#music luvr

[radionectar]

i can’t even!! obsessed is an understatement

[qwakque]

pop music club ♪

[serpientesuenos]

i realized recently that music taste is so important to me. It plays a big part in how much more attracted I am to someone or not

[morguemvp666]

I listen to this song everyday<3

[writingmeraki]

men on a mission.

a kim mingyu drabble !

pairing : secret!agent!mingyu x secret!agent!reader, established relationship ( they are married lmao )

genre : fluff. few rotten tooth worthy fluff.

warnings : kissing and mentions of alcohol/drunkness.

author's note : well. i was inspired by a sort of dream i had abt mingyu and this sprouted out of it lmao. i rlly do hope it makes sense <3 i kinda wanna make this a fic someday but i have too much shit on my hands rn so take this instead :D also unkept, unsaid,ugly emotions other units will be coming soon and maybe something for enha too cause it's been a HOTTT minute ☝️!!

sp. dt to my svt luvr moots 🩷!! @blue-jisungs ; @shuamorollss ; @odxrilove ; @flwoie ; @strxwberry-skiess ; @bambikisss ; @enluv !!!! ( this is my small attempt at showing y'all i am alive and do think of you guys everytime i open this app :( love u all even those who aren't mentioned ! )

word count : 0.9k

small drabble in the same universe ( continuation if you wish ) !!

Mission be darned, you may just get exempted due to murdering your assigned partner.

“Mingyu! Can you please stop drinking!?” 

You were sure your forehead might have become red from the amount of times you've been rubbing it and you can feel the grey hair seeping through.

Glaring at said man as he downed probably the fifth shot of some combo of liquor, you turned your attention to the bartender.

His eyes widened as he gulped in slight fear from the anger radiating in your gaze.

“I told you to stop. No more drinks for him.” 

You said calmly as he quickly nodded his head and went in a rush to clean the already cleaned up counter for the second time, finding it better to be anywhere but near a furious person.

He knew what he was paid was not worth getting into an argument about how customer service is the top thing and all that. 

“Loosen up! Have some fun babyyy!” His words slurred towards the end and you had to stop yourself from grinning at his words. You rolled your eyes at his words before hissing out lowly towards him,

“We are not supposed to have fun, if you remember, we’re here to collect some information!” You were whisper yelling at this point but you doubt anyone would hear you anyways from the loud music playing in the club which was already giving you a headache. 

“ ‘s fine~”

“I’ll get it out some other time, just relax yeah? It’s been a while since we went out.” 

Sighing at his words, you avoided looking at his face. You knew damn well he had that specific look. The look when he really wanted something from you which you weren’t agreeing on. You think it’s his eyes that get to you every damn time. 

Suddenly, he moved from his position and clinged to your arm, almost making you fall off the bar stool as he scooted closer with his, making a screeching sound that would have made you cringe if it weren’t for the fact you were trying not to fall over from the sudden weight added.

“Mingyu!” You yelped as you moved your right arm around him, trying to hold him as support,which was another mission in itself considering how broad his shoulders were. 

His face plopped itself on your shoulder, cheek smothered on it as he spoke, “You’re so warm, always are warm.”

You suppose he was somewhat fulfilling the actual mission you’d come for, which was acting like a couple in love as bait to get some information on a group that was specifically targeting couples for their acts and scams. 

“Uhm, are you alright?” You turned to the concerned bartender, who had immediately turned towards you once again when he heard your shocked yelp from before. 

“If he’s bothering you, I can call security.”

You rolled your eyes, for probably the nth time that night, murmuring under your breath how if he hadn’t given him the shots, he wouldn’t act that way.

“No it’s fine- he gets…clingy when he’s out of it.” 

“Gyu?” The coldness of the ring on your ring finger touched his cheek which made him slightly wake up from almost dozing off as you had turned your attention away from him.

The ring didn’t go unnoticed to the bartender as he nodded at you and went about his business. 

Turns out your mission was already halfway complete because you didn’t really need to fake being a couple, after all being married for six years is probably as real as it could get. 

“You’re so pretty, wanna marry you and just be with you~” 

You couldn’t stop the giggle now, your eyes sparkling underneath the club lights as you rubbed his cheek in adoration.

Well what was the point of trying to accomplish the mission anyways? You knew you would be able to get the information through other ways, so you might as well just 'have fun' as your actual partner ( for life ) said right?

Your anger was considerably simmered since it had occurred to you, it had been an actual while since you went out with him. Even if he was your husband, it was tough to get free time when you were both the best at your agency. 

“Well I think you’ve already accomplished that yeah baby?” You don’t think you’ll ever get over how your stomach feels like butterflies are roaming around when he grins at you the way he is at the moment. 

You’ll definitely never get over how he always and always looks at you like you hung up every star in the universe just for him to gaze at in awe. He looks at you, always did as if you held all the answers to his questions and perhaps in a sense you did. You were his everything, all the answers and all the stars. 

“I love you.” Your cheeks were probably hurting from grinning so much, you could never be angry at him. 

You moved your face a little closer to his, pecking his nose and pulling back,

“I do too. I mean I don’t think I'd have kept up with your annoying ass for the past almost decade if I didn’t.”

Before he could go on a rant about how mean you were being, you moved again, placing your lips on his, effectively shutting him up as his hazy brain tried to comprehend his long time–lifetime– crush kissing him. 

He would never get used to how you would make him feel like he’s a giddy boy in love all over again just from your mere actions. He’s probably been in love a trillion times by now but just with you and only you. 

Mission be darned, if he could have you like this at the end of the day, he doesn’t think he’ll ever regret anything. 

all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri. do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest.

writingmeraki Ⓒ 2024

feedback is always appreciated 💌

links : main navi ! | svt masterlist !

[anton-luvr]

# WHEN YOU REFUSE TO SIT IN FRONT ; 7riize.

𖦹 bf!riize x fem!reader | fluff | prank (?) au 𖦹 note ; in case yall dont know about this prank, its basically just people telling their partners that they're not gonna sit in the front seat and capturing their reactions!! i found it quite funny, so hence the birth of this fic... enjoy! hehe + reqs are open !

# SHOTARO. - he's concerned. why don't you want to sit in front?? do you not trust his driving skills??? do you not want to be his passenger princess anymore???? feels like his whole world crashes down and tries to understand why you're so insistent that you want to sit in the back. the moment he realizes it's just a prank to see his reaction, he's instantly relieved. there's nothing else he loves more in this world than having you as his passenger princess.

# EUNSEOK. - he's confused. he wouldn't get why you didn't want to sit in front, and he'd honestly just let you be. but he knows you love sitting in front and controlling the music while he cruised down highways too much to give it up. talks to you to make sure you're okay, and will just start driving if you continue saying you'll sit in the back. he won't be surprised when you confess that it's just a prank and starts clambering back to the front ten minutes into the drive.

# SUNGCHAN. - he's amused. the moment you dramatically announced you weren't going to sit in the front seat today, he knew something was up. he finds it funny and kinda cute at what goes through your brain in hopes of 'pranking' him, or to get his attention. plays along and convinces you to sit in front, using the excuse that he 'needs someone to accompany him' on the 'long and weary drive' - you were going to a taco bell that was only fifteen minutes away. rolls his eyes jokingly when you tell him it's a prank.

# WONBIN. - he's chill. don't wanna sit in front? okay, whatever. don't get him wrong, it's not that he doesn't care. but wonbin is just genuinely a chill person, so he'll let you do whatever you want to do. even if you wanted to sit on the roof, wonbin would let you do so. he respects your gaslight gatekeep girlboss decisions, even when he doesn't get them. even after you told him it's a prank, he'll reassure you that he doesn't mind, and that you can sit wherever you want at any time.

# SEUNGHAN. - he's worried. it's rare that you don't want to sit in front. so for you to suddenly sit in the back, seunghan will start questioning his entire existence. he'll wrack his mind trying to remember if he did anything wrong or offended you in any way recently. in the end, he resorts to just talking to you about it and asking you to sit in the front seat. he's too used to driving with a hand on your thigh while you sang your heart out to songs that it felt weird to not have you by his side. lets out a huge sigh of relief when you tell him it's just a prank.

# SOHEE. - he's upset. how could you not want to sit in front?? do you not love him anymore???? i think sohee would go two ways in this situation - it's either he feels terrible and guilty and starts crying (even tho he did nothing wrong) or he'll act all emo and silent and let you be. if it was the latter, he'd simply start driving, the entire car in complete silence. he's a bit immature in that way, because he knows he should talk it out, but give the man his five minutes of pettiness. he'll talk it out with you later on and feel a bit of an idiot when you tell him it's all a prank. makes you make it up to him with cuddles and kisses.

# ANTON. - he's stubborn. oh, you don't wanna sit in front beside him? don't worry, anton will sit in the back with you. the car's not going to move because no one's driving it? anton doesn't care. he just wants to be beside you and as close to you as he can at any moment; he's attached to you like a magnet with metal. takes you a while to convince him it's all just a prank, and he finally agrees to drive the car when you move to sit in front.

© anton-luvr, 2023.

[slut4msby]

bad idea, right? suna rintarō x fem!reader

+ tags & warnings; suggestive content, implied smut, mentions of parties/alcohol, use of the pet name "princess", not proofread

+ a/n; hey guys its lea :p. i <3 suna sm its not even funny anyway this is for all them suna luvrs out there like me. this obvs very influenced by the olivia rodrigo song not much to say there. some of this was also written whilst i was "under the influence" so it may be a little bit all over the place, apologies @_@.

seeing you tonight it’s a bad idea right?

“Y/n! what’s wrong baby” Your friend yelled over the loud music despite standing right next to you. 

“Nothing, I'll be back hot stuff.” you jokingly respond.

Stepping outside from the smell of sweaty college students and cheap alcohol. You stepped into your car. You weren’t going to be back. However, you didn’t care you had plans elsewhere that your friends would have killed you for, plans with a certain ex boyfriend - Suna Rintarō. 

You couldn’t lie, the breakup was pathetic. And maybe you should ignore him but god was he a good lover. You knew it was a bad idea. As you drive through the dark night, a black lacy shirt hugging your body, highlighting you in all the right places accompanied with a short red skirt, matching the lipstick on your lips. You know you should stop, but you can’t. You had second thoughts about seeing Suna every time but god you never regretted it. It’s not like the affair was one sided, he didn’t stop messaging you all night. He wanted you just as much as you needed him.

Suna Rintarō was intoxicating.

“It’s a bad idea, right?” You think to yourself as you exit the car walking towards the new apartment building, his new job must be paying him well. Walking the unfamiliar halls to his apartment, knocking lightly on the door. Only for him to open the door resting against the doorway, the biggest smirk across his face.

“Looking good princess.”

“Quit the small talk, Rin.” You murmur before pulling him in by his collar. He doesn’t hesitate in returning the kiss, turning your bodies slamming the door behind him.

“Someone missed me.” He chuckles whilst pulling away from the kiss, “as hot as this shirt is princess, I know you look better without one.” He says, before removing the fabric from your chest, leaving you exposed. Suna couldn’t help but stare, he knew he missed you but god he didn't understand how much.

“Take a photo, Rin. It will last longer.” You sarcastically respond, before your lips reconnect. His hands move up to cuff your breasts. Your bodies made their way to the couch, your lipstick now leaving kiss marks down his neck. Maybe this was a good idea? Whatever it was, it was intoxicating. Your bodies moved together rhythmically. The need grows as your bodies feel each other. 

Your bodies continue to dance throughout the night, the moans of each other's name escaping your lips in desperation. Hands desperately searching each other's bodies accompanied by purple marks left by both parties. God it was hot, there was no denying that. 

As the night continued it would eventually come to end. As you woke up the next morning to missed calls and unwanted messages from your friend from the party asking where you were. You can’t help but respond that you had gone home to sleep. I mean it wasn't your fault, right. You just tripped and fell into his bed after all. 

©slut4msby

[underground-secret]

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

Description: The group investigates the case of a maniacal ghost inhabiting a long abandoned Texas farmhouse known as `Hell House'. They believe the ghost is the spirit of a deceased depression-era farmer who killed his family, but they soon realise it is something far more powerful.

Warnings: Cannon violence, mentions of suicide and sh within the cannon story, a guy being a little icky.

Credit: While I’ve had the idea for a certain part of this story for a while i’m still going to give credit to @arjwrites for it because she wrote something pretty darn similar, even more than just pretty darn so yes check their work out and stuff.

Tag List: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra @fablesrose @ada--44 @bonkydarnes @star-yawnznn @crazyunsexycool @onlyangel-444 @seninjakitey @mystic-mara @mxltifxndom @stilesxreid @chaotic-luvrs @tiggytaylor @deanwasscaredbyacat @imaginexred

Word Count: 11,341

Hell House

(Masterlist, Previous Ch, Next Ch, Outfit Board)

The Impala cruises down the interstate, yellows, and browns passing by as the hot Texas sun beams through the opened windows. Hair blowing back in the wind and tickling my skin, my sunglasses perched on my nose as I nod along to the Blue Öyster Cult song that played quietly on the radio. If Sam wasn’t peacefully sleeping, head leaning far back against his seat and mouth hanging open I’d ask Dean to make the song louder—it was a really good song though I prefer (Don’t Fear) The Reaper over Fire of Unknown Origin any day.

Dean stretches an arm back, leaning over the seat to grab hold of a stray plastic spoon left on the seat beside me. He places the spoon in Sam’s open mouth. He chuckles to himself as he thumbs through his pocket for his phone, flipping it open and taking a photo. I scuff and roll my eyes at the sight as my hand finds its way into my bag where I pull out my digital camera, “Do a pose,” I whisper to Dean. He checks the empty road in front of him, slowing the car significantly before half turning and spilling widely with a thumbs up, I try not to laugh as I take the picture. I nod to him in confirmation that I got it, he puts his attention back on the road, putting more pressure on the gas pedal, glimpsing at Sam to make sure he’s still asleep before his fingers find the knob on the radio and turn the music all the way up. “Fire of unknown origins…took my baby away!” he sings loudly.

Sam jerks awake, arms flailing around in panic as he spits out the spoon. Dean air drums along to the song, fingers hitting the steering wheel, grinning as Sam wipes his mouth of drool. He turns down the music, an unamused look on his face, “Ha ha, very funny.”

Dean chuckles, “Sorry, not a lot of scenery here in East Texas, kinda gotta make your own.”

“Man we’re not kids anymore, Dean,” he complains, “We’re not going to start that crap up again.”

“Start what up?” Dean asks, feigning innocence.

“That prank stuff. It’s stupid, and it always escalates,” he clarifies, very annoyed with the little prank. But he was right, it did always escalate. I have heard many stories of the things they did and they were not pretty. As long as I didn’t get caught in the crossfire, they could go at it all they wanted, “But you’re never too old to do stupid things,” I add.

“Aw, what’s the matter Sammy, scared you’re going to get a little Nair in your shampoo again, huh?” Dean teases, grinning like a madman.

“Alright, just remember you started it,” Sam warns, smirking right back.

“Bring it on, baldy,” he taunted.

“Ok, but don’t make him bald again, that would be so tragic. Every guy with pretty hair gets a buzz cut and it’s like an angel lost its wings, it’s horrible,” I butt in.

“That’s the point,” Dean chuckles, probably reminiscing on the first time he did it to Sam and how much worse it would be now as an adult than when he was a kid. “Anyways where are we?” Sam asks, apparently not worried about the danger surrounding his hair.

“A few hours outside of Richardson,” he answers, “Gimme the lowdown again?”

Sam pulls out the file he created, printed papers neatly held in a manila folder, “Alright, about a month or two ago this group of kids goes poking around in this local haunted house.”

“Haunted by what?” Dean asks.

“Apparently, a pretty misogynistic spirit,” he answers. I sigh, these kinds of spirits made for an incredibly annoying job, “Why are they always misogynistic? Literally, go kill anyone else! Or, spice it up and kill guys too.”

“Take that up with the spirit,” Dean says.

“Yeah, no thanks, I like living,” I retort with a smirk.

“Well, legend goes, it takes girls and strings them up in the rafters,” Sam continues, “Anyway this group of kids see this dead girl hanging in the cellar.”

“Anybody ID the corpse?” Dean asks, also getting back on track.

“Well, that’s the thing. By the time the cops got there the body was gone. So cops are saying the kids were just yanking chains,” Sam elaborates.

“Do you think they were?” I question, it wouldn’t be the first time kids lied about this sort of thing as a prank or for attention and coverage, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. But, on the other hand, if you're looking for something to happen in a known haunted location there’s a good chance you’ll get something. “Maybe, but I read a couple of the kid's first-hand accounts. They seemed pretty sincere,” he answers.

“They made the papers?” I ask, taken aback a little. Though it made sense for the case to likely make the papers, it would be surprising for accounts like that to be taken in main news articles, it’d be seen as a waste of time. “No,” Sam responds without making a sign he would elaborate.

“Where’d you read these accounts?” Dean pushes. Sam smiles, his cheeks just turning the slightest shade of pink, “Well, I knew we were going to be passing through Texas. So, um, last night, I surfed some local…” he drags before getting the rest out quickly, “paranormal websites. And I found one.”

I give him a questioning look, it’s hard to take those sites seriously, especially when it's hard to weed out the crazies from real accounts. But even more than that, in the case such sites are speaking the truth, then it was putting said people in danger they wouldn’t know how to solve, which meant a whole lot of stubborn and ignorant people. “And what’s it called?” Dean asks, smirking as if he knew where this would lead.

“HellHoundsLair.com,” Sam almost mumbles, obviously knowing how illegitimate and silly it sounds.

“Lemme guess, streaming live out of Mom’s basement,” Dean muses, and like any sane person I can’t help the laugh that escapes my chest. Sam, somehow, manages to just grin, “Yeah, probably.”

“Yeah. Most of those websites wouldn’t know a ghost if it bit ‘em in the persqueeter,” Dean adds.

“What’s a persqueeter?” I ask, the word slow and clumsy on my tongue. My eyes squint slightly as I try to figure it out. “It’s a—“ Sam cuts him off, “That’s not important right now,” he starts and I frown at not getting my answer, “Look. We let Dad take off. Which was a mistake, by the way. And now we don’t know where the hell he is, so in the meantime we gotta find ourselves something to hunt. There’s no harm checking this thing out.”

“Alright,” Dean gives in, “So where do we find these kids?”

“Same place you always find kids in a town like this.”

Guy 1: “It was the scariest thing I ever saw in my life, I swear to God.”

Guy 2: “From the moment we walked in, the walls were painted black.”

Guy 1: “Red.”

Girl: “I think it was blood.”

Guy 1: “All these freaky symbols.”

Guy 2: “Crosses and stars and…”

Guy 1: “Pentagons.”

Guy 2: “Pentacostals.”

Girl: “Whatever I had my eyes closed the whole time.”

Guy 1: “But I can damn sure tell you this much. No matter what anybody else says…”

Girl: “That poor girl.”

Guy 2: “With the black…”

Guy 1: “Blonde…”

Girl: “Red hair, just hanging there.”

Guy 1: “Kicking!”

Guy 2: “Without even moving!”

Girl: “She was real.”

Guy 1: “One hundred percent.”

Guy 2: “And kinda hot. Well, you know, in a dead sort of way.”

“Okay!” I exclaim, “And there’s the necrophilia!”

“And…how’d you find out about this place anyway?” Sam asks.

“Craig.”

“Craig.”

“Craig took us.”

I prop my sunglasses on top of my head, pushing some of my hair back from my face, as we walk into the record shop ‘Craig’ works. Considering each person's answer, and how they hardly matched up, I couldn’t even fathom what Craig would tell us. But in all fairness their responses, while…odd, did make sense considering there are about eight things that affect the observation of an eyewitness.

The bell above the door once more as it closes behind us. Whether Craig would be helpful didn’t take away from the beauty of this record shop, the stands filled to the brim with all sorts of vinyls neatly sorted into separate genres. “Fellas,” a spiky-haired brunette greets from behind the counter, “Can I help you with anything?”

“Yeah, are you Craig Thurston?” Sam asks as we move closer. “I am,” he confirms.

“Well, we’re reporters with the Dallas Morning News,” Dean begins, “I’m Dean, this is Sam and Y/N.”

“No way. Well, I’m a writer too. I write for my school’s lit magazine,” Craig informs.

“Well, good for you Morrissey,” Dean remarks a little rudely. I ignore his comment, hoping it won’t discourage him from speaking with us, “So, we’re writing an article on local hauntings and we heard you would be someone to talk to.”

“‘You mean the Hell House?” he asks.

“That’s the one,” Dean answers.

“I didn’t think there was anything to the story,” he admits and frankly he has a right to be suspicious. “Why don’t you tell us the story?” Sam suggests.

“Well, supposedly back in the ‘30s this farmer, Mordechai Murdoch, used to live in this house with his six daughters. It was during the Depression, his crops were failing, he didn’t have enough money to feed his own children. So I guess that’s when he went off the deep end,”

“How?” Sam pushes.

“Well, he figured it was best if his girls died quickly, rather than starve to death. So he attacked them. They screamed, begged for him to stop but he just strung ‘em up, one after the other. And when he was all finished he turned around and hung himself. Now they say that his spirit is trapped in the house forever, stringing up any other girl that goes inside,” he explains.

“Where’d you hear all this?” Dean asks the logical question.

“My cousin Dana told me. I don’t know where she heard it,” he answers, his expression dropping a little, “Ya gotta realize, I–I didn’t believe this for a second.”

“But now you do,” Sam finishes, giving him an understanding nod.

“I don’t know what the hell to think, man. You guys, I–I’ll tell you exactly what I told the police, okay? That girl was real. And she was dead. This was not a prank. I swear to God, I don’t wanna go anywhere near that house ever again, okay?”

******

Mud sloshes beneath my shoes as we walk up the muddy path to the dark-wooded house. It was a simple house with a rickety porch in the middle of nowhere. “Can’t say I blame the kid,” Sam comments.

“Yeah, so much for curb appeal,” Dean jokes.

We soon split up, taking a little peek around the bleak property for anything at all. Sam and I meet up halfway and walk back to the front, meeting up with Dean and his EMF reader. “You got something there?” I ask, playfully nudging into him. He taps the reader, the EMF level not changing, “Yeah, the EMF’s no good.”

“Why?” Sam asks.

“Maybe you need another walkman to toy with,” I guess, only half teasing. His green eyes shoot to mine, “This baby’s foolproof, nothin’ wrong with it,” he defends.

“Mm,” I hum, “Then why is it ‘no good’ now?”

He gestures upwards, my eyes following the overhead power lines, “I think that thing’s still got a little juice in it. It’s screwing with all the readings.”

“Yeah, that’d do it,” Sam agrees.

“See!” he wiggles the EMF reader in front of my face, a wide smile curling on my lips, “Nothin’ wrong with it.”

I place a hand over his, pushing his hand and the reader down from my face, “Sorry! I just think your whole DIY thingy is adorable,” I laugh.

“It’s not adorable. It’s genius,” he defends.

“Fine, it’s adorably genius,” I correct, having a hard time keeping the stupid smile off my face.

“You two ready to go?” Sam asks. I turn towards him, his arms crossed over his chest, and his lips pursed together in that silly, sassy way he does it. I know what he’s insinuating by the way he says it and the way he’s impatiently waiting. But, I don’t want nor need him to bring that up again, let alone now, so I respond, “Born ready.” Before moving away from Dean and stepping up on the porch, my hand reaches for the doorknob.

I turn the knob and push the door open, letting more light crawl into the dark home. The sunlight creeps along the floor, stretching its arm as far as it can reach inside. The walls are a grayish-blue wallpaper littered with graffiti and the occasional hole, the windows are broken but the soft yellow glow of the sun still makes itself known through the plastic wrap covering it. There’s still some furniture left behind, an old red chaise sofa pushed to the wall, a fallen tree lying in front of it. Quite the house. But, it’s clear it was beautiful once, and in some odd way, perhaps it still is. “Looks like old man Murdock was a bit of a tagger here in his time,” Dean whistles.

“And after his time too. That reverse cross had been used by Satanists for centuries but this sigil of silver didn’t show up in San Francisco until the ‘60s,” Sam informs, pointing at a painted cross with a circle around it.

“That is exactly why you never get laid,” Dean comments, staring at his brother.

“That is a very weird thing to say,” I reply as Sam takes a photo of the sigil, “And that was a very fun fact.”

Dean shrugs, moving to another wall, “Than—“ Sam tries to say as his brother cuts him off, “Hey, what about this one, you seen this one before?” He gestures to a symbol of a cross with a dot in the middle, the bottom stroke looking like an upside-down question mark. “No,” he says simply.

“Me neither,” I shake my head.

“I have,” Dean informs, “Somewhere.” Sam reaches out to the symbol, rubbing it, he pulls his hand away and looks at his now fingers, “It’s paint. Seems pretty fresh too.”

“I don’t know. You know I hate to agree with authority figures of any kind, but….the cops may be right about this one,” Dean says. And while Dean was quite the skeptic when it came to whether cases would actually be our sort of cases, for him to say that, to even possibly agree with the authority was big. “Yeah, maybe,” Sam mumbles.

Then, suddenly there’s a rustling or shuffling noise from the next room over. Immediately we move into action. Dean grabs a hold of my wrist and pushes me beside him as he takes position near the door, Sam taking the other side of the door. Our backs flat against the wall, Dean nods his head at his brother before they burst through the door. Immediately, they stumble back, shielding their eyes from bright lights and the shouts of…two guys. I move in after them, moving around Dean to be involved in the seemingly unthreatening situation.

Two short guys decked out in all sorts of gear stand before us. “Oh, cut. It’s just a coupla humans,” the one with black hair scuffs, wearing huge goggles on his head—maybe night vision, and a studio light in hand . The other guy holding a camera switches it off. “What are you guys doing here?” night vision questions, eyeing us. “What the hell are you doing here?” Dean shoots right back.

Night vision laughs, “We belong here, we’re professionals?” he answers as if it should’ve been obvious. However, the only obvious thing here was how stupid they looked. “Professional what?” I ask, somewhat confused. Night Vision smirks, reaching into one of the many pockets on his beige vest before pulling out a white card, “Paranormal Investigators,” he identifies, handing me his little card. I take it from him, looking at him skeptically, “There you go, take a look at that, beautiful,” his eyes sweep over my frame slowly, stopping too long at one too many areas. “Oh, you gotta be kidding me,” Dean grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“Wow,” I say plainly, “Ed Zeddmore,” the night vision guy nods his head in confirmation “and Harry Spengler, so professional they have their own business cards for their website,” I throw a look at Sam and Dean, “HellhoundsLair.”

“You guys run that website?” Sam asks in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Ed smiles confidently, practically beaming in his boast.

“Oh yeah, yeah, we’re huge fans,” Dean says sarcastically, a stupid grin on his lips.

“And ah, we know who you guys are too,” Ed claims, all high and mighty. Once more I’m confused by this dude. “Oh yeah?” Sam challenges, looking at him sharply.

“Amateurs,” Ed explains and immediately Dean walks away in lost interest, rummaging through cabinets instead of really listening. “Looking for ghosts and cheap thrills,” he continues. I cross my arms across my chest, “Right…” I drawl sarcastically, “‘Cause I just love a cheap thrill.”

“I can give you an…ex-expensive thrill,” Ed winks smoothly despite the words coming out awkward and choppy. His eyes drop to my breasts that peek out from my top, staring at them like they’re the only things in the room. I grimace, cringing as I unfold my arms in hopes it will help…it doesn’t, “Oh…that’s not, um…no…”

“Well, if you guys don’t mind, we’re trying to conduct a serious scientific investigation here,” Harry speaks up.

“Yeah, what have you got so far?” Dean asks, sauntering back over.

“Harry, why doncha tell ‘em about EMF?” Ed suggests proudly, chin raised.

“Well…” Harry says before Sam cuts him off, “EMF?” He tries to keep a smile off his face as he clearly tries to play dumb. These poor guys.

“Electromagnetic field?” Harry responds like we’re idiots, “Spectral entities can cause energy fluctuations that can be read with an EMF detector,” he turns around to rummage through his backpack before producing the gadget, “Like this bad boy right here.” He turns the box on, adjusting the antenna. A knowing smirk crawls on Dean’s face, we obviously know they won’t see anything, at least not anything accurate. “Woa. Whoa. It’s 2.8mg,” Harry announces, eyebrows shot up.

“2.8,” Ed exclaims, “It’s hot in here.”

I have to bite my lip to keep my laughter back. Dean whistles in admiration, Sam remarking a “Wow,” with a hint of irony.

“Huh. So you guys ever really seen a ghost before, or…” Dean asks.

“Once,” Ed declares, “We were, uh…we were investigating this old house and we saw a vase fall right off the table…”

“By itself,” Harry finishes, emphasizing it with a firm head movement. “Well, we, we, we, we didn’t actually see it, we heard it,” Ed backtracks, stumbling on his words, “And something like that..it uh…it changes you.”

“Mm, I’m sure it does,” I play. They were total idiots, they’d be lucky if they don’t get themselves killed. Dean nods, his voice bored and unamused, “Yeah. I think I get the picture. We should go, let them get back to work”

“Yeah, you should,” Ed replies, crossing his arms clumsily across his chest. With his back turned towards the naïve boys, Dean widens his eyes at us, nodding his head towards the door in front of him. “Oh but, um,” Ed stammers, looking at me, “If you wanna stay we can show you the real deal.”

Sam and Dean seem to pause in the doorway. I try to hide my shock and disinterest behind a tight-lipped smile, “Oh…no thanks…” I spin around, more than ready to leave. But, just outside the doorway, I pause, spinning back around to end it with, “Seek happiness in tranquility, and avoid ambition, even if it be only the apparently innocent one of distinguishing yourself in science and discoveries.” I smile even as confusion falls upon their faces and when I turn back to my boys a similar expression graces theirs.

Yet, only as we descend the steps of the old house do they break. “Did you just quote Frankenstein to them?” Sam asks, his brows twisted with confusion as a boyish smile pulls at his lips. I skip down the last step, “Maybe…”

I catch Dean's eyes rolling, he mumbles something beneath his breath before mumbling just a little louder, “This is why I’m the only one who gets laid.”

Sam and I move as one, walking down the stairs of the library. Dean approaches us, his eyes flicking over us. “Hey,” Sam nods to him. “Hey. What you got?” Dean asks as we hit the last step.

“Well we couldn’t find a Morechai but we did find a Martin Murdock who lived in the house in the ‘30s,” Sam explains, summarizing our findings.

“And, he did have kids but only two of them, both boys, and there’s nothing on him killing anyone,” I add. Our findings only supported the theory that this was nothing more than a story, maybe it wasn’t our kind of job.

“Huh,” Dean hums, most likely thinking the same thing.

“What about you?” Sam asks as we approach the Impala. Dean rounds the car, speaking over the top of it, “Well those kids didn’t really give us a clear description of that dead girl but I did hit up the police station. No matching missing persons. It’s like she never existed. Dude, come on, we did our digging, this one’s a bust alright. For all we know those HellHound boys made up the whole thing.”

“I really hate to agree and blame this on faulty witnesses and a scary story, but…we really do got nothing,” I nod. I don’t know what those kids saw, maybe it was some sort of prank or being scared and seeing something that wasn't there, either way the story was likely made up.

“Yeah, alright,” Sam surprisingly agrees. He’s usually the one to be stubborn on this and see it out, or just have a feeling that we should see it out. So, for him to agree was more than confirmation. “I say we find ourselves a bar and some beers and leave the legend to the locals,” Dean suggests, a smile on his lips. He gets into the car, and before I can round the car Sam grabs my forearm mouthing a ‘just wait.’ I give him a confused look, brows furrowing, but he leans down to peer into the car through the window and instantly I know this is a prank.

I roll my eyes but I too peer through the window, might as well see the outcome. He turns the key in the ignition, and immediately Latina pop music blasts from the car, loud enough to hear clearly from the safety of outside the car. He jumps, his fingers fumbling for the key in the ignition but instead, the windshield wipers turn on. He shouts something but all we can see is the moving of his lips, the music too loud. He quickly reaches for the volume dial, hitting it the music ceases, his shoulders drop a bit as he hits off the windshield wipers too.

Finally, I round the car as Sam bursts out in laughter. I get in and a moment later Sam’s opening his door and sitting. He licks his finger and draws an imaginary ‘1’ in the air, then points to himself. Fire might as well have ignited in Dean's green eyes as he gives his brother the dirtiest look, “That’s all you got? Weak. That is bush league,” he challenges.

The early morning sun breaks the horizon, painting the sky a soft orange. The lights of emergency vehicles spin in colors of red and blue, police officers move around, a filled body bag being rolled away on a stretcher. We missed something.

“What happened?” Dean questions another bystander, there’s a small group of people that watch the scene from behind the yellow caution tape. “A coupla cops say a girl hung herself in the house,” the man answers.

“Suicide?” Sam asks.

“Yeah. She was a straight-A student, with a full ride to UT too. It just don’t make sense,” he explains and he’s right it doesn’t make any sense. Of course, you don’t know what’s going on behind closed doors, but to come to this specific run-down house with haunting rumors to kill yourself is odd. For whatever reason the man walks away, maybe leaving the scene after realizing there was no point in being here anymore. “Whaddaya think?” Sam asks, shoving his hands in his sweatshirt pockets.

“I think we’re wrong about this not being our kind of job,” I answer, we must have missed something.

******

Darkness cloaks us as well as the thick bushes we crouch behind. We wouldn't be hiding if it wasn’t for the cop car parked outside the old house and the two cops standing around. “I guess the cops don’t want anyone else screwing around there,” Sam comments. It makes sense for them not to want stupid teenagers coming around or another teen to kill themselves here, as horrible as it sounds.

“Yeah but we still gotta get in there,” Dean responds. It’s why we were here, after all, try to figure out what we missed. The cops had been around the place all day, nighttime was supposed to be a clearing. A cool breeze rustles the leaves softly and chills my body, a contrast to the heat earlier in the day, I pull my sweatshirt closer in an attempt to fight off the coolness.

“I don’t believe it,” Dean grumbles randomly. I turn my head to follow his line of sight, and just a couple of feet away are the two idiots from before. They approach, decked out in all sorts of gadgets, more than before which I hadn’t thought possible. They whisper to themselves and shush each other, I wouldn’t be surprised if they started laughing in the way you do when you're trying to be quiet, and yet everything is suddenly funny. “You gotta be kidding,” I mumble.

“I got an idea,” Dean says. He rises slightly, turning towards the cops. He cups his hands around his mouth, “Who ya gonna call!” he shouts. Ed and Harry look around frantically, muttering to themselves, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. “Hey! you!” one of the cops shouts, eyes locked on the two boys before him and his partner heading straight for them. “Freeze!” the cop warns. But one of the nerds yelps a “run!” and they turn around quickly before hauling it. “Get back here. Hey,” the cops shout before following them. Our laughs blend together despite trying to hold them back. But we use this opportunity to make a break for the house, our shoes hitting the ground hard.

Quickly we get inside and immediately Sam is taking the duffle bag off his back, jumping straight into action. Dean and I take out our flashlights that were hidden in the waistband of our pants and concealed by our jackets. The lights of our flashlights go on, illuminating the dark home just enough.

Sam breaks out the rifles, handing one to each of us. The rock salt is already locked and loaded. “Where have I seen that symbol before? It’s killing me!” Dean exclaims, his flashlight hovering over the symbol of the cross with a dot in the middle, the bottom stroke looking like an upside-down question mark. “Come on, we don’t have much time,” Sam urges. There’s no saying when the cops would stop their chase and if they’d come to check inside.

We move through the house quickly until we find the basement, moving down the stairs just as fast. Racks of shelves practically take up the whole basement, rows of them. Each one dusty and cornered with cobwebs, all kinds of glass jars filled with questionable liquids. “Hey, Sam. I dare you to take a swig of this,” Dean says, holding up a particular jar filled with a pale red liquid of some sort. There was no way of knowing what that liquid or any of them are without a lab and some testing, which naturally we don’t have. “What the hell would I do that for?” Sam shoots back.

“…I double dare you,” he grins. Sam just shakes his head, going back to looking around. A rustling noise draws our attention towards a cabinet but before we can investigate it a rat pokes its head out, squeaking before running away. “I hate rats,” Dean grumbles, lifting his feet up as the rat scurries away.

“You’d rather it was a ghost?” Sam questions, one eyebrow quirked.

“Yes,” Dean deadpans. I roll my eyes moving forward, “Do you think these jars are old pickled stuff or, like, bodily fluid stuff?” I ask, casting a glance over my shoulder at Dean. But before I can take another step, I’m yanked back suddenly, my breath catching as the belt loop of my shorts is sharply tugged. In an instant, my back slams against Dean's chest just as the shelves in front of me crash down with a deafening shatter. An axe buries itself in the spot where I had just been standing.

The sound of gunfire explodes in the room as Sam fires off two shots at the spirit of the old farmer, but it does nothing to stop him. Heart pounding, I whip my gun up, the weight familiar in my hand. Without hesitation, I pull the trigger, aiming at the spirit now dangerously close. Mordechai goes up in a mist, disappearing, “What the hell kind of spirit is immune to rock salt?” Sam exclaims.

“This one apparently!” I shout, moving from Dean's hold as he urges us towards the stairs. But Mordechai appears again, he smashes his axe down, catching the shelves and bringing the jars crashing down on Dean, glass shattering all around him as he goes down with it. My heart pounds in my ears, adrenaline rushing through my veins. I raise my gun, steadying my hands before taking my shot, rock salt explodes from the gun, hitting its mark but still doing nothing to the spirit. The spirit instead turns and charges at Sam. Shot after shot reverberates through the room emanating from Sam’s gun, “Go! Get outta here!!” Sam yells.

I rush towards Dean, shotgun hanging at my side. The glass crunches beneath my shoes as I pull Dean up, dragging him by his forearms. He grunts as he gets to his feet and if we weren’t being chased by a farmer ghost right now I’d take the time to dust the glass from his jacket. Instead, I grab hold of his hand and drag him behind me as I bolt for the stairs.

The axe seems to come down somewhere else in the room, electrical whizzing noises following it, but I ignore it as we shuffle up the stairs and be-line to the front door. We bolt out the door, caution tape breaking as Dean breaks through it, nearly stumbling down the steps.

A camera is immediately pushed into our faces, the nerds of course behind it, “Get that damn thing outta my face,” Dean commands, an arm raised to block its view.

I lay on my stomach on Sam’s bed which I’m temporarily stealing to research. An arm beneath my chin props my head up, my legs kicking slowly in the air back and forth, as I try to find any info on my laptop sitting in front of me. Dean sits on his bed, sketching something on a little notebook as his brother sits at the table with his laptop researching too.

“What the hell is this symbol? It’s buggin’ the hell outta me,” Dean grumbled, hitting the book down to his leg, “This whole damn job’s buggin’ me. I thought the legend said Mordechai only goes after chicks.”

“It does,” Sam confirms.

“All right. Well, I mean, that explains why it went after you guys, but why me?” Dean questions. I roll my eyes at his sneakily placed joke, if the legend was right then it should’ve only gone after me, jokes aside. “Hilarious,” Sam responds, “The legend also says he hung himself but did you see those slit wrists?”

“Yeah,” Dean says but I certainly missed it, though I was busy trying not to get chopped by an axe. “What’s up with that? And the axe too,” Sam points out, “I mean, ghosts are usually pretty strict, right? Following the same patterns over and over?”

“But this mook keeps changing,” Dean adds. Sam types away on his laptop, the keys satisfyingly clicking, “Exactly.”

“Maybe we got a different breed of ghost here,” I suggest, throwing the idea out there even though it’s unlikely. Sam shakes his head, “I’m telling ya, the way the story goes—“ I peer at him over my laptop at his sudden stopping, his face scrunched, “Wait a minute,” he says.

“What?” I ask.

“Someone added a new post to the Hell Hound site,” he informs, “Listen to this. ‘They say Mordechai Murdock was really a Satanist who chopped up his victims with an axe before slitting his own wrists. Now he’s imprisoned in the house for eternity.”

“A story changing over time makes sense, like a game of telephone. But a spirit that changes with it?… Can they do that?” I ask.

Dean suddenly sits straight up, eyes locked on his drawing of the symbol we saw. “I don’t know,” Sam answers, then huffs as he leans back in his seat with his arms crossed against his chest, “Where the hell is this going?”

“I don’t know but I think I might have just figured out where it all started,” Dean announces

******

The bell above the door dings as we enter the empty record store, the only person there being a bored Craig. Good thing he’s working today. “Hey, Craig? Remember us?” Dean begins an unamused smile on his face.

“Guys, look I’m really not in the mood to answer any of your questions okay?” he responds looking deflated.

“Oh don’t worry. We’re just here to buy an album, that’s all,” Dean reassures. He saunters over to the ‘rock’ section of records, flicking through them until he finds what he wants. He lifts it out and up. “You know, I couldn’t figure out what that symbol was and then I realized that it doesn’t mean anything,” Dean explains, directing his words to Sam and I as we approach the counter, “It’s the logo for the Blue Oyster Cult.” He turns his attention to Craig, pressing the album record of Club Ninja onto the counter, “Tell me Craig, you, uh, you into BOC? Or just scaring the hell outta people?” The boy in question's face drops, his eyes dropping to the album before landing on Dean again. “Now why ‘n’t you tell us about that house…without lying through your ass this time,” Dean orders.

Craig sighs, “Alright, um. My cousin Dana was on break from TCU. Ah, I guess we were just bored, looking for something to do. So I showed her this abandoned dump I found. We thought it would be funny if we made it look like it was haunted,” he explains, “So we painted symbols on the walls, some from some albums, some from some of Dana’s theology textbooks. Then we found out this guy Murdock used to live there so we…we made up some story to go along with it. So they told people, who told other people. And then these two guys put it on their stupid website. Everything just took on a life of its own. I mean I, I thought it was funny at first but…now that girl’s dead! It was just a joke, you know. I mean, none of it was real, we made the whole thing up. I swear!”

“Alright right,” Sam says softly, ending the conversation. We have our information now, or at least a direction. None of it’s real and yet, somehow, it’s very real.

******

“There you go,” the nice barista smiles, handing over our drinks. Dean takes two of the coffees while I take my latte, “Thank you so much,” I beam, placing a nice tip in the little plastic jar.

We make our way to an empty table. Sam immediately pulls out his laptop, wiggling around in his seat and fixing his jeans with a grimace on his face. “Dude, what’s your problem?” Dean asks, calling him out.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” he denies in the least convincing way ever.

“Are you sure?” I ask, eyes sweeping over him, “You look really uncomfortable.” But he just nods his head even as he adjusts himself one more time, “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

“So, ahh, alright keep going,” Dean moves on, “What about these Tulpas?”

“Okay, so there was this incident in Tibet in 1915. group of monks visualized a golem in their head. They meditated on it so hard they brought the thing to life. Outta thin air,” Sam explains.

“What? So, they manifested it?” I ask. I know manifestation and intention are powerful things but for a whole being to come from it sounds bizarre. “Wait, I guess that makes sense considering that just the belief and fear people have and or give off in reaction to a spirit gives it more power,” I think out loud, answering my question.

“So?” Dean counters.

“That was 20 monks. Imagine what 10,000 web surfers could do. I mean Craig starts the story about Mordechai, then it spreads, goes online. Now there are countless people all believing in the bastard,” Sam elaborates.

“Does the HellHound site actually have that many people looking at it?” I question, I mean people believe whatever they see. And it’s not like these things don’t exist, it’s just that Ed and Harry certainly weren’t finding it. “Unfortunately,” Sam quips. That many people would be impressive if not for the idiots that are behind it all. “Are you trying to tell me that just because people believe in Mordechai, he’s real?” Dean speculates.

“I dunno, maybe” his brother answers, shifting in his seat like he or it’s uncomfortable.

“People believe in Santa Claus, how come I’m not getting hooked up every Christmas?” Dean points out.

“Cuz you’re a bad person,” Sam deadpans, replying a little too fast, “And because of this,” he turns his laptop around to show us a photo of a complex symbol, “That’s a Tibetan spirit sigil. On the wall of the house. Craig said they were painting symbols from a theology textbook. I bet they painted this, not even knowing what it was.”

“Man, what are the chances of that?” I mumble.

“Now that sigil has been used for centuries, concentrating meditative thoughts like a magnifying glass,” Sam continues, ignoring my comment, “So people are on the HellHounds website, staring at the symbol, thinking about Mordechai…I mean, I don’t know, but it might be enough to bring a Tulpa to life.”

“It would explain why he keeps changing,” Dean replies. Sam grimaces, adjusting himself again, one too many times for it not to be concerning, “Right, as the legend changes, people think different things, so Mordechai himself changes. Like Y/N said before, it's like a game of telephone. That would also explain why the rock salt didn’t work.”

“So what does work?” I ask, “If that’s even a thing here.”

“Why don’t we just, uh, get this spirit sigil thingie off the wall and off the website?” Dean suggests.

“Well, it’s not that simple. You see, once Tulpas are created they take on a life of their own,” Sam explains. In conclusion, stupid teenagers draw random symbols on a wall to scare others, somehow choose one that uses belief, it becomes a big legend, scary fake farmer kills people, and it’s our problem now. The chances of all that genuinely have to be so low. “Great,” Dean remarks, “How the hell are we supposed to kill an idea?”

Sam itches around his hips and shuffles in his seat again, “Well it’s not gonna be easy with these guys helping us. Check out their homepage.” He clicks on a couple of things before a video of last night plays, “Since they’ve posted the video their number of hits have quadrupled in the last day alone.” God, I wish we could just hit them in the face so hard.

“Hmm,” Dean hums, “I got an idea. Come on.”

“You do?” I ask though that little glint in his eye is enough proof. “Where we going?” Sam adds.

“We gotta find a copy store,” he answers. We rise to go, grabbing our to-go cups of drinks and Sam grabs his laptop before itching and wiggling, “Man, I think I’m allergic to our soap or something,” he complains. A stupid grin stretches on Dean's face, laughing as he walks away. “You did this?” Sam says through clenched teeth. And if Dean's confusion to laughter isn't an answer then I don’t know what is. “You’re a fucking jerk!”

“That is some evil shit,” I comment. I don’t even know when he had time to pull his prank but it definitely beat the car thing Sam had pulled. “Oh yeah,” Dean smiles, satisfied.

******

“I think Y/N should be the one to bait them,” Sam reasons as we walk towards the trailer. Dean has his whole plan which requires fake papers, a copy machine, and some lying. What more could you want? “Do I have to?” I ask, “They’re, like, all weird.” But really I mean creepy or gross.

“Yeah, I can do it,” Dean defends.

“That’s the point though, they’ll listen to her ‘cause she’s a girl and those two look like they haven’t interacted with one before two days ago,” Sam explains. I laugh shortly, “Ha, they definitely didn’t, at least not a real-life one,” I then exhale, “Alright fine I’ll do it.” It’s not even a big deal to begin with to be fair.

We approach their trailer, a little garden flamingo standing tilted in the grass and a couple of foldable lounge chairs sitting about. Dean pounds on the door, fist-hitting it repeatedly. A squeal comes from inside before someone calls out, “Who is it?”

“Come on out here guys, we hear you in there,” Dean responds.

“It’s them,” one of them whisper-shouts, too bad we can hear them. But there’s a click and the door opens up a crack, both their heads squeezing to stick out the door. “Ah, would you look at that! Action figures in their original packaging,” Dean remarks, looking right over their head to peer into their trailer, “What a shock.”

“Guys, we need to talk,” Sam starts.

“Yeah, um, sorry guys. We’re ahh, a little busy right now,” Ed responds, adjusting his glasses.

“Okay, well, we’ll make it quick. We need you to shut down your website,” Dean says bluntly.

Ed laughs, almost like a bark, “Man, you know, these guys got us busted last night, spent the night in a holding cell—“

“I had to pee in that cell urinal. In front of people. And I get stage fright,” Harry adds in, eyes jumping around like he’s paranoid or anxious.

“Uh..thanks for sharing that with us…?” I respond, smiling awkwardly.

“Well, why should we trust you guys?” Ed asks, crossing his arms.

“Look, guys. We all know what we saw last night, what’s in the house. But now thanks to your website there are thousands of people hearing about Mordechai,” Sam explains.

Dean adding, “That’s right. Which means people are gonna keep showing up at the Hell House, running into him in person, somebody could get hurt.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Ed nods slowly, rubbing his chin. “Ed maybe he’s got a point, maybe…” Harry adds softly.

“Nope…” Ed decides and Harry’s demeanor does a full 180 as he says “No,” too.

“Right, so you have no morals,” I conclude, “If—no, not even if, when someone gets hurt their blood’s on your hands.”

“We have an obligation to our fans, to the truth,” Ed defends.

“Well, I have an obligation to kick both of your little asses right now–” Dean threatens through clenched teeth.

“Dean,” I cut him off, holding him back with a hand on his shoulder, “It’s not worth it, god knows you can give ‘em one hit and they’d be crying back to their mommies. Hell, I could tell them that thing about Mordechai and it wouldn’t matter, they just don't care.”

“We should just leave,” Sam adds.

“Whoa…whoa…” the idiots say, interest peaked.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dean gives in. With that, we turn back around and begin to walk away, purposely moving slowly. “What you say about…?” Ed asks, trailing after us. “Wait…Wait.” We turn back to them, an unamused look on my face. “What thing about Mordechai you guys?” Harry asks, trying to be nonchalant.

“Don’t tell ‘em,” Dean warns me.

“Not even if they agree to shut down the website?” I ask.

“They’re not going to do it, you said so yourself,” Dean reasons. I sigh, shaking my head, “You’re right.”

“No wait!” Ed rushes out, “Wait. Don’t listen to him, okay? We’ll do it. We’ll do it.” Like fishes on a hook getting reeled in.

“It’s a secret, Y/N,” Sam reminds, his voice as serious as can be. I look up at the two nerds, their eyes sparkling with intrigue, if they were dogs I'm sure their tails would be flicking behind them, “It’s a pretty big deal, you know. It wasn’t easy to find, so we really have to have your word. You have to promise you’ll shut it all down.”

“Totally,” Ed says. I pause a moment, eyeing them as if I’m really considering it before nodding at Dean. He pulls out some folded papers from the inside of his leather jacket, handing it over to them. “That’s a death certificate from the ‘30s,” I explain, “We found it at the library and according to the coroner the actual cause of death was a self-inflicted gunshot wound.”

“That’s right, he didn’t hang or cut himself,” Dean confirms, emphasizing our “find.”

“He shot himself?” Ed asks, a little skeptical as he looks up from the paper. “Yup, it’s all right there,” I answer, “With a .45 pistol. To this day they say he’s terrified of them.”

“Matter of fact they say if you shoot him with a .45, loaded with these special wrought-iron rounds, it’ll kill the sonuvabitch,” Dean adds. They snicker like school girls, the apples of their cheeks brightening with their smiles. Harry spins and bolts it to their trailer, Ed moves more slowly as he follows behind as if he’s trying to play it cool. “Harry,” he mumbles through his teeth, “Slow your roll buddy. They’re gonna know we’re excited.”

“Dude!” I exclaim, laughing a bit as Dean pops a stolen fry into his mouth, “You just finished your food, leave my fries alone.” But he shrugs with that charming smile on his lips, his arm resting on the booth's top, practically stretching out. The golden crisp of oil goodness is hardly missed with a sight like this. He turns his attention to the woodwork of an old goofy fisherman holding a big fish, a string dangling from it. He reaches up and pulls the cord, the fisherman’s mouth moving up and down as it laughs this obnoxious laugh. I myself try not to laugh as I sip on my soda.

Sam reaches up and pulls the cord again, the laughing stopping immediately, “If you pull that string one more time I’m gonna kill you,” he threatens, looking up from his laptop. In all fairness Dean had pulled the cord at least twice already since we’ve sat down, and yet, to me, it was funny every single time. The kind of stupid humor or even stupidly contagious laugh that made you want to snicker. The threatened man across us deadpans, staring at his brother as he slowly reaches up and pulls the cord again. The fisherman barely has time to laugh himself before Sam is pulling it to stop, glaring at Dean. It's like a standoff. Dean snickers, “Come on man, you need more laughter in your life. You know you’re way too tense,” he reasons.

Not having it, Sam gives him a dirty look. Clearly not amused nor having any desire to be amused. Dean sighs, seemingly giving up on his conquest, “They post it yet?”

Sam turns his screen towards me, an easier thing to do then all away around, as he angrily stabs at what’s left of his salad. My eyes scan the screen, immediately landing on the new post, “‘We’ve learned from reputable sources that Mordechai Murdock had a fatal fear of firearms’” I read and I have to admit their choice of words is awfully intelligent sounding, “Hey, look at us, we’re reputable sources,” I point out.

“Reputable copying machine,” Dean corrects a shit-eating grin on his lips. They had fallen into his exact plan, of course they wouldn’t shut down the website regardless of what they promised (good thing it wasn’t a pinkie promise), and of course they would take any information like starving dogs and post it as soon as possible. ‘Obligation to their fans, the truth’ as he had said. “Alright. How long do we wait?” Dean asks.

“Long enough for the new story to spread, and the legend to change,” Sam answers, “I figure by nightfall iron rounds will work on the sucker.” He picks up his beer bottle and holds it up to us, taking the small victory we gently clink our drinks together in a silent ‘cheers.’ “Sweet,” Dean grins, the light reflecting off of the glass beer bottle, gleaming at its base as it’s tilted up to his lips. I’ve never really understood why one would drink before a hunt, not that one bottle would do anything to him of all people, yet, when his lips are on the rim that sort of thing doesn’t seem to matter. Another interesting thing, drinking has never looked so attractive as it does on him. But perhaps that’s the bias you have when you like someone, somehow everything becomes attractive.

The bottle finally clanks to the table, his hand still wrapped around it. But when he lets the bottle go his palm sticks to it, fingers stretched out he shakes his hand around like the bottle will fall off. It doesn’t. Sam loses it, cracking up even more as Dean says, “You didn’t.”

A little tube of super glue is raised up, “Oh, I did!” he laughs, pulling the cord this time, the fisherman laughs again.

“All I’m saying is as stupid as they are, I do feel bad for them, one of these days they’re gonna wind up dead,” I reason, walking with Sam the short distance back to his motel room.

“Yeah…” he shrugs, “But it’d be on them, I mean they haven’t ran off yet, not even after seeing Mordechai.”

I hum, absorbing his words, “That’s true.” The door is open just a little, like it didn’t close fully behind him when he had left to come get me from my room down the hall. I push open the door, “Do yo—“ my words die in my throat replaced with a gasp as cold water dumps on me. A bucket thumps to the floor, just barely missing my head. My hair and clothes drip as I ball my fists at my side, shock from the sudden cold still rattling in my bones as I shake slightly. “Dean?!” I scold.

“That was not meant for you,” he replies, eyes wide as he sits up in his bed.

I got caught in a prank meant for Sam. But didn’t he know Sam was getting me and that there was a chance that I would walk in first instead of him, which is exactly what had happened???!! I exhale, trying to rid myself of any frustration or annoyance. “I’m so sorry Y/N,” he adds.

I laugh, moving a wet piece of hair behind my ear, “You are so getting it.” My shirt clings to my skin, shoulders bunched up from the feeling. Sam chuckles behind me, I turn slowly towards him and immediately he tries to cover it with a hand over his mouth, “Oh you too Sam, you’re not safe. His hand and face drops, “Why me? I didn’t do it?!”

“No, you're right,” I nod, “But you’re part of the reason it happened, your little prank war.” I look between both boys, “You’re both gonna get it, you Winchesters better watch out,” I threaten. I huff moving past Sam, “Now if you’ll excuse me I’m gonna go change before I start stripping in front of you two.”

“I mean—“ Dean calls out and I can hear the grin on his face before I yell back, “Don’t even think about it!” I shuffle off down the hallway, and only back in the safety of my motel room do I fix my situation. I snap my fingers and instantly it’s like nothing ever happened. There’s no need to change when I can do something like that, but what I can do in the privacy of my own room is think of how to get them back and execute it.

******

Early night cloaks the sky, the sun just barley below the horizon as we head to the Impala. A comfortable silence envelopes us. I stop before opening the back door of the Impala, crouching down to re-tie my shoe as they get into their respective sides of the car. The doors seem to shut in sync.

One, two, three, four, five. The doors are being shoved open and they tumble from the car coughing and covering their noses. I stand with a smirk as the smell of rotten eggs escapes the car. “What the hell?!” Dean yells. Sam reaches back into the car, pushing the seat forward to find the source. He fishes out a puffed up square, he holds it by the corner, “Really?”

“Oh, wow, how’d those get there?” I ask, folding my hands in front of me. He gives me a dirty look before throwing the fart bomb to the side. “Real childish,” Dean remarks, holding up his own puffed up fart bomb. “Which part?” I ask, “The pranks or putting fart bombs beneath each of your seats?”

“The bombs, dumbass,” he replies, throwing the little puffed square at me. I laugh, as it hits me in the chest, kicking it away when it hits the floor, “Childish and yet still funny.”

“Yeah if you think gas chambers are funny,” he mumbles.

Our guns are drawn, eyes sharp, brain and body on high alert now that we’re back in the house. The cops had been outside like the night before, but instead of using the idiot ghost hunters as bait Dean had used the stolen fisherman from the diner that he somehow stole. Its current home is now somewhere deep in the woods, a mechanism set up so that it consistently laughs. They were drawn into the forest like pirates drawn to sirens, except what they’ll find is not an attractive mermaid but an obnoxious fisherman.

“I barely have any skin left on my palm,” Dean comments.

“I’m not touching that line with a ten foot pole,” Sam mumbles.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, usually people say that about something. Like ‘I wouldn’t touch that with a ten foot pole’ but there was nothing brought up regarding touching something. “He’s tryna lead us into an inappropriate joke.” Sam explains. The gears slowly turn in my head, cogs rotating trying to figure out what joke, “Oh! You mean masterbation!”

“Yeah,” Sam sighs, and if he hadn’t had both hands trained on his gun I'm sure he’d be pinching the bridge of his nose like a disappointed father.

“So you think old Mordechai’s home?” Dean asks as he move into another room, switching topics.

“I don’t know.”

“Me either,” a voice suddenly says from behind. I spin swiftly around, gun trained.

“WOAH! WOAH!” Ed yells, him and his buddy shuffling back with their hands raised. I scuff, lowering my gun. And of course they’re decked out in their goofy gear. “What did I tell you?!” I exclaim, looking at Sam.

“What are you trying to do, get yourself killed?” he asks the doofuses.

“We’re just trying to get a book and movie deal, okay?” Ed answers.

“Look, the only time you’ll ever be written about is when your obituaries are in the local newspapers,” I spit, not caring how harsh my words are. But Ed doesn’t look defeated or deflated, instead his eyes seem to sparkle, “You are so hot,” he says softly. I drag a hand down my face, sighing, “What part about any of this are you not getting?”

“Why I don’t have your number yet,” he answers. I shake my head, walking away. This is just ridiculous now. “Alright, that’s enough there buddy,” Dean says, placing a firm hand on the guy's shoulder.

Then, the sharp noise of metal on metal comes from behind a door but inches from us. The door to the basement. As if in sync, thinking the same thing, our guns are immediately raised, body and mind back on high alert. “Oh crap,” Ed mumbles and with some shuffling and shoving each other they wind up crowding behind us. Or cowering, if you will. “Uh guys, you wanna…you wanna open that door for us?” Ed asks.

“Why don’t you?” Dean remarks unamused.

Suddenly, the door bursts, wooden shards exploding everywhere as Mordechai bursts through the door holding his axe. Screams and gunshots clash together, the dissonance cracking the atmosphere. I pull the trigger over and over, working at the mechanics of the gun until the cartridge is empty, until there’s nothing left to give. It’s no surprise when the old farmer wavers and disappears into mist with the amount of bullets shot between the three of us, but the real question is did it work?

Once more, we seem to share the same mind as we reload our guns quickly, shoving bullets into the chamber before splitting up. It’s all wordless, movements and thoughts that have been implanted into our mind long before there was even a comprehension of the fact. Every part of my being is on high alert, eyes scanning the room for the spirit. I clear the dusty shell of a room I walk into when I hear a squeal.

Immediately I spin right back around, rushing into the room I stood in only moments ago. I nearly bump into Sam as we meet back in the room only to find Harry on the floor with a shattered camera in front of him. “Hey!” Dean shouts as he enters the room from the opposite side of us, “Didn’t you guys post that B.S. story we gave you?”

“Of course we did,” Ed defends, helping his friend off the floor.

“You know, that didn’t sound all that convincing,” I quip, looking at the destroyed camera. There was no saving that thing and I don’t think any amount of insurance would help it. “But then our server crashed,” Harry corrects.

“So it didn’t take? Dean asks, eyes a little frantic.

“Ummm,” they hum in unison, the noise high pitched as their eyes jump around the room to look anywhere but the gruff man across from them. “So these, these guns don’t work?” Dean laughs darkly, running a hand down his mouth.

“Yeah,” Ed breathes.

“Great,” he murmurs, “Sam, any ideas?”

“We are getting outta here,” Harry declares, no longer concerned with documenting the truth—not that they could. “Yeah. Come on,” Ed agrees. Harry grabs hold of Ed before they run past Dean into the next room. And not even a moment later does girlish screams come from that room.

Yet despite how annoying they are, and all the trouble they’ve caused, Sam and I follow after them. Mordechai corners them against the front door, the boys cower against the door screaming “The power of Christ compels you,” over and over, louder and louder. “HEY! Come and get it you ugly son of a bitch,” Sam taunts. And for whatever reason Mordechai turns and goes after him instead. Sam leads the spirit away from the boys giving me the time to move to the idiots at the door.

I motion for them to move and quickly they shuffle away. I grip the door handle and give it a hard pull, maybe using just a little power to give me more help. The cool breeze blows in as I hold it open for them, the shuffles and grunts of fighting close by, “Go!” I command, pointing out the door. They shove each other as they stumble onto the small porch, Ed turns back before they reach the first step, “So, is your number still on—“

“NO!” I shout, slamming the door in his face. I spin around only to find Sam pressed against the wall with the axe against his throat, pushed higher and higher off the ground until his feet dangle. Immediately I lift my gun and shoot one, two, three, four, five times, glad that the angle I occupy is viewing them at their side. Mordechai disappears in a mist once more, Sam falls to the ground holding his neck as he coughs, but this time I know the spirit isn’t gone for good.

Unfortunately I don’t leave room to ask if he’s okay as I swing around the nearest walkway, “Dean?!” I call, I don’t know where he went off to and I don’t want Mordechai to take advantage of him being alone. “Right here, sweetheart,” he answers, appearing from the next room over. He holds a little metal can of something and when he splashes it around the room as he approaches me I know it must be some flammable liquid.

He nudges me forward, forcing me around before leading me with a hand on my lower back. I move away from his touch to help Sam up from the ground. “Mordechai can’t leave the house, we can’t kill him—we improvise,” Dean explains, shaking what’s left of the can of kerosene.

“Arson…yay,” I answer, watching as he dumps the rest of the liquid. Just then Mordechai appears at the far end of the room, axe raised, he charges at us, “Go, go, go!” Dean directs. I follow after Sam, running to the front door. I hear the flick of the lighter, the clinking of it falling, and the swoosh of flames going up.

We make it outside and down the short steps just as the building quickly ignites in flames. It spreads quickly in the old house, orange and yellow brightening the darkness as the flames lick at the rotting wood. “That’s your solution? Burn the whole damn place to the ground?” Sam exclaims, rubbing at his neck.

“Well nobody will go in anymore,” Dean reasons, “I mean look, Mordechai can’t haunt a house if there’s no house to haunt. It's fast and dirty but it works.”

“Well what if the legend changes again and Mordechai is allowed to leave the house?” Sam counters.

“Well—well then we’ll just have to come back,” Dean stammers, clearly not having thought of that.

The flames consume the entirety of the house, at least it seems that way. It won’t be long till it’s nothing but ashes. The only thing that’ll be remembered is the legends of a man who did not exist, that is if people care to remember at all. And all the while the real story of Martin Murdock and his boys will continue to be forgotten by this town and history. “Kinda makes you wonder. Of all the things we hunted, how many existed just cuz’ people believed in them,” Sam ponders, the words swirling in the air and lingering like the smoke filling the sky.

“I’d rather not think of that one,” I mumble. Our ‘job’ was complicated enough, it didn’t need another layer. We didn’t need another thing to keep us up at night.

The boys had decided to make a stop to see Ed and Harry before leaving town. I’m not really sure why, I certainly would’ve gone on just fine without saying a farewell. But, atlast we sit at a picnic table in the trailer park, the boys in question walking over with very full grocery bags. “Man, I got the munchies right now,” Ed comments, talking to his friend. Then, his attention turns to us as they stop at the table, “Gentlemen. Gentlelady,” he nods, and I have the suspicion that if he were wearing a hat he would’ve tipped it at us.

“Hey guys,” Sam greets with a simple smile.

“Should we tell ‘em?” Harry asks Ed, stupid smiles on their faces.

“Hey, might as well, you know, they’re going to read about it in the trades,” Ed points out, chin raised.

“Yeah? What’s that?” I ask, looking up at them. I can’t imagine what they’re gonna say. “So, this morning we got a phone call from a very important Hollywood producer,” Harry tells us, pride dripping in his voice.

“Oh yeah, wrong number?” Dean remarks, ripping a laugh from my lips before I can stop it.

“No, smart-ass. He read all about the Hell House on our website and wants to option the morton picture rights. Maybe even have us write it,” Ed boasts, shoving the stuffed grocery bags into their stuffed car, their trailer hitched to the back. “And create the RPG,” Harry adds.

“The what?” Dean asks.

“Role playing game,” I answer. Dean's eyes turn to me, confusion written in his irises, “What?” I defend, “Can’t a girl know things?”

“You know the lingo,” Ed admires, hearts practically shining in his eyes, “Anyhoo, ahhh, excuse us, we’re off to la-la land.”

“Well, congratulations guys. That sounds really great,” Sam says.

“Yeah. That’s awesome, best of luck to you,” Dean adds. And it’s that that makes me suspicious. It didn’t seem like he had said it sarcastically and from how irritated they had made him I doubt he would mean such a thing sincerely. It’s fishy. “Oh yeah, luck. That has nothing to do with it. It’s about talent. Sheer unabashed talent,” Ed corrects, chest puffed out. I decide to keep my comments to myself, let them have their delusions.

They hop into the overfilled car and start pulling off, “See ya ‘round,” Ed says from out the window, “Call me!” he adds, finger gunning at me. I cringe but ultimately ignore it, I will not be calling him or thinking of them in any degree. “Wow,” Dean exhales, standing up.

“I have a confession to make,” Sam declares, standing up too, hands shoved in his pockets.

“What’d you do?” I ask, laughing.

“I, uh…I was the one that called them and told them I was a producer,” he confesses, a smile trying to pull on the corner of his lips. I can’t help but laugh. It’s certainly a cruel prank and yet so deserved. Dean laughs too, “Yeah, well I’m the one who put the dead fish in their back seat.” Sam joins in on the laughing too, it’s kind of hard not to with the ridiculousness of it all. “My god, you guys are evil,” I smile.

When the laughing dies down Sam says, “Truce?”

“Yeah truce,” Dean agrees, “At least for the next 100 miles.”

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

hey, I'm a new reader and I love that you write dark stuff! you asked for unhinged requests.. i hope it's not too unhinged <3 a chillout evening with euronymous hearing music and smoking pot at reader's flat. the house party slowly comes to an end and he's the only guest left. He talks about hating posers and that he admires pelle for cutting himself on stage. he wants to try it too - now. both are super drunk and stoned, he gives reader the knife. after a bit hesitation he gets what he wants and it really turns him on. It leads to nasty sloppy bloody sex with a very submissive and masochistic Euro. Could also fit to Kappa!

My dearest nonnie, thank you for this request! 🫶🏻

Creep

Summary: After a night of party and unprompted celebration, some matters with your boyfriend take a drastic turn in a very different direction…

Pairing: Euronymous x fem!Reader

Word Count: ~2k

Content Warnings: Trve Kvlt Smvt 18+!, Unprotected P In V, Implied Substance Use (Pot And Alcohol), Kink Acceptance, Consensual Cutting, Blood Kink, Submissive!Euro, Dom!Reader, Reader and Øystein Are Painfully Lost For A Hot Minute, Pet Names/Honorifics, Implied Aftercare, Varg Vikernes Slander 💅🏻

A/N: I believe that by now we all know that I'm writing about Rory portraying Euronymous and not the edgelord with a patchy mustache 💀

Tagging the horny horde:

@crypticsewerslut @quicksilversg1rl @cc-luvr @icarus-star @milaeth @roryculkinsgf @spookyorchid @arch1viste @whoareyoi @angelsanarchy @b4sementgrl @blueberrypancakesworld @rocketqueen-world @r0ttenmess @doddernix @svgarcaine

But I'm a creep

I'm a weirdo

What the hell am I doin' here?

I don't belong here

- Creep By Radiohead

Accompanied by a long, dragged out yawn, you let your back fall against the cozy mattress of your messy bed. You stretched your tired body and felt like sinking into the fabric of your soft duvet, uncounted amounts of Tequila shots and a bloodstream saturated with THC doubled down on you after hosting a rather impromptu party with Euronymous and his friends from the Black Circle at your place.

"Øystein!", You called out to your boyfriend who waddled towards the bed while simultaneously stripping out of his clothes up to his shorts, "C'm here…I wanna cuddle you!"

Your voice slurred a bit but you didn't care. As long as your head wouldn't start spinning just now, you'd manage.

"On my way!" Euronymous stated, stumbling towards the bed and flopping himself right next to you face first before he turned on his back with an exhausted groan.

"Next time you better warn me before you just bring your greasy boy horde here, Øystein!" You teased whilst closely snuggling up to him, cradling his lean statue in your arms.

"I did!", He mumbled with a wide, zooted-out grin on his face, "I texted you 20 minutes before!"

"You know what I mean." Your elbow playfully nudged his side before he scooted closer into your embrace, sighing contentedly.

"Yeah, yeah…sorry, won't happen again. But it was nice, no?" His temple leaned into the crook of your neck and you felt his warm breath, heavy with hints of weed and alcohol on your collarbone.

"Yeah, unexpectedly nice but I've been wondering why Varg's never around to party." Your furrowed your brows just a little at the thought.

"You mean Christian?", Øystein snarled in an unmistakably derogatory tone, "Fucking poser if you ask me. He's too busy being a boring prick with his no alcohol, no party and no meat policy."

"Kinda no pussy policy, too, huh?" With your comment you elicited a loud and hearty laugh from your boyfriend's mouth.

"Oh, absolutely! Dude ripped off his cringe Scorpions patch and thinks he's the big deal now…stupid poser…" Euronymous mumbled into the skin of your neck before he looked up at you, his bloodshot eyes searching yours.

"Mmm…babe? Can I ask you something?" His lips pursed a little, sparking your curiosity.

"Sure, what's up?" You met his drowsy gaze with a warm smile.

"Uhm, I don't want to sound like a complete nut job, but..", He huffed reluctantly, biting down on the insides of his cheek, "But I think it's pretty cool what Pelle did at our last gig, you know, the…well, y'know?"

"The….cutting? You mean that?" Your brows arched a bit further in a low wave of concern.

Of course you've supported your boyfriend at their last gig, just like every gig before that but what happened on stage that time had been something a little very outlandish, even to you.

"Yeah, uhm…", Øystein stuttered somewhat insecure, nearly tripping over his own words, "I…okay, so…I think that was really…like really damn true."

"Okay…" You reciprocated slowly, the creeping feeling that this was not being all to it dawning on you, "....and?"

"And…ugh…" Euronymous shimmied himself out of your hug a little to properly look at you, "Hear me out, okay? I-...I know it sounds fucking deranged but…maybe…I'd like to know how that feels?"

His voice rendered lower with every word until the last bit of the sentence was nearly inaudible.

"Oh…", It fell from your lips a little clueless, "I mean…I couldn't stop you from doing it, but.."

"That's not…", Øystein interrupted you, his pale cheeks flushing with a tint of red, "It's not…I…fuck….I'd like you to do it. Thought about it since the last show. There, it's out now."

He made a move to turn his head away from you in shame but before he could, you cupped his jaw with the palm of your hand and guided him back to look at you. So many alcohol and weed spiked thoughts ran through your thoroughly intoxicated mind that you hardly knew what to say about it and of all things possible it was an upright "Are you sure about that?" that rolled over your tongue.

"Yeah." He muttered, eyes widening in uncertain anticipation.

"Okay, uhm…so…don't you think that…that we should maybe do this sober, babe?" You suggested, watching how his cheeks turned into a deeper shade of red.

"No, yes, ugh…I…can we maybe just try it? Now?" You took notice of the almost needy desperation in his voice and you'd be lying if you said it wasn’t doing something to you.

"Now?" You inquired a bit taken aback.

"Yeah.", Øystein nodded, scooting further away from you until he raised his torso off the bed, reaching for his pants, "Here…with that."

His slightly trembling fingers fumbled around the waistband of his trousers, fishing for a hunting knife that he started to carry with himself in a sheath on his belt a while ago. As soon as he had pulled the sharp metal blade from its casing, he held it up to you and your eyes widened at the dedication in his proposal.

"The sharper the better… Pelle told me.", Euronymous stated with a tremble in his tone, "Takes less effort….y'know."

"Uh, wow, uhm…you really want that, huh?" , You took the handle from his grip and studied the shape of the blade cautiously, "With all due respect, babe, this looks really sharp…"

"Fair enough…" With your eyes trained to the blade you sat yourself back upright against the headboard of your bed.

"Okay…so…so how do we start this now, huh?" You mumbled more to yourself than to your gradually more excited boyfriend.

"Like…where would you want me to cut you?" It rambled out of you.

With an equally puzzled face, Euronymous took a seat in front of you, crossing his arms over his chest while looking at the knife in your hand.

"Not my arms, that's for sure…thighs, maybe?" He suggested with a shrug of his shoulders.

"But, like, the top, yeah? I'm not gonna cut you on the insides." A slight shudder went through you just at the thought of possibly cutting too deep on the inside of his thighs.

"Yeah, yeah…of course, that's good." He replied with a shaky voice.

"Okay, so, am I just gonna…", You inhaled sharply to steady yourself, "Am I just gonna do this now or what?"

"I'm ready, I trust you, babe." Øystein wiggled a little in his sitting position, "Do you want me to help you get started?"

"Yeah, I think that wouldn't be too bad…" At that he reached for your hand that was holding the knife, cupping it and slowly bringing it towards his thigh, pointing the sharp tip right against the delicate, pale skin of his leg.

"Are you really sure about this?" You asked once more, just to be sure.

"Yes. I want that, been thinking about it for so long now…" Euronymous answered in heavy breaths, feeling the tip of the blade on his skin.

"Okay…so…" You slowly lowered the end of the blade onto his skin, applying a very careful amount of pressure.

The device was indeed so sharp that it broke through the first layers of his skin like a bread knife through room-temperature butter.

"That's is…" Øystein encouraged you and with that you slid the blade over his thigh, a bright red stream of blood pooling at the incision right away.

"Fuck.." Your boyfriend exhaled while he threw his head back.

"Fuck, what? Is it bad? Do you want me to stop?!" You were ready to pull the blade back at any second.

"No, more…please…, Ma'am." Euronymous pushed between trembling lips and his intonation shot right through you, sending a jolt of arousal right to your cunt.

With the knife in your hand and your gaze transfixed on the first cut, deeply red droplets gathering all over it, you placed the blade a little lower, repeating the same motion, ripping his skin and drawing even more blood.

"Shit…fuck….feels so good, Ma'am." He huffed, sounding…grateful.

"Good god, such a good boy for me, huh?" You jumped right into his headspace, shamelessly indulging in it.

"Always!" Øystein groaned out as you left another shallow yet efficient cut on his thigh.

With a subconsciously forming grin around your lips, you noticed how your boyfriend's cock started twitching in his briefs.

"Aww, is that making you hard, Øystein?" You pushed only to be hit by: "Just one more, please, one more and I'll fuck you so good, Ma'am, I promise!"

With eyes wide and an already throbbing cunt, you cut over his thigh once more, eagerly awaiting his reaction.

"Fuuuuuuuck!" He pressed a guttural groan through trembling lips before unceremoniously slapping the knife out of your hand and practically pouncing on you.

Before your intoxicated brain could truly fathom what was happening, Euronymous shoved his shorts down to his knees for his hard on to slap against his lower abdomen in a wet thud as he pushed his crotch between your legs.

"Shit, you really needed that, didn't you?" It cascaded out of your mouth as you felt him drilling into you.

"Yes, fuck…yes, Ma'am, thank you!" He whined against the shell of your ear as he started fucking into you at a reckless pace.

With every needy thrust of his hips against your lap, you felt the blood, still oozing out of the cuts, sticking against your thighs. Lewd, wet and squelching sounds from his cock pushing in and out of your cunt mixed in with the slapping of skin against skin and you could hardly hold on to yourself because Øystein never ever went that feral on you just like that.

"Such a good, needy boy for me, filling me up so fucking good!" You praised as your eyes fluttered shut, your entire body buzzing with physical sensations.

Every roll of his hips against you had you tethering on the edge of orgasming already. In your thoroughly intoxicated state, you could hardly tell whether or not your pussy was contracting all around him by then or not. Every sensation was fading into the next one, making you feel like cumming on his cock for as long as Øystein kept fucking into you.

"Oh, God, fuck….shit…" It spilled out of his mouth as he hammered himself into you one last time.

"Ma'am, fuck…." Euronymous groaned into your ear right before you recognised his cock twitching and pulsing inside of you, pumping his load deep into your pussy.

"You good?" It left your mouth in heavy breaths.

"Uh-huh…" He muttered before collapsing right onto you, his face hidden deep into your neck.

"Shit…that was something…", You tried to catch your breath while wrapping your arms around his sweat coated back, "You did so good for me, love."

"Really?" Øystein hummed into your skin.

"Of course you did. We gonna take good care of those cuts tomorrow, yeah?"

[undiscovered-horizon]

Hi lovely how are you? Could you do a ”someone is trying to steal morpheus girl”? 🥹

A/N: Hey!! I'm doing fine, thank you! Exam season is right around the corner, so I'm living and breathing diagnostic tests, methodological models and theories of emotions.🌺

[MASTERLIST] || [Sandman-inspired playlist]

You know what the problem with Mona Lisa is? Everyone flocks like a mindless herd just to look at it as if there was nothing else at Luvr. Alright, it's the painting but it's not like there aren't any other paintings around the globe, right? And you know what that guy's problem is? He really thinks he's doing something with that sleazy smirk he-

"Are you doing alright?" Hob asked Morpheus. "You seem angry." It was a nice euphemism, a true monument of Hob's diplomacy.

Morpheus looked at his friend out of the corner of his eye. "I'm not angry," he stated in an ever-so-stern voice as if his act could actually fool anyone. After his very believable statement, his gaze returned to you, who was sitting sideways to the bar counter, sipping on an affogato. It was your own decision to leave them alone while they were catching up - it was their get-together and if it wasn't for Morpheus's desire to have you by his side wherever he went, you wouldn't be at the inn at all. Over your shoulder, Morpheus could see the face of the man who made him abandon his little chat with Hob - glistening eyes and a warm half-smile that made Morpheus terribly aware of his own tendency to be rather expressionless.

"Right, obviously," Hob answered with a wide grin on his face. There was something absolutely hilarious in watching the literal King of Dreams and Nightmares silently burn a hole in the face of some random mortal with his intense gaze. The atmosphere was only growing more tense, even if you and the charming strangers weren't aware of it. Tempted to push the swaying domino, Hob leaned towards Morpheus and added something quietly: "You know, you can admit it bothers you that someone is hitting on the girl you like. She is very beautiful, it was to be expected."

Like - what a useless word! Liking is for ice cream flavours or music bands. Morpheus was far beyond liking you. In some oddly possessive and quite pathetic way, he considered you to be part of him. People don't just like their own arms, do they? Instead, they find it hard, nearly impossible, to imagine existing without those very fingers, hips or knees; it seems strange to live in a body different from the one you have. Equally, how bizarre everything would be if he did not have you by his side! Like a parallel world where people have two left feet.

"It does not bother me," he answered in a husky voice before frantically getting up from the table. Hob continued snickering to himself in an infantile expectation of the uproar looming over the inn's patrons. But it wasn't only the human passion for action that spoke through him: in some way, Hob hoped that this fairly meaningless frustration will teach Morpheus something about himself and you - that if he doesn't cherish you, someone else gladly will.

With a characteristic stiffness in his step, Morpheus reached you and the stranger. His hand firmly grabbed your shoulder, making you think that something serious was going on and he was needed elsewhere immediately. You looked up at him but he did not spare you even a glance - his stern gaze was stuck to the brunet sitting across from you, whose once charming expression fell into something much more awkward. Clearly, Morpheus's appearance surprised him.

"We must leave," Dream spoke in a strict tone.

"Are you okay, love?" you asked him as you stood up from the stool and gathered your belongings. Hearing the affectionate title, the stranger whom you had been talking to unconsciously raised his cheeks and furrowed his eyebrows - disgust. Perhaps he considered Morpheus a little too, for a lack of better expression, bland appearance-wise to think about him as in any way equal to you. What a strange thought it truly was: that you, a mundane human, were settling for Dream of the Endless.

Feeling desperation crawling up his spine, the brown-haired man took the last chance he had: "Will I see you around?"

You gave him a polite smile while meaningfully shaking your head. "I can't imagine you will, no. Have a good day."

Following Morpheus's rushed footsteps towards the entrance door, you glanced over your shoulder towards the corner where he had been sitting, only to see Hob snickering as he watched the two of you leave the inn.

After a few minutes of walking, he stopped his march so suddenly, you bumped into his back. Morpheus turned around immediately but because of the lack of distance between you, he was towering over you. Having him look down on you with that unguessed, stern gaze was strangely both alluring and intimidating. There was a creeping thought in the back of your head that you had been oblivious to some scheme that definitely had something to do with you.

"Tell me," he began with a slight waver in his voice, "would a human make you happier?" Morpheus spoke quietly as though he didn't want anyone else to become privy to his own fears. There were many who would wreak unimaginable havoc once they got such information into their terrible claws.

"I don't understand what you're trying to say," you answered. Feeling flustering at how close you two were, considering it was a public space, your voice grew quieter with each word. No matter how well you've grown to know Morpheus, there was still some subliminal menace haunting the thoughts of anyone in his vicinity.

His ragged breath brushed against your face. Looking up into his clouded, dark eyes, you felt yourself growing smaller. At that moment he could ask you for anything and you wouldn't dare to decline. "I can give you everything you might wish for," he spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, "but I can not join you in the life you are used to."

Suddenly, the strange events of the past fifteen minutes became painfully obvious and you found it funny that you had been oblivious to this web of anxieties until now. "If I wanted to have a typical 9-5 with a picket fence, do you think I'd still be here?" you asked him. Morpheus slightly turned his head to the side. It was hard to say whether he was pondering your words or felt shame at ever accusing you of anything short of honesty. Whatever it was, you brought your hands up to his face and gently forced him to look back at you. "I'm not hanging around because I'm afraid to be lonely or something like that. I've made my choice, Morpheus. And that choice is life with you, whatever it may bring."

There was a certain sense of disbelief in his glistening eyes - it wasn't that he doubted your honesty, he truly did believe that you believed it, but a subconscious part of him, the festering wounds of all the infatuations he couldn't love as long as he wished, rendered him unable to take your statement without a grain of doubt. In other words, you were a person of integrity but he wasn't a man of faith. Not yet, perhaps.

You craned your neck to place a chaste peck on his cheek. Without thinking about it, Morpheus tilted his head towards you. His eyes fluttered shut but only for a split second as he let out a quiet sigh of relief.

"You don't have to believe me," you began unsure of whether it was a good idea to address the fairly obvious shadow of fear that loomed over him. "But if you can, just trust me that I don't want anyone else."

"I trust you with all that I am."

"Good." You gave him a wide smile. Not expecting such a sudden change in your demeanour, Morpheus furrowed his thick eyebrows. "Because I'm taking you on a small adventure."

Before he could ask you anything, you grabbed his elbow and began walking somewhere. He let you pull him in whatever direction you wanted - he always did. Perhaps he wasn't quite aware of it yet but he never suspected you of ill will. When it came to you, he was surprisingly naive.

"Where are you leading me?" he questioned you but never forced you to stop. In a very ignoble way, Morpheus was devoted to following some human's whim.

You shrugged before answering in a humorously questioning manner: "Straight ahead? Just following my gut."

Morpheus surprised himself with his own contentment - getting lost in the Waking World was okay as long as it was him and you.

[buntress]

[No Spoons for IDs, help appreciated]

♬˚.⋆ (𝓖𝓸𝓸𝓭𝓞𝓵')𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓑𝓸𝔂𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓲𝓬 ⋆.˚♬

[PT: (GoodOl')LoverBoysongic]

A musicagender related to the song Good Ol' Fashion Lover Boy by Queen. This gender may feel adoring, passionate, inherently queer, and charming. Like treating your partner to a nice dinner, serenading them with music wrote just for them, pampering them with everything they love, and constantly thinking of how much you love them. But this isn't required, there's no wrong way to use this gender.

၊၊||၊၊||၊၊||၊၊||၊၊||၊၊||၊၊||၊⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆၊၊||၊၊||၊၊||၊၊||၊၊||၊၊||၊၊||၊

Suggested Pronouns beneath the cut!

Tagging :: @radiomogai @idmutts @accessmogai @the-mogai-archives @io-archival @audiogenders @blood-moon-night-coining (hehe loverboy :333)

Suggested Pronouns ♬˚.⋆ ::

[PT: Suggested Pronouns]

Cu // Cupid

Er // Eros

H♥︎ // H♥︎m

He // Heart

Ki // Kiss (Full Set is Ki // Kir // Kiss)

Luv // Luvr

Red // Reds

Rose // Roses

Sh♥︎ // H♥︎r

Xo // Xos

❤️ // ❤️s

👑 // 👑s

🎵 // 🎵s

♂️ // ♂️s

💞 // 💞s

[raestromboli]

❛ BABY, CAN YOU HELP HER? ❜ 🪽

call me 𝓇ae. rap music enthusiast. fashion obsessed. smelling like coconut and shea butter. pink luvr. gold jewelry. lip gloss.

𝓇equests: denied.

@raestromboli navigates you to . . .

﹙ masterlist. byf. ﹚— coming soon.

𝓇ecent 𝓌orks: plug!chris. ◠ GWBAS.

© raestromboli. all rights reserved. please do not repost, steal, or modify future work simply because it is mine. stealing isn't cute.

[angelsanarchy]

One Long Weekend: - Clyde/YN One-Shot Series CH 10

"Don't worry, we're not gonna have to fuck in a closet." "Trying wouldn't kill us."

Tagging: @roryculkinluvr @siriuslymooned @cc-luvr @crypticsewerslut @icarus-star @desert-springtime @shady-the-simp @izuoyarmin

SATURDAY, 11:30PM

Y/n wasn't expecting so many people to be here. All of the apartments seemed small but Johnny's was packed, music blaring and smoke of all kinds hover above them all.

"FINALLY! Have a beer! Relax and join the festivities." Beau was approaching with a drink in both hands and Y/n felt an arm around her waist.

"Oh thanks Beau, we're about to hit the smoke circle though." Clyde had spun you away from a disappointed Beau but she couldn't help but laugh.

"You're getting better." Y/n put her lips to his ear so he could hear her and he wiggled his eyebrows at her. They found Snow and Lola who were six deep in the smoke circle but were more than happy to squeeze them in. Y/n was sharing a chair with Clyde when she almost slipped off the side during a coughing fit. Clyde laughed making sure she didn't hit the floor but didn't expect her to plop down on his lap once she regained her composure.

"Making yourself comfortable?" He asked trying to hide his blush.

"Yes actually. You have a very cozy lap." Clyde responded by putting one arm around her back and she rested her hand on top of his. The more they smoked the more Clyde seemed to loosen up, enough so to pull her in for a shotgun this time, letting his bottom lip brush against her own.

"We should play a game!!!" Snow jumped up and down in her chair earning some groans.

"You guys are so fucking lame. What else are we going to sit here and do?! Let's play Kings!" Snow started rooting through her bag and pulled out a deck of cards. The group had gained a few newbies, some who were just smoking and enjoying the atmosphere, others ready to play the card game. Snow explained the rules to everyone and Y/n was feeling buzzed by the time she started drinking. The only part of the game that seemed new to her was the rule for Queens. Snow thought it would be a lot more fun if some sexual tension was released. Anyone who drew a Queen had to pick someone in the circle to trap in the closet for 7 minutes. It seemed like a really immature, teenage party rule but no one sitting in the circle seemed to care.

She remained on Clyde's lap but he settled into the position, leaning his head against her arm on occasion. After the first handful of pulls Y/n almost ate shit when trying to hit the floor for a 4 of Clubs.

"Please don't hurt yourself. I'd hate to have to tell your roommate you ended up in the hospital playing for the win." Clyde teased, cheeks splotchy from drinking.

"Could you imagine? She would kick my ass." Y/n threw her arm around Clyde's neck to tighten her hold on him. The first Queen was drawn by Snow who surprisingly took Johnny into the closet. Lola set a timer on her phone. The game-play couldn't resume until the 7 minutes were up so most people just lit up and grabbed another drink.

"You want another drink?" Clyde asked reaching for the bottle opener.

"Yeah thanks." Y/n watched his hands carefully using the bottle opener and couldn't shake the idea of him using those long, slender fingers to get her off. Clyde was completely obvious to her dirty thoughts but she wasn't sure if she should push that envelope again.

"If I pull the next Queen, you'll have to take one for the team and go in there with me. I don't want to be trapped with a stranger." Y/n said watching Clyde sip his beer.

"That's fine. Sadly I don't think you'll escape the smells since that's Johnny and Beau's shared closet." Y/n scrunched her nose.

"How can anyone possibly get off in a closet that smells like death?" Y/n questioned.

"Johnny and Snow have been on and off for awhile. They could fuck in a trunk and they wouldn't be phased." Clyde explained.

"Aww." Y/n made a face earning a laugh from Clyde who almost spit his beer in his lap.

"Don't worry, we're not going to have to fuck in a closet." Clyde seemed very sure about this but Y/n shrugged.

"Trying wouldn't kill us." Y/n licked her lips making sure not to meet Clyde's gaze as he stared at her with longing. The alarm on Lola's phone went off and Denny the drummer launched the door open. Johnny's shirt was buttoned awkwardly and Snow pulled her skirt down lower.

The game resumed with another round of waterfalls, almost falling out of chairs to touch the floor and some Never Have I Ever's that were shocking.

"THAT WAS ONE TIME!" Johnny yelled making everyone laugh. Apparently shitting yourself while hooking up with someone is noteworthy enough to tell your friends about. The second Queen was pulled and Clyde flipped it around between his fingers.

"Ohhhh finally! I was hoping you would get it!" Snow clapped her hands making Clyde shake his head. Y/n remained quiet as she coyly got up off his lap to move towards the kitchen for another drink and he cleared his throat.

"Where are you going?" Clyde asked curiously.

"To get another drink? Did you want one?" She gestured over her shoulder and he huffed walking towards her, taking her hand and pulling her towards the closet. Everyone whistled and cheered as the door shut behind them, leaving them both in the dark.

"Seven minutes Stevie Wonder! Make it count." Beau slammed his fist on the door and Y/n snorted.

"Stevie Wonder is blind, not deaf. What the fuck?" Y/n was ready to argue through the door but Clyde stopped her.

"How are you feeling? You okay?" Clyde still had her hands in his own and she waited for her eyes to adjust so she could see him.

"I'm fine. Do I not seem fine?" Y/n worried how she was coming off and why he would ask her that.

"You've just had a lot to drink. Just want to make sure you're all good." He smiled.

"So have you, you seem fine." Y/n returned.

"You're not wrong but I get this wasted most weekends so my reboot is pretty good." Clyde bragged. Y/n leans her body into his more.

"Oh yeah? I'd like to see this reboot in action I think." Y/n put her hand on Clyde's chest. She could feel how hard his heart was beating.

"Your heart is beating super fast. Are you nervous?" Y/n pulled Clyde's neck to her mouth to place a soft kiss on the pulse point that she could feel.

"I wasn't..." Clyde stuttered. He let Y/n run her hands through his hair and continue to suck little kisses into the side of his neck, trailing up towards his ear. Clyde closed his eyes, trying to keep his focus but the way Y/n took little nibbles into the wet skin of his neck and throat were absolutely winding him up.

"Do I make you nervous Clyde?" Y/n asked innocently.

"You know I was watching your hands earlier. You have some really sexy fingers and I would love to see how nice they feel inside me." Y/n let the hand he was holding fall to the front of her bottoms. Clyde's eyes opened wide and he stopped her hand.

"Y/n...you're making this really difficult." Clyde squeezed her hand and she pulled back.

"What? What's wrong?" Y/n questioned. Clyde let out a sigh but before he could explain himself the door flew open.

"Damn Clyde! Nice hickey!" Denny pointed at Clyde's neck. The image of his hair a mess, a fresh hickey on his neck and her hand on the waistband of his jeans must have seemed filthy to some but Y/n was trying really hard not to let herself be upset. Had she read the signals all wrong? Maybe Clyde wasn't attracted to her like that?

Maybe he really was just a really nice guy who was giving her a place to stay for the weekend. Whatever it was, Y/n scurried out of the closet to find an empty chair across the circle from Clyde's. He left the closet with his back to the group, adjusting himself before going to the kitchen to grab another drink. Lola reached out to put her hand on Y/n's leg and she shook her head that she was fine.

[dandelions-fly-in-summer-skies]

*edit: i have decided if you requested partner in crime, venice bitch, or waiting room yours will be done last just for efficiency so i can get through the quicker ones first <33*

hii i just wanted to share some of my new year’s resolutions as preparation for 2024😭😭

 learn guitar, read at least (!!!) a book a month, improve my drawing, improve my cooking skills, eat healthy, make the most of term 2, be so alive it aches, be more open and engaged with people and connection, laugh lots, cry hard, be present, be a bit less bitchy to my parents learn to crochet, care less about what other people think, study hard and try to be passionate about what i’m learning, go for walks in the nature, etas lots of strawberry sorbet and ice cream and dance in the rain :)

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

~dandy’s 200 celebration!!~

ahhh first of all thank you so much for 200 followers! thats actually insane i love you guys so much <33

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

silk chiffon - i give you a list of things that remind me of you!

ribs - i make you a (small) playlist!

waiting room- i make you a moodboard based on your blog or personality!

not strong enough - i write you a letter (mutuals only)

you’re so fucking pretty - i guess what you look like based on ~vibes~! no longer available i got bored lmao

lacy - you ask me to listen to a song and i tell you what i think!

all i wanted - i make you a small drawing of your choice (preferably people i suck at drawing anything else)!

casual - i give you music recs! edit: i think i’ll use this one to recommend smaller artists so would love if anyone asks for this!!!!

american teenager - i give you book/tv show recs!

partner in crime - i design you an outfit using pinterest!

venice bitch - i design you a room using pinterest!

not a lot, just forever - you tell me a problem and i give you advice!

coming of age - i give you an artist, album, and song that reminds me of you!

false god - i shuffle my playlist until i find a song that gives your vibes + give you my fave lyric from it!

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

followers only

send requests in asks please

limit of two requests per ask

there’s no overall request limit

this will probably end by february bc that when i start school again

<3333

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

@astraeasparrow @literatureisdying @leaskisses444 @zzzzzzzzzee @tellme-o-muse@xgirlidiotx @lalallorona @crowgenius @my-cages-were-mental @none-of-it-was-accidental @imswimmingback @a-portal-to-nowhere @emailsicntsend@5ducksinatrenchcoat @recklessandyoung @waitingforthesunrise @radio-silencepdf@pho3b3-tayl0r-luvr @ineedibuprofen @emilybrontesghost @moonartemisandstar@gayoticbeing @photogenic-strawberry @maxdamax @august-taylors-version@svnflowermoon @the-turtle-fan @dcfcyay @mandythedino @holdmyteaplease@strawberryloveyyy @imperpetuallylost @bookscorpion73 @skeelly @swiftieannah@channnnnieee555 @strats-blood @vams225 @the-smiley-blue-axolotl@mushroomcarrotstick @waiting-down-the-hall-for-me @niallermybabe @pazoo-underscore@personifiedgoldenretriever@thebestieyoureinlovewith@electric-sheeeep @if-i-could-give-u-the-moon@fire-but-ashes-tootoo @trying-to-be-cool-abt-itit @brenninthetaylorverse@shortgaything @cc-horan28 @isitoversnowtvs@my-mind-is-frozen@giveuthemo0n @evazlana @someones-name-inserted-here- @the-stars-sing@aaalixaf@photogenic-strawberry @qwerty-keysmash @coco6420 @evermore-4-life@eden-crowley-fellfell @trashmeowcan@parasite-2-2 @folklore-girlgirl @urbanflorals @nqds @judeisthedude @returnofthecabbageman @thats-the-power-of-love @stvrlighhttt @enchanting-grom-fright @imslowlydisintegrating @loving-the-marauders @loveisaseriousmentaldisease @dicklesssswonder @bassguitarinablackt-shirt

uhhh that’s a long list of most of my mutuals i think ahh sorry if you didn’t want to be tagged please tell me if you want to be added/removed

omg i’m insane why’d i tag that many people IM SORRYYY (it’s the notes app list istg)

[deanscrush]

𝔞𝔪 𝔦 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔲 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔰𝔦𝔠𝔨

me ‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🍒 ⋅ ˚✮ sheridan / 17 / queer / s!her

links ‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🍒 ⋅ ˚✮ c.ai , req , pinterest

๋๋⋆.°🍒๋ྀི࣭⭑girlfreak jackles!luvr music!weirdo queerdo