#< prev tag mhm

[chronically-ghosted]

i'm swingin' blind and you're stunning me without any gloves

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

word count: 9K

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

summary: the night continues while the two of you dance around the inevitable. dieter's restraint is foiled by dreams of a water bed.

warnings/tags: depictions of drugs, age gap, cum eating, piv sex, not actually incest but close, concerns about getting old, reader is at least 18 (by how much is up to you), no use of y/n, oral (f receiving), hand jobs (m & f receiving), unprotected piv, squirting, the barest hint of overstimulation, oh and SMUT.

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“Do all movie stars have six empty bedrooms they don’t use?” 

“They’re not always empty . . . I mean, it’s good for parties. Gives people space to get out of the chaos if they want, or if they need a place to crash. Keeps the energy, uh, flowing. Keeps the vibes good.” 

He uses the joint to take the place of having to explain that the room you just passed was in fact used as a revolving door for anyone who wanted a bump only two weeks ago. The second floor stretches out into the darkness, the nasty weather outside beating against the windows. He keeps a slow steady pace, the high making his insides comfortably warm as you wander in and out of rooms, like a less frantic, totally-fuckable version of that Scooby Doo gag. He’s quite sure he’ll never be able to watch Saturday morning cartoons the same way.

So far, you’ve been content with asking rather inane questions, filler questions that he suspects you’re hoping reveal more than he’s giving. The response to the question being more important than the answer itself. 

So no one lives in these rooms? No.

Do you ever use these as anything else other than bedrooms? No.

What’s outside by the pool? A gym.

A gym with full length mirrors that he used to adore snapping selfies in, in his younger cop show days, and without much prompting, would admit to masterbating to on occasion. 

You’ll always be your own greatest critic so fuck ‘em.

You come out of the last bedroom, smirking faintly as though someone had told you a particularly naughty secret, humming faintly to yourself. He never much cared for giving tours but given that you walked ahead of him and gave him adequate time to ogle the backs of your thighs, he could think of worse ways to spend time with you. 

“Mhm hmm,” you mutter to no one in particular. The carpet is plush, but that is the only thing you could say you really enjoyed about the style of the house. Everything else, especially the almost clinically clean air to it, makes it feel like a hotel, as if Dieter is mold growing in someone else’s house. Again, these are filed as things that helped fill out the picture of the man your uncle had become, if not the man he wanted to portray.

“So where do you sleep?” 

He had been lulled into such a stupor of quiet fantasy fueled by his warm high that he didn’t even think twice when he pointed down the hall. 

“God, it just keeps going, doesn’t it?” 

Turns out the path to moral degradation isn’t a straight line, but a curved slope. One he finds himself on, going down round and round and round, the longer he watches your legs, the curve of your ass, the bright smile as you quite obviously tried to get a glimpse of the old Dee. But that's the thing about drugs that he finds he so actively craved – of course there is the euphoria, the chemical sensations, the wires of your brain plugged into different outlets and restarting the whole system. But he's found that’s when people tended to be their most honest, most unpolished and they weren’t afraid to be like that. 

There was a lot of talk around the ego and the ID in his early acting classes. Who was your character when their ego had been pulled back like strips of skin? 

But as he got older, the question he became more obsessed with was, who were the people around him when they weren’t being paid to like him?

You, of course, are different from all that. You hadn’t built up an ego quite yet. You hadn’t built up the mechanisms required to survive the world because you hadn’t needed to. Sure, you could deflect and get what you wanted by batting your eyelashes, but there are times he felt ugly in the skin he had built. Like somewhere along the way, he had tried on all these hats and now they had all attached themselves to his head and he couldn’t tear them off if he tried. His costume didn’t fit– his face wasn’t even visible any more. 

And who exactly had spent the last fifteen minutes trailing after his beautiful, carefree niece, a single breath away from getting so hard it hurt, in this massively empty mansion? What version of himself wants to snake a hand into those shorts and effectively ruin you for anyone else – wanted to grip you so hard there’d be bruises and tears in your eyes when you came? 

Which one of them is he willing to show you?

All of them. None of him. The ID.

You glance over your shoulder, curious that he hadn’t answered you. 

“Yeah,” he sighs, smoking between his two fingers again. “Could get lost in a place like this.”

You pause in your inspection, eyes soft because of the drugs or the low lighting or something else, and take his hand. “Lucky I’ve got you then.” 

His mouth is instantly dry in a way that has nothing to do with the weed. He offers you the joint and you smoke too, eyelids drooping, allowing him another second of looking. 

And then another smile breaks across your face.

“Fuck,” your laugh turns into a cough. “Did you ever get that stupid fucking waterbed you wouldn’t shut up about? I remember you swearing the first thing you’d buy when you were rich and famous was a waterbed – which I thought was so fucking cool because I’d never heard of a waterbed before because I was seven and it sounded like something totally made up — so of course, someone rich and famous could have one.”

You’re still holding hands, your palm dry and warm, when he laughs too. He takes the joint back from you, eyes narrowing as he looks at you out of the corner of his eyes.

Turns out moral degradation is a fucking cannon ball. 

“Why don’t you go see for yourself?” 

You squeeze his hand, eyes bright, before almost sprinting down the hall to the room on the right. He follows you, struck by the notion this is the first and last time you’ll ever enter his bedroom. This has to be the end of something.

He hears a grunt and a groan and he can’t help but smile. He saunters into the room, leaning up against the door frame with his hands in the pockets of his robe. You are face down on the mattress, hands under your chest. 

“This is not a water bed,” you grumble, the sound muffled. 

Once again, Maria deserved a raise just for making his bed. 

“No, it’s not,” he says slowly, as he edges a teasing tone into his next words. “Look, I did get a fucking water bed, alright? Just about a century ago when they were still a thing.”

You ease up onto your elbows and glare at him. “Can’t believe you got rid of it. What a waste.” 

And then you’re sliding back onto your knees, hands planted on the covers, and for just a second, he swears he can see the outline of your cunt through the material that could hardly be called shorts. 

His knees actually buckle for a second before he stands up right and physically has to close his eyes. Looking away wouldn’t have been enough. 

But you don’t see all of this. You’re frowning down, as if glaring hard enough will bypass physics and liquidate the mattress. 

“What happened to it? The water bed, I mean.” 

Just as he’s gotten his heart rate back under control, your question throws everything into a spiral again. 

Do not fucking tell her about the hookers and the brass pasties. Or the cock ring. Definitely do not mention the cock ring. 

“It, uh, popped.” 

You smirk over your shoulder. “It was a sex thing, wasn’t it?” 

The question lingers, Dieter unable to make a coherent word that didn’t sound like take your pants off right fucking now, so he swallows and shakes his head. By some minor miracle, you shrug and don’t push it, sliding off the bed and completing your assessment of his life by regarding the book collection against the opposite wall. 

It’s bigger than you expect someone like Dieter to have, but its placement in the house – almost hidden in his private bedroom – suggests that its volume is not there to impress. It’s his personal collection and, judging by the bent spines, books he’s actually read, perhaps several times. There’s a small desk next to it, crouching in the corner and littered with sheets of paper that look like they were torn from a sketchbook. 

He couldn’t decide which version of himself he wanted you to see less: Dieter, full of vices, or Dieter, bratty actor who only acted in the first place because he couldn’t cut it as a real artist. 

Your hands run over the sketches, eyes annoyingly unreadable, and just as he’s about to leap forward and scoop all of the sketches into the trash, you move on. Your interest is caught by some of the books. You make noises that are both outside of the realm of approval or disgust and he finds himself nervous. Book reading is about the last thing on anyone’s mind once they’ve reached the final destination of The Bedroom, so he’s never worried about what someone might think. But this isn’t just someone, it’s you. 

His mouth opens to make some quippy remark, when you gasp and lunge forward, grabbing something at the back of the shelf.

“Holy shit, that’s you!” 

You hold up a picture of his high school’s production of Othello and there he is fifteen and smack dab in the middle of the cast. 

“Oh fuck, I forgot that was there,” he groans, dropping the nearly gone joint into an ashtray by the side of the bed. You’re practically glowing with excitement and he rolls his eyes as he takes it from you.

“Jesus Christ, look at that kid. Has no idea what kind of dumbass he’s going to grow up to be.” 

Three years after that photo was taken, he had left in the middle of the night for Hollywood. Of course, just as he had finished packing up his piece-of-shit Chevy, Enrico caught him. Exploded in his face and scolded him in his old man ways for leaving without saying nothing. 

He kept this photo because it was the last thing that reminded him of home and yet so distant it didn’t hurt as bad any more. 

“I think he did spectacular for himself,” you grin at him. “Who knew The Dieter Bravo was such a softie for the old days?” 

He smirks at you, finally sick of you kicking his ass all night. There is a line between fucking you and out sassing you, one he could live with. You aren't fucking ready for that Dieter. 

“No way,” he rubs the bottom of his lip with his thumb, artfully contemplative, and purposefully distractingly hot. “Just keep it around for the spank bank. Ms. Lemons was a babe.”

You narrow your eyes at him as he leans across you to put the photo back.  “Oh yeah? I gave my first blow job in that blackbox.”

“No, you fucking didn’t.”

“Yes I did!” 

“What was his name?”

“Jeremy.”

“Jeremy what?” 

“Jeremy . . . Barnes.”

“Pssh, fake name, fake boyfriend, fake story.” 

“He was real! I just . . . can’t remember his last name right now.” 

“Blurs together with all the other guys you’ve blown, right?” 

You bite the corner of your mouth, your smirk so tight he can almost picture your toes curling. Not that he’d dare break eye contact with you now. Now that he’s got you practically pinned to the bookshelf, photo forgotten and something that’s been slinking around for the past three hours finally rolling on its back and exposing its belly. 

He knows The Look, he practically invented it, and he can’t quite remember why it’s not okay to get that from your niece and someone twenty years younger than him. Right now, the portion of his brain that can sort that’s fucked up and it’s not that hard to refrain from being a fucking creep is filled with smoke, a sort of hissing sound there that is not unlike a shaken soda begging for release. 

And dear God does he want release. But he’s willing to edge it just a bit longer, scrape that muscle as gingerly as he can before touching it where it needs to be touched.

“I have no idea what you mean,” you say softly, meekly being cowed for the first time all night. Fuck, do you have to make it so easy?

“That’s right. You don’t. Because if it were any good, you’d remember it.” 

He puts a hand above your shoulder to stop himself from sinking into you. Weed made the world feel plushy, moldable – and he just wants to lounge in the dip of your bottom lip. You look so different from the girl who showed up soaking wet at his front door. 

Your breathing hitches the closer he comes, your eyes fluttering as you watch his fingers dig into the spines of the books. 

“What’s his first name again, darling? Do you still remember that?” 

You gasp, loudly, as if his itching fingers had finally sunk in between your legs, but you’re sliding away from him and pulling out something from the shelf. Something white and something he should have fucking hidden better. 

“Oh my God, is this my senior yearbook?” 

You’re wandering over to his bed, leaving Dieter reeling, his own spell so alarmingly effective he is caught beneath it too. It takes him a moment to blink as he realizes maybe this is where you reneg and decide you don’t want to fuck him after all. 

“It’s not as weird as it sounds –,” he begins, heart in his throat, and hands safely in his pockets as he joins you near the bed. You still haven’t looked up as you flip through the glossy pages.

“Sure, sure.” 

“Look, your dad sent it to me and I didn’t even open it,” he says honestly. The package was delivered on the Tuesday afternoon when he woke up so hungover he actually thought he might die, and couldn’t bear the thought of not recognizing you in the class photo. 

Funny how that all fucking worked out. 

You hadn’t leapt off the bed, called him a dirty old man, and ran away to call the police. Which are probably good signs. So, slowly, he sits down next to you, halfway on the bed and halfway off. 

“He sent it just a few weeks ago. I didn’t really think much of it at the time,” he says quietly. So you had been on the high school’s newspaper staff, as well as being the captain of the journalism club and ran the book club. You were on the volleyball team and co-Secretary of the student body government. Here, he spent all night trying to find out what kind of person you are when half your life is waiting for him upstairs. “But maybe he sent it as, like, some sort of . . . fond reminder.”

You snort, your thumb tucked under your chin as your hand touches the memories on the page.

“No, it fucking wasn’t. He was guilt-tripping you.” 

So your dad definitely still remembered the fight all those years ago. Dieter grimaces. His gaze slides from the stock pages, to your knee, down the crease of your thigh. 

“You know, he would have made me your godfather if–,” 

“If you weren’t such a fuck up. Yeah, he told me that too.” 

You finally look at him and find him nearly out of breath, eyes wide as though he had been struck by a sledgehammer right to the chest. 

“Actually, he told me if I came around more.” 

Your face crumples, the flippancy gone.

“Fuck, Dee, I’m sorry.” You cup the back of his neck with your palm in a soothing gesture and it stirs something within him. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It is what it is.” Deflection, distraction, escape.

You smile gently, thumbing his curls as your eyes roam his face, seeing right through his bullshit.

“You know, you kinda became the cautionary tale around us growing up,” you murmur, gaze searching his face. “Not sure why, though. Since you’re, like, a gazillionaire.”

Not worth it. None of it’s worth it.

“I get that. I get why he didn’t want me around. Probably best that I fucked off and never looked back.” 

The corners of your eyes crinkle, as though he had said something that didn’t make sense. You stop combing his hair and run your thumb over his ear. 

“But I don’t think you are,” you say slowly, as though you didn’t need to explain. “A cautionary tale, I mean. I think you’re . . . an inspiration. No one in our town ever fucking leaves, but you did. You got the fuck out and lived your dreams. And that’s pretty cool.” 

There’s not any hope for me, not if you knew all the fucked up shit I want to do to you. 

Don’t look at me like that. 

When he looks around for some self control, something to pull himself out of the pit he’s dragging you both in, there’s nothing. All eroded. 

Moral degradation is a smooth fucking shot. 

The yearbook drops from your lap, clatters to the ground as he takes your face with both his hands, his rings pressing into your cheeks, and kisses you so hard his lips knock against your teeth. The force of it rocks you flat against the mattress, your fingers wrapping around his wrists, grounding you to him – don’t take this back, don’t let go – and his tongue runs against your bottom lip once before your mouth opens without hesitation. He can feel that, that desperation, that eagerness to let him in, and he groans into the hollow of your mouth and you take it, you match it, just like everything else he'd given you this night. 

Your tongue rises to catch him, to guide him, to show him the places you need to be touched. He’ll get there, you little thing, so he nips your upper lip and you gasp, your body tightening beneath him. He grins – there’s so much you have to learn. 

His palm drifts away from your jaw, thumb gentle as it coaxes your cheek to the side, before he latches his lips to your neck, sucking and then a quick bite– all eased by his tongue. Your fingers dig up into his hair, clutching him to your chest as there is anything, anywhere else he’d rather be in the world. As if anyone could pry him off you. 

He dives back into your mouth, air rushing out of your nose in a silent moan, and your knee hooks out around his hips, pulling him into the cradle of your lap. You jerk back –

“Dee, you’re – holy shit –,” 

Your hips brush up as if you had somehow gotten it all wrong the first time. As if he isn’t rock hard above you. Your eyes widen as he smirks down at you.

“Yeah, baby, that’s all you. All you do to me.” 

He chuckles, dropping his head to your chest, breathing deeply, head spinning from kissing you so thoroughly. He inhales, nose rubbing against the soft material of your shirt, ideas of peeling it off you with his teeth. Your scent, it’s all at once intoxicating, mesmerizing, and . . . familiar. 

He groans, almost nuzzling your chest.

“Fuck, this smells like that nasty deodorant from 711 I used to buy ‘cause I couldn’t afford anything else.” 

You slowly open your eyes up at him, a distantly embarrassed smile curling up the corners of your mouth. You look hazy, blurred, lips flushed and pink from getting them sucked and bitten. Had he not just licked your entire mouth clean from spit, you might have blushed.

Your fingers curl gingerly around the back of his neck. “Well, you never forget your first.”

His mouth falls open. You had successfully knocked him back on his ass for a second time that night. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he husks, a grin breaking across his lips as the hand at your shoulder pulls gently at the sleeve. “This is my shirt? This has got to be older than you are.”

A small part of his brain, the part that definitely would object to fucking his pseudo-niece, goes warm at the thought that some part of him still lived in that neighborhood, was still there for all the important moments of your life. 

That is until the very active part of his brain lumbers in, quashes all gentle feelings and promptly wrestles for control of his mouth to ask you flat out if you ever touched yourself while wearing it. Not that he didn’t want to know, but if you said yes, he would have come right there on the spot, perhaps so hard his dick popped off. So he did not ask you that, but he did satisfy that part of his brain by molding his hand around your hip, so he could feel the cool fabric on the back of his hand, and your warm, plush skin against his palm. 

You like her being drenched in you, don’t you? 

You swat at his chest, rolling your eyes, oblivious to his rapidly darkening thoughts. “It is not older than me, but if it was . . . would that be a problem?”

You pick at imaginary lint on his shoulder, hips rolling just enough to indicate it better not be a fucking problem, and a smirk on your face that reads innocent and filthy all at once. 

Dieter shakes his head, grinning as he inches his wide palm up your hip, across the thin flesh of your ribs and – 

Does not find a bra. 

You had not been wearing a bra the entire night.

Your smirk deepens, your back arching into his palm, as his thumb brushes the underside of your breast, then over your tightening nipple. You moan softly, eyes fluttering, when he pinches it deftly. His jaw ticks, teeth grinding from the pleasure of watching your mouth arch open. 

It’s like you had been given a list of all the things that turned him on and you are crossing them off one by one. Like you had skinned him and read all his little nasty thoughts written on his ribs and made them your own.

Like you were made for him. 

He leans forward, the bristles of his beard and mustache rough like matches against the shell of your ear, his voice so weighty it could have been another physical thing he intended to drive into you, intended to rub against you to make you keen with pleasure. 

“It’s not a fucking problem, you little brat. Only problem is gonna be if it keeps me from watching those pretty tits bounce while I fuck you.”   

There it is. Out in the open. As if all his flirting and touching and tongue between his teeth hinted at something else besides you spread out under him. Half delirious from being so hard, he grins as he bites the bottom of the shirt – his shirt, Jesus Christ – and pulls it up and he ducks his head under the material and presses a sucking kiss into the valley of your tits. 

He likes giving head from underneath the sheets because, yes, it was hard to breathe. It was hot and stifling and everything smelled of sweat and sex and eventually his brain was forced to make a decision about what motor functions to hold onto and he made it focus on sensations until he was sure he’d be swallowed up by the cunt under his mouth or impaled by the cock in the back of his throat and if that’s how they found him dead, he’d be absolutely fine with all of it. 

Dieter Bravo – died doing what he loved. Giving immaculate, delicious head. 

The heat under the shirt is nowhere near as intense but it’s enough to make him flush with want. He licks the sweat gathering underneath your right tit, holds it on his tongue before he lathers both his spit and your sweat over your clearly-painfully tight nipple. Every touch of his makes you stutter and he can feel you unconsciously rubbing your hips up against him. 

“This isn’t going to end up on Youtube or some shit, right?” You ask above him, your voice rough as though your throat is dry. “You don’t have cameras filming this, right, Dee?” 

He chuckles with his nose rimming your left nipple. Do you have a voyeur kink? He muses vaguely. 

Fuck, I knew I shouldn’t have gotten rid of that mirror. 

“No, baby, it’s not going on Youtube.” He runs his warm palms up the curves of your side as he tugs his head out from underneath the shirt. “All the videos go directly to a password-protected server in the Cloud.”

“Dee–,” you groan as he lunges forward and kisses you hopefully so hard it knocks those silly thoughts from your brain before pulling back to grin helplessly at you. 

You cannot physically describe how impishly adorable he looks with his hair mussed, his lips pink and twisted in a smirk – you cannot really do anything at all, really – but your hand slides up from his shoulder, across his warm neck and settles into his cheek. The last bit of brown is swallowed by a swelling blackness as you rub your thumb across the bottom of his lip. This thing that has been eating at you the longer you’re around him edges you on, daring you to push him just a bit further because it knows you’d just love what he’ll do. It knows more than you, but it’s not exactly smarter than you. It’s just simply fascinated by Dieter Bravo. 

Your own mouth parts, your eyelids growing heavy, as you swipe across his lips one more time before sliding your thumb into the warmth of his mouth. Eyes never leaving yours, his tongue greets your thumb, massaging the pad before licking around it like he’d swirl off the top of an ice cream cone. He sucks gently and you can’t fight the noise that comes out of you. Almost shocked, surprised that you can feel this aroused with all your clothes on and just his tongue. He drags his tongue across the back of your knuckle and the groan is louder now – you want to bite into him – and he pushes his hips into the mattress. 

“C’mere, baby girl–,” 

Dropping your thumb, he dives in again for your mouth, this time the back of his hand grasping your neck. He kisses you and kisses you and kisses you as if forgetting there was another way to relieve the tension in his gut, the spark that's fanning smoke like a brushfire into every place your skin, your spit, touches his. 

“Take– this– off–,” He pants between the hot presses of his mouth to your jaw, your neck, the spot beneath your ear that makes you keen in a new way. His hands are scrambling over yours to get the shirt up and over your head, desire almost making him panic that everything is going too fast but not fast enough – he wants to be inside of you in every way that matter – he wants you to smell like him – to breath his same air – 

He’s not so much kissing as opening his mouth over your skin, his teeth and tongue and lips fighting over themselves to get to you first. He wants to linger, wants to take his time but the pressure – he deliriously thinks he can smell you – and only when his fingers clamp down on the waistband of your shorts – he has half a mind to punish you for walking around in these things, making his sanity unwind in the hallways of this fucking place, until the only truly sane thing to do is fuck you and fuck you good – the thought is so strong, almost violent he pauses. 

He looks up to the devastation he’s left in his wake – bright, purple spots on the inside of your breasts, under your ribs, the small swell of your stomach, your chest heaving – and he watches your face. You realize he’s stopped moving, slowed in his volcanic thunderous roll down to the clutch of your cunt, and you meet his gaze. You swallow, mouth too dry to form words, so you splat a hand on his shoulder. 

"No robe. I’m not – not going to let you f-fuck me in a bathrobe.” 

He grins. Of course, you would sass him after a make out session so intense he doesn’t even care if he comes in his pants. But he obliges, pretty much willing to cut off a finger if you continue to purr at him like you are. 

“Excuse you, this is lounge wear.” He leans back onto his knees and shrugs himself out of the green robe. Your eyes flash to the triangle on his forearm and he’d be fucked to admit he didn’t get it entirely for the look in your eyes right now. Chicks always dug the tattoos. Your tits bounce as your breathing hitches. 

Not Daddy’s girl, his smoke-heavy, lust-soaked brain chants at him, not Daddy’s girl. 

God, he’s so hard it hurts. 

He goes back down, dropping himself between your legs, arms tucked up under the backs of your thighs. He mouths the inside of your thigh – a distraction as his hand, like some sort of fucked up, horny magician performs a slight-of-hand, “iiiis this your clit?” – rubs you over your shorts. You are soaking wet and he’s fighting the urge to just dig in there, suckle you through the wet spot. He hadn’t actually made someone come that way before, but now seemed like an excellent opportunity to try. 

“You know, for someone who has to couch-surf, you talk a lot.” 

He noses the rim of the bottom of your shorts, allowing a full gaze down to your ass. 

“Sorry if I’m sick of fucking boys who look like their mom dressed them.” You are breathless, shaky, unwinding at the seams and you know exactly what to say to dig right into him. 

He bites the soft place at the back of your thigh and you groan. 

“I thought you couldn’t remember any of them before me,” he purrs, watching that damp spot grow darker the longer he talks, the longer he holds off on touching you where you and him and the entire fucking world knows you need to be touched. 

Maybe you ran your mouth too, when you were nervous, overwhelmed. Maybe you laughed too loud when you didn’t know what else to do, and maybe you gave him shit because the second words stopped coming out of your mouth, you’d have to sink into whatever he was giving you. You’d have to kneel to the white lighting between your legs. Maybe you were afraid there wouldn’t be white lightning at all. 

Families share similar insecurities, after all. 

He waits until you open your mouth again before hooking his fingers under the band of your shorts. 

“Hmm, there’s actually a fairly long list of guys before you. Guys who–,” 

He sucks the skin just an inch to the right of your hip bone, just before the patch of curly hair, he sucks it into his mouth and bites so gently he knows that your brain nearly splits in half from the hairline fracture between pleasure and pain. 

You gasp and you’re already arching off the bed. He breathes across those coarse, damp curls and inhales. 

Girlsex. 

Girlsweat. 

It’s like there’s acid corroding his brain, eating away at the clamps holding his sanity together and he’s gonna go fucking ballistic if the acid doesn’t get to him first. But he wants the burn. He wants the chemical smell. 

He wants . . . to put his dick into something. 

But first – 

You’re pliable. Easy to move as he scoops your shorts off your ass – Oh, fucking Christ, there’s her entire backside, isn’t there? – over your thighs and he hurls the shorts over his shoulder. He inhales–

God, this pussy is going to kill me, he thinks or maybe says out loud before he tips forward into that black, fluttering hole. When he licks you, you both moan. 

He remembers specifically doing planks for as long as he could to build up the upper body strength to languish here for hours.

Well, at the time, here wasn’t here here, but if everything before this was practice, then he was ready for the Olympics, dick as hard as a goddamn gold medal. 

He swipes up with his tongue, licking and sucking and swirling like frosting was going out of style. Frosting, that’s it. That’s what you reminded him of. Fat, sweating, sweet frosting. And there was the cherry on top. 

He guides your clit into his mouth, his fingers digging into the tops of your thighs as if to pull himself deeper into the wettest goddamn pool at the fucking YMCA. He sucks once and your hands fly into his hair. You’re making sounds that somewhat resemble his name, but they’re too high, too pitchy, too airless to be anything coherent. 

He wants to tease you about all the boys you mentioned. Wants you to go back on your word, beg for him to believe that there was no one else before him. If there was, it didn’t matter because this is it. This is the best you’d ever have. 

Even when you left him, you’d never forget – 

Disgustingly, he slurps up one lip of yours into his mouth and you cry out, fingernails digging into his scalp so hard that it hurts and sends another rush of blood into his weeping cock. He mouths up before teasing your clit again – around it but never on it – before diving back down and lapping up your other lip. 

“Dieter–,” you garble as if you know it’s filthy. He can hear your breathing tighten in your chest, feel your thighs clench around his ears, and he swears if he gets out of this with hair in tact, that’s the most he’s going to ask for –

And he french-kisses your clit.

You come, gasping, writhing, back arching off the mattress and he bares his forearm across your stomach, reaching up to pinch your nipple. 

Settle down. We’re only just getting started. 

He’s got to control himself but staring up at you, your face flushed with pleasure, he can’t quite remember what he’s supposed to do next. 

You are naked underneath him. Naked and heaving and he licks the dampness staining his mattress just to have your taste in his mouth again. This is going to be a problem, if he can’t think straight without his mouth on you. 

Oh my God, duh, fingers. 

He pulls himself up the length of your body, and his hands sink into your hair. His fingers curl around your ear as he makes you look at him.

“How are you feeling?” It’s an echo of what he asked earlier. You’re still warm but your breathing has slowed. Your eyes are open, even if they’re fighting to stay open as if you are concussed. 

“Good. Great.” You mutter, hand falling to his chest and tangling with his shirt. 

“You wanna keep going?”

Your eyes open wider as if someone rang a dinner bell and you’d been walking on hands and knees, starving for weeks. You swallow thickly, nodding frantically, and the hand leaves his chest, winding down between you and, before he can stop you, slides under the material of his sweats and strokes him. 

Your hands are like velvet.

Fuck, then what’s your cunt gonna feel like– 

Do not fucking come right now. 

“Oh, I see,” you huff, a smirk curling your mouth up, as if you had won some unnamed battle. You roll your shoulder to go aaall the way down his cock and stroke him. You think about licking your hand, but the precum leaking out of the tip of his head at a truly flattering rate is enough lubricant to keep your hand from sticking. “I can’t walk around without a bra on, but you can walk around in these thin fucking sweatpants and no underwear.”

He grits his teeth, dropping his head to his chest, trying to breath through the freightcar rattling down his spine.

“It’s my house, you little cocktease,” he pants, gasping as you run your thumb against the vein underneath his shaft. You pump him again and again and he groans low, with his eyes shut to keep them from rolling back in his head. “I can– yeah, right there – do whatever I want. Move your hand. I want to stick my fingers in you.” 

His words aren’t so crass they make your ears red, but it’s the unrestrained need in his voice. You slowly withdraw your hands and you go wipe the threads of him on the mattress as he sits up to take his shirt off. 

“Don’t. Just– gimme a second.” 

He yanks the tank shirt over his head, setting down in between your legs again and blinking like he’d forgotten where he was. He takes your hand, licks your palm as clean as something as dirty as this could ever get, and then penetrates your hole with his middle finger. His tongue slides in the crevice between your ring finger and your pinkie and when he adds a second finger below, you both can feel the moment your brain is wiped blank and your body twitches along with it. 

“Mhmm, good.” He pulls you down closer to him, fingers plucking your strings like the finest guitar. Your knees are spread wider than when he had half his body down there. He’s watching you practically drown his hand in the wetness seeping out, his other hand holding or balancing your knee. 

He hovers above you, watching you roll and writhe and beg. His forearm is strained, his hand must be soaking, and he thinks your face contorted in pleasure might be permanently burned into his brain. There is still some part of him that knows that’s wrong. He shouldn’t have the faintest idea of what you looked like, high and blissed out of your mind, while his fingers stroke and dig and pluck and rub to drag you higher and higher – 

The pad of his middle finger brushes something spongy and you nearly slam your legs shut over his arm, if it weren’t for his free hand pinning you open. 

“Dee,” you croak, head shaking, “that was – you can’t–,”

His eyes flutter at the sound of your voice so wrecked. He needs to memorize that exact spot, save it for when you don’t have enough sanity left to push back. It’s scary, he knows, but you must be out of your goddamn mind if you thought he was going to let anything bad happen to you. 

“Look at my thumb. Baby, look down.” 

You wrench your eyes open, past your quivering chest, down his long forearm, down to where the black bullseye on the meat of the space between his thumb and palm is winking at you. 

He’s stroking you with his thumb on your clit and the bullseye winking up at you. It’s eye-fucking you and that’s enough to break you. He wants to drink whatever drips out of you as your body locks up, head thrown back, and you come. You break through and his hand curls around your knee, gently, as he watches your body crescendo for the second time that night. He sucks his fingers, almost pensively, as if he is going to carve something out of you. Remake you. Split apart your atoms and rebuild you whole. Sex as an act of re-creation. 

He kneels his way out of his pants, cock pounding red, leaking, the hot center of where his want for you is infecting him like a sickness. 

Slowly, he drags one of your knees over his shoulder, half of your body hovering just above the mattress. 

He wants to ask if you need it rough or slow. He can’t be gentle right now but he does have enough awareness to keep from hurting you. But maybe you, like him, like a little bit of pain. 

He wants you on top, wants to see you sing for him, but he knows your legs are jelly. He knows there’s a white static hum in your brain and he’s so grateful for the pleasure of it. 

He rubs the top of your thigh and noses the back of your ankle up by his ear. 

“Do you want me to put a condom on?” he asks quietly, before kissing that spot below your ankle.

“Are you clean?” He’s so fucking broad and his rings pinch your skin when he pushes too hard and he’s asking for your comfort. You also want to feel every inch of his cock and you beg him to say yes. 

He nods, suddenly irrationally thankful of Paul’s monthly mandated screenings. You get the clap once, and your fucking manager never lets you forget it. 

You huff, realizing you’re so close your cunt can almost taste it. “I-I’m on the pill. A-a-and I’m clean too.” 

As if he had ever denied you anything, as if his willpower hadn’t barely lasted four hours, you tense at the anticipation of his cock. 

He’s just as warm, just as ready, so he grabs your other ankle and draws it next to your other one against the back of his neck. He sinks back just a bit on his ankles, fingers spreading you and grabbing himself and then–

It’s like getting the wind knocked out of you and getting sprayed with a hose of fire all at once. 

“JesusfuckingChrist, you’re tight.” 

He edges deeper as he sits up right, going slow not because he hadn’t unwound you properly but because if he went any faster, he’d obsess over the idea of getting rug burns on his dick. 

“Dieter, oh God–,”

Hands leaving your ankles to wrap around your thighs, he rocks his hips back and drags out his cock just as much as the both of you can handle before thrusting forward. Again.

Again. He can’t seem to fill you enough. He wants to be bigger, thicker, girthier, if only to plug you up more. 

But, fuck, your cunt is better than your hands but only because it’s so warm and wet and throbbing and he swears his heartbeat is in his ears. 

He thrusts almost lazily, dipping his head to kiss your shin before dropping it back, your toes brushing his hair. His hands greedily squeeze your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles. 

It’s like he has to recover from the shock and sensation of fucking you. It’s too good. It’s too much. 

He’s inside of you.

If there’s a relief fund for grilled cheese, he’s going to have to donate every red cent he’s ever owned. 

Your hands clench the sheets, mouth open and, yes, beautiful tits bouncing with every thrust. It’s not them hovering above him, begging to be bitten, but it’s close and he smooths his hand down from your thigh over his chest, down your hip and he kneads your breast. 

“Oh, fuck, Dee, fuck . . . you feel so fucking good.” 

I want to die in this cunt. 

“So good, baby.” 

It’s back, that pressure that connects the backs of his eyes, to the back of his gut, all the way to his pussy-soaked cock. This time he lets it build, lets it dangle out of reach, and his thrusts become faster, hurried. You jerk beneath him and let out a full whine as if he had spanked you. 

He fucks you some more this way, just to feel that tightening in his gut, before he pulls your legs off his shoulders and you whine again, this time out of annoyance. 

He has the where-with-all to smirk.

“What, baby doesn’t like it when I take away her toys?” He pants, almost feeling light-headed. You scowl at him but don’t push back in the least as he turns you onto your hands and knees. 

“It was just starting to feel good, you a-ahh–ss–,”

He jerks his hips into you without warning, fully seating you on his cock and your head drops between your shoulders. 

“If you weren’t such a brat, you’d be kind of cute,” he murmurs as he rubs his thumb over the knots in your spine, the sensation of your cunt sucking him in almost detaching him from this plane of existence. He knows you like to be teased, with his words, with his fingers, his mouth. He wants to give you everything – anything – he’s so pussy-obsessed he can feel it like ozone in his mouth.

He never wants to stop fucking you. He’s being unstable about it. 

“You like that I’m a brat,” you say and push back with your hips. The sensation does make him stutter and you take it as a win. His rings sting as they squeeze your hips. 

He’s sliding down that pressure, winding himself up so tightly in it he wants to stop breathing – 

He starts pumping faster. The sounds that echo in that room are like music to his ears.

The sheets ruffling as your hands clench around them. The jolt of the bed as it lurches back and forth.

Your moans as he fucks every thought out of your head. “Fuck, you’re so big. It’s not fair.” 

The wet slap of his thighs meeting yours. 

And it all narrows down, the universe closing to a single focal point–  all of it runs right to his cock rubbing up inside your cunt like it owns the place.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you groan, head down. “Please – please fuck me harder, Uncle Dieter.” 

With a growl that surprised even him, he drops forward, one hand anchoring himself to your hip and the other coming up around your throat. You gasp as his fingers dig painfully into your skin. He pulls you both up right, nose in your ear and teeth tight in his jaw. 

He punctuates every word with a particularly brutal thrust that gnaws at something truly devastating inside you. 

“Don’t – fucking – call me that – while – I’m inside – you–,”

You turn your head, flush with his and the hand that’s on your throat slides up to your cheek and he holds you there, pins you there as his cock pounds the daylights out of you. 

“Say my name.” He husks. There’s something cataclysmic happening inside your cunt and he has the launch codes. 

You can’t remember feeling so full before. So up your eyes and your mouth and your ears and your heart – God, maybe there really hadn’t been anyone before him. 

“Oh, fuck, Dieter,”

“No, honey, my real name.” 

Your eyes flicker open and something in his chest roars. He’ll kiss you after this. He’ll kiss you so hard you end up on another fucking planet. 

“David.” 

The sweat on his temples mixes with yours and he wants to smear himself in your fluids. This close, his beard and mustache rub roughly against your skin and you wonder how long the burn will last after all this. You’re clenching his arm, clenching his lower back to you, you think you’ll make him bleed in half-moon cuts of blood. 

“All of it. All of it, baby girl,” he whispers to your cheek, your jaw. “Say it. I need to hear it. I need to hear it from you.” 

Your fucked-out mind spins, clutching at the memories of the past, to a name you hadn’t heard in a decade, while the man you’ve known all your life threatens to undo your sanity. You lock eyes with him, the precipice of something so large and looming, you can’t wait to be crushed by it.

“Davíd Moralés.” 

And that bastard’s cock intentionally pushes against that spongy spot and you shriek. Honest to God, yell, as you come, with Dieter wrapped up against your back, sweat streaking both of you.

“Get down,” he hisses suddenly and almost throws you off him. You land on your back, your entire body pulsing as one single organism, and he grabs his cock in time to aim it at your chest. 

He comes, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, as he sprays you with white ropes. It’s warm on your tits and you shudder through your aftershocks. You feel like you’re sinking into warmth as he keeps coming, your inner thighs drenched and dripping, and finally, he leans away and collapses on the bed next to you.

There’s ringing in your ears. 

You feel swollen all over, your nerve centers humming and firing and crackling as though someone whapped you over the head with a 500 volt electric baton. You want to keep sinking, keep drifting, keep existing in this warm, non-corporeal form. Everything feels so good here.

You had no idea you, or anyone else for that matter, could come that hard. 

“Holy shit.” 

You can’t help but grin through the short huffs of breath you swallow down in gasps. 

You want to sass him but it feels a bit like spitting in the face of God. “Yeah. Holy shit.” 

He sits up on his elbows, glancing over his side at you, the begrudgingly fantastic cock between his legs as deflated as you are. 

“Are you okay? Fuck, sorry, I got a little crazy there at the end.” 

You shake your fist loosely, with your thumb and pinky finger extended. “I don’t hear customer service calling. In fact, I think the line has been permanently disconnected.” 

You both laugh softly and his eyes roam over your face. This is why he only saw vampy women. It was easier to wake up to something almost over-the-top hot, than this. Than you, with your beautifully flushed cheeks, plump lips, and eyes that searched only for him. 

His gut twisted painfully. Okay, you nutted so hard you’re pretty sure your dick isn’t going to work for a week, now wake up. Wake up and smell the fucking arrest warrant. 

Uncle Dieter. You're his niece. 

What the fuck were you thinking? Where could this possibly go?

Instead of inspecting the small-starting-to-grow painful throbbing in his chest, he sits up and pleasantly inspects the mess you both made all over you. You follow his gaze, smirking as he intentionally smears his cum over your skin with his thumb.

“Oh, and that thing you did at the end, where you made me–,”

“Yeah?” He grinned wickedly, almost begging you to use your words, but you had been so good for him. He’d save that for later. “You liked that?”

“At the risk of sounding desperate, yes. A thousand times yes. But totally unfair and totally cheating.”

He snickers and leans down to your thighs. “Yeah, okay, Ms. I’m Not Wearing a Bra.” 

The smell of you is intoxicating and it’s drenching your thighs, the sheets below you. Maybe he could strip the bed before Maria came – oh, fuck, what if it’s in the mattress?

He hauls those thoughts out of his mind, his dick twitching uncomfortably, as he bends forward and licks the inside of your thigh.

“Oh my God, Dee, you can’t possibly be –,”

“Relax. I’m not. Just wanted to clean you up.”

He licks the drying liquid from your skin – you hiss, so very overstimulated – dragging his tongue up, never breaking eye contact with you as he slinks up your body, shoulders rolling – “Dee, wait, you’re gonna–,” and licks the cum off your chest. His own cum. 

“Oh, fuck, that’s nasty,” you murmur, eyes transfixed on his mouth as he swallows. He chuckles, finally deciding you’ve had enough for one night, and he leans forward and presses his lips on your temple. 

“I’m not ready, but it sounds like you might be.” 

He reaches back to the floor where his shirt was so casually discarded. He gingerly wipes your thighs, your hips, your stomach and chest. There’d be time for a proper wash later, but right now he thinks he’s going to pitch forward into unconsciousness in less than thirty seconds. His limbs are heavy, his eyelids are heavy but he can’t stop smiling.

You grin at him as he tosses the very used shirt back onto the ground and gets up from the bed to disappear into the bathroom. You roll onto your side, after unpeeling the bedsheets like you had done it a thousand times. When he comes back, you rub your face against his pillows and he realizes if he’s going to hoard the sheets, then he’s going to have to do the same to the pillowcase. 

“I’m not gonna wake up and find you mouthing that shirt, am I?” You ask, a smirk already cradling your lips. He huffs at you as he hands you a glass of water. You take it, gratefully, only vaguely aware that he probably did that kind of thing all the time with his other conquests. 

That thought threatens to sour your good mood so you put the glass back onto the bedside table and curl deeper into the sheets. 

He climbs in behind you, and rubs his nose over your shoulder and up into your ear, his hand spread across your hip. 

“Only if I wake up in the middle of the night and can’t mouth your tits.” 

He’s purposefully being sexy, being teasing, but there’s a question there. A request. A quiet ask that for all his thick dick swinging, doesn’t have the cojones to verbalize. 

 You smirk at him and roll back slightly to catch his mouth. You thread your fingers through his hair and squeeze once. 

“Baby, I couldn’t stand up right if I fucking tried.”

He grins, eyes warm. “Wow. Even if you fucking tried?”

God, this is such a bad idea.

“Even if I fuck-in’ tried.” 

But despite all his not-at-all begging, he wakes up alone. 

He wakes up in broad daylight – the storm had passed. Too bright light streams in from between the gray curtains, illuminating the one thing he never wanted to see: your side of the bed empty. 

His heart clenches so fast he thinks he might be sick. There’s real nausea as he stumbles to his feet and pulls his pants on from last night. He’s about to rush down the stairs, frantically flipping over everything in hopes of finding a note, even if it told him to fuck off. 

You’re twenty years older than me, you fucking creep.

Just wait until my dad hears about this. 

I never want to see you again. 

Just as his mouth dries up till his lips crack, he sees something on the other side of the bed that makes him freeze in his tracks. It’s your phone, plugged into the wall. He goes over and taps the screen. The battery has only 15%. 

And then a post-storm breeze rattles the patio door handle and it opens slightly. He sees your barefoot through the cut in the door frame. 

Holy fuck, you’re still here, just outside. 

Heart now jettisoning into his throat, he opens the door to a truly spectacular morning. His patio looks down to the freshly-washed Los Angeles, the sky a cobalt blue, the air cool and faintly smelling of rain. People run and lead their dogs through the streets and for a minute he thinks he can hear the ocean. 

But what makes it truly spectacular is you. Curled up at the small table in one of his white shirts and those sanctimonious shorts. You’ve got a cup of coffee in your hand and you’ve got his favorite book, Eco’s The Name of the Rose, lying flat beneath your fingertips. But you aren’t reading. You’re looking at him.

“Well, hi there. Did you dream you missed a flight?”

He blinks. “What?” 

“You just, sort of, rushed out here, looking like you forgot something.” You frown. “Is everything okay?”

He swallows and it’s all he can do to keep from dropping to his knees and pressing his face into your lap. 

“Yeah, fine, fine. All good. Fine.” 

You turn back to the book, staring at it as if it was giving you a pep talk. Then you shut it and turn back to him.

“So, um, last night . . .” 

Here it comes. I regret it, all of it. You drugged me and took advantage of me. I can’t believe that you would–

“Was great.” 

He swears he hears his blood rushing in his ears. You smile at him, but clearly uneasy. As if you are the one second-guessing it all. 

Fuck, Bravo, put on your big boy pants.

He pulls out the other patio chair and sits down next to you. He clasps his hands, leaning forward on his elbows. His rings clink together. He nods, trying to catch your eyes.

“Yeah. It was fucking fantastic. I mean it. One for the books.”

He waits for you to say but. 

You wait for him to say but.

Neither of you do. You grin and put your coffee on the table. 

“So, in the events of last night . . . surprisingly, I forgot to charge my phone.”

He doesn’t want to touch you because he thinks it might spook you so he runs his gaze over your lovely knuckles, your wrist. 

“Sounds like, then, you might need to stay awhile.” 

You swallow, unable to contain the growing smile on your face. You duck your head and he follows you and your breath fans his face. 

“Guess so.” 

If he tells it, he says he kissed you.

If you tell it, you say you kissed him. 

Doesn’t matter though. Doesn’t matter that the coffee grows cold and he ignites something in you that you didn’t know existed.

When he finally pulls away, he’s still smiling. 

“This might be a bit weird, but . . . wanna see my other kitchen?”

The End

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #f!reader #the bubble fanfiction #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo fanfic #pedro pascal fanfic #the bubble fic #the bubble fanfic

[underground-secret]

The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean Winchester x f! reader

Description: Sam's nightmare leads the group to Saginaw Michigan. But it's more than a nightmare and it's more than any ol' hunt. Things are revealed about the past as it sends them barreling into the future.

Warnings: Cannon violence, I might have gotten a little too carried away with the beginning scene sorry not sorry! flirtation, banter, mentions of su!cide, gore, mentions of child abuse, mentions of past abuse, guns, a roller coaster of emotions, and a lot of angst (no one can be happy...sorry!)

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra , @fablesrose , @ada--44 @bonkydarnes , @star-yawnznn @crazyunsexycool @onlyangel-444 @seninjakitey @mystic-mara

Word Count: 9,912

Nightmare

(Masterlist, Prev Ch, Next Ch)

I turn over in my bed, burying my head deeper into the pillows to ignore the loud and insistent banging from my door. I mumble incoherently into the covers, sleep having its claws so deep into my brain. “Please open the door, sweetheart. ‘m tryna give you privacy here but if this door isn’t open in five seconds I’m gonna use my key,” Dean warns loudly, his voice raspy. I hum softly into the bedding but make no move to get up, instead snuggling deeper into the blankets. The remains of sleep creep into the corners of my mind, hazing the rest of my brain.

Suddenly a gentle calloused hand is on my bare shoulder, “Come on baby, as much as I wanna let you sleep Sammy needs us to hurry.”

“Mhm,” I hum halfheartedly, digging myself further into the bed if possible. “Alright that’s it,” he says finally. There's some shuffling before the covers are pulled back, a rush of cold air prickling my exposed legs followed by the warmth of his hands dragging up and down my calves slowly before leaving to pull down my slip nightgown further past my butt. That wakes me up. My eyes flutter open, and as much as I loved my little cotton nightgown every time I wore it to bed I woke up to a full tit out and the bottom up at my hips. Luckily this time I didn’t think it rode up so high, it had only felt like it was just barely covering my butt, so at the most, he saw a flash of my underwear which is not the most ideal thing to happen, and also insanely embarrassing but at least I was wearing one of my cute pairs. And at least he didn’t comment on it, except he did pull it down further which means he probably did see…oh god. 

“Okay! I’m awake Dean!” I say, my words half mumbled by the bed but if I turned over he would also be seeing a boob today and he had seen enough already. His hands grip my ankles, his thumbs rubbing my skin, oh lord. No. I have to focus…and not on how butterflies are erupting in my stomach, fluttering around frantically, “Not convinced baby, not until I see you get up,” he conceded. He was really playing with my resolve and it was a very fickle thing to begin with. 

“Yeah, so if I flip myself around you’d be getting flashed. These nightgowns…just you know…” I admit, my face warm for two different reasons. His thumbs pause and I can practically hear the arch of his brow and that devilish smirk, “By all means, continue…”

“Dean,” I warn.

“I really wouldn’t object to it, wouldn’t complain one bit,” he comments, his voice dripping with amusement. “Dean!” His hands leave me entirely and I suddenly miss the warmth he brought, “Alright, alright,” he gives in, “I’ll go, be waitin’ in the car. I’d hurry though Sam’s freaking out about needing to leave but won't say anythin’ more.”

The initial embarrassment of being woken up the way I was or at least the result of that, as well as being a little “late” had long worn off except for when Dean caught my eyes in the rearview mirror then it all came rushing back. But I needed to screw my head on right, and not get distracted by his playful teasing manner, he was most likely compensating for the fact that he had to say goodbye to the woman he loved again. Ending on good terms aside those feelings don’t just magically disappear especially when it only happened recently. Either way, I was thankful for the nightfall's darkness, because with each gaze my face heated up even if it was against my better judgment. 

I needed to focus.

Sam had his ear pressed into his phone, reading from a fake ID to potentially give real information, “McReady. Detective McReady, badge number 158. I’ve got a signal 480 in progress, I need the registered owner of a two-door sedan, Michigan license plate Mary-Frank-six-zero-three-seven…Yeah okay, just hurry.” 

Dean glances over at his brother, concern written in his eyes, “Sammy relax. I’m sure it’s just a nightmare.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Sam remarks. 

“You know considering he was right about your old house I’m pretty much convinced he’s right about this one too,” I add. Dean adjusts his hold on the steering wheel, “It could also just be a dream. Y’know, a normal everyday, naked-in-class, nightmare. This license plate, it won’t check out. You’ll see,” Dean tries to reason though I can't understand why he won’t accept that Sam has been right before and will be right again, my only guess would be fear.

“I mean I suppose,” I shrug, “but even just logically speaking unless you’re lucid dreaming you can’t read in your sleep, as the part of your brain that’s responsible for logic and intellect shuts down. So following that logic, he wouldn’t have been able to read or understand that license plate, that fact must hold some merit here.”

“Alright, maybe he was lucid dreamin’ then,” Dean suggests instead, finding any reason for his brother not to be a psychic. 

“It felt different Dean. Real,” Sam shakes his head, eyes focused as he tries to explain, “Like when I dreamt about the old house and Jessica.” 

“Yeah, that makes sense. You’re dreaming about our house, your girlfriend,” Dean points out, “This guy in your dream, you ever seen him before?”

“No,” Sam responds. 

“It doesn't matter if you've actually seen someone they can still be in your dreams because when you're walking around you're subconsciously watching and cataloging them,” I explain, “Though of course you're most likely to have dreams about people you see or think about more often, but still people you pass in real life can be in your dream.” Dean catches my eyes again in the mirror, gazing at me questioningly, “Why do you know so much about dreams?”

I shrug, “I don't know, it’s interesting so I just go down a rabbit hole of information. Plus there are a lot of psychological aspects to dreams which can make them important to analysis.” Dean shakes his head as if shaking away the information, “So why would he have premonitions about some random dude from Michigan.”

I rub my eyes, tiredness still trying to cling to me to the point of my eyes aching, “Yeah I don’t have an answer to that one.” Dean turns his gaze to his brother, silently asking him the same question, “I don’t know,” he answers. “Me neither,” Dean shrugs with one shoulder though it was more done to prove his point.

“Yes I’m here,” Sam says suddenly, pressing the phone closer to his ear. He goes silent, listening, then throws a glare at Dean and picks up his pen, “Jim Miller. Saginaw, Michigan. ‘You have a street address?… Got it. Thanks.” He moves his phone away from him, clicking a button, most likely hanging up, “Checks out. How far are we?”

“From Saginaw? Coupla hours,” Dean answers. “Drive faster.”

The Impala cruises to a stop, Emergency vehicles lined up followed by two medical examiners pushing a stretcher with a body bag on it just being zippered. We were late and it was hard to know whether it was by a couple of minutes or hours, but it didn’t matter because we were late and someone was dead. 

We approach the crowd, a couple of neighbors dressed in their pajamas and a coat watching the scene from behind a line of caution tape. “What happened?” Dean asks a nearby woman. 

“Suicide,” she answers, “Can’t believe it.”

“Did you know them?” Sam questions, moving to the woman’s other side. 

She frowns, “‘Saw him every Sunday at St. Augustine’s,” she replies, oversharing to a couple of strangers but it was helpful so there was no way we would tell her to stop, “He always seems…seemed so normal. I guess you never know what’s going on behind closed doors.”

“Guess not,” Dean acknowledges, looking straight ahead.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say softly, maybe she didn’t know the guy so well but seeing him weekly still meant something. She nods in thanks. 

“How did…uhh” Sam stammers, “How are they saying it happened?” It was a total conversation turn but once more it was necessary. “I heard they found him in the garage, locked inside his car with the engine running,” she answers. Carbon dioxide poisoning from a car makes it hard for it to be an accident so of course the initial thought would be suicide and I doubt it would be easy to prove otherwise with a death like that. 

“Do you know about what time they found him,” Sam pushes and I hope she doesn’t think we’re being weird about this and asking a little too many questions. “Oh, ‘just happened about an hour or two ago,” she says. Frick, frick that wasn’t long ago at all. “His poor family,” she continues, “I can’t even imagine what they’re going through.” I follow her gaze to a woman standing on the front steps crying against a middle-aged man. A young distraught man stands behind them. I could imagine what they were feeling and it was horrible. Grief was not pretty and those feelings were even uglier, leaving a permanent mark on your heart. 

Someone tugs on my sweatshirt sleeve, I follow the motion watching Dean walk away following his brother who had stormed away. I follow them, making the quick walk to the Impala. 

“Sam we got here as fast as we could,” Dean reasons. 

“Not fast enough,” Sam shakes his head, a pained look painted on his face, “It doesn’t make any sense man. Why would I even have these premonitions if there wasn’t a chance I could stop them from happening.”

I bit my lips, thinking for a moment before speaking, “Maybe it wasn’t about him exactly, like maybe it’s bigger than that. Sometimes that happens, remember what I said about oneiromancy or using dreams to predict the future? Well sometimes it’s not so literal, sometimes it serves as a warning or pointing you in a specific direction for whatever reason. Now I know your whole thing is different and more detailed than that but do you get what I mean?”

He nods, clearly thinking it over. “I don’t know though, I’m no expert but I’m just tryna say to keep it in mind,” I add. He shakes his head and sighs, “So what do you think killed him?”

“Maybe the guy just killed himself?” Dean suggests, “Maybe there’s nothing supernatural going on at all.”

“Then why would he have such a vivid dream of just some random dude dying?” I point out, immediately realizing my contradiction. “I dunno,” Dean shrugs, “Maybe it’s like you said, it’s pointing to somethin’ else.”

“I watched it happen. He was murdered by something. I watched it trap him in the garage,” Sam explains.

“What was it, a spirit, poltergeist, what?” Dean asks in rapid succession. Sam huffs, “I don’t know what it was. I don’t know why I’m having these dreams, I don’t know what the hell is happening!” He was freaking out, totally and utterly freaking out and he had every right to be. “It’s alright Sam,” I say softly, “We’ll figure this out, I promise. ‘No matter how long it takes.”

He sighs, mumbling a “Thanks.” I couldn't imagine what he was feeling, I always knew who I was even if nobody else did. To know one thing your whole life just to be thrown onto a totally new path with no explanation must be terrifying. “What,” Sam says suddenly throwing a look at his brother who was just staring at him. Dean shrugs, “Nothing. I’m just, I’m worried about you man,” he confesses.

“Well don’t look at me like that!” Sam yells. Dean looks away, “I’m not looking at you like anything,” he retorts, glancing back, “Though I gotta say, you do look like crap.”

“Dean. Really?” I say.

“Nice. Thanks,” Sam replies, pursing his lips. With a small smile, Dean moves to the driver's side of the car, pulling the door open, “Come on, let’s just pick this up in the morning. We’ll check out the house, talk to the family.”

“Dean, you saw them, they’re devastated. They’re not going to want to talk to us,” Sam reasons. Dean pauses in thought, “Yeah, you’re right. But I think I know who they will talk to.”

I scoff, “Who?”

I pull open my motel door, the sun shining brightly behind the man in front of me highlighting his stunning green eyes. His arms are hidden behind his back, “What do you have there?” I ask, squinting at him suspiciously. “Oh, just a little somethin’” he smirks devilishly, gazing down at me. 

“You’re scaring me,” I admit, “I’m scared.”

“Don’t be,” he grins revealing what he was hiding. He holds up a rectangular Halloween costume bag, the classic orange logo on the top, and a blonde woman in a nun costume holding a ruler on the other side. I look between him and the bag his smile never leaving his face a mischievous sparkle in his eye, “Sam and I are going as Preiests so we need our nun,” he explains.

“Tell me you're joking,” I say blankly, my face falling.

“Not at all sweetheart.”

I huff a laugh, pointing at the bag, “I’m not wearing that.”

“You gotta,” he replies.

“No offense to the nuns of the world, but I would rather be shot dead than wear that.”

“‘Cause it’s not cute?” Dean asks though it comes off more like a statement as he knows my answer. “Yes,” I answer flatly, “I’m not wearing that.”

“Maybe I shoulda picked up the slutty one,” he retorts, thinking he got me there. I cross my arms across my chest, wetting my lips, “You should’ve, ‘be good for Halloween,” I counter. Checkmate. He drags his eyes across my frame. my face heats up, “While I’d love to see to that, Halloween is months away and you’re being ridiculous.”

“Still not wearing it,” I say as sternly as I can manage, which isn’t very considering my mind trying to compute what he said. “Come on,” he grumbles, “what am I gonn’ do with a nun costume now?” He pushes past me, stepping deeper into the room. I close the door, turning around, “I don't know, return it? Or use it for one of your one-night stands, I’m sure you’ll find someone kinky enough.”

He looks at me blankly, deadpanning, “You’re wearing it.”

“No”

“Yes”

“No”

“Yes”

“I’ll just sit this one out, wait in the car or something ‘till you’re done,” I say.

“You’re wearing it,” he repeats.

“No”

“Yes”

“You’re not winning this one!” I throw my hands up.

“Y/N come on!”

“No!”

He groans, annoyed, “If you wear it I’ll buy you whatever book you want.”

Oh. I mean it’s only a couple of minutes of embarrassment and ugly clothing, “Okay, deal. Fine.” His wide grin returns, he throws the bag at me and I catch it, looking down at it with disgust. “‘Not gonna bite sweetheart,” Dean says as he heads out. 

“Yeah, but I might,” I mumble.

I fixed the Coif on my head for the hundredth time, I should’ve put more bobby pins in my hair. God. How did Nuns wear these? It just digs into your scalp and the most hair you could show was just the very top, probably about three inches, the rest of your hair was hidden along with your ears. It was the least cute or sexy thing to ever exist, faces were not being framed. 

“Quit poutin’, you're supposed to be a Nun, be happy,” Dean comments as he rounds the car.

“I look like I'm going to burn myself at the stake,” I huff.

Sam laughs, having to bite back the noise. “You look fine,” Dean says. I look down at myself, the long black dress covering everything down at my ankles and a strange-looking white squared bib thing around my neck, “Who are you lying to right now!” 

Dean huffs frustrated, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“At least you guys look good, like really good,” I say maybe a little too honestly. Sam had his hair all jelled back in a cute little hairdo, he was quite adorable. And on the other side, it really must have been the all-black attire, forget about the clerical cuff and that damn silver ring on his finger that made Dean look so good. Otherwise, there was something deeply wrong with me and I’d have to reevaluate my life, ‘cause there should be no reason for a “Priest” to look so damn fine. Lord, I need help. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” Dean declares. He leads the way crossing the street and walking right up the porch, he rings the doorbell that silver ring glinting in the light. Sam sighs, “This has gotta be a whole new low for us.”

“Amen,” I mumble.

The door opens slowly and I throw away my pout replacing it with a kind smile. The older man from yesterday stands at the door, blocking our view of the rest of the house. Now that it wasn’t dark out and I was far closer, I was able to take note of him: a round-faced man with dark eyebrows and a sort of buzzcut.“Good afternoon,” Dean starts, “I’m Father Simmons, this is Father Frehley, and this is Sister Kathern We’re new junior priests over at St Augustine's. May we come in?”

The man nods, stepping aside. “Thanks,” Dean says entering first. I give the man a polite nod, “We’re very sorry for your loss.”

“It’s in difficult times like these when the Lord’s guidance is most needed,” Dean adds.

“Look, you wanna pitch your whole ‘Lord has a plan’ thing? Fine. Just don’t pitch it to me. My brother’s dead,” the man spits, his face wobbling with choked emotion. An older blonde woman appears, her soft hair only reaching her shoulders, her eyes etched in sadness, “Roger. Please!” she lectures. Roger moves away, escaping to some other part of the house, “Excuse me.”

“I’m sorry about my brother-in-law. He’s…he’s just so upset about Jim’s death,” she explains.

“You don’t have to apologize, we completely understand. Everyone grieves differently,” I say sincerely. Her eyes soften, a sad smile on her face, “Would you like some coffee?”

“That would be great,” Dean answers.

****

I sit next to Sam on the loveseat, Dean beside him in an armchair. Ms. Miller pours coffee gently into a couple of little white mugs, she hands one to each of us, “It was wonderful of you to stop by. The support of the church means so much right now.”

“Of course. After all, we are all God’s children,” Dean replies smoothly, taking a sip of the black coffee. She stands up taking the coffee pot with her. Dean takes that opportunity to shove a bunch of cocktail sausages into his mouth, he was really taking advantage of her leaving food out on a little platter. “What?” he asks with a mouthful of food, responding to his brothers staring. “Just…tone it down a little bit, Father,” he responds.

Ms. Miller returns then, emptyhanded, she sits back down. Dean swallows his mouth full of food before talking again, “So Ms. Miller, did your husband have a history of depression?”

“Nothing like that,” she answers her eyes already tearing up, “We had our ups and downs like everyone but we were happy,” the tears run rapidly down her face, “I just don’t understand…how Jim could do something like this.”

“I’m so sorry you had to find him like that,” Sam replies sincerely. She wipes her tear-stained face, gesturing behind her, “Actually, our son Max, he was the one who found him.”

“Do you mind if maybe, I go talk to him?” Sam asks. 

“Oh thank you, Father,” she musters a sad smile. He rises, following the direction she pointed. 

“Ms.Miller you have a lovely home. How long have you lived here?” Dean inquires.

“We moved in about five years ago,” she answers. 

“The only problem with these old homes, ‘bet it gives you all kinds of headaches,” he comments. Her face washes over in confusion, “Like what?”

“Well, weird leaks, electrical shortages, odd settling noises at night,” he lists, “That kind of thing.”

She shakes her head, “No, nothing like that. It’s been perfect.”

“Huh,” Dean hums, “May I use your restroom?”

“Oh sure, it’s just up the stairs,” she says. He nods, rising and taking another cocktail sausage before leaving. Now I was left to fend for myself in a social situation I wasn't totally prepared for. What do I say? “Is there anything I could do for you that might make you feel better? I understand how hard it is now.”

She tears up again, “I don’t know.” I lean over placing a gentle hand on her arm, “It’s okay…it’s okay," I say softly.

I enter the boy's motel room, following Sam. We had just come back from researching about the Miller’s house. I close and lock the door behind me, so grateful that I had been out of that nun outfit for more than an hour. “What do you have?” Dean asks, his entire arsenal spread out around him as he sits on the edge of the bed cleaning a gun. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows as he works the weapons, I have to force my gaze away. Men should not be allowed to look good doing random tasks, it wasn’t fair.

“A whole lotta nothing. Nothing bad has happened in the Miller house since it was built,” Sam answers sinking onto his bed. 

“What about the land?” Dean questions further.

“Nope,” I say, “There were no battles or graveyards, it’s not tribal land and no kind of atrocities happened on or near the property.”

“Hey man I told you, I searched that house up and down. No cold spots, sulfer scent. Nada,” Dean adds.

“And the family said everything was normal?” Sam checks.

“Well, if there was a demon or poltergeist in there you think somebody would have noticed something? I used the inferred thermal scanner man, and there was nothing,” Dean answers.

I sigh moving to sit at the end of Sam's bed, “Back to square one.”

“So what, you think Jim Miller killed himself and my dream was just some sorta freakish coincidence?” Sam questions.

“I dunno,” Dean answers truthfully, “I’m pretty sure there’s nothing supernatural about that house.”

Sam gets a pained look in his eyes, bringing his hand up to rub his temples, “Yeah. Well, maybe it has nothing to do with the house,” he inhales sharply holding his head, “Maybe it’s just…Gosh,” he clutches his head, “... Maybe its connected to Jim in some other way?”

“Sammy you okay?” I ask, placing a careful hand on his bicep just as Dean says, “What’s wrong with you?” I throw him a sharp glare, way to word it. Sam makes strained pained noises, sinking to the floor, “My head.”

Dean practically jumps from his bed, “Sam? Hey,” he sinks right next to his brother in a crouch grabbing Sam’s arms, “Hey! What’s going on? Talk to me.”

I stand up concern running through my blood, “Sam! Come on!” I've never seen something like this before, it was completely foreign which only made it more terrifying. Dean throws a pleading look at me and I stand not knowing what to do, “I-I don’t know, I’m sorry.” He turns back to his brother, not saying anything as he holds on to him. 

Then, Sam slowly removes his hands from his head, focusing back on reality as he warns, “It’s happening again. Something’s gunna kill Roger Miller.”

My leg bounces in the back seat. once more we were running against an invisible and unknown clock, running to save someone with little to no information given. And once more Sams is on the phone trying to get information quickly that will help us, “Roger Miller. Uh no no, just the address, please. Ok, thanks.” He goes quiet with the information before hanging up and reciting it, “450 West Grove, Apartment 1120.”

“You ok?” Dean asks, eyeing his brother in quick succession.

“Yeah,” he answers in the least convincing tone possible.

“If you’re gunna hurl I’ll pull the car over you know, cause the upholstery…” Dean says, not really joking.

“I’m fine,” Sam answers still not convincingly enough.

“Alright,” Dean shrugs, dropping it.

“Just drive,” he says, looking away. He sighs, “Look, I’m scared, alright? These nightmares weren’t bad enough, now I’m seeing things when I’m awake? And it’s painful.” 

“Come on man, you’ll be all right. It’ll be fine,” Dean comforts in his own way. I wet my lips, choosing my words carefully, “Whatever these abilities are, they’re advancing which is why it’s breaching into day. And because it's leaning more toward psychic abilities it takes a great amount of will, and concentration, and puts a horrible strain on your mind which is why it's painful. But the more you work on it the better it’ll be.”

He turns around in the passenger seat, facing me, “You have telekinesis, right?” I nod, his eyebrows scrunch together, “It hurt when you were first started?”

“God, yes,” I laugh bittersweet, “It just requires so much focus, more so at first, that I had headaches constantly. I tried not to use too much Advil, but they were definitely making a profit off of me, that’s for sure.” He seems to consider the information, turning back in his seat, “Then what is it about the Millers? Why am I connected to them, why am I watching them die? Why the hell is this happening to me?!”

“I don’t know Sam but we’ll figure it out,” Dean answers, “We’ve faced the unexplainable every day. This is just another thing.”

Sam shakes his head, “No. It’s never been us. It’s never been in the family like this. Tell the truth, you can’t tell me this doesn’t freak you out, Dean.”

Dean looks straight out the windshield silently, he couldn’t lie because Sam and I both witnessed him freak out before over it. Of course, then we’d all been younger, and he lashed out at me and when he left he hadn’t talked to me or apologized for months, I think it was about five. These sorts of things do freak him out, and sometimes I think the things I’m capable of doing still scare him sometimes, and that's just with someone he's friends with. With his brother, that fear must be a million times worse. “This doesn’t freak me out,” he finally says, lying. 

****

The Impala pulls up across the street from Roger, who approaches his apartment's entrance with a bag of groceries in his hands. Sam rolls down the window swiftly yelling for the man, “Hey Roger.” The man turns around, the annoyance on his face clear as day, “What are you guys, missionaries? Leave me alone.”

I lean over rolling down the window opposite of where I sit, “Sir this has nothing to do with religion! Trust me.”

“Please,” Sam adds. But Roger is already gone, walking closer to his building. Suddenly the car jerks into motion the engine gunning as it makes a quick turn around, and with a bump Dean jumps the curve hurriedly parking as Sam jumps out running after the man, “Hey. Roger. We’re trying to help! Please! Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.”

I get out of the vehicle, round the black car, and head to Sam’s side, Dean following. As Sam reaches the entrance, Roger closes the door behind him, “I don’t want your help.” He walks deeper into the building and in a last-ditch effort Sam yells, “We’re not priests or nuns, you gotta listen to us!”

“Roger, you’re in danger!” Dean yells after him. But of course he doesn't hear them or if he does he just ignores the warnings. God people are so stubborn. “Come on,” Dean suddenly says looking towards a back entrance, he leads the way as we run around the corner of the building to the back entrance, a door in the way. With a quick look around Dean steps back and kicks it open, the door bursts open with a crack. 

Sam jumps for the bottom ladder of the fire escape, using his tall frame to easily reach it, he pulls himself up and starts running for the stairs. Dean turns to me offering me a cupped hand, “You comin’?” he asks. I shake my head, pushing strands of hair behind my ear, “No you go, there isn't enough room for the three of us on that thing, you go. I’ll keep watch. He needs you.”

He looks me over, before nodding and jumping for the ladder, catching up to his brother swiftly. Against my better judgment instead of keeping watch, I look up at them, a hand blocking the sun as they make it up to the second floor. Then all of a sudden there's a heavy squeak and slide of a window followed by a wet squelching noise. Sam freezes, Dean sprints past him and stops looking down at something I can’t see from down here but even so, I know it is Roger’s severed head. 

****

“I’m telling you there was nothing there. No signs either, just like the Miller’s house,” Dean informs, once more the three of us in the car this time driving back to the motel. Sam squints his eyes, slightly, in focus, “I saw something, in the vision, Like a dark shape. Something was…something was stalking Roger.”

“Whatever it was, are you sure it’s not connected to their house?” Dean asks, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. 

“You know that argument doesn't really hold up anymore considering Roger died in his apartment,” I answer fidgeting with my fingers, “So it could be the family itself.”

“So you think, like a vengeful spirit?” Sam questions.

“Well yeah,” Dean responds, “There’s a few that have been known to latch onto families, follow them for years.”

“Angiak. Banshees,” Sam lists out examples.

“Wouldn’t you have still picked up on something when you were snooping around?” I ask this time, looking up from my hands. “No, I was thinking somethin’ more like a curse,” Dean explains, “Maybe Roger and Jim Miller got involved in something heavy, something curse-worthy.”

Sam hums, adding to the working theory, “And now the something is out for revenge. And the men in their family are dying…Hey, you think Max is danger?”

“Let’s figure it out before he is,” Dean remarks. Sam sighs, “Well, I know one thing I have in common with these people.”

“What’s that?” Dean asks.

“Both our families are cursed,” Sam says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. I frown, one because he feels that way and two because I dislike when people say that. Dean huffs, “Our family’s not cursed! We just…had our dark spots…”

“Our dark spots are…pretty dark,” Sam nods slowly. Dean eyes him, “You’re….dark.”

I scuff, “Well as dark as it was you don’t have to worry, curses aren’t real.”

Sam turns around in his seat, facing me, “You’re a witch and you don’t believe in curses?”

I tilt my head giving him a ‘really?’ look, “That’s not what I meant, of course those kinds of curses exist they are very real and palpable things,” I wet my lips, “What I meant is that this curse you suggest to be the reason why you suffered misfortune isn’t real and that goes for everybody. Bad things just happen. And I know you probably weren’t being too literal but still blaming bad things on curses doesn’t help you in the long run it just serves as an excuse for you not to face your problems and acknowledge the real issue.”

Sam looks at me with slightly wide eyes and when I look at Dean, his expression is more or less the same if not even more, “What?” I ask eyeing the two of them. Sam turns back around in his seat a small smirk on his face, Dean gives a little shrug, “Nothin’, just someone’s using their psychology degree.”

I snort, suddenly getting shy, “Shut up,” I mumble. The thing was I wasn’t using my psychology degree this was just me, not that I was embarrassed by my degree. I took education very seriously, especially college. So of course I wound up double majoring, one in criminal justice and the other in psychology, but could you blame a girl? Either way, I didn't like when people said things like that, blaming something on a force they didn’t understand and had no real play in any of it.

I pull down the sleeves of the black Nun dress, readjusting the material, “I hope you know this is another book,” I say closing the car door behind me. Dean seems to round the Impala quicker at that, “What?! No, that wasn’t part of the deal.”

I purse my lips, “Yes, but when we made that deal it was under the presumption that it would only happen once in this case. And yet, here we are again.”

Dean opens his mouth to say something more but his brother cuts him off, “Wait, you guys made a deal?”

I smile triumphantly, “Yup!”

Sam frowns a little pout to his lips, his puppy-dog eyes turned down, “Man,” he whines, “I should’ve made a deal.”

“You should’ve,” I respond, thinking for a moment, “You know what? I will extend my second book to you, you are now included!”

He shakes his head, “No Y/N it's okay, have your books.”

Now I shake my head, “No no I want to, nothing would bring me more joy than the three of us going to a bookstore, and while Dean impatiently waits for us and grumbles to himself we get to wreak havoc and choose books!” Sam smiles with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “That does sound like a good idea.”

“You’re an evil woman,” Dean grumbles.

I smile sweetly at him, “I prefer ‘wicked’ but I guess that’s close enough.”

He eyes me for a beat, tongue against cheek as if he is contemplating saying something but ultimately he looks away, “We’re meant to be checking in on Max.”

Oh, “Yeah,” I say leading the way. “See, this always happens,” he states, reaching my side in one stride.

“What happens?” Sam asks.

“Whenever you two are together we get nothing done,” he elaborates. I fake a hurt gasp, “That’s so not true!” I mean we could be annoying, sure, but that was our whole job especially since we’re younger siblings it’s just how it works. 

We reach the door and he knocks before anyone can say anything more on the topic. Instead of Ms. Miller answering the door her son, Max, does. He opens the door wider, “My Mom’s resting, she’s pretty wrecked.”

“Of course,” Dean nods, stepping deeper into the house.

“All these people kept coming with like, casseroles?” Max says, making small talk, “I finally had to tell them all to go away. You know 'cause nothing says I’m sorry like a tuna casserole.” I bite back my laugh, very poorly, he caught it giving a smile back to me and Sam who was also grinning at the joke. Max gestures to the seating area his mom put us just earlier today, and just like then we all take the same seats, but this time it's Max in front of us. 

A beat of silence goes on before Sam sighs, speaking softly he asks, “How ‘you holding up?”

His face drops a little, answering with a small, “Ok.”

“You’re Dad and your uncle were close,” Sam follows up, stating instead of asking.

He shrugs, “Yeah, I guess. I mean, they were brothers. They used to hang out all the time when I was little.”

“But not much lately?” Sam asks.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just…” he shifts in his seat, “We used to be neighbors when I was a kid before we lived across town in this house. Uncle Roger lived next door, so he was over all the time.” 

“Right. So how was it in that house when you were a kid?” Sam questions further. 

“It was fine. Why?” Max answers, dismissively. He was uncomfortable, something about that old house made him uneasy. 

“All good memories? Do you remember anything unusual? Something involving your father and your uncle maybe?” Dean asks this time, skepticism written in his voice. Max shakes his head, slight panic crawling in his irises, “What do yo…..why do you ask?”

I recognized that panic. Knew it well. I remember wearing it, how it crawled over my skin. “Don’t worry it’s just a question,” I nod, noting his behavior.

“No, there was nothing. We were totally normal. Happy,” he replies suddenly more sure of his answer.

“Good. That’s good,” Dean answers, “Well, you must be exhausted. We should take off.”

Catching on Sam nods, “Right,” he looks back at Max, “thanks.”

Max eyes us, something between panic and questioning, “Yeah.”

****

We make it to the Imapla before debriefing, the panic in his eyes burning into my retinas. 

“No one’s family is totally normal and happy,” Dean starts, pointing out the faults of Max’s response, “See when he was talking about his old house?”

“He sounded scared,” Sam answers sadly.

A chill runs up my spine, “More than that, he was petrified. And I don’t think it has anything to do with the house…”

“Yeah, Max isn’t telling us everything,” Dean agrees, “I say we go find the old neighborhood, find out what life was really like for the Millers.”

I shift my footing, fixing my pants (which I was glad to be in again) as I watch the older man named Rob in front of us. “Have you lived in the neighborhood very long?” Sam asks him.

“Yeah, almost 20 years now. It’s nice and quiet. Why, you looking to buy,” he answers and I can’t tell if he wants us to be interested or wishes to keep out outsiders. Maybe the earlier, he seems kind.

“No, no,” Sam smiles, “Actually, we were wondering if you might recall a family that used to live right across the street I believe.”

“Yeah, the Millers. They had a little boy called Max,” Dean adds.

“Yeah I remember,” he responds, “The brother had the place next door. So, uh, what’s this about, is that poor kid ok?” That makes me stumble over my thoughts, “He….um, I’m sorry why did you word it like that?”

Rob frowns, “Well in my life I’ve never seen a child treated like that. I mean I’d hear Mr. Miller yelling and throwing things clear across the street, he was a mean drunk.” My skin curls up, my fears confirmed. My heart recoils, cowering away from the information and the thoughts. “He used to beat the tar outta Max. Bruises. Broke his arm two times that I know of,” Rob continued. 

I take a subconscious step backward. I don’t understand, if he knew why didn’t he do anything? Why didn’t he call the police?

“This was going on regularly?” Sam asks, his voice firm.

“Practically every day. In fact that thug brother of his was just as likely to take a swing at the boy but the worst part was the sepmother. She’d just stand there, checked out, not lifting a finger to protect him. I must have called the police seven or eight times. Never did any good.”

I suddenly feel nauseous. He was finally free now but that was too many years too late.

“Now you said stepmother,” Dean says for confirmation. How could he not be reacting to this information?

“I think his real mother died. Some sorta…accident. Car accident I think,” Rob answers.

Suddenly Sam clutches his head again, grimacing. Rob looks at him strangely, “Are you okay there?”

He winces, “Uh, yeah.” Dean holds the crook of his brother's arm, leading him away as he throws back a “Thanks for your time.”

I blink out of what feels like a daze, mustering a smile for the man, “Have a nice day,” I say before catching up to the boys. But my feet feel heavy, as if cylinder blocks had been tied to my ankles. My intestines seem to twist itself into a knot, wrapped around like a bow. I clutch my shirt where my stomach is, my heart seems to beat faster an unnerving feeling settling itself into the vessels. I could hardly focus on my tense body and anxious thoughts when Sam’s head lulls back, his eyes doing that thing where you can tell he isn’t here with us right now. He’s somewhere else, having a vision.

****

I want to curl into myself and shy away from the current case. But we were in the Impala driving back to the Millers house and Sam still had to tell us about his vision. “Max is doing it. Everything I’ve been seeing,” Sam reveals. I should be surprised but I’m not, maybe it’s because of the newfound information.

“You sure about this?” Dean asks, almost skeptical. 

“Yeah, I saw him,” he confirms.

“How is he doing it?” I ask carefully. 

“I think telekinesis,” Sam answers. 

“What so he’s psychic?” Dean questions, definitely skeptical.

“I didn’t even realize it but this whole time, he was there. He was outside the garage when his Dad died, he was in the apartment when his Uncle died,” Sam elaborates, “These visions, this whole time–I wasn’t connecting to the Millers, I was connecting to Max! The thing is I don't get why, man. I guess—because we’re so alike?”

“What are you talking about? The dude’s nothing like you,” Dean responds firmly.

“Well,” Sam tries to reason, “We both have psychic abilities, we both…”

“Both what? Sam, Max is a monster, he’s already killed two people, now he’s gunning for a third,” Dean exclaims. This was all getting very complicated very fast. “He’s not a monster he’s a kid. It isn’t his fault, he’s a product of his messed up childhood,” I defend, my voice filled with perhaps a little too much emotion.

“With what he went through, the beatings, to want revenge on those people? I’m sorry, man, I hate to say it, but it’s not that insane,” Sam adds, agreeing. I nod vigorously, it isn’t insane, not one bit.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t justify murdering your entire family!” Dean yells, his voice louder than needed.

“No of course not. But clearly, no one else was caring about him. No one made any effort to help him, not even the police! So you must understand why he felt like he needed to take justice into his own hands,” I argue. This was complicated, this was human. And humans, human feelings get messy very quickly.

“You're suggesting he's a necessary evil?” Dean counters, his voice gruff and on edge.

“Maybe, yeah,” I answer, crossing my arms across my chest. The car jerked right, driving up to the curb in front of the Miller’s house. “He’s no different from anything else we’ve hunted, all right? We gotta end him,” Dean lectured.

“We’re not going to kill Max,” Sam and I say at the same time, our voices overlapping. “He’s a kid!” I add.

“Then what?” Dean counters, “Hand him over to the cops and say ‘Lock him up officer; he kills with the power of his mind.’” 

I huff, “That’s not the point and you know it. We can talk him down, he isn’t a monster and I highly doubt he would kill just for fun. He’s angry and he’s hurt, he needs help. If we do that then we are just as bad as his uncle and his dad and the cops that refused to help.”

He shuts the engine off, pursing his lips and shaking his head, “All right fine. But I’m not letting him hurt anybody else.” Yet, despite his words he leans over to the glove compartment and pulls out a pistol. He glares at Sam as he gets out of the car. I catch his eyes, “Dean.” He looks at me, challenging me, before ultimately getting out and tucking the gun into the back of his pants. I roll my eyes, tongue in cheek, pissed. I get out of the car, joining the boys but not before slamming the car door behind me.

We run up the porch, Sam in the lead. He knocks on the door, and when no response comes he leans over the railing peeking in the window. He looks back at us and he does not have to say anything for us to know what was happening. Max was going to kill his Stepmother.

Without thinking any further, Dean raises his leg to kick the door in. I stop him, “Dude way to be inconspicuous. Let me.” He backs up a few steps, hands raised in defeat. I grasp the cold knob of the door, not needing to put much effort into getting the door unlocked. We rush into the kitchen, where Sam said Max would do it. Ms. Miller presses her back closer against the counters, her eyes wide and filled with tears and fear as she watches her son in front of her. Her eyes snap to us, “Fathers? Sister?” Ironically enough, we weren’t dressed up instead in normal clothes which I wasn’t sure if priests and nuns ever did. Max spins around, poorly concealing the large knife behind his back, his hair is a mess and his eyes match his stepmothers in fear after all he was caught. “What are you doing here?” he asks, afraid.

“Uhh, sorry to interrupt,” Dean answers awkwardly. 

“Max, can we, uh, can we talk to you outside for just one second?” Sam leads, fumbling for an excuse. He eyes us, he doesn’t trust us, “About what?”

“It’s….it’s private. I wouldn’t want to bother your mother with it,” Sam lies, “We won’t be long at all though, I promise” he says directing it to Ms.Miller. Max looks back at his stepmom and then at us, “Ok.”

“Great,” Sam smiles. 

We turn to leave, making it out of the kitchen and to the front door. Dean takes the lead with his hand grasping the doorknob, pulling it open he smiles back at Max awkwardly. Then all of a sudden the doorknob is pulled from his grasp and the door slams shut, followed by the dropping of all the blinds for each window. Impressive. I turn around swiftly watching Max as he backs up, “You’re not priests! Or a nun,” he yells. 

Dean draws his gun quickly, but without even moving a muscle Max uses his powers to pull the gun away, it slides across the floor and he crouches down to take it. He stands up tall, pointing the gun at us. Dean nudges me slightly behind him, I want to shove my way in front of him but he holds his arm out in front of me and I don’t feel the need to argue now of all times. Ms.Miller appears in the archway between where we are and the kitchen, “Max, what’s happening?”

“Shut up,” he bites.

“What are you doing?” she repeats, approaching carefully. Removing one hand from the gun he swings his arm towards her, using his power to send her flying back into the kitchen, she hits her head against the kitchen bench before sliding down to the floor. “I said shut up!” he yells at her unconscious figure. 

“Max calm down,” Sam says steadily, holding his hands up in defeat. 

“Who are you?” Max snaps.

“We just wanna talk,” Sam responds with instead. Max scuffs, “Yeah right, that’s right you bought this!” he motions with the weapon. Sam takes a careful step forward, “That was a mistake, all right? So was lying about who we were. But no more lying Max, okay? Just please, just hear me out.”

He eyes us carefully, “About what?”

“I saw you do it,” Sam explains, carefully, “I saw you kill your Dad and your Uncle before it happened.”

“What?” Max questions.

“I’m having visions Max, about you,” Sam elaborates.

“You’re crazy,” Maxx huffs.

“So what, you weren’t gonna launch a knife at your stepmom?” He challenges, taping his eye, “Right here? Is it that hard to believe Max, look what you can do. Max I was drawn here, all right? I think I’m here to help you.”

His hold on the gun tightens as fresh tears run down his face rapidly, “No one can help me.”

“That’s not true,” I say softly, “I know it feels that way now, and I’m sorry it does. But if anyone can help,” I look at Sam, “It’s him,” I look back at Max, “Please.”

Sam nods, wetting his lips, “Let me try. We’ll just talk, me and you. We’ll get Dean, Y/N, and Alice out of here.”

“Uh-huh. No way,” Dean intervenes. The chandelier above us rattles, “Nobody leaves this house!” Max yells. I want to cut in, I could contain him in a matter of seconds a minute at best. He was skilled, but I certainly knew more than he did. Yet I know I can’t do anything, he’s scared so rushing him with my abilities won’t help. Treating him like a monster won’t help. 

“And nobody has to, all right? They’ll just…they’ll just go upstairs,” Sam reasons, but the light fixture continues to rattle.

“Sam, I’m not leaving you alone with him,” Dean mutters.

“Yes, you are,” Sam answers firmly, “Look, Max. You’re in charge here, all right, we know that. No one's going to do anything that you don’t want to do but I’m talking five minutes here man.”

“Sam!” Dean intervenes again. I place a hand on his upper arm, gaining his attention fast and without words, not wanting to scare Max off, I give him a look and a nod silently telling him that his brother will be okay and that he can handle himself. His lip twitches as if he’s fitting off a scowl.

“Five minutes?” Max asks, the chandelier stops shaking, “Go” he nods to his stepmother.

I walk carefully behind Dean, waiting for him as he picks up Ms. Miller, I lead the way up the wooden stairs entering the master bedroom. Dean lays her down carefully, and I find the bathroom attached to the room. I quickly go through the drawers finding a small washcloth, carefully I wet it and ring it out before walking back into the bedroom to find Dean pacing the room, hand by his face. I approach him carefully, he stops his pacing when I step in front of him but worry is written clearly in his eyes, and in the way he hasn’t stopped biting his thumbs nailbed, a habit he exhibited only when he was worried about Sammy. 

I raise my free hand to him, pulling it away from his mouth, “He’ll be okay, he knows what he's doing.”

He shakes his head but doesn’t say anything as he takes the washcloth from me before moving past me, he crouches in front of Ms.Miller, lightly pressing the cloth to the small wound on her forehead. He was distracting himself.

I frown. It’s not that he doesn’t believe in his brother, he was just worried. For as much as this was for Sam it was nearly too much for Dean too, he might not be going through it but he was watching someone else navigate the messy plains of powers and the pain that came with it…that was scary. Especially since Dean has always taken his job as an older brother very seriously, doing anything and everything for him no matter the cost, he was meant to be his protector but with these newfound abilities Dean didn’t know how to help, how to protect his little brother– and that scared him.

I cross my arms across my chest, trying to think of what to say when I hear movement heading towards us. I turn towards the door, it creaks open slowly, Max’s figure standing right at the doorway the gun clutched in his hand at his side. I give him a questioning look, but his face is determined and there’s no Sam.

There’s no Sam.

Panic settles in my veins and before I can react Dean is standing in front of me, pushing me further behind him before he takes purposeful steps towards Max. The door slams shut and suddenly Dean goes flying left, barreling into the wall. Oh, two can play that game.

“Max!” Ms.Miller yells from behind me, having woken up in the short time her son arrived. Max points the gun at me with shaky hands, “Move,” he commands. I bring my powers forward, flicking it on, “Do you want to try?” I warn bitterly. He laughs, shaking, “Do you think you’re like me too?”

I assume Sam must have said something about that to him downstairs, “No,” I answer softly. He raises his other hand at me, flicking it to the left trying to send me flying too but I don’t budge. He looks confused and tries again but once more I don’t move. “Max please just put the gun down, this isn’t the way, I promise you,” I reason.

“You don’t get it!” he yells, shaking. I smile at him sadly, holding up my hands in defeat, “Dad drinks and he gets mean,” I say, “You think he doesn’t mean it, he’s just grieving. But it happens one too many times and you get scared.”

His resolve weakens and tears run down his face, “Your Dad?” He isn’t sure whether he should believe me or if I'm just lying to talk him down. I take a quick look over at Dean, who still lies on the floor looking at me with eyes wide, I never told him and I don’t think he ever knew.

I look back at Max, “Yes. My brother took most of it for me, but I reminded him too much of my mother and she was gone while I lived and that was not fair,” I swallow roughly, “I didn’t think he was capable. My mom loved him and he was never like that when she was around, but they did always say she softened him so maybe that’s why.”

“What did you do?” he asks, lowering the gun just a little. I go quiet and he does not like that, he raises the gun again, “Did you kill him?!” he screams.

I shake my head, “No. He managed that all by himself, he grew very careless.”

His eyes scrunch together in confusion, “Did you want to?”

I shake my head again, “No, I didn’t want to be like him. Didn’t want to stoop to his level. My brother though…he, um, I think he wanted to. But he didn’t. When he died, I didn’t cry at his funeral, I wasn’t as sad as I knew I should’ve been, and that alone makes me feel so guilty…” I take a careful deep breath trying to blink away the tears, “Please put the gun down, I know you're angry, you have every right to be. And I know you’re scared but doing this. It won’t help.”

“How do you know!” he screams, his face red, but it comes out weak.

“He’s dead and I’m still scared sometimes,” I admit out loud for the first time, tears slipping down my cheeks as my powers revert to it’s resting stage, “I think I hear his voice or that I see him in a crowd, and I know it’s not really him. But my heart picks up and I think he’s there, and I know what that means and I get scared.”

He looks at me, really looks at me and it is like looking in a mirror, our pain reflecting in each other. He lets go of the gun, but it doesn’t hit the floor instead it floats in front of him, “I’m not you, I won’t sit back and take it. She has to die, they all had to.”

His words feel like a stab to my hurt but I ignore them, “No, Max, please. It won’t help.” I don’t look away from him but even so, I hear Dean standing up and I can feel him getting closer. He puts himself in front of me again, I try to get him behind me, a gun wouldn’t exactly kill me, but he looks down at me his green eyes hard. He moves me behind him, looking back at Max, “You wanna kill her you gotta go through me first.” 

“Fine,” he says. Just as the door busts open, Sam comes barreling in, “No don’t! Don’t! Please. Please,” Sam begs, “Max. Max. We can help you. All right.”

I move away from Dean despite the arm that he holds out to stop me from getting closer. Max is shaking, and sweaty, and tears run down his face rapidly. He looks at Sam with anguish, then his gaze turns to me eyes filled with a familiar pain. But his shoulders suddenly drop, and his face clears, “You’re right. It won’t stop.”

The floating gun points at himself. A loud bang rings in the room. Bits of blood splatter on my face. His body crumbles to the floor, a hole in his head.

I stare blankly at a spot on the floor, a small swirl in the wooden floors. Sirens whirl just outside, and cops stand all around us. His body was brought out in a bag. Yellow caution tape sections off parts of the house. Something light was placed in my hand, something to clean the…

Muffled voices sing near me.

He’s dead. I couldn’t convince him, if anything I made it worse. I should’ve said it gets better because it does and it’s not that common that I get scared, I can’t. Not with this job. But I didn’t want to lie and I made it worse.

I feel sick. 

I couldn’t help.

He didn’t want to be like me. He’s dead.

He didn’t want to be like me and I didn’t want to be my father and he’s dead. They are both dead and I live.

I live and Dad would say it’s not fair. He’s dead. 

A familiar hand nudges me forward, I walk automatically without hearing the voices. Something about…

He’s dead.

The car door opens and I sit inside, automatically putting the seat belt on. Someone says something and the door closes, voices say something outside, and then doors open and close. The car moves forward, the sirens get further away. Eyes look at me and I look at him.

His body falls to the floor a hole in his head.

His body floats away as it burns like a Viking. He hugs me closer to him and we do not cry. We are free sometimes.

His body falls to the floor a hole in his head.

He said it won't stop and there’s a bang.

#supernatural #fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester #the hunter and the witch update #slow burn #john winchester #dean winchester x witch reader #the hunter and the witch #angst #sad reader #dean winchester x f!reader #dean winchester x reader series #dean winchester x you #banter #flirting #dean winchester flirting #dean winchester banter #sam and dean #dean winchester as a priest #dean winchester being sexy

[modanisgf]

17. NO MORE SECRETS (WRITTEN)

y/n had to take a deep breath to prepare herself before she knocked on the door of the newjeans dorm. she hoped this would go well, i mean danielle had always been understanding right?

when the door opened, minji looked at the girl behind it with confusion.

“are you okay y/n?” the older girl asks wondering why danielle’s girlfriend? was standing outside their dorm currently, sweating bullets.

“um yeah, is dani here?” y/n asks to which minji nods.

“come in?” minji says furrowing her eyebrows at y/n, who bolted down the hallway.

minji just shrugged and went to go sit on the couch again, resuming her show. if anything happened she would surely hear about it later, so she just chose to divert her attention from it.

nervously, y/n knocked on danielle’s door using the pattern they had created so she would know it was y/n. the door cracked open seconds later, revealing a very concerned danielle. it looked like she was reading at her desk, as she had her glasses on and was still dressed in her pajamas.

“is everything okay? you showed up unannounced.” danielle says holding her girlfriend’s face making the girl blush.

y/n knew she was here to talk, to make sure that her relationship is still okay but she couldn’t help but get lost in danielle’s eyes hoping to cherish the moment forever if something bad happened.

“y/n, talk to me please.” danielle says her concern rising as y/n didn’t answer her.

“sorry, i was distracted.” y/n mumbles embarrassed.

“i want to talk to you dani, i have something to tell you and this will hopefully clear up some stuff. can i come in?” y/n says, danielle nodding in response.

dani took a seat on her bed, patting the spot next to her for y/n to sit the girl sitting down momentarily.

danielle grabbed y/n’s hand, holding it to her chest to comfort the girl.

“dani promise you won’t leave me?” y/n asks maintaining eye contact.

“i promise.” danielle reassures her, squeezing her hand.

“so you know that vigilante that’s been running around seoul the past couple of months?” y/n asks, she had no idea where she was going with this. how the hell does someone tell your partner that all along they’ve been a superhuman?

“mhm, what about them?” dani asks.

“well..” y/n says, unzipping her jacket slowly. she stopped abruptly to take a deep breath.

“danielle, i am that vigilante.” y/n says finally showing danielle her suit, the latters mouth being dropped.

“y/n..”

“i know i’m so sorry—“

“this is so cool!” danielle says in awe.

“huh?” y/n says confused.

“dani do you not know the consequences of being spider-man?” y/n asks to which danielle shrugs.

“i do, but those are all just comics y/n. what’s to say they’ll happen to you?” danielle says.

this allowed a new way of thinking for y/n, the girl finally looking on the positive side of her night job.

“plus you look really pretty in your suit.” danielle compliments, making you look away from her in embarrassment.

“stop..” you mutter making her giggle.

“what? i’m just telling you the truth.” dani shrugs.

“i love you, but you’re so quiet about your feelings.” danielle sighs.

“i know i’m sorry dani. i just didn’t want you to get involved, i wouldn’t know what to do with myself if something ever happened.” you say.

“i want you to know you can tell me anything, i’d do anything for you y/n. i’d even endanger myself if it meant i get to see your face, be with you even.” dani says caressing your face.

you hug danielle, pulling her in for a short kiss.

“i love you so much dani.”

“i love you too.”

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taglist (open): @haerinsloverr @kaypanaq @idkwhatim-doinghere101 @pandafuriosa60 @thefckghost @haerinkisser @amesification @nnewjeansstuff @bagwhy

(bold name means it won’t let me tag u)

#newjeans #danielle marsh #danielle marsh x reader #newjeans fluff #newjeans fanfic #newjeans x reader #newjeans smau #mo jihye #mo jihye x reader #kpop smau #kpop x reader #kpop imagines #kpop gg #kpop writing

[teachmenari]

20 Teach me! - again sometimes

Tighnari x GN reader

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

632 words - 4 pics

___

You stifle a yawn. Seems like the evening and your full stomach are getting to you.

Tighnari notices from the corner of his eye and turns to you. "Are you tired? Do you want to go home?"

"Ah- Sorry, I can usually stay up this late. If you want to stay, I don't mind-" you try to protest. 

"I asked. I don't mind," he cuts your rambling off. Yanfei looks up from her endless stream of tofu.

"Y/n, if you stay here you're going to pass out on the table and drool all over it. Take the nice man's offer."

You try to argue more but Kazuha sends you a look saying 'I'm not sharing the ride home alone with Xiao for your stubborn ass' and you let out a defeated sigh.

"Alright, fine. I know my limits. I'll see you guys later."

You grab your coat as your friends say goodbye and head out soon after, followed by Nari.

________

The quiet rumbling of the car makes for a pleasant background noise as Tighnari drives through the empty streets, your head resting against the window. For time to time, you sneak a glance at the man next to you. When the streetlights illuminate his face, you can see the light smile on his lips.

"So? What did you think?" You ask after a few minutes. "Of my friends."

He chuckles. "I'm more worried about what they thought of me, to be honest." 

"Oh, they like you. They kept tweeting about every interaction the whole time." You give him a big smile and he laughs.

"Was that what Lumine thought no one noticed her doing?" 

"Mhm. You didn’t realise when they took her phone the first time?"

He lets out a sigh of relief. "I thought I was getting ripped to shreds in the group chat."

You huff dramatically. "How mean do you think we are?" You say, gently nudging him with your elbow. He snickers. "Anyways, you still haven't answered my question. Thoughts on my friends?"

"They're very welcoming and nice," he says. "I think they'd like my friends. I know Collei and Ayaka are already hanging out, too."

"Right! I keep forgetting about that. My memory is failing me." 

"That might explain your old grades," he whispers loud enough for you to hear.

"Hey!"

________

The car stops in front of your apartment building and Tighnari gets out to open your door. 

"Gentleman," you tease him. He winks at you and bends down in an exaggerated bow. You stifle a laugh. 

"Thank you for inviting me," he says with a smile. "I had a really good time."

"I'm glad you did. I love my friends but I know they can be a bit much sometimes."

"Like I said, they're really nice. I wouldn't mind hanging out with you and them again."

"Oh, awesome! I'll keep you updated, then!"

A moment of silence passes, the cool evening air against your warm cheeks. You don't know if the red tint is because of the cold or blushing. 

 He then takes your hand gently. 

"Do you mind if I hug you before we part ways?"

You shake your head, and he wraps his arms around you. You bury your face under the crook of his neck, noticing his subtle scent. You can't place it, but it smells fresh, like plants.

"Have a good night, flower."

Your eyes widen at the nickname and your cheeks feel suddenly warmer. 

Tighnari ends the hug and waves before getting back in his car and driving away. You can only wave back, because you're 80% sure you would just end up stumbling over your words to hell and back.

___

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Teach me!

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tag list: @rollingslumber @whycantscarabereal @aixaingela @toasterinabathtub @hydration-is-for-weenies @crueldinasty @ohmyfinggod @thfloating @swivy123 @httpspatholvr @mikctp @missnella-nova @xiaomainlmao @iamlowkeycrying @lazy-sanns @vanitasbrainrot @hichi842 @shibarinu0000 @faela404 @sakkuur @tighnarismm @spinninginthevoid @itsyourgirlria @chalksdreams @atlaincorrect @duckyyyx @mechanicalbeat1 @certaindreampost @sammybeefangirls @yuyudoesdrugs @xiaossocksniffer @danastiel @detectiveluvr @potabletable @sarahreadsfic @r4yyyyy @kika-a @bluebelony @reverse-iak @crucnhice @cupids-chamber @indecisivehusky @wonderland-fan @amourpop @yeahneh @miyasoda @sukunasrealgf @milkwithspiceyicecubes @the-adzukibean @crmnic

▪︎Synopsis ➤ You’ve been attending the Akademiya for some time now, but for some reason this year is harder than the others. You’re failing almost everything regarding math and science. Your biology teacher, Ms. Rukkhadevata, offers the help of Tighnari, her TA... Let’s just hope he’s nice.

a/n: finally the end of the evening....... but the start of something else??? 👀

#genshin impact #genshin smau #genshin impact au #genshin au #genshin impact smau #tighnari smau #tighnari x reader #tighnari x y/n #university smau #teach me! smau

[h00nerz]

spots on!

FORTY-FIVE / soft launching

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warnings: none afaik

authors note: omg… technically the last chapter… but dw there’s still the epilogue which is Really rhe last chapter. btw happy freefall day!!! i timed this ending so perfectly mhm it was totally purposeful and definitely not bc i got lazy!

tag list: (closed) @therealhyunjingf @jakeshands @impureperhaps @mazeinthemoon @tyunlatte @loveliii @exohclipse @txtbrainrot @bubblytaetae @serafilms @iirene304 @snowfalltxt @choistick @lost-leopard-beanie @taekwondoes @captivq @aestheticsluut @surshica @suburbiataehyung @cecedrake2217 @omiomipepperoni @ttyunz @cher-bears @tyunner @eggomi @vianna99 @cookiehaos @90sni-ki @http-gyu @iad0ru @viagumi @reverbtunes @fatoompie @ahnneyong @cutiespaghetti @wonioml @emohazuzworld @taylvvrr @cowsmicwu

#🐞.spotson #txt x reader #txt #txt smau #kpop smau #tomorrow x together #txt imagine #kpop x reader #choi yeonjun imagine #yeonjun #txt yeonjun #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun smau #yeonjun imagine #choi yeonjun x reader #choi yeonjun

[wikiangela]

fuck it friday

tagged by @hippolotamus @honestlydarkprincess @housewifebuck @giddyupbuck @spotsandsocks @forthewolves 💖💖💖

here's a little more of the possessive fic, I'm so close to finishing this fic fr, I don't wanna make promises but it might be by the end of this week 👀

prev snippet

___

They’re both silent for a while, as they try to get their breathing under control, Buck’s hands gently caressing Eddie’s back, and, honestly, Eddie could just fall asleep right here, right now. He has to fight himself against it, to not trap Buck on this hard floor. He looks up, leaning his chin against Buck’s chest, and smiles softly, watching Buck’s blissed out face. Then, suddenly, Buck gasps, his eyes widening, and Eddie hears a quiet and horrified:

“Oh god.” his eyes meet Eddie’s. “I can never have your kid sit at this counter again. Or step into this kitchen, actually.” he says, sounding genuinely worried, and a chuckle bubbles out of Eddie.

“Our kid.” he corrects, and sees that awed expression come back on Buck’s face, and his lips shift into a sheepish smile. “And you won’t have to when you move in with us.” he adds without thinking, and Buck’s eyes widen. “I mean, eventually. Whenever we’re ready- I mean, as far as I’m concerned, it can be tomorrow, but- you know, up to you.” he stumbles over his own words, not wanting to go too far too fast, and, shit, he thinks his brain’s not fully functioning yet.

“Yeah. I- yeah.” Buck nods, smile widening, almost blinding. “But we can talk about it later. After we get some sleep.” his hand runs through Eddie’s hair.

“Mhm.” Eddie’s eyelids feel heavy. “I think you’ll have to carry me to bed, though, I can’t move.” he teases, and Buck laughs.

“Of course, baby. Anything you want.” he pauses, just looking at Eddie. “Holy fuck, you’re unbelievable, you know? I imagined a lot, but I never expected… all this.” he shakes his head with a soft smile. “I love you.”

___

No pressure tags: @diazass @elvensorceress @mrevanbuckley @translasso @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @eddiediaztho @jesuisici33 @thewolvesof1998 @911onabc @shortsighted-owl @watchyourbuck @disasterbuckdiaz @wildlife4life @alyxmastershipper @transbuck

#possessive buddie fic #fuck it friday #buddie wip #buddie fic #buddie #wikiangela writes #my writing #fic snippet #my wips #ngl wrote this fragment 5 minutes ago and rushed bc I had to leave lol #so there might be some changes later haha

[j4y-lvr]

ADOR U!… nishimura riki ㅤ▷ OMG ㅤ"they keep asking me, 'who is he?' "

SYNOPSIS. a silly dare led niki to attempt to be your silly boy

GENRE. fluff, crack, some angst

PAIRING. danceteamleader!niki x teammember!fem!reader ft. enhypen, newjeans

WARNINGS. unhinged and maybe its cringe since i explained the moves to the placement of their feet, im sorry-😭, jungwon says niki got no rizz(it doesnt happen anymore-), lowercase intended, tba

WORD COUNT. 1.8k

NOTE. ANDDDDDDDDDDD that's it for this silly series of mine (the other remains collecting dust) well this was cute and fluffly, a nice wrap on things till i decide to write a longer fic sometime later mid feb cuz finals. speaking of tests, tmrws the skl event and tbh im not nervous bc im prepareddd🗣

TAG(S). @sd211 @heesitation

Reblogs and feedback are highly appreciated!

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ㅤㅤㅤ ☰ queue

"minji," "yeah," she replied, face illuminated with the brightness of the device's display, not lifting her head from whatever she was indulged in. "do you plan on going to the event?"

"what event?" she queries, eyes still glued onto the screen in peak concentration. You huff and stare at your friend and slam your hands on the table she slouched on, marking her yelp and sit up straight. "the event beomgyu's holding,"

And for the first time since you began your little conversation with her, feeling as though you were invading her personal session with her handy dandy little phone, she gazes at you with intention. "how cute, you think it's an event?"

You nod aloof of her inquisitive response and wind back taking your hands off the table, curiosity bubbling in you, "if not an event, what is it? he invited me during chemistry, i said id think about it,"

"he invited you— personally?!" "yeah," you address casually, not sure what minji was twisting a normal interaction into. "do you even know what that means, yn?"

"of course not! not if you're going to beat around the bush and keep me in the dark!" you burst, inquisitively jumping the gun and getting riled up to suit into the truth that got stuck in her throat.

"geez, sorry man," she pauses, blinking back and continuing, "for starters, it's a party and most importantly, he only sends messages as invites," 

"but he invited me today during chemistry…" "need i remind you who exactly choi beomgyu is,"

You deny and piece the parts together, "so the dudes interested," "mhm and this is a sign for your lonely ass to get out there and have fun, instead of solitary,"

You plop down in the empty chair beside her, "but i got my sights set on someone," you mumble loud enough for minji to hear you and she does, clinging onto you with a jolt. Your hand now in a tight grasp she begins to bombard you with questions yet you ignore them and grin mischievously.

"who is he?!"

"i've some business to tend to, bye minjiii" you drawl and hop off your seat and walk towards the door, leaving somewhat satisfied with minji's enthusiasm and her dying to know expression painted all over her face.

After your narrow escape from minji, you return to the room for an extended practice of a small event you and your groupmates plus niki and his friends were collaborating in. It was in your best interests to avoid and dodge every question minji threw at you.

“are you really going to go?” minji shoots, with furrowed eyebrows and the look of pure curiosity, and that was right where you wanted her. Niki perked up and began listening in attentively while sunoo gave a rundown of what happened to his friend, seungkwan the previous day.

You look up from your phone, sparing a glance to niki who remained splayed across the floor, panting from the extensive practice and reworking of the choreography. “mhm,” you hum, continue to gaze at your phone, side-eyeing niki who stilled nonetheless to your conversation.

The others were left in the dark that you and niki had made up, since you urged the boy to silence. You ignored his every attempt to talk to you during the practice, well, solely for now. You had an elaborate idea that was extensive for no concrete reason.

You grin knowingly, having told niki to keep your little interaction a secret from the others for a while. “but why?” “it’ll be just for a while, don’t worry about it” you said, scooting closer and leaning on the wall, glancing out the dimming sky from the window. He sighed and took your hand in his, intertwining them, causing you to grin in content and lay your head on his shoulder with a small laugh.

Unknown to you two was the sighting of your particular warm moment to hanni’s two orbs, who gasped upon recognising both. Albeit, she hadn’t confirmed her suspicion nor spilled any information, ushering herself past the door after taking the sighting.

Hanni contemplated asking minji about it, avoiding causing any conflict, but her curiosity got to her, jogging up to her after the practice dispersed. You wandered off somewhere and minji walked forward mindlessly. “minji!” “hm? “have you noticed anything about yn lately?”

“no, why do you ask…” minji answered with little to no thought, whipping to the side to look at her younger friend.

“well, i think i saw what seemed to be yn and niki holding hands,”

Minji raised an eyebrow and urged her to continue, “and yn was resting her head on his shoulder…”

“i don't see what’s particularly wrong in that,” “they looked so,”

“in love?” minji completed with furrowed brows, “yet they were distant from each other today? what are these trying to pull off,”

You head home and draw out your closet, standing with a question mark drawn over your face, reaching for your phone and dialing up hyein who had an outstanding sense of fashion, seeking for her expertise. After dismissing and deducing what'd look best on you, hyein grins and curls a brow through the virtual barrier, "so, who is he?"

Ah, you could envision the bewildered glances and gazes already.

The sound of your sandals clacking to the concrete wasn't as pleasant but it was to avoid being sighted with the sought after, mystery boy, an ominous inconvenience of yours. You see him in the far distance, his pearly white dress shirt tucked in some black slacks with his hair resting effortlessly above his forehead. 

He held his head hung low, focusing on the screen as he tapped away responding to a text, unaware of your arrival. You creep up to him and jump, startling him to chatters as he shudders and catches you dressed up in your wear, glancing from top to bottom, clicking his tongue in satisfaction, "i like it," he gimmicks in a hilarious tone, making you slap the side of his arm.

"genuinely," you pan, making an unserious expression.

"no, seriously, i like it," he completes in a funny tone, making you erupt into laughter and lean on the bench beside him.

The laughter died and his phone was left long unattended, the display blackening as he glued his orbs to you, giving you that look you'd often read in fiction. The adored present and the soft smile in his front left you flustered, whipping to the trees around and covering your mouth with your hand for a brief second to compose yourself. Especially when he looked like that.

He chuckles knowingly and tugs on your  and clasps it in his, bringing a grin to light up your face. "many seem to be curious as to your identity, they keep asking me, 'who is he?' "

"well, how about we go kill the cat,"

"absolutely not. we do not tolerate any types of violence to those adorable fur balls," you blabber, concerned.

"you seem more concerned for a cat than me—"

"nothing new, you concern me on a daily basis. after all, you are a major inconvenience, you know,"

Maybe making niki enter a few minutes after was a bit too extensive but you wanted the build up to be dramatic. You joined minji and held a casual conversion, looking everywhere but the entrance as you saw a glimpse of him walking in. 

Coincidentally, beomgyu approached you and offered you a non-alcoholic drink and began conversing.

The side glare from niki was hard to miss as he eyes beomgyu all the way across the room, his jaw clenching as sunoo spoke, his chatter going inaudible to the boy. As much as you would love to extinguish his hardened expression, you had keen curiosity to build. "would like to dance?" beomgyu queried, "i might not be able to keep up with you impeccable talent but it's worth a try," 

You accepted, thinking it was a normal interaction. What you did not expect is for beomgyu to whip out his hidden stash of moves and own the very floor with the overhead booming music. You grinned at the newfound silliness and followed along, not necessarily anxious.

Niki stalked to the sound system, approaching chan, and whispering something into his ear as he eagerly nodded with excitement. The booming subdued and chan announced, "this is a request by riki, everyone's dream hype boy,"

Beomgyu halted and ushered you towards niki who stood not far from you, while others cleared the way. "what–"

"go!" the gummy smiled boy shouted, encouraging you and helping you to niki as the familiar beats of "all i wanna do" commenced.

You turned to niki with a question all while he carried out the moves, musing you to follow along as the onlookers cheered, some recording and masses shouting. You seemed to be enjoying yourself as you found the previous awkwardness in certain moves were glided through with ease, ooo's pouring through everytime the boy got close.

Completing the sequence and causing the crowd that formed to scream vicariously, you gripped onto nikis shoulders and hung your head, panting. Niki ruffled your hair, "we're not done yet," he commented in a tone you knew he'd accompany with a cute smile while hype boy continued with its melody.

Riding off the energy from the audience and the rhythm you and niki practically had everyone in awe as they clapped and thronged through to see the performance you two put on. The mental countdown to the chorus prepared you, skipping to right once again, feeling all too familiar with the setting, swaying and finishing each section neatly with the beaming boy beside you.

The music came to close, the people roared and you two plastered wide grins, "alright, niki has something to ask yn, let's quiet down," Many exclaimed with chants of "ask her out!" while others anticipated the moment. "even though this would be the second time i ask, would you like to go out with me, yn?"

Minji in the near distance threw her hands up in the air, resembling a meerkat with a "I KNEW IT!" Everyone shared a laugh and you rushed your answer, "yes," you paused, anticipating everyone's shock, waiting for it to thin out. Niki gasped, feign a hand to his chest being the playful boy he was, "so you're saying," he halted with wide eyes, "that i get to be your silly boy," he finished with an even louder gasp.

"yes, my silly boy from a silly dare,"

And with your response, he pulled you by the waist and pressed a sweet, warm kiss to your forehead, another round of fan's losing it. You circled your arms around him and rested your head on his chest that rose and fell lightly, leaning into your touch.

This wasn't so bad, you'd do it all over again, a 10/10 recommendation if you were asked.

main masterlist

#enhypen niki #enhypen #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen drabbles #enhypenwriters #enhypen fluff #niki #niki imagines #niki scenarios #nishimura riki #enhypen riki #riki fluff #niki fluff #niki drabbles #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #enhypen oneshots #enhypen fics #enhypen au #enha #enha imagines #enha reactions #enha niki #enha fanfic #engene #enha fluff #enha scenarios #enhypen angst

[mosviqu]

been going thru everyone's archives. also been going thru it emotionally. so many moots i don't talk to anymore also you changed a lot but also not at all did you know that?? and— and!! i can't believe i forgot about your prev username with hoodie!yennie icon and you were always chatting pagesss long with this one anon that i used to envy ahahahhaha wait wait psycho behaviour i know but im going thru my tag specifically when i was vera and you wrote here that i was your cutest mutual that you wish you were closer with WHO KNEWWW also i used to call you teddy what???? also we feuded over your hate for doughnuts at some point?? I WAS THERE FOR YOUR 1K CELEBRATION ON YYXGIN AHHHH so happy about that and also i remember sending you an anon review raving about lee felix's guide to hating you ahahah me as an anon waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike out all other anons 🫶🫶

vie you in my inbox feels so nostalgic like stfu why am i emotional over you being back on tumblr i missed your existence on my dash so fcking much oh my god. i dont really percieve myself enough to feel a change but id like to think i always grow 🌱 just like you do and i am so proud of you and everything you do. every time i see ur insta posts im like mhm go best friend! youre doing so well!! unfortunately i am bad at reaching out and talking to ppl recently so it feels like we havent talked in ages oml

PURPLE HOODIE YENNIE MY BELOVED !! my fox boy my precious baby </33 i still have the purple hoodie in the same shade i bought bc of him 😭😭😭 omg i think i know which anon you mean 💔💔💔 AHAHA YOU STILL ARE ONE OF MY CUTEST MUTUALS however i think u matured and grew up a lot. WHO KNEW WE'D GET CLOSE AND TALK FOR SO LONG AND LITERALLY HAVE U AS MY OLDEST MOOT AND WE'D HAVE A NETWORK TOGETHER FOR A WHILE wow.. fangirl bar of user veralicios could have never predicted this... i fought over donuts w genny too omg remember gen.. i miss her... 1k on yyxgin on a blog ill never come back to rip💔 WAIT U NEVER TOLD ME U SENT AN ANON I- sigh. Vie. we have so much history i am so nostalgic for 2021 tumblr

[lemon-boy-stan]

FRIENDS -> 08. "THE ONE WHERE RIKI SEES"

Guiding you up the stairs, Jay's hand dances across your skin. "Mhm, Jay." Jay smirks softly at this, "don't start now, Y/N, I still -"

"Hey, Jungwon-hyung, can you keep it down? I'm trying to get some last-minute - oh my god. Oh my god. Ew. Gross. Fuck. That's messed up, ew!"

A tired-looking Riki came stumbling out of his room and then bolted up.

"Wait, Riki, this isn't -"

"Yeah, no, I've seen enough. That's gross. You guys have fun." Riki span around, slamming the door in your faces.

There was a long silence. Then Jay began laughing, and soon you couldn't help but join in with him.

Jay was still laughing as he opened the door to his room, "Oh my god, I can't believe it. The look on his face," he cackled loudly, plopping down on his bed.

"I know, right?" you smiled softly, sitting down next to him. "That's like, what... three of them now?"

Jay grinned, shrugging, "yeah. Riki's pretty good at keeping his mouth shut, though, so we should be good,"

You nodded, "yeah."

summary: no one told y/n life was gonna be this way - her housmates are trying to identify jay’s secret girflriend, but that's the least of her problems. all while this is happening, y/n and jay must maintain their relationship while hiding it from their friends and y/n’s older brother jake. genre: crack, fluff, smau. warnings: swearing, sexual references, bad jokes. pairing: park jongseong (jay) x female reader

prev <- next -> series masterlist -> series playlist -> add yourself to the taglist (or send an ask to be tagged!)

tags: @fourthirtyone-am; @lhsng; @enchillstuff; @1unxtic; @tomorrowbymoa-together; @en-jongseong; @artstaeh; @beans-and-jeanes; @blxckcatner0; @linaccurate; @cyuuupidre; @1-800-call-ria; @rrvvby

#enhypen #enhypen fluff #enhypen smut #enhypen angst #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fanfic #enhypen imagine #enhypen smau #enhypen social au #enhypen social media au #enhypen jongseong #enhypen jay #jay park smau #jay park social media au #jay park au #jay park fluff #jay park angst #jay park smut #FRIENDS. PJNGSNG

[piratemadi]

I posted 1,128 times in 2022

That's 888 more posts than 2021!

716 posts created (63%)

412 posts reblogged (37%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@piratemadi

@annevbonny

@maremote

@wordforworldisforest

@butchniqabi

I tagged 655 of my posts in 2022

Only 42% of my posts had no tags

#prev - 3 posts

#silver - 3 posts

#mhm - 3 posts

#im shaking - 2 posts

#what the hell . - 2 posts

#her emmy. where? - 2 posts

#sorry that post has rly lodged itself in my little head - 2 posts

#the important part of course being that . they are the same - 2 posts

#didnt even thinkof this.. - 2 posts

#i wonder if he knows just how much you learned from him - 2 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#sometimes u see a good post and u think well i really hope this isnt about supernatural! and reblog anyway even though you know. in ur heart

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

people have got to learn the difference between I didnt like it and It was bad

1,308 notes - Posted November 23, 2022

#4

when someone refers to black sails as the Gay Pirate Show i get intensely irritated bc it is not the gay pirate show it is an artistic exploration of marginalization of ALL KINDS its about gayness its about womanhood its about poverty its about RACE it is about how the colonial order reinforces itself through narrative and the silencing of marginalized voices/stories. but when someone refers to our flag means death as the Gay Pirate Show im like no the fuck it is not. know your herstory.

2,671 notes - Posted April 10, 2022

#3

i love you ambiguous endings i love you pyrrhic victories i love you tragedy masquerading as a happy ending i love you characters who are living and dead at the same time i love you cognitive dissonance i love you existential death

16,002 notes - Posted July 24, 2022

#2

why are you as. a man haunted by anotherman

25,293 notes - Posted May 24, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

i dont "ship" anything i just understand .

45,703 notes - Posted April 19, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#this is soo. LMAO

[edjectedly]

I posted 17,248 times in 2022

That's 16,923 more posts than 2021!

651 posts created (4%)

16,597 posts reblogged (96%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@galahadwilder

@megamindsupremacy

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I tagged 939 of my posts in 2022

#ace rambles - 780 posts

#things i say - 355 posts

#riddle me this - 345 posts

#dnd day - 81 posts

#batman - 73 posts

#mango moonshine - 61 posts

#my boy delindae - 51 posts

#ace writes - 51 posts

#bruce wayne - 44 posts

#tim drake - 39 posts

Longest Tag: 90 characters

#he has a tumblr account and ppl are like 50/50 on he's a kinnie or he's actually like that

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Introducing Talia al Ghul, and Bruce’s Love Life

I’m still nailing down ages, but I have determined everyones ages are much closer, and Damian is gonna be younger.

@goosesister thanks for inspiring this!!!

@blinkys I hope this answers your question 😂

First    <&lt;Prev    Next>>

Alfred: I'm sorry sir, who did you spend the night with?

Bruce: …. TaliaAlGhul

Alfred: and why, pray tell, did you?

Bruce: she seemed nice

Alfred: mhm mhm, and this has nothing to do with you wanting to anger Ra’s al Ghul for insulting your parenting skills?

Bruce: like he’s one to talk… that’s just a bonus

Alfred: well, you are ever the picture of perfect judgement. I am positive this will never come back to bite you.

Bruce: :( be nice to me please

~~~~~~~~~

Talia, 8 years later: hello my beloved, how is that creature you adopted? 

Bruce:  which one?

Talia: … What

Bruce:  Dick says I have a problem with orphans

Talia:

Talia:

Talia: well, this one isn’t an orphan *gestures to an eight year old Damian*

Bruce:

Bruce: … Dick’s going to be so disappointed in me :(

~Bonus~

Dick, 9 years old: is she gonna be my stepmom?

Bruce: no- what- why- she’sjustafriendDick

Dick: that’s not what Alfred says~

Bruce: look, she’s leaving, we won’t work out. it’s fine

Dick: so I’m not getting a baby brother? also why is your face so red?

Bruce: you’renotgettingababybrothergotoyourroom

1,848 notes - Posted June 20, 2022

#4

Now, what exactly happened when Dick first came to live with Bruce in this AU?

Disclaimer: Canon is stupid and I don't respect it

First <&lt;Prev Next>>

Dick: did you take me in cause you’re lonely?

Bruce: ….no

Dick: it’s not polite to lie

~~~~~~~

Bruce: I don’t think I can let a child fight crime

Dick: *looks like he’s going to cry*

Bruce: okaynodon’tdothatyoucanfightalittlecrime

Dick: you’re the best! *leaves to make a costume*

Bruce: …. Alfred he said I’m the best

~~~~~~~

Bruce: don’t play with that, I’m taking it away from you

Dick: I’ll tell Alfred on you *clutches onto Bruce’s cape*

Bruce: … what

Dick: I’ll do it

Bruce:

Dick:

Bruce:

Dick: ALFR-

Bruce: *puts his hand over Dick’s mouth* fine fine fine

~~~~~~~

Dick: Bruce I had a nightmare

Bruce: that’s… not good

Dick: *frowns*

Bruce: do you want to go…. ride in the Batmobile?

Dick: yes!

~Bonus~

Dick: Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce where’s Alfred

See the full post

2,238 notes - Posted June 18, 2022

#3

New Dynamics, Go!

Disclaimer: This is an AU, I don’t respect canon and I am not going to pretend to :)

First <<; Prev Next >>

I have decided that this is actually Battinson and that if he had raised Dick, Dick would definitely have more of a sibling relationship with him.

Jason:

Tim:

Jason:

Tim:

Batman: so…. you’re brothers now…. ifyouneedanythingaskDick

Batman: *sprints out of the room*

Tim: isn’t Dick back in Blüdhaven?

Jason: yup

Tim: does he do this often?

Jason: yup

Tim: so…. wanna see how I hacked into the Batcomputer?

Jason: of course

~Bonus~

Dick: Bruce. you. can’t. just. leave. them. alone. they’re little!

Batman: but I left you by yourself

Dick: I regularly fell off chandeliers! I shouldn’t have been left alone!

Batman: I thought you were happy….

Dick: oh my- I was happy, but kids need supervision. it’s impor-

Jason at the same time as Tim: Tim sat the Batcave on fire!

Tim at the same time as Jason: Jason sat the Batcave on fire!

Dick: it’s made out of rocks?????

Batman: my kids are so talented

4,980 notes - Posted June 16, 2022

#2

If Jason Todd Was Introduced This Way, This is How I am Bringing in Tim

This is now a full AU, whoops

First <<; Prev Next >>

Tim: *bangs on Dick's door in Blüdhaven*

Dick: I swear to fuck if it's another solicitor I'm- *opens door*

Tim: 

Dick:

Tim: hello

Dick: wha- it’s like 10 o’clock where are your parents? you're like eight, why are you out here??

Tim: first off I’m 12 and I'm not a child. can I come in?

Dick: sure, this might as well happen

~later~

Dick: so you're here because you figured out our identities when you were nine, have been following us since before then, and then hacked the Batcomputer only to find Jason looking up ways to get to Ethiopia?

Tim: yeah, pretty much.

Dick:

Dick: fu-frick

Tim: I have been running around Gotham alone at night since I was eight, you can say fuck

Dick: *gasps*

~Bonus, at the Batcave~

*Bruce and Jason are working on the Batmobile, Bruce’s way of apologizing for being an ass*

Bruce: *head snaps up*

Jason: everything good old man?

Bruce: I need to get adoption papers ready

AO3 Link Is Now Active!

5,566 notes - Posted June 15, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

How Jason Todd Should Have Been Introduced to the BatFam

First Next>>

Batman, frantically putting in numbers and calling someone.

Batman: pickuppickuppickup

Dick Grayson, who just got got in bed after a long patrol, groaning.

Dick: Hello? Bruce, what's going on?

Bruce: Dick I need you to come home right now

Dick: what's going on, is everything okay?

Bruce: yes, I just need you to come home

Dick: .... B I can't just come home I have work at the gym tomorrow and-

Jason, in the background: Holy fuck is that a dinosaur?!

Dick: was that a fucking child???

Bruce: ...

Dick: ...

Bruce: ...

Dick: ....

Bruce: yes

Dick, rushing out of bed, knowing good and well Alfred is on vacation and there is no way B can be alone with a new child: what happened?

Bruce: hestolethetiresofftheBatmobile

Dick: ... That doesn't mean you can kidnap him!!

Bruce: I couldn't leave him. He was hungry. We got burgers.

Dick: oh my god, okay, I'm on my way, have you called Alfred?

Bruce: ...no

Dick, rushing down the stairs to his car: Bruce I swear to God you have to tell Alfred

Bruce: what if he's mad at me

Dick: holy child abduction Batman, you have to tell Alfred before he gets back. I'm not dealing with that.

Bruce: ...okay

Dick: okay, I'll be there in an hour, don't let the kid die before I get there. How's he doing?

Bruce: .... I don't see him anymore

Dick: you don't- Bruce!

See the full post

11,137 notes - Posted June 14, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

[bonnie39-reblogs]

I posted 6,925 times in 2022

That's 3,477 more posts than 2021!

48 posts created (1%)

6,877 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@losst-prophet

@issactikket

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I tagged 888 of my posts in 2022

#yoink - 358 posts

#prev tags - 14 posts

#tumblr ads - 5 posts

#dsaf - 5 posts

#good dad au - 5 posts

#omfg- - 5 posts

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#jack - 5 posts

#:] - 4 posts

#prev tags- - 4 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#i’m sorry for it looking shitty- i’m running on basically a few hours of sleep- over the last like- 3 days- but also art block is just mmmm-

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

PLEASE DONT MIND THIS ITS FOR A VIDEO-

Um, dois, três, quatro

No quick head in my bed I can't have that I want that long neck not talking giraffe neck Ain't no laying down man we 'bout to have late fun I'm 'bout to make your balls stick up like space buns

Want your dick soaked? Place it down my throat Tongue tickle yo' dick but not telling a joke Peddle in this pussy that's how you rock a boat It get live in this pussy, I'm not talking Periscope

In the sheets I am a bully Give more head than a hoodie Every time you make me cum it look just like vanilla pudding Sit on yo face all day until you say, "Bae, it hurt me" Then I turn around and give the dick more kisses than Hershey's

Yo' dick brick-hard like a medal (uh) I got three holes for it like a pretzel (mhm) Tight as a virgin boy don't get nervous (tight) I'm here to serve you customer service (right) I save dick by giving it CPR (I save dick by giving it CPR, yes) Put my mouth on it like CPR (Let's make porn and watch it on VCR)

I think we should fuck up in every zip code It would make my pussy wetter than a fishbowl Pussy a kitty cat, I pet it like a pet I fuck doggy style so much I need to go to the vet

Hotbox? More like a scorching pussy Open this coochie up like a fortune cookie Yo' banana in my mouth watch my tongue go ape Yo' dick getting more blows than a birthday cake

When I'm near it, no, I don't fear it Licking on that penis like a letter when I seal it Today way wetter than my past slob And if you unemployed, I can give you a ass job

Pussy already wet don't need no lube ointment Dick twisting in my stomach like food poisoning That's how you know when you hit the spot I'll make your pants unzip more than Ziploc

Yo' dick brick-hard like a medal (uh) I got three holes for it like a pretzel (mhm) Tight as a virgin boy don't get nervous (tight) I'm here to serve you customer service (right) I save dick by giving it CPR (I save dick by giving it CPR, yes) Put my mouth on it like CPR (Let's make porn and watch it on VCR)

Anything goes when you up in my hole Dirty panties from the sex, yeah, I got me some loads Listen, I'm the most explicit Long stick inside my river but we not going fishing

Know what to do every time you have a horrible day I'll eat that sausage all day like it's Memorial Day I'm talking BBQ sauce and mustard on it And the mayonnaise comes when you bust right on it

Name anything freaky and you know I'm 'bout that shit Only time I'm not on the dick is when I'm 'bout to shit Pubic hairs all in my mouth, not again So when I suck yo' dick now, I use bobby pins

Who need a gym when you got dick to work you out? I want my face to lose weight so stroke my mouth And any time my pussy wanna be hairy like Harry Potter Becky with the good hair is what you could call her Let's get it

A little faster A little more Right there Give it to me now Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh

5 notes - Posted January 16, 2022

#4

@lemonysakuras

5 notes - Posted January 4, 2022

#3

Do you know where my WIFE is?

I don’t know- I’m bad with peoples @‘s so sorry-

5 notes - Posted August 29, 2022

#2

Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep Go to sleep

Mix- I can’t-

5 notes - Posted December 3, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

HELLO

HI

7 notes - Posted April 14, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

[magimalice]

People be like PREV TAGS!! then when I go through 6 pages I just see the word 'jerma' and go mhm yeah I guess

[jaylatine]

1) memes

2) music

#mhm that's the post #two things that make me very happy today #i also got fidget rings #what a day #if only i got more than 4 hours of asleep #you cant have everything i guess #memes #music #mentally ill #LOL that tag came up when i was searching for both of the prev ones haha #actuallyadhd #actuallyautistic

[neon-angels-system]

if u guys see me on the tl please yell at me to do my homework pls and thank u (I have 2 tests tomorrow </3)

#they're the practice tests for the practice exams #but I'd still like to pass em thank u vry much #how to yell at me: comment here or dm or send an ask or prev tag me #cool thank #...I am so good at handling executive dsyfunction mhm yup /s

[wikiangela]

fuck it friday

tagged by @daffi-990 @thewolvesof1998 💖

this time a bit more of the cheating fic - istg normally I'm not a big fan of those but this is soooo much fun to write haha (especially this buck, idk, i'm having a blast haha)

prev snippet

___

“Wha- Where-” Eddie mumbles, confused, and Buck panics even more. Does Eddie not remember? That would be- worse, probably. Then he’d absolutely have to tell him, and he’s not ready for that conversation. Buck’s eyes are glued to the ceiling, but he feels Eddie moving off of him, propping himself up into a sitting position, his weight and warmth disappearing from Buck’s chest. He doesn’t immediately miss it. He swears he doesn’t. “Oh, fuck.” Eddie whispers after a moment, and the way his voice sounds so shocked and horrified, it’s safe to say he remembers. Or he figured it out, what with both of them being naked in bed and all that.

“Mhm. Well said.” Buck swallows hard, and licks his lips, and then he remembers getting to taste Eddie last night, got to kiss him, got to trace his lips all over his body, and- is he on fire right now? How is it this hot in here? He needs a cold shower. He needs to- he doesn’t want to, but he needs to scrub Eddie off of himself. Well, he does want to. He has to want to.

“We, um-”

“Yep.” Buck doesn’t let him finish. “That happened.”

“Shit.” Eddie exhales loudly, completely moving away and sitting up, making sure to take enough covers to cover himself from the waist down, but not too much so that Buck is still covered too – as if they didn’t see it all already. Buck still doesn’t look at him. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean- I mean, it’s not like I didn’t want to.” he rushes to correct himself, and Buck just needs him to shut up and not make this worse. He can’t hear that Eddie wanted him. Though maybe that makes this whole thing better? (...) “I just didn’t want it to happen like this. I’m sorry.” he repeats, and Buck can see him shake his head out of the corner of his eye.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @diazass @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @diazblunt @911onabc @eddiediaztho @housewifebuck @gayhoediaz @rogerzsteven @watchyourbuck @monsterrae1 @ladydorian05 @honestlydarkprincess @wildlife4life @theotherbuckley @weewootruck @loserdiaz @underwater-ninja-13 @hippolotamus @eowon @jeeyuns @disasterbuckdiaz @forthewolves @hoodie-buck @giddyupbuck @lover-of-mine @spotsandsocks @exhuastedpigeon @fortheloveofbuddie @jesuisici33

#fuck it friday #buddie cheating fic #eddie is very much in love and very much aware of it #and buck's deeeeeep in denial haha #this is so fun #wikiangela writes #my wips #buddie wip #buddie fic #my writing #fic snippet #also why couldn't i find the prev snippet under the fic tag or my writing tag?? had to dig through the archive to link it lmao #wtf tumblr lol #i'm so all over the place with my wips rn i need to focus on one but i'm too excited for all of these haha