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loverslantern · 1 month 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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azzibuckets · 9 months ago

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COMPLETE MESS [paige bueckers]

paige bueckers x teacher!oc

summary: natasha meets one of her students’ sisters, and she’s enthralled

a/n: lmk if yall want me to make more parts!

word count: 3.3k

masterlist

I stretched out my back with a groan. I loved teaching; it had been my dream job since I was a kid, but sometimes it drained the life out of my bones. Third graders could be an absolute menace, especially on days like today where they’d figured out how to make paper airplanes and had started flying them across the room, sneakily giggling whenever my back was turned.

It didn’t help that later tonight would be open house, when the families of students would come to visit the school to see for themselves what their children have been learning and working on for the past few months. The parents were always nice enough, but it was a drag having to clean up the classroom, hang up everyone’s projects, and decorate the walls and desks.

I checked my watch. Half an hour to go. I knew some eager children hauling their parents along would start arriving soon, so I smoothed down my skirt. I had to make good impressions, considering the fact that a lot of parents didn’t take me seriously because of how young I was.

Wanting to greet parents in the hallway as they entered my classroom, I stepped outside, but there must have been someone waiting directly outside the door because I heard a thump and a little “Ow!” Panicking at the idea of having just sent a little kid sprawling to the fooor in front of their parents, I rushed around the door, breathing in relief when I only saw one of my students, Drew, with no parents in sight.

“Drew, buddy,” I laughed. “What’re you doing?”

Drew pouted, trying to collect the pieces of Legos that were now scattered across the floor. “I was waiting because the door was locked and you hit me!”

I bent down and started picking up Lego pieces. “What have I told you about standing there, Drew?” I reminded him. Drew was one of my favorite students - he was hyper and often forgot about things like not standing behind the door, but he was so cheerful and positive all the time that I couldn’t help but always smile at his mischievous antics.

“I know, I just got excited! My mom and dad are coming to see my Lego project and so is my big sister!”

I ruffled his hair. “Your big sister! Woah! I would love to meet her.” I couldn’t remember her name, I think it started with a P, but Drew talked about her all the time, and I could tell that he absolutely adored her. “Where are your parents, by the way? You’re very early.”

“I made them come early,” Drew explained, finally grabbing the last Lego and dumping all the pieces unceremoniously into his backpack. “But Paige had to pee, so they went to the bathroom. I think I was supposed to wait outside for them but I wanted to come here!”

“Alright.” I got up, offering a hand to Drew, who accepted but pulled so hard he almost dragged me down again. “Come inside and sit while you wait. But don’t mess around, alright?”

Much to my surprise, Drew stayed quiet in his seat, not making any noise. I busied myself with adjusting the posters on the wall for what seemed like the hundredth time. A piece of tape had gotten loose on one of the papers, and just as I reached to fix it, the entire poster came tumbling to the ground. Signing, I bent down to pick it up.

“Damn, I could study this,” a deep voice whistled from behind me.

I immediately straightened myself, mortified. Cheeks burning, I turned around to reprimand whoever had just made a ridiculously inappropriate joke in a classroom setting, with a student sitting just feet away.

Leaning against the doorway was a blonde woman, whose hair was pulled back into a clean ponytail with shockingly no flyaways. She looked young, but was intimidatingly tall. Although she wasn’t smiling, her deep blue eyes were dancing with amusement, her slightly cocked eyebrows showing intriguement. Both hands were stuffed into the pocket of her sweatpants, her stance nonchalant. Whoever she was, she was gorgeous, with one of those faces people would pause and look back at if they passed on the street.

My mouth opened, but all semblances of what was supposed to be a lecture on respecting women faded. I didn’t know why my throat was suddenly dry, my heart suddenly pounding against my chest so hard I feared my ribs would break.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to end up saying anything, because Drew jumped up from his seat and ran to the blonde. “Miss Natasha!” he exclaimed. “Meet Paige, my sister!”

My eyebrows shot up. This was Drew’s sister? All this time, you’d been imagining a timid and sweet girl, not someone who was dressed in basically pajamas but still looked like they stepped out of a magazine.

Paige stepped closer to me, a dangerous smirk playing on the edge of her lips. “I’m Paige Bueckers,” she introduced herself. “Very nice to meet you.”

My jaw tightened. I didn’t appreciate this girl’s cocky attitude. I’ve known girls like Paige before; sexy and alluring, but with egos up their asses, who thought that they could flirt with you and do whatever they wanted because they were drop dead gorgeous. Especially considering the treatment I often faced, with fathers of my students often making suggestive remarks and creepy innuendos, causing their wives to get angry at me as if it was my fault that their husbands couldn’t stop ogling at someone twenty years younger than them. So I finally gathered my courage. “I don’t know who you think you are,” I said lowly, trying not to let Drew hear, “but you don’t get to come into my classroom and start making unseemly advancements. Especially in front of my students.”

Paige’s eyes flitted down, tracing my face and dropping for a second to my lips before slowly dragging its way down my body. She was blatantly and unashamedly undressing me with her eyes, and I almost reached for my jacket.

“Unseemly,” she echoed, nodding to herself. “Yeah. Definitely a teacher.”

I rolled my eyes, already frustrated. “Drew,” you said sweetly, bending down to look him in the eye. “Where are your parents?”

“They ran into one of his friends’ parents,” Paige responded for him. “But I’m here. Why don’t you walk me through everything, teach?”

I loathed myself for the way my heart skipped a beat at her stupid nickname. “It’s hard to walk you through Drew’s progress this trimester if you’re constantly trying to flirt with me,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

“Paige, stop making Miss Natasha mad!” Drew intervened, giving his sister a little push and running to give you a hug. You smiled gratefully at the little boy, taking delight in the way Paige’s eyes narrowed with jealousy.

“Whatever, I can be chill. But I actually wanna see the projects Drew’s been talking about, so can we get started?” The blonde asked impatiently, as if she hadn’t been the one obnoxiously flirting.

So I started showing Drew’s works that he’d created the past few months. When I got to the Lego Fortnite set he’d built, he’d started rambling about the project and going into a detailed explanation of how he built it. I could see Paige attentively listening at first, but as Drew kept talking, her attention slowly shifted to me.

“Whenever we Facetime, Drew talks about his teacher a lot,” Paige mused quietly as Drew paused his tangent to look over the set and make sure all the pieces were intact. “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.” Her eyes darted to me again, and I wondered at how anybody ever talked to this girl with how intense her stare was.

I chewed my lip. It was always nice seeing the impact U made on your kids; it made all the hard work and tears worth it. It’s what I’ve always aimed to do - change their lives. “Thank you,” I said softly. “Same with you. Drew won’t ever shut up about you, especially at recess when the kids are playing basketball. You play, right?”

Paige’s eyes shined, a smile forming on her face. “I am. I play at UConn.”

I gaped at her. “Please don’t tell me you’re a freshman in college.” Although she had been the one making the innuendos, it still made me uncomfortable at the idea of an 18 year old even thinking about me this way.

Thankfully, Paige shook her head. “I’m 22. A senior. You?”

“I’m 24.”

Paige grinned again. “Perfect. Not too old for me then.”

I rolled my eyes, my annoyance returning. “Do you have no shame? I could have a significant other for all you’d know. I’m also your brother’s teacher.”

Paige tilted her head, studying me. “Do you have a significant other?” Her tone made it clear that she already knew the answer.

“That’s not important,” I said looking away. The corners of Paige’s lips turned upwards, and I wanted to punch the satisfaction off her face.

“I’ve actually always thought teachers were very attractive,” Paige murmured, her tone now husky. She leaned in closer to me, one hand stabilizing herself on the desk. “With their glasses and their skirts.” Her tongue darted out, wetting her bottom lip.

“I’m not wearing glasses,” I stammered. Every cell in my body was screaming at myself to back away and create some distance between me and this random girl, but I couldn’t.

“Maybe not, but you’re wearing a skirt. Although to be honest, I’d like it better if there was nothing there at all,” she rasped. She leaned in closer, the atmosphere between us now charged, but at the same moment Drew’s parents walked in.

I immediately jumped up and stumbled backwards, humiliated at having been caught in such a position with their daughter. I chastised myself - how could I be acting so unprofessionally while on the job? We hadn’t done anything wrong, per se, but the proximity we’d been sitting in was definitely way beyond what was appropriate for a teacher and one of their students’ family members.

“Mr. and Mrs. Bueckers!” I squeaked, clearing my throat and ignoring the way Paige started smirking as she observed my awkwardness. “So nice to see you guys again!”

Bob Bueckers looked curiously between the two of us, but nonetheless he stuck out his hand and flashed a friendly smile. “Miss Natasha! How have you been?”

I re-explained to the Bueckers all of Drew’s activities and achieevments, but this time with Paige silently burning me with her relentless gaze from behind her dad and step-mom. Every time I glared at her in an effort to get her to stop, her intensity only increased. I hated how flustered she was able to make me without even saying a word, so as soon as I finished, I quickly excused myself to talk to other parents.

Somewhere in the midst of my conversations with other families, the Bueckers disappeared, and I assumed they went to visit Drew’s other teachers. I tried to get Paige out of my mind, but for the entire night her face was burned into the back of my mind, God knows why. It seemed like the longest night ever - an endless stream of parents all fighting for my attention so they could talk about their kid, combined with my short interactions from Paige earlier that night still nagging at me. Unsurprisingly, I was completely exhausted by the time open house night ended.

It was almost 10 PM when I finished cleaning and wrapping up for the night. I locked up my classroom and headed to the bathroom for a quick pit stop before leaving. As I walked past the gym, though, I swore I heard sounds filtering in from under the doors. I paused, unsure of what to do. The gym was definitely supposed to be closed by now; almost the entire school was empty and dark save a couple janitors and lingering teachers. But it was getting late, and I honestly didn’t want to have to deal with another issue. Besides, I wasn’t sure if I even heard a noise.

So I turned around and kept walking, until a loud giggle followed by a “Shhh!” turned my feet right back. Marching to the front entrance, I tried to open the doors, but was met with resistance. Huffing, I pushed harder, but whoever was on the other end was strong. I gave one last push before jogging to the side entrance. This time, the door opened with ease, showing a completely empty gym - except for a familiar blonde woman and one of your students leaning against the doors at the front entrance.

Heat flooded your cheeks, and this time it wasn’t from embarrassment, but from anger. “Are you serious right now?” I stomped aggressively towards the two culprits, both of whom looked like guilty children that’d just been caught eating chocolate in the middle of the night - except one was a 22 year old college student who definitely knew better. “I cannot believe this is real right now.” I ran your head through my hair, my voice shocked with disbelief. “How did you even get in here?” I looked around, realizing that there had to be at least 20 basketballs scattered across the floor of the gym. “And where did all these balls come from?”

Paige scratched the back of her neck, sheepishness on her face. “Uh, we might’ve found a way to get into the storage room.”

“How did you even get inside the gym in the first place?” You shrieked, trying not to lose full control over yourself.

Paige winced. “I might’ve taught Drew how to pick locks? And he was trying to show me how much he’s been practicing.” She looked over at her little brother in desperation, who in turn ran behind her and started hiding behind her legs. “I mean, I didn’t think he’d actually be able to unlock the gym when he started showing me!” Paige justified. “But then he unlocked it and then I saw the court and I couldn’t not get a few hoops in.” She trailed off at that last part, slowly realizing how ridiculous she sounded.

“Oh my god.” I started frantically running around, chucking basketballs into the cart. “Never in my two years of teaching have I seen such unapologetic inappropriate behavior.” I turned around and jabbed a finger in Paige’s direction, my chest heaving with exertment. “You are single handedly worse than my entire class of third graders combined.”

Paige’s mouth dropped open. “Hey! This was Drew’s idea!”

“Paigeeee!” Drew whined, cowering further behind his older sister.

After collecting several more balls, I gave up. I slumped down on the floor. “Unbelievable,” I uttered to myself. “Unbelievable. A 22 year old breaking into school property and blaming it on her 8 year old brother. Unbelievable!”

Paige hesitantly walked nearer to me, concern in her eyes. “Stop,” I threatened once she got within a few feet. “Or I might bite.”

Paige started to laugh, but the look I sent her was so menacing that she immediately shut up. “Hey,” she said softly. “Look, I’m sorry. But what’s the big deal? It’s not like you’re gonna get in trouble for anything.”

“I just wanted to go home,” I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “It’s 10 PM and today has been the longest day of my life.”

I startled when I felt a gentle touch on my shoulder. Looking up, I was surprised to see the face of Drew. “I’m sorry, Miss Nat,” he whispered, regret in his eyes. “But Paige hasn’t been home in forever and she said she would help me with basketball when she came back. We didn’t mean to make you mad.”

I knew it shouldn’t, but my heart melted at his words. This is why you’re weak, I cursed to myself. A pair of puppy dog eyes and you’re all bent up. Shaking my head slowly, I took a deep breath to calm my nerves.

“Hey,” Paige interrupted. “The damage is already done. This gym is unlocked and I’m pretty sure everyone else has left. Why don’t we show you what we’ve been working on so you know we haven’t been up to no good?”

I got up from my crumpled position on the floor, tightly gripping my purse. “No,” I said wearily. “I think I’m okay. I just wanna get some sleep at home.”

“Please,” Drew begged. “Can I show you just one of my shots? Paige said it looks a lot better from last time!”

“Just one!” Paige joined in. “One won’t hurt.”

I stared at the two of them, both of them with their hands interlocked as if they were praying, their eyes eager and hopeful. I couldn’t even believe myself, but the words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop it. “Fine. Just one.”

“Yessss!” The two siblings high fived each other and I fought back a smile, trying to maintain my serious demeanor.

“You aren’t ready for this,” Paige smirked, and you only rolled your eyes in response. “Alright, ready bud?”

“Ready!” Drew called back, bouncing excitedly up and down on the balls of his feet. He started sprinting down the court, and Paige quickly passed him a ball.

He dribbled between his legs, almost losing it but recovering as he made his way to the net. “Drew Bueckers on a breakaway!” Paige narrated, cupping her hands around her mouth as she mimicked a sports commentator. “Three seconds remaining on the shot clock!”

Drew started making his way closer to the net, dribbling behind his back and faking out ghost defenders.

“Three….”

Drew landed on his right foot and pivoted.

“Two….”

Drew spun on his foot and faced the basket.

“One….”

Right before Paige finished counting down, Drew cocked his arm and released, sending the ball flying up and then down, straight into the net for a perfect layup.

“And he scooooooreeees!” Paige howled, running towards her brother and wrapping him up in a hug. This time, I couldn’t help it. I found myself smiling the hardest I’d smiled all night as I watched Paige swing Drew around as his infectious giggles filled the room.

“See?” Paige yelled to me once she set him down. “Wasn’t that epic?”

“So epic.” I beamed at the boy, who was now looking at me shyly. I cleared my throat. “But now we gotta clean up before someone finds this and gets yall in trouble.”

“Ooh, so she’s on our side now!” Paige poked Drew in the ribs teasingly, and he scampered away, laughing as he started picking up balls on the other side of the gym.

Paige turned to you, her expression serious now. “I think it’s your turn.”

“What?” I took a step back. “No, I think I’m actually good.”

“You not up for a little challenge?” Paige picked up a ball and spun it on one of her fingers, and I couldn’t deny that she looked incredibly hot while doing it.

“I can shoot a ball,” I insisted, folding my arms. “I just don’t want to right now.”

“Bull.” Paige extended her arm, offering the ball to you. “I bet you can’t make it from here.”

“Are you serious? We’re like three feet from the net!” I scoffed. I haven’t really shot many basketballs in my life, but how hard could it be? The net was right there.

“Alright, then shoot it.” When I stared at her blankly, still refusing to take the ball, Paige tossed it to me so that I was forced to catch it. “We’re not leaving till you shoot.”

Sighing, I bounced the ball once. Praying that the ball would land somewhere around the net, I launched it. The ball hit the backboard, slowly rolling around the rim of the net before falling to the side. I rolled my eyes. “That basically counts.”

Paige stifled a laugh. “If that basically counted, I’d be the all time leading scorer in the NCAA by now.” I pushed her, unamused. “Hey, now.” Paige picked up another ball. “I’ll teach you.”

I backed up, about to protest, but Paige stepped closer to me, so close that I could feel her breath hitting my skin, and I suddenly lost all ability to move. The blonde swallowed, her eyes darting to my lips for barely a moment before she refocused on the ball. Gently, she placed the ball in my hands, then stepped behind me. I felt hands grab my waist and pull me to her. When my hips suddenly collided with hers, I let out a gasp of surprise.

“Relax,” she murmured into my ear, her warm breath fanning my cheek. “You’re so tense.”

Her hands let go of my hips, and my body ached for the loss of her warmth until her arms wrapped around my own and guided them to the position she wanted. After my arms were in the right form, she positioned my legs and feet with her hands. Every time she touched me, her fingers lingering, I felt light headed, as if my blood sugar was about to crash.

“Okay,” she breathed, stepping back to take a look. “Beautiful.” I had a feeling she wasn’t only talking about my shooting form, and my heart lurched.

“Shoot.”

This time when I let the ball go, it reached the net, sliding through with a satisfying swoosh. I let out a little shout and turned around, giving Paige a bright smile. She chuckled at my excitement. “Good, huh?” she teased.

“You’re not bad,” I responded as nonchalantly as I could. A little flirting never hurt anyone.

She raised an eyebrow. “Not bad, huh? You should come to one of my games. You’ll see how ‘not bad’ I really am.”

“Go to one of your games?” I smiled suggestively, closing the distance between us until we were closer than we’d been before. I licked my lips. “You’re moving a little fast, Bueckers.”

“Fast,” Paige repeated, her voice throaty. “That’s how I roll.” I finally let my eyes fall to her lips, finally noticing how pink and soft they looked.

My hands somehow landed on her chest. Her fingers touched my chin, tilting it upward. Before I knew it, her lips were on mine, and I was on fire. I grazed her cheeks with my fingertips, her skin hot and flushed under my touch. She’d barely brushed her lips against mine though, when a basketball suddenly dropped, pulling me into my senses.

I jumped back, staring in disbelief at the blonde. Her hair was slightly mussed up, her eyes darkened as she watched me. “Oh my god,” I whispered to myself. “Oh my god, you just kissed your student’s sister.” I brought my fingers to my lips.

“That was barely a kiss,” Paige complained. “How about you c’mere and I’ll show you how it’s really done?”

“Fucking hell, no!” You steppped back from Paige, glancing over at Drew to see if he’d saw us. Thankfully, he was still preoccupied putting the basketballs away.

“You guys need to hurry and clean up. I gotta go tell the janitors to lock up the gym. You need to be gone from here before they come.” You turned around, frantically looking around for your purse. Once you spotted it, you grabbed it and started rushing out.

“Hey!” Paige yelled out, her hands to her side. “Where are you going?”

I swallowed hard, not responding as the doors of the gym slammed behind me. Ice traveled through my veins. How could I have gotten mixed up in that? If I’d gotten caught by one of my coworkers kissing one of my student’s family members in a gym that was broken into, I’d be fired on the spot. Getting this job had been hard enough - no one wanted a 24 year old female fresh out of college. I could not be participating in risky behavior like this.

Paige was attractive, no doubt. But she was also cocky, and arrogant, and Drew’s sister. She also lived in Connecticut. This would never work out, I reminded yourself. So when I went home and jumped in the shower, I tried to scrub off any memory of Paige’s tantalizing lips.

#paige bueckers #uconnwbb

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tk-duveraun · 2 months ago

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Cw: some unintentional but really messed up transphobia on SY's part

Cumplane AU where they live in a modern with magic world and PIDW is presented as a historical fantasy power fantasy

SY is a magical teacher turned researcher turned homebody as his body deteriorates due to magical illness. But this means he very much knows how magic works and gets very heated in the comments making corrections.

(airplane desperately wanted to study extinct magical creatures but the specialized classes were too expensive)

SY is extra infuriated bc airplane knows so much about magical creatures and lost habitats but then turns them into set pieces for porn!

At one point, airplane posts an AN about how he's entering the lottery for non-magical people to be granted a wish. Most people get their houses fitted so they don't have to pay utilities or so that they're bigger on the inside, or link their lifespan to their beloved pet.

SY who is both rich and has connections sends airplane a private message asking what he wished for. SY is planning to leverage this into special chapters just about the setting.

Airplane knows that while SY is a hater, he's harmless. People have doxxed SY and he only went on insane copy pasta level rants about not talking online stuff too seriously. So airplane admits he put in for magical gender affirming transformation.

SY is extremely disappointed by airplane's lack of creativity and ambition with his wish and airplane, reasonably extremely offended, blocks him.

Airplane doesn't win the lottery and continues to post chapters as usual but leaves out any and all AN's because he's still reasonably hurt by it.

SY obliviously continues ranting as normal in the comments.

Only, a few weeks later, airplane gets contacted by this semi-underground group that does magical gender affirming transformations for free, sent his way none other than sy

SY wasn't meaning to be transphobic, he just thought airplane would ask for his cat to be made into a hulijing or something.

Anyway cue airplane trying to get in touch with sy and thank him but SY bring a brat bc airplane blocked him "for no reason"

Airplane, very reasonably, blows up at him about it. SY complains to his sister, who is just like "OMG you're so stupid"

Eventually they reconcile and meet up IRL, airplane learns how sick sy is and after hearing the details is like "...I swear I've heard of this before" and sy rolls his eyes bc he knows how rare his condition is, but they become "very good friends"

(airplane: I knew he was in the closet but wow

SY sister: I know right)

Airplane with his kind of sugar daddy starts up correspondence courses on the side and finally remembers where he heard about SY's illness before! It's a magical virus only carried by an extinct creature that most humans were immune to already, but guess whose family has a taxidermy of said magical beast in their main house

This information finally leads to a cure and SY's family make a huge ordeal about accepting their new son in law

"I'm not gay!"

Eye rolls

"We're not together!"

".........."

"we kind of are, bro"

SY makes a noise like a teakettle and stomps off.

#svsss #cumplane

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shares-a-vest · 6 months ago

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Prompt: Salty (Discord Drabble) Eddie, Robin and Steve as the most incompetent roommates au.

Robin thinks she might just fall right to sleep on top of her textbook when a steamy, bright red blob of tomato sauce plops onto the page. It soaks through, staining the words and blurring the printed ink.

She looks up in horror to find Eddie standing before her, grinning expectantly.

“Try,” he insists, pushing the dripping spoon closer to her.

Robin recoils.

“I thought the whole point of you preparing dinner was so I could study?”

Eddie makes a face, “That’s what I’m doing. But you need to taste test, hmm? Here comes the airplane!”

He spits out some garbled noises Robin supposes sounds like an engine as he swoops the spoon at enough of an angle that another blob flies halfway across the counter island.

Robin lunges, grabbing Eddie’s wrist before he can do any more damage.

“Fine,” she relents, tugging his hand, “Give it here.”

Still holding on, she maneuvers Eddie’s wrist, twisting it as she moves her head to get the sample in her mouth –

But when the sauce hits her tongue, Robin gags.

“Good, huh?” Eddie beams.

“Bleh – what? Ed – no!” she spits, coughing now as she pushes the offending spoon away, “Eddie, why is it so salty!”

She grabbles for her water bottle.

“I haven’t added salt yet,” Eddie defends and looks down at the spoon.

He falls silent and heads for his recipe book. Robin glares at the back of Eddie’s head as she gulps down her water like a floundering guppy.

There’s a clamboring of jars and spices as Eddie mutters to himself, pouring over his recipe. And Robin rolls her eyes, thinking that making a spaghetti sauce surely couldn’t be this complicated.

“Oregano, olive oil, pap –,” Eddie lists off before promptly cutting himself off.

“Eddie, what did you use?” Robin asks when she comes up for air.

He sets down something and looks up but still doesn’t turn back to face her.

“... Paprika,” he very obviously lies, his hair bouncing as he talks.

Robin pinches her nose, “We really need Steve to hurry up with his night shifts.”

#i dont necessarily think steve would be much better but he'd at least be able to supervise 😂#eddie munson #robin buckley #stwgdailyprompt #lilys drabbles #hopeless roommates au

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dulcua · 7 months ago

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🎧 airplane white noise | flight sounds for studying, focus or sleep

#sdv #sdv harvey #stardew #stardew valley #stardew harvey #dr harvey #sdv art #doodle #sketchbook #sdv fanart #stardew valley fanart #stardew fanart #queue

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dragon-queen21 · 1 year ago

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Straw-hats as Caregivers

requested by a very kind anon <3

My attempt at doing a sort of 'reader insert' type thing. Please spare mercy on me, for I know not what I am doing /lh Oh also, bit of a trigger warning for a couple of mentions of vent regression. Nothing to bad though

~~~

Sanji:

~Sanji would be great at playing pretend. Setting up a fake restaurant, going on a grand make believe adventures!

~If you regressed on the older side he would definitely teach you how to cook. Though he'd be very unsure about letting you into his kitchen if you were too small

~He would be the first to know when your sippy cup needs to be refilled, and each time he’d have a different drink for you to try.

~The type of caregiver to make airplane noises when feeding you and set out an extra plate for your stuffed animal to enjoy as well.

Zoro:

~Zoro would let you sit on top of his shoulders, or carry you around piggy back style. He thinks of it as extra training, you think of it as pure fun

~He'd give you little gifts now and again seemingly at random, with things that he think you might like when small. For example a small pocket sized stuffed animal that he saw on a display, a type of candy he thinks you might be interested in trying, or a pacifier that just happened to be your favorite color.

~You can't tell me he wouldn't enforce nap time. The greatest swords man has no time to deal with overtired and fussy little one when the problem can be so easily avoided by a power nap. Weather or not you agree with this depends on the day

Nami:

~If anyone asked, Nami would say that she is clearly the best caregiver in the world. She has everything under control, thank you very much. Anyone who thinks differently can expect a 20% increase in the debt that they owe her.

~Gives off the vibes of a very cheeky older sister

~A very soft spot for little you. If there’s something you want she’s going to do everything in her power to get it for you.

~She’d be surprisingly sweet and understanding when it comes to you vent regressing. While she’s not the best at comforting people, she does sympathize with the feeling of being overwhelmed, and through pure will power and determination she does her absolute best to cheer you up.

Usopp:

~He'd make a bunch of props for playing make believe with. Foam swords and paper crowns, treasure maps, and of course miniatures for any of your stuffed animals so they can play along

~Usopp would make up the best treasure hunts for you to partake in. With elaborate riddles and a fun prize at the end!

~Him and Luffy would definitely rope you into shenanigans when the two of them are regressed

Luffy:

~He would easily remember each one of your stuffed animals names, along with anything special about them. Treating each one as a special nakama whenever you’re regressed.

~The type of older sibling esc caregiver who would waiting until the adults are busy so that you two could get into mischief together.

~Helps you to come up with new made up games. Something that would confuse the rest of the crew if they weren't there at the time when it was being created.

~He’d have a hard time understanding vent regression. He gets being starting out happy then getting triggered by something and feeling bad, but not regressing from the get go and feeling sad.

Robin:

~Her specialty would be looking after little ones that regress super young. Being able to care and dote over someone would be super soothing for her

~ The rest of the crew refer to her as mama bird taking care of her baby bird

~She’d pick up picture book versions of all the things that she’s studying do that you can read along with her

~Not the best at playing along with your imagination. Too stuck up with the actual details and rules to play make believe.

Chopper:

~Chopper would probably know what age regression is way before you ever told him. Something that he read into while studying at some point in time. He knows enough about regression to know possible triggers , the difference between vent regression and regularly being regressed.

~He’s gotten used to being a cuddle buddy whenever your regressed. It gives him a viable excuse to take a break from his work and join in on nap time

-If you had a nightmare Chopper would do his best to comfort you and get you back to sleep. He’d offer to listen to what it was you dreamt about, although he’d probably get upset as well, in that case he’ll take your hand and the two of you will go and find another straw-hat (probably Zoro) for you to talk to

~He would love to play a bunch of different outdoor games. Things hopscotch, tag, hide and seek

#mayliz rambles #fandom agere #age regression #sfw agere #age regression headcanons #anime agere #one piece agere #agere headcanons #agere little #agere caregiver #I didn’t write franky because I have yet to meet him where I am at in the anime

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bleucaesura · 11 months ago

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STOLITZØ - TWENTY NINE

Blitzø’s mother helped him stand.

“I need to talk to you about Stolas.”

“Stolas?” Blitzø stammered. “What? Why?”

His mother raised an eyebrow at him.

Blitzø blushed.

She chuckled and rolled her eyes.

“I feel your perception of Stolas may leave a lot to be desired…”

Blitzø looked at her confused.

“You may see Stolas as this.”

Blitzø’s mother’s hand flourished and an image appeared of Stolas. It was as if she had plucked it directly from his acid trip nightmare.

Stolas lounged in a throne atop a gold gilded staircase. Shadowed silhouettes of Blitzø stood on either side of Stolas fanning him with great feathered fans. They were chained. Stolas smiled down at Blitzø seductivly, beckoning him to join him. Blitzø knew if he tried to climb those stairs he would just slip and fall over and over trying to reach the top. He also knew he could only reach the top if he crawled.

“You may see some self-important, entitled Royal, oblivious to the ways of the world and your feelings. Someone who enjoys making fun of your lower status and has a fetish for peasant sex and imp shaming.”

Blitzø cringed, blushed and looked away, ashamed.

“Or this.”

She waved her hand again, as if wiping a slate clean, and another image began to form.

Blitzø watched as the Stolas from the night in the human lab took shape. The massive black shape that devoured the light, all for the red glow from his silhouette and eyes (though it could have been the emergency lights, but Blitzø imagined it was Stolas’s demonic presence).

How could all of that fit inside such a twig of an owl?

He could hear Stolas’s voice in his head.

“Who dares threaten my impish little plaything?”

“What’s the matter, demon hunter? Never seen a REAL demon before?”

Blitzø shivered.

His mothers continued. “A terrifying, awe-inspiring force of power. An indestructible demon Prince. Something that could destroy you with a snap of its fingers.”

She snapped her fingers, startling Blitzø. The demonic Stolas disappeared and in its place appeared Stolas as Blitzø had first met him as a child. Bright and smiling and adorable as f*ck.

Blitzø smiled warmly.

“This is what Stolas truly is inside,” She gestured for Blitzø to go over.

Blitzø hesitated, looking at his mom for confirmation, she smiled warmly and shooed him off like a little kid scared to make new friends.

Blitzø walked over and crouched a few feet away. He watched as little Stolas ran around in a circle, making noises like he was an airplane, laughing the whole time. It was so f*cking wholesome.

“Stolas is a kind, hopeful child who was forced to grow up in a life beyond his choosing and was never truly allowed a childhood” Blitzø’s mother said behind him. She placed her hands on his shoulders.

“He may be wise beyond his years in his studies and the ways of the cosmos,” she gestured to the heavens and a swirl of stars and nebulas danced above their heads.

Blitzø watched in awe, his eyes shining with wonder.

“But Stolas was caged, abused and friendless his whole life…. Until he met you.”

Blitzø looked at his mother, shocked. She smiled warmly and nodded. His eyes welled with tears, but she wiped them away and kissed him on the forehead nodding for him to go back to little Stolas.

Blitzø watched fondly as little Stolas played. Then he remembered when he was first brought to the mansion and Stolas’s father had hit him for bowing to Blitzø…

That daddy f*cker…

Blitzø silently seethed wishing he could go back in time and do something very creative to Stolas’s father.

Blitzø watched little Stolas gleefully run in circles, giggling, hopping, spinning, arms wide like the airplane he was supposed to be.

A short while passed before Blitzø noticed something move in the middle of Stolas’s playful circle. He tried to make it out, but it was small and black so it blended in with its surroundings. Blitzø wouldn’t have even noticed it was there if it hadn’t moved.

“Wait…” Blitzø stood cautiously. “Mom… What’s that?” He pointed at the small black figure.

“Why don’t you go take a look?”

Blitzø looked back at his mother, unsure. She nodded in encouragement.

He made his way over to little Stolas, who stopped his airplaning and ran up to meet Blitzø with a giant smile on his face and sparkles in his eyes.

Blitzø’s heart skipped a beat and he smiled warmly down at little Stolas. This apparently made him very happy because he giggled with glee, grabbed Blitzø’s hand, and began pulling him forward. Blitzø blushed at the feeling of Stolas’s tiny hand in his.

Little Stolas cheerfully lead Blitzø over to a small black mass. They both looked down at it. It didn’t move. Stolas looked up at Blitzø with pleading eyes and tugged at his shirt end.

Christ on a stick. Can this bird get any fucking cuter? F*******ck meeeeeee…..

Blitzø crouched down to be eye-level with little Stolas. Stolas beamed, then pulled the hand he was holding toward the mass.

“You want me to touch it?” Blitzø whispered looking at little Stolas.

He nodded excitedly while making adorable hooting noises.

Blitzø blushed.

Yeah ok. Here I go. Just touching some random thing cuz a kid told me to… Please don’t eat my f*cking hand…

Blitzø reached out and lightly touched it. It was soft. Really soft. It shivered under his touch.

He looked at little Stolas.

“What…?”

The thing moved under his hand, startling him. He jerked his hand back and fell on his ass.

It shook like a cat stretching off its sleep. And a very faint red glow began to emit from it.

Blitzø realized what it was.

F*ck…

“Don’t be afraid,” His mother was beside him now. “It can’t harm you here. Not that it ever would”

Blitzø crawled over to it pspsps-ing at it like it was a cat.

The f*ck am I doing? This won’t work… Holy f*cking sh*t! It’s working!

It turned to look at him. And very cautiously began to creep over to his outstretched hand.

“This is Stolas’s demon isn’t it?” He asked his mother.

“It is.”

“Why is it so small?”

“This is how he sees himself and his power.”

The tiny demon cat-like owl sniffed Blitzø’s fingers then began stropping itself all over his hand, seeming very happy with the affection.

Blitzø obligingly pet demon Stolas, relishing in his softness and the thrum of power that emanated off his body.

The tiny demon clambered up onto Blitzø’s lap, curled up, and coo’ed contentedly.

Blitzø bit his lip hard.

F**********ck. I’m going to explode from CUTENESS! F*CK ME!

“Why would he see himself so small?” Blitzø asked.

His mother knelt beside him.

“Stolas has been made to feel small his entire life.”

Blitzø’s heart sank. He looked at demon Stolas sadly.

“His father neglected and belittled him. His wife abuses him. She’s even gone so far as to hire Striker.”

Blitzø felt a rage like he’d never experienced building inside him.

“Striker…” Blitzø growled.

“Blitzo.” His mother placed a hand on his cheek. “I expect you to work through that information with Stolas and NOT act on it. Do. You. Under. Stand. Me?”

The look in her eyes and her words brokered no negotiation. All the wind left Blitzø’s sails and his rage was doused to a seething simmer.

“Yes, momma,” he mumbled.

Blitzø looked down at demon Stolas and pet his deliciously soft feathers. Stolas’s warm glow and snoring coos comforted Blitzø and helped to calm him.

*****

#helluva boss #stolas #blitzø #stolitz #fanfic #vivziepop #vivzieverse #blitzo #vivienne medrano #brandon rogers

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mysteryshoptls · 2 years ago

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SSR Azul Ashengrotto Bloom Birthday Personal Story: Part 1

"Happy Birthday"

Part 1 (Part 2) (Part 3)

[Octavinelle Dorm – Birthday Party Venue]

Azul: This birthday interview is a prime opportunity for others in the school to understand me better. I must take full advantage of this occasion.

Azul: My research into the interview questions has been perfectly compiled. No matter what they ask me, I'll respond flawlessly.

???: I got the worst luck in having to interview this guy of all people. Out of everyone in Octavinelle, he's the guy I can't stand the most.

Azul: …Oh my, it seems my presenter is here.

Jack: It's Jack Howl, your presenter. Azul…...senpai. Happy Birthday.

Azul: Thank you very much, Jack-san. I am looking forward to today.

Jack: Sure. Let's just jump right into the interview. The first question is…

Jack: “Are you good or bad at flying?”

Azul: This one of all the possible questions…?

Azul: Ahem, please ignore me. You said flight, yes? I am receiving grades sufficient enough to pass my courses.

Jack: You usually get the highest grades on your tests, right? So, when you say, "sufficient enough to pass"…

Jack: So basically, you're definitely saying you're terrible at flying, huh.

Azul: …I can't say whether the term "terrible" is relevant to this situation, but I have been putting forth an extreme amount of effort this whole time.

Azul: I would prefer you to not lump me in with others who just decide it's impossible from the start and give up without trying.

Azul: It would be foolish to simply give up. Even people who aren't able to use magic have developed aircraft, you know.

Jack: …I guess I have to agree with you on that point.

Azul: I am truly pleased you agree. And while there are many crafts that can fly through the sky...

Azul: Out of all of them airplanes are quite spectacular. They can transport you safely to distant lands, and in a short amount of time.

Azul: But what surprised me even more are the abundance of the different transportation facilities on land. I never expected there to be that many alternative modes of transport!

Jack: When you say land… Are you talking about cars and trains?

Azul: Indeed. As long as you pay the fare, public transportation will very conveniently bring you to your final destination.

Jack: I mean, the cost is pretty outrageous if you travel by airplane, let alone trains or busses.

Jack: I'm a little… no, a lot surprised that you'd even suggest you're willing to pay that fare.

Azul: Of course, I would rather limit any unnecessary expenses. However, it is well worth the price to use those modes of transportation.

Azul: Not only does it reduce travel time, but there are other various benefits.

Jack: Other benefits…? Like what?

Azul: Perhaps this is simply so obvious to someone who has lived their whole life on the land that it's just taken for granted.

Azul: Some time ago, I took the bus to the town at the foothills.

Azul: Spending the trip watching the scenery drift by the windows was quite the pleasant respite.

Azul: And the greatest benefit of all would be that I am able to use that time efficiently.

Azul: While on the move, I am able to gather information, check my mail, study, or read. There is nothing better than that.

Jack: Yeah, that's true. It feels like a waste to just zone out while sitting there.

Azul: Right? I can work or study with light background noise, and also look out at the scenery to take a break at times.

Azul: The transportation methods on the surface are truly convenient. I am sincerely in awe.

Jack: HM? Somehow the topic completely shifted to transit. I can't help but feel like he skillfully sidestepped the conversation…

Jack: …I guess I got an answer out of it, so I'll just call it good.

Part 1 (Part 2) (Part 3)

Requested by @pianostarinwonderland.

#twisted wonderland #twst #azul ashengrotto #jack howl #twst azul #twst jack #twst translation #twst birthday

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praecurokat · 5 months ago

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as an extreme procrastinator, these are the strategies I use to get assignments done/study:

telling an AI chatbot that I am going to do my assignment (this creates an irrational fear of disappointing the chatbot, thereby pressuring me to do the assignment)

coming up with an even less enjoyable task that also needs to be done, thereby forcing prioritization of the assignment (ex laundry, cleaning)

going to a fun setting + drinking a caffeinated beverage (classic)

listening to white noise/airplane noise at max volume

exercising, then going back to the assignment

treating the assignment like a silly little ao3 story I am writing (& being a little whimsical and fun with my word choice)

staying off tumblr!!!! until it is done.. i try : (

#procrastination #university student #study motivation #studyblr

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thespacenico · 1 year ago

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not too far (you're my favorite place)

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ klance, 1.1k words

Keith has never been particularly fond of flying.

It’s not that he’s scared—not of the flying itself, at least. Planes just have a tendency to make him claustrophobic, no matter what he tries to make himself more comfortable. Too many people and too little space, too few snacks and way too much noise. There’s no such thing as a good seat on an airplane, and even if there were, there’s no guarantee that there won’t be a fussy baby in the row directly behind.

He’s just very protective of his personal space, something that airlines basically trick people into purchasing in the form of first class tickets, something which a broke college student like Keith can’t afford. If he had his way, he’d rather drive to his destination alone in a quiet, air-conditioned car, even if it added hours and hours and hours to his travel time.

Unfortunately, driving across the Atlantic Ocean isn’t really an option. Keith was just lucky enough to be able to book a direct flight from France to the U.S. so he wouldn’t have to worry about getting lost in a foreign country while trying to catch a connecting flight. The downside is that he’s trapped in a cabin full of strangers for upwards of 10 hours. He has survived on nothing but room temperature water and chips from the airport vending machine.

He’s been in Paris for the last two weeks studying painting techniques for an art internship. Pretty much every art student’s dream, including his. He could have spent days in The Louvre if they’d let him. It feels like only yesterday that he was complaining about how far away the trip was, and now the entire summer has flown by in the blink of an eye.

But as much as he loved his time in France, he’s anxious to get home. Two weeks is a long time. He misses Kosmo, and his bed, and struggling to decide between multiple different sugary sweet iced coffees with an abundance of whipped cream at the coffee shop on campus. The pastries he had from the bakery near his hotel were amazing, but still nothing beats Adam’s banana bread. He misses his friends, and Shiro, and pretending to be annoyed when he comes into his room just to say hi.

When the plane finally touches down and Keith switches his phone off airplane mode, the screen almost immediately lights up with a text.

8:37pm lance ♡: can’t wait to see you :)

Keith bites his lip, no doubt failing miserably to hide his smile. Oh yeah. He supposes he missed Lance, too.

The wait to collect his bag and get off the plane is probably just the same as always, but this one feels particularly infinite. Keith slips into the queue as soon as he gets the chance, his stomach flipping over on itself as he waits for the line to get moving. The moment he steps off the plane, he finally feels like he can breathe again.

He quickly navigates his way through the crowd of fellow passengers, strangely comforted by the familiarity of signs he can read in full without using Google Translate. The line at customs isn’t quite as long as he might have expected, thank goodness, and he makes it through without any issues (also thank goodness). He’s never been so happy to skip the baggage claim, his single suitcase already in tow as he hurries through to the exit.

Despite the hour, the airport terminal is still full of people rushing about. The sound of suitcases rolling and heels clacking is just white noise at this point, and Keith ignores it all as he weaves through the chaos, eyes searching for the person he knows is already waiting for him.

When his gaze finds Lance through the crowd, his shoulders relax and his heart goes still for what feels like the first time in the past 24 hours.

Lance sees him too, his face breaking out into a wide smile as he raises an arm and waves. He’s holding a small bouquet of flowers in his other hand, something he always insists on bringing for Keith no matter how many times he tells him he doesn’t have to. It’s about the gesture for him, something that makes Keith’s chest feel warm just thinking about. His feet carry him forward without even needing to be told, picking up more and more speed with each step.

The second that he’s within reach, Keith drops his suitcase and throws himself into Lance’s waiting arms. Lance wraps his arms around Keith’s shoulders and squeezes, careful not to crush the flowers, and Keith breathes him in as he buries his face in Lance’s neck. They simply hold each other like that for a moment, without speaking, alone together in their own little bubble for the first time in weeks. Tears prick at the corners of Keith’s eyes as Lance presses his face into his hair, kissing his temple.

“Welcome home, sweetheart,” he murmurs. Keith just presses closer, his throat tight.

Lance doesn’t say anything about it when they pull away and Keith wipes underneath his eyes, sniffing a little. It’s been a long day, and Keith is exhausted. Lance has definitely figured as much. He reaches down to pick up the handle of Keith’s suitcase, giving him a little extra time to compose himself. Usually Keith would protest, but he’s learned by now that it’s useless.

“Are you hungry?” Lance asks. Keith is sure he already knows the answer—he’s always too anxious to eat much when flying. It’s sweet of Lance to ask anyway.

“A little,” Keith admits. A lot is what he means, and what Lance has probably gathered.

He smiles as Keith takes the flowers and slides their hands together, tangling their fingers in the space between them. “C’mon. Shiro said we could order takeout, on him. We can put on a movie and crash on the couch, and then you can tell me all about Paris in the morning.”

Keith really could cry. Lance knows him so well, and Keith loves him so much. He nods, swinging their hands a little back and forth. “That sounds nice.”

Lance smiles again, keeps smiling when Keith takes the opportunity to step forward and kiss him properly, lips pressed softly together. His eyes are warm when they separate and he squeezes Keith’s hand, humming. “Let’s go then.”

On the way to the car, Keith drops his head onto Lance’s shoulder. “I missed you,” he says quietly.

In response, Lance lays his head on top of Keith’s and swipes his thumb over his knuckles. Everything about this, about him, is so comforting and familiar that all of Keith’s stress and tension from the day instantly melts away. He could fall asleep right here right now, all just because Lance is there.

He’s never been so happy to be home.

#klance #my writing #started this while on my super long flight last night bc i was too anxious to do anything else :')

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usafphantom2 · 1 year ago

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XB-70 Valkyrie

XB-70 Valkyrie in Cruise Configuration

The No. 1 XB-70A (62-0001) is viewed from above in cruise configuration with the wing tips drooped for improved controllability.

The XB-70 Valkyrie, with a planned cruise speed of Mach 3 and operating altitude of 70,000 feet, was to be the ultimate high-altitude, high-speed manned strategic bomber. Events, however, would cause it to play a far different role in the history of aviation.

To achieve Mach 3 performance, the XB-70 was designed to “ride” its own shock wave, much as a surfer rides an ocean wave. The resulting shape used a delta wing on a slab-sided fuselage that contained the six jet engines that powered the aircraft. The outer wing panels were hinged. During take off, landing, and subsonic flight, they remained in the horizontal position. This feature increased the amount of lift produced, improving the lift-to-drag ratio. Once the aircraft was supersonic, the wing panels would be hinged downward. Changing the position of the wing panels reduced the drag caused by the wingtips interacted with the inlet shock wave. The repositioned wingtips also reduced the area behind the airplane’s center of gravity, which reduced trim drag. The downturned outer panels also provided more vertical surface to improve directional stability at high Mach numbers. Attached to the delta was a long, thin forward fuselage. Behind the cockpit were two large canards, which acted as control surfaces.

XB-70: World's Largest Experimental Aircraft in the 1960s.

The figure standing on the ramp provides a size comparison with the XB-70A aircraft.

As impressive a technological feat as the XB-70 represented, the aircraft was under development at a time when the future of the manned bomber was uncertain. During the late 1950s and early 1960s, many believed that manned aircraft were obsolete, and the future belonged to missiles. As a result, the Kennedy Administration ended plans to deploy the B-70. Two experimental XB-70A prototypes were under construction at North American Aviation when the program was canceled.

At the same time there was growing interest in an American supersonic transport (SST). Jet airliners had cut flight times by more than half in comparison to propeller-powered aircraft. A Mach 2 or 3 SST would make a similar improvement over the new subsonic jet airliners. The Flight Research Center (FRC-now the Armstrong Flight Research Center, Edwards, CA.) had several SST studies underway during the early 1960s. NASA’s Douglas F5D-1 was used for landing studies, a North American F-100C was modified to simulate SST handling qualities, a North American A-5A was used to simulate an SST for tests of the air traffic control system, and a Lockheed JetStar was modified as an in-flight SST simulator.

On the Ramp: XB-70

The XB-70A is shown parked on a ramp at Edwards, California, in 1967.

The XB-70 Valkyrie seemed to be a perfect testbed for SST research. It was the same size as the projected SST designs, and used similar structural materials, such as brazed stainless steel honeycomb and titanium. Thus, the XB-70A’s role changed from a manned bomber prototype to one of the most remarkable research aircraft ever flown.

The XB-70A number 1 (62-001) made its first flight from Palmdale to Edwards Air Force Base, CA, on Sept. 21, 1964. Tests of the XB-70’s airworthiness occurred throughout 1964 and 1965 by North American and Air Force test pilots. The Flight Research Center prepared its instrument package. Although intended to cruise at Mach 3, the first XB-70 was found to have poor directional stability above Mach 2.5, and only made a single flight above Mach 3. Despite the problems, the early flights provided data on a number of issues facing SST designers. These included aircraft noise, operational problems, control system design, comparison of wind tunnel predictions with actual flight data, and high-altitude, clear-air turbulence.

NASA Ames Research Center, Moffett Field, CA, wind-tunnel studies led engineers at North American Aviation in Downey, CA, to build the second XB-70A (62-207) with an added 5 degrees of dihedral on the wings. This aircraft made its first flight on July 17, 1965. The changes resulted in much better handling, and the second XB-70 achieved Mach 3 for the first time on Jan. 3, 1966. The aircraft made a total of nine Mach 3 flights by June.

At the same time, a joint agreement was signed between NASA and the Air Force to use the second XB-70A prototype for high-speed research flights in support of the SST program, selected due to its better aerodynamics, inlet controls, and a much superior instrument package, compared to the first aircraft. The NASA research flights were to begin in mid-June, once the North American Aviation Phase I tests of the vehicle’s airworthiness were completed. NASA research pilot Joe Walker was selected as the project pilot. The flights were to evaluate the aircraft on typical SST flight profiles, and to study the problems of sonic booms on overland flights.

These plans went awry on June 8, 1966, when the second XB-70 crashed following a midair collision with NASA’s F-104N chase plane. Joe Walker, F-104N pilot, died in the accident. North American test pilot Al White ejected from the XB-70 in his escape capsule, but received serious injuries in the process. Co-pilot Maj. Carl Cross, who was making his first flight in the XB-70, was unable to eject and died in the crash.

The deaths of Walker and Cross, and the destruction of the second XB-70 had major consequences for the research program. The second XB-70 had been selected for the Phase II tests, which were to be conducted jointly by NASA and the Air Force. With this aircraft now destroyed, only the first aircraft was available. Given the aircraft’s shortcomings, the Air Force began to doubt that it would be able to meet the Phase II test goals.

The first XB-70 was undergoing maintenance and modifications at the time of the accident to its sister ship. It did not fly again until Nov. 3, 1966. Col. Joe Cotton piloted it, while NASA research pilot Fitzhugh Fulton served as co-pilot. The flight reached a top speed of Mach 2.1. Between November 1966 and the end of January 1967, a total of 11 joint Air Force/NASA research flights occurred. Cotton, Fulton, and Van H. Shepard of North American Aviation were crewmen on these flights. A top speed of Mach 2.57 was the highest attained during the remainder of the XB-70 program.

These flights were made as part of the National Sonic Boom Program. The XB-70 flew at differing altitudes, Mach numbers, and weights over an instrumented test range at Edwards. The “boom carpet” area was determined and the overpressure measured on two specially constructed housing units. The tests showed that a large aircraft, such as the XB-70 or the projected SST, could generate overpressures high enough to cause damage. Moreover, when the XB-70 made a turn, its shock waves converged, and often doubled the overpressure on the ground.

Following these tests, the XB-70 was grounded for maintenance that lasted 2 1/2 months. The Air Force had concluded by that point that the XB-70 program should be turned over to NASA as soon as possible. FRC director Paul Bikle and Air Force Flight Test Center (AFFTC) commander Maj. Gen. Hugh Manson created a joint FRC/AFFTC XB-70 operating committee on March 15, 1967. This was patterned on similar committees established for the X-15 and lifting bodies. The NASA XB-70 program continued to receive Air Force assistance, in terms of aircraft support and Air Force test pilots.

The first NASA XB-70 flight occurred on April 25, 1967, by Fulton and Cotton. By the end of March 1968, another 12 research flights had been completed. The pilots included Fulton, Cotton, and Shepard, as well as Lt. Col. Emil Sturmthal and NASA research pilot Don Mallick. The flights acquired data to correlate with an Ames ground-based SST simulator and the JetStar in-flight SST simulator at FRC. Other XB-70 research goals were to measure its structural response to turbulence; determine the aircraft’s handling qualities during landings; and investigate boundary layer noise, inlet performance, and structural dynamics, including fuselage bending and canard flight loads.

The XB-70 underwent modifications after a final flight on March 21, 1968. During research flights, the XB-70 pilots had frequently experienced trim changes and buffeting during high-speed, high-altitude flights. These resulted from clear-air turbulence and rapidly changing atmospheric temperatures. For a specialized research aircraft, these characteristics were little more than annoying; on a commercial SST, however, they would be uncomfortable for the passengers, increase the pilots’ workload, and shorten the structural fatigue life of the SST.

XB-70A Rolls Out After Landing

The XB-70A No. 1 is shown rolling out after landing, employing drag chutes to slow down.

The XB-70 was fitted with two small vanes for the Identically Located Acceleration and Force (ILAF) experiment. The vanes rotated 12 degrees at a rate of up to 8 cycles per second. This induced a structural vibration in the XB-70 at a known frequency and amplitude. The XB-70’s accelerometers detected the disturbances, then signaled the aircraft’s stability augmentation system to damp out the motion. When XB-70 research flights resumed on June 11, 1968, the ILAF proved its ability to reduce the effects of turbulence and atmospheric temperature changes.

Despite the accomplishments of the XB-70, time was running out for the research program. NASA had reached an agreement with the Air Force to fly research missions with a pair of YF-12As and a “YF-12C,” which was actually an SR-71. These represented a far more advanced technology than that of the XB-70. In all, the two XB-70s had logged 1 hour and 48 minutes of Mach 3 flight time. A YF-12 could log this much Mach 3 time in a single flight.

The final XB-70 research flight occurred on Feb. 4, 1969. Fulton and Sturmthal made a subsonic structural dynamics test and ferry flight. The XB-70 took off from Edwards and flew to Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, OH, where the aircraft was put on display at the Air Force Museum. The first XB-70 made 83 flights totaling 160 hours and 16 minutes, while the second XB-70 logged 46 flights in its brief life, totaling 92 hours and 22 minutes.

@kadonkey via X

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danascullysjournal · 2 years ago

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If You Will Let Me

An X-Files Post-Milagro Fic

WC: 4,200

This is chapter is part of a larger fic on AO3. If you like, the full work is available here.

TW: Demonic possession, Demons, Physical Harm, Trauma, Medical Trauma, Mild Alcohol Use

____________________

Chapter 19: Protecting Us

Sleep had come in short, interrupted segments during the red-eye flight from Chicago. Though both were leery of letting down their guard, sleep deprivation had taken its toll, and Scully had found herself succumbing to the constant white noise and gentle vibration of the airplane as it carried them home. Instead of nightmares or demons, she was roused by turbulence and sporadic cries from a baby a few seats in front of them.

Through slitted eyes, she saw Mulder’s head cocked back, lolled to one side. His slow, quiet snores were strangely reassuring. Here, there was rest. A cautiously optimistic thought drifted through her tired mind. Maybe they really did leave the demons behind them. Sighing contentedly, she carefully lay her head on his shoulder and drifted back to sleep.

The plane landed in DC well after midnight, leaving both agents partially rested, but groggy and sluggish as they collected bags and headed out to the parking garage. Their footsteps echoed through the empty concrete cavern, closing in on the car. Each step was further from the calm security of the airplane cabin, further from the reassurance of other people around them.

“Just us again.” Mulder offered a thin grin. “Ready for more quality time?”

Scully pressed her lips together, looking up at him. “I can’t be that bad, can I?”

“Never.” He meant it, but somehow the sentiment caught in his throat and the word fell to the ground, hollow.

Weary, they headed home through empty downtown streets, uneasy silence between them. Bleak buildings towered above them, their shadowed facades sliced by dull blades of flickering street lights. The darkness was suffocating.

Neither dared to mention it.

____________________

The lights in Scully’s bedroom were on, but it did little to calm the anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach. The unease had only grown since leaving the airport. Since being alone with Mulder again. She sat up for what felt like the hundredth time, studying him carefully.

There had been no question, once they had finally landed in DC, of where Mulder would stay. His apartment was still drenched in the memories of her blood, and she couldn’t bring herself to sleep alone. But her bed felt smaller, shrunken down by their bodies prudently spaced apart. It was uncomfortable. Awkward. Mulder was doing his best, she knew. He was respecting her insistence on putting their relationship on hold… But it all felt stilted. Cold. The void between them was mere inches, but somehow insurmountable. It was a chasm she had created for protection, but it only served as a glaring reminder of her vulnerability, her loneliness. Her emptiness.

It ached to be filled.

She felt the pang just as much, if not more. Their breathing seemed magnified, echoing within the emptiness, reminding her of what should be. With each breath, she cursed the house. Cursed the demons. Cursed the chasm of her own making.

Cursed the breaths she took and let out, silent, too afraid to begin again.

Sleep wouldn’t offer her a reprieve. It kept its distance, just as Mulder did. Just out of reach. She fidgeted with the oversized comforter, examining the machine-made stitching that divided the blanket into thick patterned poufs. Stitching fabric, stitching skin. That was easy. But all of this… this was not.

The question of Padgett was layered thickly over the uneasy confusion between them. That man… or body… or spirit… She couldn’t reconcile the pieces. She had been held fast and attacked by a man she knew to be dead. But it had happened. Hadn’t it? Residual visions of the cold corpse strangling her, cutting into her, challenged the validity of her memories of the body. The autopsy. Everything.

It had been him. But logically, it couldn’t be.

Except…

Samantha hadn’t been real. Mulder had said as much. She coveted the certainty he seemed to possess. In the midst of insomnia and awkward tension, it seemed as good a topic to bring up as any. Anything to break this barrier of emptiness.

She cleared her throat.

“Mulder, how did you know it wasn’t her?”

He stared at her for a long moment. The silence was sharpened by the disbelief and hurt etched on his face. When he finally spoke, it was with the voice of someone betrayed. “How could you ask that, Scully?”

“I-”

“Don’t you think I would know the difference between my own sister and an evil spirit?”

She hurried to clarify, struck by the anger in his eyes. “Mulder, I do, that’s why I’m asking- what was your litmus test? How did you know? Because I really think that was Padgett… but that’s impossible. He’s in the morgue.” She licked her lips nervously. “Isn’t he?”

Her eyes screamed the fear she refused to admit.

Mulder’s glare softened.

“Oh.” He lowered his head, rubbing his forehead with his hands. “I’m sorry, Scully. I shouldn’t have thought-”

“It’s okay.” Her fingers touched his. “We’re just… both on edge.”

His hand closed, enveloping her small fingers in his palm. He squeezed softly, briefly, before his hand retreated back to his side of the canyon between them. He gazed toward the corner of the room, at nothing in particular, recalling the demons that had manifested the shell of his sister.

“It was almost her. Almost.” His voice was grim. “It looked like her, walked like her. Acted a lot like her. But the voice.” He nodded, as if to himself. “That’s how I knew for sure. Every time she- they- appeared, the voice would be close to what I remember, but not quite. It’s like… they could get every other part of my memory of her right, but something stopped them from having her voice.”

“Like they didn’t know how?”

“Or they couldn’t. I’m not sure yet, but I think it has something to do with possession. Owning. But the demons don’t have my sister, they don’t have her soul, or her voice. So they… try, with what they can get from our minds, but it’s a facsimile.”

Scully’s brow furrowed. “Like a bad photocopy.”

“Right.”

Crossing her arms, she straightened herself up. The implications of Mulder’s theory shook her. “If you’re right… they have him.” Her blue eyes were uneasy. “That voice… the body… it was Padgett.”

“You’re sure?”

She looked away. “I’m sure. I don’t know how they would have gotten him… unless he isn’t in the morgue anymore.”

Mulder thought for a moment. “What if it isn’t about the body at all? Maybe what they need is the spirit. The soul.”

The bedroom fell silent again, save for their breathing. She felt him watching her, carefully, like a parent watches a child who has just fallen hard. Checking for signs of injury, of fear. Ready to console and reassure. For reasons she didn’t quite understand, she resented it.

“I’m fine, Mulder. Really. And anyway, maybe they won’t come here. We’re so far from that place.”

Mulder studied her, the skeptical eyebrow she usually wore planted firmly out of place on his forehead. “How do you think demons travel, Scully?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Well, I don’t know.”

“I don't know either, but I doubt a few miles are too much for them.” He considered. “I should be thrilled you’re so open to demonic possession as a possibility, really. Never thought I’d see the day. Wish it was better circumstances though.”

She cast an irritated sideways glare.

“I’m not just open to anything. I know what I saw. This particular incident- it’s hard for me to refute.”

“But you could.” His tone was flat. He sat up alongside her.

She shrugged. “Anyone could. It could be hallucinations induced by psychosis, perhaps exacerbated by sleep deprivation, or-”

“That’s what you believe?”

His voice held a tinge of ridicule, but she chose to ignore it.

“Of course not, Mulder.”

He nodded, then looked at her pointedly. “You don’t believe it, but that’s what you’ll say to Kersh?”

Scully sighed.

“Not just that, no, but I do feel it’s my obligation to provide all the facts as well as offer plausible explanations. I’m aware of what Kersh will think if I only present one account with little or no verifiable proof.”

Mulder scoffed. “That’s my point. You’re good at that. Explaining things away. We were almost destroyed, and possessed, and you come up with some alternative, something that’s logical, and safe.”

“There has to be an explanation for what we experienced, Mulder. Supernatural or otherwise. I’m not denying what we saw, what happened. I was there too, remember?” She felt anger rising and tried to tamp it down. “And what’s so bad about being safe?”

“Safe isn’t always what’s right. Or best.”

She eyed him carefully, her lips sealed in a grim line, and stood slowly. Arms crossed. Shielding her heart. “This isn’t about the case, is it?”

He held her tired gaze with his own exhausted eyes.

“Maybe I should sleep on the couch.” He sighed as he pushed aside the plush comforter. His feet padded down on her floor.

She watched, pensive, caught between turning away in defeat and anger, or lunging at his hand in desperation. Her body failed her, and she stood dumbly, staring. As he turned and grabbed his pillow, she cleared her throat and found a quiet sliver of her voice.

“I’m trying to protect you. To protect us. All the I love yous in the world mean nothing if we’re dead.”

Mulder stopped short, pillow dangling from his unconsciously tight fist. He took a deep breath before he spoke. “I respectfully disagree, Scully. Every time I said ‘I love you’ to my sister, it mattered, every time you said it to your father. And to your sister. You can’t say death negates that- you’re the one with a good family. A nice, loving Catholic upbringing- how am I the one explaining this to you?”

His eyes bore into her, demanding an answer that she couldn’t give.

It was no easier for her to banish the demons herself than it was to admit to him: fully loving someone, anyone at all, was confusing. His idea of love in her family was so very opposite her actual experience. Much as the Scully household had lauded it, love was a word. A duty. What she found with him was different from any of the compulsory, sanitized definitions she had learned in childhood. She found herself possessed by it, but paralyzed by her own confusion and fear.

When she finally spoke, it was cautious. Timid. As if her voice carried words that would shatter, should she dare throw them carelessly.

In truth, the words couldn’t shatter. But she could.

“I think… you know more about love, believe more about it, than you say you do.” She drew in a deep breath. “More than I do… but I - I want to learn...” Suddenly she felt astoundingly ignorant. Love should be the first thing learned in life. But what she had learned, had experienced, seemed horrifically wrong. A shadow of what should have been.

If her assertion meant anything to him, he didn’t show it. Instead, he surveyed her thoroughly, almost clinically, studying the creases in her forehead, the thin, drawn line of lips pursed tight. The squeezed skin and fabric on her chest from protective crossed arms, wrapped too tightly. The blinking of pale eyes that fought emotion. He was a profiler at work.

Finally, his eyes rested back on hers.

“Do you feel protected?”

Scully pressed her lips together even tighter, the soft rose color draining from them in favor of nervous white. She lowered her gaze, well aware that he already knew the answer.

“Me either, Scully.” He ran his fingers through his hair and over his jaw, raking over scratchy beard stubble. “Listen. I’m tired, I'm frustrated and I don’t see a point in pretending there’s nothing between us when there is. And we know it. And I’m pretty sure the demons know it too, or I wouldn’t have ended up a possessed puppet on the floor.” His voice was rising, exasperated. “And then, after shoving me away the entire day, you try to tell me that love is meaningless? I don’t understand, Scully. I’m trying. But I don’t.”

“I didn’t mean that it’s meaningless. It isn’t meaningless.” She felt hot tears she had fought so hard to contain, and turned abruptly. “I’m getting us something to drink. That might help.”

She moved to the doorway, checking each corner carefully as she went as a matter of course. And paranoia.

Mulder looked at the clock on her bedside table. 2:37 a.m. He blew a heavy sigh. “I dunno if that’s the best idea, Scully. We have to be back at work in 6 hours.”

She shrugged and left the bedroom without looking back.

____________________

He should go after her.

He stood staring, his lips twisted in an uncomfortable frown. Maybe he had been too harsh… almost certainly, he realized. They were both haggard from the past few days, and he felt his patience stretched too thin, balanced precariously on the blade of a knife. He should go in, apologize, and be there for her. He tried to work himself up to it.

“Dammit, Scully… I’m no good at this either. I’m sorry.”

His muttering was nothing if she didn’t hear it, though. He tossed the pillow back onto her bed, moving toward the doorway.

The shuffling in the kitchen, opening of cabinets and drawers, made Mulder hesitate. He could hear her talking quietly to herself. Processing, or cursing him, he couldn’t be sure.

He huffed in irritation, wishing he could see inside her mind the way the demons had seen into his own. But he was not omniscient, and stood painfully aware of his inadequacies. Without speaking to her, he would remain woefully incapable of seeing or understanding what she truly needed from him.

____________________

Scully startled a bit, surprised by Mulder’s silhouette in the doorway.

“Oh, hey. I didn’t hear you coming.” She shut the cabinet door with the back of her hand. The wine glasses made a pleasant clink as she set them on the counter. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right. I won’t pour much. I don’t want a hangover any more than you do… I just… It’s been a rough week, we both could use this.”

She grabbed the corkscrew from the counter and twisted it into the top of a new bottle.

“We um… we didn’t have some amazing family, Mulder. Not like you think. Not- I mean we had everyone.” She kicked herself for being so callous. “I know it was hard for you, with your dad. And Samantha.”

The cork pulled from the bottle with a low, satisfied pop.

She looked him over, his tired, worn features darkened in the doorway, his eyes studying her. Part of her still wanted to hold back, to keep her emotions and experiences locked away, where they couldn’t be used against her.

So many people had used her weaknesses as weapons to break her down. Including Padgett.

But this was Mulder. If she wouldn’t take that chance on him, would she ever, with anyone?

She gathered herself. “We cared for each other. We still do, what’s left of us. But… Dad was military, you know. We had respect. Duty. Loyalty. I know he loved us, but he didn’t say it much. Didn’t show it.” She looked down, feeling small. Vulnerable. “Not like you do, I mean. Didn’t hug much…. He tried, did the best he could. But. It did hurt Mom… and us.”

Sighing, she turned from him to pour the wine.

“When I said you know more about love, I meant it. It’s… it’s hard for me. You’re different, and caring, and… I do want to protect you from them, if they come here, but I’m also just scared. Scared that I won’t be what you really want. That I can’t be, because… I don’t know how.” She took a small sip from her glass, letting the red wine warm her throat. “But I want to learn. I do.”

She turned back, regarding him cautiously. So much of herself had been laid bare, and she searched his face for signs of understanding. Anything that would help to unbind the thick knot in her stomach.

He nodded, his lips pressed in a thoughtful line. It was a small gesture, but encouraging. He took a step forward.

“Thank you for listening, Mulder. For being so patient with me.” She smiled softly, holding out a glass. “To learning what love is. With you.”

He offered a strange, tilted grin, stepping closer.

She felt a sudden chill on her skin.

“Love is complicated.” The voice rasped unnaturally through Mulder’s mouth, and the grin grew into a sadistic smile.

Scully’s eyes widened in realization. She shuffled backwards, running into the counter. The wine glass dropped from her fingers and shattered on the floor.

His sneer stretched, shifting. Changing. Molding itself into the sallow face she had come to fear more than anything else. In her periphery, she could make out black, wavering mist filling the kitchen, dimming the lights. Pulling itself into pillars of smoke. Before she could think, the dark shadow of his hand clamped down on mouth, hard and cold, slamming her head against the cabinet.

Her stifled cry slipped through the blacked fingers.

“Dana wants to know how to love.” Padgett’s voice trickled through pale, cracked lips tinged a washed-out blue. “I could have taught you. But. The heart wants what it wants. Doesn’t it.” An icy finger traveled across her collarbone, fingernail raking across the path the scalpel had pulled through her skin.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, its rhythm mixing with whispers of ravenous souls that beckoned from the inky swells. She shook her head against the force of his hand, straining against his leaden weight.

Mulder… he was still in the bedroom.

Maybe he could hear.

She tried to scream, but only managed a muffled, gasping yell against the rotten skin of his palm.

____________________

The clattered ringing of broken glass made Mulder’s stomach drop.

He ran.

“Scully?” He barreled through the hallway and into the kitchen, driven by a panic that had become second nature. As he entered, the familiar, writhing darkness surrounded him.

Whispers called to him from inside the mass of smoke. Whispers that sounded almost like Samantha. And another voice, one he wished to never hear again.

____________________

“We can’t leave a story unfinished.” The words wavered, sung in a sickening chorus of voices, Padgett, and thousands more. His cold eyes stared, unblinking. “It’s time.”

She felt the licking of dark mist over her arms, beginning to grasp and tighten. Cold. The souls pricked into her pores. Opening her. Pressing in as Padgett’s body held her fast, his icy fingers digging at the flesh above her heart.

Her blood, a sacrifice to them.

Her heart, his possession.

Her soul, theirs.

A feral scream retched out of her lungs.

“Scully!” Mulder’s voice cut through the whispers around her.

Like a rag doll wrung by a child, Padgett’s head twisted backwards. He stared Mulder down, thin hiss began to rise from his throat. His eyes shone white, glowering at the interruption.

The inky swells of spirits drew themselves up into wavering pillars, pressing on the ceiling, pulling themselves toward Mulder.

It was a small distraction. But enough. Gathering all her strength, Scully pushed herself away from the counter, turning to shove her shoulder into Padgett, forcing him off. She met nothing but the chill of stale air and tumbled down, landing on the hard kitchen floor. The dull thud of her body was muffled by violent hisses of the demons around them.

The kitchen lights were obliterated by the masses filling the apartment. Scully tried to focus through the darkness. She felt dizzy from the gash on the back of her head, sickened by the oppressive smell of rotted flesh that hovered in the room.

“Mulder?” His name tumbled from her lips like a prayer.

“Scully, I’m here.” His eyes searched, frantic in the darkness that had filled the kitchen. “Keep talking… I can’t see you.” He was breathless. “Please? Scully!”

She answered with a weak, muffled moan.

Padgett’s form had dissolved itself into a thick, inky mass, covering the floor, enveloping her. Mulder plunged his hands down into the icy swells, searching desperately. His fingers met clammy, cold skin. Slick with blood.

“Come on.” Mulder’s hand traversed the wet skin on her arm, finding her fingers.

“I can’t.” The voice was small.

He squeezed her hand tightly as the towering forms that filled the room unwound themselves and poured over them.

“We can, Scully. We have to.”

But she didn’t want to.

Neither did he.

The darkness washed over, whispering. Calming. He felt ribbons of inky fingers wrapping around him, digging in. Beginning to enter.

A cracking, thunderous pounding shattered through black kitchen. Again. And again.

“Open the door!”

The apartment door shook with another fist.

“Ms. Scully? Open up!”

Ringing inside his head, Mulder heard the demons scream.

He screamed with them.

Metal jingled, then scraped and turned inside the deadbolt lock. The door flew open, slamming into the wall, doorknob crumpling the drywall behind it.

The demons released their grip. He could feel them in his skin, like a needle pulling from a vein, as they ripped themselves away.

The kitchen lights glared into his eyes, and he squinted.

He could just make out the blurred forms of four men before he lost consciousness.

____________________

The landlord stood near the doorway with the police officer, giving space for the paramedics to work.

Glass shards were strewn across the kitchen floor, sparkling in the incandescent light. In the middle of the room two figures lay still, hand in hand. Spilled wine and spattered blood marred the floorboards.

The blonde paramedic surveyed the kitchen, shaking his head. “Looks like it started as a fun time, anyway.” He stepped over the empty wine bottle on the floor, making his way to the bodies. “These usually do.”

“What do you mean?” The landlord looked irritated, while the remaining men exchanged looks.

“Off record,” the officer said blandly, “looks like domestic violence. Started as a good night, then things went wrong. And now there’s a mess, probably some charges to press when they sober up.”

“Pulse and respiration on both?”

The dark haired paramedic nodded to his partner. “Yeah. Barely.”

The landlord stared at the two forms on the floor. Behind the woman trailed a smeared path of wine mixed with blood, as if she had been pulling herself toward the man.

“Doesn’t seem like domestic violence to me.” He shook his head and looked away.

The officer squinted and surveyed the glass shards on the floor, the blood spattered on the cabinet door. “We’ll decide that. Tell me about this renter.”

“Well, she’s really quiet, but a good tenant. Pays rent early. Works for the government, I think. Takes great care of the place, it’s one of the best kept apartments in the building.” He shrugged. “She’s almost never home, but when she is home, there’s never complaints.”

The police officer nodded, writing in his notepad.

“Do you know the man here?”

“Not by name. I’ve seen him a few times, I think. Nothing unusual or bad that I recall.” The landlord sighed. “Sorry ‘bout all this. Just, Barbara never complains. She’s been here forever, so when she called so concerned at this hour, I figured there’s a problem.”

“Yeah…” Raising his eyebrows, the officer pursed his lips. “It looks like there was a problem, alright.”

“This one’s pulse is really weak. Let’s get her out first so we can start an IV, get her stabilized. Then we’ll move him.” The blonde paramedic rose to retrieve the gurney from behind him.

As if in response, the man on the floor gasped for air, arms flailing wildly. His eyes were wide and he growled, as if fighting something unseen.

“Whoa!” The dark haired paramedic grabbed an arm, pinning him back down. “Hey, you’re okay. You’re okay.” He turned to other men, frantic. “Can I get a hand?”

The officer was already crossing the room. He planted himself firmly on the other arm while the paramedic tried to calm the man down.

“Sir, you’re safe-”

The man’s eyes rolled backward, and he stiffened, turning his head to the side.

The policeman looked to the paramedic, concerned. Just as they began to roll his body over to a safe position for a seizure, the man’s eyes refocused. He blinked, twisting his head back slowly to look up to the officer.

“Where… is she?”

The officer hesitated, but saw the panic in the man’s eyes. “We have her, sir. She’s safe. Who are you?”

The man’s body relaxed and he closed his eyes, satisfied that the woman he was with was alive. He licked his dry lips and drew a labored breath before he spoke.

“Fox Mulder… FBI. She’s Dana Scully. FBI… You have to… keep her safe. Don’t leave … don’t leave her alone…”

The men glanced at each other.

“What happens if we leave her alone?” The police officer’s eyes shot back to the bloody cabinet door.

Fox Mulder rolled his head toward the voice and cracked open his eyes. “If you leave her… if you leave us… he comes back… they… they come back.”

____________________

A huge thank you to all of you who take the time to read these updates, to encourage, and to wait while I take too long to write! You are so very appreciated.

#today-in-fic #txf fic #msr #msr fic #horror fic #mulder and scully #TW: demons #TW: trauma #TW: medical trauma #TW: seizure #TW: blood #TW: mild alcohol use #dana scully #fox mulder #the x files #x files

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