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ichorai · 6 months

Text

thread ; coriolanus snow.

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; “they’re all just copying us, you know,” he said, sounding almost bitter.

“of course they are,” you replied, taking a drawn-out sip from your cup. “we showed them there’s no sharks in the water. obviously they’re going to jump in.”

words ; 6.6k

themes ; mild fluff/angst, action

warnings / includes ; themes of classism, violence/injury/death/drug misuse, coryo's paranoia, he isn't exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could </3

series masterlist. main masterlist.

Coriolanus came late to class. He rushed in, uniform only slightly askew, and hair messier than usual. You moved your bag aside so he could take a seat beside you. With a nod, he slipped into the row and began laying out his books.

You wondered how Tigris reacted once he got back home. Probably worried sick for her cousin and her friend. Your father, of course, was furious with you once he learned about your tryst with Coriolanus in the Capitol Zoo, but there was little he could do when he was off working in the districts. During dinner with your mother, Lucretius Flickerman, and his wife, the tributes and the games were practically all the three could talk about. Lucky was going to be the first ever host, apparently.

How fun.

To neither of your surprise, Highbottom eyed the two of you with disdain. When you had strode into the hall, he remained silent. Coriolanus’ arrival seemed to tip him right over the edge.

“Both of your little excursions were in violation of about five different academy rules,” he grumbled. “Chiefly amongst them—endangering a Capitol student. Yourselves.”

“There were peacekeepers crawling all over the place,” Coriolanus retorted.

The dean’s nose twitched angrily. Then, he fixed you with a harsh look over his spectacles, and drawled out your name. “Since you are the academy’s brightest, and your records have been… untarnished until now, I will let you off with a warning.” There was a pause, before the dean continued. “Mr. Snow, I’m moving for the gamemakers to disqualify you as mentor, effective immediately.”

“What?” the two of you exclaimed at once.

“You said we had to get them to perform, not stay away!” Coriolanus just about spat.

“I’ll add insubordination, as well,” Highbottom replied, tone venomous.

Raising your hand and ignoring the dean’s irritated exhale, you haughtily said, “It was me who went into the tribute’s truck. Coriolanus only followed. We didn’t know that we’d end up in a zoo enclosure.”

Arachne tittered with condescending laughter. “Yeah, and then you held hands with them. Made it seem like we’re the same as those animals.”

From your other side, Sejanus was quick to defend the two of you. “Coriolanus and Y/N didn’t show those people anything they didn’t already know.”

Stiffening, Coryo scowled and said, “I don’t need your help, Sejanus.”

He ignored him and continued on, “That the tributes are human beings, just like us. That’s why nobody wants to watch the games—because people know, deep down, that winning a war ten years ago doesn’t justify starving people’s children, taking away their freedoms, their rights!”

“Dean Highbottom,” you called, not bothering to raise your hand this time. “How is it fair that Coriolanus gets disqualified while I’m not? We did what you told us to do! We were just trying to get to know our tributes.”

“Would you like to be disqualified as well? I can surely arrange for that to happen,” he deadpanned. “But poor little Wovey would be left all on her own.”

Nausea coiled within your abdomen. You drew yourself up to your full height. “Well, that would be entirely unnecessary—”

Before you could finish your sentence, the doors to the lecture theater swung open once more, and Dr. Volumnia Gaul crept in, footsteps completely silent. How she managed that, you weren’t at all sure.

With everyone’s eyes on her, she fixed her stare on the two of you. Her hair was wrangled back into a high up-do, tall and grey on her head.

“Quite a show you two put on. You’re good players,” she said, voice booming throughout the theater. “The hunger games needs good players. Maybe one day you’ll be gamemakers, like me.”

The thought sent chills up your spine. Coriolanus kept his expression stoic.

“If the games continue at all,” said Highbottom.

Singular blue eye flashing, Dr. Gaul grinned in an unnerving manner. “Oh, they’ll continue. With performances like young Snow and L/N in that zoo? The people would never stop wanting for more.” She drew closer to the rows of seats, gloved hand trailing over a few of the desks. “I came here to ask the star mentors a question… what are the hunger games for?”

You and Coriolanus exchanged a quick glance.

“They’re to punish the districts for their uprising,” he said, as if it were obvious. “To commemorate the end of the war.”

Volumnia’s tongue darted out to wet her lips, in a similar fashion to a snake.

“And what would you say, Y/N?”

It was hard to maintain eye contact with her, especially because it felt like she could peer into your very soul and dissect you apart from inside out—but you managed. With your father being such an avid supporter of the hunger games, you wondered if your answer would be what she was looking for. “I don’t agree with the games. But I know it’s because—fear is power. Keep the districts afraid for themselves, for their children, and you’ll always have the upper hand.”

She smiled, wide and eerie. “You’re right. Fear is power. But punishment and fear can take many forms. They can come from bomb droppings, the cancelling of food shipments, stage executions. The question is, why games?”

Defensive, Sejanus spoke up, “Shouldn’t we be asking whether or not it’s right in the first place?”

“You have a problem with my games?” she asked, unimpressed.

“Some of those kids were two years old when the war ended! The oldest of them were only eight!” he exclaimed. “The Capitol is supposed to be everyone’s government now. It is supposed to protect all of us. I don’t see how making children fight each other to the death is protecting anyone.”

With a sneer, Dr. Gaul told him, “That sort of sympathy might be interfering with your mentoring assignment, Mr. Plinth.”

Finally, Highbottom said to his colleague, “Perhaps Capitol students are ill-suited to be mentoring tributes. Perhaps the games’ time has passed.”

Yes, you thought. It’s time to let it go.

To your surprise, Coriolanus abruptly stood up from his seat. “Dean Highbottom is wrong,” he asserted. “My classmates, too. Maybe Sejanus is onto something here. We should be viewing those tributes as human beings. You saw those kids at the zoo. They just wanted to get to know Lucy Gray. If we need people to watch, we should let them get closer to the tributes before the games. Make the stakes personal.”

“Who would watch the games if they care what happens to the tributes?” Dr. Gaul asked, as if the notion of caring about district folk was ludicrous.

“Everyone,” replied Coriolanus. “Especially if they thought the tribute they cared about had a chance of winning. People need someone to root for and someone to root against! And if we bend a few Capitol laws, we can even have them place bets.”

You felt sick as you looked up at Coriolanus with a mildly disturbed expression. If he noticed, he didn’t give you any indication.

“I know Lucy Gray may not win in the arena,” he continued. “But if you give her a chance—I would bet the Plinth prize that she could win people’s attention.”

Dr. Gaul was effectively intrigued.

“I would like you to write up a proposal of these thoughts tonight, Mr. Snow,” she said.

Clemensia, strong-headed as ever, stood up and said that she should be working with Coriolanus, as his class partner.

With an amused snicker, Volumnia bowed her head and made her way back to the door. “It’ll be an interesting test,” she ominously said before turning on her heel and exiting, her dark cloak billowing out behind her.

During lunch, you sat down across from Coriolanus in the cafeteria, noticing that he had three sandwiches stacked on his plate, along with half a dozen cookies on another. It was a rare thing, seeing him with so much food. Usually he opted for just starving himself to save some money, despite your urges to get him to eat.

“Hungry?” you asked with an arched brow, but he shook his head.

“It’s for Lucy Gray,” he replied, staring down at the food. Then, he pulled out a red handkerchief and started wrapping the food up. “I’m going back.”

With a soft sigh, you started digging into your own lunch. “Hopefully not inside this time.”

He spared you half a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Are you coming? Everyone else is. I heard Arachne tell Felix she’s going to use food to get her tribute to do tricks for her.”

With a wrinkle of your nose, you glanced over at her several tables down. “Sounds like something she’d say.” You took a bite of your food and chewed thoughtfully.

“They’re all just copying us, you know,” he said, sounding almost bitter.

“Of course they are,” you replied, taking a drawn-out sip from your cup. “We showed them there’s no sharks in the water. Obviously they’re going to jump in.”

He tied the handkerchief together so the sandwiches and cookies would stay put. “They’re all sheep. No original thought whatsoever.”

There it was again, your wind-chime laugh. Coriolanus smiled down at his plate, now empty save for a few bread crumbs.

“It’s not that big of a deal, Coryo. Besides, I’m glad most of the class is going. The tributes must be starving in there,” you told him. “I’ll come and bring some food for Wovey.”

A voice from your right jutted into your conversation, Sejanus’ angry face coming into view as he slammed down his lunch tray in the empty spot beside you. “You guys going to fatten up your tributes so you can finally start taking bets?” he just about snarled.

“Do you think they’ll give those kids a scrap if we don’t give them a reason to do it?” Coriolanus responded defensively, leaning forward with narrowed eyes. “How do you think your tribute will have a chance if he can’t eat?”

“We can’t send them back to their homes,” you told Sejanus in a juxtaposingly calm tone. “The best we can do for them now is help them out here.”

The curly-haired man slumped forward, his shoulder stooping like an old wildflower. “He was my classmate,” he muttered. “Back in two.”

Though you gave Sejanus a sympathetic look, Coryo regarded Sejanus as if he was confused. He wondered why Sejanus even bothered to care this much when he was no longer a part of the districts.

“It’s not your fault that—” Coriolanus began, but was swiftly interrupted.

“Oh, yeah, I’m so blameless I’m choking on it!” he gritted out. Then, he let out a shaky breath, trying to steel himself. “My father bought him for me, you know. At the reaping. Just so he could show me that I could never go back to two.”

A frown marred your features. “He bribed Highbottom?”

“Something like that,” Sejanus told you, using the prongs of his fork to poke and prod at his food. “Morphling costs a pretty penny.”

Silence stretched over the three of you for a few seconds. Coriolanus looked annoyed, but Sejanus didn’t seem to notice.

“Being in the Capitol is going to kill me,” he sighed.

This made Coryo scowl. “So do something about it.”

Sejanus’ dark eyes flitted over to the bundle of food in Coriolanus’ hands. “You’re quite the rebel.”

Coriolanus retorted, “Oh, yeah. I’m bad news.”

When he said that, he’d expected you to laugh again, but you kept quiet, staring down at your now-unappetizing lunch.

There was a considerably larger crowd around the enclosure that evening. You had a small basket clutched in one hand, consisting of juice boxes (still grape, since you now knew it was a safe option), soft bread rolls, and wrapped leftovers from your dinner with Lucky. You hoped Wovey wasn’t allergic to anything—you’d forgotten to ask in the heat of it all.

Coriolanus still only had the few sandwiches he saved from lunch, but you assured him that you were more than happy to share with Lucy Gray if need be.

She looked much more haggard tonight, most of her makeup smeared off, her lips chapped and bleeding at the center from what you assumed was anxious biting, and her hair was more unruly. Though her eyes still held the same fire, the same passion, lighting up when she noticed the two of you approaching. She asked if the food was for them with slight surprise—you often forget that they hadn’t much to eat in the districts, anyway—and took what was offered, before handing off a good portion of it to her district partner, Jessup. The larger man declined the food at first, claiming he wasn’t hungry, but eventually caved and took the sandwiches.

When he turned to walk off, Coriolanus asked about the nasty wound on his neck. It was just behind his ear and oozing with blood and pus. A bat bite on the train, Lucy Gray told the two of you, looking awfully guilty on behalf of her friend.

Crooning from a little way’s away drew your attention to Arachne and her tribute. She was dangling a cold bottle of water just inches from the tribute’s reach, urging her to beg.

Lucy Gray’s brows cinched. “One thing I learned in twelve is that hunger is a weapon. Your friend over there sure knows it.”

The two of you scoffed at the same time.

“She is not my friend,” Coriolanus told her. “She is poison with perfect teeth.”

“How such a vile tongue hides behind those pearly whites, I wouldn’t ever know,” you remarked, earning you a snicker from Coriolanus. Finally, you peered around for Wovey, eager to finally get her something to eat. However, curse your damned softening heart, your eyes grew gentle upon seeing her curled up by the very same tree stump, head resting on Bobbin’s shoulder, fast asleep.

Lucy Gray casted a glimpse over her shoulder to see what you were looking at.

“Could you give this to her?” you asked, slotting the small basket between the enclosure’s metal bars. “When she wakes up, that is. She must be famished. Feel free to take anything in there, but just… leave some for her.”

The girl nodded, taking the basket from you and handing it over to Jessup, who cradled it as if it were more precious than gold. You watched him carefully—not because you were worried he was going to keep all the food to himself, but because you were curious as to why he hadn’t reached in to take anything for himself yet, even after several minutes passed by.

Coriolanus leaned forward, wrapping a hand around one of the bars as he lowered his voice. “Are you going to share everything with Jessup?”

Lucy Gray’s expression faltered. “Why? You think I oughta build up my strength to strangle him in the arena? Not exactly my forte.”

“I might have a chance to help you,” he told her, watching her keenly. “To make some suggestions to the gamemakers. I might even be able to get the audience to send you gifts in the arena. Food, and water, to keep you going. You just have to try singing again.”

Firmly, Lucy Gray said, “I don’t sing when I’m told, I sing when I have something to say.”

“And you have nothing to say?” you asked her, head tilting. “The whole world is watching, Lucy Gray. Now’s your chance.”

A myriad of emotions crossed over her face. “It doesn’t matter much now, does it? I’ve seen the arena—there’s nowhere to hide. What’s the point?” Her gaze traveled from you to Coriolanus. “The guards say you get money if you get more people to watch and you say you want to help me. Which is it?”

“Both?” he offered.

It didn’t satisfy her, but it was enough, for now.

Then, she grabbed a sandwich from the red handkerchief and took a large bite, a muffled noise of appreciation falling from her lips.

“Bread’s soft,” she said around a mouthful. “Softer than in twelve.”

Then, she offered a cookie to Coriolanus. He began to protest, but she insisted he take it.

“I saw you staring,” she said. “I always thought there was plenty of food in the Capitol.”

Coriolanus laughed, a coarse and unrefined sound. “One time during the war, I ate a whole jar of paste just to stop the pain in my stomach.”

A match of pity struck within the confines of your chest, but you remained quiet. Coriolanus told you stories of his times during the war often—usually after the two of you laid together, sweaty and naked, bearing your souls to one another. Pillow talk made him quite emotional, you found.

“And how was it?” Lucy Gray queried, eyes round.

Coriolanus took a bite of the cookie, humming in though. Then, he shrugged. “Pasty,” he said.

Lucy Gray laughed. She looked back to you, appreciative. “Thank you, for the food. I’m sure the little one’s going to be happy.” Your eyes flickered back to Wovey. She stirred a bit on Bobbin’s shoulder, but remained asleep. “She’s so sweet. So young. Something about her reminds me of my cousin, Maude Ivory. I can’t stand to think of them without me like this.”

“I’m sorry,” Coriolanus whispered.

You nodded in agreement. “They’re waiting for you, I’m sure. You’ll see them again.”

Lucy Gray smiled sadly. “I won’t hold you to that.” Then, after she took another bite, she blew out a gentle sigh. “You two seem like… genuine folk. It sure would’ve been nice to meet you under different circumstances.”

Coriolanus leaned his head against the enclosure’s bars. “One of your shows, maybe.”

Somehow, her smile grew impossibly wider, but her eyes shone with unshed tears. “Yeah. Yeah, I would’ve liked that.” With a light sniffle, she asked the two of you, “You two keen on dancing?”

You thought back to all the dance lessons you were forced to take as a young child. It was never your strong suit. “Not really, no. Coriolanus is much better than I am.”

“Not your fancy Capitol dancing,” she told you, waving a hand in the air. “Dancing like you’re free. Dancing with no rules. Just the music, to guide you.”

Both you and Coriolanus exchanged glances. “Can’t say I’ve tried,” you replied. “But it sounds fun.”

Lucy Gray nodded, showing more enthusiasm than you’d ever seen in her before. “You’d have the time of your life. If you ever visit… I’d love for you to come. Both of you—we’d have a drink. Share a dance or two. We’d have all the time in the world. People always say our music shows are the best places for romantic dates. It’d be perfect for you two.”

It was a pleasant fantasy to entertain. But that’s all it was—a fantasy. When you looked at Coriolanus, his expression was simultaneously strained and distant, as if he were far away, thinking of other things. You reached out to place your hand on his shoulder.

But before you could, screams erupted from around the enclosure, followed closely by shattering glass. You whipped your head away from Lucy Gray, seeing Arachne’s tribute jabbing the broken glass bottle straight into her jugular. Coriolanus yelled something—you weren’t entirely sure what, but he jumped up to grab Arachne, applying pressure to the wound.

It wasn’t enough.

Blood, dark and viscous and filling the air with the smell of copper, began to pool around her neck, down her shoulders, filling the crevices of her collarbones. She was blubbering something, gargling through blood, but you couldn’t quite hear with the loud static buzzing in your ears.

You glanced to the side, catching sight of peacekeepers lining up their guns to shoot. You rushed forward to get to Coriolanus, yanking him down just as several shots rang out. He was whimpering, telling Arachne to hold on for him, but when you frantically reached down to feel for her pale wrist’s pulse—it wasn’t there.

Arachne was dead.

You clambered off of Coriolanus, away from the dead girl, backing away. You only barely registered Sejanus calling out your name in concern, but you didn’t pay him any mind. Instead, you turned your eyes to the tributes, all ducking and cowering behind trees and tires. To your relief, Wovey was now awake, eyes wide as she crouched behind the tree stump with Bobbin.

The relief was short-lived, however, because peacekeepers began urging everybody away from the enclosure. You reached out for Coriolanus, taking his arm. He was shaking, eyes as large as saucers and visibly distraught.

The two of you walked to his estate in tense silence.

Once there, Grandma’am and Tigris fawned over the two of you, though in far different ways. Grandma’am dove into a lecture about rebels and how lucky the two of you were that your tributes hadn’t done the very same. Tigris wrapped a warm shawl over you and a patched blanket over her cousin, telling Grandma’am that Lucy Gray and Wovey weren’t rebels, just innocent girls.

“Trust me, that one hasn’t been a girl in a long time,” Grandma’am bitterly retorted. “Outside this Capitol, they’re savages, however they may smile. She will use you, Coriolanus. You must use her or you’ll end up dead in the trees, like your father.”

Coriolanus stiffened.

An hour later, he tugged you into his room and kissed you hard and desperate, as if he wanted to distract himself from his own thoughts. You were the one to pull away, even if everything inside you was screaming to stay. You almost caved, almost, when his head dipped forward in an attempt to capture your lips again, but you placed the tips of your fingers over his mouth with a soft, sympathetic smile. You hugged him tight until he stopped trembling, and reluctantly drew yourself away from him. After embracing Tigris goodnight, you walked home alone with your thoughts, wondering if the games were going to continue in lieu of the evening’s events.

There was an assembly held at the academy for Arachne’s death, followed promptly by a proper funeral. Though, it didn’t quite feel proper with all the cameras and reporters hovering around. You wondered if people were expecting to see you cry. You were incredibly shaken, sure, but were you sad?

It’d be a lie if you said yes.

They made sure to zoom in on you and Coriolanus when you kissed him on the cheek and squeezed his hand just before he was appointed to go on stage and sing the national anthem. Why he was the one to do so, the two of you had no idea. It’s not like Arachne was friends with him, despite what the reporters wanted to think. It was a ridiculous waste of breath, he thought, singing for a girl he barely knew.

After Coriolanus’ performance, President Ravinstill gave a rather monotonous speech about courage and bravery. How Arachne was going to be sorely missed. Right—of course she was.

And the very next day, life moved on. As if Arachne’s death had never happened.

Soon after, they had all the mentors and tributes gathered into one of the academy halls— with the tributes shackled to tables, of course. It wasn’t like there was anywhere for them to run. You’d seen all the peacekeepers lining the hallways outside.

“In spite of yesterday’s tragic events,” Highbottom said, not a shred of sincerity to be found in his tone, “our President has decided that the games must go on. Show everyone that the Capitol is unafraid of such acts of terror. To which end Dr. Gaul wishes you to preview the arena this afternoon with your tributes. Later this evening, there will be a special, televised presentation of each tribute to our audience so they could… get to know them.”

A glorified show-and-tell, you dryly thought. How wonderful.

You and Coriolanus looked at each other for a brief moment—he’d ask Lucy Gray to sing again, you were certain. Then, you turned back forward, where Wovey was fiddling with her thumbs, sniffling a few times.

“You’ll have an hour to discuss strategy,” said the dean, before whisking himself off to the shadows of the room to down another vial of morphling.

You sat down in front of your tribute, trying your best to offer her a warm smile.

“Did you like the food I brought? Was it okay?” you whispered, making sure to lower your voice.

A nod, a scuffle of feet. Her bottom lip trembled.

Gnawing on the inside of your cheek, you moved on to the pressing matter at hand. “Okay, Wovey. I need… I need to know what you’re good at. Are you a fast runner?”

She thought for a moment, but then shook her head.

“I know you can climb?”

She let out a shaky sigh. “I used to climb in my mama’s factory all the time. Trees, too.”

“Good. That’s good,” you murmured, pulling out a notepad so you could jot some things down. “Are you good at hiding? Staying still?”

“I think so,” she said, looking awfully uncomfortable. “Will I go back home if I win?”

A sharp pang hit you square in the chest. You tore your gaze away from your notes on the paper to look at her.

“Yes,” you hesitantly replied. “They’ll take you home.”

This seemed to satisfy her for the time being. Gave her hope that you perhaps shouldn’t have instilled.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “So—for your televised presentation. We need to win the audience over so they send in donations—I’d be able to send you things. What do you want to do?”

After quite a bit of back and forth, you managed to get Wovey to agree to talk about her family on stage. How much she missed them. It wasn’t much, but perhaps the youngest tribute sympathy card would push the odds in your favor.

Halfway through the hour, however, Coriolanus and Clemensia were called away by Highbottom—most likely to discuss the proposal Coryo had written up once you left the estate. You made a mental note to ask him how it goes once you saw him again. You felt bad, seeing Lucy Gray sitting all alone, bound hands lightly rapping against the table’s wood.

By the stroke of four in the afternoon, they gathered all the mentors and tributes in front of the arena. Coriolanus came bounding up to the group just seconds away from the gates opening, appearing breathless and mildly frazzled.

“You okay? Where’s Clemmie?” you asked, resting a hand on his elbow, brows kinking with confusion.

“She’s… not going to make it.” He winced, appearing distinctly torn. “I’ll tell you later.”

There was a brief silence where you scrutinized him, eyes wide. Something bad happened when he was with Dr. Gaul, and you weren’t too keen on finding out.

You walked alongside Coriolanus into the arena, with your two tributes in front of you. Lucy Gray was saying something comforting to Wovey in that sweet voice of hers, and for that you were grateful. The last thing you needed was Wovey to break down in an anxious mess.

The arena itself was spacious but incredibly rundown, crumbling under the weight of its neglected upkeep. The glass roof was stained and dusty, rusty slants creaking as they parted to filter sunlight into the dome.

“Welcome to the arena of the 10th annual hunger games,” a distorted voice echoed through the arena’s shoddy speaker system. “Tributes, mentors, you have fifteen minutes to survey the space and discuss strategy.”

With one final squeeze on Coriolanus’ shoulder, you parted ways with him, stepping beside Wovey to urge her into a lap around the arena. Staggered rows of dusty seats lined the edges high above the ground—Wovey was a good climber, wasn’t she?

You tried your best to give her advice. “Hiding in the seats is your best option. Climbing over the rows whenever someone comes to attack you should buy you time. You’re small, too—I think you’d be able to crawl beneath the seats to get away. As for weapons… maybe grab something small from the center. A knife or a dagger. But only if you have time, and only if you know you can make it. If not, just make a break for the seats, as fast as you can. Got that, sweetheart?”

Wovey stayed silent. But she nodded. Nodded and nodded until you worried her head was going to pop right off.

You bent down at the waist slightly so that you were eye-level with her. “I’ll be watching you the whole time. I’m there if you need m—”

Sudden explosions rang out about the arena. Plumes of dust flew everywhere, blinding you almost instantaneously. With your eyes squeezed shut, you felt the ground shake and split and rumble until another closer explosion flung you a good few feet off the ground. You landed on your side with a strangled scream, though the pain only registered a few seconds later. Cracking your aching eyes open and squinting through the haze of dust, you caught sight of shattered glass thundering around you like crystalized rain, nicking your skin with sharp pin pricks.

Your right side buzzed with warmth. Something damp. You dazedly looked down.

Oh.

It seemed you’d landed right on a broken metal pipe, sticking right out of your abdomen. Blood was pooling down your academy uniform, soaking the fabric a far more sinister shade of red. You choked out something akin to a dry sob, before screaming out for help. You heard dozens of similar cries echo back to you.

With a grunt, you pushed yourself up,

“CORYO?!” you screamed as loud as you could. Faintly, you could hear his strained voice echo your name back—somewhere across the arena, you’d wager.

The pain was starting to grow worse. Searing, almost, as if you were being laid over an open fire. You staggered through the rubble, pressing a hand to your side in a terrible attempt to staunch the bleeding, careful not to jostle the pipe. It was probably the only thing keeping you from bleeding out right then and there.

As you kept moving, you caught sight of a large, gaping hole at the opposite end of the arena. There were tributes running out. Peacekeepers shooting them. The explosions had been so loud that your ears were ringing with terrible white noise—you couldn’t even hear the sound of the rifles blasting.

You glanced around wildly.

You spotted the small little girl near the edge of the arena. Running with Dill, you realized, mind still lagging a second too late from shock. Another explosion rattled through the arena—this time, crumbling the roof away completely.

With a mangled noise, you began limping as quickly as you could.

Another call of your name, echoing and rattling about your skull, and Coriolanus materialized right beside you out of seemingly nowhere. There were two of him, you realized. He appeared fuzzy.

You reached out for him, but he suddenly pulled you forward, yelling something. Something you couldn’t hear. A flash of rainbow by his left, and you saw Lucy Gray just barely escape being crushed by a large stone support column.

More crumbling ceiling. Coriolanus’ hands were cold when he urgently shoved you forward. So hard that you went tumbling down, screaming with the sudden painful jolts the metal pipe sent shooting up your spine. A second later, you blearily looked around for Coriolanus—realizing that he’d pushed you into the clear when you found him pinned down under heavy foundational slants—and they’d caught on fire.

Numb panic shot through your mind. You barely registered your own voice croaking out his name. You tried to crawl towards him, but he only seemed to get farther away.

The last thing you saw before your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you went careening backwards was the rainbow dress, and wild, dark hair.

The hospital bed was far from comfortable, but you’d been so tired you were knocked out for half of the day. Though, Tigris told you that you did sort of wake up at some point in the night, mumbling Coriolanus’ name with half-cracked eyes, before falling right back asleep.

He’d startled awake before you—rushing to your bed (right beside his) and taking your limp hand in his cold, clammy one. Brushed the hair away from your forehead and muttered apologies and please don’t die like they were a mantra.

When you finally stirred, you nearly burst into tears upon seeing Coriolanus.

“I thought you died,” you dry-sobbed. Your side ached considerably with the effort. “I thought I was going to die.”

He drew you into a loose hug, careful to avoid your bandaged midriff. He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’m here. I love you—I’m not going anywhere, okay? Lucy Gray saved you. Saved us.”

“She did?” you croaked, voice soft. Yes, you sort of remembered. It was all a blur.

“She caught you before you could crack your head open on the ground,” said another voice. You turned your stiff neck to see Sejanus at the foot of the other side of your bed, next to Tigris, who was running her hand up and down your arm in a comforting manner.

You blew out a shaky sigh. Your head pulsed, and you suddenly felt nauseous. “What… what happened?”

They took turns explaining. Rebel bombing. The dead tributes. The president’s son, Felix, in critical condition. Sejanus’ tribute missing. How the games were still commencing regardless. The pipe that had been lodged in your abdomen missing any vital organs. How you were lucky to be alive.

“Wovey?” you whispered. “Is she okay?”

Coriolanus smoothed a hand over your head. “She’s okay. Not one of the ones that died.”

“Lucy Gray?” you whispered.

“Alive. She could have run. She stayed back to help you and me,” he said as his hand traveled down to gently cup your face. There were dark circles under his eyes. “I owe her now. She saved the love of my life.”

“Oh, Coryo—are you okay? Are you hurt?” Your gaze roamed all over his form, clad in an identical hospital gown.

“A few burns and bruises. Nothing compared to you.”

You drew in a staggered breath. Every muscle and tendon in your body screamed with even the slightest movements.

Tigris squeezed your hand. “We were so worried for you. Coriolanus couldn’t sleep all night. Your mother came by earlier but she had to leave—a spill in the lab, or something. And your father sends his love from district two. Your mother said he was furious. Military is doubling down.”

“Typical,” you whispered, supplying the three with half a weary smile, glad that they were there for you. “I can’t believe they’re going on with the games tomorrow. This is absurd.”

“They don’t want to seem weak,” Sejanus bitterly replied. “But you woke up just in time. The televised presentations are starting soon.”

Nearly an hour later, Sejanus switched on the television set hanging in front of the beds. Tribute after tribute went by, most of them appearing gaunt and exhausted. True to what the two of you had discussed, Wovey got on stage and talked about her family back in district eight, despite looking rather shaken. The audience crooned and sighed with pity. Donations were sparse, but still more than you had expected, to your bittersweet relief. You watched from the hospital bed, curled up with Tigris at the head of it, your head on her shoulder, whilst Sejanus and Coriolanus were standing far closer to the curved screen.

Lucy Gray was the last to go on. She had a guitar with her. And she sang a beautiful song—one about a boy back from home, she said. The audience cheered and sniffled. Even the nurses stopped their bustling to watch, some of them discreetly wiping away tears.

Once visiting hours were over and Tigris and Sejanus were shooed out of the hospital, Coriolanus sat beside you and slung an arm over your shoulder. He slotted his fingers beneath your chin and kissed you deeply. It was a slow embrace, with not a hint of sexual intentions—he just wanted to hold you. Remind himself that you were still alive, still here, still his.

Your nose nudged his when he laid his forehead over yours. The two of you breathed in each other’s comforting presence. Just the two of you. It reminded you of when times were so… uncomplicated. Before all the mentoring came along, the only things you had to worry about were grades and Coriolanus’ refusals to eat properly.

Then, he told you about Clemensia. How she was probably somewhere in this very building. How she screamed when she was bitten by the snake muttation. Your mind raced with questions, but you yawned instead and leaned against his chest.

“I love you, too, Coryo,” you whispered into his hospital gown, realizing you hadn’t said it back earlier.

A few minutes later, you were back asleep. Coriolanus was careful not to wake you when he laid you back down. Tucked the blanket up to your chin. He kissed your hairline once more, regarding you with a fond expression, before straightening, trying his best to ignore the aches blossoming over his back and legs.

And then he left the ward, assuring the doctors that he was fine and he could be discharged. They reluctantly agreed after a brief check-up, and had him sign off for himself. Once he was out, he immediately set off for the arena, trying to search for something, anything to keep his tribute alive.

Tunnels. The ground had collapsed into them, giving Lucy Gray a perfect place to run and hide. He went back home, making sure Grandma’am and Tigris were asleep—before pouring a copious amount of powdered rat poison into his late mother’s compact.

It was cheating. But you and Sejanus had both said it before—he was a rebel by nature. Bad news.

He visited the zoo enclosure and gave it to her then, informing her of the tunnels. Wiped her tears with a handkerchief, then told her he owed her his life and more. That you were okay, and it was all thanks to her. Lucy Gray looked overwhelmed for a moment. She did what any decent person would, she thought. He promised her that she’d get out. Return home to the Covey. False hope whispered unrealistic dreams into her ears and she let herself listen.

“We all do things we’re not proud of to survive,” he whispered when Lucy Gray attempted to protest, not wanting to poison anyone. He pushed the compact firmly into her hands. “Do it for your family.”

Conflict warred across her features. She nodded once, then twice.

Coriolanus' expression set with determination. “We are going to win this, Lucy Gray. We’re going to win this together. I’m going to get you home.”

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fluff #coriolanus snow x you #hunger games fanfiction #coriolanus snow drabbles #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas x reader #young!coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow angst

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deanbrainrotwritings · 6 months

Text

— GIMME HALF

REQUEST : “hi!! I was wondering if you could maybe write an age gap (legal obv) with female!reader × dean winchester where the reader is like in her 20s and dean's in his 40s :) just some rough smut with choking and hair pulling and spitting (if you're comfortable with it) and dean being like super "hungry" for her, like he's waited a long time for it to happen. also lots of dirty talks cause i absolutely love them hahah :) anyways im in love with your writing and all your stories! thanks a lot! <3” — anonymous

PAIRING : dean winchester x professor!reader (f.)

CHARACTERS : miracle, sam winchester

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), angst, enemies to lovers, age gap, voyeurism, smut, oral sex, p in v, praise kink, choking, hair pulling, dacryphilia, rough sex, spitting

WORD COUNT : 8.4k

A/N : devil wears prada song title. @spnkinkevents : #12daysofspnkinkmas2023 — chair sex and food play. I wrote this half-asleep while listening to ASMR, like… that’s how I write most of my stories, plus, they’re always written between 00.00-02.40. Doctor Who references, ‘cause I’m a nerd. I got carried away…. Cliffhanger bc I’m cruel.

There were countless pros and cons to having houses built so close together with windows facing the same direction.

Pros: Accidentally seeing your hot neighbour walk around naked in the living room and kitchen. Accidentally catching your hot neighbour jerk off when they think that everyone’s asleep.

Yup, she’s seen all of that and more. All from that nameless, freckled, green-eyed man next door.

Even wholesome things, like him playing with his cute dog, babying the little rascal and spoiling it. Him cooking and baking, being wholeheartedly content with feeding it to the tall, Hazel-eyed puppy dog of a man, the tall man’s gorgeous deaf wife, and his tiny adorable son; the blue-eyed, dreamy dude in a trench coat; and that endearing young boy with blue eyes who looked like a combination of all three of the men.

There were times where she’d seen the green-eyed man dressed as a cowboy and even a princess to entertain the little baby boy—his nephew. For sleepovers with him, he’d read him bedtime stories while being completely animated. He’d build a bunch of forts, with sheets, the couch, pillows, and some Christmas lights. He'd talk to the little boy and hold serious conversations despite neither of them being able to understand each other. He’d teach the young boy and the baby boy how to fix cars—at least he tried to. He’d pack his best friends' lunches every morning with his hair unkempt, half asleep, while sipping on some coffee. He’d even take naps with the baby, treating him as his own son.

He’d do ridiculously endearing things, too, such as baking bread at night when he couldn’t sleep. He'd read books only when he was alone, as if he’d be made fun of by his friends, and she finally understood why. They were either romantic, erotic, or completely nerdy and abstract. He had range. He’d watch cheesy soap operas and rom-com k-dramas when he did chores. He loved to collect things such as Pokémon cards and even legos.

There were a million things he did that she thought were cute. The windows into his house were like the screens of a television, like her favourite character, she got to see him when he’s relaxed and surrounded only by those who love him

As for the cons, we’ll get to that…

When they first moved in, it was about three and a half years ago. She’d been visiting her family in Kansas City for her oldest brother’s birthday in June.

When she returned to Lebanon, they had already settled down. There was a brown and beige Ford pickup truck, a black Subaru—both parked in the front, and a sleek black Impala in the driveway.

The youngest, Jack, waved at her one day when he returned with Cas after buying groceries. Then, Cas awkwardly introduced himself and Jack, and gave her the names of the other two men who were brothers, Sam is the tall one and Dean was the freckled one.

Sam was the most social one. He’d spark up conversation with her whenever he saw her, dropping bits and pieces of information about himself, his brother, his fiancée, Cas, Jack, and Dean’s loyal dog, Miracle.

After seven months of living together, Sam moved out with his wife, Eileen. They’d just gotten married, and they both invited her. She’d gone, the wedding was pretty, cute, and modest. Y/n had spoken to a few of their close family and friends. Dean, however, kept to himself the whole night as if he were grieving. He’d smile occasionally if any of his friends came to him, he was enthusiastic, and then he'd go back into himself.

Four months later, Sam and EIleen returned; she was pregnant. It was a boy, he’d planned on naming him after his big brother, which Y/n thought was adorable. He hadn’t told his brother, but planned on telling him the day his son was born.

Y/n could tell Dean had mixed feelings about his brother’s departure, mostly negative feelings. He loved Eileen and his nephew. But when it was just him, Cas, and Jack, he'd often drink, despite concerned, useless interventions with Cas. Unless Sam, Eileen, and his nephew were there. He’d never even glance at that top-shelf cupboard.

The good thing was that at least Dean was a happy drunk.

The first time she interacted with Dean was a few weeks after she’d returned from Kansas City, she assumed two things: his heart was closed off to new people, and he’s one hot, irritating, grumpy, sour, old man.

It was the spring semester at Kansas University. Y/n was grading her students’ creative, personal essays in the office downstairs. She was perplexed by the small percentage of her students and their inability to use proper grammar or follow the thorough, detailed checklist she created to get them to pass easily.

Just when she thought she’d gotten great at making their lives easy, they return the shittiest, half-assed essays. She felt bad for the bad grades, but since the rest of her students managed to get perfect scores or at least proficient scores, she couldn’t just let them pass.

Loud banging on the door startled her from reading an impressive essay. Her blood ran cold and she scrambled up from her rolling chair, ignoring that she pushed it halfway across the room.

Her socked feet were quiet on the wooden floor, making her way quickly down the hallway until she got to the shelf where she kept her gun. She pressed it against the door and looked through the peephole, then relaxed when she saw Dean.

She was irritated by the loud knocking, though, regardless of how cute he looked when he was clearly pissed off. She opened the door and set the gun down on the table where she usually placed her keys.

“Lady, have you seen the mess you made outside?” Dean asked her, pointing behind him. She stared at him, stunned by how much prettier he looked up close. Her cheeks turned hot, but she looked past him trying to see whatever he was pointing at.

She looked at her red Mustang parked in the front as a reminder to restock the kitchen, then looked close to where his house was. She winced at the mud and the running water from her hose going into his nice lawn.

“Shit,” she murmured, toeing her socks off before moving past Dean to turn the hose off. She got distracted by the mud and the puddles as she pulled the hose, and coiled it back where it should have been. It’s been a while since she last let her bare feet feel this beneath, the smell of wet dirt was amazing, even when it wasn’t caused by rainfall.

“Do you always do shit like this?” He asked from behind, his tone harsh.

She frowned when she turned to look at his furious face, careful to not touch her forehead with her muddy hands when she used her wrist to move hair away from her face.

“I’m sorry,” she apologised, tilting her head at him. He just rolled his eyes at her, then he stared at his lawn, and ran his hand down his face. “Did I do somethin’ else to piss you off?” She asked, looking around to see if there’s anything else she may have forgotten.

“One, your cat’s too damn loud, crying and meowing for my damn dog when you let him out,” he started, which made her blink in confusion. She didn’t expect something like that to get on his nerves. “And B, why the hell do you have cameras facing my place?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, her ego being injured fueled her anger and defensiveness. “Okay, listen, Doctor Who, I said I was sorry, okay?” She could tell her words stunned him by the furrowing of his brows in bewilderment, disarming him and shutting him up. “It’s not my fault your dog likes my cat, too. And the cameras are off, they’re there to scare people, so fuck off,” she snapped before she stop herself.

Dean scoffed at her, “fuck you.” She rolled her eyes at him this time, staring daggers into his back when he turned around to get to his home.

“If you’d fuck me, maybe you wouldnt be such an asshole.” Her snide words made him freeze. He laughed dryly and he turned to face her once more, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Pretty sure I’d still hate you, sweetheart,” he chuckled, crossing his own arms. That stung, even if she didn’t know him personally and half the time she spent romanticising him based on the little bit of information she had. “And I’d rather go fuck some other chick.” She clenched her jaw and breathed in slowly, angry heat began rising up her neck the faster her heart started to beat.

Entirely unintended, she venomously spat, “according to your brother, you haven’t been lucky enough, and you’re not going to be.”

“You talking to my brother about my sex life?” He stepped closer to her, his nostril flaring in anger. Betrayal and hurt crossed his features and she realised her mistake.

“No, just overheard him ‘cause you’re an overbearing douchebag,” she lied smoothly. Truth was, Sam and Eileen did accidentally—drunkenly—tell her how hard it was for Dean to maintain a serious relationship for more than three months. They don’t remember sharing that information. It was easy for her to casually ask about Dean’s love life and availability, masking her attraction to Dean as mere surprise as to how the younger brother got married before the older one. “Makes sense now why no one will sleep with you,” she laughed mockingly, stepping closer to him defiantly.

His face was red now, too. Angry, offended, he rolled his eyes at her smug face and body language. “You don’t know shit about me.”

“Sure, yeah, if that makes you feel better,” she snorted, patting his very nice, broad shoulder with her muddy hand as she made her back into her house. Preoccupied by the small mud-print on his beige Henley, he couldn’t get the last word in or stop her from leaving him flustered in her swampy driveway.

That was the start of a horrible relationship with her neighbour. The neighbour she had a crush on.

He found all kinds of reasons to complain. Big and small. And she secretly did things to piss him off, occasionally sabotaging his plans.

The thing was that deep down, she still liked him, but he made her so angry and frustrated. And it felt good to see him angry and frustrated by things she caused either on purpose or accidentally. Any attention was better than no attention.

Eventually, that all changed. The fun, the it’s-better-than-nothing feeling, it didn’t last. Fourteen months later, she stopped the cruel games and decided to avoid him completely.

When her friends offered to take her out, she agreed, even if she wanted to stay home. If Dean was home, she made sure to never say no to them, and sometimes she’d offer to take them out. Wherever.

She’d started to grade at the cafe, library, or the diner, even if Dean went to all those places often. At least he wouldn’t say anything there around all those people.

When she grew closer to Sam, Cas, and Jack, she’d find excuses not to go over to Dean’s when they offered either food, game nights, movie nights, or random hangouts. They started to notice too—the tension, the avoidance, the hostility—and they’d go over to her place instead, often without Dean, who’d choose to go out to avoid staying home alone.

It was awful. The rejection started to hurt, yet, he had her heart in the palm of his hand. Deep down, she knew that Dean wasn’t a bad person; he just didn’t like her.

Eventually, Dean ended his animosity, too, and everything went back to ‘normal’. She slowly started to reject offers from her friends to test the water, stayed home to grade, and didn't permit her cat to leave even if it cried for an escape. If she took him out, it was with a leash she eventually got him to get used to.

They ignored each other when they crossed paths—in the driveway, at the grocery store, at diners, at the cafe. They acted like complete strangers. She’d keep her curtains closed, at least she did for the windows that face his house. She made her presence as unnoticeable and as invisible as she could to prevent causing more damage to each other.

Then, about two months ago, on Halloween, Sam, Eileen, Cas, and Jack went to her house to collect candy. Sam made a point of staying back while the rest of them walked to where Dean was waiting—looking anywhere but at her house—to convince her to go to his and Eileen’s place for Thanksgiving.

He was honest, cute, wide hazel eyes attempting to convince her to try and make amends with Dean. She didn’t doubt it, when he told her that Dean felt guilty, but her pride was bruised, and her heart was broken. She told Sam she would be visiting her own family for that holiday. She omitted that she’d be going to her mother’s house a few miles away, still in Lebanon. And she easily convinced her mother to let her stay the rest of the week until she had to go back to work.

Now, Christmas was near—in four days, to be exact. It wasn’t the holiday spirit that made her change her mind, it was the hurt and the exhaustion of planning her life around avoiding Dean.

So, she called Sam, she asked if he could do anything to get Dean alone tomorrow.

For the rest of the day, she would start to prepare everything—even though it was Dean who created the mess—she was willing to make the first move and hopefully meet him halfway.

She couldn’t lie that she felt embarrassed by how excited she was to see Dean. She couldn't even differentiate the meaning of the butterflies in her stomach, but she powered through her fluttering heart and her shaking hands as she prepared everything before going to see him.

She considered not doing it at all, calling it quits—but the consequences of that quickly made her miserable. That would just mean more avoidance, more hiding, more changing everything about herself to make him happy.

All of this over one little misunderstanding. One bad day where her mouth ran without consulting her brain first ruined what could have otherwise been a good friendship—perhaps even a romantic relationship.

She was twenty-six and just like Dean, she hadn’t had a serious relationship since… Well, ever. The last time someone convinced her to date them was in highschool, and even before that, it took her a month—or less—to figure out she wanted nothing to do with them. She didn’t like the people she dated. She realised quickly that she didn’t even want a future with them, she didn’t even allow them to kiss her or touch her. So she figured that if she didn’t want to marry them, what was the point of wasting her time?

For so long, the first thing she thought of when she felt attracted to someone was: can I stand the thought of their touch? Can I see myself kissing them, letting them kiss me? Can I stand the thought of the fights and staying with them through thick and thin? Can I picture myself with them in the future, permanently?

The answer was always ‘no’ and the attraction died immediately after the realisation.

With Dean, the answer was different. Not for some stupid reason, like fate, or the boy-next-door trope. No. This was reality, and the real reason was the fact that she got to see who he was before she was attracted to him.

It was the selflessness, the love in everything that he did, the gentleness of his heart, the kindness that radiated from him, and the ease in the way he did chores, the way he made his friends laugh, his playfulness, the loyalty, the way he was clearly protective.

It was the open windows of her house into his open windows that let her see through him, down to his very beautiful core. It was the lack of hidden things, the openness of his soul because he felt safe, unwatched. It was real because Cas, Jack, and Sam were proof that even though Dean wasn’t perfect, he was worth it.

The Doctor did say once: the good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice-versa, the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant.

For the first time, she was willing to take a chance.

She smoothed down the silky emerald-green dress. It was pretty, flowing down her body perfectly, stopping at the middle of her calves…. Actually, now that she looked at herself in the mirror, her curls perfectly maintained, the light touch of makeup, the heels… was it too much?

She ignored those anxious thoughts and made sure she had everything she needed and everything that she prepared before stepping out into the cold.

The spaghetti straps didn’t stop the cold, but the heat of her nervousness at least did something as she walked up to his door and waited after knocking gently.

When he opened the door, he was stunned to see her.

“What?” He asked bluntly.

She could tell that the way she was dressed caught him off guard. His eyes moved from her face, up to her hair, back down to the boxes in her hands, and lower to her feet.

“I’ve got pie,” she said the first thing her mind thought of. Yes, it was blunt, yes, it disarmed him further… It was not smooth, but Dean looked behind him, and then he looked at her once more while biting his lip before opening the door wider, and stepping out of the way for her to enter.

She exhaled shakily as he scratched the back of his neck. Out of habit, she slipped out of her heels before stepping inside his home, planting her bare feet on the soft, long rug he had. He kindly, wordlessly, took her heels from outside and placed them on the shoe rack he had inside before shutting the door behind her.

She felt so… warm. Finally, she was inside the place she longed to be in. Right where Dean was. Along the walls there were dozens of pictures, but she didn’t go too far, she waited for him.

She felt his presence behind her and it made her shiver, but she couldn’t bring herself to look back at him. Instead, she stared at photos of him with Cas, Sam, Jack, and other people she hadn’t met. Women and Men. Dean was smiling in all of them. And in a large majority of them, they were looking at him while he looked at the camera.

What a funny thing.

“Here,” he said from behind her, his deep voice sounded soft, gentle, unlike the last time they spoke to each other. It made her shudder. “Let me help.” She slowly braced herself when she turned around, staring into his beautiful green eyes, illuminated magically by Christmas lights.

“Thanks,” she whispered, carefully loosening her grip on the objects in her hand for him to take what he wanted—which was everything.

She stepped to the side when he murmured, “no problem,” and started to walk off to the kitchen. She followed him slowly, took a look around, respectfully, curiously, just when she heard the clicking of nails and the thump of paws on wooden floors, and the bark of his dog headed in their direction.

“Miracle,” Dean grunted, setting everything down on the table, “not inside.” While the fluffy dog did stop its excited running, his enthusiasm was not lost as he wagged his tail, and playfully got down on his stomach in front of her feet. Still on his belly, Miracle approached Y/n slowly, paws and tongue at her toes, as if testing the waters.

“Hey,” she greeted softly as she squatted slowly and laughed quietly, gently scratching Miracle’s head as he nudged her hand with his wet nose, staring up at her with adorably wide eyes—much like Sam did. “You’re so cute,” she cooed, her heart warming up when Miracle barked quietly.

He then jumped up and turned towards Dean, who was watching them—perplexed, happy, conflicted.

“You were asleep,” Dean scolded, but sweetly took Miracle’s head in his hands and kissed him between his ears. Miracle whined and stepped away, sitting in front of Dean as if saying ‘I’ll be good if you let me stay’. “Whatever,” Dean groaned with a smile, which made Miracle happy, because he laid his cheek on his paw and stared up at Dean, resting.

Now, it was awkward.

Dean caught her staring at him, her expression inquisitive. She cleared her throat awkwardly, but she couldn’t form words. She only now noticed that he was wearing a faded black shirt and hotdog pyjama pants.

“So…” Dean began instead, “pie.” It wasn’t any better, but it’s as she always said: it was better than nothing.

“Yes,” she confirmed, “strawberry… you weren’t getting ready for bed…?” She inquired, tipping her chin in the direction of his attire.

“Not to sleep,” he reassured her, taking a few steps toward the cupboards to pull out two plates, glass cups, and then some utensils from the lower drawer. “Why are you doing this?” Dean asked quietly from where he was across the kitchen, everything still in his hands.

“I deserve better that’s why,” she snapped. He blinked at her, guilty, but she paused and took a deeper breath. Careful to not smear her eyeliner, she rubbed her temples instead. She reached behind her to wrap her ankle around the leg of a chair to pull it out and sit down. “Sorry, I don’t like… being angry,” she breathed out, looking out his kitchen window into her dark living room. She switched the Christmas lights off. “It's very stressful because I…” She turned to look at him and forgot her words as he came closer.

He looked cuter in person and prettier, still. Three years and nothing has changed, he still had her heart right in his hand.

“Why?” He pressed, placing everything down on the table in front of her. Looking up at him felt intimidating, so she averted her gaze. He was much older than she was… it made her… feel dumb. See-through. Like he could figure her out in seconds.

“Because I’m friends with your friends,” she admitted without looking at him, then she reached out to arrange the plates, cups, and utensils. He sat down thoughtfully, and watched her unstack the small boxes she brought over.

“You’re doing this for them,” he laid out flatly, but he took a seat next to her and stared at her. His eyes on her made her self-conscious, flustered. She bet he could see everything, all the ugly and the weird in her.

“I’m doing this for me,” she corrected him gently, “I just want to be happy,” she sighed, removing the plastic wrap she placed over the pie she baked. “Is that selfish?” She wondered out loud, taking the knife, she stared at it.

“No,” Dean sighed, wrapping his hand around hers to take the knife. She inhaled sharply at the warmth of his touch, his calloused palms brushing against the back of her hand, sending warmth over her chest, pressing into her wrist with her heart excitedly pounding against her ribs.

She released the knife into his hold, trying to hide how much he affected her, but she doubted she could fully do that with the Christmas lights exposing the blush she could feel on her face. She could feel her veins pumping blood faster, caught up with the heavy beating of her heart. If he looked down at her neck, he could probably see it in her veins.

She looked away, down at Miracle who was still peacefully laying on his belly, and Dean looked away towards the beautiful pie to start slicing into it.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, taking her plate to give her the first slice. She looked up at Dean, taking the plate with a generous slice of strawberry pie.

“I wanted to be the first to say it…” She complained playfully, trying to maintain eye contact with him, but his beauty was intimidating, forcing her to look away, “soon as my ego stopped being sensitive,” she added.

Dean laughed softly, placing his own slice on his plate. The sound of his laugh made her smile, her stomach flipped with elation, at the crinkles by his eyes. Her breathy exhale made him look at her.

“Well, I’m forty-four, my ego’s been bruised enough times,” he told her, “I don’t care much for it when…” he trailed off and chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully. She bit her lip, too, trying not to stare too long at his pretty mouth.

“Well, thanks,” she murmured, her jaw twitching as she looked away from him.

“I’d consider all this an apology,” he told her, gazing at her as she opened two rectangular boxes. She smiled, shaking her head. She pulled out a bottle of homemade eggnog along with a decorated jar filled with white frosting, and a small container with crushed peppermint candy. “This isn’t… poisoned, right?” He teased, still watching her while she opened the bottle of rum eggnog, she tilted her head at him, amused. “Just making sure… you did make all this…” he trailed off, impressed.

“Taste the pie,” she encouraged as she started making the drinks.

“You’re just trying to shut me up,” he chuckled gruffly, but he picked up his fork and started to dig in. The strawberry filling barely touched his tongue when he moaned, she watched him not even begin to chew. His brows furrowed and he closed his eyes, savouring the pie.

It made her blush, but she focused on covering the rim of the cups he brought with the whiskey frosting she made and the peppermint candy shavings before filling it with eggnog.

“You made the frosting, too?” He asked, tipping his head towards the jar. His mouth was full, some strawberry filling dripped down the corner of his mouth, but he picked it up with his tongue. She licked her lips, trying to stop herself from breathing airily, and passed him the eggnog with a nod and slid the jar of frosting towards him to serve herself some eggnog.

Dean dipped his finger into the frosting, collecting a large amount before wrapping his lips around his finger to suck the frosting off. She forced herself to look away from how hot he looked and ate her own slice of pie instead.

“I’ve seriously been missing out,” he murmured regretfully. “I was real childish,” he told her, “I never should’ve gotten pissed over… everything-”

“Dean,” she interrupted him, giving him a sheepish smile, “you already apologised and I forgive you. Besides, I did things, too.. on purpose… so, I’m sorry.” She pursed her lips and took a sip from her eggnog, swiping her tongue along the sweet frosting.

“You did things on purpose?” He repeated, a smirk on his face. She breathed out a laugh and nodded bashfully. “Why?” he wondered, leaning into her curiously, subtly moving his plate of food towards her. She considered being blunt, but she chose to test him instead.

“Probably the same reason you got pissed at everything I did and didn’t do,” she laughed, pulling a piece of strawberry out of the pie to put it in her mouth.

“I doubt that,” Dean muttered, picking up his own drink, and taking a large gulp. She eyed him closely, her eyes becoming hooded when he licked across his lips after drinking to collect the thin layer of sweetened alcohol on his mouth.

“What was your reason then?” She wondered flirtatiously, her voice low and seductive. She pushed her plate away with her arm., and mimicked his body language, scooting forward in the chair.

She watched as his eyes darkened and his jaw clenched, his hand tightening around his fork before he dropped it. She’d never quite been stared at that way before, but it suddenly—almost, made her laugh. Her legs felt weak, her stomach heavy, almost fooling her into thinking she couldn’t get up, but she did.

With a rapid heart and shaky knees, she pushed her chair back, and Miracle lifted his head in alarm. Dean leaned back in his chair, sliding his palms up his thighs, and watched hungrily as she lifted her dress up her legs, squeezing in front of him and part of the table to sit on his lap.

“Seems like we’ve both been missing out on a lot of stuff,” she whispered, her stomach fluttering for a variety of reasons, but mostly from excitement. He bit his lip, eyes twinkling as he placed his hands slowly on her thighs. She sank her teeth down on her lip, too, breathing heavily when his hands began sliding up her thighs, lifting her dress higher, and higher.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, continuing to move her dress up until his hands were wrapped around her hips where he could realise she wasn’t wearing any underwear. “I thought I should tell you, before I ruin you,” he rasped, tightening his hold on her hips.

“Fuck,” she moaned, moving forward in his lap until their hips were pressed together. She brought her hands into his hair, and pulled it gently, bringing her mouth close to his, but she never kissed him. She breathed against his lips and when he leaned forward to kiss her, she pulled back teasingly.

“You’re seriously gonna make me wait?” He whispered, slowly rolling his hips up into her, his hard cock pressing into her wet core. She gasped softly against his mouth and laughed breathlessly.

“You feel good,” she praised, flushing as she ground against him harder.

“I’d feel better inside you,” he smirked, sliding one of his hands farther up her dress, his warm palm flattening up her stomach reverently, stopping beneath her breasts..

“I bet,” she moaned, arching into his touch before finally pressing her tinted lips against his. Dean moaned softly against her mouth, pressing against her hungrily, then lifted her up, carefully moving his plate and cup aside to lay her down on the table.

“Miracle, bed,” Dean ordered when he pulled away from her lips. The dog obediently stood up and excitedly made his way to where Dean’s room was. Dean kissed her once more, drawing her attention away from Miracle and back to him.

She’d never been kissed the way Dean kissed her or touched the way Dean touched her. His hands were everywhere, testing, learning, skillful. He scratched her skin sending sparks down to her already soaked core, kneading her body roughly until she moaned against his mouth. He squeezed her and made her wet. He dug his blunt nails into her and made her nerves ignite. His hands smoothed across her, sailing over her body like she were an ocean and he was a sailor.

He was desperate, devouring her mouth with his tongue and his teeth, putting his all into the kiss, licking her lips, teasing the inside of her mouth, brushing against her warm tongue. He yearned to memorise the taste of her mouth, to feel close to her, pressing and moaning against her the way he’d done when he ate the pie and frosting. He nibbled on her lips, tugging, biting, claiming, taking the air from her lungs and pulling away at the perfect time.

He rolled his hips into her frantically and finally started to move away from her now-swollen lips, the colour of her raspberry tint robbed and replaced by the redness of his kiss.

He dragged his teeth teasingly along her jaw and licked his way down her neck, pressing his stubbled face into her neck, kissing and sucking softly, searching. She rolled her head to the side, giving him all the access he needed, until finally, she moaned loudly when he sucked into her sweetspot. He smiled against her throat, feeling her take handfuls of his shirt, her hips wiggling impatiently beneath him.

He kissed lower still, then back up to the other side of her neck, and bit her collarbones, kissing every inch of her skin, her shoulders and her sternum. She loved every second of it and slipped her hands beneath his shirt, touching and scratching his skin, pulling him closer as he bucked into her bare core.

“Did you know your shirt was see-through when we first met?” He whispered into her cleavage. She laughed and replied with a breathless ‘no’. “Well.. your tits on display, legs bare in those tiny shorts, all pissed as hell… it was hot,” he chuckled, lowering the thin straps of her dress until the top started to reveal her breasts.

“Is that why you jerked off that night?” She asked, gripping his hair and tugging hard. He grunted and laughed, staring into her lustful eyes.

“You saw?” He teased, bringing his hand to her breast, squeezing roughly. “The answer’s yes.. And everytime after that, it was also ‘cause of you,” Dean confessed, “couldn’t stop thinking about you, every day and every night. I thought I hated you, but I guess I just needed to fuck you.”

She chuckled, gripping the hem of his shirt, dragging it up his body as he latched onto her nipple. She hummed softly, tugging hard at his hair, in complete bliss as he wrapped his mouth around the bud, licking, sucking, and biting until she whimpered for him to give her more—which was impossible. He moved onto her other breast, savouring her warm skin with his hotter mouth, tugging her neglected nipple with his fingers, twisting and pinching.

“Please,” she moaned, yanking his hair so he’d pull away. Dean growled against her flesh and bit down hard on her breast, before pulling away, drawing a mewl from her of his name.

“You could be nicer,” he muttered, allowing her to lift his shirt up off his body, but he continued to kiss her breasts, sucking gently around the flesh to leave red marks. He lifted her feet up on the table and pressed her thighs close to her chest, opening her up to admire her soaked sex.

“We’re long past nice, pretty boy,” she teased blushing and biting her lip when he stood up straight. She didn’t look at him, too insecure to watch him as he brought his hand to the inside of her thighs, teasing her vulva.

“You think I’m pretty?” He grinned, circling her entrance, moaning at copious amounts of arousal on his fingers. “So wet… you that needy for my cock inside you?” He asked smugly.

She looked at him now, heat flooding up her face at his obscene words. Before she could say anything about it, the tattoo on his chest drew her attention away from the adorable pride on his face.

“You’re a hunter,” she stated, stunned, blinking at him with a smile. He looked down at himself then at her, speechless. She lifted her hips and hitched her dress up higher to reveal her ribcage where she had the same tattoo, twice as small.

“You’re a professor,” he remarked with arousal on his face, pushing his finger into her. He lowered himself down her body and wrapped his arm around her legs, holding her open as he breathed warmly against her wet cunt.

Before she could close her legs to him demurely, Dean dove in, his mouth hot on her pussy. He ate her out the same way he kissed her, teeth making her whimper, his tongue parting and tasting, picking up the flavour of her wetness as she moaned.

He salivated on her, humming in satisfaction while he sucked her clit into his mouth while he fingered her. Her hands found his hair once more, pulling hard and almost painfully, but his cock jumped each time inside the thin material of his pyjamas. Dean added a second finger as he moaned against her swollen clit, knuckles deep, pressing against the front of her textured walls, drawing silent moans from her, making her squirm more and more.

“Fuck,” she panted, “you’re so good,” she praised, flexing her hand above his head before gripping at the honey strands. He slurped lewdly, devouring her pussy, squeezing her hips desperately holding her close to his face while she pushed him harder against her cunt. “Dean… I’m close,” she moaned, closing her legs around his head.

He moaned again, adding another finger, shoving deep as he circled her swollen clit with his tongue, drawing figures on her clit possessively. She gasped loudly and cried out his name, tensing up when she orgasmed, her walls clamping down on his three fingers. The rapture of her orgasm seemed endless as he continued to tongue at her clit, it made her writhe uncontrollably, and he smirked against her pussy.

Her whiny laugh and the way she squeezed his head to stop him made him chuckle, and he tapped her thigh once he pulled his fingers from within her pulsing walls. She released him, melting into the table while he licked his fingers clean of her release.

“You taste good,” he told her earnestly, “so fucking good.” She bit her lip, giving him a look of disbelief. He narrowed his eyes at her, leaning down to lick a long stripe up her pussy, then down, pushing his tongue past her clenching, wet hole.

“Dean, fucking…” she moaned, “oh, God, why does that feel good?” She snickered, then he pulled away hovering above her. She opened her eyes to his smug face, his clean fingers squeezed her cheeks roughly until she opened her mouth. She furrowed her brows, whining out with her hands around his wrist so he’d release, but she shut up when he spit in her mouth.

“Taste yourself,” he ordered, licking his lips. Her pupils dilated as she looked into his eyes, the tangy taste of herself made her mouth water and she swallowed. “D’you know how hot you are?” He asked rhetorically, kissing her roughly once more, ravenous and stopped only when he felt her hands pushing his pants down his legs.

“I want you, Dean,” she whispered against his mouth, biting his lip before returning the passion of his kiss.

“Where?” He asked teasingly, wrapping his arm around her waist, he sat her up on the table and gently held her face in his hands, before releasing her to strip completely.

“I want you inside me,” she told him coquettishly, hopping off the table to slowly let her dress pool around her feet. “I want to ride you, to feel you stretch me open…” she walked towards him, watching him completely aroused, a look of pleasant surprise on his face, “I want you to fill me up, and make me cum on your cock…” she licked her lips, staring down at his cock, erect and leaking precum. “... I’ve never seen a dick this nice,” she told him, wrapping her hand around the base and stepping closer to him.

He grunted, “suck it then.” She laughed through her nose, releasing his cock to fondle his balls. He moaned, stumbling slightly. “I’ve been wanting to shut you up with my cock in your mouth,” he told her, a smirk on his face, “now, I’m just thinking how pretty you’ll look with your lips wrapped around me.” Dean reached up and curled his fingers around the back of her neck.

She looked behind him, removed her hand, and tipped her head to the chair, “sit.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he grinned, kicking the chair towards him like she had earlier, then he sat, legs wide and tempting. “You’re sexier than you were in my imagination,” he told her, watching her get down between his legs, kissing his thighs while looking up at him through her curled lashes.

“Keep talkin’,” she grinned up at him, taking his heavy cock in her hand once more. Dean gave her a sexy look, smug and aroused.

“I wanna finish in your mouth,” he told her, “want to see you swallow my load.” Pleased, she moved forward and began kissing and licking the length of his cock, teasingly and experimentally feeling the velvety, veiny texture against her hand, tongue, and lips. “I want to hear you choke on my cock, and see what you look like with tears in your eyes as I fuck your pretty face.” She moaned softly, intrigued by the description of his fantasy.

She dipped her tongue into the slit, moaning at the taste of his precum, drooling over the soft head of his cock before sucking him into her mouth.

“Fuck,” he moaned, tangling his fingers in her hair. She slowly took him deeper, pulling him out of her hot mouth teasingly, then swallowing inch by inch of his hard cock. “You’re so good at that, baby,” he panted, letting her take her time at her own pace, but he gripped her hair tightly. “Don’t stop,” he moaned, staring into her eyes as she continued to take his cock, bobbing her head, not stopping until he hit the back of her throat. She swallowed around him, and he bucked his hips up, releasing a whispered curse, attempting to keep his eyes open to watch her suck him off.

She got comfortable between his legs, taking his freehand to put it in her hair. He took her hair, put it together, and waited for her permission before slowly lifting his hips, pushing his cock slowly into her throat. When she gagged, he slowly pulled back, then pushed back into her, lips parted, releasing quick breaths.

Eventually, he started to fuck her face in earnest, lifting his hip up off the chair, pulling her hair hard to guide her on and off his dick. Her spit dribbled down her chin in a mixture of his precum. She swallowed as much as she could, moaning and blinking tears that tickled her eyes and her jaw.

“You look so fucking…” he chocked on a moan, “so damn sexy.”

She ignored the soreness of her jaw, relaxing it as best as she could as he fucked her near mercilessly. Her pussy throbbed with every sound of his pleasure, clit aching for attention at the way he gazed down at her with burning desire, but she refused to touch herself, enjoying the build-up, the desperation for another orgasm, for his touch.

He throbbed in her mouth, turning to mush beneath her mouth. He even began to whimper and moan her name, praises and dirty words becoming scarce in attempts to hold back his orgasm, edging himself with her mouth. It didn’t take long for him to hold her with her nose against his pelvis breathlessly.

He pulled her off his cock, and released her hair to wipe tears tenderly from her hot cheeks with his thumbs, trying to get his mind off the near-pleasure of her mouth around his cock while catching his breath.

“Yummy,” she rasped, pulling a breathless laugh from him. She wiped her chin with her shoulder and smiled up at him, slowly getting up on her knees to get rid of the ache of sitting on her legs.

She got up, leaning back against the table, admiring him in his red, flushed, somewhat sweaty state. His hair was a mess from her hands and he had a blush around his neck to his ears. She knew the hardness of his body accounted for the fact that he was a hunter, as well as the scars she felt beneath her soft hands, bite marks, bullet wounds, and healed slashes.

“Come closer,” she told him and he laughed, bringing himself and the chair closer, stopping when she sat on his thighs, fixing herself over his strong thighs. “Gonna cum if I tease you?” She asked, tapping the head of his cock. It twitched instantly and he moaned.

“Depends,” he replied breathily, sliding his hands up her body. She hummed softly, spreading her legs, positioning his cock near her soppy folds.

“On what?” She cackled playfully, parting her folds with one hand, circling her clit with her fingers. He watched her lustfully, the wetness that made her pussy shine coated her fingers.

“How wet and warm you feel on my cock,” he replied truthfully. He grabbed her hand and moved it out of the way anyway, taking his cock to push it between her folds, pressing the tip against her clit.

“Fuck, Dean,” she moaned softly, grasping his shoulders, “you feel… I need you,” she whimpered, rolling her hips along the length of his cock. He moaned with her, moving her hips closer to him, her wetness coating his cock.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, sweetheart…” Dean moaned, watching her lean back against the table, positioning the soft head of his cock to her entrance. Completely enthralled, he watched himself slip inside her, and she watched him, biting her lip hard in concentration, the stretch of her walls around him almost painful. “Fuck… I can feel how bad you need me… I need you just as bad,” he panted, flexing his hands on her thighs, desperately trying not to thrust up into her warmth. He dug his nails into her flesh, his head tipping back, his hips rolling up.

“Dean,” she moaned again, starting to lift herself up and down his cock, reaching up to cup her breast. “Shit, you feel amazing,” she breathed out, grinding her hips against his until he was fully inside her.

“You okay?” He asked, one of hands drifting up to knead her breast comfortingly. She nodded, buried her fingers in his hair and brought him in for a kiss as she bent her knees, and tucked her feet in between his thighs.

“I could cum like this,” she mumbled against his lips. His chuckle rumbled through his chest and he shook his head, her pussy clenched at the sound and she started to lift herself up again.

“Don’t worry,” he told her, sucking on his lip momentarily. “I’ll make you cum so hard…” He paused to moan, thrusting up into her slowly, meeting her hip. “...you’ll never want to fuck anyone else,” he promised her, building up the pace of his thrusts until she stopped moving with him altogether, letting him fuck up into her needy cunt.

“You’ll only wanna be fucked by me,” he continued, watching her lean back with her elbow on the table, her hands roaming his warm body, “and I’ll be there, ready to fuck you hard.” He looked over her shoulder, at the jar of frosting. “Pounding into your sweet cunt,” he swore breathlessly, reaching behind her, dipping his fingers to gather frosting, “makin’ you beg, makin’ you impossibly wet.” He smeared frosting over her nipples, over her collarbone, her sternum, until he had no more while she moaned his name needily.

“Makin’ you feel things you’ve never felt before.” He gripped her hip with frosting-coated fingers, leaning forward to lick and suck the whiskey frosting from her body. “I’ll fill you up as many times as you want,” he vowed, smoothing her hand up her back, into her hair once more, pulling until she whined his name. “I’ll fuck you wherever you want.”

Her pussy continued to gush over Dean’s cock the more he talked—his breathless, husky voice taking her over the edge. Each rough pull of her hair made her mewl and whimper as she rolled her hips desperately against his.

“Dean, please,” she whispered, scratching down his back, digging marks into his skin the harder and faster he thrusted into her. Loud skin slapping, the wet sound of her pussy being penetrated, with every push of his cock in and out of her, squelching and driving her crazy. She dug her nails into her palm, making obscene sounds that made her self-conscious.

“I’ll fuck you all over your house, all over mine.” Another moan of his name, another rough pull of her hair. “I’ll fuck you in my car, in your car, anywhere and all over town.” He pulled away from her sticky chest, licked his lips at the sight of her, so she screwed her eyes shut. She felt a warm pool of wetness on her pelvic bone, opened her eyes to him spitting between their bodies, watching his saliva drip down her folds to her clit.

She’d never heard of or experienced sex quite this raw and dirty.

“I’ll make you scream my name, make you forget how to talk, how to walk…” She leaned back into him, panting into his ear, keeping him close while rubbing her clit. He yanked her hair, forcing her to look at him.

“Dean…”

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he whispered, closing his eyes, he breathed against her lips, “and I want you forever.”

As he promised, she cried out his name when she came, squeezing his cock hard, coating him in her release. He grunted her name, cursing loudly as he came inside her, his hot seed spurting into her, filling her as he said he would.

He circled his arms around her as she writhed once more, releasing her hair as she put her arms around his neck, panting and catching her breath until the pleasure subsided.

“I want all of that,” she murmured after a few moments of silence, kissing his cheek. He squeezed her and moved back, bewildered. He moved hair from her face and tilted his head at her, drawn to her nakedness, her flushed beauty. “First, I want to shower…” Slowly, carefully, she climbed off his lap, her legs shaky, her pussy releasing the mixture of their pleasure.

“That’s a good start,” he told her softly. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbled when he stood up from the chair and looked around at the mess in the kitchen. “No one’s coming home anytime soon… thanks to Sammy…” Dean trailed off, smoothing his hand over his head to fix his hair.

“Thanks to me,” she came clean with a shy smile, bringing his gaze up to hers. His eyes twinkled and he laughed loudly, tugging her towards him again by her arm, his lips pressing against hers.

➥ sempiternal

taglist

@rominaszh @livingdeadmak @lanassmarty @murdockscumsock @zepskies @candy-coated-misery0731 @stxrgazer03 @epsilonsagittarii @lyarr24 @spnfamily-j2 @globetrotter28 @deansbbyx @lickmybawls @jackles010378 @winchstrdean @deanwinchestersgirl87 @the-achievementhunter @deanfreakingwinchester @k-slla @madzzz0797 @laylaackles @fanfic-n-tabulous @kristophalis @mrlonelycat @taylortotsworld @evznackles

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#12daysofspnkinkmas2023 #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean x female!reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fanfiction

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yesihaveaobsession · 29 days

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The Books

Alastor x female reader (others mentioned)

Summary: The reader (you) was a supernatural hunter(ess) back when you were alive on Earth, and so you decided to show everyone God aka Chucks books.

A/N- this was so fun. I love written a mini crossover . Let me know if you want more supernatural x hazbin hotel

You hunted when you were alive and back on earth, and that was not deer hunting and / or ducking hunting. It was hunting that was life risking, anxiety pumping through you, and most of all, fear You hunted supernatural creatures. You name it, you hunted it.

You somehow ended up in this weird and odd hell, but became great friends especially with The Radio Demon, Alastor. He enjoyed hearing all your hunting stories. But today you wanted to show everyone something that was oddly terrifying for you atleast. Chucks Books.

You gathered everyone in the lobby, and you held up an old, weathered book. Its viver was faded, and only the title was unmistakable. "Supernatural." Confused filled Charlie as she asked. "What's that?" Her eyes wide with interest.

"This." You began. "Is one of God's books. Or as I knew him as Chuck." You looked around, the room silent until Angel Dust scoffed, but his curiosity got the best of him like everyone else. "God wrote a book? Like a freakin' bestseller or somethin'?" His hand gestures were flowly and animated, and he talked slow to get every detail in.

You smiled. "More than just a bestseller. Chuck wrote everything that happened in the universe. This book, and others like it, detailed the lives of two brothers and close friends of mine, Sam and Dean Winchester, who hunted supernatural creatures. Just like I did." You said, looking at the book and feeling a shiver down your spine. All those memories flown back, which soon disappeared when you looked around the room again.

Vaggie then crossed her arms, skeptical. Understandable, she seemed to have trust issues, and you were still new and throwing out this outlandish information that sadly was true. "And you expect us to believe that God was some kind of author?"

You let out a sigh, "Believe it or not," you replied flipping through the pages. "These books were like prophecies, everything written in them came true."

Alastors' eyes widened. "Fascinating! And you say this Chuck wrote your life as well?"

Your gaze met the Radio Demons, you weren't sure if he noticed your blush but you then said, "in a way yes. Every hunt, every death, every encounter with the Supernatural- it was all part of his grand narrative."

Charlie was on the edge of her seat, leaning in closer, her excitement peaked. "So, you knew about Heaven and Hell and all of this when you were alive?"

"More than you'd beileve, I hunted creatures that would make even some demons here nervous. Angel's, Demons, monsters- you name it." You said closing the book.

Angel Dust leans back in his seat, golding his arms behind his head. "So, what's next, Supernatural Girl? Are you gonna tell us how it all ends?" You smiled. "Not even Chuck wrote an ending for that story. But as for us? We're writing our own tale down here."

Alastor was very much interested which excited you because back then you didn't laugh at it when it happened but now that you are looking back at it, these sinners are learning and it makes you laugh about how crazy it sounds.

The room fell into crickets and Alastors smile never seemed to unwaver, everyones mind started to think. You looked over at Alastor and he looked back over at you.

Oh, how you were interesting, and he wanted to know everything about you.

#alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x you #the radio demon #hazbin alastor #alastor imagine #alastor x reader #i have an obsession #supernatural

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swordofsun · 5 months

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@scoobydoodean had been posting about 4x17 It's A Terrible Life and it's reminded me of one of my favorite overlooked bits in the episode and how it shows that Zachariah is just wrong about Dean.

Zachariah's whole theory with this little experiment is that Dean will choose hunting.

ZACHARIAH To prove to you that the path you're on is truly in your blood. You're a hunter. Not because your dad made you, not because God called you back from hell, but because it is what you are. And you love it. You'll find your way to it in the dark every single time and you're miserable without it. Dean, let's be real here. You're good at this. You'll be successful. You will stop it.

But Dean has expressly denied hunting already at the end of the last act:

SAM Look, all I know is this isn't who we're supposed to be. DEAN No. I'm Dean Smith, okay? Director of Sales and Marketing. I went to Stanford. My father's name is Bob, my mother's name is Ellen, and my sister's name is Jo. SAM When was the last time you talked to them? To any of them? DEAN Okay, you're upset. You're upset, you're confused— SAM Yeah, 'cause I only moved here 'cause I just broke up with my fiancée, Madison. But I called her number and I got a damn animal hospital. DEAN Okay. What are you saying? Are you trying to say that my family isn't real? Huh? That we've been injected with fake memories? Come on. SAM All I know is, I got this feeling in my gut. And I know—I know that deep down, you gotta be feeling it too. We're supposed to be something else. You're not just some corporate douchebag. This isn't you. I know you. DEAN Know me? You don't know me, pal. You should go. SAM leaves.

Sam tried to get Dean to drop everything and go hunting. They stopped a ghost! It was fun! They could do this, but Dean's not going to give up his life for it. Dean has no intention of turning his life upside down to start hunting and it's not until Zachariah lays out one of the most depressing 10 year plan ever:

ADLER Positive. You are Sandover material, son. Real go-getter. Carving your own way. DEAN Well, thanks. I try. ADLER I see big things in your future. Maybe even senior VP, Eastern Great Lakes Division. Don't get me wrong, you'll have to work for it. Seven days a week, lunch at your desk, but in eight to ten short years, that could be you. DEAN takes off his headset. DEAN Uh, well, thank you. Thank you, sir. It's, um...but... DEAN passes the paper back. DEAN I am giving my notice.

He's already the director of marketing and sales and his career plan is 10 years of nothing but work to make VP of a division? Probably a small division? Everyone would quit with that laid out. Maybe not as directly as Dean does, but yeah, they'd be going home and revamping the resume. That's a dead end career path you'd have to bust your ass and give up your life for.

Hearing that and going "hmm, maybe I take some time and check out that hunting thing with that Wesson guy. He was less creepy once we started working on the haunting, for the most part" is actually a pretty normal thing to do.

And really Zachariah doesn't even give him the chance to go find Sam. Because there's actually a good chance Dean gets home and after thinking about it he just updates his resume and LinkedIn. He had to give Dean back his memories in that exact moment in order to try and leverage the situation to his advantage.

Zachariah stacked the deck and still barely managed to get Dean to quit his job. Dean wasn't running to hunting with open arms. He was, at best, looking at it as a more viable option than the shitty 10 year plan Mr. Adler just laid out. And Zachariah couldn't wait for him to actually choose hunting, he had to strike before Dean could second guess himself.

(Even Sam is making the choice between IT support call center or ghost hunting. This isn't hard.)

4x17 Transcript

#supernatural #04x17 it's a terrible life

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ezekiel13 · 4 months

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Fallout New Vegas characters & the animal that I associate with them:

Courier: my first Courier would be a Retriever. Sixx would be a feral little house cat.

Boone: Elephant. They’re the kind of animal to watch. And get so ingrained in their grief that they almost die/kill themselves.

Veronica: Rabbit. Desperate for change, but optimistic. Also likes to wear dresses and dresses are so rabbit coded

Arcade: Ravens. They’re really damn smart & I think they’re fun. He would refer to them by their science name and Boone would almost shoot him.

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: Beavers. Can you name an animal more likely to get drunk all the time? I sure as heck can’t.

Raul: Tortoise. Long living, unable to reach places in time to save those who they care for. Some people think look scary but I see as kinda cute. (Raul please be my Grandfather.)

Lily: Buffalo. Large, protective, family/herd oriented. Also she looks after Bighorners and I think those are just fallout buffalo.

Vulpes: Fox. It’s the name. Either a fox or a Falcon. Falcons are fast and tricksy, and strategic.

Ceaser: Bull. It’s his whole identity man.

Christine: What animal sums up a loss of the self in a mission to protect others? I don’t know but my brain is thinking Jaguar. Also she’s cool.

Dean Domino: Weasel. I don’t need to explain this one.

Dog/God (NO GOD I DID NOT COME HERE FOR MONEY. MY SISTER MADE ME): I mean. It sounds like a cop out to pick a kind of dog. I think I’d choose a Rhino. Idk why. Just fits them

Follows-Chalk: Blackbird. No I don’t know why.

Waking-Cloud: Koalas. The way they protect their young. Also they’re fun and so is she. Koalas or a bear. Same reason. Also she hits people with a bear fist. Sadly koalas are not bears. So I cannot fit them as one.

If you would like any other characters please either reblog this asking/comment/send me an ask

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deanwritings · 7 months

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The Guest House - Chapter 5

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Series Summary: Dean Winchester is going through a nasty divorce. He doesn't have much left to his name, but what he does have is his house. Leave it to his soon-to-be ex wife to find a way to even ruin that for him. Enter Y/N, who is looking to get away from life for a bit, and stumbles right into the middle of it all.

The Guest House Master List

Word Count: 2,478

A/N: I'm back!! It's been a doozy of a few weeks; lots of grad school homework, illnesses, my brother's wedding. And to top it off had a nice little health scare.

But I've been craving getting back to this story. This chapter is a little shorter but keeps the story moving! Hope you enjoy

“So what exactly did you do before you quit?” Dean asks casually as you head back to the house.

“Data marketing.” Dean turns towards you with a raised brow. “I look at how and what people spend their money on and make recommendations for how to sell products.” It was the easiest way to explain your job. You’ve tried a few times over the years, and you almost always left people confused, including your mother, who even after seven years still didn’t understand what you did on a daily basis.

“I’ll take your word for it.” He smirks. “Do you enjoy what you do?” You smile as the town passes outside the windshield.

“I do.” You hum. “For me it’s like a puzzle.” Your hands get animated. “You have all these pieces of information and you have to put them together to figure out how to best market a product. It’s fun. It’s like being a detective except no one dies.” This gets a hearty laugh out of Dean as you come to a stop light.

“A detective?” Dean chuckles with a wide grin as the light turns green.

“What can I say, I love a good mystery and I have a weak stomach.” You shrug. It was true. You loved a good murder mystery but if you were watching a movie, it was usually through your fingers. Even clearly fake blood churns your stomach.

Dean pouts out his lower lip as he rolls his head side to side, considering your response.

“Fair enough.” He concedes.

“What about you?” You ask in return. “You’ve been a mechanic since you were sixteen?” You recall him mentioning it earlier. He nods.

“I started part-time in high school to make some extra cash. I was saving up for an old car that I wanted to buy and figured taking a mechanic job would be a good place to learn how to fix it up once I got it.”

You look around the cab of the pickup; it doesn’t look like what you would consider a “classic” car, just a regular truck, probably a decade or so old if you had you guess. Dean catches your wandering eye.

“This is not the car.” He scoffs, almost offended you would think that. “This is my work car. My baby is at a special garage where she’s protected from sun damage, dust, anything else that could damage her.” He begins listing off concerns on each finger on his hand that’s not currently on the steering wheel.

“Your baby?” You gape at the mention of the presumed pet name. “I’m confused, are we still talking about a car?” His carefree laughter fills the truck.

“Yes, she’s a car, but I built her from the ground up. She’s the most important thing to me.” He speaks with admiration, and your brows fold in at the center, listening to disbelief as the man next to you speaks about a car like a normal person would a child, or a spouse. Definitely not a car.

“Has Lisa tried renting her on Hertz yet?” You laugh along with him, but you only hear the sound of your voice echoing through the cab. You glance towards him, his smile gone.

“Shit, Dean, I’m sorry.” You sputter, throwing your hands out towards him. “I shouldn’t have said that.” You quickly backpedal, your words almost tripping over each other as you realize what you’ve said.

What a dumb thing to say. You’re literally making fun of his divorce. Smooth, Y/N. If Dean weren’t sitting next to you, you would give yourself a rightful smack to the forehead.

“No, no, it’s okay.” He tries to assure you, but the lightness in his voice is gone. A silence settles over the truck as you squeeze your eyes shut and turn towards your window. AKA away from Dean.

Shit. Why the hell did I say that? You mentally berate yourself again. Just as the two of you were finally getting to a good spot.

“It was a good joke.” Dean chimes in. “Seriously, relax.” You open your eyes and peek over your shoulder to find Dean glancing between you and the road, his lips slightly turned upwards.

“Truly, it’s fine.” You huff out a deep breath. You don’t totally believe him, but at least he wasn’t holding it against you.

“I swear I didn’t mean it like that.” Your voice drips with sincerity, your body flashing hot with embarrassment. Dean just purses his lips.

“Can I ask you something?” His tone is serious. Oh god. You just look at him and he glances from the road to you. “Are you going to be super awkward now?”

You huff out a laugh, your heart still pounding hard in your chest as the tightness starts to dissipate. Dean chuckles next to you as the tension is left behind you like the town in the rearview mirror.

Ten minutes later, you’re back at the house, the hood of your car propped open as Dean leans inside, working on removing the corroded battery as you watch a few steps behind him, keeping your distance so as to not hover.

“You seem to be up early today?” He shoots you a glace over his shoulder as he pops the battery out of its place. He straightens up, giving his lower back a stretch before leaning his prominent figure down and placing the ruined battery on the ground and grabbing the fresh one next to it.

That was true. The last week or so you had been sleeping in. Especially since you weren’t getting rudely awakened by Dean anymore. But, of course the morning you had plans, this morning, your car decided to crap out.

“I was actually planning to hike Mount Carmel.” You had been researching some of the local hiking trails around, wanting to get out into nature and get in a workout, and Mount Carmel seemed easy enough that you didn’t have to worry about an injury since you’d be going alone. And a lot of the trail reviews mentioned that the area was safe for solo hiking. You weren’t trying to become a cold case on your vacation.

“Figured it could be a nice way to start the morning.” You shrug as Dean’s gaze catches yours as he reaches into his toolbox for something.

“Maybe do some meditating once I got to the top. But like everything else with this trip, nothing has gone according to plan.” You take a deep breath and your hands slap against your thighs.

“Meditating?” His whole face scrunches as he rests the new car battery on the edge of the car as he turns to face you.

“Yes, meditating.” You challenge back. “It’s good for you.” He raises his eyebrows at you.

“Isn’t meditating just breathing?” He asks with a slight shake of his head, like he’s trying to work it out for himself.

“Technically yes, but it’s about focusing on your body. Quieting your mind and honing in on the world around you.” Dean rolls his eyes with a scoff and he turns back towards the car.

“You sound like Lisa. She was into yoga and all the crap.” His voice is partially obscured as he leans in towards the engine.

You fold your lips in, wondering if you should say what just popped into your mind.

Fuck it. You seemed to be getting along. And it wasn’t like he didn’t deserve a few jabs after the nonsense he had pulled with you the first half of your vacation.

“It’s really good for anger, you know.” Dean shoots you a look over his shoulder, and you bite down a smirk at his gaze.

Well god damn if the sun wasn’t hitting him just right as he stared you down. Not to mention the view you were getting as he leaned over the car.

You had to wonder exactly what went wrong in their marriage for Lisa to leave a man this good-looking. It’s not like people didn’t marry just for looks alone sometimes. But obviously there were some deep-seeded issues considering how bitter their divorce seemed to be,

“I’m not angry,” He huffs, his bottom lip pouting out.

“Suurrreee,” You breathe out under your breath as you cross your arms and lean against a nearby tree as he continues to work.

A few minutes later, Dean wipes his hands on his jeans and shuts the hood of your car.

“All set.” He turns towards you with a grin, and you can’t help but match it as you push off the tree and straighten up.

“So how much do I owe you?” You rock back on your heels, your hands resting on your lower back. You were hoping it wasn’t going to be crazy expensive. You really knew nothing when it came to cars, just that you were always left with a nice dent in your credit card bill whenever you had to take it into a shop.

“It’s on the house.” He smiles at you easily.

“Dean.” Your shoulders drop at his offer. “C’mon, you don’t need to do that.” You start to argue, then a sour thought hits you and you frown.

“Are you just doing this because you feel bad that I don’t have a job?” Pity. That’s why he was helping you. And that's why you didn't want to tell him about your situation in the first place.

Dean’s smile doesn’t falter as he shakes his head.

“No this is not because I feel bad for you. Consider this my gesture of a fresh start.” He holds his hand out to you, and you can’t stop as your cheeks dimple with your smile as you take it.

His cool fingers wrap around yours and you tighten your grip on him, not wanting to think you were some fragile little girl who didn’t know how to shake a hand. He just raises his eyebrows before you drop your hold.

“Pleasure doing business with ya.” You want to wink at him like he did you at the shop, but like you said, no one in real life besides Dean apparently, can actually pull off a wink, so instead you just continue to smile bright.

Dean wants to laugh when you grip his hand extra tight, like you’re trying to prove something, but he just returns your smile instead.

“By the way,” he starts as he drops your hand, leaning against your bumper as he crosses his arms and ankles. His brows furrow as your tongue briefly peeks out onto your lips, and his own mouth pops open, before he realizes he was in the middle of a sentence. “This time of year Mount Carmel is probably pretty icy. Temps have been below freezing since the month started. If you’re going to hike, you should probably go with someone.”

You roll your eyes with a huff and cross your arms.

“Yeah me and all my friends can go.” You scoff with raised eyebrows. Dean just returns the gesture as he rolls his own eyes.

“Are you sure you didn’t get fired for being a smart ass?” He shoots back, and your mouth drops open.

“Huh.” You nod, your tongue pressed against your inner cheek giving you a weird lump that Dean grimaces at.

“Guess I deserve that for the Lisa joke earlier.” You conceded. Dean just gives you a nod to the side, but peppered with a smile, so you know, no hard feelings.

“Guess you did.” Dean smirks as he pushes off the car.

“By the way, there’s some local hiking groups, maybe you can give them a look to see if they’re doing anything. But if you’re still hellbent on taking a hike, I’m off Thursday, and I’ve hiked it a few times if you still can’t find anyone.”

The words fall out of his mouth before he even realizes what he was saying.

What the fuck.

He had not intended to offer to be your hiking buddy. Hell, he hadn’t hiked those trails since the early years of his marriage, back when he would do anything to make Lisa happy, even if he thought it was stupid. Who wanted to waste their day going for an hours-long walk? Apparently you and his soon-to-be ex wife.

Your eyebrows raise.

“Seriously?” You ask with skepticism. He doesn’t blame you.

No going back now.

“Uh, yeah if you want. I promise I’m not a serial killer or anything.” He gives a laugh, but cringes internally.

Who the fuck says that? Really, what the fuck was he doing.

You narrow your eyes.

“Sounds like something a serial killer would say.” Your face is serious, but your eyes give you away. A laugh escapes before he can stop it. He definitely wasn’t wrong about you being a smartass. And he likes that he can seemingly read you, whether you mean to show your emotions or not. He wasn’t sure. Yet.

“Fair enough.” He claps his hands together. “But I gotta be gettin’ back to the shop.” He points his thumb over his shoulder, like his motley crew were waiting behind him. “Someone’s gotta keep those boys in line.

You laugh with raised eyebrows. For some reason, it feels more like you’re laughing at him, and not with him. He feels heat rush up his neck.

Truly. What the fuck is wrong with me right now.

“Uhh, but if you have any more car issues, feel free to give me a call. Like you know, I’m right down the street.” He starts to turn, but your voice stops him.

“And how am I supposed to call you if I don’t have your number?” He turns back to you, happy to see you still smiling. Something about it warms the cool morning.

“Right.” He reaches into his back pocket and whips out his phone. “What’s your number?” He pops open a blank text message. When you don’t respond, he looks up. Your smile has turned cheeky, and you look like you have something smart on the tip of your tongue. He decides to beat you to it.

“If you give me a fake number, I kinda know where you live.” He gives you a pointed look before your whole body shakes with the most carefree laugh he’s heard so far.

“Once more, sounds like something a serial killer would say.” You continue through your giggles.

“Just give me the damn number.” He huffs and you relent, giving him your number as he types it into the phone.

Dean Winchester. Is all the message says when he sends it, and a moment later you pull your own phone from your pocket, holding up the notification to him triumphantly.

“I’ll see ya later.” He gives you a low wave before he hops into his truck and heads back to the auto shop for the day.

Keep Reading

NEXT TIME:

“I can’t believe you consider this fun,” he huffs behind you, watching every step he takes.

“No one forced you to come.” You remind him with an easy breath. Not that you’re trying to taunt him while he seemed to be struggling as he staggered behind you, but it was just another reminder that he truly seemed to hate hiking.

“You know you could walk on a flat road. I mean, really, what the hells the difference? There’s plenty of trees on the road by my place.”

[Grumpy Dean is back ^-^]

Forever Tag List

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#dean x reader #dean winchester #dean imagine #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean x y/n #dean winchester fanfiction #spn fanfic #the guest house

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hms-tardimpala · 27 days

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Ficbinding: Who has eight tentacles and isn't allowed to eat pie? by @no-gorms

The fic: SPN, Castiel/Dean Winchester, T, 16k

Dean watched an anime porn about this once, but real life turns out to be way less interesting. Or, the one where Dean gets turned into an octopus.

This fic is brilliant, it reads like one of the comedic episodes in Supernatural. I read it in one afternoon, it made me laugh out loud, but also think "Wow, I can't believe the characterization is so good with such a silly premise" several times. The concept's potential is used amazingly, you can tell the author had fun making research on octopuses. Hard recommend!

The bind: This fic is so funny, I had to make the binding eccentric too. I used holographic pleather to evoke an octopus' leathery skin. The color blue can represent an aquarium's water (Dean's new home in the fic ^^), but what I particularly like is that the holographic color changes depending on the lighting (you can see outdoors and indoors lighting in the pictures), and there's some octopus camouflage in the story, with Dean changing color.

(no need to turn the sound on, you'll get breakroom noises)

I chose the lobster endpaper because octopus!Dean eats crustaceans and fish (and I thought I'd never get the occasion to use that one!). The red headbands and bookmark match the lobsters, and red and blue really pop together.

This is my first straight spine in an age, I don't like those usually, but with this fabric I couldn't make a round spine and it turned out great! It looks clean.

Details:

I used many small octopuses as chapter headings and closings, and not one is the same. The octopus image after the author's note is a free vector and the decorations are a free font found on Dafont.

The font I used is quite round, and I printed the text big because otherwise the book would have been too small to bind in a hardcover in my opinion.

I'm very happy with my trimming this time again, and with the spacing between the edges of the cover and the textblock. It's nice to see decisions I've made after months of learning pay off. I'm officially good enough at bookbinding to disobey the manual and find my own solutions to problems 🥳

Even the corners are not as bad as they could have been with this fabric.

I love this little book! It's a pleasure to look at, it was fun to make, and having this story bound will make it easier to reread, which I certainly will do.

Fonts: Hey August (title), Trushdex (author name), Bion Book (text). All free on Dafont.

Materials: Holographic pleather, 2mm grey board, 70g/m² white copy paper, synthetic bookmark and headbands. Endpaper bought in a brick and mortar craft store.

Feel free to ask me more about materials and fonts (or whatever), it won’t bother me at all to tell you what I used, I just can't think of anything else right now.

#bookbinding #ficbinding #my bookbinding #spn #spn fic rec

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laurel-finch · 7 months

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'I Don't Bite' S1.Ch01: Blue House, Black Dog

Summary: The Winchesters meet a new face, one who is not entirely human... Referenced Episodes: None CW: Minor gore. Change from 3rd to 1st person POV. Female reader -- no character description other than age. Lots of exposition :( Word Count: 5944 Recommended Song: Hungry Like The Wolf -- Duran Duran Series Masterlist -- Next Chapter

The motel room was eerily quiet. There was no bickering, no laughter, no witty comments. Only light snores from one bed and the gentle clicking of laptop keys from another. The screen glared on a shadowy figure, reflecting on the wooden backboard of the bed and spreading softly around the room. The figure would pause in his typing every few minutes to glance at the sleeping figure in the next bed. He would stop and his eyes would flash towards his brother, as if to check that the sleeping figure was still there, and then return on his mission.

The room was oddly barren and tidy for two young men to be staying in. The only loose item happened to be a long forgotten lacy, fuchsia-colored bra tucked neatly behind the TV stand, out of the sight of the younger brother. The curtains were drawn to allow minimal light into the room, though the occasional moth-eaten hole would ruin the effect. The sounds of cars could be heard on a distant highway if one strained hard enough to listen for them.

The younger brother rubbed his eyes in exhaustion and turned once again to glance at his comatose older brother. In just a few hours, he would be awake and they would be on the road again – whether the younger brother liked it or not. He laughed grimly and averted his gaze back to the computer.

A news headline for a rural Alabama city flashed at the top of his screen, showcasing a sizable town somewhere in the 'Black Belt', a rural farming district of the state. The district boasted smaller towns and massive, old plantation homes off the beaten path. The headline spoke of several recent animal attacks, with the carcasses ranging from ravished to nearly intact. They all lacked one key component – hearts. The younger brother chuckled again.

No less than three hours later, the two brothers were sitting in a shabby diner in Omaha, dim lighting reflecting off of their clean plates.

"You find anything about those coordinates yet?" The oldest brother questioned, a fork hanging from his mouth, not bothering to keep his voice down.

"The website says it was animal attacks. Coroner says all of the hearts were missing," his younger brother replied. He sighed and spun the laptop to face his brother. "If it really is a text from Dad... he might be onto something. Looks like maybe a werewolf."

The older brother raised a brow as he took another bite. Of course, his dad was onto something. "Great, a werewolf in the swamp. Go figure."

"You're thinking of Louisiana, Dean."

Dean dropped the fork from his mouth and leaned towards his brother, taking a swig of black coffee. "They're practically the same thing, Sammy. Both in the South, so both are swamps." He replied, his eyes still blurred with sleep.

Sam grinned and pulled his laptop towards him. "So far there have been nine victims. I've done some research, and I can't find anything they have in common. It looks like some wolf went on a feeding frenzy."

"Good. They're always the most fun to kill," Dean said enthusiastically, with a mouthful of food. Sam cringed. "I'll bring the car around, you've got the bill, Sammy."

Dean stood up from the booth as his brother started to protest and clapped him firmly on the shoulder. "Towns only a few hours away, you can sleep on the way.”

"Great," Sam grumbled. "Then we can get a motel room tonight and talk to the witness in the morning."

"Witness?" Dean inquired, stopping in his tracks. "You never said anything about a witness."

"Just some guy named Raymond Chavez. The police interviewed him, but they couldn't get anything good out of him. Thought maybe we could take a crack at him."

"Poor guy probably saw the monster and didn't even realize what it was."

"Probably. That's why I thought we'd talk to him tomorrow."

Dean nodded in understanding and continued on his way, the door to the shabby diner shutting behind him.

—

Sam rummaged in the glove compartment of their car, searching through a mess of fake IDs, finally withdrawing the pair he wanted. He snickered upon seeing the names. "Hetfield and Ulrich? I thought we were passed the Metallica names."

Dean snatched the IDs from his brother's hands, "Shut up. Like a grocery store worker is going to recognize Metallica."

Sam chuckled. "Whatever. You want to get us caught, be my guest," he said, hopping out of the car. Dean frowned and grumbled to himself, exiting the car.

The brothers walked up the steps of the shabby house. The blue-gray paint was peeling off the sides of the house, leached by the constant sun. The lawn was overgrown and unkempt. Christmas lights still hung from the eaves, though they weren't plugged in.

The boys got their badges out and Sam knocked on the door. There was a crash from inside the house and the brothers glanced at each other. Sam reached out to knock again, but the door was flung open in a hurry.

The man standing before them was just as unkempt as the house itself. A wore a white shirt, stained by obvious beer stains. His jeans were unbuttoned and his belt was undone, as though he had just hastily thrown them on. His hair was a mess and he wore no shoes.

Dean grimaced and flashed a National Forest Service badge. "Mr. Chavez?"

The greasy-looking man nodded, pulling a toothpick from his pocket and sliding it in between his teeth in a failed attempt to look put together. "Tha's me," he grunted, with an obvious accent.

"Mr. Chavez, we wanted to talk to you about the animal attacks," said Sam.

Chavez's eyes went wide for a quarter of a second, then his brows furrowed. "I already talked to the police about tha'." He scratched nervously at his pitiful attempt at a beard, bristled whiskers poking out from his chin.

"We just have a few follow-up questions," said Dean . Chavez thought for a moment, then shrugged. "C'mon in then. Sorry 'bout the mess."

The brothers glanced at each other in surprise upon entering the man's home. The house was surprisingly clean, with only the occasional item loose. The place was even dusted.

"Were you expecting company or something?" Dean asked, scanning the place.

Chavez tensed, hardly even noticeable unless you were looking for it. He whipped his head around and glared at Dean. "Do ya have questions or not?" he snapped, sitting down in a worn old chair.

Dean scanned the chair, noticing tufts of hair on it. "Do you have a dog?"

"No. I was pet-sitting."

Sam paced the room, inspecting everything, while Dean questioned Chavez. "So you told the police you saw an animal attacking one of the victims," Dean clarified, pulling a small notebook and pen from his pocket.

"Yeah, tore right into his throat. Saw it rip out the poor guy's heart," he said, unfazed. "What time of the month was it?"

"I weren't on my period or nothin' if that's what yer asking." His irritation was obvious at this question and his voice slipped into more of a southern drawl. He shifted in his seat, crossing his legs loosely.

Dean looked taken aback by his comment, "No – I just meant, was it close to a full moon or anything like that?"

Chavez thought about it for a moment and then said, "I s'pose it was. Say, what kind of Forest Service guys are ya, anyway? What's a full moon got to do with any o' this?"

Sam and Dean glanced knowingly at each other, avoiding Chavez's questioning gaze. "We're just tracking down a particularly nasty wolf," Sam said. "It likes to hunt around that time."

"Not all month?"

Dean shrugged, "It's a weird one," he chuckled. He pursed his lips and met Sam's eyes, nodding almost imperceptibly, motioning for him to do something. Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver ring, glancing at Dean and showing it to him. His older brother nodded again and Sam slipped it onto his finger.

Chavez ignored the exchange, his fingers twitching nervously, and stood up. "If you fellas don't got any more questions, I got's to get to work," he said, stretching languidly.

Sam approached from behind, "We just have a few more questions for you." He placed his ringed hand on the man's exposed shoulder.

A sudden sizzling noise echoed in the room and Chavez shouted, breaking away from Sam and clutching his burned shoulder. Both boys reached behind them and drew their guns, aiming for the man. Chavez snickered, and shrugged with one arm, his other still covering his now charred wound. "Figured you two would be dumb enough to pass me by." He smirked and his once brown eyes flashed a dark forest green.

"Not likely. Take a seat, Raymond," said Dean, gesturing towards the chair. Chavez grimaced, but sat, glaring at the brothers.

"So here's how it's going to go," said Dean. "You play nice and tell us where the other werewolves are and you won't get hurt. Otherwise," Sam cracked his knuckles and Chavez glanced at him in fright, Dean grinned and continued, "- otherwise, I'll let my brother here do what he wants."

Raymond gulped and glanced between the brothers, back and forth obviously pondering his best course of action.

Finally, he gulped again and stared at Dean. "There's only one more. A girl."

"Where?"

"Not far out of town. Jes' take the highway north, it's the third turn off on the left. She lives there."

Dean scoffed, "And you're willing to sell her out that easily? You disgust me. You animals are meant to be a family."

Raymond smirked, yellow teeth showing. "She means nothing to me."

Sam glanced at Dean, and the older brother nodded. Sam raised his gun towards the werewolf's head. "Wait, wait!" shouted the werewolf, shuffling away from Sam. "I told you what you wanted, now let me go! I'll skip town, I won't come back, I'll even stop feeding! Just let me go!"

The brothers glanced at each other. Dean shrugged. "Might as well, not like he can do anything 'til the full moon. He's someone else's problem then."

Chavez breathed a plaintive sigh of relief. When he opened his eyes again, the boys were already gone, the roar of the Impala's engine speeding away into the distance.

Chavez smiled.

—

The Winchesters turned off the highway down a beaten dirt road, the tires easily slipping into the worn grooves in the road. They rounded the corner of the road to come face to face with a large, pale blue, ranch-style home in the middle of a large clearing. A sizable barn and another building, which looked like a bunkhouse, were positioned behind the house and painted in the same blue color. The clearing was wide and full of light, surrounded by many towering trees. The trees blocked the view of the house from the road. The house and property were well cared for and decorative flowers littered the area.

"A werewolf lives here?" questioned Dean skeptically, glancing up at the house as he got out of the car.

"According to the other one-" Sam started, but promptly cut himself off. Dean glanced over at him and opened his mouth, but Sam immediately shushed him, withdrawing his gun from his belt. Sam pointed to the side of a beaten old pickup truck, where a bag of groceries lay on the ground, the contents spilling out.

Dean drew his gun and paced towards the truck. He placed his hand over the hood and quickly withdrew it.

"Still warm," he whispered to Sam. The younger brother gestured towards the house, gun still raised, and together they moved silently towards the structure. The front door was slightly ajar, and Sam pushed it open, gesturing for Dean to go first. Dean rolled his eyes and stepped into the house.

They entered into a well-decorated living and dining area, with expensive furnishings. The ceilings were tall and dark oak beams held the ceiling up, giving it a cottage sort of feel. Several large-scale windows lined the left wall of the house, bright light filtering in. To the right was a staircase heading up towards a sizable loft.

Dean lowered his gun and turned to Sam, "I don't think anyone's home-"

A large black mass fell from the loft and flattened Dean to the ground, his gun falling from his hand. He shouted in shock, attempting to get the mass off of him before it crushed his chest.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, raising his gun and taking aim.

"Shoot it Sam!" Dean shouted back, desperation in his voice. The thing snapped its jaws at Dean's throat, the elder Winchester doing his best to keep it away.

"I can't, I'll hit you!" Sam screamed.

The thing clawed at Dean and a spray of blood hit the back of the couch. Dean yelled and pushed the thing off of him. He attempted to stand, claw marks raking down his right arm.

"What the hell is that thing!?" he exclaimed, dodging as the thing flung itself at him and onto the front porch. The thing kept running down the steps and paused a few yards from the front steps. It turned, its furious golden eyes piercing the brothers. Sam held his brother and both of their eyes widened.

"It's a wolf," Sam whispered, lowering his gun.

"What the hell is a wolf doing-" Dean didn't get to finish his sentence. The wolf charged towards them again, tackling Sam to the ground, snapping its monstrous jaws at Sam's throat and his gun slipping out of his hand. "Sam!" he shouted.

The wolf howled, sinking its claws into Sam's arms. He screamed and threw the animal off; it collided roughly with the wall, tumbling to the floor. On shaky legs, the beast stood and shook out its dark fur, standing to its full height. Its head was easily shoulder height on Dean, standing at about five feet tall.

"That is not a normal wolf!" shouted Sam, regaining his breath. Dean lunged for his brother's fallen gun, realizing with panic that they hadn't loaded their weapons with silver. He raised his newfound gun towards the wolf as it snarled at him, lunging for his throat.

The gun went off.

The wolf howled and fell back, its now injured leg flailing wildly in the air. A horrendous snarl escaped its lips as it hobbled to a standing position, leaning against the wall, yellow eyes blazing with hatred and fury that the brothers had never seen in another animal's eyes. Dean raised his gun again, aiming for the wolf's head. His stony features morphed to shock as the wolf's face began to change. The snout shortened, the ears shifted and the warm gold of the animal's eyes dampened.

His eyes widened as the wolf's form took the shape of a young woman, no more than twenty-four years old. Her eyes seemed to glow a bright shade as they locked with him. Before either brother even had time to register what had happened, the woman lunged for Dean's gun still laying in the doorway, and aimed it at Dean.

"Don't... move..." she said breathlessly. Blood stained her shirt from where the bullet had pierced her skin, though it appeared to have only grazed her. She hissed through gritted teeth and Dean's eyes widened as the skin around the wound trickled with blood, already thickening into a thin scab. She slipped one foot behind her and held her gun with a sense of confidence. She held the weapon in an easy, practiced grip.

Sam shifted his weight and held his hands up in mock surrender. He leaned his weight against the wall and slowly stood. She whipped to the right to face him and shot a warning shot over his shoulder.

"I said don't move!" she screamed, chest heaving with fury and anticipation.

"Woah, hey!" Dean shouted, waving his hands in front of him. "Listen lady, put the gun down, and let's talk!"

"Why would I want to talk to a couple of hunters that are trying to kill me!?"

Dean chuckled and shrugged, offering a charming, almost apologetic smile. "Well... we aren't trying to kill you now?" He smiled hopefully.

Her brows furrowed and she lowered the weapon slightly, staring over the barrel. "I've never done anything to warrant hunters coming after me. Why are you here?" she spat, finger resting loosely on the trigger, barrel aimed for Dean's chest rather than his head. Truthfully, he wasn't sure if that was an improvement.

"We figured there was a werewolf in the area,” Sam explained calmly, eyes flicking between the monster and his brother. "We tracked it here, then found the witness. Turns out the witness was a-"

"Shit!" she exclaimed, causing both men to jump in surprise. She lowered the weapon until it was aimed at the ground at her feet. "Weaselly looking guy, goes by Raymond?"

Sam blinked twice in confusion. "Yeah, how-"

The girl cut him off again, laughing. "Are you two new at this or something? You never trust the monster!" She laughed again, clutching her stomach. "First of all, you're not hunting a werewolf."

The boys glared at her and Dean rolled his eyes, pursing his lips. "Yeah, no shit. Mind telling us what we are hunting?"

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes, frowning at the brothers as though she couldn't believe they were that stupid. "You boys ever heard of a skinwalker?"

Sam quickly glanced toward Dean in confusion. His brow creased with worry as he watched his brother's sarcastic features morph into shock. "I thought skinwalkers were wiped out?" Sam questioned, looking between the two.

"No," Dean said, glaring at his brother. "No, dad hunted one years ago. You were barely out of diapers," his voice was dripping with awe and shock. "Don't think dad ever managed to get it- always thought it was one step ahead." He narrowed his eyes in suspicion and folded his arms over his chest, finger tapping the trigger of the gun. "Last successful skinwalker hunt I heard of was- what, maybe eighty years ago? Bunch of hunters think they're extinct."

"Skinwalkers aren't common," the girl interjected. "We like to stay hidden."

Sam snapped his gaze up to meet hers. "You're a skinwalker?"

She rolled her eyes again. "How else am I supposed to turn into a wolf? Magic?" She threw up her hands in exasperation, then clutched her bleeding arm, gun resting loosely in her hands. She wasn't too worried — it wasn't a silver bullet, so she would heal quickly.

"So you're buddy, Raymond-" Dean started.

"-He's not my buddy-"

"- is also a Skinwalker? Why'd he sell you out?"

The girl paused for a moment, thinking about her answer. "There's a pack near here, set up shop about six months ago. They only started killing people recently though. Used to hunt animals, kept a low profile."

"And you're not part of the pack?" Sam questioned, knowing monsters like werewolves tended to rove in groups. Skinwalkers were thought to be cousins to werewolves, as they had similar qualities, such as a vulnerability to silver and an infectious bite. He assumed the pack mentality would be the same.

"No," she snapped bitterly. "I'd never hurt people. I hunt animals, try to stay out of people’s way, y’know? Besides, I was here first; this is my uncle's place. I moved in with him a few years ago, and he left the place to me." She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and her eyes quickly swept over the house.

"Where's your uncle now?" Sam inquired, a tinge of concern in his voice.

"He's dead. Died a little over a year ago, on a wraith hunt."

"He was a hunter?"

"One of the best. So was my mom, before she got bit," she frowned at the brothers and threw her hands up in a gesture that was meant to say 'obviously.' "So yeah, I was kind of raised to not eat people."

She hung her head a bit and placed her hands on her hips, eyes fixated on a now-distant past. The brothers watched her for a few moments, taking in her appearance. Her dirty jeans had scuffed knees and were frayed around the edges, by her ankles. Roughened combat boots were tied tightly to her feet and an oversized denim jacket rested loosely over her shoulders, one sleeve now stained with blood.

Dean took in a nervous breath. The girl glanced up at him and the light highlighted the bags under her eyes. "Why does the pack want you dead?" he asked.

The girl paused again as if wondering how much to give away. She furrowed her brows in thought before once again meeting their eyes. "Packs have a hierarchy. Biggest dog is in charge. You only get to easily be the biggest if you're a pure-blooded skinwalker." Her eyes jumped between the boys, gauging their reaction. They still looked as confused as ever. She sighed and began picking at the bloody fabric of her jacket. The blood from her wound already seemed to be clotted.

"Pure-bloods... are ones who have two parents that were skinwalkers too. My mom... she was turned before I was born. My dad was pure-blooded. He was second-generation." She met Dean's eyes, a challenging glare set upon her features. "That makes me a third-generation skinwalker. A rarity in the monster world. Makes me top dog in a pack, something I don't want, and certainly not something an insecure alpha would want."

The room was silent. The only sound came from the wind quietly billowing through the open front door. "He's afraid you'll take his pack?" Sam asked, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. She nodded.

Dean glared at the floor, his fists tightened. "Whatever reason he has to kill you doesn't matter. He still needs to be stopped - he can't just keep killing people." Sam nodded in agreement, holstering his gun and wiping his sweating palms on his jeans.

Dean turned to the girl and locked eyes with her, his green eyes cold. "You should leave. You don't want to be here when we take out the pack." He threw the last few words over his shoulder as he turned to exit the house, holstering the gun.

She scoffed at him, "You really expect to defeat a pack of fifteen skinwalkers, maybe more, on your own? Are you two amateurs, or did you hit your heads too hard?"

Dean visibly bristled, his back tensing as he whipped around and snarled, "What do you expect us to do!? We can either take them out or die trying!"

"I expect," she started, taking a few steps towards the porch, a surprisingly menacing glare adorning her features, "for you to take me with you."

Dean's mouth fell open in surprise and his eyebrows raised. "You want to help us?"

She flashed an almost wolfish grin, "Well yeah, how else do you expect to win a fight like this?" She crossed her arms over her chest and smiled widely. "Frankly, I'm tired of that asshole alpha harassing me and killing people. I just want a peaceful life, you know?"

Sam glanced nervously between the girl and his brother as Dean contemplated the pros and cons of the situation.

Pro: Another fighter that could help them win the fight.

Con: She might turn on them and attack them.

Pro: They're less likely to die.

Con: She might turn on them and attack them-

"Alright fine!" he exclaimed, "Fine. You can come with us."

She cheered, throwing her arms into the air in excitement. "About time you two decide to do something smart!"

Dean rolled his eyes, "Whatever Scooby, just get in the damn car. And don't get fur on the upholstery."

"Wouldn't dream of it," her smirk audible in her words.

"Just get in fido."

"It's not 'fido'-" she grumbled, climbing into the backseat. The engine started with a loud purr and Dean rolled easily out of the gravel driveway. He met her gaze in the rearview mirror as her name fell from her lips.

—

I glowered thoughtfully at Sam from my place on his bed in their dusty motel room, legs crossed and fingers drumming rhythmically against my thigh. The brothers were focused on packing, shoving various weapons into duffel bags. The barrel of a sawed-off shotgun poked out of the duffel bag Sam was filling.

The younger Winchester lifted his head and met my cold gaze, fixated on the weapon. His eyes glanced down at the shotgun and he laughed softly. "Not everyone can fight with literal tooth and nail."

I collapsed backward on the bed and splayed my arms out by my sides. The only thing left from my fading bullet wound was a scab. Truthfully, I wished it would heal immediately – this fight was not going to be an easy one, and the brothers would need all the help they could get.

I huffed and folded my arms over my chest, glaring up at the ceiling. I hated fighting. Sure, I was used to it – my uncle had taught me how to fight and I had been on several hunts with him – but that didn't mean I enjoyed it. I shivered at the thought of killing, the taste of blood and malleable flesh all too familiar on my tongue. The kind of food humans ate would tide me over, but it wasn't enough to satiate my hunger.

"I could always bite you," I offered playfully, redirecting my attention away from my thoughts and back towards Sam. "Then you could fight 'tooth and nail.'" I sat up, resting my weight on my elbows. I liked him – he was smart, and to my surprise he didn't blink twice about my situation. The fact that I was a monster meant nothing to him.

"No thanks. I'd prefer to not shed constantly," he joked, a smirk adorning his lips. I scoffed, to which he laughed. "Just a personal preference."

I don’t shed that much.

The door to the motel room burst open and I bounced on the bed in surprise, yelping at the sudden noise. Dean waltzed into the room, a smug grin on his lips as he dumped a mess of silver weapons on the bed beside me. I flinched and glared at the weapons that could easily kill me.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he said, a comical tone to his voice.

"No, you're not," I growled and shuffled away from the mess of silver. Invulnerability created a sort of superiority complex in most monsters. We were likely to be more reckless, knowing few things could kill us. Seeing one of those few things beside me was not something I relished.

"You're right, I'm not," Dean teased with a click of his tongue and a playful grin. He grabbed a pistol and a rag and wiped off the barrel.

"Fuck off," I grumbled crassly. The silver had certainly put me in a bad mood, making this approaching fight seem more real, more solid. I rolled off the bed and moved to the other side to help him organize. Dean only smiled at my comment, eyes never leaving his silver and white gun. "When are we planning on attacking these mutts?" I questioned.

I was eager to get rid of Chikaltio and his rag-tag pack. Seven months of that bastard harassing me and threatening my life was enough for me. I was so tired of it. Tired of not being able to go into town and buy my groceries without being snarled at. Tired of not being safe in my own home.

I didn't want to fight him. I hated the idea of challenging him, of potentially killing him – I didn't want to take over his pack, and I certainly didn't want to be responsible for another living being's death. Animals were one thing, people were… different. I had caused enough death in the past.

"Probably tomorrow," Sam said, checking his watch. My ears pricked, rejoining the conversation after being lost in thought. "It's already late, they'd have the drop on us at night."

"Not if you mask your scent," I suggested, just wanting the fight to be over. I wanted my life back.

"We wouldn't be able to see them," argued Dean. "We don't have night vision, like you."

I scoffed. "I don't have night vision.” I clarified, pointing a silver knife at Dean in a matter-of-fact way. "Dogs can see about five times better in the dark than a human can. I, no matter what you might think, am not a dog."

"So how much better are your eyes?" Sam asked, curiosity dripping into his voice.

I shrugged and ran a cloth over the blade of the knife. "About three times better."

Now Dean scoffed. "Right, you obviously can't see that much better."

"I never said I couldn't see that much better. I just said I don't have night vision."

"Yeah, whatever makes you feel better about yourself, Scooby," Dean muttered, intending to sound scornful, but he couldn't help the smile that slipped onto his face.

Sam chuckled from across the room. "Aren't you two supposed to be getting things ready for tomorrow?"

"We can multitask, Sammy," countered Dean, tossing a small bullet at his brother. Sam caught it and placed it on the desk.

"Are you two always like this before a hunt?" I inquired, shifting as far away from the flying silver bullets as possible.

"Not always. Dean is usually less annoying," Sam said, brushing another stray bullet out of his hair.

"Dean not being annoying? Is that possible?" I teased, feigning shock and placing a hand over my heart in surprise. I was beginning to like these boys – they were fun-loving and full of life, unlike the previous hunters I had known. Granted, those two hunters had been my mother and uncle, and they had seen some things that would make anyone less cheerful.

"Alright you two, knock it off. This isn't National Pick-On-Dean Day," Dean sneered, running a hand through his dirty blonde hair. My eyes followed his movements, scanning his face, eyes jumping between his freckles and green eyes. I had to admit, he was handsome.

"Shame. I bet that would be my favorite day of the year," I countered. Dean glared playfully and dropped his hand, reaching for another gun.

"Get back to polishing those knives," he ordered jokingly.

"Sure thing, boss."

—

The room was dark except for the occasional flash of lights, signaling a car drifting slowly down the highway. I listened to the passing cars and the voices of people in rooms nearby, furry ears pricked and at attention.

Nighttime was my favorite time. Everyone was finally quiet, peaceful, and no longer bothersome. I didn't feel overwhelmed by the amount of noise and the smells. I didn't need to worry about what people thought when they saw me, a massive black wolf with searing golden eyes, or a battered young woman with scars littering her body.

I could be myself.

My tail thumped quietly on the side of the couch, chin resting on dark paws, claws resting on the leather surface of the couch. I focused my attention on the argument a couple was having six rooms down. They weren't even trying to be quiet.

I hated hearing people argue. It brought a familiar feeling of helplessness up my throat, making it hard to breathe. I had grown so used to arguments in my teenage years that I thought fights and throwing items were completely normal. Now, knowing that was the opposite, I hated the memories it dredged up. I made a low grunting sound in the back of my throat and lifted my head, black fur brushing against the leather couch. At this time of night, I'd usually be running outside, hunting, playing. Just enjoy being in my fur. I couldn't wait until Chikaltio was gone and I didn't need to worry about where I ran or who I ran into.

I hopped off the smooth couch, sharp claws digging into the plush motel carpet. A short run wouldn't hurt, right?

My claws had just barely touched the linoleum by the door when I heard a soft rustling from behind. With languid movements, I turned my furry head to see Dean glaring at me in the dark, his green eyes filled with sleep.

"Where do you think you're going?" he questioned, his voice raw from sleep. I found it odd how quickly he had grown accustomed to my inhuman abilities. It was pleasant, knowing I was accepted when often I didn't accept myself.

My hackles raised as I began to shift, fur receding and bones cracking, rearranging under my skin. I straightened my spine and stretched, feeling my muscles and joints pop from the stress of changing form.

"I was going to go for a run. Is that a problem?" I cocked an eyebrow.

Dean hummed, sitting up. "It's a bit of a problem. How do I know you aren't going to go tell the other skinwalkers about us?"

I rolled my eyes], though I was sure Dean couldn't see the gesture. For him, the room must have seemed pitch black, rather than the gentle shadows I saw. "I'm sure Chavez has already told the pack. You weren't very discrete with your intentions. I bet they also know that you didn't kill me."

"Even more reason for you to stay here," he challenged. "If they know you're not dead, they might be looking for you. You said it yourself - we can't fight them on our own, and you're no help if you're dead."

"I doubt some blockhead mastiff could kill me."

"Doesn't mean I want them to try."

I averted my eyes, gaze dropping to the floor, and picked at the hem of my shirt. Was he saying that because I was just part of the case, or because he really cared? It had been so long since I had met anyone who truly cared for me. I lifted my gaze to meet his green eyes, surprised to find them warm and full of concern.

"For a hunter, you seem pretty charismatic," I murmured. My uncle had held that same gaze when I showed up at his doorstep years ago. Dean, although rough around the edges, seemed to really care for the people he helped, monster or not. I admired that.

"For a monster, you seem pretty human," he countered. I bristled, insecurity fluttering in my chest. If only he knew some of the things I had done. Would he still see me as human?

Finding nothing of note in his steely gaze, I dropped my eyes and once again became interested in the hem of my oversized shirt. I picked at the loose strings of the ragged hem. Dean rolled onto his back, his eyes latching onto the ceiling. "You should get some sleep. It's a big day tomorrow."

"It's hard for me to sleep at night. It's kind of an instinct to want to be out there, to run."

He smiled, tucking his hands behind his head. "You can run all you want tomorrow, after this hunt. But for now-" he locked his eyes with mine, "- for now, you should get some sleep." I pondered this for a moment and then finally nodded.

This time, my feet hit the plush carpet rather than sharp nails. I slid onto the couch, cold leather pressing against my skin and my mind racing with several thoughts. A part of me was eager for tomorrow's fight, knowing that at the end of the day I may finally have my freedom back. But, another, more realistic side of me knew that the day may end poorly. I may end the day cold and bathing in my own blood, the brothers, who I was already so fond of, missing pieces.

"Goodnight," I mumbled, half expecting him to already be asleep.

"Goodnight, sweetheart."