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starspyder · 4 months ago

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ɢᴜᴀʀᴅ ᴅᴏɢ || ᴄᴀʀᴍʏ ʙᴇʀᴢᴀᴛᴛᴏ x ᴛᴀᴛᴛᴏᴏ!ᴀʀᴛɪꜱᴛ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Summary: a couple of weeks after you give Carmy his most recent tattoo, you start to get closer and hang out a lot more. After he manages to get off work early, he shows up to your shop and helps you “take out the trash,” so to speak.

Warnings/notes: Canon typical violence and swearing (they’re Italian what do you expect), slight angst, protective!Carmy. Guns, but nobody actually gets shot— Carmy carries a mouskatool like Richie let’s be honest here lmao. Carmy is hot when he’s mad but we all knew that. Let me know if I missed anything! Also probably slightly OOC Carm, still adjusting to writing about him and his mannerisms!

Reader is nicknamed Flash btw! No use of Y/N!

Also, I’d love to hear any name ideas for this series! Feel free to shoot some suggestions bc I’m runnin’ blank lol. This is a part two to my previous headcanons!

Word count: 1.3k

It had been a long day— from the moment your doors opened for the typical Saturday 11am-12am shift, you seemed to constantly have a line out the door, at least three groups coming in for matching tattoos, a few teenage girls looking to get belly button piercings, and people trying to haggle over your reasonable yet firm prices. There were plenty of great people that came in, many of them asking for you specifically— it was comforting to know your hard work was paying off.

Even when the shop closed from 2pm-4pm so you could clean up the shop and have lunch, there was always a laundry list of shit that needed to get done. Between sanitizing stations, taking phone calls for appointments, answering consultation emails, offering water and snacks to those who were nervous or feeling lightheaded, and doing a few pieces yourself, it had been a long-ass day.

You’d been busy, but the thought of Carmy kept egging in the back of your mind. Your coffee date (for lack of a better term) went great, and Carmy still wouldn’t let you give him all that extra money back—he’d left you $300 for what was a $40 flash (not that you were going to charge him anyway, as a ‘thank you’ for helping you set up when you’d first met).

“Consider it your tip, Flash,” He’d started calling you that, Flash. It wasn’t hard to figure out why, and you certainly weren’t going to correct him when it rolled off his tongue like that.

“What, you give every girl you meet tips like this?” You jabbed, maintaining eye contact as you sipped your mocha.

Carmy chuckled, arms crossed as he leaned back coolly in the chair across from you. “Just the ones I like.”

When you first met him a few weeks prior, you wouldn’t have expected him to be such a flirt. He admitted to you just a couple of days ago over text that you made him feel calm, like he could think clearly around you. He blamed it on your seemingly easy-going nature, so you decided to leave it at that.

However, as the day went on, and it got busier into the evening, you were growing inches closer to losing your cool.

Your current client was haggling. You hate hagglers— you’re an artist, and your work takes time, effort, and constant practice, not to mention how expensive quality equipment is. Your prices were fair, still fairly close to what you were charging during your apprenticeships.

“I can’t just put down a deposit now and pay later?” He asks dumbly. You resist the urge to prince the bridge of your nose in frustration and try to keep your tone firm, but nice.

“Listen, man, I’m sorry, but I can’t just trust the honor system— you can only put a deposit down if you make an appointment at least a week prior. I can go ahead and get you scheduled for a later date so we can set up a consultation and figure out what you’re wanting.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Carmy pass the window to your right, shuffling in as the door chimed upon his entrance. You give him a quick smile over the guy’s shoulder, then turn back to the jerk in front of you.

“Come on, woman, your stuff isn’t even that good.” He scoffs, tossing his arms in the air in annoyance. Carmy visibly tenses, watching the interaction closely. In the few weeks you’d known him, you learned how observant he is— must’ve come from culinary school, watching the masters of cooking at work.

“You’re the one trying to argue over a $60 tattoo, dude. If you don’t like my work, you can find what you want somewhere else. There are plenty of great artists in the city, you’re the one who chose to come into my shop.” You say sternly, arms crossing over your chest.

Carmy takes a step closer as the guy starts huffing, his hands braced on the glass countertop where different piercing jewelry and art was displayed. You scowl as his fingerprints smudge the glass you just cleaned.

“You don’t have to be such a bitch about it!” He snaps.

You’re leaning over the counter as this guy looks like he’s about to bow up and raise a fist against you, when Carmy decides it’s time to step in.

“Man, ‘m givin’ you ten seconds to get the hell out.” He put a hand on the guys chest, shoving him back with much less force than he could. Your eyes flickered down to his biceps, trapped under a simple but sinful white t-shirt, stretched taut over his shoulders. Your mouth would’ve been watering if it wasn’t such a tense situation.

The patrons and your two other artists, Logan and Rhett, watch with a mixture of shock and amusement at the interaction. Asshole Guy, as you’ve begun calling him in your head, throws his arms up again in defense, brows furrowed in anger.

“What, you need a fuckin’ guard dog? Get fuckin’ real, bro, this skank is just greedy—“

Carmen shoves him again, a lot harder this time, his back to you as he lifts up the front of his shirt, exposing the grip of a black pistol, magazine locked and ready to go.

“You’re down to five. Fuckin’ leave already.” Carmy threatens, almost nose-to-nose with the offender.

Glancing at the weapon, then Carmy’s angry expression, then you, Asshole Guy grumbles out a few insults, turning and skulking away.

Carmen follows him out, holding the door open for him to get out onto the sidewalk.

“‘F I ever see you on this street again, your ass is mine!” He shouts in finality.

Your glower doesn’t leave Asshole Guy until he’s completely out of sight, and even after, Carmen guards the door in case he turns around for the last word.

After a tense moment, Carmy turns back inside, muttering under his breath about ‘teaching that jagoff some fuckin’ respect.’ His expression softens when his eyes find you again, arms crossed and a smug grin on your face, one that mirrored his just a few weeks before.

“Sorry ‘bout that, hope I didn’t freak ya out or anythin’.” He apologizes, almost nervously.

“My guard dog, huh?” You tease. “I could get used to hearing that.”

He flushes, looking away with an amused smile.

“You can call me anything you want.” His eyes are trained on you as a smirk grows on his lips, stepping up to the counter to face you.

“How can I repay you?” You ask.

He ponders for a few seconds, then looks back up at you.

“Come to Family on Tuesday.” He states.

“Family?” Your head tilts to the side for a second, a cute contrast to your edgier aesthetic, Carmy thinks. You’d done it a few times during your coffee date, and Carmy wasn’t sure he’d ever get enough of such a simple action.

“Uh, every Tuesday before dinner service, we make a staff meal. Usually we take turns, an’ it’s up to me this week, if you’d maybe wanna join?”

You smile, nodding in acceptance.

“It’s a date, Guard Dog.” You tease with a toothy smile, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Carmen nods, before straightening up and crossing his beautifully tanned arms— those Italian genes unearthing themselves as the weather gets warmer and his hair gets a few shades lighter from what little he sees of the sun. Underneath the hem of the sinful white t-shirt, you can see the outline of a rounded golden pendant, pressed between his clavicle and the almost sheer fabric that fits nicely to his chest.

As he notices your obvious staring, Carmy responds.

“It’s a date, Flash.”

——

ask box is open! feel free to send some ideas!! 🫶

#starspyderfics #the bear x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #Carmy Bear #carmy berzatto x reader #Carmen Berzatto fluff

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starspyder · 4 months ago

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𝙁𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙝 𝙉𝙚𝙬 𝙄𝙣𝙠 || Carmen Berzatto X Tattoo!Artist Reader

Some of my personal headcanons about Carmy meeting his new favorite tattoo artist— who just opened shop down the street from The Bear ;)

Extras: canon typical swearing, Richie being a little shit, emotionally constipated Carmy as usual lol

read part 2 here!

word count: 1.6k

Oh my god where to begin oKAY—

So let’s say at this point, The Bear has been open for at least a couple of months. Everybody’s getting into a routine, the reputation is still good (albeit a little mixed with all the bitching and moaning coming from the kitchen mid-service). Carmy’s routine is get up at about 6am, sometimes earlier if he can’t sleep, get to the restaurant by 7:30 at the latest, run prep until lunch service, take a break that Syd, Richie, or Sugar forced him to take so often that it’s normal, as much as he dislikes it, and then return to do the last bit of prep before dinner service.

My poor boy works himself to death :((

It’s on one of these aforementioned breaks that he’s standing out front, smoking a cig while on the phone with Fak, bitching him out for screwing something up or picking up the wrong thing from the restaurant depot store, when he sees you.

You’re across the street, about three shops down to the right, carrying in some heavy looking boxes from your car, parallel parked out front.

He, in true Carmen Anthony Berzatto fashion, watches from a distance. It’s been a while since he’s been with Claire, and it’s not like he was going out of his way to get into another potential relationship, but he would easily admit how pretty you were.

Dressed in shorts and an oversized shirt with some scribbled logo for a metal band, Vans and a black baseball cap. Underneath, your hair was a darker, navy blue color. You had a few piercings, a couple of nostril hoops on one side, your septum and a pretty stud in the middle of your top lip— not to mention the plethora of jewelry adorning your ears. Your arms and legs were covered in tattoos, some bright and colorful and some darker and moodier.

There were plenty of different people that Carmy’s met in his time traveling and working, so any kind of alternative look didn’t really faze him.

It’s after Richie comes outside to bother him that the former notices his thousand yard stare right at you.

“‘Scuse me, sweetheart!” Richie shouts down the street, before Carmy can shut his ass up. “Need a few pairs of hands?”

You look up from where you’re struggling to open the shop door while holding a large box, a big grin on your face as you accept their help. Richie all but drags Carmy over as he tells Fak to "get it fuckin' right this time," taking the box from your hands and taking it inside.

“Oh my god, you guys are lifesavers, thank you.” You smile, holding the door open for them as they retrieve the last few boxes out of your trunk.

“Don’t mention it, sweetheart, just being neighborly.” Richie says. “I’m Richie, this jagoff is Carmen. We own and operate The Bear down the street.”

“Jus’ Carmy is fine.” He interjects quietly.

You nod, looking between them. “Oh, I’ve heard of you guys! I’ll have to come in sometime,” you pause, subtly trying to get an eyeful of Carmy.

“That would be awesome— you know, Carmy’s got a lot of tats, don’t you, Cousin?”

Carmen, who is wearing a long sleeved blue sweatshirt, stills as you look him over, before rolling up his sleeves. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t immediately ogling his hands when he first walked up to you.

“Oh, I love the snail, that’s awesome! Well, if you were ever looking to add to your collection, we open next Thursday. It’d be cool to see you guys around.”

“You’ll be sick of us before you know it.” Carmy agrees.

“I’ll look forward to it,” You smile, a little shy by now. The way you and Carmy are looking at each other doesn’t go unnoticed by Richard.

After a few weeks of saying hi and giving a wave when you crossed paths, it was only after a really shitty Saturday night that Carmen decided he wasn't ready to go home. They were closed the next two days, Sunday Monday which coincided with your hours, funny enough.

As Carmy locks up, he looks out the window to see the lights still on at your shop, seeing you mill about and take care of the last of your customers. It’s nearly 1am, The Bear stopped seating at 11:30 each night, where your shop closed at 12am on Saturday nights. He supposed you also had a pretty busy day.

The bell above the door chimes softly as he enters, looking around timidly for you.

You’re finishing up with a client, reminding them of proper aftercare.

“Oh shit— Hey, Carmy! Give me just a sec, I’ll be right with you!” You say, then go back to the guy in front of you. “Clean it with unscented, antibacterial soap, pat dry with a clean paper towel, and use a thin layer of moisturizer— CeraVe works pretty well for me. Don’t take the bandage off until tomorrow morning and try your best not to sleep on it.”

You help get your client checked out, sending him out the door with a final goodbye, before locking it and turning off the red and blue ‘open’ sign.

“Got time for one more?” Carmy asked.

“Sure,” you say, moving behind the counter. “Have anything in mind, or did you wanna flip through my flash books?”

“Flash— it’s already late, ‘m not gonna make you draw somethin’ up for me."

“Another time, then.” You grin. You go through your books, showing him different styles you offer. A lot of them are more along the American Traditional style, some fineline, some simple, some that were decently intricate for flash sheets.

While he chose his design, you got to work cleaning your station, sanitizing everything, changing out the old needles for new ones, taking your time and making idle conversation across the shop.

“What made you wanna open your shop?” He ended up asking.

“Didn’t know what to do with my art degree. Six years at Pratt Institute of Art, and I hadn’t given a thought as to what I wanted to do. Drawing has always been a big part of me, so it gives me a chance to do what I like. Plus, sometimes it’s kinda fun to see people squirm.” You laughed the last part off, shaking your head at how suggestive it sounded.

“You’re cold, huh?” He smirked.

“Bad to the bone, Carmy. You decide on what you’re gettin’?”

He decided on a box of matches with a rose on the front, one of them sticking out of the package and lit up with fire. He decided not to get any color, sticking with his usual black and white aesthetic. He chose a spot on his arm, on the front of his shoulder near the end of his collarbone.

It was quite an intimate setup, Carmy taking off his sweatshirt and wearing only a white muscle tank underneath, part of the hem pulled back to expose his tanned skin. You leaned close as he sat back in the chair, head back and looking up at the ceiling.

“Not that I mind the company, but what made you decide to come in?” You asked, peeking up at him for a moment, your eyes following the silhouette of his face against the fluorescent lights.

“Had a shitty night at work— didn’t wanna go home just yet. Did you mean to be open so late?”

“That sucks, sorry to hear that. I was finishing up with that guy earlier; he’s followed me on instagram for a while, and wanted to wait for me to get a proper setup before he came in. He’s a talker, though, it was kinda hard to get rid of him.” You chuckled, wiping at his skin with a clean paper towel.

“‘S fine, same as always. Richie can’t keep his mouth shut even if it would do everyone some good.”

Once the tattoo is finished, you snap a few pictures for your portfolio (with permission ofc) and allow him to stand up and take a look in the mirror before you wrap it up.

“This is fuckin’ sick, thanks,” he mumbles, but the sorters of his lips turn up in satisfaction.

“Glad to hear. I won’t bother you with the aftercare stuff, I’m sure you know what you’re doin’, but you’ll let me know if you have any trouble with it or anything, right?” You slide a business card across the glass countertop, watching as he inspects it, then slides it into his worn out wallet. You stop him as he starts pulling out cash, asking what the damage is.

“C’mon, let me pay you, yeah?”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it. I’ll let you next time, promise.” You wink.

“‘M not leavin’ till you let me give you somethin’,” He said sternly.

Your eyes lock for a moment before you speak up. “How about this— we go get coffee on Monday, if you’re not busy?

With a sigh, Carmen relents, putting his wallet away with a short few nods.

“It’s a deal. Want me to just meet you here? Maybe around noon ‘r somethin’?”

“That sounds great. I’ll see you on Monday.” You smile, turning around to grab something, and he’s out the door. It makes your heart sink just for a moment, until you see three one-hundred dollar bills on the counter— way more than you would’ve charged normally, even at a discounted price.

Then you’re pissed, because through the window, you catch his smug grin as he glances back at you one final time tonight.

——

ask box is open!! feel free to send ideas!! 🫶 -Star

#starspyderfics #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear #the bear x reader

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starspyder · 7 months ago

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Thank y’all for all the love on the most recent fic! I’m working on some Until Dawn hc’s for Chris for those who are interested!!

-Star

#starspeaks #until Dawn X reader #Chris Hartley X reader

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starspyder · 7 months ago

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Ask box is open! Feel free to send asks, requests, etc! ❤️

-Star

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starspyder · 7 months ago

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My newest fic is now on Ao3! Be sure to check it out if you’re a fan of Sister!Winchester!Reader ❤️

#starspyderfics #starspeaks #supernatural #supernatural x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x sister!reader #Dean Winchester X reader #sam winchester x sister!reader #Sam Winchester X reader #Sam Winchester fanfiction #sister!winchester

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starspyder · 8 months ago

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Ask box is open! Feel free to send asks, requests, etc! ❤️

-Star

#starspeaks

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starspyder · 8 months ago

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𝘚𝘢𝘧𝘦𝘵𝘺 𝘐𝘯 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘈𝘳𝘮𝘴 // 𝖲𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋!𝖶𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋

𝖲𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒 - 𝖶𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝖺 𝗁𝗎𝗇𝗍, 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝖺𝗉𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖨𝗍’𝗌 𝖺 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝗇 𝖲𝖺𝗆 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖣𝖾𝖺𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎.

𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌/𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌 - 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖨 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖴𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝖣𝖺𝗐𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖨 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗁𝖾𝗁𝖾. 𝖵𝗂𝗈𝗅𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝗀𝗈𝗋𝖾, 𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗉𝗁𝗈𝖻𝗂𝖺, 𝗏𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗐𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗀𝗈𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍, 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝖽. 𝖲𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖩𝗈𝗁𝗇 𝖶𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝖳𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝖥𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋™ 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗌𝖺𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖫𝗈𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖯𝖮𝖵 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝖿𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗁𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗌, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇. You're Sam's twin sister

𝖡𝖾𝗍𝖺’𝖽? - 𝖻𝗒 𝖲𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗉𝖵𝖢𝖭 (𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗎 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖾 <3)

𝖲𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 - 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗈𝗇 1 𝗈𝗋 2, 𝖩𝗈𝗁𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗁𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗌, 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒.

𝖶𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖢𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍 - 4.6𝗄

It was a typical hunt, something you’ve done a thousand and one times. One of your first hunts was a Wendigo, in fact.

It wasn’t the first for either of your brothers, elder or your twin. You had good odds, four against one— everything was supposed to be fine.

That one was smart— far smarter than any of you had given it credit for. It quickly split you and John away from Sam and Dean, then it got you completely alone in the cave system it called home. It wanted to separate you all and pick you off one by one.

“Dad?” You whispered, keeping your hands steady on your flare gun. “Dad?!”

Without realizing, you stepped back into a divot between the rocks, causing you to lose your footing and fall backwards. You yelped involuntarily as you tumbled down into a narrow cavern, rolling down smooth yet rugged stone before you finally came to a stop. You gasped for breath, looking up to where you’d fallen from.

It was a good twenty foot drop, and as you looked up, you could see streaks of moonlight flooding in from the cave entrance. You shakily stood, grunting softly at the spark of pain in your ribs.

The cave was silent. Thankfully, you hadn’t lost your flare gun, and your flashlight was still in your jacket pocket. You knew you would have to keep moving, try to find a way out. The way you had fallen down was steep and slippery, covered with damp moss.

That’s a no-go, you thought.

You knew better than to try and use your flashlight, though you figured it would come in handy shortly, so you looked around, squinting the moonlight to try and take in your surroundings.

You’d fallen into a kind of central cavern, a wide area with plenty of stalactites hanging from the ceiling. There was one path, veering to the right.

You took a shaky breath to steady yourself, then quietly made your way down the tunnel.

You never were comfortable with enclosed spaces. You always managed to feel suffocated while sharing the wide backseat of the Impala with Sam, and you got antsy when you were practicing your shooting with how John hovered over your shoulder, waiting for you to make a mistake.

It made you uneasy. When that unease twisted itself into your stomach, you would feel hot and nauseous. You liked having breathing room, the rare times you had gotten it in your childhood. You were either in school, stuck in a rank motel room, or in the back of John’s car. Personal space was a luxury throughout your life.

The first Wendigo you ever hunted was good at keeping you on your toes, you’ll give him that.

“Find Dad, find Dean, find Sam. You’re doing great,” you said to yourself, repeating words of encouragement to keep yourself going.

A loud screech rang out from somewhere in the cave system far behind you, followed by the sound of your name– your father’s voice.

You halted, listening for anything else. Anything that could lead you to safety.

John’s voice rang out again, but coming from an entirely different direction. From directly ahead of you.

“These things, they can mimic peoples’ voices. Don’t ever believe you hear me until you see me.” John had said before, as he gave you the flare gun.

Your eyes went wide as you pushed yourself against the wall of the cave, sidling along until you found a small alcove you’d passed and shoved yourself in it. You could only see the path you’d come from, not where you were going.

Footsteps rang out, slow and steady.

You were shaking, one hand coming up to cover your mouth, the other holding the gun up, your finger hovering over the trigger.

A horrific scream echoed, much closer than you had anticipated. If you had to guess, it was within ten feet of your hiding spot.

“You good, Y/N?” Dean asked, shutting the trunk of the Impala.

You swallowed nervously, nodding in response.

“Yeah. I’ll be fine.” You answered.

Your eldest brother clearly wasn’t convinced.

“You can stay behind, if you want. Sam and I can take care of one Wendigo.” He said gently. “I know that one time messed you up. There’s definitely a few monsters I'd rather not deal with ever again.”

You looked back into the motel room, where the door was open and you could see Sam was packing up the last of his things. You considered for a moment, then thought back to your first Wendigo hunt. You needed help then, and things may not be so lucky for your brothers if they went on their own.

“I’m coming with you, Dean.” You stated firmly.

Dean raised his hands in defense, nodding firmly.

“Alright, hotshot, you’re with us.”

“Damn right, jackass.” You teased, slinging your duffel bag over your shoulder as Sam walked to the car, passing it to you.

“You got this.” Sam said encouragingly.

“Okay, shut up and get in the car.” You said, smacking each of them gently on the back of the head.

You hesitated before looking at the now closed door of the motel room.

I’ll be okay. I have my brothers. You thought to yourself.

Fate had other ideas for you, that day.

“Y/N!” Your fathers voice screamed out, but it was clearly wrong.

It sounded distorted, simultaneously too close and too far away. It echoed through the cavern, making a shiver run up your spine.

And God, the smell. These monsters were easy to detect by sound, but if they were trying to go undetected, the scent gave them away easily.

You never smelled a rotting corpse until that day, and that’s almost what got you killed.

It was the middle of summer. It was hot during that day, and the weather had shifted from partly cloudy to a summer rainstorm. Water and heat don’t mix well with withering flesh.

As it approached your hiding place, you tried not to gag as the smell burnt your nostrils, making your eyes water and your stomach churn. As if being in a cramped, dark cave wasn’t enough, it was like all the fresh air had been sucked away.

You gagged. Your near fatal mistake was almost vomiting right before your potential death.

Air. You couldn’t breathe. If you uncovered your mouth, you’d surely be sick and give away your spot. Saliva filled your mouth, the telltale sign your stomach was about to empty itself.

If you didn’t breathe, you were certain you would pass out, giving the Wendigo the perfect chance to catch his dinner.

Your eyes watered as you tried to ready yourself, before a shot rang out, and a blast of heat rushed past you.

The Wendigo screamed like you’d never heard anything scream. Long, drawn out and a sound that haunted you to your core.

“Y/N? Where are you, Bug?!”

Dean?

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You swore. You tried not to panic so soon, but god damn it, you hated cramped spaces.

Of course, you were the only one who could squeeze through the hole that entered the mine.

Of course, you had to find a path to the door to unlock it for your brothers.

Of course, you had to do it alone.

“You’ve got this, Bug!” Dean encouraged.

“Shut up!” You snapped.

Sam smacked Dean on the arm. “I don’t think you’re helping, man.”

“I’m trying, dude.”

“Well, stop trying!” You cut in. “There’s only one path, it veers to the right. I’ll get the door open in a few.”

You pulled out your flashlight, looking around.

“Be careful!” Sam warned.

“Will you two shut up? Go wait by the door or something.” You ordered.

With one final look back, you stood to your feet, trying desperately to shake the anxiety from your mind.

You remembered what John taught you.

“With these bastards, silence is survival.”

Your footsteps were near silent, save for the occasional crunch of rocks under your boots. You hadn’t heard anything yet, and you were all smart enough to at least try to get into the mineshaft before sundown; before they started hunting you.

The mineshaft thus far only had one path; you entered at a dead end, on the easternmost point of the entire area. Hopefully, if you’d read the map properly earlier, you would only have to make it about a hundred yards forward and twenty to the right before you had your backup.

You pushed your fear aside, trying to focus on your current objective: find the door and get it open for Sam and Dean.

The path was nearly pitch black, even with the small streaks of sunlight coming from your entryway behind you. You could easily see the first hints of something horrifying— scraps of tattered clothing, the occasional hiking boot here and there, and burnt out flashlights scattered about.

It was extremely difficult not to think of that night, nearly eight years ago. You were barely fourteen, and John had essentially sent a sheep into a den of lions. That’s how you always saw it, at least.

Dean’s voice got closer and closer, yelling desperately for you. Your mind was too clouded and paralyzed by fear and you were unable to decipher whether it was really your big brother, or just another one of the monsters.

“Bug? Come on, kid, where are you?!”

You watched as a figure passed your hiding spot, one you easily recognized.

“D-Dean?” You whimpered, trying your best not to be sick.

He whipped around, his hardened expression falling to one of immediate relief as he rushed towards you. Dean pulled you into his arms, carefully inspecting you for any injuries.

“Are you okay?” He asked softly.

Your bottom lip trembled and your vision was blurred around the edges by hot tears as you hiccupped and squeezed your arms around Dean’s midsection tightly.

“Oh, Bug… you’re fine, I promise. I’m gonna get you out of here, okay? We have to find Dad and Sammy first. There shouldn’t be any more of these things, alright?”

“N-No, Dean! Please, I wanna leave, I can’t— I-!”

“Sh, sh, it’s alright, I’m gonna keep you safe, yeah? I always do, don’t I?” He asked.

“Y-Yeah,” You sniffled, nodding slightly. In the darkness, you’re not sure if he can see you well, but he seems to understand.

“That’s my girl.”

You hadn’t been walking long when the smell hit you. It was hard not to consider that the Wendigo may be closer than you expected.

That awful stench of decay— would it kill these assholes to invest in some candles, maybe a nice floral perfume?

You came to a halt, analyzing your surroundings as carefully as possible. The mineshaft extended ahead in front of you, and there was one path to the left.

Maybe.. thirty yards ahead? Twenty yards to the right. You’re almost there, you thought to yourself.

You crept ahead, your ears tuned to pick up on any unusual sound. The wood that held up the rocks above creaked every so often, and sometimes you could hear the dripping of water from somewhere down an adjacent hall.

It didn’t take long for you to reach the door, and you breathed a sigh of relief. There was a small, rectangular window near the top middle of the metal door, and you could see Sam looking around, clearly antsy.

You reached up and knocked on the window.

“That you, Bug?” Sam asked, muffled.

“I-It’s me!” You responded, kneeling down and trying to pick the padlock. Sam was always better at picking locks than you were— you got ahead of yourself sometimes, rushing but not being as careful as you should’ve been.

After the second time of not being able to unlock it, you let out a frustrated groan.

“Take it easy, okay? You got this. Slow and steady!” Dean cheered you on.

“If I go slow and steady, this thing is gonna get me!” You huffed.

You started over, steadying your breathing and trying to pay closer attention to what you were doing.

“Y/N!”

You peered up to the window, where Sam and Dean were banging against the glass, yelling for you to run.

How didn’t you smell it? Hear it?

Your blood ran cold as you slowly turned around, pressing yourself against the door.

At the end of the path, the Wendigo was crouched, ready to strike.

“Your flare! Y/N, shoot it!”

“Come on, Y/N!”

Your breath hitched with each inhale as the Wendigo stared you down. They couldn’t see well, but with the noise your brothers were making, trying to snap you out of your fearful haze, it clearly knew you were there.

Sam and Dean flinched at the blood curdling scream you let out, cries of panic ringing through the air.

“No, no!” echoing throughout the mine.

The creature screeched at the same time you did, then your voice went dead silent.

“Bug? God damn it, Y/N!” Dean banged on the door, trying to see in through the dirty window.

Dean watched as the wendigo unceremoniously hauled you over its shoulder, before turning to the window and emitting an ear splitting scream. Your brothers both watched and listened in horror as there was a responding call coming from deeper into the mines.

Dean shoved Sam back, then pulled out his gun and shot the lower part of the door, right under the handle. The force must’ve been strong enough to break the padlock from the outer side, or at least rattled it enough to slide your lockpicking kit just the right way.

When Sam and Dean entered, you were gone. All that remained was your backpack, your dropped flare gun, and a puddle of steaming blood.

When the creature was dead and you found your brother and father, Dean thankfully kept his mouth shut about your borderline panic attack. You almost dropped to your knees as soon as you stepped into the morning sunlight, but Sam was quick to steady you. John had always been hard on you, for not being as fast or as strong as your brothers. Dean knew you weren’t in the right headspace to get yelled at; none of you ever were, but you were the best at steeling your emotions and taking the brunt of John’s words head-on. Silent and without argument.

“You get hurt in the fall?” John asked.

“No, just a little bruised. I’m okay.” The first part was thankfully true, but that entire hunt did nothing to quell your fears. In the car on the way back to the motel, you were much quieter than normal, and had pressed yourself against the door of the car, in a near-catatonic state. You answered softly when something was asked of you, but weren’t happy about a successful hunt like you usually would be.

You had awful nightmares for weeks, afterwards. John did nothing to comfort you, he’d just wake you up, scold you for waking him, and go right back to sleep, leaving you to silently cry on the fold out couch.

“Dean, there are two of them, at least! How are we going to kill these things without her?” Sam whisper-shouted.

“Will you shut it? First, we find Y/N. They can’t be too far off from her. You’re gonna get her out, I can deal with at least one of them. You get her out, shoot anything that moves.”

“I’m not leaving you, Dean!”

Dean turned, grabbing Sam by the front of his jacket. “You didn’t watch one of those almost kill our sister, but I did.”

“I was just with you when it happened!”

“No, Sam! Her first wendigo hunt. She was having all those nightmares about it for a month after. I’ve never seen her that scared of anything, Sammy. If she’s awake now, she’s terrified.”

Sam relaxed, gently shoving Dean off of him. “Fine. As soon as she’s safe, I’m coming back.”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

When you woke up, the first thing you felt was pain searing from the outside of your left thigh. With blurry vision, you looked down. Three jagged, still bleeding scratches were embedded into the soft flesh. Your jeans were ripped with blood caking the fabric.

You looked around, up, and down. The only thing you could deduce was that your hands were crudely tied together, but it was still tight, and you were hanging from some kind of large hook.

Your head was pounding and it was hard to think straight.

Focus, you thought. You couldn’t hear anything, and while it did smell quite a lot like mildew and rotting meat, it wasn’t as strong as it was when the Wendigos were around.

You struggled, attempting to reach up and grab the hook so you could pull yourself up and off and drop to the ground. You grunted, your wrists were sore and you were feeling dizzy and weak from the blood loss. You stopped, jerking towards the ground after you’d managed to lift yourself up a few inches. Your shoulders spasmed in pain, the feeling traveling up your neck.

“Come on, come on, please–!” you muttered, lifting yourself again. With all of the strength you could muster, you tried again, then dropped to the stone floor before you could anticipate the fall. You hissed as a sharp pain shot up through your already injured leg.

Great, you thought. Now my ankle’s fucked.

You sat up and tugged off the rough ropes, freeing your hands. This room was small, with a small cage of electrical boxes against the left wall. Two more hooks hung from the ceiling, both of them with a scrap of fabric caught on the sharp point. Old blood stained the cold metal. The victims from before weren’t as lucky as you’d been so far, you supposed. Your bag was nowhere to be found, with no weapons on your person.

Slowly, you shuffled over to the cage, pulling yourself up by the chainlink to stand. Thankfully, your ankle didn’t feel broken, but it was sprained at the very least. You’d have to go slow and steady.

With a sigh, you limped towards the only hallway you could find.

It was eerily similar to that hunt from years ago, you could hear the sounds of dripping water, and the air here was stale and stagnant. It was dark, by then, the sun had gone down within the past few hours. If Sam and Dean hadn’t found a way in, if they got lost, you may be in even more trouble than before.

You stumbled through the darkness as quickly as you could without making any loud noises. It was even more difficult to see without any kind of light, so you tried to remember the turns you’d taken up to that point. Right, ahead for a few minutes, left. Right, again, another right. Left.

It didn’t take too much longer to get to the central area of the mine. The stalactites here were enormous, clearly, this place was old. There was one main elevator shaft to the left, and catwalks above your head that led deeper into the mines. To the right of the elevator shaft was a clock-in station, as well as a set of old lockers and a bench. Hard hats and other gear was strewn around, as well as a few worktables; this place had been long abandoned.

Perfect for these monsters.

You trudged along and sat on a bench that was in front of the lockers, happy to give yourself a break. You knew you couldn’t stay long, though.

After a moment of rest, you decided to snoop through the lockers. The first two were empty, but in number three, you found a small matchbook and an oil lamp. You breathed a sigh of relief– Wendigos were killed by fire, and while it would be attracted to the light if it meant food, if you found a torch it would offer better protection and lighting.

You struck the match and lit the lamp, holding it up and looking further at your surroundings. There wasn’t much you already hadn’t seen, save for a pile of bones against the far wall.

“Would it kill for them to clean up a little?” You muttered.

You weighed your options– you could try to find your way back to the entrance where you had come in, you could attempt to go up the elevator, but it was old and would likely draw attention. Your other option would be to go down one of the other tunnels and try to find Sam and Dean.

The tunnels would likely just get you even more lost, and it’s not like you could climb up to one of the catwalks with your injuries. The bleeding had slowed, but you were likely to hurt yourself further if you tried to climb with your bum leg. Find the entrance it would be.

You sighed quietly, turning back around towards you came in at. There was another path, tucked away in a dark corner. In the distance, you stopped dead in your tracks at a shrill cry that echoed.

You moved a little faster, trying to ignore the ache in your ankle.

You soon heard other voices, ones that clearly were those of your brothers.

“Dean? Sammy?!” You called out.

You were met with silence.

“Fuck,” You swore.

You pushed ahead, turning back every so often to ensure you weren’t being followed. So far, you were in the clear.

“Sammy?!” You shouted. Your voice echoed, and a scream rang out. This one was even closer than a few moments before.

You shuddered, memories flying back in a rush.

The anxiety, the fear– the smell.

You rushed ahead, uncaring of the pain you were in. Your mind screamed at you to run, hide, to whatever it took to get the hell out of here. The wendigo was closing in, and you imagined it was somewhere near the elevator you found.

You held the lantern up, looking around for a place to hide. There was some sort of clearing up ahead, with oil drums and another workbench. You bolted, pushing yourself against the wall under the table, and blew out the lamp.

Then the smell. It was rotten, but oddly sweet. You had been careful to avoid decomposition since that first wendigo hunt, but you felt like a bloodhound. As soon as it registered in your brain, your body tensed and you were frozen.

Before you could react, the Wendigo had rushed in, sniffing the air for its prey– for you.

Your entire body trembled, tears welling in your eyes. No, no, this couldn’t be happening. Not again, god, not again!

It crouched and you nearly screamed at its disfigured face. Its jaw was elongated to account for its long, jagged teeth. There were open sores across its skin, and its limbs were unnaturally long. It must have been around for quite a long time, as it didn’t have any clothes. The skin on its spine was stretched and you could count each individual rib. Its hip bones jutted out from under the gray flesh, which was torn and plain disgusting. These monsters were nothing but rotted corpses, turned into this awful being through the consumption of human flesh.

Based on the lore of these mines, there had been a collapse and the miners were trapped for just over a month. A few of them were rescued, but they were different when they came out as opposed to when they went in. Shortly after being released from psychiatric care, they allegedly killed their families, two of the men disappeared into the woods and were never found.

A year or so later is when people started going missing.

The wendigo sniffed around, whipping its head towards you. You felt hot, stuck under this cramped table between a rock wall and your death. Its eyes held no color, but it felt as though the milkiness of them pierced directly into your soul.

God, please, not like this. Anything but this, please! You prayed in your mind.

You were locked in a stalemate, trying not to projectile vomit and piss it off even more, while trying not to scream your head off. Every nerve in your body stood on end as it crawled slowly towards you. You couldn’t help the tears that fell as you came nose-to-nose with it. Just as it reared back to scream, you heard another voice.

“HEY!”

The wendigo whipped its head around at the noise that came from your right. You watched as it hissed, lunging towards the source of the sound before it shrieked and fell backwards, writhing on the floor as it was suddenly engulfed in flames. You pinched your nose as the scent of burning flesh squeezing your eyes shut and looking away.

Hands, strong hands suddenly grabbed you, yanking you from your hiding place.

“No, no, get the fuck off of me!” You thrashed, kicking at the attacker.

“Hey, hey! Bug, it’s us, you’re safe!”

It took a moment for your brain to recognize the voice. This wasn’t some sick, distorted mimicry.

“Sammy?” You whimpered.

Looking up, Sam was holding your upper arms, looking at you with a relieved smile. Dean stood behind him, kicking the scorched corpse away from you.

Upon seeing them, your panic washed away and transformed into a fit of sobbing.

“Oh, kid, it’s okay. You’re alright.”

“I-It almost happened a-again. I thought I was gonna die again, like that hunt with D-Dad!” You heaved, your breaths quick and uneven. Sam pulled you close, one arm around your shoulders and the other caressing your hair. He nodded for Dean to come closer, then Dean crouched down, inspecting your injuries.

“Come on, we’ve gotta get you to a hospital.” He said softly, pushing your hair out of your face.

You turned up at him, and in that moment, all he could see was the same scared little girl from almost a decade ago. Fat tears rolled down your cheeks and you were covered in blood. Your hair was a mess and your clothes were tattered, but seemed easy enough to repair. His heart ached, every paternal instinct screaming for him to make sure you were safe.

“We’ve got you, okay? Nothing’s gonna happen with us here.” He promised.

You hiccuped again, crying harder, but slightly less tense than before.

“Let’s get you out, alright? We got the door open, at least.” Sam tried to make you laugh.

“There’s a-another one, I-I heard it!” You stammered.

“We got to it first, that’s probably what you heard.” Dean assured you. With a fearful glance at the dead Wendigo on the floor, you slowly nodded.

Sam pulled you into his arms, one looped under your knees and the other behind your back.

“You hurt anywhere else?” He asked, looking down to the injury on your thigh.

“My ankle– I don’t think it’s broken, though.” You said, laying your head against his shoulder. Dean let Sam lead the way out, bringing up the rear just in case.

When you made it outside, it was still dark, making you cling to Sam more.

“The car isn’t too far, let’s go.” Dean urged, moving forward ahead of you. It didn’t take long to get to the car, where Sam got into the backseat, taking off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders.

He remembered how you were after that case, and scooted over to give you some space. You whined softly, grabbing his arm.

“Please, don’t.” You begged softly.

Without a word, Sam opened his arms and pulled you close. You laid down, your head in his lap as he played with your hair.

With one final look back at you, Dean started the car. The sound of the engine roaring to life had become a comfort to you, over the years. In that moment, after reliving the harrowing events from before, you could finally breathe.

After all, your brothers would always be there for you.

as always, likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated! tysm for reading! ask box is open! <3

-Star

#starspyderfics #supernatural #supernatural x reader #sister!winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x sister!reader #sam winchester x sister!reader #sam winchester x reader #supernatural imagines #spn x reader #spn imagines

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starspyder · 8 months ago

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sneak peak of a sister!winchester fic!

I do plan to post this on Ao3, so I'll link it there as well when this is posted! (so far this is about 18 pages on g**gle docs hehehe)

-Star

You watched as a figure passed your hiding spot, one you easily recognized.

“D-Dean?” You whimpered, trying your best not to be sick.

He whipped around, his hardened expression falling to one of immediate relief as he rushed towards you. Dean pulled you into his arms, carefully inspecting you for any injuries.

“Are you okay?” He asked softly.

Your bottom lip trembled and your vision was blurred around the edges by hot tears as you hiccupped and squeezed your arms around Dean’s midsection tightly.

“Oh, Bug… you’re fine, I promise. I’m gonna get you out of here, okay? We have to find Dad and Sammy first. There shouldn’t be any more of these things, alright?”

#supernatural x reader #starspyderfics #starspeaks #supernatural #dean winchester x sister!reader #sister!winchester #sam winchester x sister!reader

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starspyder · 1 year ago

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S.O.S. // Sam Winchester x Reader

blame @drowning-in-stardust for this hehehe

notes: this was written in about 20 minutes bc i am on a writing fix, so feel free to send some ideas my way if you'd like more! warnings: drinking, lighthearted blackmail, kissing, hangovers. fluff, drunk!reader, drunk!sam, awful karaoke, Dean loves it and will keep this as leverage for a later date bc he's just Like That word count:

You weren't that drunk. Okay, maybe you were.

When you woke up this morning, you hadn't expected to be hit with such a massive headache, but here you are, laying your head down on folded arms as Dean cackled from his seat across the table.

"I didn't know you were such a party animal, Y/N!" He teased.

"I didn't know you were so cruel, Dean." You pouted, looking up to see your boyfriend's obnoxious older brother laughing at his phone screen.

You'd had a very successful hunt this week that was practically a milk run; a simple salt n' burn, and only one person had been killed, who was the initial victim. After all the stress of your lives recently, this was a win in the Winchesters' book.

To celebrate, your trio went out to a bar, unknowing of how popular their karaoke stage was. After a few rounds of drinks, and a lost bet between Dean and yourself, you found yourself onstage with Sam singing along to a few songs from the Mamma Mia! soundtrack.

Dean, being the conniving jerk he is, got it all on video (his favorites were the off-key bits, which he reminded you of first thing this morning).

You're sipping a cup of coffee, trying to keep your headache at bay as your loud voice played over his phone's speaker, while the man himself mouthed along to the title number.

"He's still at it?" Sam's voice rings from the bathroom.

"Of course he is." You mutter.

"Oh, lighten up! this is my favorite song you sang!" Dean turns his phone towards you, as the opening melody of Abba's S.O.S. plays in the background.

On the video, you and Sam are on a small wooden stage, bathed in pink and blue lights, microphones in hand and grinning ear to ear.

"Where are those happy days? They seem so hard to find, I tried to reach for you, but you have closed your mind!"

Okay, it isn't that bad so far.

"Whatever happened to our love? I wish I understood! It used to be so nice, it used to be so good!" Sam sang back, one hand snapping while his hips swayed to the beat. It brought a smile to your face, how lovestruck he looked on the video. You could hear Dean's voice in the background, cheering you both on.

"So, when you're near me, darling, can't you hear me? S.O.S. The love you gave me, nothing else can save me, S.O.S. When you're gone, how can I even try to go on? When you're gone, though I try, how can I carry on?" You and Sam sang together.

You feel Sam's hand on your shoulder as he leans over you, watching the video, laughing at a particularly rough sounding high note. At least he didn't wake up as crabby as you did today.

You watch on with stifled amusement, rolling your eyes at your own awful dance moves. By the time the song is over, the crowd is cheering at your shared display as Sam pulls you close, leaning down for a particularly risqué kiss in front of the bar patrons.

"Alright, I've seen enough." You shake your head, standing from the rickety motel chair.

"I'll be keeping this for the next time you piss me off, Y/N!" Dean teases, as you grab a fresh towel and make your way to the bathroom for a shower, grabbing your phone as well.

"Yeah, yeah, I know." You shut the door behind you, sending a quick text to Dean.

Send me that video, please :)

Thank you for reading! Likes and reblogs greatly appreciated! <3

#supernatural x reader #supernatural #sam winchester x reader #spn x reader #sam winchester fluff #starspyderfics #sam winchester #sam spn x reader

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starspyder · 1 year ago

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I am Thinking…

Moulin Rouge!AU with Castiel

He’s run away to Paris to get away from the trials and tribulations of his normal life, to pursue his passions for the arts— he wants to be surrounded by artists, writers, vandals, musicians—he wants something new and shiny and different

He finds it when he first meets two brothers, who have run from their own suffocating lives for the same reasons. Samuel and Dean, two of the most well known vagrants of Bohemia. They whisk him away to the most popular spots for creators such as himself; The Moulin Rouge.

It’s the hottest spot in France, with champagne flowing like water. He finds such beauty, freedom, and culture, wonders he couldn’t ever imagine he would one day bear witness to, or even experience himself. He looks up at the windmill on the top of the building as bright lights illuminate his eyes, sparkling in the night sky like diamonds.

Speaking of diamonds, he certainly meets one that fateful day.

He hears Sam and Dean speak of you, and insists he must see you perform, the Sparkling Diamond of the Moulin Rouge.

He only gets to speak with you briefly before the show, in awe of how you teasingly chastise Dean for his reputation among the theater. Castiel is captivated immediately, the first ache of love blooming in his chest as you wink at him, before returning to your private dressing room.

He gets a good seat that night, and certainly doesn’t dare to let his eyes leave you during your performance.

You truly did live up to your nickname, you were gorgeous. Your hair and makeup were perfect, and your risqué costume left little to the imagination, fitting your personality and body perfectly.

Castiel knew what you did. You were a performer at possibly the biggest brothel in the world. Times were often tough, and it wasn’t uncommon for dancers to sell themselves when they weren’t onstage— that’s exactly what this place was for.

You did what you needed to do in order to survive, and it was a cutthroat industry.

The men of the aristocracy leered at you in between shows, doing their damndest to swoon you. They offered jewels, pretty dresses, more than enough money to keep the recently failing theater open.

In that last moment you were onstage, Castiel saw the way you looked at him, there was no doubting what your gaze meant. You wanted him, just as badly as he wanted you.

He would could write sonnets about you that rivaled those of William Shakespeare about your beauty, your talent and charm. The way your eyes shine in the stage lights, how smoothly you moved as you danced, capturing the focus of every eye in the room.

You may have given your body to many, but Castiel swore right then and there that he would be the one you gave your heart to.

I am this close to making this a full fic send help

-Star

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