiles and looks at the wall, seeing a poster of a swimsuit model. Obviously not my idea. "Oh."

~~~~~~~

Sam, Dean and I are making salt rounds at the table, while Bobby is writing something down at the desk nearby. A heavy silence hangs in the air as Sam and Dean glance at each other. Dean speaks up first, "See, this is why I can't get behind God."

"What are you talking about?" Sam's eyebrows crinkle.

"If he doesn't exist, fine. Bad crap happens to good people. That's how it is." Dean looks back at Bobby then back at Sam and I. "There's no rhyme or reason -- just random, horrible, evil -- I get it, okay. I can roll with that. But if he is out there, what's wrong with him? Where the hell is he while all these decent people are getting torn to shreds? How does he live with himself? You know, why doesn't he help?" Sam looks over at Bobby, silently asking for help with this conundrum.

"I ain't touching this one with at 10-foot pole." Bobby chuckles nervously.

"Yeah." Dean scoffs.

Bobby taps his pencil on the book in front of him, "Found it."

"What?" I ask.

"The symbol you saw -- the brand on the ghosts..."

Sam nods, "Yeah?"

"Mark of the Witness." Bobby flips a page in the book, pointing to the symbol.

"Witness? Witness to what?" My eyebrows furrow, a confused look on my face.

"The unnatural. None of them died what you'd call ordinary deaths. See, these ghosts -- they were forced to rise. They woke up in agony. They were like rabid dogs. It ain't their fault. Someone rose them... on purpose." Bobby informs.

"Who?" I ask, irritation lacing my tone at the thought of someone doing that to my poor mother.

"Do I look like I know? But whoever it was used a spell so powerful it left a mark, a brand on their souls. Whoever did this had big plans. It's called 'the rising of the witnesses.' It figures into an ancient prophecy."

"Wait, wait. What -- what book is that prophecy from?" Dean asks, him and Sam standing up and walking over to Bobby. I stay at the table, ignoring the dull throbbing in my ribs.

"Well, the widely distributed version's just for tourists, you know. But long story short -- Revelations. This is a sign, kids."

I rub my forehead, "A sign of what?"

Bobby leans back in his chair, glancing from me to the boys, "The apocalypse."

"Apocalypse? The apocalypse, apocalypse? The four horsemen, pestilence, $5-a-gallon-gas apocalypse?" Dean asks incredulously.

"That's the one. The rise of the witnesses is a -- a mile marker."

"Okay, so, what do we do now?" Sam interrogates.

Dean scoffs, walking back to the table, "Road trip. Grand Canyon, Star Trek Experience." He claps his hands. "Bunny Ranch." Dean sits back down with me at the table.

"We're not going to Carson City." I cross my legs, resisting the urge to throw one of these salt rounds at him.

"First things first. How about we survive our friends out there?" Bobby rocks slightly in the desk chair.

"Great. Any ideas aside from staying in this room until Judgment Day?" Dean tilts his head.

Bobby taps his pencil on the page in front of him, "It's a spell to send the witnesses back to rest. Should work."

"Should. Great." Sam chuckles.

"If I translate it correctly. I think I got everything we need here at the house." Bobby says hopefully.

Dean smiles. "Any chance you got everything we need here in this room?"

"So, you thought our luck was gonna start now all of a sudden?" Bobby says with his signature sass. He stands up, walking to the gun rack, "Spell's got to be cast over an open fire."

"The fireplace in the library." Sam states.

"Bingo."

Dean looks between Bobby, Sam and I, "That's just not as appealing as a, uh, ghost-proof panic room, you know?" Sam sighs and we start preparing to leave the panic room.

"Cover each other. And aim careful. Don't run out of ammo until I'm done, or they'll shred you. Ready?" Bobby asks after we've loaded our guns and got things ready. Bobby pushes open the door, all of us aiming our guns and ready to fire. We round the corner to the stairs, seeing a man with dark, curly hair sitting near the top.

The man looks up, smiling a little, "Hey, Dean. You remember me?"

Dean smiles as well, "Ronald, huh? With the laser eyes? I wish I could say it's good to see you."

"I am dead because of you. You were supposed to help me!" Ronald yells, standing up.

Bobby shoots Ronald with a salt round, making him disappear, "If you're gonna shoot, shoot. Don't talk."

Sam, Bobby, Dean and I get up the stairs and into the living room, I help Sam pour a salt circle while Dean starts the fire in the fireplace. Bobby looks at Sam, "Upstairs, linen closet -- red hex box. It'll be heavy."

"Got it." Sam nods and goes upstairs.

Two little girls appear, both with dark hair and dirty dresses. "Bobby." One of them says. I shoot them bot before they can get another word out.

"Kitchen. Cutlery drawer. It's got a false bottom. Hemlock, opium, wormwood." Bobby tells me.

"Opium?"

"Go!" Bobby yells at me.

I go into the kitchen and rifle through the cutlery drawer, grabbing what Bobby asked for under a false bottom in the drawer, when I hear another gunshot, meaning one of the boys shot another ghost. The doors to the kitchen close suddenly. "(Y/N)?" Bobby yells for me, worry in his tone.

"I'm all right, Bobby! Keep working!" I see Henrikson appear next to me out of the corner of my eye, grabbing my wrist, "Victor."

"(Y/N)." His voice is full of malice, of hatred.

"I know."

He scoffs, "No. You don't."

"It's our fault you're dead. We left you behind. And the minute I heard about that explosion, I thought, 'I should've known.' We should've protected you." I reach behind me to grab my shotgun, but it's flung across the room.

"Unh-unh. Not so fast." I look at my discarded gun then back at Henrikson, "You think you left and Lilith came and we all died in a beautiful blast of... white light? If only. 45 minutes."

My eyebrows furrow in confusion, "What?"

Henrikson continues, "Over 45 minutes. Lilith said she wanted to have some fun. The secretary was first. Remember her? Nancy, the virgin. Lilith filleted Nancy's skin off piece by piece. Right in front of us, made us watch. Nancy never stopped screaming."

"No." I could feel the guilt racking my brain.

"I was the last."

"Victor..." I start, full of remorse. Henrikson reaches into my chest, gripping my heart, making me grunt and grit my teeth. "Tell me how it's fair. Dean gets saved from Hell -- I die. Why does he deserve another chance, (Y/N)?"

Henrikson sighs, my eyes shutting as my vision starts to fade, before a loud gunshot makes my ears ring. Henrikson's hand disappears from my chest and I crumble to the ground, gasping and coughing.

"You all right?" Sam kneels next to me as I grasp my chest where Henrikson's hand was.

I wince, "No."

"Let's go." Sam helps me to my feet. He opens the kitchen door, carrying the hexbox while I bring in the bowl of ingredients. We set them on the desk in front of Bobby and he starts putting things together. Ronald appears again as Dean is reloading his gun.

"Ronald. Hey, come on, man. I thought we were pals." Dean smiles a little, putting the salt rounds in his gun.

"That's when I was breathing. Now I'm gonna eat you alive." Ronald smiles back.

Dean chuckles, "Well...come on, I'm not a cheeseburger." Dean cocks his gun and points it at Ronald, but Ronald has vanished. Bobby recites some Latin words and the windows blow open and a wind fills the room. The wind breaks the salt circle, leaving us vulnerable. Meg appears and Sam quickly shoots at her, as Bobby continues to recite the spell. My mother materializes in front of me, Dean shooting her.

Ronald appears and I shoot him. Sam, Dean and I continue to fire as the ghosts show up. My mom appears again and knocks my gun out of my hands. I quickly pick up an iron rod and swing it at her. Meg comes into view and pushes Sam against the wall, trapping him there with a desk. Sam grunts as he tries to push the desk away without success.

Dean shouts, "Sam!"

"Cover Bobby!" His brother responds, his voice strained.

Bobby continues to recite the spell as Sam keeps trying to get out from behind the desk. The two little are sitting on the desk in front of Sam. Meg plunges a hand into Bobby's back, making him drop the bowl with spell ingredients with a grunt. Bobby yells at me in a strained voice as I catch the bowl, "(Y/N)! Fireplace!"

I throw the bowl in the fire, which turns blue. Dean grabs me and pulls me from the fire as a bright light explodes in the room and we shield our eyes. When we look around the ghosts are gone and Bobby falls to the floor.

"Bobby?" I call to him, concerned.

Sam pushes the desk away from him while Dean nd I go over to Bobby. The boys help him up and I stand in front of him, looking at his face. Bobby nods, telling us he is okay.

~~~~~~~

3rd Person POV:

The couch where (Y/N) was supposed to be sleeping was empty. Sam and Dean are asleep on the floor nearby when the sound of wings wake up Dean. He looks up to find Castiel standing in the kitchen. Dean checks on Sam and sees he is asleep. He looks to the couch, seeing it empty and he grows concerned and walks over to join Castiel, who is leaning against the sink.

"Where's (Y/N)?" Dean asks him.

"She is outside, she is safe." He says, monotone. "Excellent job with the witnesses."

"You were hip to all this?" Dean asks incredulously.

Castiel nods, "I was, uh, made aware."

"Well, thanks a lot for the angelic assistance. You know, (Y/N) almost got her heart ripped out of her chest. Not to mention some broken ribs." Dean says angrily.

"I know. And I'm sorry. I plan on talking to her after I'm done with you." He says, the same guilt on his face that he had when he was reminded about blinding Pamela.

Dean furrows his eyebrows. "I thought angels were supposed to be guardians. Fluffy wings, halos -- you know, Michael Landon. Not dicks."

"Read the Bible. Angels are warriors of God. I'm a soldier."

"Yeah? Then, why didn't you fight?" Dean interrogates.

Castiel continues in his monotone voice, "I'm not here to perch on your shoulder. We had larger concerns." He puts emphasis on 'your'.

Dean looks at the angel with offense, "Concerns? There were people getting torn to shreds down here! And, by the way, while all this is going on, where the hell is your boss, huh, if there is a God?"

"There's a God."

"I'm not convinced. 'Cause if there's a God, what the hell is he waiting for, huh? Genocide? Monsters roaming the earth? The freaking apocalypse? At what point does he lift a damn finger and help the poor bastards that are stuck down here?"

Castiel sighs, "The Lord works..."

Dean interrupts him, "If you say 'mysterious ways' so help me, I will kick your ass." Castiel puts his hands up momentarily in surrender, "So, Bobby was right... about the witnesses. This is some kind of a... sign of the apocalypse."

The angel nods, "That's why we're here. Big things afoot."

"Do I want to know what kind of things?"

"I sincerely doubt it, but you need to know. The rising of the witnesses is one of the 66 seals." Castiel states.

"Okay. I'm guessing that's not a show at Seaworld." Dean says sarcastically.

"Those seals are being broken by Lilith."

Dean nods in understanding, "She did the spell. She rose the witnesses."

"Mm-hmm. And not just here. 20 other hunters are dead." Castiel informs.

"Of course. She picked victims that the hunters couldn't save so that they would barrel right after us."

"Lilith has a certain sense of humor."

"Well, we put those spirits back to rest."

Castiel shakes his head, "It doesn't matter. The seal was broken."

"Why break the seal anyway?" Dean asks.

"You think of the seals as locks on a door."

"Okay. Last one opens and..." Dean trails off.

Castiel stands up straight, "Lucifer walks free."

"Lucifer? But I thought Lucifer was just a story they told at demon Sunday school. There's no such thing."

"Three days ago, you thought there was no such thing as me. Why do you think we're here walking among you now for the first time in 2,000 years?" Castiel asks.

Dean makes the realization, "To stop Lucifer."

"That's why we've arrived."

"Well... bang-up job so far. Stellar work with the witnesses. That's nice." Dean gives the angel attitude.

"We tried. And there are other battles, other seals. Some we'll win, some we'll lose. This one we lost. Our numbers are not unlimited. Six of my brothers died in the field this week. You think the armies of Heaven should just follow you around? There's a bigger picture here. You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in." Castiel threatens before he vanishes from Dean's sight.

~~~~~~~

1st Person POV:

A flutter of wings makes me jump as I sit on the hood of one of Bobby's junk cars, my knees curled to my chest. Castiel stands in front of me, a gentle smile on his face, his wings folded behind him.

"Hello (Y/N)," He greets, his voice monotone.

"Hi Castiel," I give him a polite smile back.

"Good job with the witnesses, I'm glad to see you alive." He nods once, taking a step forward. "But I was made aware that you're injured."

"A, uh, a couple broken ribs, I'll be okay."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you," Castiel apologizes.

"It's alright, you're busy, I get it." I hum and smile softly.

"May I...heal you?"

I give him a look of surprise and I nod. Castiel brings two fingers to my forehead and I close my eyes, honestly preparing to hurt some. But instead, the dull throbbing of my ribs completely disappears in seconds. "Thank you Castiel."

He smiles again, "Thank you for letting me."

"C-Can I ask you something?" I stutter, my (e/c) eyes meeting his light blue ones.

"Anything." He answers honestly.

"Today, one of the witnesses was my mother. Her and my dad were killed by a demon when I was a baby. My mom said the demon was after me, that's why it was there. Because of the 'angel on my shoulder'. Do you know what she meant?" I ask, using air quotes.

Castiel nods, looking down at the ground, he seemed almost...nervous. "It's because your soul is tied to...my grace. Which could be harnessed in a way that can cause both of us great harm, even death."

"W-What do you mean? 'Tied to your grace'? Is that why I can see your wings?" My thoughts are going a thousand miles a minute.

The angel sighs and nods again, taking another step forward. "Every angel has a soul they are tied to. But not every soul is tied to an angel. I believe the term humans use is 'soulmate.'"

I look at Castiel like he grew a second head, "So what? I'm destined to be with you or something?"

His eyebrows crinkle and he shakes his head quickly, "No, you still have the free will to choose that. It's more like I am your guardian angel. My father, he wanted to give us something to...live for. A lot of angels never meet the soul they are bound to, some die before they do. But the humans they are bound to, they are almost always reborn, or reincarnated. Unless that soul is sent to Hell."

"I-I'm sorry, that's a lot to take in." I interrupt before he can continue.

He nods once more, fidgeting with the sleeve of his trenchcoat, "I felt like this isn't something I should keep from you. You deserve to know."

"Uh, yeah. Thanks Castiel." I nod, swallowing thickly.

Castiel's wings spread out a little, "I-I need to get going. Just know that if you pray to me, I will be there as soon as I can. I will always be someone you can count on."

(A/N:) 5.3k words later. This was really long, so I hope you like long chapters. This would have been out sooner but my daughter's first birthday was on March 30th. I've learned these take about 3-4 days to write so I will try to post at least twice a week. Thank you for reading and I hope the exposition at the end made sense.

#castiel x y/n #castiel x you #castiel x reader #castiel #supernatural x reader #supernatural #spn x y/n #spn x you #spn x reader #spn #spnfandom #sam winchester #dean winchester #bobby singer x daughter!reader #bobby singer

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charrlote365 · 1 year ago

Text

Pumping Gym

Reference Idol: fromis_9 LEE CHAEYOUNG Word Count: 7.160

Tags: Romance, gym, Kpop idol, fromis_9, Lee Chaeyoung

I woke up with the cold touch of the gym floor against my cheek, the imaginary echo of repeated clanking steel dumbbells still ringing in my head. I saw my watch and It's 4 AM now like wtf. "Where is everyone?" "How did I end up lying on the empty gym's floor, naked??". Shit now I remember.

It was our anniversary, and Chaeyoung and I had rented out the entire gym for a private workout celebration. Like it's literally just both us. Nobody else there. I know it sounds weird to celebrate anniversary in a gym but she really loves workout and since its part of her daily routines, there's nothing out of ordinary for the medias to find out our relationship. It's friggin hard to keep our relationship from those dispatch rats. I walked into the gym, ready for our routine workout session. There she was, Chaeyoung, my dearest girlfriend, her body is so fit, her shoulder is wide and filled with muscle. She looks as if she could punch the punching bag into oblivion in one punch. Her usually bright eyes were stormy, and she seemed to be in her own world for the warming up, with her headphones on.

Confused by her cold shoulder on our special day, I tried to match her pace on the stair climber, but she sped up, so I gave up. I realized that she left her phone on the bench, so out of boredom I took it and secretly took a picture of her from behind and posted her sexy buttocks on her IG story. "Oh my gosh, she's gonna kill me for this". She kept on going with the climber. Her butts were moving up and down, my gawd if there's anything I wanted to do was to shove my face into that crack and sniff out her soul out of it. It must have felt great, I thought while losing myself looking at those bouncy heaven.

Not a minute later. Drenched in sweat, she stopped using the equipment and walked to me. She then suddenly grabbed my head with both hands like it was a watermelon on a flash sales and kissed my lips. She stopped for a while and we looked at each other, she's so cute with that begging face of her so I kissed her back, my tongue running over her lips, my hand traveling on her tight gym pants, they're so tight like its part of her skin. my lips brushed her sweaty neck finding a sweet spot "mmrh~" she started making weird sound and she suddenly whispered to my ear, "I'm sorry for being cold today but i'm so horny since this morning, it's so frustrating, so tonight, I'll squeeze you dry until I'm satisfied". "Now, just take them off~" she sighed as I bit her neck. I put my hand into her pants. "Don't rush into it" she whispered, she grabbed my hand and put it on her breast. Her breasts aren't really big, maybe around C cup, but they're super bouncy and heavy, must be because of all of the workouts she's been doing. I slipped off my shirt, throwing it to the side. I leaned forward, kissing her breast through her bra, my hands worked it's way up, slowly pulling her bra up.

My lips teased her breast, biting as she moaned "mmmh~". My hands trailed down her hips, into the pants, going right to her underwear. But wait! there's nothing there. where is the underwear??? "Hmm someone not wearing panties today", I said to slightly teasing her. My hands ran over her thigh, then went back to her big buttocks, pushing on her soft cheeks. "omhh~" she moans. Carefully, I put off all of her clothes, her gym pants, her clothes, bra and everything else. Now naked, I sat down on a chair while she sat on my lap, putting her hands on my shoulder.I ran my hands rubbing and sucking her breasts, then my lips trailing her body. breast, stomach, neck, and feeling the softness of her thighs making me fell deeper into the extacy.

Her pussy is so wet now, the love juice pouring onto my thighs like honey. She stood up so I moved my fingers down. Inserting them into her hole, Two fingers. "Shibaal~" she moaned, as my fingers curled inside of her. She moved her hips down, pushing my fingers deeper into her pussy. my pace quickened as I inserted a third finger. Her walls were closing around them, Her hands pulled my hair causing my head to throb. I did not stop, I kept going, and faster and even faster, her pussy walls continued tightening as her body suddenly shook. She came as more of her pussy juice poured onto the floor like a waterfall. I removed my fingers and licked em to taste her juice. Kinda tasted sour but I liked the yoghurt taste anyways. Now it's time for the main event. We found a gym matress lying on the floor so I lie down on it, with my d1ck standing up hard rock like a flag pole on the moon erected by Neil Armstrong. I'm waiting for her to stab it into her pussy. She squatted down slowly onto my dick. My dick was curving inside her walls, I could feel her warmth, liquid and pussy walls engulfing my dick like it's sucking a lolipop. She moaned loudly and started moving quickly. My balls slapped against her pussy lips as I felt my toes began to curl, "oh my fucking gawd!" I whined loud as her hands were playing on my nipples, she pounded deeper into my body. But then, she suddenly stopped. "Wait, what's happening? don't stop please! I haven't come yet", I begged her. "She then made a grin on her face and took 2 friggin pieces of 10 kg dumbbells. She jammed her pussy back into my dick while carrying 2 10kg dumbbells in her hands. "Can't miss my gym session just because of you, babe". Fuck, since the dumbells were so heavy her pussy jammed even deeper into me like in extra 5 cm deeper. I could even feel her cervix gate bumping on the tip of my dick. I thought the two of us would become as one if she tried to go any deeper. My body tensed up and "Chaeyoung ahhh~ sarang hae!!" I moaned loudly as I came, I felt my vision got blurry as my body got loose. Chaeyoung, who hasn't come yet ignored my moans and kept continuing to jam my dick into her cervix. She was smiling and enjoying her time while lifting the 2 dumbbells, making steel clacking sound as she's bumping her pussy deeper and harder into me. It's so deep that now the tip of my dick was being strangled by her cervix neck. "ffuckkk Chaeyoung ahh~ my dick is still so sensitive, please stopp!!" I yelled. She still didn't listen, I kept begging her to stop as I started losing consciousness and finally, fainted. Although I fainted, for fcking sure, I think she was still using my fainted body as her private dildo until I released cement into her stomach for another 5 rounds by the look of how much of my sperm was on the matress when I woke up.

"Ping", my phone suddenly rang. There's a message from Chaeyoung. She sent a photo of her topless with a message "I'm sorry for the mess last night, It seemed that I enjoyed myself too much. ㅋㅋㅋ. I was going to wake you up after I finished but I realized that I was almost late for my solo flight to Bali today at 5 AM so I just left you there. Hopefully you didnt catch a cold. See you again after I come back to Korea, baby. - xoxo, Chaeyoung." Damn it, I felt like I was pranked. I wanted to have revenge on her for making me fainted last night. Yeah right, let's follow her to Bali and surprise her with a sudden rough sex. Muehehe. -End.

#kpop #kpop smut #kpop girls #kpop gg #male reader #fromis 9 smut #fromis 9 #lee chaeyoung #chaeyoung

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nightlyrequiem · 10 months ago

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hello dere :3

First of all, lemme just say i absolutely adore ur writing and storybuilding!! Ur so friggin awesome!!! im patiently waiting for sep. 16th (??) ⭐️

second of all, lemme request a fluffy lil scenario, if u write in this style?? Like .. i dunno, take this as u will

Valeria coming home suspiciously late causing a large argument -- which results in her absolutely pampering reader the day after as an apology :))

Hello ☺️ Thank you so much! I'm super happy you like my storybuilding

I love writing fluff, but I also love writing angst which I get to do both here <3

I love Valeria, but I can definitely see her being busy all the time

Tags/Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Pre-Established Relationship, Arguing, Non-Sexual Intimacy

Making it Right

Valeria is busy at work. Or so she says. You glance over at the alarm clock on the night table. 3:43AM. Once again, she is out late. Working. When she does come home, she's always tired and irritable. Like she can't stand behind around you. Her cold behavior stings. You miss how things were in the beginning, new and exciting. When she'd surprise you with dates and the two of you would lay awake together whispering about the future. You hear the front door closing and heavy steps walking up the stairs. You sit up and wait for her, a talk is long over do.

The bedroom door slowly creaks open, and Valeria silently walks in. You reach your hand put to the side, fumbling for the lamp cord. Your fingers find the switch and you turn it on, washing the room in a yellow glow. Valeria pauses and looks at you.

"You're still up." She remarks. Continuing towards the closet. She begins to undress but you're too downtrodden to appreciate the sight of her.

"Were you hoping I'd be asleep?" You ask. Valeria looks at you and frowns.

"I just wasn't expecting you to be awake." Valeria replies, her voice taking on a harsher edge. She clearly didn't appreciate your tone but you don't appreciate being neglected.

You frown at her.

"Where were you?" You ask her bluntly. Valeria sighs as she pulls on something more comfortable.

"I was working, where else would I be?" She grumbles. Walking around the bed to her side. She peels away the comforter and crawls in.

"I don't know." You murmur, narrowing your eyes. "Maybe with another woman." Your tone is bitter and hurt. Her cheating is the only conclusion your mind keeps coming back to. She's out late, everything you do seems to irritate her, and she never wants to spend any time with you anymore. All the signs are there. You would know, you googled it.

Valeria scoffs and looks at you. Clearly not happy by the accusation.

"Excuse me?" She snaps. "You think I'm seeing someone behind your back?"

"Don't do that."

"Don't do what?"

"Don't make me feel stupid for having valid concerns." You say angrily. Valeria scowls at you. Sitting up.

"They aren't valid nor are they true." She huffs. "I'm not seeing another woman."

Your heart clenches. "Then what it is?" You ask painfully. "If there isn't another woman then is it because you don't love me anymore or what?"

"What are you talking about?" Valeria sounds frustrated rather than sympathetic, and it hurts you. Just more evidence that she doesn't love you.

The realisation really sinks in for you.

"You're always gone." You mutter. "Always working late, you don't spend any time with me, you treat talking to me like a chore."

Valeria rolls her eyes with exasperation. "Jesus Christ." She mutters. "You're seriously upset because you think I don't spend enough time with you?"

Her words hurt you. It's like she doesn't care that what she's doing is upsetting you and that hurts more than her actions. "It's not about what I think, it's the fact that you don't!" You snap at her.

"You are unbelieve." Valeria sneers. "You know what I do for work, of course I'm busy!"

"Did you not listen to anything I said?" You ask angrily.

"I'm not going to have time to spend every waking moment with you." She continues harshly. "Maybe if you got your own personality or some hobbies you wouldn't be so pathetically clingy or sad."

Her words evaporate any rebuttal you might've had with how scorching they were. Pathetic and clingy with no personality. Is that really how she sees you? You two stare at each other, Valeria clearly isn't going to apologize or take it back. Without another word you angrily get out of bed.

"Where are you going?" Valeria frowns.

"I'm sleeping in the spare room." You say quietly. Valeria doesn't protest at all as you walk out the door.

The spare bed is cold and unfamiliar as you try to get comfortable. The sheets smell stale and unused. You lay down and try to sleep but your worries keep you up. There's a pit in your stomach. Wondering if she really is having an affair and if this is the beginning of the end. Your tears soak into the plain white pillowcase.

Valeria is gone the next morning. Like usual. You regret confronting her. If you had just shut up maybe you wouldn't be on the road to breaking up. The idea is so distressing that you just stay in bed. There's nothing else for you to even do.

You fall asleep and when you wake up it's dark in the bedroom. You feel very dehydrated, and your bladder is bursting. You stay rooted in bed for as long as you can before the discomfort forces you out of bed . You walk through the darkened hallways and into the bathroom, doing your business and heading back to the bedroom. The door opens as you enter the hallway and Valeria steps inside. She stops and locks eyes with you.

"...Come here." She says. You hesitate but walk over to her crossing your arms over your chest.

"Yeah?" You ask. Valeria moves closer and wraps her arms around you, pulling you into her embrace. She buries her face into the side of your neck.

"I'm sorry." She murmurs. That's all it takes to melt away your anger. "I should've been more considerate."

You hug her back. Feeling so much more at peace now that you have her in your arms. "It's okay." You reply softly. It's always okay. Maybe you should learn to stay angry but ot feels so nice to be held. Valeria pulls away from you.

"I'll run you a bath." She says, squeezing your shoulders.

Valeria turns and heads towards the bathroom. You watch her disappear around the corner and hear the sound of running water. You join her, entering just in time to watch her light some candles. The tub is being filled with water. Bottles of sweet-scented oils sit on the edge. Valeria stands and smiles.

"Get in," She nods at the tub. You stick a hand under the water. It's warm enough to steam, almost burning. You shed your clothes and slowly step into the tub, easing your body into the water. It rushes over you, warming you on the outside and inside.

The flickering candles make shadows dance across Valeria's face. She kneels at the end of the tub behind you. She grabs one of the bottles of bath oil and squirts a few drops into her hands, lathering it onto your shoulders.

"It's not massage oil but I don't think that matters." She speaks. Valeria presses her thumbs into the area between your shoulders and neck. Gently massaging out all the tension. You close your eyes and slouch slightly. Practically forgetting all about your earlier stress.

You lean back against Valeria's touch.

"What did you do today?" She asks.

"I didn't really do anything." You reply. Embarrassed because you proved her right. It's like you really don't have any hobbies.

"That sounds nice." Valeria hums kindly. "Things at work got... complicated. Sometimes I wish I could just do nothing."

You hesitate before speaking the words on your mind. "You could spare a day to just relax, I'm sure. The warm water and Valeria's soft breathing relaxes you. Making you feel sleepy.

"I'll try to take some more time off of work." Valeria says quietly. "It's just hard, I have to make sure things are done right."

You consider her words. You don't necessarily like it, but you understand. "I know." You relent.

"I will make more time for you." She continues. "We can have breakfast together tomorrow, I'll cook."

"I like the sound of that." You smile. You feel silly for being so worried earlier. Of course Valeria isn't having an affair. Of course you two won't break up. You should've known that Valeria will always make things right between the two of you.

Valeria continues to massage your neck and shoulders. You two mindlessly chatter, rebuilding that bond between the two of you. The warm water begins to cool, and you get out, your fingers all pruny and wrinkled. Valeria wraps a soft fluffy robe around your shoulders and walks you back to the bedroom with a bottle of lotion in her hands. You sit on the bed and let her rub the pleasant-smelling cream into your skin. The same hands that have killed and harmed oh-so gently cradle your calf as she works.

You're all soft and lotioned up. Laying in the sheets of your bed with Valeria pressed up against your back, lightly stroking your leg. You feel loved and safe. You wish this moment would last forever but your content enough with Valeria's promise to make more of an effort.

#cod mw2 #valeria garza x reader #valeria garza

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rettrogue · 1 year ago

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The agony of being able to go through an entire tumblr tag from start to finish.... ANYWAY. we're back with more food for the hat trick niche ft. rare JigZeni pachislot (zeni acknowledges jigen for 0.1 seconds and jigen forgot he was there even tho he's driving)

One thing I like about rarepairs is the flexibility. They're a headcanon/hypothetical breeding ground of potential without having to sacrifice too much of the character's integrity, because they rarely ever talk/barely have a relationship to launchpad off of! yaay :'D

So let's talk about how! Five how's, actually. Might've gotten a bit carried away with this one.

As with anything involving these two, somehow, some way, it always circles right back around to Lupin. It kind of has to, given their shared obsession and/or dedication with the guy. But that can split up into all sorts of scenarios, with some equally varied results (and some exceptions!)

~ Getting together in spite of Lupin

In which Lupin's basically that "I messed up so bad that I turned my girl date gay/my guy date straight" joke but everyone's still queer and it's just his partner hooking up with his rival because of how much he's been frustrating them both lately (and oops the proxy hate sex turns out to be really good) INHALES. Does that even make any sense.

I'm sorry but Lupin fumbling the ball is just so funny to me. It is a bit deeper than that, obviously, and this'd have some weird love triangle logistics because Jigen and Zenigata are still hopelessly in love with Lupin, in their own ways. But dipping into that is always complicated and messy-- JUST HOW WE LIKE IT.

This one definitely has the most jealousy on all fronts. For me, there's always this little asterisk on the JigLup/LuZeni pairings because someone's getting left out. Tell me Zenigata's chest wouldn't ache every time he watches Lupin and Jigen escape, an arm slung over the other's shoulder, cheek to cheek, laughs fading off into the cold, lonely night. Tell me Jigen wouldn't hate waiting in the Fiat for Lupin to lose his dogged hunter, mind wandering as to why he's taking so damn long. He grits his jaw when Lupin finally saunters up, victoriously spinning yet another pair of handcuffs on his pointer finger.

There's a silent rivalry for Lupin's attention that they might not even realize is going on until they blow up at each other about it.

It's difficult to tell if Lupin is being genuine or just messing around, especially for Zenigata. He asks Jigen how he deals with him, how he deals with.... everything. Just everything. The "will they won't they"s and the "does he really mean it"s. How does he stay so collected all the damn time. Jigen says he doesn't have a single friggin' clue. Maybe they make out sloppy style about it. Maybe they keep meeting up to vent, drink, exist in each other's company. During chases, Zenigata keeps dipping after Jigen instead of Lupin more and more often. Lupin's standing on a rooftop Pulp Fiction John Travolta style wondering where the fuck everyone went.

Ohhh jealous Lupin, where have you gone. Where did the tms writers hide your unchecked narcissistic ego. The other points after this support Supportive Lupin in some capacity but this one does not. The slow-burn's done slow-burning but it ain't over yet, baby. There's trouble in paradise and its name is Lupin the Third. He is Not Enjoying This. The two guys that are always looking at him aren't looking at him anymore and that just won't do. Drama ensues.

~ Getting together because of Lupin

Matchmaker Lupin! This is if Lupin's relationships with Jigen and/or Zenigata are more platonic-leaning (which is totally valid). The paired fics in Disreputable Company nail this dynamic perfectly imo. But as far as my own separate take goes....

They're both just so. So emotionally constipated. Intentionally or not, Jigen's been screwed over in the romantic interest department to many times that he's intentionally reduced his acquaintance list to how many fingers he's got on his right hand. Zenigata practically unloaded an entire clip into his foot as far as maintaining healthy family/friend relationships go. Spoilers for Zenigata Keibu, but he 100% knew what he was saying when he told Haruka he'd go back to her once he caught Lupin (I can never be yours), and that Zenigata's supposed to be the freest one! Bound not necessarily to Lupin specifically, but to The Chase forever.

Anyway. Jigen and Zenigata are Isolated. The fact that someone would consider them attractive is so foreign that they'd think its some kind of sick joke or ruse to screw them over instead of anything that could ever be even remotely genuine. They need someone to shove them out of their little self-made paranoia bubbles, and Lupin just loves to meddle in people's businesses. I dunno. I just think he'd think it's funny.

*dramatic finger point* "haha zenigata, you are banging my partner!!" "you... you tricked us into our first date? made the reservations?? th- the tailored suits???" "lu you friggin roller-skated out in a waiter outfit and immediately bought us the most expensive top-shelf booze they offered. not even remotely conspicuous about it" "lol yeah. good times"

He's just happy two of his favorite humans are finally getting laid for once, y'know?

~ Getting together for Lupin

Jigen and Zenigata are forced to team up. Okay, this scenario only goes down if 1) Lupin goes missing or is KO'd for a prolonged period of time or 2) the Truce demands they separate for a while. On top of seeing this play out in other fics, my good friend duke and I have been messing around with (a variant of) this idea for a while now (aka they've been letting me run around in their au Rampant and Unchecked. ty duke).

In ""canon"", if these two were to become at the very least amicable towards each other, this'd be the way to do it. In all honesty (and my personal bias for them aside), I'm genuinely shocked they haven't done this before. Not even an episode, tms? That 4-ish minute block in POTP is all you're giving me? One bar chat in the kobayashi sendoff ep. Okay. I'm not miffed i swear

Like I mentioned in this previous post, the idea of the two of them being able to function together without Lupin as a crutch is upsetting at first. They're used to following him to the Ends of the Earth and they're used to him living rent-free in their heads. They've convinced themselves that they're hopeless on their own, that if he disappeared for good they'd just go back to being two husks vaguely shaped like humans meandering around with no meaningful north star to head towards. Don't get me wrong, if the situation was Bad, Goemon and Fujiko would be devastated, too. But they could move on, albeit with a heavy heart. They're kind of known for heading out on their own should the situation call for it. But Jigen and Zenigata are in for the long-haul for better or for worse, whether they like it or not (they do not).

They're on edge the whole time. Hostile towards each other and passive-aggressive at best to any unfortunate folk they have to interact with on this stupid side quest they've been unwillingly shunted onto together.

It helps immensely that they're both "cut that out" people to anyone but themselves, because they can be that for each other. There's a lot of bickering/conflicts of interest and methodology. "You're being too harsh", "You're one to talk", "You're so goddamn stubborn", "You're such a hypocrite", etc etc. But holy shit they're so freakishly effective together, to a frankly terrifying degree-- maybe even moreso than with Lupin because they're honing the fuck in and nothing else-- no banter or bullshit-- and that's what gets them through to the end. Maybe it helps them come to terms with whatever sort of issues they've got going on, maybe it doesn't. Bare minimum, they come out of this with newfound understanding of each other. At max, uh.... see the point after this next one.

~ Lupin-adjacent

A shift in fixation. The slightest glance, the slightest exchange of eye contact for a second too long, the briefest moment of consideration, and the thoughts start spiraling. This is "in spite of Lupin" without the spite. The urge to know absolutely everything about someone, down to the marrow, just gets shifted a little bit to the right onto another guy. It's just them, in-between heists, with barely any mention of the Chase and anyone else involved therein. Their own little adventure away from the status quo. It's weird at first, sure, but it's new and exciting and real dang nice having things not revolve exclusively around him for once. It's a shot for Jigen to mess with Zenigata for once and the closest thing to a willing vacation Zenigata can get. Win-win! Well. Sorta.

The loneliness, though-- that's what makes itself most prevalent during the in-between times. They really don't have much left outside of the Usual. Forgetting the bare essentials, days blending together, moving around the masses like a ghost.... it's familiar, and it's common, not being sure whether they actually like someone or they're just desperately lonely. Zenigata wallows in it, Jigen shoves it down. They've got images to keep. but getting noticed for what they are is simultaneously the worst thing to ever happen and the highlight of their day. Real wholesome bonding material, ain't it

"I tracked you down for only you". "I dragged you into this issue because I want you here". "You get it".

~ Secret fifth thing

*points at playbohz mag* "lol wouldn't it be funny if zenigata was jigen's type??" *points at y series, miyazaki's zeni, island of assassins, that one manga where they put him in a tshirt, etc* "oh my god zenigata is jigen's type."

It's just a one-night stand lmao. I feel like I see this one a fair bit too, mostly because it's super duper simple and doesn't require a crap-ton of emotional angst setup just to get them into the same bed. It's the above point diluted into, like, an afternoon lmao. It doesn't have a lot of depth by design. Curiosity gets the better of both of them, plain and simple. They get buzzed enough at a bar, skip off to some motel to do what they gotta do one time and never speak of it again.

A part of me likes that, but another part of me in the deep deep recesses of my psyche is hollering "TACKY YOU GOTTA TURN THIS INTO THE SPITE BULLETPOINT!!!"

NO. For this one they get one nice hookup and THAT'S THAT. Sorry not sorry.

Maybe it's easier because there's actually something to decipher. There isn't some esoteric idea of "Lupin the Third, Gentleman Thief"; a mystery man(?) with a million little gadgets and masks and smiles; this unwavering, unpredictable force of chaos that likes taking shiny things from one place and hiding them somewhere else over and over again with no real rhyme or reason.

It's easier to find solace in turning to the guy next to you and going, "what do you think that is?" than in going up to "that" and poking it with a stick in hopes it'll give some sort of answer. "That" won't. "That" likes watching you guys flounder around together too much :)

#i really really like them can you tell #its one thing posting art stuff for pairs i enjoy a normal sane amount but these two.... oh man. oh jeez #lupin iii #j #z #jigzeni #lots to stew in #honestly just glad to've finally gotten this outta my drafts lmao

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jar-of-bees · 2 months ago

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favorite word?

When I was a kid, my grandmother invented* the word "frigginest" when she got frustrated trying to park her car. Her exact phrase iirc was "This is the frigginest parking lot I've ever had to navigate." Not just a friggin parking lot, but the MOST friggin. It was such a silly word and sentence that I started cracking up, and from that point on, any time she wanted to make me laugh she'd just say "frigginest" to me. I don't know if it's my ultimate favorite word, but it's in my top 20.

*she may not have been the first person in history to say it, but she was the first and still only person I've heard, so I'm giving her credit :)

#sorry i missed this ask for a few days

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viisator · 10 months ago

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Seok Matthew

Pairing : Seok Matthew x F!Redear

Genre : Love hate.

Warning : None.

Not proofread.

• • • • •

One thing about this guy...is that he's friggin weird. Period.

That's what you automatically thought when the first time you sat with Seok Matthew. First thing first, it's the way he suddenly comes up to your table, grabbing a chair, dragging it in front of you, then sitting down while his both elbows on your desk and his chin on his palm, staring at you with that wide, sweet, happy, sickening grin...

It wasn't the only time he did that, it was almost everyday after morning classes, and since you eat lunch inside the classroom while everyone's out, It's always been you alone in there. And then there's Mathew...staring at you, blinking his eyelashes multiple times for your own good and sanity...! sigh...just how many more times till you can't take it anymore? Because really, you need to talk to him about this routine you're getting yourself into.

"Uh, Matthew." You called, your attention fully on the notebook below you beside his elbows on the desk.

"Hmm?" He hummed with that usual smile.

"Don't you wanna have lunch?" Asking that was an excuse to rid of him of course, and you could only sigh.

"You're not having lunch yourself." He replied cheekily, and that stupid chuckle at the end.

"Well, it's because I'm studying. Matthew, you have to eat." You shot him a narrowing gaze, making his grin wider. If that's even posible.

"YOU have to eat." He tilt his head to the side, making you look at him deadpanned in which he replied with a giggle.

"You know, Y/n, if you want me to leave you can just be honest you know?" Another giggle from him, another sigh of exasperation from you.

"Well even if I did, you'll just lean in closer to my face until I have no space at all." You did asked him to leave once, but that's not what he did, he shamelessly leaned even closer and his breath fanning in your cheeks. You didn't want to be reminded.

"Hmm..." He hummed, leaning closer.

"Why do you wanna get rid of me, huh?" For once, his grin's wiped out his face, now a frown replaced, amusing you.

"Because you're taking all my personal space and you're literally staring at me like you're on drugs or something!" Matthew just stare at your frustration. The way you threw your hands up in the air and your face frowning, brows furrowed and lips pouted...he licked his own lips.

"That's absurd... accusing me of using drugs." Matthew absentmindedly stated, his eyes lingering on your lips making you flick your own gaze at his own. You swallowed harnd and look back at your notes, feeling your ears warm. Then there's his chuckle again.

God... it's that chuckle again. That's the reason you can't concentrate at all, no words nor letters are registering in your head, just the way his chuckle made you clutch your skirt and swallow hard and your heart almost jumps off your ribcage... God help you.

"You're getting flustered, is that why you want me to leave, hm?" You felt his breath brush your ear and suddenly, his whole presence is so close you could barely breath. Just when did he get so close? You slowly lift your gaze to look at him. There's no grin and far off look there, just his parted lips and half-lided eyes staring directly at you; at your lips.

You didn't manage to answer his question, because the second you know, is he's already so close, his nose on the hollow of your closed right eyes, his lips touching the side of your nose while his fingers tangled with your hair caressing and pulling you close. You froze of course. I mean- what are you supposed to do? You can only hold your breath and hope you don't pass out right then and there-(because girl! Matthew's hella hot and you can't even lie about that.) Then he sniffs, inhaling your scent while his nose still on your closed right eyes.

"Eh?" Baffled, your brain seemed to pause, but he didn't stop from sniffing for a while and you just sat there frozen, then after that seemed to be an awful lot while, he leaned away and gave you his full wide grin, happiness on his face.

Matthew softly poked your nose. "I should get lunch now, you want anything?" You stare at him for a solid minute, your brain slowly registering what happened then you suddenly feel your cheeks burn and down to your neck and suddenly you cannot look at him, your view meet the handwriting on your notebook. You swallow hard.

"Um... strawberry milk will do." You muttered, but Matthew managed to hear, and so, he pat your head and made his way to the cafeteria with that wide, sweet, happy, sickening grin.

•

My second ZB1 fic...another draft from last year.

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maaskuline · 5 months ago

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HI SO my laptop wasn't working for me for a couple days which is why i haven't been very active!! but i just got it fixed so here i am >:D and i decided to cook something up in the meantime!

here's a little drabble i wrote with Johnny, FT. my therapist oc Dr. Lane!! i'm excited to share her here (though if anyone wants to rp directly with her, she can be found at @piinkponyclub !!) bc she was essentially created for this very purpose hehe :]

——

( WARNING FOR: light homophobic language, light mentions of alcohol use, and emeto tw at the very end )

"Good evening, Johnny, I hope you're doing well. I understand that it was your birthday this month—on Valentine's, right? Happy birthday. How did that go for you?" asked the young therapist, getting settled in her chair as the session starts.

Johnny let out a deep sigh as he sunk into the office chair across from hers. Before now, he hadn't shut up about the fact that his birthday was coming up—and now that it's passed, it doesn't seem he holds the same enthusiasm for it anymore.

Dr. Lane noted that he didn't give any response. Johnny is typically pretty talkative, unless, of course, there was something too sensitive or too upsetting for him to talk about. She cleared her throat. “...You seemed rather excited about it, from what I can remember. I take it your plans didn't go very well?”

“It was horrible, Doc!” he told her. “I set up this, uh, kissin’ booth outside my house, y’ know? And it was goin’ pretty good for a while. Got a few kisses out of it, n’ lots of friends o’ mine stopped by to bring me some gifts—that was pretty neat.”

The therapist nodded, writing something down in her notes. “Uh-huh. I see. That sounds lovely. Though I'm guessing that something went wrong at some point, then?”

Johnny buried his face in his hands. “I… I found out there's been, uh, some rumors about me goin’ around…”

She raised an eyebrow at this. “Rumors? What kind of rumors, if you don't mind me asking?”

He lets out a long sigh. He remains silent for a long moment, clearly not wanting to talk about it. Finally, he says, “Well, apparently, some people think I'm… that I'm gay or somethin’. I ain't gay.”

Dr. Lane paused for a moment, then wrote something down. She had to think about how to word this. Johnny was a rather bold and direct person—so she figured she would take the bold and direct approach herself. “I see… Well, I can see why people would get that impression of you. Your behavior is rather flamboyant. It seems fairly easy to get that impression just from the way you present yourself.”

“Flamboyant?!” Johnny takes offense to the word. “What do you mean, flamboyant? I'm… I'm the very epitome of manliness! I'm Johnny Bravo, baby!”

He crossed his arms and huffed.

“And besides, even if I was one o’ them… homos… which I ain't! But if I was—that still don't mean I want it goin’ ‘round the whole dang neighborhood, y' know?! A guy's gotta protect his reputation. Well… my reputation might as well be down the friggin’ toilet now, man.”

The therapist stayed calm and stoic despite Johnny's obvious anger. She knew that getting frustrated wouldn't get her anywhere with him. “No, I understand. You value your image. But this ‘rumor’ began somewhere.”

She adjusts her notes, flipping a page.

“Is there anything that might have caused people to jump to this conclusion…?”

At that, Johnny tries to form a response, but he can't find the words. “I… I don't know! I– I, uh… I, um—” After a moment, he sinks back in his chair, distraught expression on his face. He gulped. “There might've been a couple people I kissed that… weren't all ladies...”

Dr. Lane's pencil is still as she takes this in, focusing on his expression. “So… you kissed some people who weren't women. Okay. Did you… perhaps… enjoy it?” She tries to be gentle, but it's obvious exactly what she's trying to ask. Johnny furiously shakes his head.

“It– It ain't like that! I mean, it doesn't really count. One of ‘em was a buddy o’ mine who did it as a joke, n’ I didn't see it comin’ anyway... And the other… well, I don't even know what they are—they're, like, some kind o’ transgendersexual…”

“Just say transgender.”

“Right—what'd I say?”

She decided to move on. “Alright. So you kissed one as a ‘joke,’ and the other… You don't know what they are. Do you mean you don't know what gender they are?”

Johnny scratches the back of his head. “Uh… Yeah! Apparently, they're like… both, I guess. Said they don't even care one way or another what I call them. I– I don't really know how that works…”

Dr. Lane nods, writing something else down. She's well aware of the term, but she's trying to figure out if Johnny does, too. “You mean… nonbinary?”

He just shrugs. “I don't know. Maybe. I ‘unno any of those words, man.”

Of course. That lack of understanding is something she expected. “That means they are someone who doesn't identify as a man or a woman. People who are nonbinary might dress more masculine one day, and more feminine the next, or anything in-between. They have no gender, so they may have no preference in how they're addressed, or prefer to be referred to with neutral terms,” she explains. “Does that make sense so far?”

“Not really, no.”

She had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. “Alright. Let's try something else. Do you know anything about two-spirits?”

He sighed. “That's what… you are, ain't it?”

Dr. Lane nodded, somewhat surprised that he remembered that. “Yes, I am. Do you understand what it means to be two-spirited?”

“Nuh-uh,” he states plainly. “But it's called… two-spirit, so... does that mean you actually have… two spirits?”

Again, she's surprised—not by Johnny's question per se, but by the fact that he's actually trying to understand. “Sort of, yes. It means that I have both a male and female spirit. It's more complex than that, but that's the basic definition.”

Johnny rests his head on his hand. “Okay… but… how? How does that work, exactly? ‘Cause to me, you just seem like one person—just regular ol' Dr. Lame!”

She rolls her eyes and chuckles. Even though Johnny was being a bit rude, she could tell he was trying, which is all she could ask for at the moment. “I am one person, yes. But I just happen to have both male and female energy coexisting inside me. It's a spiritual thing, not a physical one. Does that make sense at all?”

Johnny frowned. “None o’ that spiritual hokey-pokey stuff makes any sense to me.”

Dr. Lane sighs, trying to think of how to explain such a complex, spiritual concept to a man who was practically the very incarnation of toxic masculinity himself. She believes that explaining this to a toddler would be easier.

“Think of it as the masculine and feminine energy in everyone's body,” she explains. “Now, some people have more masculine energy, or more feminine energy. Or for some like me, their energy is more equal. Does that make sense?”

Johnny paused for a moment. “So… what would I be?”

She smiles gently. “Only you can truly answer that, Johnny. But if I had to give a guess… I'd say your masculine energy is probably more dominant.”

“You guess?” Johnny grumbled.

She nodded. “As I said, only you know your own energy. But your behavior, your presentation, everything about you is screaming ‘hyper-masculine.’ That's why I made that assumption.”

Hm… Hyper-masculine. He did like the sound of that! Reluctantly, Johnny puts a smile back on his face and flexes his muscles. “Well… yeah, I am the picture perfect man, after all!” He chuckles. “So that means all those folks callin’ me gay's gonna be real sorry. ‘Cause I'm all man! No fruit in this bowl, fellas!”

Dr. Lane was nearly satisfied with the explanation she had given him, for now—it was clear he still didn't entirely understand, but she also knew that this was a big step for him. There would be plenty more time for him to learn along the way. But what caught her attention then was the use of ‘fruit in the bowl.’ Her smile quickly fades away.

“Excuse me, what was that last part…?” she asked.

Johnny smiles, oblivious to whatever it was that Dr. Lane was trying to get at. “What? No fruit in this bowl, fellas?”

She sighed, pinching at the bridge between her eyes for a moment. “I know what you said, Johnny. I want to know what you mean. What does ‘fruit in the bowl’ have to do with anything?”

At that, his brows scrunch up a little, suddenly feeling a bit uncomfortable at being put on the spot like this. “I was just makin’ a joke, man. Y’ know, fruit—‘cause guys like that ‘re… fruity!”

Dr. Lane gave him a deadpan glare. It was obvious that she wasn't a fan of his joke. If Johnny was adamant that he was straight (which, for the sake of his emotional well-being, and for the sake of her own position of power over him as a psychologist, she would simply take him at face-value on that), then he needed to realize that his words had meaning. He couldn't just talk about gay people however he pleased, like he was so used to doing.

“So, what I'm hearing is that you calling somebody fruity is your way of calling them gay, is that right?”

Johnny stammered over his words a bit. Finally, he said, “Uh… Well… Yeah!”

With that, Dr. Lane writes something down before looking back up at him. She looks unamused, her expression stone cold.

“Let me get this straight. You use ‘fruity’ as a way to insult gay men. Am I right about that?”

Johnny raises a brow and waves a hand dismissively. “Hey now, insult's a strong word! Look, I– I ain't one o’ those… homophones or nothin’, I just… I was just makin’ a joke, that's all! It was just a stupid, dumb joke, alright?”

Dr. Lane nods, her expression and demeanor unchanging. “You know, it's awfully convenient that when somebody's being called out for being homophobic, they claim it is ‘just a joke.’ As if that changes the fact that it's an offensive statement.”

Johnny facepalms, letting out a disgruntled groan. “See, this is why I don't ever talk ‘bout this stuff—‘cause no matter what I say, it's all gotta be wrong!”

Dr. Lane taps her pencil against her clipboard, clearing her throat. “Or, hear me out now, Johnny—maybe you should think about how the things you say might not be as funny, or harmless, as you want to believe they are. It's called thinking before you speak.”

At that, Johnny pauses for a long moment, them lets out a scoff. “Pffft. Think before I speak—I think before I speak. I think before I speak, like… all the time! Matter o’ fact, that's my favorite hobby, baby. I love thinkin’ before I speak!”

Her expression and demeanor finally softens, if only a little. She looks at Johnny expectantly, raising a brow in a way that makes it obvious she's doubting him. “Is that so? So you believe that you do think before you speak, do you? Then why did you not stop to think about the consequence of your joke from earlier?”

He crosses his arms. “Well… if I stopped to think about EVERY lil’ thing, I'd go bananas, that's why!” Then, he smiles to himself. “Mm... Bananas...”

Dr. Lane sighs, writing something down.

“I am not asking you to consider every single thing before you say it. I am simply saying that it'd help if you thought about the implications of your words sometimes. Do you, or do you not, see how that ‘joke’ was offensive?”

Johnny hangs his head back and groans. “Sure, whatever! No more callin’ people fruits, right? I get it! I get it.”

Dr. Lane nods. “Thank you. That wasn't so hard, was it?”

She jots something down, before looking back at her previous notes.

“Now, you've mentioned that there have been some rumors spreading about you recently. Do you have any idea as to how they started?”

He sinks further in his chair and grunts. “Like I said—buddy kissed me as a joke, n’ then I Frenched a no-binary.”

“Right. So, you were kissed by a friend and a non-binary person. And after those… moments, these rumors began to spread, is that right?”

He sighs. “Somethin’ like that, anyway…”

Dr. Lane taps her pencil thoughtfully. “You mentioned this was a ‘kissing booth’ you set up, correct? Were these kisses purely platonic, then? No romantic or sexual feelings attached at all?”

“Well, I was hopin’ I'd eventually find myself a Valentine, ya know? A date.”

She nods, before looking down at some of her previous notes. “So, the booth was in hopes of drawing in some romantic interests, then?”

“Yeah.”

Dr. Lane taps her pencil again. “Alright. Let's start with this friend of yours who kissed you as a joke, then. Am I right to say this is the first time you've… kissed another man?”

At that, Johnny's instantly flushed. “Uh, no—I mean, YES! I mean, uh, I don't know! I mean—”

“I'm taking your non-answer as a no, then. Correct?” She just called him right out on it, stunning him into silence.

Johnny's face was a bright, cherry red. “Hey, no, i– it doesn't really count. It was New Year's Eve, n’ I was young! The punch made me giddy!”

Dr. Lane's expression doesn't change, but she's listening intently. “Right. So there was alcohol involved, then? What happened during that New Year's Eve party?”

“I… I don't wanna talk about it.”

She notes his reluctance to bring back the memory, but tries to gently encourage him to open up. “Johnny, I understand this may be difficult for you, but I need you to work with me here. How do you expect me to help you if you won't even talk to me?”

He averts his gaze. “Yeah, well, I don't think that means I gotta share every lil’ detail ‘bout my love life here! Some things ‘re just better kept private, ya hear?”

She writes something against the clipboard once more before looking up at him.

“Yes, there are things you can keep private. But in order for me to help you, I need to have the full picture. Not just some of the pieces.” She sighs. “If the kiss is too personal, would you at least be willing to tell me how old you were when it happened?”

Johnny grunts. “I– I dunno, like… eighteen? Nineteen?”

Dr. Lane writes that down. “Okay. So, at eighteen or nineteen years old, you were young and intoxicated during New Year's Eve, and… ended up kissing another man, correct?”

Johnny begins to fidget with his hands. “Y… Yeah.”

She notices the change in demeanor. He was becoming less and less comfortable with this conversation. “Alright. May I ask how did it make you feel to kiss another man?”

He blushes, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. “Well, I don't really remember. I– I was pretty out of it, y’ know?”

“So, you were blacked out. How do you feel about it now, though?”

“Like a friggin’ idiot, that's what…”

Dr. Lane frowns, not understanding exactly why he felt that way. “Why do you feel like an idiot? It was a joke, was it not? Just a meaningless kiss?”

Johnny squirmed in his seat a little. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, it was.” He tugged at the collar of his shirt.

She notes the constant fidgeting. But she decided not to call him out on it, knowing he'd most likely deny it and shut himself off even more.

“So, how did you feel when… your friend kissed you, at the kissing booth?” she asked.

Johnny swallowed hard, his mind racing as he tried to find the words. “I… I– I dunno. It happened so fast, I didn't even get a chance to really think about it—” He sighs. “It felt… weird, I guess. Really weird.”

For a brief moment, an image of Butch's face flashed through his mind, the memory of the kiss still lingering. As much as Johnny tried to push it away, he couldn't deny the fact that the feeling of their lips together had stirred something within him—manifesting in the form of a small pit in his stomach.

“Alright. Now, when you… made out with your nonbinary friend, how did that make you feel?”

His face burned with embarrassment as he squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. “Uh, it was… different.” That pit in his stomach grew. Johnny clutched at his stomach.

Just then, Dr. Lane's alarm beeped. She looked at her watch, turning off the alarm. “Well, looks like we only have ten more minutes left. Is there anything else you'd like to share before this session is over—?”

Johnny stood up quickly, trying to keep himself composed. “Yeah. Where's your bathroom?”

Dr. Lane, caught a little off-guard by his impatience to get out of here, stood up as well then, walking over to the door and holding it open for him. She pointed towards the clinic hallway. “Of course. Just take a left and walk straight.”

He nodded weakly and rushed out of the room, heading towards the bathroom. He pushed open the door and stumbled inside, locking it behind him.

For a few moments, he just stood there, leaning against the door and trying to catch his breath, holding a hand firmly over his mouth. His mind was racing, his thoughts spinning in a dizzying whirlwind.

…And then, he couldn't hold it back anymore—he hunched over the toilet and threw up into it.

#in character (ic)#GUEST MUSE: Lane Seesequasis

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