#dean/vehicle

[kirathehyrulian]

Warming up before the up coming spncarfuckersweek4 during 6/10-14/2024.

Before making this comic, I thought motor oil was always black. But, no, it's normally a yellow or amber coming out of the bottle and gets darker as it ages.

For more edits: AO3 spncarfuckers series [click here] or myedits tag [click here]

#spncarfuckersweek #spncarfuckersweek hiatus #spn humor #incorrect spn quotes #spn 10x01 #dean/vehicle #demon!dean #judgey!crowley #grapefruit #myedits

[searchsystem]

Voyager / Ridley / Dean Fast / Bicycle / 2023

#voyager #ridley #dean fast #bicycle #2023 #numbers #typography #vehicle

[shallowseeker]

Today, am a little obsessed with the concept of Cas + cars

The "pimpmobile" as the mark of immaturity & unsettled identity:

Ah, yes. THE Lincoln V. Very "Tom Selleck." (Magnum PI)

When he steals the Continental "pimpmobile," Cas is symbolically the young buck who hasn't settled down. Indeed, in seasons 9 & 10, Cas is wandering the world in search of penance, inevitably finding himself drawn into another guerilla-angel war. (The new flock with Hannah has all the markings of modern warfare, from the tracking to the maps on the wall. They're just trying to get home, but it's still war.)

In groups, Cas does not drive the car. (Driving is still pretty boring thing to him, and he misses his wings.) So, then, the Continental isn't perfect fit...he just likes it. It's a "searching" car. Cas is trying to find his preferred path.

1978 Lincoln Continental Mark V. (Image by Mikael.)

///

But perhaps Cas grows into the retro meaning of the Continental

The 1978 Lincoln Continental V was modeled after the Thunderbird and sold as a luxury item. Popular in its own right, colors like the one Cas drive were referred to as "understated like a diamond solitaire." It's aimed at the idea that "'real' men command quiet power and don't need to throw it around for show."

(Images by Mikael.)

When Cas is with Hannah, he starts embodying the retro meaning of the car: "Good guy you got there," says the trucker after seeing him interact with her child. Slowly, throughout season 10, the idea of Cas + parenthood is being planted and watered.

At this junction, Cas makes a bold switch to try to appear more human than angel, and among this is doing penance to Claire Novak. Cas learns that being a father fills him with...something. It's a feeling that appeals to him and gives his life a new kind of meaning. He's starting to create a life-framework he prefers.

Yes, the Continental is a "searching" kind of car. Cas drives it primarily when he's without his own grace. (Who ARE you now? Who are you, without "all the bells and whistles?")

When Metatron steals the Continental, thus begins his own dark night of the soul, and we see him struggling with soul-searching up until season 11. Indeed, Metatron has also lost his grace, and he loses his faith in everything, from his father to the very idea of the novel and stories.

When Cas gets the car back, something has changed in him, and it no longer fits. He's got his own grace back, for starters. He also starts staying in the bunker more permanently, the choosing of the human struggle over heaven's war. He's feeling out his human family and finding where he wants to fit within it. ///

The brown truck as mark of family!protectorhood

And post-Continental, it turns out Cas is toootally a truck guy. A few things about trucks:

they sit higher on the road, so the driving experience is totally different than a sedan, or even a muscle car

in terms of handling, you can generally be much rougher with them

that is, they're less responsive to steering, so you can grip and turn considerably less delicately, which might be really nice for someone like Cas

they're less responsive to braking inputs due to their suspension and weight, so if Cas is a lead-foot, this would also be very nice for him

they can carry heavier loads than cars and for greater distances

they're also very reliable and they're less likely to break down

when they do break down, they're easier to work on

Cas's 1987 Ford F-Series from season 12

In season 12, when Cas steals the workerman's truck, he takes on family protector more overtly (or the "father" role, as Cas conceptualizes it in season 15's Gimme Shelter). The protector!truck is a SPN mode reflected all the way from John's truckzilla to the tan Ford truck (same model, nearly same year) that Dean drives when he's "dad" to Lisa & Ben's family unit. Though perhaps unlike Dean, Cas thrives in this role. It's comfortable to him.

From SPN 1x21, John's black 1981 GMC Sierra Grande truckzilla, and from SPN 6x21, Dean's tan 1988 Ford F250. Far right is the The Ford of the kind man who offered him water and a sandwich after The Great Fall in SPN 9x01.

The tan truck is a positive sign of a healthy father!protector, whereas John's truck represents a crumbling of strength and brokenness, with only the outward signs of being a stable father. The tan truck also has a positive motif of kindness, since it bears a striking resemblance to the truck of the guy who showed Cas compassion when he fell (offering him food and drink).

Cas's taking of this vehicle as he rushes to rescue a kidnapped Sam represents a resolution to offer support as a father figure to Sam, post-Dean's "death." Certainly, Cas is Sam's friend; it's not as simple as Cas being solely his angelic protector figure. But there is an element of "parental" support in how he interacts with Sam, especially in later seasons (Gadreel + grace extraction, loss of the AU hunters + subsequent mentorship).

///

Stealing the vehicles, though!

Nevertheless, there's something a little dark in Cas stealing the vehicles, subtly reflecting the horror of the taking of Jimmy's vessel in season 4.

However, since his body was restored to Cas directly a la "organ donation" from God, this late-seasons vehicle choice can also reflect a choosing of roles and identity.

Of note, in his later vehicles, Cas usually drives them, even in groups. They are more fully his.

///

The tan truck + Jack n' Kelly

But oh, back to the tan Ford truck. This little farm truck is cute. It is probably in this truck that Cas first listens to the mixtape.

Cas continues his parenthood journey in it when he spirits Kelly n' Jack away. When Cas is agonizing over whether or not to kill Kelly, his little tan truck breaks down. It reflects his uncertainty to take on this new mantle of mature fatherhood, almost like Jack is pausing the narrative as he considers if Cas will be a good choice of Father. And after this, in the hotel room, Jack indeed chooses Cas.

In doing so, Jack's also choosing the Winchester human family of which Cas is a part. We see this when Jack literally steals Baby, and Kelly waxes poetic about how Cas has been chosen as she drives it. (And Baby does NOT break down. She complies, like she's agreeing that Jack should be born and Cas is indeed the Father.)

(Images WinchesterFamilyBusiness)

Alas, it ends in tragedy. There's something so achingly sad when we see the abandoned truck in front of this dilapidated lakehouse in the valley. It's a desolate image next to the dusty, dull impala. And unlike with the Continental, which represented a Cas trying to fill a graceless, human role by reflecting Dean, the truck showcases a more integrated Cas with new familial role: spouse. Which is why the widower arc feels like that.

Visually, Cas (the truck) and the house (the family unit) are dead. The war has killed them and left only an orphaned child in its wake. And Dean and Sam are in the valley. (Indeed, when Cas returns, in the script, he's described as long-lost father, returning home from War.)

(Lakehouses have so much spooky symbolism with regards to the interconnectivity of space and time, but that's another tale for another day.)

///

The Dodge SRT-10, AKA The Family Truck: renewed faith + fatherhood + retaking of Angelicity

Ah, the Dodge.

So, I love that Cas has this truck in particular. This truck is legendary, kinda controversial and it's just SO ridiculously overpowered and goes SO fast for a truck, hahaha. It's definitely a family support vehicle.

Originally, it is ALSO the vehicle, throughout multiple versions of the script, that was supposed to have the broken tapedeck. (Which means, since it's a 2000s-era truck, that someone probably had to put in a CD-tape combo. Ahem. Anyway, I prefer these original scripts, because this broken tapedeck mirrors Cas's empty deal wonderfully.)

So, the Dodge. With 500 horsepower and 525 lb-ft of torque, it is the fastest truck available, doing 0-60 in a reported 5.2 seconds. It's just so overkill for a quad family truck. ("Nobody else was making a four-door truck with 510 horsepower, so the Dodge people took it upon themselves to fill the void.")

This looks like a shopped-for truck. You're not just gonna happen across a truck like this. "Less than 10,000 of these were ever produced and with a fire breathing V10 under the hood, they were quite possibly one of the coolest trucks ever made." So, we can guess that yes, Cas does appear to genuinely like trucks, and he definitely seems to have chosen this sledgehammer of a vehicle.

The Dodge Ram 1500 SRT-10 pickup truck (specifically for work/hunting and family support). It's a stupid lot of power stuffed into a truck, like how Cas is an angel is stuffed into a human.

Also, this hints that Cas likes rapid acceleration and driving fast. This makes sense to me, as he complained about the Impala being slow, and he told Hannah in season 10 that he would take the curves FASTER "to help her nausea." (Oh, Cas...)

For the later seasons, this truck is visually very "Cas," and in scenes and drafts, he's exclusively the one driving it, and he's usually driving it when other family members are feeling vulnerable; ergo, support. (See original draft versions of The Spear.) Like the specter of the double diamonds in 15x09, The Trap, Cas is utilitarian and pragmatic, a divergent-convergent thinker.

In season 14, Cas also drives:

The blue Ford Fiesta

But I'm 99% confident this is Sam's car

Because vintage SPN underlines that blue, nondescript cars are actually Sam's preferred car make and look

It's fuel efficient, so Cas takes it to the shaman

Also, Cas's acting on behalf of Sam's wishes when he goes to see Sergei

Ford LTD Crown Victoria (the bird poop car)

Presumably, he drives the bird poop car in Peace of Mind to be a little more incognito than the big, imposing truck

It also reflects Sam's low state of mind

Sam drives it in Moriah, too, a direct parallel to Sam versus Chuck and Sam versus Mayor Harrington from Charming Acres

The super sexy 1968 Mercury M100

Another truck Cas drives in late season 15 with Jack is this open-bed teal classic. The incredibly collectible 1968 Mercury M100.

And this M100 is delicious.

It's also, like the SRT-10, highly sought after and not a truck you're going to just happen across. It's another shopped-for truck. (I find it unlikely that it was one of the classics sitting in the MoL bunker, since they were slaughtered by Abaddon in 1958 and this one's make is 1968.)

So, either Cas has gotten into rare trucks (a real possibility since this one is even more challenging to drive), or Dean shopped this one with him, too. It's probably a mix of both, considering that in 13x22's Exodus script, Cas is shown helping with basic mechanics and repair. It's very possible that Cas has developed an interest alongside his newfound interest in human language and metaphors.

ANYWAY, these M100's are as classy as fuck and are actually workhorse trucks, too.

It's got a legendary straight six engine, and again, there weren't many of these vehicles built or sold. (Straight six is a trusty little pump of power, especially for the time. It's also easier to work on than most; would be great for someone who's only so-so at maintenance.)

This truck, unless it's been upgraded, is a little bit hard to handle, too. It takes a firm grip and a heavy foot, because it's a manual through and through. Manual gear shifting and no power steering. It's a two-hander just to go around curves.

In terms of its style, it's a little more laidback than the Dodge, which is probably why Cas is taking it on the murder investigation (i.e. not hunting). It's got an open bed, which means it's probably a little more fun for Jack, too. (Indeed we see Jack enjoying sitting in the truck bed. The green/teal is a symbol of renewal & growth, visually keying into Jack's return and the slow healing of the family unit.)

CASTIEL: My name is, um well, my name's not important. I do know what blind faith is. I used to just follow orders without question, and I did some pretty terrible things. I would never look beyond the plan. And then, of course, when it all came crashing down, I found myself lost. I didn't know what my purpose was anymore. And then one day, something changed, something amazing. I... I guess I found a family, and I became a father. And in that, I rediscovered my faith. I rediscovered who I am.

This is Castiel's preferred answer to season 15's question of nihilism.

This is what Castiel has chosen, and his later-seasons vehicles reflect this desire and this chosen identity. He even walks away from it in 15x06 to meditate on his path, and when he steps away, he sees Chuck for what he is. He chooses to come back specifically to fight Chuck's machinations and protect his family from them. To help them find their way post-existential crises, the way they helped him find his way re:Heaven. For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish...till death do us part.

//

Some other Cas + cars fun stuff

The broken tapedeck in the script

The Fiesta is totally Sam's car

#cas + trucks #castiel #spn castiel #dean/cas + vehicle selection #the family truck #cas + driving #cas + cars #this was purely self indulgent #for funsies #i gave it a positive meaning because we need more of it #happy sunday

[newobsessionincoming]

So let me get this straight (not that straight), he’s travelling through realities looking for his family’s happy ending?

If he just *happens* to fly his impalardis into the empty to get a certain family member whose “true happiness” was cut short…I won’t be judging Deano 👀

#im coining impalardis #get it impala plus tardis anyone ? #superwholockians have a new time travel bisexual disaster with a magic vehicle to deal with #supernatural #the winchesters #spn #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #misha collins #doctor who #superwholock

[blairsanne]

Horses in my Dreams - Barnaby Buchanan

My first entry for this year's @deanobingo is a fanvid for my bb Barnaby (from Brokenwood Mysteries), for the prompt "scars". Maybe this one has a bit of a weird vibe, sorry, haha.

CW: Motor vehicle accident, blood, torture, asylum, medical abuse, trauma, ptsd, etc.

#deanobingo2023 #deanobingo #deano bingo #dean o'gorman #barnaby buchanan #brokenwood mysteries #barnaby buchanan fanvid #the brokenwood mysteries #motor vehicle accident #blood #torture #abuse #horses

[pussypopstiel]

Kirk calling the enterprise a beautiful lady I love you ship guy

#my silly little posts #Kirk is usually not dean but he is in that he loves his vehicle

[deancasforcutie]

everyone who thought it was unrealistic that Dean had the username “impala67” has never met a Car Guy online. they all do that

#posting in honor of me finally getting my first car (exactly the kind of soyboy vehicle he'd roast tf out of) #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #10.07 #mine

[trannydean]

jaime ships his truck (a blue '83 ford bronco that is all banged up and rusty with the paint peeling that has evidence of having been rolled over once or twice. he named the truck leviathan, and calls him "levi" for short) with baby. he insists all the time that levi and baby are in love and it drives dean crazy.

#spn oc #my ocs #oc: jaime morgan #spn baby #they are ALWAYS getting into arguments over this #it annoys sam sm bc like ''will you SHUT UP about your vehicles being in love already!!!'' #''THEY'RE NOT IN LOVE'' ''YES THEY ARE'' #i think jack would agree that they are in love #i will be reblogging with more of this later bc i have a surprising amount of thoughts on jaime shipping his truck with dean's car #dean speaks

[gunson]

ben's hobbies include: killing the supernatural and playing guitar.

#:) also he has a motorcycle he loves #bc hyperfixating on a vehicle is an inherited thing #ty dean.

[solarmidnight]

It's been over a decade since the episode aired, but I'm still frothing at the mouth over the fact that Dean could have kept Cas's trench coat in the Impala easily, but he deliberately made space available for it in each car the Winchesters had in season 7. They were extremely limited in what they could take with them to each vehicle, but Dean made sure that coat was with him always, on the off-chance that he would, somehow, see Cas again and get to return it.

#destiel #supernatural #dean winchester #castiel

[deanrheims]

Spaceship, vehicle

#Spaceship #Vehicle #Dean Rheims

[shallowseeker]

There is...one more Cas-adjacent car to discuss, but I don't quite have it all straight in my head.

LOOK! It's not the same tan sedan, but it IS interesting. (4x03 & 13x01) Isn't it? Let's ramble:

////

Look at this cute little tan sedan that Dean drives in 4x03 In the Beginning!

This is one of his very first interactions with Cas, and our first on-screen date car drive.

They've interacted very little at this point! Previous appearances with Cas n' Dean were 1) their first meeting in the barn and 2) the very tense middle-of-the-night meeting in the dream kitchen.

Anyway, this is the vehicle Dean drives throughout the episode. It's our first car ride with Earth and Heaven teaming up.

///

Dean is ghostly as he bears witness to the tragedy of Samuel Campbell's death (stabbed in the gut, just as Mary was before she burned), Deanna Campbell's death (broken neck), and John Winchester's death (broken neck).

Azazel is killing all of Mary's support system to better weaken her resolve and entrap her in a deal.

Young—afraid—alone—distressed. Mary would have taken any deal, surely.

(Mary's Fate is not unique, exactly, but it's definitely got its own signature. It's an off-rhyme parallel in Supernatural. She did not, in fact, barter her soul, or go to Hell, as John and Dean will eventually do. No, she unknowingly Rumpelstiltskin'd her second child.)

Mary looks sadly over her shoulder at Dean, who was unable to help her. Then, John breathes in air with a shuddering gasp—returns to life.

Dean gasps, too, and Cas returns to his side. They disappear together, leaving only mysterious tan sedan in their wake.

Mary turns to look one last time, and we now have the setup of the scene: John—Mary—tan Cas Car (lights on)—black Dean Car.

///

Mary’s voice was so small when she asked if Azazel would revive her parents, “M-my parents, too?”

(Of course Azazel said no. Mary has to take what she will get, and she may have made a terrible mistake, but she knew enough not to barter her soul.)

So, Mary gazes at her father—the protector—lost as he failed to protect her, just as she will fail to protect Sam. (Oh, and her mother? She's dead, too. Mary's world has shrunk. And the world is so, so much scarier after your father dies. He’s supposed to be invincible.)

This failing of his child will haunt Samuel Campbell beyond the grave and entangle him in a demonic deal of his own. (Just as Cas, too, will be drawn into an Empty deal for Jack, post-resurrection.)

///

"I'll tell you one person that you're not gonna save. Your Granpappy."

Deanna, very nearly victorious in her bid to go for the gun on the ground, gives herself away with a grief-stricken scream:

We've seen this ghost before. The demon comes through the door. It kills the protector. Then it seeks to kill the second line of defense, before moving onto the rest of the vulnerable family members.

///

Now, we come to 12x23 All Along the Watchtower and 13x01 Lost and Found. And well, it hurts.

Nothing is one-to-one in Supernatural. All parallels are based in the specter of missing bonds and of lost love—whether that's a child, a comrade, a sibling, a parent, or a lover. It's a symphony of harmonizing pain. :(

So, in 12x23/13x01, Cas dies. Dean and Sam are stunned speechless.

In 12x23, it's Mary who leaps into action, and Dean can only stand, a paralyzed witness to Jack's twin fate of The Lost Parents. (Jack's mom, Kelly? She dies. Dean can't save her. Jack's chosen father, Castiel? He dies, too. Dean can't save him either.)

(Both Deanna and Kelly die with their eyes open.)

But Mary is triumphant. She is a Doomed Child fighting back. She protects Jack from Lucifer, even though she could not protect Sam from Azazel. (Echoing this, Crowley serves as an inverse: he spurned his mother's protection from Lucifer and bit off more than he could chew to further the security of his career/position. His death, surprisingly, tears Rowena in two and unfreezes her heart.)

///

But thanks to Mary's heroic efforts here, her own kids are spared this time, and Jack, too. (From here, Mary will go into another world where she never made her deal, and she will make peace with her past.)

Of course, Dean bears witness to his own off-rhyme parallel fate to Mary, The Death of the Lover, at the hands of a Luciferian figure. Cas falls at his feet, and Dean falls to his knees.

Dean is also like John. He can only watch as his loved one's sacrificial debt comes due, with no hope in sight, like how Mary's sacrifice came due--those cosmic consequences.

(And later, Jack, in a painful echo of Azazel, will resurrect The Lover but become destined to kill Mary.)

Later, still in North Cove, Dean pleads with God on the landscape of his broken dreams—Washaway beach, (a cruel nod to the beach trip he will never take), a valley without people or friends in it, and a car.

Like Mary, he looks over his shoulder to find a mysterious tan sedan (but its lights are off & it's enshrouded in darkness).

And there's nothing for Dean here. No miraculous resurrection. No deals that can be made. Not for Dean. Dean's happiness, and the happiness of his loved ones isn’t important enough. The universe turns a blind eye. The father doesn't care if he lives or dies, and his happiness certainly never mattered to Him.

It isn't fair.

His voice shakes, and his lip trembles. "Please. Please, help us."

But God's not listening. "He doesn't give a damn."

///

And we're left with a similar setup to Mary's tragedy, another off-rhyme: we return to the lakehouse and we have...a black Dean car. A tan Cas truck, at cross positions to one another, as they were in 4x03.

But like John, Dean is now left with just Sam n' Jack, and he's ill-equipped for parentally supporting either of them.

///

But Dean just keeps looking and looking and looking. Hoping.

He looks like he's about to faint, actually.

(A kitchen. A dining table. An empty chair at its head.)

But this is how it goes with Cas. Dean tries to stop him from walking away, and in reality, he's powerless to stop him from going anywhere.

Having faith when miracles happen and when they don't? What good is it? It just hurts more.

#spn + grief #car meta #cas + cars #dean + cars #dean/cas + cars #tfw + vehicles #spn 4x03 #the tan sedan #spn 13x01 #spn lost and found #spn in the beginning #deanna campbell #mary cambell winchester #samuel campbell #the lost parents #the death of the lover

[hxnnibxi]

do you think sam watched everytime dean transferred cas' coat into the new vehicle they were slumming in?? do you think he saw how badly cas' death hurt dean? do you think sam watched his brother in silence because he didn't know what to day?? because he knew dean would never admit what he really felt?

#i have so many thoughts about dean keeping cas' coat #supernatural #spn #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #destiel #deancas

[gilverrwrites]

Skinny Dipping

Pairing: Dean WInchester/F!Reader

Authors note: This has the been the hardest, and biggest of my re-mastered fics so far. I’m pretty sure the original was an amalgamation of imagines from supernaturalimagine and dirtysupernaturalimagines but I couldn’t even guess at which imagines exactly. This is like, my 4th public/semi-public fic in like 3 months, I’m starting to feel like this is a kink I didn’t know I had.  Also, Metallica have not cancelled anything, don’t worry. (and I don’t know jack about cars, people that do, please don’t come for me, I really did try, k, thanks, bye.) 💖

Plot: Reader is a mechanic who Dean's been checking in on, and checking out for a while now. Dean has the perfect excuse to see her after baby breaks down nearby.

Rating: M/18+

Words: 2936

Content: Swearing, consumption of alcohol, reckless drunken/tipsy behaviour, being submerged underwater, skinny dipping, teasing, brief retraining, size-difference, dry-humping, (or I guess wet-humping), semi-public sex, unprotected sex, p in v, water sex, mild angst.

Please remember: If you never try, you’ll never know.

You switch off the radio, listening to the purr of your car's ignition as you pull up behind a familiar black impala. It was a beauty, but it was nothing compared to your ‘70 boss. You watched as its owner climbed out of the front seat and headed towards you.

Its owner being your old friend Dean Winchester. He and his brother had saved you from a coven of witches a few years back, and ever since he’s been popping back into your life every few months. ‘Working on a case nearby’, ‘just passing through’, ‘baby needs a new compressor’. Every visit he laid the flirting on thicker. You weren’t sure if he was just joking around with you, or if he was serious, or if he saw you as a challenge. Either way you’d been making him work for it. Today it just so happened that his car had broken down a few miles out from your shop, the perfect excuse to see you on a Friday night.

You were pulled from your train of thought by a light tapping on your window. You snapped your head to the side to see Dean hovering over your door. His familiar smile set your heart racing. Okay, so maybe his seduction tactics were working, he was hot, who could blame you?

“Is there a problem, officer?” You joked, rolling down your window.

Dean rested an arm on the hood and leaned in. “No, no, just a routine check.” You knew he impersonated officers and agents all the time, but you hadn’t seen it firsthand. It was impressive how easily he slid into character.

“I am, however, gonna have to ask you to step out of the vehicle for a full strip search.”

Act ruined.

“At least buy me drink first.” You quipped.

“If you can help me, I’ll buy you a whole dinner.” He winked and opened the car door from the outside. You raised your brows at him but climbed out anyway before making a b-line for the impala’s engine.

“What’s wrong?” You directed your question to the car in the same tone you would address a small child or animal, gently rubbing a hand across its roof as you walked beside it. "Has someone been neglecting you?”

“Hey!” Dean barked, clearly offended. “I take better care of this baby than I do myself.”

At that you looked back over at him. He’d forgone his usual flannel today, leaving him in a pair of jeans that hugged him in all the right places and a grey t-shirt that clung tight and accentuated his broad chest. By the time your eyes reached his face, Dean was sporting a wicked grin, clearly ecstatic to have caught you checking him out. You avoid his smug gaze by popping the hood of his car to take a look at the engine.

“You weren’t kidding.” You whistled; Dean really was taking care of the thing.  The motor was almost gleaming. You felt his warm hand suddenly press against your lower back and turn to look up at him. The expression on his face could only be described as that of a proud father.

“Yeah.” He agreed before pointing to the main battery with his free hand: “This is the problem. It’s busted.”

“Ah, you’re gonna need a new one. I’m surprised you don’t keep a spare.” 

“Yeah.” To his credit, he looked pretty sheepish. “I normally do, but guess I forgot when the last one went out.”

“I don’t have one.” You said, pursing your lips to express your sympathies.

Dean didn’t respond, biting his lip while he waited for you to continue.

“But I could give you a jump start if you gotta head out soon.” You bring the hood back down and start heading to the boot of your car.

“No good,” Dean calls after you. “I’m not in a rush, but I don’t have enough gas to get me where I’m going.”

“Well… I’ve got a guy. He’s a few towns over. He’s closed at this time.” You inform as you open your boot and pull out your tow rope, flashing it to Dean with a smile. I can tow you into town for tonight, then drive you there and back in the morning.”

“I knew I could count on you!”

An hour later, you’d slowly but surely managed to drag Dean and his baby back into town, argued with him about him staying at a motel or on your couch (you’d won), and successfully swindled him into buying you that dinner he’d promised. Dinner being take-put pizza and over-priced ice-cream. Now, the two of you were sitting in your backyard, sharing the aforementioned ice-cream and an old bottle of Jack Daniels you’d pulled from the back of your cupboards. 

“So,” Dean began, his speech slurred by the spoon hanging from his mouth. How’s the garage doin’?”

You take a sip of the JD and proceed to suck on your teeth as you consider how to respond.

“Honestly, bad. Ever since that shitty corporate place set up shop down the road, we’ve been going downhill.” You punctuate your statement with another sip from the bottle before offering it to Dean. “I’m keeping it up and running by tooth and claw, but truthfully, it’s probably only got a few months left in it.” 

He gives you a sombre smile as he exchanges the tub of ice cream for the bottle. It's a touchy subject, but you can’t help admiring the way his neck moves as he tilts his head back to drink. You avert your eyes by scooping up the last bit of cold, sugary goodness and placing the empty container on the grass beside you.

“That sucks.” He places a hand on your shoulder, attempting to offer comfort. “That really sucks. Do you have a back-up plan?”

You grab the bottle back from Dean and take another sip before answering.

“I dunno. Sometimes I think about doing what you do. Kinda.” You begin. You don’t miss the way his entire body stiffens before you clarify. “Without the monsters. Just hit the road, get drunk at every bar in the country, visit Disney, become Metallica groupie, an-”

“You know they cancelled that tour, right?” Dean butts in.

“WHAT?” You shake his hand off and stare up at him in disbelief.

“Yeah.” He shrugs. The smile on his face is anything but sympathetic.

“Bastards.” You cross your arms and pout dramatically. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but the laugh that escapes Dean's lips is magical, and you can’t help but join in. When he returns his hand to your shoulder, this time reaching for the furthest from him, thus wrapping himself around you, your skin tingles, and you let yourself fall into him.

As the two of you slowly seize your giggling, Dean checks his watch. He quirks an evocative brow at you when he speaks, “It’s getting late. Maybe we should head inside?”

You mull it over, dramatically swaying your head from side to side before you voice your decision. “Actually, I have a better idea.”

You stand up, offering your hand to Dean, who eyes you sceptically. Nevertheless, he takes the bait, placing his hand in yours and allowing you to lead him toward the footpath just outside your garden.

“Where are you taking me?” he asks, and you can sense the caution in his voice. You assume it’s the hunter in him being paranoid, and you know for a fact that his free hand is hovering over the knife he keeps tucked into the back of his jeans at all times.

“I’m taking you here,” you answer as you pull him through the last set of trees and onto the shore of the local lake. You scan the surrounding area as you kick off your shoes. Satisfied that nobody is nearby, you start pulling off your trousers.

As you bend down to pull your socks off, you look up at Dean. He’s staring back at you intensely, mouth open, cheeks pink.

When you start pulling your top over your head you feel his fingers lightly brush against your hips. He’d stepped closer, and you’re tempted to touch him back or to reach up and kiss him. But you don’t. Instead, you throw your top over his head and sprint for the water.

“RACE YOU!” You challenge, discarding your bra and panties before you reach the water and forward dive in. Dean follows you moments later with a cannonball that splashes your face just as you’re resurfacing from your own dive.

“Fuck! That’s colder than I expected.” You yell to him.

“I’ll warm you up.” Dean replies as he swims close to you. You let his hands return to your hips, not expecting it when he dunks you back under the water.

You cough and splurge as he brings you back up. You flail your arms around until you find the top of his head, and you cling to him for dear life, but Deans is stronger, taller, and he’s found solid ground to plant his feet onto below the water. He escapes your grip and throws you under again.

“STOP. MERCY!” You yell when you come back up. This time, you use your legs for safety, wrapping them around his hips. You'd be safe if you could just get a grip on his arms. You’d been too distracted to notice his erection until you feel it poking at you. You’re about to make a comment about it, but Dean speaks first.

“You’re cute when you’re scared.” He laughs, you silence him with a swift but playful punch to the chest. In defence he grabs at your wrists, able to trap both in just one of his hands. His other hand slides up your arms, over your shoulder, your neck, until he reaches your cheek. He leisurely rubs his thumb against your wet skin.

You stay like that for a while, watching each other, before you finally ask, “Are you gonna kiss me or what?”

Without any further hesitation Dean lunges forward, forcing his lips against yours. His kiss is hard and animalistic; he skips straight past the pecking and teasing to roaming your mouth with his tongue. His fingers leave your cheek and weave into your hair, holding you against him, his stubble scratches against your skin.

In a play for dominance, you dart your own tongue out, grazing his chapped lips, but he denies you. Instead, he pulls away from your lips, refocusing his attention on nipping and kissing at your jaw, neck, and collarbone.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been imagining this.” He utters onto your skin.

“What, this exact scenario?” You joke.

“Not exactly.” He lets out a breathy chuckle, and the gust of air against your skin makes you tremble.

“Then what?” You challenge. Your inability to touch him is frustrating you. In an attempt to stimulate him back, you grip your legs around him tighter, using him as leverage to grind against him. The tip of his cock doesn’t quite reach your clit, but its added pressure helps it spread your lips. “Tell me.”

He drops his hand from your head, and cups it under your asscheek. Firmly guiding you up and down, assisting you in rutting against his cock. Shakey breaths become grunts, and after a few seconds he releases your wrists so that he can grip you with both hands. Free to move, you shimmy down his body until you can feel his dick brush against your clit with each grind.

“Come on, tell me.” You plead, reaching up to card your fingers through his hair, your grip tightening every time he hits your sweet spot. You know he's not shy, that he’s just getting lost in the feeling, and it pains you to say it, but eventually, you taunt. “I’m not gonna fuck you if you don’t tell me.”

He whimpers at your empty threat but finally confesses. “Just you. Your body, under me. Every night, I think about how you’d look, how you’d feel squirming, moaning my name.”

“Fuck. That’s hot.” You reply and he smiles as you plant your lips against his once again.

“Can I fuck you now?” He asks, speech slurred as he tries to speak between kisses.

“Yes.” You respond instantly, pulling back to look him in the eye. “Please fuck me, Dean.”

He doesn’t hesitate. His grip on your ass is like a vice as he lifts you up slightly. You both work in sync to position yourselves just right until he lowers you onto his cock, slowly pressing into you. There’s some resistance as he stretches your walls, but the sound of his whispered praises helps you relax until he finally bottoms out, stretching you in all the right places.

“Fuck, that feels so good. You took me so well.” He affirms, and even though he’s already balls deep, you can’t help the heat that spreads across your face.

He begins lifting you again before you can respond, sliding you up and down his cock in slow, steady movements. You grip tight to his shoulders and hips with your hands and knees, using them as leverage points to help move your body up and down. Each thrush is slow and shallow, but Dean seems to be loving it; his head rolls back, and he releases breathy moans with every rock.

“Shit.” You shout, holding tighter still when Dean unexpectedly shifts below you, repositioning his legs to a sturdier position. You watch through hazy eyes as he reaches up and grips your hand, before guiding it down the tight space between your bodies. You get the message quickly, and begin rubbing your clit in lazy circles, keeping in time with the pace of Dean's cock.

The added stimulation had your toes curling in no time. When your pussy starts clenching around Dean’s cock, you see the sudden concentration in his face. His brow furrows, and he bites his lip as he focuses on riding you through your orgasm. The sight was the final push you need to take you over the edge.

“Fuck, Dean. Fuck fuck fuck, that feels good.” You cry out as you hit your climax.

“Keep saying my name, baby.” Dean begs as he continues rolling your hips together. You feel his body shake as he starts to struggle with your combined weights as he chases his own release.

You try to assist, desperately pumping yourself up and down despite the newfound sensitivity as you chant his name.

“Fuck, yes baby.” You feel the twitch of his cock inside you. He buries his head in the crook of your neck as he hits his orgasm, rutting his cock as deep as he can as he cums inside you. “oohhh yeah.”

You stay in position for a long time following, holding on tight to each other, listening to each other's breathing as you come back down, until Dean guides your body backwards so that you’re face to face again. “How you feelin’?”

“Good.” You reply with a smile.

“Good.” He grins at you mischievously before plunging backwards into the water, taking you with him.

“So, was that everything you imagined it to be?”

He purses his lips in thought before teasingly responding. “Eh, it wasn’t bad.”

You both laugh as you lay your head down on Dean's bare chest; his arms envelop your body as you both blankly look up at the stars. You play with the hem of the shirt you’d stolen from him when you emerged from the water and re-dressed.

“You should do it.” Dean says when you're both fully settled down.

“Do what?” You query, popping your head up to look at him, unsure what he’s talking about.

“Hit the road.” He clarifies, revisiting your earlier conversation. “I mean, life on the road isn’t easy or sustainable, trust me, I know.”

“But…” You prompt, knowing fully that he wasn’t going to stop there.

“But it could be fun for a while. If it’s what you wanna do. Hell, I’d totally be a roadie if… you know.”

“I know,” You reply. You’re smiling at him, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. The reminder of your failing business stung, but you didn’t want it to spoil your night. You lean forward, caressing his cheek; his stubble feels rough against your fingers. You gently pull his face forward and plant a chaste kiss on his lips. “I might. I probably will. If it comes to it.”

“I can’t come with you.” He says when you lean away. You hadn’t expected him to want to come with you. Hoped, maybe? But you knew it wasn’t a possibility.

“I know.” You repeat.

He carefully reaches up to run his hand across your damp hair as he pulls you in for another kiss. This one is longer, softer than any you’d shared all night. When you’re done, he lets his head fall back against the ground, and you perch yourself against his chest once more. 

“You’ll still call me though, right?”

“Always.” He replies instantly. “You’re my best girl. Well, second-best girl.”

“The car?” You ask deadpan. Of course, the car is his number one.

“Who else?” He replies shamelessly.

You’re not sure how long you stayed like that, entwined in each other’s arms, spent and damp under the stars, until eventually, you feel your lids growing heavy. You fight it for a while, willing yourself to remain awake, until eventually your tiredness wins out. You cuddle closer into the warmth of Dean's chest as you fall asleep.

#dean winchester x reader #supernatural reader insert #supernatural imagine #dean winchester smut #dean winchester imagine #gilverrwrites

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Of All The Places to Meet

Summary: When the reader gets into a bad accident, she doesn’t expect to meet her true mate at the same time...

Pairing: Alpha/Firefighter!Dean x Omega!reader

Word Count: 2,500ish

Warnings: language, car accident, major injury

A/N: Enjoy!

_______

“She’s fucking jammed in there good. We need to cut her out.” You blinked open your eyes slowly, very aware of how…off the world seemed. Your head was killing you, that was for sure. Something about the fact you were upside down in your car told you that had something to do with it.

Lazily you turned your head at the scent of vanilla and tobacco, humming at the pleasant smell in the otherwise metallic and burnt rubber scented air. Beside you, crawled in your passenger window on his back, laying on top of your roof was a pair of gorgeous green eyes staring back.

“She’s awake!” called the man, his attention on you the whole time. “Hey, sweetheart. You were in an accident. I’m gonna get you out of here.”

“Smell pretty,” you murmured, fighting off the urge to pass out again. “I’m gonna…”

“Miss. Miss, try to-”

Dean’s POV

“Fuck, she’s out cold again,” I said. I could see where her door was pinned against her left side. It’d be a miracle if she hadn’t shattered her hip or femur. My stomach churned once more, hands gripping the center console that was partially cracked and pushed forward. 

This was not how this was supposed to happen. You don’t meet your true mate in a goddamn car wreck when she’s critically injured. You just don’t.

And now there was another problem.

Alpha’s were notoriously protective of their mates, especially true mates. That instinct skyrocketed when they were injured, even something as small as a cut thumb.

Seeing, smelling, my true mate when she was broken and battered and hurt out of her mind?

Yeah, there was no way I was going to be able to physically get away from this little omega.

“Winchester! Let the medic get in there and we’ll work on getting the driver's door off,” called Benny. My gut said to stay but I also knew she needed someone more qualified than me to attend to her at this moment. Reluctantly, I climbed out and ran around to the outside of the car, a few guys already working on ripping the metal apart.

“She’s got the neck brace on!” called the EMT. “We’re ready for whenever she’s loose.”

Twenty minutes later we finally had the door off, a backboard slipped underneath her and she was being pulled out of the vehicle.

The EMT’s packed her up and somehow she wasn’t bleeding out. There was always the chance for internal injuries though. I wandered over to the back of the ambulance, climbing into the back much to the displeasure of the two EMT’s.

“What the hell are you doing Dean?” said Benny. I chucked my helmet at him, Benny barely catching it. “De-“

“She’s my true mate. I can’t…I need to go.” He sighed but nodded. 

“Let him ride with you. I’ll pick him up at county later. Dean?” I nodded as they started to close the doors. “Listen to the doctors and stay out of their way. That’s how you can keep her safe.”

I nodded as they shut the doors, my focus going to the woman strapped to the stretcher. She looked so broken, covered in blood and scrapes.

I squeezed her hand, a gentle twitch of her finger in my palm. 

“You’ll be okay, Omega. I promise.”

Reader’s POV

You blinked open your eyes slowly, grateful this time you were right side up. The bed was soft and warm even if your body felt achy. A buzz was thrumming through your veins as you looked down, the drugs in your system keeping you calm as you took in the sight. 

Your entire left leg was bruised. Literally every spec of skin was bruised. 

And then you saw the monstrous contraption encasing it, pins holding your thigh in place. Beeping rang through the room as your heart rate shot up, eyes fixated on your wiggling toes.

“Okay. Okay, I can still walk,” you breathed out, inhaling deeply. “Hopefully.”

A wave of exhaustion hit as the door opened, an Alpha!nurse walking inside. “Well good evening Y/N! How are we feeling?”

“Shitty.” You frowned and closed your eyes again.

“Do you remember what happened?” he asked, checking the monitors and then bending your arms. 

“Uh. I was driving on the highway and then I woke up here,” you said, nose twitching. “Something smelled pretty.”

He just hummed and checked your leg that wasn’t secure, offering you a smile. “I’m going to check a few things and then I’ll bring the doctor in.”

An hour later you were laying back in bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to wrap your head around everything the doctor had said. Intensive physical therapy would be needed for months and even then your leg may never be a hundred percent again. You had a concussion and wouldn’t be able to drive a car for six months most likely. You’d need to take a leave of absence from work. Although that one might not be that bad actually considering how stressful it’d been lately.

On top of all that, apparently there was some creeper Alpha firefighter hanging out in the waiting area. 

Waiting for you.

Because your day hadn’t been unsettling enough as it was.

Before long you were fast asleep, hoping that tomorrow you’d wake up and find out this was just a nightmare.

“Good morning Y/N!” said your nurse, Alfie. You twitched your eye, not deterring his chipper mood one bit. “Feeling any better today?”

“We’re going to have problems if you’re always this bubbly when I wake up, Alfie,” you grumbled, sighing as pain shot up your leg. “If you could just do me a favor and cut off my leg, that’d be appreciated.”

“Oh, don’t be drastic, Y/N. I know the doctor wants to wean you off the pain medicine as soon as possible but it shouldn’t be that bad.”

“Did he shatter his femur yesterday? No? When he does he can talk to me about taking away my pain meds,” you said, hitting the button for morphine but nothing coming out. “Alfie. I need something.”

“The doctor gave strict orders to have you on only over the counter-”

“It fucking hurts!” you shouted, surprised at how agitated you were. Normally you were always kind and polite to strangers. But this? You were in pain and you didn’t have the patience to be a socially acceptable human being today.

Alfie looked sympathetic but his reply was cut off when a man with disheveled hair and dirty clothes came barging in the room. Strike that. The creeper Alpha firefighter that was stalking you outside was suddenly barging in the room.

“What are you doing to her?” he spat out, venom in every word. You could hear him audibly growl as he stalked over to Alfie, the poor Alpha shrinking back like he was an Omega cornered in a dark alley.

“Hey! Get out of…” you paused when you caught his scent. The heart rate monitor beeped dangerously fast, both of them turning to you. The scary Alpha firefighter suddenly made you calm, his scent giving off clear signals.

Relax Omega. You’re safe and protected.

“You can’t be in here,” said Alfie as he got his wits back. He grabbed the firefighter, shrieking when the man growled so loud it sounded like he’d gone feral. 

“Alfie’s right,” you said, pain filling your heart as you breathed deeply. You had no idea who this Alpha was but you knew his instincts were in overdrive. “You’re filthy and this is an ICU. Go home and clean yourself up. Come back this afternoon and we’ll talk then. That’s an order, Alpha.”

“Yes, omega,” he said softly, nodding once. “Are you okay?”

“Later, Alpha.” He apologized briefly to Alfie before leaving, Alfie relaxing when his scent went with him. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I don’t know how you got him to believe you like that. He was this close to snapping.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s my true mate.” Alfie raised his eyebrow and cocked his head.

“We can do a blood test. And make him take one too before we let him back in. On second thought, that’s absolutely happening.”

You raised a hand, wincing as pain pulsated through your leg. “Tell him I asked him to please take the test so he doesn’t take it out on the staff. Please.”

“Will do.” He paused as he exited the room. “I’ll talk to the doctor about your pain meds, see if we can make the steps down not so drastic.”

“Thanks Alfie.”

You were tired when you woke up after lunch and physical therapy. So much so you could barely open your eyes. You wouldn’t think you could be all that physical with a damn broken femur but after they moved and worked you to the point of shouting, you’d changed your mind quickly.

A large, calloused hand stroked your cheek, wiping away a stray tear that fell. The air smelled sweet, like pine and vanilla. “Omega. How can I help the pain?”

“You being here helps,” you murmured, his long fingers brushing away more tears. You squeezed your eyes when pain ripped through you. “They say I don’t need the morphine but I only can sleep today when I’m exhausted from the pain. I don’t know how I’m supposed to get through this.”

“With me, Omega. I’ll talk to the doctors. You were injured only a day ago. They must  have missed something if it hurts so badly.” He bent down and kissed your temple, your eyes fluttering open. “Please don’t worry. I’ll be here for you every step of the way.”

You stared up into his green eyes, surprised to find him smiling at you. “Why are you so handsome?”

“Makes up for my lack of singing ability,” he chuckled. He brushed your hair behind your ear, his scent coming off in powerful waves to soothe you. “I’m sorry for scaring you earlier. I know you don’t quite know me but I was one of the responders to your accident and when I scented you…my instincts went a little crazy.”

“It’s alright,” you whispered, a flash of pain rising up again. “Can you find the doctor?”

“Yes Omega,” he murmured. “Try to rest.” He got up from the nearby seat and hummed. “I’m Dean.”

“Y/N,” you said, shutting your eyes once more.

“I’ll make it better Y/N. I promise.”

Two Weeks Later

“Hey,” said Dean when he entered your hospital room. “I heard you’re getting discharged today.”

You grumbled from bed, wearing one of his fire station hoodies. He pulled the curtains open, smiling wide as you tugged the hood up. 

“Aren’t you excited to be getting out of here?” He had a point. You were happy to be leaving, with some pain medication too. But your leg was still incredibly fucked and you couldn’t go back to your apartment. Not when it was on the third floor. Dean luckily lived in a ranch style but you hated imposing on him.

“I wish I didn’t have to move in with you.” His smile fell as you groaned. “I meant like this. Because I’m hurt and can’t be alone. I wish we could be like a normal pair of mates.”

“Hey,” he said. He sat on the edge of the bed by my good leg, lightly stroking over the bonding gland in my neck. “We are normal. We just need to practice a bit more patience than other true mates.”

“You mean how I can’t have sex for months until my leg is healed. It’s going to drive both of us crazy to wait.”

“We can bond, just without the knotting. We’re already scent bonded and as long as we don’t stay away from each other for too long-“

“You mean an hour tops? You’re stuck by my side for the next three months minimum. I might not walk correctly again. I might always-“

He put his hand over your mouth, annoyance rising in your veins. 

“I’m your Alpha, even if you don’t bear my mark yet. I never want to hear you say you think I’m stuck with you. Being with you is the only thing I could ever want. We will figure this out and I will not mate you until you are fully recovered. Am I clear, Omega?”

The use of your title from his lips sent fuzzy, calming feelings throughout your body, your head nodding without thinking. Large fingers gently stroked your cheek, a soft hum escaping him.

“Are you ready to go home with me?” 

“Okay, Alpha. You can take me home.”

“You all set?” asked Dean later that evening. You were in bed, leg propped up on some pillows. Dean had spent the day with you, helping you get discharged and set up his house so it was a bit more friendly for you to get around in. 

“As good as I can be,” you said, watching him disappear into the closet, returning in a fire station shirt and a pair of skinny black joggers. “You have work?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “No, no. Just getting comfy for the night. I can order us some food. I’m sure you’re starving.”

“A little,” you said, Dean sitting beside you, urging you to curl into his side. “Thank you for helping me that day. The accident.”

“It’s my job, sweetheart,” he said, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “I’m just happy you’re still here. You got lucky.”

“Hell of a way to meet your mate.” He hummed, quietly stroking your bare arm with the tips of his fingers. “I’m really glad I’m not doing this on my own.”

“You’ll never be on your own ever again, Omega. I promise.”

“I know, Alpha. My leg might never heal the same way but at least I got one good thing out of this situation.” He smiled, brushing your hair behind your ear. “This comfy ass bed.”

He rolled his eyes with a smirk, kissing the top of your head before he got up. “Alright. With that, I’m off to go be your manly Alpha and hunt down some food for us.”

“You mean order takeout?” you teased. He tossed a pillow at you, laughing lightly.

“For that I’m ordering pineapple on the pizza.” You dropped your jaw, Dean laughing a bit harder, his scent the calmest you’d ever smelled it. “I’m kidding. I’m not deranged.”

“Good cause true mates or not, that is not happening,” you said. 

“Glad we can agree on it,” he said. “What about a supreme?”

“Now we’re talking,” you said. He left the room with a nod, returning a few minutes later with a soft smile. “What?”

“Nothing. Just really glad to finally have found you. It’s…easy with you.”

You knew what he meant, patting the spot next to you. He returned to your side with a smile, pulling you to rest against his chest. His scent filled the air, a relaxed cozy feeling settling in your bones.

“Yes, yes it is Alpha,” you said, taking a deep inhale, exhaling slowly. “It absolutely is.”

________

#dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #Firefighter!Dean #alpha!dean x omega!reader #alpha!dean #spn #supernatural #dean winchester fanfic #dean x you #dean winchester x you #abo

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // part three

summary: all the stars aligned, and it was you.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.8k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, r is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: this is where it starts to get different (i hope!)

series masterlist // playlist

You saw two deaths in one day, and the games had not even started.

The local girl, who you didn't have the pleasure of learning the name of, had taken her final breaths in the arms of your mentor before he was dragged away. You hoped he was doing okay. And the girl from District Ten, Brandy. She had guts, you had to admire that about her- but killing an innocent was something you struggled to understand.

Coriolanus's classmate was only guilty of a cruel joke, and to you, that didn't warrant violence. However, the misdirected anger from your fellow tributes was valid. You just got lucky with Coryo as your mentor.

You spent your night reaching through the bars to pick weeds and flowers to place with Brandy while she slept. "For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause: there's the respect that makes calamity of so long life," repeating in your mind.

"It's my fault... It was my idea to get closer to the tributes but I didn't know this would happen." Coryo says, sat at the dining room table with his cousin and Grandma'am. He was sent home as soon as he was dragged out of the zoo, and he's not sure he had a coherent walk the entire walk home.

"You're just lucky your poet didn't do the same to you. Stay away. District people are a different breed, Coriolanus."

Tigris chews on her lip next to him, her cousin's arm wrapped around her back. "She's not a rebel, grandma'am. She's just a girl."

"No, I can see it in her eyes and the way she carries herself. That one hasn't been a girl in a long time." She shakes her head disapprovingly.

"You haven't met her, she won't hurt me." Coryo insists. "She's far too... gentle, unfortunately. At least Arachne's tribute would have done well in the games."

"It doesn't matter, Coryo." Tigris states. "If that's not who she is we can't force her. What do you think a change like that would do to someone?"

"I just want her to win."

"Dean Highbottom said that she doesn't have to win for you to get the prize."

"I know that." He mutters, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead with his free hand. "It's not about..." He stands up, pushing his hair back out of his face. "I have homework to do. Goodnight." And just like that, he's gone.

Come the morning, you were awoken from your slumber next to her no longer bleeding body by peacekeepers barging in with guns- one pointed at every last one of you. You backed away as they grabbed her, careless of her arms which you had delicately crossed, or the flowers you placed in her hair.

You were shackled alongside each other, and then forced back into the truck that delivered you to the zoo so recently.

"Don't be scared..." You whisper to the young girl on the bench next to you, watching as she cried, her pleas for answers going ignored by the others. "The world will be a better place tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Wovey sniffles, looking up at you as you reach up with tethered hands to brush her dark hair back from her face.

"Tomorrow." You nod, smiling at her sadly. You didn't know where you were going, but you doubted it meant anything good. You were supposed to have some more time before the games, but it's not impossible they would be moved in the fallout of the murders. Tomorrow, given your deaths today, would be a safer place for you both.

It wasn't a long ride before the doors were opened and you were all pulled out, and tied to a vehicle while Brandy's body was being hung above you. A parade? This was new, you were sure, you had never heard of such a thing before in the games as they were, although, no one from Twelve had ever returned to tell the story.

You were forced to walk alongside the vehicle as it moved, down an empty street and onto a much more populated one. You wondered if Coriolanus was there, until you reached your destination, and you heard his voice.

You didn't take Coriolanus Snow for a singer, but people shock you every day. There's a screen set up, and you can see him there. He looks uncomfortable, you can see in his eyes that he doesn't want to be there, but by now you've gathered that this is a funeral for his classmate; he likely wasn't given a choice.

You couldn't look at anything else happening around you. If you look at the casket in front of you, or god forbid the body hung above your head, you would burst into tears. This is what the Capitol deemed as justice for the loss of one of their young people- how did they think District people felt every year when their children were torn from them to face an eerily similar fate? The lack of empathy could make you ill. So your eyes remained locked on the blonde boy on the screen until the very end.

Coriolanus couldn't look at you. He knew you were there, all the tributes were. He took one look at you shivering under the metal that encased your wrists on bare skin, and he couldn't look back. You didn't do this to Arachne, you couldn't. Unfortunately, he's certain you wouldn't hurt a fly. To him, it felt unjust to drag you into this.

As soon as he was done and returned to his seat as chief mourner for a girl he didn't even like, he couldn't help but let his gaze track you again. You had tears in your eyes. He could see it even from a distance. You were scared, or you were saddened even by the funeral of a stranger. Your emotions were a mystery to him. You clutched your hands to your chest as you followed the car you were tied to, eyes glued to the ground at your feet as people simultaneously booed at you and cheered at the tribute hanging over your head- and he thought he was humiliated by having to sing. To be a spectacle in the Capitol was to be hated, and it was his job to make sure those same people would know you.

As soon as he was free from his duties at Arachne's funeral, he was headed back to the zoo. It took him all day, and the sun was set by the time he made it. "Y/N." He whispered, unable to see you in the dark as he approached the bars of the monkey cage. "Y/N?"

You had awoken to the footsteps, hearing your name being called in hushed tones as you sat up from where you were lying on the cold ground. You had just managed to fall asleep, Jessup had given you his sweater to use as some form of blanket as you laid your head on his stomach. You missed your bed, but body heat was helpful. You didn't think summer nights were truly this cold.

You got up, following your friend's voice over to the bars that separated you. "Coriolanus." You whisper, trying to smile. "It's late."

"Are you okay?" He asks, grabbing one of the bars in his hand and ignoring the cold burning into his palm.

"I'm just fine." You assure him. "I'm sorry about your friend."

"She wasn't my friend." He whispers back.

"Still. It was hard to watch, anyone with a heart would be hurt by what happened."

He remembers seeing you cry at the funeral, taking a sharp breath in. "Are you cold?" He asks, changing the subject.

"Only slightly." You answer. "Jessup gave me his sweater, and body heat helps."

Coriolanus squints as he looks past you, seeing the form of the boy lying on the ground, rolling onto his side now that you weren't using him as a pillow. "I brought you this." He whispers, holding up an old, torn-up afghan that he slung over the top of his book bag.

"I figured in that... dress thing you must be freezing out here. I couldn't sleep knowing you'd be out here shivering." He explains as you take it, unfolding the knitted material.

"Thank you, that's very considerate." You smile, quick to drape the small blanket over your shoulders. "Did someone make this for you? It's beautiful."

Coriolanus watches you pull it tightly around yourself, already trying to pull any warmth you can from the material. "I... I'm not sure." He says quietly. "It was a gift for my mother, it was meant for my sister."

"Well, tell your sister I say thank you. I'll get it back to you before the games."

"Oh... well, she doesn't need it." He chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of his neck to quell the goosebumps forming there. "My mother died in childbirth. Neither of them made it. So now, we've just got this blanket..."

You frown, instinctively loosening your grip on the suddenly delicate material. "I'm so sorry, Coryo. That's awful."

Coryo? The nickname falling from your lips sounds like the spoon that stirs sugar into tea- abrasive for the breakfast table, but still very sweet.

When he doesn't respond, you continue. "The distance that the dead have gone does not at first appear- their coming back seems possible for many an ardent year."

"Why do you talk like that?" He asks suddenly, eager to discuss anything other than the death of his mother.

You smile. "It's from a poem. An ancient one." You explain. "I like to read, it's all I've ever really done. My ma taught me how, gave me all these old, old books with reprints of popular stories from way back when. They just... speak to me. People back then seem to have known it all."

"I've never read anything like that." He replies.

"That surprises me." You answer honestly. "Did you know you're named after a play?" You ask, sitting down now, careful not to let the blanket touch the dirty ground.

"Am I?" He asks, sitting down across from you without thinking much of it.

"Yes." You nod. "I quoted it in my goodbye to the District. I thought that was why you came to see me."

"I had no idea." Coryo says, smile tugging at his lips. "What a coincidence."

"Pray you, who does the wolf love?" You giggle, leaning closer so he can hear you better. "The lamb."

"From?" He asks, unable to resist the urge to smile any longer.

"The Tragedy of Coriolanus."

"Why is it a tragedy?" He asks, brow furrowed.

"Well, it's about this man named Coriolanus, who gets thrust into a position of power he isn't quite suited for. It's all he can think about, he's obsessed with it. He does well, he rescues the city, but his power and pride become his downfall, and he's banished by his own people." You explain.

"Oh. He doesn't regain their favour?"

"He dies at the end, 'cause he's betrayed too many. It's sort of sad."

"Sort of?" Coryo chuckles quietly. "He did so much for his people, is his death not a great loss?"

"His death is meant to be a justice for his actions, but I disagree." You whisper. "I think he was too far gone to be changed, yes, but I think if things had gone differently for him he would have made some better choices."

"Maybe." Coryo agrees. "But with a tragedy, doesn't that mean it was always meant to end that way?"

"People say that." You reply. "But I think the aspect of human nature has been lost in it. I think people can always change. Usually, it's circumstance that changes people into villains, so I think it could change them into heroes too. How do you know so much about tragedies if you've never heard of Shakespeare?"

"There's others, more modern stuff that they teach us here. No one likes to talk about history before Panem." Coryo answers. "But I agree. I think the idea of destiny is embellished, in some ways."

You hum in agreement, looking up at the sky. "There's not as many stars here."

"No?" He asks, taking a break from looking at you to look up as well. He's never known anything different than the very few stars they get, even on a clear night.

"No." You shake your head. "Back home, if you look up at night you couldn't count the stars if you were given a month to do it and a pencil to track it all down. There are thousands."

"Sounds nice." He whispers.

"It is." You agree, voice catching. You'll never go home and see the stars again, this is the best you would get for the rest of your life. You didn't realize the last time you saw the stars light up the sky that you never would again. You wish you had appreciated it more. You let out a shaky breath, deciding to look instead at your lap. There was no use in hurting your feelings anymore.

At the sound of your unsteady exhale, Coryo snaps his eyes back to you. He realizes at just about the same time you did what you were thinking about. "I'm sorry." He says after a few moments of silence, unsure what else he could say.

You just nod, reaching up to wipe your eyes. "I'll just miss it. I didn't realize until now that I won't get to see it again."

"You might." He tries to be encouraging, but the odds of you surviving are slim and he knows that. "I'll do everything I can to help you. I want you to get home."

"You would love it." You say, ignoring his sentiment because you know if you acknowledge it you'll start bawling. "There's a big open field by my house, when I was younger my ma would take us out there with a blanket in the middle of the night and we would lay down and look at the stars."

Coryo is quiet, just nodding as he listens to your story. "Sometimes my cousin and I sit on the roof of our apartment at night. We'll just sit out there and talk for hours, it's the best part of my day when we both get the chance." He tries to relate to you, he really does, but he knows that he could leave whenever he wanted and go sit with Tigris on the roof tonight. You don't have that privilege.

"You live together?" You ask, sniffling.

"Yeah. It's just us and our Grandma'am."

"That sounds nice." You smile sadly. "What's her name?"

"My cousin? Tigris."

"Tigris." You roll the name around in your mouth. "Will you tell me about her?"

"Well, she graduated a couple of years ago. She wants to be a designer, but there's not much of a market for that these days, so she works under someone else. Her boss is just awful to her, but Tigris gives it all she's got. She's got a real talent for it."

You lean forward against the bars as he speaks, resting your forehead on the cold metal and letting your eyes close. "I'm sure she's amazing."

"She is. She took this old shirt of my father's, completely remade it for me to wear to the reaping like nothing had ever been wrong with it in the first place. She even used the tiles in our bathroom to make these tiny buttons for it. It's really impressive. I think one day when I'm president, I'll get her a better job. If she even wants to work. She's been working for as long as I can remember to take care of me, I hope to return the favour one day."

"That's very kind of you." You yawn. "She sounds lovely. I wish I could have the pleasure of meeting her one day."

"If she's free, I'll bring her to say hello." He smiles, noticing you're already half asleep. The urge to reach forward, just a little, and push your hair away from where it has fallen in your face is near impossible to resist. Instead, he keeps talking. "She would love to meet you too, I know it. You are pretty much all we talk about these days."

"Me? Why's that?"

"You're just... unlike anyone I've ever met. Better, I suppose." He whispers. "And you're really important to me. I hope you understand that."

"I don't have to win for you to get your prize, right?" You ask quietly.

"No." He replies. "But I really hope you do. Maybe it's selfish of me, but I'd like to see you when you're not a monkey in a cage. As yourself."

You smile, cheeks flushing under the mask of the darkness that surrounds you. "Come, gentle night, come, loving black-browed night, give me my Romeo, and when I shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars." You whisper, so quietly to yourself he's not even sure he heard every last word, but god, did he long to. Only so many quotes and poems and words of your own would have the gift of leaving your lips. Your words were numbered- and as he could, he would cherish every one.

"What's that from?" He asks, leaning closer.

"Romeo and Juliet." You yawn. "That's my favourite. One day, you should read it."

"I will." He promises. And he'll think the whole time of you.

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