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loverslantern · 5 months ago

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

Description: To obtain a mystic gun capable of destroying the demon that killed their mother, the group must team up with John and face off against vampires.

Warnings: cannon violence and gore, John Winchester, arguing, girl kissing (not really a warning but), slightly jealous Dean??, reader being a nerd

Word Count: 8.5k

Dead Man's Blood

(Masterlist, Previous Chapter, Outfit Board)

The cafe is quiet except for the distant chatter of conversations that melt together, the clinks of glasses and dishes, the clacking of a keyboard, and the shuffling of paper. So, maybe quiet isn’t the right word. Nevertheless, the steady background noise is peaceful. It brings me back to the days when I’d linger in cafes to study for an upcoming exam in both high school and college. Though, I suppose, looking through various obituaries and news articles to find our next hunt isn’t that different. “Well, man,” Dean starts, folding his newspaper. “Not a decent lead in all of Nebraska. What’ve you got?”

I lean back in my seat, pushing away from the screen I’ve been looking out for God knows how long. “Nothing of note in Iowa, Kansas, or Missouri,” I announce, noting some of the states surrounding Nebraska. The various tabs open for each state are a little concerning. “Unless you count a woman in Iowa who managed to fall 10,000 feet from an airplane and survive.”

“Sounds more like ‘That’s Incredible’ than, uh, ‘Twilight Zone,’” Dean remarks.

“Yeah definitely weird but not that concerning,” I nod. It surely reeked of the supernatural because there was no human way to do that, but it also wasn’t a top-of-the-list concern when no one got hurt and it seemed like an isolated event.

“Hey, Sam, you know we could keep heading East. New York. Upstate. We could drop by and see Sarah again. Huh?” Dean suggests, smirking as he leans his elbows on the table. “Cool chick man, smokin’” he whistles. I shake my head, mentally grimacing. Yeah, she was attractive but to say it aloud and whistle about some girl your brother was clearly into? A little weird. “You two seemed pretty friendly. What do you say?”

“Yeah, I dunno, maybe someday,” he answers vaguely. “But in the meantime, we got a lot of work to do Dean, and you know that.”

“Yeah, alright,” Dean gives in.

“You get anything in the states you checked?” I ask Sam, knowing he had looked at Wyoming, Colorado, and South Dakota. More states that surround the state we currently reside in. “Yeah,” he exhales. “Uh, a man in Colorado. A local man named Daniel Elkins was found mauled in his home.”

“That’s certainly one way to go,” I mumble.

“Elkins?” Dean echos. “I know that name.”

“You do?” I ask.

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Sam shakes his head.”Sounds like the police don’t know what to think,” he continues as his brother mumbles Elkins under his breath and pulls out their Dad’s journal. “At first they said it was some sort of bear attack and now, they’ve found some signs of robbery.”

“You know, sometimes it amazes me how the police solve anything,” I remark. Sure, if it’s supernatural related then they don’t have the upper hand of knowledge but seriously a bear attack and a robbery are two completely different things.

Dean hums absentmindedly in acknowledgment, flicking through the journal. “There, check it out,” he announces, flipping the book around for us to see. A phone number resides on the page right next to the name. “You think it’s the same Elkins?” Sam asks.

“It’s a Colorado area code,” Dean points out.

****

Sam kneels on the wooden porch, the flashlight illuminating his work with the lockpick. It’s not too long before the lock clicks, and the door creeps open with a turn and push.

“Looks like the maid didn’t come today,” Dean comments, looking over a table cluttered with books and papers. Otherwise, this room was pretty clean at least in terms of the crime. “Hey, there’s salt over here. Right beside the door,” Sam announces, lingering by the front door.

“You mean protection against demon salt or, ‘oops I spilled the popcorn’ salt?” Dean asks, his interest tuned into a journal he discovered on the desk.

My flashlight guides my eyes across the room. It didn’t happen in this room, it doesn’t seem like the perpetrator(s) came from the front door into the entryway. “It’s clearly a ring,” Sam clarifies. “You think this guy Elkins was a player?”

“Definitely,” he answers. I wander a little further into the house, the real mess lying in the next room over, the door knocked off its hinges. “That looks a hell of a lot like Dad’s,” Sam says. I look over my shoulder, and both boys are checking out the journal. “Yep, except this dates back to the 60s,” Dean responds.

I step into what looks to be an office, or what’s left of it. It’s pure destruction. If you told me a tornado came through this room I’d believe you. Broken and overturned furniture litter the floor, books and papers scattered about. I can barely see the floor, it's all covered. “Whoever this guy was, he put up a hell of a fight,” I comment as I carefully step further into the room, glass crunching beneath my shoe. Glass but no broken windows. “Whatever attacked him, it looks like there was more than one,” Sam adds, looking up at the ceiling. I follow his gaze to the broken sunroof, the source of the glass.

Where did the police get a bear attack from even if he did have scratch marks on him? Did they think it fell into the sunroof? I could understand the robbery considering the mess, but a bear? Seriously? I shake my head at the thought, walking over to the cleared-off desk. Whatever was atop it was on the floor now. “Do you think whoever or whatever did this was looking for something?” I ask, taking in the mess again. Some of it was from fighting, but the desk's open draws, which were barely hanging on, suggests it may be more. It could be an added motive. “Maybe,” Sam answers before his attention turns over to his brother who is crouched down and examining the floor. “You got something?” Sam asks.

“I dunno,” he answers. “Some scratches on the floor.”

“Death throes maybe?” Sam suggests, referring to the last moments before the end.

“Yeah, maybe,” Dean says, grabbing a nearby notebook. He opens a page, placing it over the scratches before using a pencil to scratch over it revealing the marks better. “Or maybe a message.” He peels up the paper, some blood soaked into the back, but the markings are clear. “Look familiar?” He asks, holding it up.

“Three letters, six digits,” Sam answers. “The location and combination of a post office box. It’s a mail drop.” The message was an incredible feat to manage before death took him under. To be able to scatch it out…it must be more than important.

“Just the way Dad does it,” Dean adds.

****

A simple letter rests in Sam’s hand. The letter was found in the post office box. “‘J.W.’” Sam reads off the envelope, “You think that's John Winchester?”

“I mean your Dad clearly knew the guy,” I offer, his number is inside the journal. “Maybe he even learned this way of communicating from him.”

“Should we open it?” Dean asks, something uncertain yet insistent in his voice. But, no one gets to answer the question on each of our minds when, instead, there is a knock on the driver-side window. Dean gasps and flinches, his arm raised in defense. “Dad?” he breathes, his fist lowering. The door beside me opens then, hazel eyes looking at me expectantly. I raise my eyebrows with a tight-lipped smile as I scooch over. He takes my seat, closing the door behind him. “Dad, what are you doing here?” Sam asks. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he answers simply. He looks the same as the last time we saw him, with messy dark hair similar to Sam’s cut and a ragged beard. “I read the news about Daniel, I got here as fast as I could. I saw you three at his place.”

“Why didn’t you come in Dad?” Sam questions, his voice soft as if he knows the answer.

“You know why. Because I had to make sure you weren’t followed…by anyone or anything,” John responds. He sounds more paranoid than anything. It sounds like a sad excuse to avoid speaking and seeing his kids again, but I keep those thoughts to myself. “Nice job of covering your tracks by the way,” he compliments. And it’s like being buttered up before the roast— before you’re put right back on the fire that eats at you until you forget your self-worth.

“Yeah, well, we learned from the best,” Dean answers with a proud smile on his face as his chest puffs out a little bit.

“Wait, you came all the way out here for this Elkins guy?” Sam points out.

“Yeah. He was... he was a good man. He taught me a hell of a lot about hunting,” he reveals. I guess I was somewhat right on my assumption. “Well, you never mentioned him to us,” Sam shrugs.

“We had a... we had kind of a falling out. I hadn't seen him in years,” he explains, gesturing towards the envelope. “I should look at that.” Sam hands it over easily, and his father wastes no time in opening it. “'If you're reading this, I'm already dead',” he reads, trailing off. “That son of a bitch.”

“What is it?” Dean asks.

“He had it the whole time,” he answers vaguely as if we know what he's talking about. “Has what?” I ask. “When you searched the place, did you, did you see a gun? An antique, a Colt revolver, did you see it?” He asks each question one right after the other almost frantically. “Uh, there was, there was an old case but it was empty,” Dean answers.

“They have it,” John announces.

“‘You mean whatever killed Elkins?” Dean asks. John opens the door, shifting to get out. “We gotta pick up the trail.” But before he can make it out of the vehicle Sam stops him, “Wait. ‘You want us to come with you?”

“If Elkins was telling the truth, we gotta find this gun,” he explains, doing that thing where he’s insanely unhelpful.

“The gun–why?” Sam pushes. “Because it's important, that's why,” he replies. I roll my eyes, for a guy who wasn’t very present he managed to be incredibly irritating. “Dad, we don't even know what these things are yet,” Sam reasons.

“They were what Daniel Elkins killed best: Vampires,” he reveals, finally being helpful. “Vampires? I thought there was no such thing,” Dean answers.

“You didn’t?” I ask, surprised.

“You did?” He throws right back with a just as surprised tone as mine.

“Yeah,” I say like it's obvious. “I took down a nest back in college.” It was the first and only time I had encountered a vampire let alone a vampiric hunt. Students started to go missing, seemingly picked off one by one, and like any school word had spread quickly. It was weird, yes, but with no bodies and only having gossip I had nothing to work with. No one saw anything, the picks were clean and concise. Well, that was until certain bodies did show up. Four out of nine bodies were found, two were located near or around campus grounds, and the others were left in the town that was a short drive from the school. I managed to pull some strings and cash in ‘I owe you’ to see the bodies firsthand. My initial thought was vampires but the thought was more of a joke than anything, I thought I was watching too much Buffy. But then some research made a joke no longer a joke. It was vampires and I had to kill them.

I can remember it still, the way the heads went flying and how blood caked my clothes. Buffy makes it look cleaner than what it is.

“You did?” John asks, his voice dripping in disbelief and sass. “Don’t sound so surprised,” I mumble, my distaste for him almost painfully clear in the curl of my lip. He has been here for less than five minutes and I’m already a little irritated. I’d like to think that I’m not a hateful person, that I don’t hold grudges or malice but when it comes to John Winchester suddenly I’m the biggest hater you’ve ever seen. “Well, I thought they were extinct. I thought Elkins and—“ he throws a glare at me. “And others had wiped them out. I was wrong.” “You were,” I agree, smiling a little at the slow turn of his head as he stares at me with daggers.

“Most vampire lore is crap,” he starts, his voice gruff, looking back at his boys. “A cross won't repel them, sunlight won't kill them, and neither will a stake to the heart. But the bloodlust, that part's true. They need fresh human blood to survive. They were once people, so you won't know it's a vampire until it's too late.”

“The way to kill them is decapitation,” I add. “Interestingly enough the story to get it right is a work of fiction, though, of course, you could argue that it was only presented that way and the author knew more than any normal person would. The final blow in Carmilla, written by some Irish guy, is her head being struck off. Before that was a stake through the heart but, it’s interesting that he would add the decapitation aspect especially when it’s the first ever Vampire novel so it’s not like he changed things to be different.”

“Are you done?” John remarks, unamused.

“Yeah, now I am,” I respond, equally unamused with him.

“Wake up! Come on,” a voice demands. I grumble something incoherent, my fingers softly curling into the warmth beneath my hand. The something beneath my hand rumbles with the “Mm-hmm,” that follows from its lips.

My eyes squint open, my hand resting on Dean's chest, fingers clutching his shirt, his arm resting around my waist. We didn’t fall asleep like this when John hated the very idea of us sharing a bed even though we’d done it before. I know John doesn’t trust me, even though I haven’t done anything to warrant such feelings. It’s more like he doesn’t trust who I am and he makes it known with every look and side comment. Yet, as much as he hated it, he didn’t want me in a separate room because it would “waste time and money.” So, we had slept back to back which felt so horribly unnatural.

I do not make a move to separate from him. He rubs his eyes and I want to bury my face into the pillow in a desperate attempt to grasp onto the remains of sleep but the sight of his messy short hair going every which way, and his eyes barely being held open from the sleep that clings to them keeps my attention. Even on interrupted sleep, he looks so good. “I picked up a police call,” John announces, the faint noise of radio static proving his statement.

“What happened?” Sam asks, his voice laced with sleep. Dean’s hand drops from his eyes going, instead, to my hand on his chest. He gives it a little squeeze and it would be so easy to just fall back into a sweet sleep with the butterflies that dance in my stomach. But, the harsh reality of, well, reality comes crashing back when John answers, “A couple called 911, ‘found a body in the street. Cops got there. Blood was missing. It's the vampires.”

“How do you know?” Sam asks logically. But, John is already halfway out the door forgoing explanations as he typically does. “Just follow me, okay?” he responds, shutting the door behind him.

“Huh, vampires,” Dean muses, his eyes still half open. “Gets funnier every time I hear it.”

****

The spin of red and blue lights shatters the atmosphere, a long cloth placed over a body in the middle of the road, yellow tape sanctioning off the area as cops work the scene, and a certain irritating Winchester talking to a cop as we are forced to wait by the Impala like kids waiting while their parent talks to an old friend and you just know you’re going to be waiting forever. “I don’t see why we couldn’t have gone over with him,” Sam complains, sulking slightly.

“Should’ve let us sleep,” I agree, mumbling. I don’t see the point in dragging us from bed just to put us on the back burner, but I guess that’s John for you.

“Oh, don’t tell me it’s already starting,” Dean responds. “What's starting?” he asks. But he doesn’t get his answer as their father approaches, Dean putting his focus there. “What have you got?” he asks his Dad.

“It was them alright,” John confirms. “Looks like they’re heading west. We’ll have to double back to get around that detour.”

“How can you be so sure?” Sam asks, arms crossed.

“Sam…” Dean warns.

“I just wanna know we're going in the right direction,” he snaps at his brother.

“We are,” John answers vaguely.

“How do you know?”

John hands something small to Dean, answering with “I found this.”

Dean cups the long and sharp tooth in the palm of his hand. “It’s a…” he tries to find the words, “a vampire fang.”

“It’s not necessarily a fang,” I correct. “An entire set of teeth that look just like that descends when they attack, covering the normal set of teeth.”

“Any more questions?” John asks, looking at Sam expectantly, a certain bite to his words. Sam remains quiet, his eyes flicking away—the kind of answer his father wants. No, an answer he expects. “Alright, let’s get out of here, we’re losing daylight,” John orders. He walks to his truck, a vehicle I suddenly love because he doesn’t have to be in the same car as us. “Hey, Dean why don’t you touch up your car before you get rust?” he throws back the comment, “I wouldn’t have given you the damn thing if I thought you were going to ruin it.”

I look at Dean with widened eyes. His face drops. Drops. My heart might as well drop with it. I dig my nails into my palms in an attempt to control my mouth, my teeth clenched painfully to hold in my own comment. I should make him apologize. I should do more than that but I know it will only make it worse for them and that is the last thing I want. Yet, saying nothing feels worse so the word slips out before I can reel it back in. “Asshole,” I grumble beneath my breath, opening the back door to the Impala.

“What’d you say?” John asks, seemingly having super hearing, pausing short of his truck. The stiffness in his shoulder is familiar, or similar. So, I duck into the car with an, “I didn’t say anything.” I expect him to say something or for him to make some sort of move. I see the unamused look on his face even as I close the door behind me, creating a barrier between us. I half expect him to drag me from the car and make me answer him. Dad said I never knew how to hold my tongue or when to stop. And maybe he was right.

*****

The Impala rolls down the road, following John’s truck. “Vampires nest in groups of eight to ten,” Dean reads from the passenger seat. “Smaller packs are sent to hunt for food. Victims are taken to the nest where the pack keeps them alive, bleeding them for days or weeks. I wonder if that’s what happened to that 911 couple.”

“I didn’t see the corpses well enough but it’s likely,” I answer, though I don’t know why John didn’t let us see the body or do any work.

“It’s probably what Dad's thinking. ‘Course it would be nice if he just told us what he thinks,” Sam grumbles, a certain furrow to his brow. “So it is starting,” Dean remarks.

“What?”

Well, this is my queue to keep my comments to myself and let them talk this out.

“Sam, we've been looking for Dad all year,” he explains. “Now we're not with him for more than a couple of hours and there's static already?”

“Hm. No. Look, I'm happy he's ok, alright?” he responds. “And I'm happy that we're all working together again.” “Well good.”

“It’s just the way he treats us like we’re children,” Sam adds, seemingly unable to help himself. But I’m here for the John bashing.

“Oh God,” Dean mumbles.

“He barks orders at us Dean, he expects us to follow 'em without question. He keeps us on some crap need-to-know deal.”

Sam’s not wrong. His vagueness is one of his worst traits which is saying something because he has a long list of horrible traits. He’s really the King of being as vague and unhelpful as possible for a reason I simply can’t discern. Maybe it makes him feel like he has some power or the upper hand.

“He does what he does for a reason,” Dean reasons. “What reason?” Sam pushes.

“Our job!” Dean snaps. “There's no time to argue, there's no margin for error, alright? That's just the way the old man runs things.” “I’d argue that leaving you guys in the dark can lead to more error,” I comment, accidentally saying my inside thoughts out loud. Luckily, I’m pretty much annoyed as Sam challenges his brother. “Yeah well maybe that worked when we were kids but not anymore, alright. Not after everything you and I have been through, Dean. I mean, are you telling me you're cool with just falling into line, and letting him run the whole show?”

A heavy silence fills the car as Dean stares at his brother like he’s trying to muster the right words. “If that’s what it takes.”

****

We drive for what feels like an eternity, though it must only have been a couple of hours, the sky falling to darkness. Dean is on the phone with his father, keeping in touch with him even as we follow after his car. “Yeah, Dad. Alright, got it,” he answers before hanging up. “Pull off at the next exit.”

“Why?” Sam asks with a certain edge or bite to his voice.

“Cause Dad thinks we’ve got the vampire’s trail,” Dean responds.

“How?”

“I don’t know; he didn’t say.”

Suddenly I’m pushed back into my seat as the Impala goes faster, fast enough to overtake Johns truck. The car swerves in front of it, my body jerking sideways and forward as the vehicle swerves again and slams to a stop. My heart stammers in my chest as I look out the window, John's truck nearly missing the side of the Impala. “What the frick, S–” I yell, my cursing cut off as Sam gets out of the car. “Oh crap here we go,” Dean mumbles, following him out of the vehicle. I sigh, rolling my eyes, as much as I expected an argument to break out this is a very dramatic and dangerous way to start it. Even so, I follow them out of the Impala as Dean calls out for his brother.

“What the hell was that?” John yells, stomping over to his son.

“We need to talk.”

John steps closer, getting face to face with him and I half expect him to grab Sam by the collar and shake some “sense” into him. “About what?”

“About everything. Where are we going, Dad? What's the big deal about this gun?”

“Sammy, come on, we can Q and A after we kill all the vampires,” Dean says.

“You’re brothers right, we don’t have time for this,” John adds. “Last time we saw you, you said it was too dangerous for us to be together. Now out of the blue, you need our help,” Sam yells. “Now obviously something big is going down, and we wanna know what!” “Get back in the car.” “No.” “I said get back in the damn car.” “Yeah. And I said no.”

“Okay, you made your point tough guy,” Dean tries again, hovering between his father and his brother. But, of course, his words are directed at his brother. “Look we're all tired, we can talk about this later. Sammy, I mean it, come on.” Dean grabs him, pushing him back toward the car. He gives in, allowing his brother to move him along even as he glares at his father, mumbling, “This is why I left in the first place.” “What’d you say?”

Sam steps forward, snapping back, “You heard me.”

“Yeah. You left. Your brother and me, we needed you. You walked away, Sam.”

“Sam…” Dean warns.

“You walked away!” John yells in his face.

“Come on, stop,” I urge, trying to push John back as Dean had tried with his brother. But he just shoves me off, forcing me back a couple of steps. “You're the one who said don't come back Dad, you closed that door, not me. You were just pissed off that you couldn't control me anymore!”

Dean jumps in the middle, forcing them apart. “Listen, stop it, stop it. Stop it!! That's enough!!” They don’t say another word; they just glare at each other over Dean’s head. “That means you too,” Dean adds, looking at his father. Despite the harsh words that linger in the air and the unspoken jabs that are begging to be said, they back off. Each step back into their vehicles. Dean sighs, the tension clear in his shoulders until he turns to me, brows furrowed as he half yells, “Are you okay?” The question is genuine despite how harsh they sound escaping his lips. There's a silence that falls between us; I don’t know why he asks me; it’s not like I was the one arguing. Perhaps it was because I stumbled back as his father shoved me or because he knows I do not like arguments. Either way, I nod silently, and he gives a single nod back, the stress soon returning to his face.

With the sun on our back and the tree line at our front, blocking us, I watch a beat-up Camaro pull up the old barn. A man in a t-shirt walks up to the car, shielding his eyes as he escorts the person inside and making a very good guess it’s likely they’re both vampires. “Son of a bitch,” Dean curses. “So they’re really not afraid of the sun?”

“Direct sunlight hurts like a nasty sunburn. The only way to kill ‘em is by beheading,” John answers and I roll my eyes at the repetition especially when half the information is something I already said. “And yeah, they sleep during the day—doesn’t mean they won’t wake up.”

“So I guess walking right in’s not our best option,” Dean remarks.

“Actually, that’s the plan,” John answers, immediately creeping from the treeline back to where the Impala and his truck are parked.

Weapons are handed out like candy on Halloween night, the machete's blade seeming to gleam as the sun hits it just right. Grasping the hilt reminds me of that day long ago, how my hand shook as I killed the first vampire. They look human, and the blood that falls is so human that it’s like killing one instead of a vampire. I had to remind myself they weren’t human and that they killed so many. Then, it was almost too easy.

“So, you really wanna know about this Colt?” John suddenly asks. “Yes sir,” Sam answers.

It's just “a story, a legend really. Well, I thought it was. Never really believed it until I read Daniel's letter,” he starts. “Back in 1835, when Halley's comet was overhead, the same night those men died at the Alamo. They say Samuel Colt made a gun. A special gun. He made it for a hunter, a man like us only on horseback. ‘Story goes he made thirteen bullets, and this hunter used the gun a half dozen times before he disappeared, the gun along with him. And somehow Daniel got his hands on it. They say... they say this gun can kill anything.”

Something unsettling settles in my gut, something I don’t want to discern. We aren’t in the nest, and yet it’s like the fight-or-flight instinct has kicked in. “Kill anything like supernatural anything?” Dean asks. The same thought eats at my mind but where concern hits me surprise hits him.

“Like the demon,” Sam connects, and I feel foolish. Maybe it’s a survival instinct, or maybe it’s selfishness that makes me worry more about a weapon that can kill me rather than a gun that can kill the yellow-eyed demon. I don’t think I’ve ever been afraid of dying, at least not totally, especially when what I am makes it incredibly difficult to kill me, to begin with. But now I’m aware of something that can. It won’t be like a bullet wound you can maybe heal from; there won’t be hope—just death. Gone in the blink of an eye with no goodbye or warning.

“Yeah, the demon. Ever since I picked up its trail I've been looking for a way to destroy that thing. Find the gun -- we may have it,” John answers.

I want to be happy for them. I’m trying to be happy. I’m trying to push the fear away because isn’t it an irrational one? But I am scared. What if I don’t get a goodbye? What if it winds up in the wrong hands and I’m at the other end of it? Technically, right now it is in the wrong hands if the vampires do have it. “No offense, I'm glad this is an opportunity to get the damn thing,” I start, my fear turning into anger. “But did you, oh, I don't know, plan on informing us about this before we go into the place that has this gun, or was it Sam that convinced you?” I’m not an idiot; I am aware of the possibility that this could’ve been left out for God knows how long. “I mean, this could literally kill me, like end-end me, and you were just gonna, what, not mention it? ‘Cause it would’ve been a great warning.”

He doesn’t answer, and I’m not sure if he’s going to acknowledge me, which is answer enough. I move to try to get in his way. “You know, somehow I find a new reason to dislike you, which is kind of impressive.” I know I’m being mean as if a jab could heal the panic in my veins.

“You should be grateful I haven’t sent your ass back home,” he bites.

“Yeah well, this ass saved your life back with the Daeva’s.”

“Y/N,” Dean says, carefully touching my arm. But I step out of his hold, my shoulders going up as if trying to un-feel the touch, which is weird because I never do that with him. “No, Dean, this is serious,” I reason, my voice higher in an attempt to be louder, though it never nears a yell. I don’t dare look at him, weary of the hurt that might pass over his face.

“Were you going to say something if Sam hadn’t called you out?” I ask him again. But, I’m sure I know the answer. He pauses for a beat too long, and I feel foolish again. I’m arguing with a guy who couldn’t care less about what happens to me. The anger simmers in my gut, bubbling down until it’s replaced by shame. “You know what? Never mind,” I give up. “Let’s just go kill the vampires.” I shake my head, walking away from the group towards the run-down barn.

I creep between the trees, careful of where I step so that I don’t make a sound, even though I’m outside the barn. I take a couple of deep breaths as I walk; I need to have a clear head. This isn’t the kind of hunt you can be careless on; one wrong move and it all goes up in flames. I clear my head of any leftover anger or negative emotions; I need to lead with focus, not emotions.

I move closer to the barn, finding a window that looks easy to get into without making so much noise. That is key. I lift myself onto the thin windowsill, cautious as to not let my legs or any body part slam into the wall. And with the knowledge that the boys are close behind, I move into the barn. I move silently, first observing the layout and the countless hammocks filled with vampires as well as the occasional vamp that rests on the floor.

Ever so slowly, I move forward, careful to step over the beer bottles as I move as quietly as a mouse. Inch by inch, I lurk towards a random vampire in a hammock. A lone vampire, or at least one that’s farthest away from the others, even if far isn’t far at all.

I stand over his sleeping figure like a predator ready to pounce on its unsuspecting prey. Ever so carefully, I lift my blade, hovering it above its neck. With one quick motion, I know I am a hypocrite. Blood drips down its neck in waves like a relentless ocean; its eyes shoot open as the blade is plunged deeper. Its mouth parts in an attempt at a screech it can’t possibly make as its head is severed from its body. It did not get to warn the others. It did not get to say goodbye.

I pull my blade from the mess; blood seeps into the fabric of the hammock and drips to the floor. I sense the Winchesters enter the barn as I pick my next target. The goal is to get as many asleep so that should they wake, it’d be a slightly easier fight. Again, I take my stance over a vampire when I hear the faint clink of a glass bottle knocking over. I hold incredibly still, so still, I feel like the narrator in “Tell-Tale Heart.”

By luck alone, the vampire beneath my gaze does not stir, nor do any others. I turn my head slowly to where the noise originated, seeing Dean and Sam at the other end of the barn near each other. I swallow roughly, focusing in on the task at hand. Again, I drive my blade into the pale neck of the resting creature, blood spraying onto my cheek. I move to the next, stalking forth with my raised blade when an unearthly roar breaks the silence. The vampire beneath my gaze shoots up, clutching my wrist before I can lay the blade onto it. The machete vanishes from my hand, appearing in my other. I swing the blade; the cut is uncoordinated and messy in my non-dominant hand, slashing off its hand. My wrist is free as the limb goes flying, a horrible screech coming from the vampire as it clutches its wrist, blood spurting from where the hand used to be, bone exposed to the air. Glass shatters somewhere overhead, and I switch the weapon back to my dominant hand, unable to get another swing in when I dodge the lunging vampire.

“Run!” John yells from the same direction as the broken glass. I sidestep just in time, narrowly avoiding a swing from a vampire lunging at me. More of them surge toward me, their snarls filling the air. Reluctantly, I turn and run. My heart pounds in my chest, the sound almost drowning out the thudding of their footsteps behind me. I race toward the back of the barn, but there’s no clear exit—just solid walls and shadows. I sprint toward one of the walls. My legs push forward harder, willing myself to pass through before I crash into it.

The world blurs for a heartbeat, and then I stumble forward, my feet skidding on the dirt outside. I glance back, breathless, at the wall I just passed through. A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips, I’m getting really good at the whole teleporting thing. But enough celebrating, I quickly round the outskirts of the barn and make my way up the hill to where the distinct figures of the Winchesters wait. A look of relief passes over Sam and Deans face at the sight of me but I can’t say the same for John. I know he doesn’t care if I get injured or die.

“They won't follow. They'll wait till tonight. Once a vampire has your scent, it's for life,” John informs, slightly out of breath. “Well, what the hell do we do now?” Dean asks.

I wipe the blood from my cheek with the back of my sleeve, glad that I decided to wear dark clothes today. “I’ll go back in there and finish it,” I answer.

“No, you’re not,” Dean declares, taking a single step toward me.

“Why not?” I ask. “I already killed two and—”

“You did?” John cuts me off, reflecting the same surprise he did before.

“No, my machete is just normally covered in blood.”

“You’re not goin’ back in,” Dean says firmly.

“Dean—”

“Not on my watch.” “Oh, come on. This is quicker than waiting until night and you can have your special gun sooner,” I reason, following him as he walks away.

“Not happening.”

“Don’t you want that gun?”

He stops short of the Impala's trunk, his expression firm as he faces me. “Not at the expense of your life.” His eyes are set on mine, a challenge burning behind his irises.

“I’m very capable of doing it myself,” I argue, my chin raised to meet his gaze head-on.

“I know you are,” he replies, his voice low and sure. “‘Doesn’t mean I’m lettin’ you go.”

“I don’t have to listen to you, you know,” I point out, the words sounding childish on my tongue. His brow arches, the faintest flicker of amusement crossing his face. He wets his lips, voice dropping lower, “I don’t see you goin’.”

The words hang heavy between us. He’s got me, and he knows it. I swallow hard, my pulse thrumming in my throat. His eyes drop briefly, flicking to the small space between us like he’s daring me to move. He tilts his head slightly, waiting, his confidence annoyingly attractive. His fingers brush my wrist, featherlight, trailing down the inside. It tickles my skin, my breath hitching slightly, loosening my hold on the machete. He doesn’t rush—his hand glides lower, steady, until he slides the weapon from my grasp as if he already knew my answer before I had the chance to utter it.

“We’ll need dead man’s blood,” I manage, my voice quieter than I intended. His eyes flick back to mine, dark and unreadable, the weapon now clasped firmly in his hand alongside his own. He nods, his lips parted slightly.

****

After splitting up from John and Sam—and some lying and distracting on our part— Dean and I managed to grab the dead man's blood from the local funeral home. Afterward, it took some extensive convincing, including arguing that it would be safer for me to act as bait instead of Dean to be where I am now.

Now, I lean over the car’s popped hood, peering at the engine while the Winchesters watch from somewhere in the trees. “Car trouble?” a woman's voice asks. I turn around to see a dark-haired woman with thin eyebrows and striking blue eyes standing with another girl lingering behind. It didn’t take them long to show up. “Let me give you a lift. I’ll take you back to my place,” she purrs.

I lean against the front of the Impala, tilting my head slightly as I eye her. “I’m sure you’d like that,” I respond, biting my bottom lip, purposefully teasing. She steps closer as expected, so close I can smell the lingering metallic scent of blood on her mouth as well as her strong perfume. She grabs my jaw roughly, her fingertips digging in as she holds my face firmly, forcing my head back an inch so that she can use our small height difference to her advantage. I let her do what she wants, I’m not afraid of her or the other vampire. I’m just here to get her close enough for a good shot. “Would you like that?” she asks, spinning my question.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not Buffy and you’re not Spike,” I smile teasingly.

Her smile deepens, turning a little wicked. “You know, I should kill you for what you did to them.”

And I know she’s talking about the two I killed and the third I hurt. “Will you?” I challenge. I’m sure she won’t, at least not now. They like to play with their food. So, just as expected her eyes trace down my face, the collum of my neck, and dip beneath my shirt. “We could have some fun first,” she answers, eyes tracing back up.

Her head tilts down, her hold on my face tightening as her lips brush mine. Her hand slips to the back of my head, grabbing a handful of hair and tugging. My lips part in a groan, my head harshly bent back, giving her the chance to crash her lips to mine. She kisses me roughly and fast, all teeth and tongue before pulling away and licking her lips as if savoring the taste. “Heard you had a boyfriend,” I remark. “You think he’d mind you–” She cuts me off with her lips, teeth clashing with mine. My hands grasp the Impala behind me, the cold metal digging into my palms contrasting with the heat of her mouth.

She gasps, an almost choking noise as she pulls away and I know the shot has been taken. My eyes fall to her chest, the arrowhead sticking out. “Dammit,” she curses. The Winchesters emerge from the trees, crossbows in hand and unreadable expressions on their faces. Her hands fall from my face as she steps back, my chest heaving a little as I try to catch my breath. “It barely even stings,” she claims.

“Give it time, sweetheart,” John answers. “That arrow’s soaked in dead man’s blood. It’s like poison to you, isn’t it?”

Real surprise passes over her features, a hand coming up to cradle where she’s been hit as she staggers backward, wavering before she collapses to the asphalt. “Load her up,” John directs, moving to the other vampire who’s also on the floor with an arrow through her. “I’ll take care of this one.”

I turn around, shutting the hood of the car just as I hear the familiar squelch of blood.

****

The campfire burns bright in the middle of the small clearing of woods. She's still unconscious, secured with a rope around her that she could tear easily the moment she awakens. “Toss this on the fire. Saffron, skunk's cabbage, and trillium. It'll block our scent and hers until we're ready,” John orders as he walks back into the clearing with his eldest son in tow.

Dean sniffs the bag contents and coughs, “Stuff stinks!”

“That’s the point. It has to be strong enough to cover your scent,” I smile while simultaneously feeling bad for finding his reaction to the ingredients funny. “You can dust your clothes with the ashes and they, hopefully, won't be able to detect you.” I move to him, willing to take the bag from his grimacing face.

“‘You sure they’ll come after ‘er?” Sam asks as I carefully separate and dump the ingredients into the fire.

“Yeah,” John answers. “Vampires mate for life—”

“Didn’t seem she cared about that with Y/N” Dean remarks, cutting off his father. I give him a pointed look. And he just responds with, “What? She was the one who looked real into you.” There's a certain edge to his voice that I can’t quite discern, something almost snarky.

“Well, one thing interpretations got right about vampires is how inherently sexual they are,” I explain. “I’m not sure why but I guess it makes sense considering how they take the blood is intimate.” Still, Dean doesn’t seem particularly satisfied with that answer.

“She means more to the leader than the gun,” John continues. “But the blood sickness is going to wear off soon, so you don't have a lot of time.” “A half-hour oughta do it,” Sam answers. “And then I want you out of the area as fast as you can,” John orders.

“But…”

“Well, Dad you can’t take care of them all yourself,” Dean cuts his brother off.

“I'll have her and the Colt,” John reasons.

“That’s hardly a lot of protection,” I point out.

“And if I remember you wanted to go in with less,” he bites back.

“I also have abilities that you don’t. I can stay with you, ‘make sure you get it safely.”

“‘Don’t need your protection,” he answers. I figure ego has some part of his decision so I drop it, if he doesn’t want backup then he doesn’t want it.

“But after. We're gonna meet up, right?” Sam asks. “Use the gun together. Right?” There's a long pause, the question hanging in the air for one too many seconds. “You're leaving again, aren't you? You still wanna go after the demon alone. You know, I don't get you. You can't treat us like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like children,” Sam answers firmly. “You are my children. I'm trying to keep you safe,” he reasons. I bite back my comment about how ironic that is coming from him as I walk a couple of steps away. “Dad, all due respect but, uh, that's a bunch of crap,” Dean says, all heads snapping to him. “Excuse me?”

I half expect him to back off, instead, he doubles down. “You know what Sammy and I have been hunting. Hell you sent us on a few hunting trips yourself. You can't be that worried about keeping us safe.” “It's not the same thing, Dean.” “Then what is it? Why do you want us out of the big fight?” “This demon? It's a bad son of a bitch. I can't make the same moves if I'm worried about keeping you alive.” “You mean you can't be as reckless.”

“Look... I don't expect to make it out of this fight in one piece.” The atmosphere seems to change, becoming a little heavier in the wake of his words. “Your mother's death ... it almost killed me. I can't watch my children die too. I won't.”

I’m sure there is some truth to his words but at the same time, he's been a horrible father to them, leaving them alone as mere kids to fend for themselves, forcing them into the hunting world at a young age, and even bringing them on hunts when they should’ve been worrying about school not their lives. “What happens if you die?” Dean points out. “Dad, what happens if you die, and we coulda done something about it? You know I’ve been thinking. I ...think maybe Sammy's right about this one. We should do this together.”

Sam nods.

“We're stronger as a family, Dad. We just are. You know it,” Dean argues. It may sound cheesy but it holds merit. “We're running out of time. You do your job and you get out of the area. That's an order.” His answer is unsurprising and yet the way Dean looks down and the way Sam clenches his jaw makes me want to deck John Winchester until he agrees.

****

We quickly follow after John, having already killed the vampires in the barn and freed the container of people they had. Of course, it’s against what we were directed to do but we aren’t exactly known for following rules, so there's that. We ditched the Impala some ways back, sticking to the trees with our crossbows as we approached John's truck and the group of vampires.

We arrive in time to see John get knocked to the ground, his plan going south immediately. He’s backhanded into the door of his truck just as one of many arrows flies through the air, hitting the other vampires that crowd around. We emerge from the trees and I switch my crossbow to my off-hand to unseathe my machete. I easily walk up to one and in one clean motion send their head flying, the body buckling to the floor.

Quickly I turn, my crossbow raised to shoot a vampire that was creeping up on Dean. “Don't!” someone yells. I pause, eyes landing on a vampire who looks like a rock band reject with his arm around Sam’s neck while Dean tries to lurk forward with a machete. “I'll break his neck. Put the blade down,” the man orders. Everything stands still for a moment as I drop both my weapons. Dean, however, pauses until the man tightens his hold on Sam’s neck and then the machete is dropped to the ground with a clink.

Suddenly, the man’s arm is forced from Sam’s neck. It shakes as it's pulled away by an invisible force, his face contorting with confusion as he loses the ability to control his limbs. My head tilts slightly as I control him, forcing his other arm to remain at its side so that Sam is free to stumble away, his brother immediately dragging him behind him. The knees of the man buckle, forcing him to kneel on the asphalt. “You people. Why can't you leave us alone? We have as much right to live as you do,” the man cries and I falter.

I falter. The one thing you’re never supposed to do in a fight. But, it doesn’t matter because his head is cleaned off his body before he can get up. John standing behind him, blood dripping from his machete. “Lutherrrr!!!!” the girl from before screams a horrible guttural scream that seems to reverberate in my ears. She’s dragged away by another vampire, fighting against their hold as she stares down John and her lover's body.

I stand over the little table in the motel room making sure I didn’t leave anything when John enters—the first we’ve seen him since last night. “So boys,” he starts immediately, the door closing behind him feeling like a death sentence.

“Yes sir,” Sam answers, both boys straightening out like soldiers.

“You ignored a direct order back there,” he starts.

“Yes sir,” Sam answers. “Yeah, but we saved your ass,” Dean intervenes, nervous looks thrown his way from Sam and I.

“You're right,” John, surprisingly, nods. “I am?”

“It scares the hell out of me. You two are all I've got. But I guess we are stronger as a family. So...we go after this damn thing. Together.” “Yes sir,” they say in unison.

“And I guess you can be there too,” he adds, looking over at me.

(Next Chapter)

Tag List: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra @fablesrose @ada--44 @bonkydarnes @star-yawnznn @crazyunsexycool @onlyangel-444 @seninjakitey @mystic-mara @mxltifxndom @stilesxreid @chaotic-luvrs @tiggytaylor @deanwasscaredbyacat @imaginexred @daisychaingirl @ugvvguggvvgu @yasmin12312 @squishytap

#supernatural #fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #the hunter and the witch #sam winchester #dean winchester x witch reader #slow burn #john winchester #supernatural season one #dean winchester jealous #dean winchester x f!reader #dean winchester x reader series #dean winchester x fem!reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x f!reader series #john winchester as a warning #vampires

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creature-wizard · 10 months ago

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Scams, Hoaxes, Conspiracy Theories, & Cults Everyone Should Know About

Jilly Juice: Jillian Mai Thi Epperly claimed drinking sixteen cups of her super salty cabbage concoction each day could regrow missing limbs and cure everything from cancer to homosexuality. In reality, overdosing on so much salt caused followers a host of health issues that Epperley dismissed as "healing symptoms."

Nonhuman Body Hoax: Jaime Maussan attempted to pass off mummified human remains as nonhuman beings to the Mexican government. (This isn't even Maussan's first hoax, by the way. He has a history.)

Love Has Won: Amy Carlson, a woman who'd walked out on her own children, started a New Age cult in which she presented herself as "Mother God," the creator of the universe. She claimed to be in contact with dead celebrities and alien beings, and taught a conspiratorial worldview. As her health declined, she attempted to treat herself with colloidal silver and alcohol, and her behavior became increasingly abusive. When she finally died, her followers sincerely believed she would return to life and kept her body in a sleeping bag. (She did not return to life.)

Seed Faith Offerings: Reverend Gene Ewing came up with the perfect get-rich-quick scheme to prey on desperate Christian believers: tell believers that if they "sowed seed" by giving money to him, God would bless them with even more money in the future. He made millions of dollars from these donations, while most of his followers never saw the miraculous returns they were promised.

William Walker Atkinson: In the early 20th century, William Walker Atkinson wrote around one hundred books, many of which he wrote under various pseudonyms. Some of these pseudonyms included alleged Hindu mystics. That's right - this guy was practicing literary brownface to sell his mystical ideas.

The LDS Church: In the 19th century, a man named Joseph Smith claimed that an angel had told him where to dig up a set of golden plates that were supposedly written by ancient Hebrews who'd come to North America. Smith even had eleven close associates who vouched for the plates' existence. Yet the script they were allegedly written in bore no relation to actual ancient scripts of the Near East, and the the names the locations in the books he "translated" were very obviously derived from placenames he would have been familiar with. (For example, Oneida/Onidah.) Oh, and actual archaeology and DNA studies have discredited pretty much everything from this guy's weird racist narrative.

Fake Cancer, Fake Cure: Wellness entrepreneur Belle Gibson claimed that she'd cured her brain cancer with natural remedies. Gibson never actually had cancer in the first place.

Medbeds: Back in 2020, QAnons and QAnon-adjacent people started circulating claims that a new form of healing technology was about to become available to the public within the next several months or so. Depending on who you asked, Donald Trump, Elon Musk, and even the Galactic Federation of Light were involved. The time of their supposed unveiling came and went, and what do you know, there are still no functioning medbeds used in actual medicine.

COVID Vaccine Zombies: Conspiracy theorists have been claiming the government practices high-tech mind control for ages now. One recent iteration of this is a conspiracy theory claiming that people who'd received COVID vaccinations would have malicious DNA code activated by 5G on October 4, 2023, turn into zombies, and riot. The time came and went, and no zombie outbreak happened.

Ms.Scribe: In the early 2000s, a Harry Potter fan known as "msscribe" or "Ms.Scribe" faked her own harassment through a number of sockpuppets, with the apparent goal of becoming friends with some Harry Potter fandom bigwigs. She manipulated the fandom for a few years until the deception was finally uncovered.

#scams #hoaxes #cults #conspiracy theories #pseudoscience #quackery #history

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fullscoreshenanigans · 2 years ago

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#Norman would TOTALLY be that kind of sore loser #It's not that he'd get angry or anything #It's just that he's so used to always being right that whenever he loses he's like *shocked Pikachu face* #Friendly reminder that Shirai confirmed in the fanbook that chess matches between Norman and Ray were 50/50

Norman: My goal is not to be the best, but to inspire someone enough to one day surpass me

Ray: You can not say that every time I beat you at chess

#𝘗 𝘓 𝘌 𝘈 𝘚 𝘌 #the mystic code book also confirming that he's a “little devil girl” but only toward Ray is everything #love him feeling comfortable enough to openly be a cheeky little shit love their rapport love their dynamic 🤍🖤#also love the idea of them both purposely throwing games at points for whatever reason and the other one picking up on it #defaulting to Ray when he's feeling down about a shipment happening the previous day </3 #Mystic Code Book #Pre-Canon #Human World Arc #Post-Canon #Norman #Ray #Norray #Incorrect TPN Quotes #just-like-playing-tag

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cryptotheism · 2 years ago

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"What is alchemy even?"

Tat: “O pop-history esoterica blogger, what is Alchemy?”

C.T: “My student, alchemy can be neatly summed up as “proto-chemistry.” For most of history there have been people like yourself, those who wonder what the world is made of, how it fits together, and what are the rules that govern its transformations. These days, the people who study these questions are called chemists, but before there were chemists, there were alchemists.”

Tat: “So what’s the difference? What does a chemist have that an alchemist does not?”

C.T.: “The answer is roughly 1,700 years of accumulated knowledge and writing. Chemistry was built from the works of the alchemists.”

Tat: “Ah! So it is like how astronomy arose from astrology?”

C.T.: “Not quite. For astronomers and astrologers both still exist. Alchemy became chemistry. There are no more alchemists. Or, attempting to practice alchemy today, would simply be practicing chemistry.”

Tat: “But what about spiritual alchemy? Were alchemists not magicians?”

C.T.: “My student, there were thousands of alchemists throughout history, from dozens of time periods and cultures. Some were indeed mystics and magicians, but they were generally outliers. The vast majority of alchemists were more akin to glass-blowers and blacksmiths than oracles and magicians.”

Tat: “But alchemical writing speaks so much of gods and divinity!”

C.T.: “Many texts do! Many cartographers from history used elaborate biblical metaphors to describe their work, but you don’t see modern scholars claiming all medieval mapmakers were secretly mystics. The bible was something many were familiar with. Using biblical metaphors to explain complicated processes is simply good technical writing.”

Tat: “But, if most alchemists were not magicians or mystics, why discuss alchemy in this text? Isn’t this book about magic?”

C.T.: “Because few things have been more influential on western magical literature. Even entirely mundane, non-magical alchemical works are wondrously evocative. Even now, alchemical literature has a way of seizing the imagination. Many texts are literally occluded, written in code to protect the alchemists work. Even when alchemical literature is non-magical, it is deeply esoteric.”

Tat: “Why are they written that way?”

C.T. “To protect trade secrets! What if you discovered a new way to make stronger armor, or sharper swords? That information must be recorded, but it also cannot fall into enemy hands. Many alchemists protected their discoveries with intentionally complex metaphorical language that could only be understood by those with the required knowledge. This also makes them extremely difficult to translate into other languages!”

Tat: “I see! But how did it end? Chemistry is no longer discussed with esoteric metaphors, what changed?”

C.T. “It was a gradual change that took place over generations. But for the purposes of time, this text will consider the First Alchemist to be Maria Hebrea, and the Last Alchemist to be Sir Issac Newton.”

Tat: “But what about the alchemist-mystics? Will this text discuss them?”

C.T. “Indeed, my student. We will be discussing them at length.”

More alchemy on patreon today!

#patreon #occult #esoterica #alchemy #magic

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trainsinanime · 11 months ago

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I'm not sure I have anything interesting to say about it, but I am very intrigued by the way The Locked Tomb portrays cavaliers, necromancers and lyctorhood as relationships.

First of all, Necromancer+Cavalier is a metaphor for marriage, that's obvious table stakes. It's explicitly non-romantic (or should be, anyway, in the way the society there has constructed it), but it is intense, highly devoted, starts with a vow, goes "til death do us part" ("one flesh, one end").

In the series Cavalier and Necromancer are a form of gender roles, and they map incredibly well onto the most stereotypical gender roles we have in our society. The Cavalier has stereotypical masculine traits: The fighter, the protector, up on the front lines, physically active. The Necromancer has stereotypical feminine traits: Weak, frail, but whatever the necromantic equivalent of nurturing is, with power over death and life. In the mythology and "gender roles" of the nine houses, necromancy is sort of not quite but still a bit equivalent to "the mystical power of women to bring forth life". And yes, this is all very conservative and cishet-normative and so on.

Of course the books then immediately, from moment one, subvert this on at least three different layers.

The first layer is that the feminine-coded Necromancer is the head of the deadly family in the society, and the masculine-coded Cavalier is the support, the disposable one.

The other layer is that the book distributes the roles of Necromancer and Cavalier basically randomly across the actual genders of the characters. There are male necromancers, female cavaliers, plenty of same-sex pairings and so on.

But the biggest and most important inversion is that when we first meet the nine houses, ten thousand years after a cow-murdering Twitch streamer destroyed the world, nobody actually follows that role assignment to the letter. All the different houses have very different ideas of how Necromancer and Cavalier works in practice.

For example, Abigail Pent and Magnus Quinn are just straight-up married. Their work relationship is romantic, and while that's considered a bit weird by their society, it makes it clear that it can go on like this.

We are actually told that there was something going on in the second house, too, where Judith fell in love with Marta, but there she was gently rebuked and they were just friends instead.

Over in the sixth, Camilla and Palamedes have the inversion of boy necromancer and girl cavalier, but most importantly they have their own very QPR style of relationship that is unique to them and does not fit into either our society's traditional idea of romantic relationship, nor their society's traditional idea of what Necromancer and Cavalier should be like.

The seventh house leans into the frail necromancer/strong protector idea the most, except for [spoilers for the final third of Gideon].

The eighth house leans fully into the idea that the relationship is one-sided, that the cavalier is disposable, and jumps straight off the deep end by making the cavalier genetically bred to be nothing more than a power source.

The third house I've left out so far because, dear god, what even is going on there?

And finally, of course, the ninth, who are technically, strictly speaking, if we're following the metaphor to its logical end, doing a "fake married to lovers" plot.

So with that out of the way, let's look at Lyctorhood. Lyctorhood is fundamentally the final test, the final form of the Necromancer/Cavalier relationship as embedded in that society: The Cavalier has completely dissolved in the marriage, making their "spouse" all-powerful, but ending their own existence. That's the standard of the society as presented to the characters when they discover it, and all of them very quickly have their own ideas about it..

Most characters we know from Canaan House don't actually get that far (and to be fair, I think many of them would not have anything that interesting to say about it), but the ones who do are interesting:

Ianthe is physically repulsed by the idea of healthy relationships, so she has no problem eating Babs for power.

Gideon and Harrow are deeply in love, deeply devoted to each other, and deeply dysfunctional in their own ways, and Harrow manages to find a way to continue a dysfunctional horrible situationship with massive communication issues into Lyctorhood.

Cam and Pal find a different thing entirely, still recognisable as a take on Lyctorhood but also not at all. Instead of one absorbing the other, they fuse into a single new person together, but also in some ways dying in the process.

And it turns out even the older lyctors may not have worked quite as originally designed, with Pyrrha Dve still hanging around in Gideon the First and then finding her own way in Nona the Ninth. Throughout Nona it becomes obvious what was hinted at throughout most of Harrow: Lyctorhood is really just one of many ways for two people to become one. It is not the purest and best form of "one flesh, one end", just the best Johnny Boy could think of. Left to their own devices, we see people left and right figure out new ways to be together as one regardless of what society and God thinks of them.

This is really a key question of the book series: What does it mean for two people to become one? Well, it's up to them, and listening to what God has to say about it is probably not the best way to go. It'll make you end up like Ianthe. Do you want to be Ianthe? Actually don't answer that.

#the locked tomb #Gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #nona the ninth

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stwinsgstdrop · 2 months ago

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Chapter 3.

Wide Toothy Grin

Being greeted with a crossbow by his estranged brother as soon as he stepped foot on his porch had not been on Stanley's bingo card, but he guessed that, given his luck and tendency for trouble, he should've expected something of that sort. They'd never been the most conventional people, after all.

What he could not have accounted for despite his many, many experiences with bad luck, monsters, weird stuff and his line of work, was Ford's apparent pet project of getting himself entangled with mystical forces of the beyond and being manipulated into building a fucking portal to bridge the gap that protected humanity from such entities.

Now, Stanley wasn’t one to judge. Once he willingly let himself be enchanted by a siren to win a bet over a coworker. Best 20 bucks ever gotten, despite the bite and scratch scars. And he did get the directions they needed, so fuck you, Cory. Anyways, the point is. He usually could aknowledge that in regards to morals and stupid decisions, he had absolutely no leg to stand on.

But this was beyond his stupid bad decisions.

This made his escapades with sirens and secret meddling with the fae and dark folk seem child's play. And apparently his darling twin hadn’t even known what he was getting into.

Fucking hell.

Ford was supposed to be the better version of him; to be living the dream, in his fancy house in the woods, cataloguing weird stuff in the weird city. Not getting entangled with fucking eldritch dudes. That was very much a Stanley coded decision, not a Stanford.

For once, Stanley had the metaphorical higher ground.

And it did not feel good.

So he lashed out. That was his thing, after all. Push all that fear, worry, hope and useless sentimentality WAY down and pull out the anger. Anger was useful.

"How could you do something THIS stupid?!" He yelled, barely containing his rage. "You're supposed to be the smart one, Stanford! And now what? You think hiding this book away's gonna do ANYTHING? You haf'ta be fucking kidding me!"

That was the least unking of the things he'd said, his mouth spewing venom he didn't even known he had in him. He couldn't believe his brother.

He also couldn't believe himself. What, had he really expected reconciliation? For fuck's sake, hadn’t he had that hope beaten outta him already? Multiple times, even? He'd given up! Made himself a life! He'd made, if not friends, at least allies! He'd been safe!

But no, he just HAD to put it all in jeopardy because his twin sent him a postcard with two words. Two fucking words, no explanation. In big bold scratchy letters that looked nothin' like Sixer's pretty cursive. And the worst part was, get this: it was a good thing that he actually did come! Because clearly his fucking lunatic of a brother would've broken the goddamn universe!

He was ready to set fire to the god forsaken journal and slap his brother out of whatever drugs he was on, but then...

Then, Stanford cried.

"I don't KNOW!" Ford screamed back, eyes glistening with tears, red from his manic haze and terror. "I don't KNOW! I didn't know! I didn't, I swear!"

And Goddammit, if Stanley' reflex response wasn’t still intact. In a single second he was there, holding his brother as he sobbed. All of his anger, betrayal and disappointment washed away like shells in the sand. He was numb, staring as his brother unravelled in a way Stanley had never seen before.

"I thought he was my friend- I swear, I didn’t mean-" Ford's knees buckled, and Stanley held him, softening the fall. It wasn’t as if Stan had never seen his brother cry. Quite the contrary. Ford had been the biggest crybaby ever, getting emotional over the smallest of things. But this... this was different. Raw, bleeding, actual desperation and terror. "He tricked me, Stanley. He told me he was a muse, and I- I never- It was supernatural! We've always wanted to see this sort of thing, that was my passion! He promised to help, and I- I couldn’t-"

Stanford sobbed, interrupting his own line of thought.

"Hey pal, uh. It's okay. It's okay, don't- Don't cry, please. It's okay." Stan said, awkwardly trying comfort his twin.

Ford grasped at Stanley's jacket, pulling him close and burying his face in it as he sobbed. Stanley could barely make out what he was saying between the cries and muffled words.

"'m sorry I never- You were- t-there, and I- I didn't-" He wailed into Stanley, who could only hold him and hope this would pass soon. "Please don't leave again. Please, please, I don't have anyone anymore. Please."

Ford unplugged his face from Stan's chest only to keep pleading, but now with added eye contact. His eyes were red as red as a junkie's, maybe worse.

"Okay, I won't, it's okay!" Promised Stanley, pushing his brother to a better dignified position. "You're okay, Sixer. 'M here, okay? You're fine."

But instead of calming down, it only made Ford burst into tears again. Stanley groaned and pushed him back into his chest, hushing Ford like their mother used to do to him after Pa- after a hard day.

It wasn’t easy a task to alternate between coaxing and dragging to get Ford out of the god forsaken lab. Ford stumbled, at first, swaying even with Stanley's aid, head lolling like it wasn’t properly attached. It was the longest elevator ride of Stanley's life.

And, because they couldn't have progress without doubling the challenge, Ford slumped and heaved as soon as the doors opened. Stanley was at his side in a heartbeat, keeping his brother from faceplanting into his own disgusting fluids. It was just bile and brown liquid.

"Damn Ford, when was the last time you ate somethin?" He asked, hauling his brother up again. Ford groaned, but it sounded so unmanly Stan decided it was a whimper.

"Had... C-coffee..." Said Ford. Better yet, exhaled. Like when someone punches you in the gut but you gotta have the last word before falling over.

Stan huffed a laugh and shook his head in disaproval. It took a few minutes, but eventually Stanford managed the difficult task of pointing at what door was his room, and they made their way there.

To the surprise of absolute 0 people but disappointment of one exasperated Stanley, Ford had nothing that was both clean and weather apropriate to wear. Stanley himself had lived in simmilar conditions, but for fuck's sake, he'd SEEN Ford's washing machine. This man was simply not functional.

"Damn Ford, your clothes are all disgusting. Do you EVER wash 'em?" Stan asked, skimming to find something at least wearable. Some clothes were torn, others smelly enough that even Stanley knew better than to touch. Some, however, were bloody.

Stanley eyes his brother, whose eyes were unfocused and teary, still sniffling from time to time.

He sighed. His duffel bag it was, then. Stan walked towards the stairs that he was fairly sure would get him to the front door and his car, but was stopped before even leaving the room by Stanford's strangled cry and a thud. Turning around, he was greeted by the sight of his genius twin faceplanted on the ground, six fingered hand grasping weakly at Stan's pants.

"Wh... Where'r you..." He slurred. Stan stared, eyes fixated on Stanford's slumped form. "...said you- said you'dn't... leave..."

It was funny.

Ford looked like a dumb schmuck who drank himself to oblivion, but Stan couldn't bring himself to say it. To tease, or play, or make light of it.

It was very funny, in an ironic sorta way.

Stan had always imagined how things would've gone had Ford intervened that summer night. Had dreamed of hearing the words 'don't leave' coming from someone who wasn’t a damn officer or loan shark. Coming from Ford.

He had half a mind to just. Get back to his car and leave. Report the incident to his superiors, explain the situation. With a case like this, Stanley's infraction could easily be forgotten or at least pushed back until it was solved. He could even squeeze in a reward.

What, it's not like he owed Ford this. NOW, he asks Stan to stay? Really? How convenient.

He should do this. It'd be easy. Leave Ford to whatever this was and find his way back to HQ. It was a solid plan.

The decision was made. Stanley knelt down and held Ford's hand, untangling it from the edge of his pants. Ford let go and held Stan's hand instead, lacing their fingers together. Ford's hand was cold, and his eyes fixed on Stan's.

"You're... warm." Ford said, thumb circling Stan's knuckles. "Missed... missed ya', Lee."

...

Gently and slowly, Ford was lifted back to a sitting position and leaned against the wall.

"'M gonna be right back. Gotta get ya somethin' decent to wear. Alright?"

Ford blinked his eyes in motion of a nod. Stanley smiled and stood back up. 'S not like he was serious anyways. He wasn't a total douche, after all. His brother needed help, so he'd help.

On his way to the car, he stopped to notice how filthy and cold the cabin was. There were papers everywhere, absolutely no usable silverware or cutlery. The air was almost as cold as it was outside, and there were splatters of blood hidden in the corners.

He found a tooth near the kitchen cabinets and stopped to inspect. Were they growing here? They weren't supposed to grow in this part of the country, not without something atracting them. He didn’t have enough salt to deal with that right now, but he checked anyways.

Nope. Empty of teeth. And of food. Just his luck. At least it wasn’t a teeth growth case. Last time's consequence had been... horrible. His cheeks and gums still ached from time to time.

Fortunately, Stan had a few canned goods supplied in his car. He pocketed what he now supposed was Ford's tooth and made his way outside. The blizzard was still going strong, the wind ruffling wetly through his hair and face. Stan hated the cold.

The generator was turned off, of course, so Stanley first dealt with that. He had a few helpful tools to make the thing cooperate, and only one required his blood to work.

That done, he picked his bag from the back of the car and chose the canned ingredients for an improvised stew. He hoped Ford wasn't keeping kosher, because Stan only had pork on him.

Placating the panicked Sixer who had started hyperventilating again in his absence was an added extra step before coaxing him into taking a shower. He picked something warm and soft for Ford. God only knows how long he'd spent in those clothes, because Stanley had to peel them from him.

While Ford tried to avoid dissolving in the water, Stan got to work.

He started cleaning the kitchen so he at least has space to make something for the both of them. Turned on the thermostat, and, just to be sure, checked under the couch for possible teeth growth. Luck was in his favor, for once.

Stew was an obvious choice, since it was simple. Chop up his canned goods, add water, salt, eat. It wasn’t going to be fancy, and maybe not even tasty, but it was better than 3 days of straight up coffee (or another blood sacrifice). He set everything on the pot and let it boil.

In the meanwhile, he checked on that journal again. Ford had mentioned others 2, so he supposed not all of his brother's ails could be explained in this one, but having a look wouldn’t hurt. What he found was a detailed description of differing level case threats and a few harmless ones. His glasses were in the car and he wasn’t about to face the weather again, so he had to content himself with just skimming and hoping to find bigger illustrations. He snorted when he realized his brother's handwriting hadn’t changed at all.

His musings were interrupted when an ungodly amount of steam was released from the bathroom, following Ford's steps towards the kitchen. Stanley put away the journal and started serving the stew.

Ford looked no less mopey, but he did look aware. Their conversation didn't add anything of importance from what he'd already been told except for the information that the entity tormenting his twin was called Bill. Fucking William. How many Williams was he supposed to go against in a single lifespan, for fuck's sake? And he could possess Ford's body at any time.

Well. Only when Ford slept. That explained the coffee.

Luck striked again, as Stanley had just the perfect solution for that. He'd have to remember to use some salt to exorcise himself though, because with a life like his, being lucky twice on a day is totally a huge red flag.

Ford almost got too nervous, but Stanley managed to get him just calm enough to let his buddy babysit the back of his mind. Ford was technically not breaking any contract, since this was a cathegory C involuntary possession. William, the interdimensional loan shark, would not be able to apply punishment to this development.

And with someone already possessing Ford, Dream Loan Shark wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Specially because dream eaters had the irritating – but highly useful, in this situation – habit of scrambling their host's mind on the surface. Nothing too major either. If someone like Stanley could survive it without major consequence to his brain, someone with a powerful mind like Ford would probably do good. Hell, maybe even come back better!

"What the hell did you just do?" Rasped Ford, in a sad attempt to yell. He swayed, and Stan was there to balance him in an instant.

"Woah, there, Six. 'S alright, they're just feeding on your tiredness." Stan said, examining Ford's overall demeanor. He couldn't place if the spook was caused by the ritual or the usual dread that settles after one.

"Who are 'They', Stanley? What did you DO?!" Ford actually managed to yell this time, eyes wide and haunted.

It was quite simple, really. But he couldn’t expect Ford to put it all together in his state. Before anything, Stan had to put him to sleep and then work on the next steps. Sleep eaters were harmless once you got them to like you, and Ford wouldn’t be getting any likeable without some good ol' sleep, so Stan did the right thing and put his brother to rest on the couch, tucking him like a little petulant child.

Ford took a while to stop whining over Stan's little ritual, but eventually got the jist of it. Stan did remember how Ford liked to be tucked in - all encapsulated by warmth, with no passage of cold air inside the covers, like a little chrysalis. Once you got 'im there he didn’t stand a chance.

Stan watched his twin sleep for a few minutes.

This had been fun, despite the lingering otherworldly threat. Now, to the next problem. What to do next?

Tags: @aroace-get-out-of-my-face @aweebshitdrawings @thenoellebird @thehessianslady @multyfangirl16 @clueless-rarito

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<Prev; Chp. 3; Next.>

#Of course I would lie about the title in the chapter reserved specifically to the biggest liar in the story #its on you for not seeing it really #gravity falls au #gravity falls #you ruined yourself au #stan pines #ford pines #stanley pines #stanford pines #my art

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fullscoreshenanigans · 9 months ago

Text

He keeps them in the anime and the manga!

(Chapter 49 | S2 Episode 3)

The most Shirai's ever elaborated on them is in the art book.

(Chapter 157)

But I think it would be neat for them to be tied to vida in some way with how they simultaneously look like veins and its intertwined stems and how integral the plant is to Sonju's faith.

(Mystic Code Book Chapter 2 Q&A)

So does anyone wonder what these tattoos on Sonju hold resemblance for? Since he hides them with bandages I believe

Or is it just a thrown away character design?

#Demizu doing such a solid for the monsterfuckers with this design #Sonju #The Promised Neverland Art Book World #Mystic Code Book #TPN Concept Art #Gupna #Vida Flower #Promised Forest Arc #TPN 049 #TPN S2 #TPN S2e03 #TPN 157 #Imperial Capital Battle Arc #FSS Chatter #catherine-112 #Long Post

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siredtoelijah44 · 2 months ago

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PLEEEAAASEEEE DO A SECOND PART OF TEACHER'S PET I'M BEGGING

Teacher's Pet (Part Two) - Elijah Mikaelson (18+)

warnings: smut, f!reader, teacher x student relationship, age gap, oral (m!receiving), fingering, use of daddy and princess, slight dom!elijah

a/n: here you are anon!! sorry it took a minute it's been finals week so I had no motivation to write and it's kind of short. part one is here but it can be read pretty much as a standalone

word count: 2238

The little affair had been going on for weeks now. It was all stolen kisses, secret rendezvous in his office or his bedroom, and subtle glances as she sat in his classroom. He could barely keep his eyes off her as he lectured, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from him either.

It made her giddy. The thrill of the secret was enticing and made things all the more arousing for them.

But soon enough the school year was ending. The summer sent most of the students home but some stayed when they had nowhere else to go – like her. So she was currently lounging in the quad with Lizzie and Hope.

The heat had been nearly unbearable the past few days. All she was wearing was a thin tank top and shorts that were far too short to be considered appropriate. But seeing it was summer the school dress code didn’t apply.

Elijah watched from his window. He’d decided to stay in Mystic Falls for the summer. He and Hope would be heading back to New Orleans for a little bit but Elijah enjoyed his space. This was the first time in his life that he had his own space, his own life separate from his siblings. They were all living their own lives but now he was too.

He liked it here. He liked her too. She was pretty and smart. He knew it was inappropriate for him to be with her. She’d been his student. He was far too old for someone like her. But he didn’t care.

He watched as she stood from the grass. Her skin was covered in a sheen of sweat. The heat had finally gotten to her and she needed a drink. His eyes followed her until she disappeared from his sight. He sat down in his chair, turning his attention back to the book he’d been reading before he’d caught a glimpse of her outside.

About ten minutes later there was a knock on the door. She didn’t bother with waiting for an answer before she entered. Elijah tried to keep his eyes fixed down on his book in an attempt to control himself. But even a small glimpse of her legs in those shorts had his cock stirring already.

“Hey,” she murmured. She closed the door behind her and turned the lock.

“Hello,” he replied softly. It was difficult to contain himself with her sometimes. He hadn’t even taken her properly but she was still so tempting.

She stepped closer to him. “Is your book really that interesting?”

“Yes.” That was a bold faced lie and they both knew it.

She plopped down onto the seat across from him, a soft huff escaping her lips. She was clearly frustrated. He hadn’t touched her in nearly a week and it was killing her.

Elijah wasn’t sure what was holding him back this time. Perhaps it was the guilt he felt for letting this continue. Or it was the face that he’d taken her innocence. No, she had willingly given it to him – eagerly too. But she was so young. Far too young for the likes of him. And he was a monster. A vampire.

Yet he couldn’t stop himself from letting her back in.

“Elijah,” she called out his name. “I’m bored.”

“What am I supposed to do about that, princess?” He still didn’t look up from his book. He knew if he looked up he’d never stop touching her. It was hard to resist her when she looked so pretty – which he thought was all the time.

She huffed again. “Daddy,” she whined. She was hoping that would be enough to get his attention.

He cursed internally. He’d been the one to tell her to call him that when they were intimate. It seemed to bite him in the ass. She’d quickly learned that saying that simple name always worked him up. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Sweetheart, I’m trying to read,” he warned lowly, still trying to avoid looking at her.

She sighed once again. He could practically feel her frustration as she shifted in the seat. He knew she wanted his attention. That much was clear. He was trying to keep his focus on the book. But it was proving difficult. His mind kept wandering back to the thought of her soft skin under his hands, the noises she made when he touched her, the way she clutched at him whenever he brought her over the edge–

He took a deep breath. He set his book down on the desk. He crooked his fingers, beckoning her closer to him. “Come here,” is all he needed to stay.

The girl was immediately on her feet, moving towards him. It was his own fault really. He’d shown her a glimpse of pleasure and now she couldn’t get enough of him. All she wanted was more but he kept hesitating to give her everything. But he couldn't deny the way he enjoyed how much she craved him.

A small smirk graced his lips as she approached him. He spread his legs and pulled her between his thighs. His hands rested on her hips. “Is this what you needed?” he hummed. “You just needed some attention?”

“Yes.” Her voice was slightly breathless.

One of his hands came up to cup her cheek. He pulled her down into a searing kiss. She immediately returned the gesture. Her own hands came to rest on his shoulders. She moved her mouth against his. Elijah was pleased with how her abilities had come along since they first started this. Her kisses were no longer clumsy and unsure. She was much more confident in herself.

He finally pulled away when she needed a breath. He ran his thumb gently across her jawline. His hand on her hip rubbed circles her hip, running over the bare strip of skin just above her shorts that wasn’t covered by her tank top.

“Let’s get this off, hm?” He tugged at the edge of her shirt.

She peeled her tank top off, dropping it onto the floor of his office. Elijah admired the lacy bra underneath. Then he gestured to her shorts. She popped the button of them and also pulled them down her legs.

“There’s my pretty girl,” he practically cooed. “On your knees.”

He loved how quickly she did what he asked. The girl sank to her knees between his parted thighs. He cupped her chin, running his thumb against her bottom lip. He didn’t need to tell her anything more before she was tugging at his belt. He lifted his hips enough to help her tug his slacks down.

He was already hard. The way she’d whined ‘daddy’ and those little shorts were too much for him. Elijah moved his hand from her chin to her hair. He tried to keep his grip light but it was difficult as she wrapped her hand around his length.

She leaned down, takiang the tip of his cock into her mouth. “Shit,” Elijah hissed softly. His grip tightened in her hair. She took him further into his mouth. Elijah guided her movements as best he could without making her gag. His hips jumped as she moved to cup his balls.

The girl was only spurred on. Each grunt she pulled from Elijah’s lips sent heat straight through her body. He was always so in control but when she had her lips wrapped around him, he struggled to maintain his composure.

Elijah had to pull her off. As much as he enjoyed her mouth – she’d learned well over the last weeks – he didn’t want to finish so soon. He couldn’t deny how much he wanted her. She looked gorgeous. Her hair was messy from his grip, her lips were glistening with spit and her eyes were wide with lust.

“Couch. Now,” he choked out.

She moved towards where he’d directed her to go. Elijah followed after her, peeling off the rest of his clothes as he did and kicked his shoes off too. She giggled as he pushed her down onto the couch. He swallowed the noise with another searing kiss.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, drawing him closer until his hips were flush with hers. His mouth moved down her neck. A trail of kisses was left across her neck. He didn’t leave a mark. It would be too obvious with the low cut tank tops she seemed to be tormenting him with recently.

As he made his way down her neck, her hips rolled against his. A low groan escaped his lips. “You’re killing me here, sweetheart.”

He couldn’t handle it any more. He snaked his hand around her back, tugging at the clasp of her bra. He tossed it to the side before dipping his head down. He took one of her nipples into his mouth. He always loved the little noises she made when he touched her. Each flick of his tongue made her arch further into his touch.

He finally pulled his lips away when he’d gotten his fill. He admired the little marks against her skin for a moment. Elijah never liked to leave obvious marks on her so as to not raise suspicions. Hands trailed down her body, peeling her panties down her legs. He pushed her thighs further apart, revealing every inch of her body to his gaze.

“You’re soaked, princess,” he groaned, swiping a finger through her folds. “You want daddy that bad?”

“Yes,” she gasped out as he sunk his finger into her. He slowly pumped the digit in and out of her before adding a second. He curled his fingers in a come-hither motion, stroking the spot that always made her cry out.

“Always so tight. You sure you can take my cock?” She nodded, her words stuck in her throat as he pumped his fingers. “I don’t think you can. You can’t even use your words.”

“I–” her answer was cut off as he swiped his thumb across her clit. He was doing it on purpose and she knew it.

“What was that?” he asked, voice dripping with faux innocence. He pushed a third finger into her aching pussy. “I didn’t quite hear you princess.”

“I can,” she practically whined. “I can, daddy.”

Once she said the magic words he pulled his fingers out. He brought them up to his lips, sucking her arousal off. He always enjoyed the taste of her.

He reached between their bodies. He teased her entrance with the head of his cock for a moment before finally sinking inside. A low groan escaped his lips as his hips finally were flush with hers.

“Fuck.” He dropped his head against her shoulder as he rolled his hips the first time. The moan he pulled from her lips was obscene and he wanted to do it again and again. “You feel so good, princess. Such a perfect little pussy just for daddy.”

She clawed at his shoulders, trying to ground herself. But each thrust had her breathless. Elijah filled her up so perfectly.

He peppered kisses across her shoulder and neck. All he wanted to do was mark her and show everyone that she was his – that this pussy was his – but he couldn’t. It was already risky enough just being with her. But he was desperate to prove that she was his girl.

“You’re mine,” he practically growled. “Say it.”

“All yours, daddy,” she said. “I’m yours.”

“Good girl,” he cooed. Her words only spurred him on. A hand slipped between their bodies, pressing his thumb against her clit. He rubbed tight circles against it. She clenched around him at the feeling. “Shit–”

His body was practically melded with hers. His movements grew sloppy as he neared his own edge but he needed her to finish first. He rubbed her clit faster. Her moans only increased in frequency and she felt impossibly tight around his cock.

“C’mon princess,” he groaned. “Come for daddy.”

All she needed was his permission before she was coming undone. He swallowed her moans as he kissed her. Her thighs trembled and her toes curled. It only took a few more thrusts before he was finding his own release, spilling his seed inside of her. His movements slowed so they could ride out their high together.

Her chest was heaving as he pulled out. She looked like a mess. Her hair was plastered to her sweaty forehead, her eyes glazed with pleasure. He kissed her forehead before retreating completely.

Elijah picked up his boxers, pulling them over his hips as he searched for something to clean her up with. He also grabbed a water bottle from the little mini fridge he kept in his office for students to grab. He returned to her side.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

A soft smile tugged at his lips as he looked at her. “You’re so perfect.”

He brushed her messy hair out of her face before cleaning up the mess between her thighs. She sipped on the water bottle as he took care of her. Once she was cleaned up, he put his shirt on her. He did the buttons up and pulled her on top of him on the couch.

He continued to run his hand through her hair, scratching her scalp softly. Soon enough she had dozed off. Elijah smiled to himself.

“Sleep well princess.”

#elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson smut #vampire diaries smut #smut #minors go away #the originals #tvdu #mdni

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