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cherubispunk · 8 months

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NEPHILIM - Jackson-era!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: the disturbing comforts the disturbed.

a note from Lucy: I swear there is fluff! I swear, I swear, I swear! You just have to squint *reeeeaaaalllly* hard. Yes, I read the book of genesis and the book numbers along with some extensive Wikipedia deep diving for like…a paragraph of lore. But is it really ever enough?

playlist | moodboard

wc: 2498

Warnings: 18+ MDNI DARK CONTENT! no use of y/n, I tried to keep her body type as generic as possible but he might be slightly skinny coded so please let me know and I’ll change it in edits, reader is referred to as ‘Bambi’, verbally constipated Joel Miller, brief gore descriptions, heavy religious imagery and references to the bible, biblical lore, bombastic age gap!!! yahhhhh! (reader is in her 20’s/ Joel is in his late 50’s), smut, p in v sex, creampie, fingering, rough sex, possessive!joel, dom!joel/sub!reader dynamic, you know the drill with my writing, there’s probably some form of cannibalism as a metaphor, or brutal violence as a metaphor, religious imagery as a metaphor, etc. (aka, fancy word vomit)

series masterlist | m.list

Genesis 6:4 The Nephilim were in the earth in those days, and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bore children to them; the same were the mighty men that were of old, the men of renown.

The reality of it was, you and Joel were two people who lived in the same small town. Who’s paths crossed once to save your life, and the others when coincidence would grant you that small pleasure. He carried you to the care of an old man with blue eyes now milky in cataracts. Jude. Who nursed you to health in a metal framed bed of an old family home— now the town clinic. The knife that sliced open your side had been dirty, and sepsis soon spread in the bloody gash. Only with Joel finding you in the snow, and Jude delivering you antibiotics, did you recover back to health.

He wouldn’t visit you directly. He would visit Jude and glance at you through the doorway as he passed the hall to the elderly Man’s office. To distract from the man you read stories when bedridden. Parts of biblical scripture; Read the book of Genesis; Read the book of Numbers. Jude being a religious man who had the fortune of holding God in his heart, kept them among his medical journals and books. And the former was far more interesting than the later in your opinion. For in them were mentions of anthropomorphic creatures born of flesh, blood and divinity. Towering tall over common trees and temples built in the name of Lord God. You were no religious woman, but you found comfort in the fables of the Old Testament. And likened Joel to the Nephilim in all ways.

Joel Miller was something of a biblical figure to you. A small glimpse into the past of something archaic, untold, and harbouring on the dangerous. You liked to imagine him as one of the Nephilim. A son of god, offspring borne of a fallen angel and man. A giant of misunderstood nature. Who’s soul had been cast down on earth in punishment. His large hands had bloodshed on them, or so people had said. They whispered it quietly in the spaces between. The places he didn’t occupy often. But he was always on your mind…so there was no place for those whispers there. If he was all that bad…why did he save you? You saw his need to care, protect, understand. Not be understood. But just understand. You would let yourself dream of taking his rough edges to the smooth plane of a whetstone. People claimed you cannot buff brass into gold. That it will only be as such in your head. That it was a fools game, but the fool is rich in content, and poor in sorrow. For the fool has little to worry about while they live in ignorant bliss.

What wasn’t written in any of the books of the holy scripture was this; ‘The disturbing comforts the disturbed.’ But it might as well have been. It was practically the way god intended life to be. You are shaken, and you are weaned on being shaken, until stillness is a discomfort and your body begs to be rattled again. But harder.

—

You took a while to find your feet. Joel took it upon himself to wordlessly help you with any medial or manual task. You were given a house on the edge of town, up a hill in some remote street that was always quiet. It seemed the less social souls resided there. Not that you minded. It was jarring to say the least. Being cast out into the hostile wild. And then brought back into the warmth. Here you had clothes, food, a roof over your head, and community. It stung in the same way it does to run your hands under a scalding tap after labouring out in the cold. It made your fingers numb before they regained feeling. Stiff. And a trouble to flex them back and forth, closed fist, open palm; Closed fist, open palm.

It’s how you earned ‘Bambi’. A name only Joel would ever call you. Dear doe on her wobbly, spindly legs. He’d keep you upright. Despite being a good thirty year sicker than you. Dirty old man. Ditsy little girl.

Your time together was silent. And while he never said he cared, he showed it. By waiting for you each time you were in the stables. And he would walk through town with you a safe distance from his side, up to the top of the hill your house was on. The snow would crunch under his heavy boots and he wished he was lighter on his feet like you. Not a large bulk of a man with heavy feet and even heavier hand. Maybe Joel wasn't large by the world's standards, but he was still a giant to you- muscular, and broad shoulders. With hands that could engulf yours, or cradle the entire crown of your head with a single palm. His arms were strong, and large from manual labour, and tightly knotted with tendons and grizzly muscle like thick twisted ropes that held up sails. What you liked most, however, was his softer belly. Perhaps the only soft thing about him from what little you had seen, or heard, or assumed. You felt an intrinsic satisfaction in knowing he was well fed. And Joel didn't mind it either. It was a reminder to himself what he was in fact as safe as he could be. Anything to not go hungry again. He still kept his brawns either way. Kept his hands and mind busy with patrols and the odd job around town. Fixing roofs, garden sheds, building tables with spare lumber from the woodhouse, and chopping firewood for the colder months. At the beginning of winter he would spend most of his free time ensuring you had enough. He spent hours out in his backyard, swinging that axe down on log, after log of wood. Then carry it up the hill in a wheelbarrow to your front door. He did it for nothing. Nothing but the peace of mind that grew from the seed of knowing you were warm. But he was greeted with something you had baked, or sewn, or knitted, or grown in your empty hours alone. Apple and rhubarb pie, thick woollen gloves, sourdough bread with crunchy, thick crusts that crunched when he broke his bread.

“It’s nothin’.” He would say, and shrug, hands on his hips while he looked back at the finished product of whatever work he’d slaved over that entire afternoon. Be it a pile of firewood, raised garden beds, or a fixed gutter. “Just…do me a favour?” He asked.

“Yeah?”

“Keep that smile on y’face, Bambi. Don’t let anyone take it away from ya.” His face was stern. As if he was telling you, not asking you. But if you were to ever stop smiling he thought he’d keel over and die a little bit inside. Or part of him would anyway. The part of him you now had in your chest unwittingly.

You watched the mountain of a man, Big Bad Joel Miller, warm up. Day by slow day. He was on the threshold of it. Right there. But the toe of his thick winter boots never ventured onto floorboards. He stayed out in the cold. After a while you dared Joel to touch you. Tired of him only meeting halfway. He was a man of few words, but a man of so much action. And when you challenged him with your tongue, he countered with his touch. That night was hell under the guise of heaven for his restraint.

“Y’so bad for me, Bambi.” Joel grunted, his entire weight smothering you against the mattress of his bed. His cock dragging in and out of you slowly. “Old sinner like me ain’t made for you.” So slowly the anticipation ached in the joints of your toes that curled. His grip on your hips casting his handprint in a watercolour bloom. “That’s it, fuck– takin’ me so well.”

You whimpered, eyes fluttering shut, back arching in a deep curve off the bed while his hips altered their pace. Just a tad quicker as you bucked up into him. The two of you climbing in tandem to the high. “That's it,” He repeated in a hiss, followed by a growl into your neck, “Keep archin’ that back for me.” You did just that, holding onto his forearms for leverage as you curled your spine a little deeper. A word came to mind. One you’d heard once before. Only once. But I held such a comfort to be able to label it. Hiraeth. He was that. And what you felt was that. A longing for a home. He treated you like you wouldn't break. But spoke as if words would lacerate you. One punctuated thrust, aided by your own slick was all it took, a moan for him deeper. A tear slipped from your eye and you let gravity do its work, pulling it from you. It slipped from the corner of your eye, and down your temple. “Good girl, Bambi.” He crooned, splaying both of his palms over your hairline and sweeping the hair that stuck to your forehead in the sheen of sweat atop your skin. His large hands dragged over the top of your skull to the crown of your head, down the back of your neck, and gripped. That soft fleshy part at the base of your skull and the top of your still curved spine.

It hurt. It deeply hurt. His calloused fingers, textured by the trigger of a gun, or the handle of an axe, pressing into your malleable skin. But you’d let Joel drag you to hell if it meant he would hold your hand. You didn't care how he touched you– how he was inside you. He could be buried to hilt in your cunt, or knuckle deep in an open wound. As long as he was there. You'd give the heavens, and the earth, and rot in hell if it meant he stayed. Joel swore you had the space for his heart next to yours. But you didn't have the stomach.

You gripped the skin of Joel’s back. Searching for a part of him to hold that would turn off the cynic in him. Or at least try. You gave up on that idea. Because the man that fucked you— the man that loved you in action and not words— was not kind. He was not gentle. He was bold, and sharp as broken glass, and blunt all in the same being. You knew the crease of his brow. You had it memorised.

He hooked a leg over his shoulder, opened you up to his greedy eyes. They misted into dark hickory at the sight of you taking him so well inside of you. Messy little cunt for him to play with whenever he pleased. His nostrils flared as he pressed deeper. And your reaction was as he planned. A cry of his name. Your sex drenched and accommodating every inch. “A cunt made for me.” He gritted through his teeth, leaning forward to sink his teeth into your bottom lip and lick into the wet cavern of your mouth; Take the taste of you back with him when he retreated again; Righting his hips and the angle he fucked you in.

“Made for you.” You agreed in a garble and a slur. As if drunk off the last dregs of his kindness that lay at the bottom of the bottle. Licking it dry for all it was still worth.

“Say it again.” Joel grunted, demanded.

“Made for you.” You repeated.

“Good little Bambi.”

From there it was the crescendo. And it came broken in two halves of two separate waves. The first wave was one of numbing pleasure. The one that fizzled through your legs until you were nothing but a mere speck for a second. And the second was the one that broke you. Had you shattering. It tightened in your womb, behind the mouth of your cervix, and then released in slow flutter; Your walls relaxing and then contracting. And he came after with a groan and spilled inside of you.

He was no gentle lover. In fact, he wasn’t a lover at all. When he fucked you that night…it felt like he was trying to love you— but couldn’t. He was too conditioned to violence. It showed the ache he left behind. Nevertheless, you would take more than he was willing to offer. But what he dropped in your palm you stored away and hoarded like a greedy magpie with shiny little trinkets. He was warm. But not warm like a campfire. He was warm like hellflame. And you were okay with that. You would take your time with him, and slowly pry open a gap in his ribs to slip past. To love him to the marrow. Even the mangled parts. Find him at his very worst — The part humanity suffocated in. And love him there. Silently.

Joel ran a hand over the flank of your ribs and then curled around your navel to pull your back to his chest. Then kissed the crook of your neck in a silent apology to your skin for each mark or tender bruise he may have left. One that wasn't really needed, but you accepted it by reaching behind you and running your fingers through his thick greying curls. In times like these after it all, in the clot and space in between, you came to realise loving him was like loving being hungry. It felt good to want things. To feed yourself you swallowed your fear instead. You lay there, exhaustion heavy in your bones, a hand of his slipping between your legs to feel the evidence of him being there inside you. His spend sticky and thick and warm between your legs. You couldn't fight the impulsive twitch that jolted your spine when he pressed on your swollen, slick clit and drew lazy circles. “Mine now, Bambi.” He murmured into the skin of your shoulder. He didn't kiss the skin there, but rather trailed his chapped lips over your flesh in such a light touch it felt like it was hardly there. More a trick of the sex hazed, lust crazed mind. “Understand that?” And you nodded in silence with a small smile, watching out the frosted up window pane as the dawn stained the sky a burnt orange and angry red. It refracted and smeared in the crystallised ice. A thin sheet that obscured the image of the sycamore tree outside his bedroom window. The bare branches looked far more like the bones of skeletal fingers than a tree bare of leaves. Its bleach white bark only emphasised your image of it. Your vision. Nevertheless; The blackbird would sing, once again on its branch, a morning song you knew by heart.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #joel miller imagine #nephilim

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imagine-darksiders · 6 months

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Death, but he’s the size of a Nephilim in The Book of Enoch.

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #imagine darksiders #darksiders 3 #reader #darksiders genesis #nephilim #horsemen

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winchester-girl67 · 1 year

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Raven Eyes

Summary: Half-Demon and half-angel, the reader struggles to control her outbursts of anger. Until she meets someone who makes her blood boil in a whole other way. She searches for her half-sister, Claire, with the help of the Winchester brothers and finds that, maybe, being human isn't all bad.

Requested by @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld : “Hey can i request a Dean or Sam Winchester x reader where the reader is a Nephalem (half angel half demon) and super powerful because Nephalem are the most powerful hybrid and Dean or Sam fall in loved with her because she is so sweet, shy, etc and in the end they end together? With smut is you want to added"

Pairing: Dean x Nephalem!reader

Word Count: 11,913

Rating: mature 18+ MDNI

Warnings: not canon, language, mature themes, reverse age gap (kind of), violence/blood (gun, biting, restraints - Claire is tied to a chair), smut (p in v, unprotected sex), brief mention of body insecurity, injury, nightmares, maybe some anger control issues, angst, a little pining, kissing/cuddling, reader has one defining characteristic (raven eyes), star wars trilogy spoilers? (brief mention), mention of Sam and Dean slash fiction

A/N: This really got away from me, especially the word count, lol. The reader has both sweet/shy moments and bold/sassy ones; but I thought it was a good mix of energy for an angel/demon hybrid. Enjoy!

_____

Ugh...

You kicked the empty can under your foot down the dark alleyway. It landed in a puddle with a splash and you growled and kicked the glass bottle next. It shattered against the brick wall at the dead end, scattering into a myriad of pieces that rippled the top of the same puddle.

Finally, that felt great.

You just needed to break something. So, you did it again, lining up the next beer bottle. This one, full and unopened. You'd brought it outside with you from the bar you were currently venting behind.

Alcohol did little to nothing for you, you were pretty sure the only buzz you ever got off it could be chalked up to a placebo effect.

The bottle hit the wall, popped, and fizzed as it streamed down the bricks. The amber liquid staining a trail to the pavement below. It was somewhat satisfying, but... you wanted to break more shit.

So much more.

It was the demon’s blood in you, the urge to create chaos and torment just for fun. Although, ninety percent of the time it lost out to the half of you that was part angel.

You didn't want to be evil and you didn't want to be good. You were all shades of grey and that was fine because you knew exactly who you were. Sort of.

You were a Nephalem; half-demon, half-angel.

Yeah, your parents were a piece of work. Try growing up in that household. Literal definition of having an angel on one shoulder and a devil -or in this case, a demon- on the other.

But opposites attract, right.

You never really fit in. As a child or now as an adult. Not with your father's angelic colleagues or your mother's demonic friends. You were one of a kind.

'Unique. Unlike any other.' Your father would tell you.

'Powerful. A force to be reckoned with.' Your mother would say.

You loved them, your parents. Even if they drove you nutty and pulled at your limbs like some savage game of tug-o-war. Castiel and Meg had good intentions but you needed to stand on your own two feet for the first time.

So, here you were hanging out in the back alley of some highway dive off to the side of some two-star motel. Popping the cork on your own internal bottle of frustrations. The blood in your veins could only be shaken so much before you lost control and that was the point of breaking shit.

To calm your nerves and it usually worked, but not tonight. Tonight was different.

Your -sort of- half-sister, Claire, called you up for some help on a case she was working on. Fucking werewolves. She needed back up but when you arrived you couldn't find her. Anywhere!

When you asked the greasy bartender if he'd seen her and showed him her picture on your phone, all he said was 'I wish I had, damn'. Then he proceeded to shake out his hand as if he'd touched something hot and made a crude face with a little wink added in your direction... you almost ripped his face off right there, but there were too many witnesses.

A waitress flirting with some guy with more hair than a barbie doll and some guys playing pool; one of them obviously hustling the others. He was kinda cute actually -had a nice smile, short dirty-blonde hair and a scruff on his jaw that was way too trimmed to be natural- but you weren't here for that.

You had to find Claire.

You fisted your hands until your fingernails dug into your palms and bleed. Then hissed and watched the skin stitch itself back together under the orange flood lights of the alleyway.

That helped a little. The pain. You did it again, satisfying the demon within and hissing out a breath at the sharp sting each nail made as they buried into your flesh. Then. You breathed in and out like your father taught you. Slow and steady.

Inhale: one, two, three... Exhale: one, two, three...

Then repeat as many times as it takes to appease the angelic grace entwined within your soul.

When your blood was at war it felt like the epic internal battle of a Jedi struggling with the force -you had forced your father, Cas, to watch the recent Star Wars trilogy with you a couple of days before you left to meet Claire and really connected to the Kylo Ren/Ben Solo character and his dilemma of whether to embrace the pull to the light or give into the dark side- but a nephalem didn't have that choice. The only solution was to embrace it all, whatever murky shade of grey that turned out to be. But there were times you still struggled with it, times you wished you had more control over your heart and mind.

Times like now with that fucking bartender. Who even has frosted tips anymore, seriously?! What a douche.

He knew something and he wasn't telling you, you could hear his heart beat just a fraction quicker when he lied.

You let out a frustrated howl and kicked at the puddle, splashing and jumping until your boots and pant legs were soaked. You growled and fisted your hair in your hands and pulled. Frustrated to no end.

"Now that's a losing battle, if I ever did see one." Said a husky voice and you spun around to nothing but shadows behind you at the mouth of the alley.

What? "Who said that?"

"Don't get me wrong, that was entertaining as hell but that puddle's always going to be a puddle." A man stepped out of the shadows with a twisted smirk. "Unless you have the right tools... Maybe a mop and bucket." Oh, he thinks he's funny. You didn't laugh, you glared and he stepped directly under the flood light near the rear door. He pumped his eyebrows once and rubbed the trimmed scruff on his chin. "Geez, tough crowd. Why you so pissy, squirt?"

"Fuck off." Your guard was up.

"Big language for such a little girl. You're trouble, aren't you?" He said with a deep laugh. He fucking laughed. And took a step closer when you didn't respond. "You kiss your momma with that mouth?"

"My mother would rip you to shreds just for sneaking up on me."

Seriously, how'd he do that? You were usually hyper aware of your surroundings... but you were also in your head, duelling it out.

He looked you up and down, his eyes lingering on your wet jeans sticking to your calves. His tongue teased his bottom lip and he met your stare again. You scowled knowing exactly what he was thinking and crossed your arms in front of your chest to obstruct his view.

"You got some fire in you, squirt."

Screw you, pretty boy.

"Call me, squirt, one more time. I. Dare. You." You said through clenched teeth and stepped out of the puddle, bringing you chest to chest with this man.

Okay, maybe chest to chin -you still had to look up at him- but you weren't as small as he made you sound, at least you didn't think so. But one thing was for sure, you were a lot older than you looked, probably older than him... but you were kind of immortal too, so there was that.

You looked near the same age though, for what it's worth, and you felt young. Out from under your parents' -hypothetical for the most part- wing for the first time. No more babysitter.

He looked amused, "Okay, little trouble. Wanna tell me what's got your feathers in a fluff?"

"The hell do you care?"

His expression turned emotionless like a poker face, "Maybe I don't." Then he smiled, "Or maybe, I do."

You knew where you'd seen him before now, playing pool inside, "How'd you do with your little side hustle?"

"Oh, I cleaned up," he smirked, he saw you watching him inside. "I'm Dean, by the way... Winchester. And you are?" He asked, keeping his arms crossed against his chest and mirroring you.

"Leaving," you said quietly and unintentionally shoving your shoulder into his as you walked for the exit of the alley.

Fucking Dean Winchester. You knew exactly who he was, you just didn't know what he looked like, until now. Your father warned you to stay away. Said he was the type to shoot first and ask questions later and if he found out you were a nephalem, that's exactly what he'd do.

"Hold up a second, squirt." He called as he jogged after you and grabbed your arm.

Dean yanked you back and you spun around, twisting out of his hold. You smacked him in the chest and he shoved back into the brick wall. Hard. You always forget how fragile humans were, you didn't spend much time with them after all.

He huffed like the wind had been knocked out of his lungs. His eyes wide and watching you. Yeah, you were strong as hell and that was only ten percent. You felt a little bad for the poor guy but he did ask for it. You clearly wanted to be left alone.

"I told you not to call me that!" You growled, pointing your finger in his face. "I don't have time for this."

"Why? Got some mailboxes to knock over?" He teased and rubbed his chest when you backed off. "Oh, please tell me you're gonna spray paint obscene doodles on the billboard across the street... I'll help. Need a lookout?"

If he was flirting, it wasn't landing and if he was teasing, it was pissing you off. You weren't some teenager tagging billboards, even if that jackass CEO, Dick Roman, deserved it. You didn't know why, you just didn't like him or his cheesy smile, but he'd get his, they usually do.

"What do you want?" You huffed at him, glancing down at his hands just in case.

You heard the stories of the Winchester brothers. They weren't opposed to sucker punches, especially with an angel blade. Even if an angel blade could hardly hurt you, your mother trained you to always be prepared, vigilant.

"You were asking around about a blonde girl, Claire Novak, I'm a friend of hers. Actually, more like a big brother and I haven't been able to reach her." He confessed and took a step forward, then another and another until you were the one backed up against the opposite wall of the alleyway. "What do you want with her?"

For a human, you had to admit, he was fucking intimidating. His eyes hooded, nostrils flared and you felt his hand fist the collar of your t-shirt. You could easily push him off if you wanted but the brush of his knuckles over your collarbone made your knees knock together and you practically swallowed your tongue.

The feuding blood in your veins quieted as your heart beat a little faster and sweat broke out across your skin. Your lips fell open and you just stared up at him. At a loss for words.

Was this what it was like to feel... human? Desire? Vulnerability?

But you weren't vulnerable, not physically, your power outmatched that of a nephilim. Nephilim had the inconvenience of having to be half-human where that half of you was all demon. Pure darkness and indignation.

Being a nephalem wasn't easy. Especially being the only one ever known to exist. You had to carve your own path.

You had a conscience about the bad things you did and a will to do good, but nothing was ever that simple. You'd do a good deed to appease the angel grace pumping in your veins but it would always turn out sideways. And when you did something bad -perhaps out of selfishness and greed- you'd feel bad.

Demons had it easy. Do what you want, when you want. Angels had it even better though, their good always turned out good. Despite the fact that not all angels were all that good and not all demons were all bad.

If they couldn't figure it out with one blood line, how would you?

You felt like you were constantly at battle with yourself. But, at least, you weren't human.

Compared to the man in front of you, he was like a fly. A gnat. And you'd toy with him for a bit if he could keep making you feel this way.

Calm.

The crimson waters in your veins were quiet -for the first time in sooo long- and all you had to do was look into his eyes. They were hooded in the darkness of the night but you felt it, his soul staring back at you. You often wondered if you had a soul.

Probably, everything else seemed to have one.

Perhaps, not everything about being human was terrible. It beat the hell out of the internal anguish, always fighting with yourself, always angry. And suddenly you never wanted Dean to leave. Even if your father did warn you about him.

Maybe humans were powerful after all. Maybe, it was just this one human.

You grabbed his wrist above his watch -his fist still clutching your collar- and exhaled over his lips, only an inch away from yours. His breathing turned sharp too and you smelt whiskey on his breath. Peach whiskey. You gave him a cheeky smile.

That was a chick's drink.

"Why are you looking for Claire?" He repeated, his eyes somehow darker in the shadow of the night.

"She's my friend," you lied, continuing to pretend he had you right where he wanted you.

It was really the other way around.

"You're friends?"

You nodded, "Yeah, some people have those."

You kind of wished Castiel had told Dean about you. It wouldn't come as such a surprise then. Maybe you could hide it, though, and tag along to find your sister. It could be fun to watch the brothers in action. Plus, everything was so quiet around him. Even in his intensity and you didn't want it to stop.

"Claire doesn't have friends." He stated.

"She has at least one."

He didn't need to know that you were kind of related to Claire, just that you didn't mean her any harm. Most of the time. Sometimes she pissed you off and sometimes you pissed her off.

"Wait, friend as in 'friend'?" He said as if he used air quotes but he didn't let go of your shirt collar to actually make them.

What the hell else did 'friend' mean? -Ohhhh... good for Claire. But gross, she was your sister. You had flashbacks to reading fanfics of Sam-slash-Dean online. Your father told you to stay away, but you were curious and although it may not have proven for the most serious intel on the boys, the stories were captivating.

You scrunched up your face and stared at him. You couldn't tell him you were sisters. So, you just shook your head.

Dean laughed, "Huh, didn't know that kid could stop pissing people off for a second long enough to make a friend."

You nodded but frowned when he released your shirt collar and took away his hand. If you had wanted him to back off, you would've made him. You kept a hold of his wrist.

"Let go, little devil."

If only he knew how ironic that nickname was. You were the daughter of a demon not Lucifer but, same diff; it was close enough.

You let him go. You didn't want to, but you did.

"Do you know where she is?" You asked, both wanting to keep the conversation going and needing the answer.

"Nope. Was hoping you did."

"The bartender knows something." You mumbled.

You breathed a heavy breath, letting the anger from before defuse a little as it tried to resurface. No losing control this time. Your parents weren't here to help you this time. No cleaning up any messes. You were on your own. Like you wanted.

"Let's go talk to him, then." Dean grinned and patted your shoulder.

His hand slid down to the small of your back as he led you back around to the entrance of the bar. Every ounce of anger flushed away with his touch and you no longer felt that inch of demon blood in your veins.

_____

Dean wiped the blood from his knuckles with a rag from the trunk of a shiny black muscle car parked in the lot. You stood next to him and watched stoically as he did so. He glanced up at you and mistook your awe for fear.

"I'm sorry. I should've warned you when someone messes with my family, I get-" He started in a soft voice but cut himself off before he could finish. "Just sometimes, things get... messy."

Messy?! He beat the ever-loving hell out of that bartender when the guy hit on you again and evaded all your questions... Until he didn't.

Dean was just as fucked up as you were. He was angry and at war with himself, constantly, you could see it. You saw that look in the mirror all the time. He took the bloodiest route to being good. He was all shades of grey, just like you. And you had to admire how much he cared about the people he thought of as family.

"Don't ever let a man disrespect you like that." He locked eyes with you.

Something different in his gaze this time. Warmer and intense. Too intense, you had to look away.

You never did let guys get away with it, but you couldn't exactly go all super-girl on the bartender's ass either with Dean watching, now could you? Super-girl was a hero, though... You weren't the villain but you weren't the heroine either. Maybe an anti-hero, actually? Like Ben Solo? You could live with that.

"So, what now?" You asked, sitting on the edge of the open trunk next to him. "We go to this Haden-guy's cabin in the woods? Sounds like a trap."

The bartender said Claire had her eye on some regular guy all night but never talked to him. Though, she did leave right after he did. That was the only lead we had since this shit-hole had no working security cameras.

"Exactly, that's why we're gonna get Sammy first." He said, tossing the bloody rag into the trunk and securing the hidden hatch shut after pulling out a case of silver bullets.

Sammy, his little brother, you knew as much about the boys as every other demon or angel. You just didn't know how being around Dean would affect you.

"Where's Sam?"

Dean gave you a half smirk and a little shrug of his shoulders, then he winked at you. And what the hell did that mean?

Oh wait, you suddenly remembered seeing a walking L'oreal-ad-of-a-man, matching Sam's description, flirting with the waitress before stomping out to the back alley to have your little temper tantrum like a child. You blew off steam though without hurting anyone so you weren't embarrassed. That was a win in your book.

"I'll go get him, you wait here." Dean said, cocking his freshly loaded gun with silver bullets and tucking it into the back of his jeans. "Don't disappear on me, little devil."

You smiled, actually starting to like that nickname as you watched him walk towards the motel across the parking lot. He knocked on room number sixteen and waited a long moment before he pounded harder on it.

You stretched out your legs and pushed up from the edge of the trunk but something kept your ass in place. Like you were frozen, sort of, you could only move further into the trunk.

Something was wrong.

You glanced back quickly before Dean could notice you struggling to stand up like an ordinary human. You twisted in your seat but there was nothing unusual in the trunk, then you looked up at the lid.

Fucking hell.

There was a demon trap on the upside of the trunk lid. You glanced back at Dean who was now striding back towards you on bowed legs.

Shit. You twisted your arm above you and scratched at the edge of the trap. Glad that the front of the car was facing Dean instead of the back.

"He'll be out in a minute," Dean said, rounding the back of the Impala just as you snapped up from your seat and slammed the lid shut. He narrowed his eyes on you, "Everything all right?"

"Yeah, peachy." You dusted off the back of your black skinny jeans ungracefully.

"O-kay," he stared at you for a moment as you shifted from heel to heel, "Get in the car."

You walked around to his side of the car, knowing Sam probably had dibs on the passenger seat and opened the rear door. You hesitated and looked inside, checking for more demon traps.

"Something wrong?" Dean asked and you noted Sam exiting the motel room, he walked towards you as he buttoned up his blue flannel and straightened his jeans. "Don't tell me you're scared?"

"Hardly," you said unconvincingly and crawled into the backseat when you didn't see any reason not to.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, Baby here is stocked up like a tank, we can take whatever's waiting for us. Trust me."

He was cocky, wasn't he, but it made you laugh. He had even more artillery than he thought, with you around.

Dean shut the door behind you and dumped himself into the driver's seat, Sam joining only moments later.

"Uh, hi?" Sam said to you, half turned in his seat.

"Hi," you waved shyly.

He was a lot bigger in person. The top of his head nearly hit the roof and his hair was gorgeous and thick. You played with the ends of your hair, wishing you had less split ends. Maybe you should cut it. Also, what kind of all powerful nephalem still gets split ends?! Talk about unfair.

"She's a friend of Claire's." Dean said, revving up the engine and peeling off down the road.

You didn't know how he knew where he was going. You didn't look at any maps with him. Maybe they'd been here longer than you and already surveyed the area? Claire probably called them too, you didn't have a cell phone and relied on her praying to you when she needed you. She didn't always trust you'd show up and she wouldn't have told them about you.

"Does 'the friend of Claire's' have a name?"

Sam asked his brother and side eyed you.

"Yeah, of course she does."

"And?" Sam inquired.

Dean hesitated and chewed his lip as he glanced at you in the rearview mirror. He never asked. "What's your name, little devil?"

Sam screwed up his face and mouthed 'little devil' dubiously to himself. You guessed it wasn't a typical nickname he gave women.

"Y/N."

You didn't give a last name. You supposed you didn't really have one. Castiel and Meg could never settle on one long enough.

"Y/N," Dean repeated in his deep voice. It felt like wings in your stomach to hear him say your name. "You don't look like a Y/N."

"Well, it's the only name I got." You snapped, a little hurt. You liked your name, it was the only thing your parents ever truly agreed on.

Dean chuckled and glanced back in the mirror again. "You’re cute when you're frustrated, Y/N."

The dork was teasing you. He either thought he was funny or flirting, you couldn't tell which. Maybe both, you didn't like it. It was new territory for you. You didn't often bother with humans, but Dean was different. He was a lot like you in many ways and he was -mostly- adorable. When he wasn't intentionally trying to be annoying.

You blushed -first time that ever happened- and kept quiet for the rest of the drive. Dean explained to Sam what you were about to walk in on and they already seemed to know it was werewolves so you didn't bother to pipe up.

The woods were dark and the sound of wind eerily howled through the treetops. You'd have shivered if you were scared at all but you couldn't be harmed, not really. Someone would really have to get the drop on you for that to happen. And what else was there to be scared of?

You only worried about Dean. It was nice having him around. You realized now why your father liked him so much. You didn't know Sam all that well, though and he kept giving you ‘off’ glances as if he was trying to figure you out. As if he knew you were hiding something.

Barbie doll was too smart for his own good.

"Here, take this?" Dean said, shoving a silver gun in your hands after he'd parked down the road from Haden's cabin.

"Uh-" you held it between your forefinger and thumb, as if you really didn't want to hold it. You never used a gun before. You never had to and you rather not. "I'm good, thanks."

You tried to hand it back to him before it went off. As if it was that touchy. He just stared at you confused.

"You need something to defend yourself. You have done this before, right? Hunting? You're a hunter?"

"Yeah, totally!" You over sold it.

Sure, you hunted before, but you used your powers and let’s face it, nothing was ever a challenge. Even a pack of werewolves couldn't take you. You could fight and hold your own but you never needed a gun.

But how could you tell Dean that?

You stared at the gun, still holding it in the air between you and he sighed, "Here, hold it like this."

Dean stalked behind you and wrapped his arms around your shoulders. You felt his chest on your back and you leaned back into him. Looking over your shoulder at his face next to yours. He let out a single puff of air, amused, and turned your head forward again with his hand on your chin.

His scruff brushed your cheek as he lined up the gun in both of your hands in front of you. You smelt sweet peaches on his breath again and melted in his arms as much as you could without him really noticing.

"Finger off the trigger. This hand-" he grabbed your non-dominant hand and wrapped it around the other already gripping the gun, "-goes here. Keep your thumb there." He pointed to the switch next to your thumb, "Safety's on," he switched it off, revealing a red dot in its place, "Off. Line up this point with this one." He pointed out the sights of the gun. "Never point it at anyone you don't plan on shooting. Got it?"

"Got it," you breathed.

Dean switched the safety back on and let you get used to the feel of it in your hands. You could use this hunk of metal one time, you guessed.

If a human could then why not? You were superior in every way. Super-powered anti-hero in human disguise to the rescue!

It was quiet outside in the woods as you inched towards the cabin. And before you knew it, you were inside searching for signs of Claire when you heard the boys bashing around in the other room. Grunting and smashing into things. Glass breaking and shots firing.

You had split up and with no sign of Claire you made your way back to them to help out. Finding Dean pinned by three werewolves while Sam fought off one with another on his back trying desperately to bite his neck.

The pack was bigger than the boys anticipated. And brawling.

You didn't expect aiming the gun to be so difficult and after missing the first couple shots -hitting the drywall in front of Sam and scaring the shit out of him, which he showed with a glare in your direction and a shout of 'Stop helping!'- you aimed again. At the werewolf on Sam's back and shut your eyes.

You squeezed the trigger fast three times then listened as a body fell to the floor.

Thump.

You grit your teeth together, hoping and praying and peeled open your eyes.

Sam was still standing. Thank granddad. Dean would've hated you for friendly fire. You aimed at the werewolves standing over Dean next and emptied the rest of the clip into them.

They fell to the floor and Dean fought off the last one as Sam finished off the other.

Then things were silent again.

"Holy shit! Good shootin', little devil." Dean laughed and fell against the wall to catch his breath.

Sam just clenched his jaw and glared at you.

What was his problem? Did he know you closed your eyes? You aimed better that way anyways.

"Where's Claire?" Sam grunted and rubbed his neck where the werewolf had tried to bite him. But his hand was covered in blood, "Dammit."

"What?" Dean asked, standing tall and glancing at Sam's hand. "You're bit?... Sammy?!"

Dean's hands were in his hair and he spun around on his heel in disbelief. Then stalked over to his brother and pulled aside Sam's shirt collar.

"No. Fuck, no!" Dean shouted and punched the wall next to them.

Then he threw the only lamp left standing across the room. It shattered in his fit of rage and he pulled down the bookcase for good measure.

You set down your gun and padded over to Sam. Sam, eyeing you the whole time with zero trust in his stare. You popped up on your tiptoes and pulled him down by his shoulders to whisper in his ear.

"Close your eyes."

Sam furrowed his brow while Dean was busy hyperventilating in the corner. Rubbing his hands all over his face and scrolling through contacts on his phone, probably trying to find some non-existent cure.

But Sam was bit and Sam would turn if you didn't do anything.

"Trust me for one minute. What do you have to lose?" You whispered again and Sam let his eyes fall shut.

You placed your palm over the bite and channelled your energy into healing him. A blue light pulsed from your hand and Sam hissed. It probably stung like a bitch. But it beat turning into a werewolf and having to munch on cow hearts just to survive.

You wiped away the blood from his neck with your sleeve, inspecting your work. The skin was perfectly smooth like the wolf's fangs never punctured through.

You smiled, finally something went the way you planned. Doing good felt good, when it went right.

"How do you feel?" You asked just to make sure.

"Better, I guess." Sam's eyes fluttered open and met yours. His gaze of hazel softer than before, though still hesitant. "Thank you, I think."

"No biggie. Just a little spell I picked up over the years." You shrugged. You didn't think the boys noticed the lie.

Them thinking you dabbled in witchcraft was probably safer than them knowing the truth. At least for now.

Dean stood up, hanging up his phone mid-ring and walking over to Sam to check out his no longer existent wound. He glanced at you and you noticed his itchy trigger finger at his side.

"You're a witch?" Dean accused as if you kicked his puppy.

"No."

"Bullshit! That wasn't elementary magic, Y/N!" He shouted but still didn't raise his gun.

"Dean, calm down, man. She saved my life." Sam said, stepping partially in front of you. "Just this once, don't freak out how you always do."

Huh, save his life once and the big guy's already on your side. A turn of events you didn't see coming. Maybe there was more to him than just barbie doll hair and fault-finding glares. He knew you were hiding the truth but he didn't seem to care anymore.

"Shut it, Sam." Dean gave his brother a sideways look. "You know how I feel about witches. Blood sacrifices, hex bags and bones everywhere. There's always a price with them."

He gestured towards you and you scowled back at him. Not only a little hurt because you just said you weren't a witch but also because... didn't he feel what was between you, too? Or was it all one sided?

Maybe you should've let Sam die. He'd still think you were human then. You could've hidden that part of you forever. Or, at least, until he started to notice you weren't aging.

But, no, Sam was cool. You were glad you saved him. Maybe you could erase Dean's memory of the past five minutes. You never tried that before but it should be possible, right?

"'M not a witch," you mumbled and watched your boots. "I'm not bad, I want to be good."

That was true. It was the most honest you'd been with a human or anyone ever and you really wanted Dean to like you. Maybe this was the way to go. With honesty.

"I could've hurt you. I could've killed you both." You glanced up and met Sam's hazel eyes then Dean's green ones. "And I wouldn't need the gun to do it."

It was a bit of a threat, but an honest one. And they both seemed to get the weight of your words when neither one of them looked away. They looked anxious like they didn't want to be caught off guard by your next move.

"I'm on your side as long as you're on mine-" you cut yourself off thinking you heard something.

There it was again. Like a banging in the distance. Did they hear it too? You furrowed your brow when you noticed Dean was speaking.

"What do you-"

"Shh," you cut him off and titled your head towards the noise to hear better.

Dean took a couple steps towards you. A glint in his eye.

"Did you just shush me, little dev-"

"Shhhhhh!" You shushed, pressing your palm over his mouth and listening intently.

Dean raised his eyebrows and you felt a smirk tug at his lips, which he clearly failed to hide and Sam huffed out a laugh at the scene.

"Do you guys hear that?" You asked but didn't remove your hand from Dean's mouth so he just shook his head.

"What is it?" Sam inquired.

Dean rolled his eyes and muttered something muffled. You flattened your hand over his mouth more and he groaned but didn't move away. He looked silently amused. Maybe, even... turned on?

"Claire," you said and the boys' eyes widened.

You walked away from them, towards the back of the house and then outside. Sam followed first, nearly tripping over your heels as you led him towards a shed at the edge of the property. Where the banging got louder to the point where you knew they could hear it too.

Dean came up from behind, all man-on-a-mission like, and pushed you both aside. He tried the door knob and when it didn't budge he proceeded to throw his body against the door. But it was sturdy as hell and he was only human.

You put your hand on his shoulder to stop him. Dean puffed hard and gave you a questioning look.

You punched out the deadbolt and twisted the knob until it gave way and the door slowly pushed open.

You smiled up at him and held out your hand as if to say, after him.

Let him go first. Let him feel useful.

He puffed out his chest and squared his shoulders. Silly, little human... but cute, silly, little human.

Dean took the opportunity and entered first, gun drawn. Sam next. Then you padded in afterwards, seeing Claire tied to a chair that was bolted to the ground.

Her wrists were bloody and raw and her nose looked busted. You scrunched up your face, hating seeing her hurt like that and waited for Dean to first untie her before you made your way over to her.

Claire ripped the duct tape from her mouth, "About time you showed up," she snapped at you.

"You were supposed to wait for me." You growled back, already feeling that anger bubble up within again. "Ungrateful, little-"

"Thank you."

She must've seen the surprise on your face and started laughing.

"It's way too easy to bust your balls, Y/N, lighten up a little, would you?" She smiled and you saw the blood dripping from her nose and staining her teeth. "I'm starving. Got anything to eat?"

Sisters are a pain in the ass. You didn't care if you were supposed to love her. She was beyond difficult and she knew it. But, you did still love her.

You touched her forehead, fingertips humming and glowing blue for a moment as you healed her. You didn't care if the boys saw, they already knew something was up.

And after everything, you wouldn't be so easily dismissed if they decided you were a threat. Dean was yours -you decided- but you wouldn't force him even if you could make his life a living hell if he didn't want to be a part of yours. You needed him to keep those parts of you quiet and he was damaged, too. He could use you, too. You could help him; help each other. You could try. But would he let you? If not, maybe you could be satisfied with just checking up on him from time to time.

You hesitated a glance up at Dean, expecting contempt in his eyes. You should probably leave, take the memory of the way he calmed you and use that as an anchor, don't sully it with the look he'd give you now. Or when he found out what you were -who you were. But you couldn't stop your eyes from finding his. And you couldn't decipher the look.

"I need a drink," Dean started, "and a burger." He looked at Claire, "I'm phoning Jody." Then back to you, "And we're gonna talk about this. All of it."

You nodded and waited for them to lead the way back to the Impala. You hung back with Claire.

"Do they know?" Claire whispered over to you.

You shook your head, feeling what could only be described as bubbles in your stomach. You decided it must be butterflies. You never had them before now.

What was Dean doing to you?

The more he looked at you the more you felt the way humans were supposed to feel. But you didn't think you were changing at all, not on a molecular level, anyways.

"Are you gonna tell them?" She asked.

You shrugged, you didn't want to talk about it, you didn't want to think about it. Claire didn't seem to understand and continued. As sisters do.

"Do you want me to talk to him? Maybe Castiel could-"

"No." You answered flatly.

Your mess, your problem. You didn't want your father cleaning things up for you again. Although, this time things were different, cleaner. You could keep it that way. You wouldn't hurt them and you wouldn't force them.

You wouldn't use your powers against them at all; you promised yourself.

"Cass?" Dean overheard and turned around to walk backwards. "You know Cass?"

Fucking Claire.

Don't lie. Don't lie. Don't lie... -Okay, little lie. Tiny little white lie. Teeny-weeny.

"No-"

"-Yes." Claire answered at the same time as you.

Fucking sisters, you scowled to yourself.

"A little," you corrected yourself.

That wasn't a lie, was it?

"Mmm," Dean sighed and pointed. "No more lying, little devil."

"Oh, for the love of-" Claire exhaled way harder than necessary. She had less patience than you. You would've thought she was half demon. "He's her father!"

"Claire!" You growled.

Don't kill her. Don't kill her. Do not kill her!

You glared.

Inhale. Exhale.

Dean stopped dead in his tracks, you didn't notice until you ran face first into his chest.

"Ouch," you grumbled and rubbed out the pain from your nose.

You were all powerful, sure, but you still felt pain. And your eyes watered.

"Your Cass' kid?" Dean grabbed your shoulders and really looked at you. "How?"

You didn't look much like your father. You had Y/H/C hair and raven eyes. If it weren't for the whites around your eyes you could pass as a demon even when you didn't lose control. That was the main reason everyone was always scared of you. You looked -you laughed at yourself- like a little devil.

You could act like an angel a hundred percent of the time and as soon as they found out you were part demon and nephalem, not nephilim, they'd only see that and scatter.

Bite the bullet. Come clean. But if Dean didn't like you as a witch then-

"Remember Cass had that demon girlfriend?" Claire continued, as always, not minding her own damn business.

"Meg?" Sam asked, he'd stopped too.

The fucking car was right there. Thirty feet away! So close, yet might as well be an ocean away.

"So, you're a nephalem?" Sam asked again.

Did this guy live in a monster library?! Seriously, didn't he know someone with such great hair shouldn't be a total nerd, too. Like give the less L'oreal-inclined a chance, for crying out loud.

You didn't know what to say. You couldn't deny it and you refused to defend yourself to measly humans who'd probably still judge you by your eyes despite anything you said.

So, you nodded. And you realized Dean was still clutching your shoulders, a little tighter now that you noticed.

"Cass and Meg?" Dean said aloud like he was trying to process the information but his brain wouldn't let him.

You didn't dare move a muscle, not because you were scared but because you were scared of scaring them off. So, you just kept your eyes on his green orbs. Willing him to feel anything other than contempt for the demon blood inside you.

How did puppy dog eyes go again? Castiel taught you it in case you ever came across the Winchester brothers. He said it would come in handy as opposed to using your powers. Not everything had to be taken by force. Not everything had to be a feat of strength. 'Sometimes honey works better than vinegar', he told you.

You ran down the checklist in your mind: (1) tilt your head down, (2) soften eyebrows, (3) look through your lashes, and (4) open your eyes just a fraction more -but not too much or you look surprised, not adorable. We want adorable. Oh! And (5) -this one was optional- pout your lips. This step was always a fail for you, though... you disregarded it and followed through with the rest.

Sam was soulless once and Dean still loved him. You had a soul, you thought, would he see it in your raven eyes?

Claire broke the silence, slicing through the thick air with her loud voice, "She has a temper sometimes, but she's never hurt anyone that didn't deserve it. Can you guys say the same about yourselves?" What was she doing? You knew they couldn't, that's one reason your father wanted you to stay away. "Because I can't."

"So you're part angel, part...?" Dean asked, his hand sliding over your cheek to brush at the skin under your eye.

Puppy dog look was working! That never happened before! You were giddy inside but kept the look, letting him explore the depths of your eyes, letting him see everything.

"Part demon."

"No human?"

"Not enough to count."

There was a fraction of you that was human. The equivalent to a 0.0001 percent on an ancestry test.

When you were a child you wanted to be human, you refused to use your powers even and asked your parents if you could go to school with the other kids. But you grew faster than them so you weren't allowed.

That's partially why it's taken so long to learn your powers, why you stayed with your parents until now and you still struggled with keeping control; because you kept them caged up for so long, like a wild animal and now they raged against you with any strong emotion. Pain, pleasure, fear, anger, anything in excess was a trigger.

"So, 'little devil', huh? You must've had fun with that one." Dean chuckled and you placed your hand over his still cupping your cheek.

His skin was warm on yours but, funny thing was, you never felt cold until you felt him.

"You have no idea." You smiled sweetly.

Again, not the daughter of the devil but demon was close enough. Lucifer was kind of your grandfather by creation, or your uncle? Both? You didn’t know, those things were hard to keep track of and you weren’t on speaking terms anyways.

"Do you eat?" Dean asked.

You shrugged, "Sometimes."

"But you don't have to, do you?"

"No." You admitted and looked away. "I do love anything with cheese, though. Cheese is the greatest thing your kind ever invented... food wise."

"Really? Not chocolate?" Claire gaped.

"Umm," you thought about it, "it's a close second."

Dean laughed with a warm smile, "Let's get you something cheesy, then."

You beamed.

You honestly didn't expect Dean to react this way. You thought it probably had a lot to do with Castiel being your father. They seemed close, in the past. Or you were getting played, big time.

Let him try something if that's what he was up to. He couldn't hurt you and chances were if he could, he wouldn't know how tonight. They'd have to research since even you didn't know your weaknesses, there wasn't much lore on the matter.

You wanted to trust Dean and it was kind of fun to play human while you were around them so you tagged along to the restaurant.

Claire frowned and pouted as she ate her pasta forcefully. You thought she bit her fork once but kept going. There was sauce all over her chin.

Dean had called Jody on the ride to the diner and Jody chewed her out over not waiting for backup. She deserved it, but it was a little harsh.

Claire saved a couple of kids from that shed before she got nabbed. It wasn't just that she let her guard down. She did good.

You didn't tell her that, though. It would only enable her and if anything happened to her you knew your father would be upset. She was a small human, not incapable but there was an advantage to being either powerful, like you, or big and strong like Dean and Sam.

"Earth to Y/N." Dean waved a hand in front of your face.

You didn't realize you'd been staring at his forearms, the sleeves of his flannel rolled up just enough for you to see his muscles move as he ate his cheeseburger. Sam had a salad, what the hell? Didn't a moose need more fuel?

"How's your poutine?"

"Pure cheesy goodness." You sighed and picked out another fry, twirling the melted cheese onto the end of it and sticking it between your lips.

You hummed at the taste. When Dean asked if you'd ever tried poutine and you said 'No', he completely flipped out and demanded you order it. There were no regrets but your mind was wandering with him sitting right in front of you. There was nowhere else to look and he was a masterpiece.

Sam had his perks, too, his shoulders were massive and you never noticed things like that on humans before but you think you liked that. Big shoulders. Dean had them, too. Must run in the family.

You sucked the gravy from your fingers and let out a slow breath with a little sigh. It sounded like a light moan.

"Y/N," Claire hissed and elbowed you and you saw her blush. "Can't you be normal? One time?"

You pouted -not really sure what the big deal was, it wasn't that loud- and picked up another fry. It's been a while since you ate anything, since you didn't really need to eat anything and it tasted really good.

You held up the fry, sticking out your tongue and sucking the melted cheese thread from the end of it into your mouth. You circled the tip of your tongue, collecting the thread until the fry met your lips and Claire jabbed you in the side again.

You glared at her, muttered a 'What?!' and rolled your eyes.

"Enjoying yourself?" Dean asked, his gaze heavy and his food left abandoned on his plate as he watched you.

"Mhm. Want some?" You offered innocently and sucked the gravy from your thumb.

"No. I'm having fun watching you, little devil. Keep going." He said and wet his bottom lip.

What did he just say?! You blushed. Hard.

You absolutely loved the butterflies he made come to life in your chest and stomach. Yeah, you were keeping him.

"Here. Just use this," Claire shoved the unused fork next to your plate at you. "And stop moaning, for fuck's sake."

"Sorry," you grabbed the fork and stuck it into a couple of fries. "Happy now?" You asked sarcastically, demonstrating the use of a fork by shovelling it into your mouth like Claire had done with her pasta.

You pouted to yourself, it tasted better with your fingers. That was weird, though, right? Next time you'd get it to go and eat alone in your motel room the way you wanted.

You'd given up on being normal a long time ago. Weird was your forte. You were Castiel's daughter, after all, and Castiel was the king of weird. He made it cool.

Your father brought you up to love yourself and Claire was just being Claire. Sometimes you got along and other times, you didn't. You thought having the boys here kind of put her on edge, too. Like she wanted them to approve of her and by extension, you.

You had an inkling Dean approved of your eating methods, though. Maybe not Sam, even if he was all shades of red right now, and avoiding all eye contact, and he kept shifting in his seat like he was uncomfortable. It was funny.

_____

Dean refused to stay at the motel near the dive you met him at -the closest motel in town- and instead drove for two hours to the next one. Which didn't look a whole lot better. It could only have, like, maybe half a star more than the last place.

You had a room all to yourself, as did Claire and the boys shared a room with the two queen beds. In the morning they were set to drive Claire back home to Jody and the others. They wanted to make sure she actually got there and didn't run off again to do something stupid, as usual.

You didn't think it would matter, she would do whatever she wanted as soon as she got the chance. So, why delay the inevitable? As long as she called when she got in a jam and kept someone up to date on where and what she was hunting, you let her do her thing.

Even if the worst were to happen, you could always bring her back. You successfully resurrected a bird last summer. Castiel tried to explain balancing the universe or something but you didn't understand letting things suffer if you could give them a second chance.

Like the bird who was minding his own business, pecking for worms in the grass in the rain when this plump house-cat came along and snatched him up. That bird probably had a nest to feed and that cat was just bored. You gave him a second chance. How could that be a bad thing?

That being said, you weren't about to take any strolls through the cemetery to awaken the dead. Even you had your limits. But you'd break the rules for the select few you truly cared about.

You sat on the edge of the bed in your motel room, flipping aimlessly through the five channels on TV. It was late, you were bored and you didn't sleep. You should've told Dean not to bother with a room for you but you didn't want to leave them just yet and he didn't ask.

Three quick knocks came at your door and you checked the digital clock on the bedside table.

Three-O-two A.M.

You shut off the TV -not wanting to watch the weather channel anymore, it was boring and repetitive, but you liked the tune they played in the background over and over- and walked towards the door. You undid the locks and opened the door.

You understood why people in horror movies were usually scared if something like this happened, but when you're nearly invincible, nothing like that really scares you anymore. Other things scared you, though, like if Dean left without you in the morning.

Sure, you could easily find him anywhere he went, but if he didn't want you around... that would be scary. Because, you really liked him and you drew the line at actually forcing yourself on him, even in a friendship.

But there he was, standing in your doorway and looking like he'd just woken up.

"Hey," he rasped, "Can I come in?"

"'Course," you stepped aside and shut the door behind him. "Something the matter?"

"Uh," he brushed his bedhead back in an attempt to comb it and glanced around the room. His green eyes settling on your still-made-up bed. "You don't sleep?"

It was more of a statement but you answered anyway.

"Do angels or demons sleep?" You shrugged and he acknowledged with a nod. "Dean? Are you okay? You look frazzled."

He laughed at your term and hung his shoulders as if you saw right through him and he knew he couldn't hide it with you. He sighed and sat on the edge of your bed, head in his hands.

"I had a nightmare." He swallowed like he was waiting for you to laugh, but you didn't. "It's always the same fucking thing." He continued and you stayed silent, crawling into a spot next to him on the bed. He didn't look at you and exhaled again. "I'm back in that house and it's burning, but I can't find Sammy and my dad's... just -gone. I feel the heat on my skin and in my lungs and I can't breathe… and then, I wake up, and I still can't breathe.” He looked up, finally meeting your eyes. "I don't know why or how, but... I can take a breath around you." He lifted his shoulders and turned towards you. "I had to make sure you were still here."

"I am," you nodded and smiled softly, "Is that a good thing?"

He huffed out a laugh, "Didn't you hear what I just said?"

"Yeah, I'm your inhaler."

"Damn, sweetheart, you really do take after Cass, don't you?" Dean smirked.

You were aware of how clueless your father was with pop culture references, it was something you were working on with him. You supposed you took after him a little, you always liked when people pointed out your similarities, even with your mother, too. Not all stuff demon was bad.

"Like father, like daughter." You shrugged.

********************************************

When Dean wasn't paying attention -lost in your raven eyes- you hit him in the face with one of your pillows. His face blanched and you giggled and spun away from him. His arms wrapping around your waist before you could hop off the bed.

"Naughty, little devil." He growled in your ear.

You barely hit him! And squirmed against his hold, I'll bet, not hard. You were pretending to be human again. It was nice for a change letting someone else be all powerful. Especially someone like Dean who felt powerless. You could see it in his eyes when he was talking about his nightmare.

Your back pressed to his chest and you felt his heart beat fast against yours. You liked being in his arms, you never felt so calm with your blood moving as fast as it did. Usually when your heart beat fast it was because you were angry. Demon blood -almost literally- boiling.

This feeling was so far from that. Your whole body buzzed like it was electrified and tingles curled your toes. Then Dean's palm found the hem of your shirt and snaked up underneath it, laying flat on the skin of your stomach.

Dean groaned and shifted behind you, his bowed legs wrapping around your hips and his arms pulling you with him as he leaned back against the headboard. He breathed hard into your hair and kissed your ear.

"If Cass knew what I was thinking about his little girl right now..."

"I feel it, too."

You threaded your fingers through his as he clutched you to him. Dean's grip easing a little as you melted into him. You turned your head to meet him with a slow, soft kiss and then he dropped his forehead to yours.

You breathed heavy and added, "But stop mentioning my father."

Dean barked out a laugh and turned rosy, "Last time. Promise." And he kissed you again.

"This is kind of crazy." You panted between kisses, neither of you pushing for more just yet.

"Mmm," Dean agreed, continuing to attack your lips until they felt swollen against his. "Do you wanna stop?"

"Never." You giggled. "Don't stop. Please."

You turned and straddled his lap. Dean brushed the hair from your face as he stared into your eyes. Frozen and lost in their endless depths.

"Your eyes are incredible," he breathed and you shied away. "Don't look away. Look at me."

You exhaled nervously and chewed your lip as you pressed your forehead to his and met his gaze again.

Nobody ever looked at you like that.

His hands on your back roamed up and down, squeezing anything he could get a grip on. His fingertips indenting your skin under your shirt when he held you and shifted his hips down the bed, just enough so you sat in his lap like a puzzle piece, as he leaned his mouth into yours and captured yours lips.

"It feels like you were made for me." Dean groaned and his hands fell to your ass. "We just fit so perfectly together."

He pushed your hips down and his bulge pressed between your legs making you moan softly in his ear. You were both still very clothed but it felt nice to finally fit with someone. Like you knew where you belonged all along.

"I need you." You breathed into his ear, sucking his lobe between your teeth and nibbling. You felt him catch his breath and kissed down his neck. "It feels right with you. Don't leave me, ever."

You knew you were coming on strong but he had to already know what he was getting into. Cass' daughter and a nephalem, stronger than any other being on earth including Chuck. He had to know you weren't some one night thing. He certainly looked at you like you weren't.

"I don't plan to." Dean vowed, tugging the hem of your shirt up.

You let him strip it off of you and he went for your bra next. Covering yourself when he threw the wire beast to the floor. He met your eyes lovingly.

"Don't hide from me, little devil." He murmured and pulled your arms away from your chest. "You're the most beautiful creature I've ever laid my eyes on."

"You really know how to make a girl melt, don't you?" You laughed and hugged him, pressing his cheek to your chest. "Your turn."

You leaned back from him and tugged his shirt over his head. Trailing your fingertips over his anti-possession tattoo while he watched you with lust blown green eyes.

Dean threw you onto your back and climbed over you, ravaging your neck as heat throbbed between your legs. You moaned and felt him pull at your leggings. He tugged them down to your knees and you heard the zipper of his jeans follow.

You pushed the rest of your clothes off with your heels and Dean rid himself of his, then plastered his body back to yours. Feeling every inch of his skin pressed against yours.

He settled between your legs and his green eyes met your raven ones. A smile quirked his lips and he kissed down your chest as he hooked your knee with his arm, spreading you open.

His lips teased your nipple and you whimpered and threaded your fingers through his hair. Tugging when he teased the sensitive flesh with his teeth.

Dean grunted and kissed his way back to your lips. Trailing his moist breath over your skin and sending shivers through your body, down to your toes.

Fuck, he felt good.

Your body was humming when he nudged between your legs, lining himself up and thrusting inside of you in a single push. You cried out and held his shoulders, feeling him breath deep and his muscles move slowly as he rocked into the apex of your thighs.

Pleasure quickly filled your veins and you latched your ankles around his lower back, keeping him pressed to you. Your breasts flattened against his chest and his thrusts grew faster and stronger as you tried to keep up, moving your hips in time to meet him.

Your hips bumped into his and you felt his tummy tighten against yours as he grew more desperate for you. His hand gripped your ass as he pressed himself more into you and your fingers tangled into his hair at the sensation, pulling the short strands and making him groan.

Fuck, he felt great!

Inside of you, on top of you. You felt grounded like you belonged exactly where you were. Like this was always meant to happen. Like you couldn't contain whatever was building between you. Like you were about to burst in the most unimaginably delightful way.

He grunted in your ear and the heat between your legs blossomed, your eyes rolling behind your lids as you shut your eyes and rode out your orgasm. Holding onto him for dear life.

He was a god among men.

Dean groaned louder, feeling you clench around him as he continued to push into you again and again. Pumping a few more times as he chased his own end and he started to come. He breathed heavy and loud in your ear, burying himself inside you with one final thrust and holding your hip with his hand as you felt warmth spill inside of you.

You didn't know if you could actually get pregnant by being with a human, your body was still flesh and bone to a certain extent, but at the moment you didn't care.

Dean fell onto you, pressing you into the mattress and you held him, tracing circles along his shoulders with your nails and kissing his cheek. He sighed, hot breath in your hair and on your neck and his lips found yours again. Kissing you deep and needy until the urge for air burned your lungs.

"Y/N..." Dean started and puffed against your lips, still trying to catch his breath. "I..."

"What?"

"It's never been that good."

But he shook his head and kissed you again. His kisses soft and pliant, easing as his heart fell back into a steady rhythm.

You did it again about a half hour later. And showered together as the sun rose, barely getting any sleep. Or Dean barely got any sleep. You were sure today would be one of the lucky days that Sam actually got to drive the Impala and you planned to spend the car ride holding Dean as he slept in the backseat.

********************************************

After dropping Claire off with Jody -whom you got to meet and genuinely liked- you tagged along with the boys to a few other cases along their route back to Lebanon. More than one of those cases taking you way out of the way.

The detour was scenic and pleasant and you weren't in a rush for the road trip to end. You weren't entirely sure it ever ended for them. And you wanted to stick around for a while, find your sea legs and stand on your own, but with them by your side. With him.

The infatuation didn't end in that motel room and neither did the sex. But it was getting harder and harder to find time alone and you were ready for some time with just Dean, a bed and maybe some cheese -not in bed but maybe between romps in it.

The Impala -or Baby, as Dean called her- rolled into Lebanon late in the afternoon and up to a red brick building that looked like a warehouse. This must've been the bunker that your father often talked about. And when the car took the road around the back towards the secret entrance to the underground garage, there he was standing guard outside, just waiting.

Your father. He looked angry -his facial expression never actually changed, but you knew his cues after the years- and he held your eyes through the window of the Impala. Shit.

Castiel stood outside waiting for who knows how long. Trench coat blowing open in the breeze and his tie loosened a bit more than usual.

You might've sent him to voicemail more than a couple of times over the past weeks -after Dean insisted you get a phone to keep in touch- and when you listened to the messages, he wasn't all that thrilled about you hanging around with the boys, especially Dean. And especially since he knew how Dean was with women. You liked to think you were different together, though, it wasn't like you had much luck with serious relationships in the past either. So, you would figure it out together.

It wasn't your father's business but it was clear in his eyes when you stepped out of the car to meet him that he wasn't getting that.

"Cass-" Dean greeted as he climbed out of the car with you, a giant smile plastered on his face as he approached his friend.

Cass glared at him and touched his forehead. Dean instantly fell to the ground unconscious before you had a chance to catch him. Luckily it wasn't pavement so it wasn't a hard landing.

"Was that really necessary?" You snapped at your father.

Sam rushed to park the car and jumped out to check on Dean.

"Cass, what the hell?!" Sam growled, kneeling next to his brother and Cass touched his forehead next.

Sam fell over awkwardly on top of Dean and you thought maybe you should push him off but then your father spoke to you again.

"It's time for you to come home. You had your fun, Y/N." He said and stuck his hands into the pockets of his trench coat.

"I don't want to." You glowered. "You're pissed, I get it, but why are you taking it out on them?"

"Dean can't love you," Cass explained and his blue eyes flicked down to Dean's unconscious face, half hidden under Sam's arm. "He won't ever choose you over his family... over Sam. Me and your mother will choose you every time. Come home."

"I don't need him to choose me over his family, I want to be a part of their unit, I want to grow with them-"

"You can't grow with them, Y/N, you'll watch them grow old until the day they die. You could watch a million generations fly by before you even age a second."

"I don't care! I want him while I can have him! As long as he'll have me." You screamed and your chin trembled so you clenched your jaw tight.

"You'll care in ten years when he gets injured easier, twenty when he starts looking more like your father than your boyfriend-"

"Stop."

"And in thirty years, he'll probably be dead, hunters don't last long, Y/N, especially human ones." Your father vented almost like he wasn't just trying to convince you.

Cass and Dean were close, he wouldn't just let him die. He wouldn't just continue on without him. Dean would impact your father on a deep emotional level before his time came, he already did, you saw it as much as he tried to ignore it. Or not think about it.

"Please. Stop." Your voice was quiet now and Dean started to stir underneath Sam's limp body. "If he can't live forever, I want to be human, too."

You looked up at your father with tears in your eyes. You hardly ever cried and Cass steeled his jaw.

"I'll find a way," you promised yourself and wiped away a tear.

Your father's face fell, like he wasn't expecting that response and breathed out a long sigh, "Your mother isn't going to be happy about this." He shook his head and loosened his tie a little more. "But I'll help you, if you're sure. Because I love you."

Your father would do anything for you even if it broke his heart to do it. There were ways to get the best of both worlds, though. You never tried it but if an angel lost their grace, they turned human. You could siphon your grace and store it for the future, then you could grow old with him for as long as it lasted.

The only problem was the part of you that was demon. You didn't know how that would balance out if you lost your grace. But you'd find a way.

You hugged your father when you saw his heart breaking and assured him that he wasn't losing you. And who knows, maybe you'd find a way to make Sam and Dean live forever instead, and then you wouldn't have to give up anything.

Dean groaned and pushed at Sam's arm, shifting out from under his little brother's heavy body.

"What the fuck, Cass?" He groaned as he checked on Sam and stood up. He saw you hugging and nodded like he understood, "Guess, I may have deserved that."

"I'll be watching you," Cass said, squinting his steely blue eyes and pointing between them and Dean. A reference to a movie Dean probably made him watch. "She's my baby, Dean, treat her like she's your Baby."

He nudged his head towards the Impala and you laughed as you skipped back over to Dean and into his arms. You held him tight around his waist and squeezed until you heard him huff in pain and curse.

You loosened your grip but didn't let him go. You have to squeeze adorable things, everyone knew that; Dean was tough, he could take it.

"Fuck. I don't want to be on either of your bad sides." He admitted and kissed your forehead. "You did good, Cass, she's beautiful... and strong as fuck. Shit, little devil, I think you just cracked my ribs."

Cass quirked an eyebrow at the endearment and you laughed at your father's face turning sour. Then Sam groaned from the ground behind you; which was a good thing, because Dean was going to need backup.

_________________________ Dean: @akshi8278 @laycblack @thoughts-and-funnies @mrsjenniferwinchester @crustycheeks @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @lyarr24 @suckitands33 @eliwinchester99 @yvonneeeee @igotmajordaddyissues @djs8891 @leigh70 @globetrotter28

SPN: @hobby27

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mi-i-zori · 7 months

Text

When Her Blood Burns

CoD - Krueger x Fem!Medic!OC/Reader (Callsign : Nephilim)

SYNOPSIS : What I think Nephilim and Krueger’s relationship would be like.

WARNINGS : NSFW. Mentions of wounds, violence, blood, death and torture, smut, switch!Krueger and OC/Reader, mention of kinks. Kind of religious metaphors, though they do not indicate any of the character’s beliefs.

I do not give permission to re-publish, re-use and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform, including AI.

Based on his Reaper skin, as well as other similar attires of his, it’s obvious Krueger doesn’t mind going on a battlefield without any kind of protection for his torso and arms. Just him, and his massive balls I guess.

So my headcanon is that he could be at least a little bit masochistic, and definitely a sadist sometimes. Addicted to the adrenaline flowing from the idea of being injured, in a dangerous environment or in the middle of a certain type of stimulation.

On that note, I also don’t think he would mind his carnal adventures being a little risky too.

So I’m gonna throw him into Nephilim’s life like a goddamn feral raccoon. Always up to no good, enjoying being scolded when the pretty medic patches him up after inevitably getting injured in one way or another. Focusing on her soft, steady whispers as she comforts the injured soldiers and civilians who end up in her care ; coming up with fascinating stories whenever she needs to soothe the minds of the terrified children she holds in her arms after saving them from the wicked hands of the terrorists she and her group are trying to destroy. He is shameless when it comes to flirting, drinking up the tiniest reactions that slip through her tough façade. Loving the way she sometimes allows herself to actually be shy in front of him.

He takes the time to slowly unravel the web she hides behind as he holds her flushed skin against his. He drinks every noise flying past her lips, hands holding her hips and breasts in a bruising grip - grunting and growling as he pounds into her. The feeling of his teeth sinking into her shoulders sends her over the edge, pleasured tears dripping down her face and nails tearing through his arms. Waves of scorching heat never fail to rise from every touch they share, burning flesh and mind as their climax drips between them like lava flooding an endless valley, filled with their most primal wilderness.

As he watches her struggle to catch her breath afterwards, pressing corrosive kisses down her spine and slowly descending from his own high, Krueger thinks he could not have found a prettiest angel.

Yet those thoughts come to a screeching halt once he actually witnesses first-hand the real reason behind her callsign. When he sees her fly through the ruins littering the battlefield, all bloodied and bruised, leaving a trail of utter destruction in her wake. Her curses rise like a storm as she tries to maintain everyone in one piece, the emergency medical supplies working flawlessly in her dexterous hands. She doesn’t hesitate when it comes to dragging the enemy soldiers’ names and faces in the dirt, tearing their own supplies from their soon-to-be cold carcasses whenever she can.

Krueger shivers madly when he sees her bring the most cold-hearted war veteran to shame during an interrogation, making her targets whimper and beg before filling their very souls with lead. The burning wisps of her cigarettes light her blood-soaked fingers with each drag, a cold breeze whisking the smoke away from her lips as soon as they part, frozen eyes staring into the night before meeting his.

An Angel and a Demon live in harmony behind the humanity of her mesmerising features. Should any of the Sacred Texts hold even the slightest ounce of truth, he might indeed be the only man to taste the flesh of a Nephilim, at least since the first Divine Purge. The first mortal to savour this rare kind of danger multiple times and come out of it as unscathed as one can be.

It makes him wish he was in her enemies’ place as he watches her with a new kind of interest, lust rippling through every single one of his muscles.

And he does ends up being in their place, in a way, once she really gets more confident with him and their relationship. He realises the façade was not always a fluke when she forces him to kneel, not budging under his touches - for she’s in a bad mood tonight, and it’s finally time she let go of her own chains. He acts like a brat when she digs her nails into his skin into a series of scorching touches while restraining his hands, smirking and not uttering a single sound. Until he can’t take it anymore. Her scent is too tempting behind the blindfold, her touches too mesmerising, her voice too hypnotising.

She takes advantage of his heightened senses, turning his own little tricks against him. Whispering honeyed threats in his ears, pressing her bare self against his back, hands wandering up and down his body without ever going where he wants them to be.

He’s never been so hard.

And he cracks, savouring her coos as he pleads and begs, fighting against his restraints. Whimpering when she finally goes down on him, only to deny him his release. Stimulating him far beyond his limits like he has done countless times to her, biting his lips until blood floods from under his teeth. She licks it up, the flavours of his skin, sweat and blood mixing with the taste of her lips as she kisses him, riding him feverishly until there nothing left of them but groans, moans and pants - whimpers, cries and thundering heartbeats. Rendering them both as brainless as one can be.

After this, Krueger realises that, as dominant as he likes to be, he may or may not have a huge mommy kink.

#oc : nephilim #cod x oc #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty x oc #cod x reader #x reader #call of duty x reader #fem!reader #cod oc #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod mw3 #cod krueger #sebastian krueger x reader #sebastian krueger x oc #sebastian krueger #krueger x oc #krueger x reader

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darkdemeter · 5 months

Text

WATCH IN SILENCE

✘DARKSIDERS FILED CLIPPINGS | Strife x Female Watcher!Reader ────────────────────────

The Horseman is eager with gauntlet fingers plucking and squeezing at the triggers of his unrested spirit, a whirlwind of timeless spiralling. And by far, the more accepting - or at least resigning - to his fate at the tether of a watcher. He doesn’t exactly let his hesitation be known through the crack whip of his protesting joke, only for the Charred Council to be unamused by his antics.

Upon the moment of linking with you, Strife greeted you with an ounce of fondness, though his expression lay hidden beneath his mask, his tone is the only representation of his mood. And he seemed… happy, and rather amused to meet you.

All you do is blink with utter surprise, eyes aglow with your stun, he rumbles out a faint chuckle, “Not much of a talker, ey?”

Thus begins your journey across the realms of the universe with the gunslinging Horseman, his travels taking him far and wide within the stretch of a shortened window of time. Thankful that your bindings allow you to slink into the chasm of his vessel, you however, find it a little saddening that you miss out on so much.

For a Horseman who rides heavily on the winds, chasing adventure and anything that strikes his fancy, he also entertains your fascination and soon enough, he slows a little in his travels so that you may actually take in the surroundings.

A youngling amongst the watchers that far exceed your age and experience, you’re very keen to inspect every crook and cranny of whatever world you inhabit. You had thought that he’d hold so little time and tolerance for your curious nature; but you’re proven wrong when he too takes the time to explore with you. From turning up every rock to find what lies under it, to becoming mesmerised to the fluttery fields of flowery pastures and intriguing bugs that dance in the dark sky like stars. Not only have the many sights been a joyous experience, no less with the Horseman to grant you nothing less than equitable and uplifting company, but the massing of collected trinkets is something of a newly-formed tradition.

His siblings, in their scrutiny and judgement of this odd habit, find a level of distaste within it. The many collected odds and bits and bobs a tidal wave of obsession that they can’t fathom who started. But it matters little to the trigger happy brother. “What? It’s our thing!” he’ll claim loudly and without shame, only for you to hide behind him and away from their casted glares. “Aw, now look, you guys are scaring her!”

An impressive and still growing collection to this day, you now begin to find more personalised and thoughtful gifts to present to your rider, ones that you wish for him to hold onto. At first, he didn’t understand and would add them to your other found treasures, only for you to rapidly shake your head and gesture to him, holding your gift in hand, you move about like a frenzied ghost.

Laughing, he questions, “What’re you saying, little Watcher?... you want me to hold onto it?” With a far enthusiastic nod, he laughs and agrees to keep your small artefacts on him at all times. Pleased with this, he takes notice of the shy glimmer that thins the dark lids of your eyes, how your darkened shaped head will bow and your hands curl in together aggressively. If he didn’t know any better, he’d assume you had a little crush on him.

Not too soon after, you are presented with small presents of his own. Ones he’s gathered in some far corner of the desolated chamber you’re investigating together, or a funny shaped piece that in your eyes, is a prized possession; and what’s more, it comes from your rider. He takes great pride, his chest puffed out and helmed chin held high when he sees how these small gifts entrance you, and you gesture in thanks with a smile unmade with a mouth.

Your silence, however, irks him greatly. He loses focus and rest over it, it drives him that mad. Dealing with the edge of his siblings can be a trouble all its own, all he wants is to talk to someone, to hold a conversation. His disappointment is more noticeable than it was upon your first meeting him, seeing that you are indeed not a talker; much to his masked grimace.

He tries everything to get you to talk. Just one word. That’s all he wants from you. And then he promises himself he’ll be satisfied. For some time…

Not that you’re distant and cold and quick to brush off his jokes and witty banter with a scoff or furrowed brow. You actually appear to be consumed with a heightened level of interest in what he says, the stories he tells you when taking short respites.

From the wide, unblinking gaze your eyes hold to him, he sees you hang to every word and he cherishes that. In fact, he does tend to over-dramatise his stories just a little - if only to see the wonderment flutter in your eyes. For a face void of many features that are reminiscent of his own, he can only count on the motion of your eyes and the glow they have when something excites or scares you.

And Heaven and Hell forbid if anything scares you, because that is a day of reckoning. Be it any fiend or beast, he’ll slay it. He goes above and beyond to keep you, his little watcher, safe and out of harm’s reach. When something makes you excited, Strife is one to note it down and repeat it later, and if that pattern continues then he’ll continue.

Each time he catches your gaze on him, silent, yet eyes pooled in your amazement for his prowess on the battlefield, he smirks under the protection of his mask. He feels empowered when you look at him like that. It imbues him with the strength and mindset that he can accomplish anything, though he already knows this, it’s different when it’s you who watches him.

Still making one-sided conversation, he eventually tries his luck again with another joke. “Alright, alright, little Watcher. Why is my brother, War, so serious all the time?”

With a kitten-like tilt of your head, you remain silent though he sees the cogs in your mind toil the answer. With a bow of your chin, you give in.

“Because he has no funny bone!” Strife finds himself in awe of the sound that emanates from you. A chorus of reverberating giggles and after what feels like an eternity, he cherishes the angelic hue and bounce of your voice.

“You’re so funny…”

#female reader #darksiders fanfiction #strife #darksiders #nephilim #darksiders 2 #darksiders strife #darksiders strife x reader #x reader #fanfiction #darksiders genesis #darksiders 3 #darksiders x reader #Strife/Reader

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itsmmatchaa · 7 months

Text

YAO MEI

will this anger ever dissapear?

♱˙⁠SEX: yes (bro can shapeshift so biology doesn't apply to him)

♱˙SPECIES: fallen angel

♱˙NAME: Yao Mei (妖媚) — yāo mèi, it means seductive/bewitching ; (angel name: Azazel)

♱˙NICKNAMES: yao yao, boss/big boss (by Nico)

♱˙OCCUPATIONS: currently the owner of a cozy but known cafeteria (he does his best to scare away his costumers but somehow more and more come to see him, so he just goes with the flow) and a hobbyst/indie singer

♱˙AGE: ??

♱˙BIRTHDAY: has no day of birth so he choose the day that he decided to live like a human: 11th november

♱˙HOMETOWN: heaven (literally)

♱˙HEIGHT: 198cm

♱˙APPEARENCE:

♱˙EYECOLOR: dirty gray, his eyes are like a eternal thunderous sky. they are sharp and thin, very much like a blade

♱˙HAIR: kinda wavy, almost straight raven black hair, neck length with blonde strands on his nape, reminiscent of his angelic features

♱˙SKINCOLOR: Yao Mei has a nude skin, a bit yellowish? Has a eternal golden glow on his skin, he is a fallen angel after all (no he doesn't glow like Edward unfortunately)

♱˙BODYINFO: man is ripped, he's Niccolo's numero uno gym buddy (and the only that can go with Nico's crazy schedule and exercises without dying). Yao Mei has broad shoulders and strong arms from his training with swords by the time he was in heaven and probably has something to do with the drums he play? Yes. Has guitar player hands and veiny arms. He has a tongue piercing, a erl piercing (the one that goes through your nose bridge), lip piercing and pierced ears

♱˙ABOUT YAO MEI:

“I had another name before”

he was an Archangel, a warrior of god. highly respected amoung his peers in heaven for his serious and diligent nature until the celestial war took place. when he was still an angel, he received the name Azazel. he greatly admired Lucifer and was close to him, so when Lucifer fell, he went directly to confront God and asked: what happened? why did that happen? why him? And when he was not received, quite the contrary, he had been rejected, he decided to go after Lucifer alone.

Lucifer was smart and knew very well that Azazel had a desire, an urge to free himself. and taking advantage of the trust of the very devoted Archangel, he started to put ideas in his mind, planting seeds of doubt, twisting words into a winding path with no return, taking advantage of his good heart. Lucifer convinced Azazel to transform into a snake and tempt Eve

“Don’t you think it’s wrong, Azazel? The way they hide things from the humans?” Said the one who was once God's golden child, his brightest light.

And Azazel noded, of course, who would disagree?

“You could do that for me, couldn’t you?” Lucifer questioned again, scraping his wings on the ground and closer to Azazel

The Archangel replied, with a smile, oh poor innocent child

“But of course, for you, I would.”

And he did

if you think Lucifer was the one turning into a snake and making Eve taste the fruit of forbidden knowledge, you are mistaken. It was Azazel. And you think it was Eve biting the fruit? no my dear, it was Adam, but who would belive poor Eve? Why your think man have "Adam's apple" stuck on his throat? thank Azazel for that endless curse. And the favors for Lucifer didn't stop there, but he felt like he was doing something great for the first time in his existence. Azazel felt like a little pet, a lapdog, when he was in the heavens, he knew that they and other angels could be doing more to guide humanity, Azazel had the desire to help humanity, so he constantly took human or animal form to walk around among mortals and help them in some way.

He has a very good heart although he appears to be apathetic. and I felt that just raising faults in the courts of God was too much for him. The more he walked among humans he saw how miserable they became and saw that no being in the heavens did anything. He was tired, he couldn't take it anymore, and in front of everyone in the heavens, he rebelled.

“I can’t stand being bossed around by anyone anymore. I think I've always had that in me, that place is suffocating. Paradise is suffocating.”

It was not long before the once respected archangel was cast out, falling with many others, and raising his sword against the place that was his home, in the war that once split the heavens.

What Azazel didn't expect was that when he joined Lucifer, the one he admired most, the one he believed, the one he trusted; he would in the end receive the same treatment as he had in heaven. He had already fulfilled his purpose, now he was nothing more than disposable to Lucifer. He followed Lucifer because he was tired of being God's pet and in the end he became Lucifer's pet.

His rebellion was of no use.

In the end, all he was left with was the unfortunate nickname of snake, the venom of god, his sword and his wings. These were the only things that had been left for the angel once respected in heaven. this was Azazel. The angel previously charged with the task of raising human faults and enumerating them before the Divine Court, during the annual judgment of humanity now limited to Lucifer's pet. The snake, the scapegoat, the poison of God, Azazel. The title that Lucifer gave him "the prince of Wrath" served more as a mock than a gift.

“I wanted too much, I think. I just wanted to do something for my own will, not His, I wanted my freedom. Look what it brought me.”

Azazel rebelled once again, without looking back.

♱˙PERSONALITY: a good person. He genuinely is. However he was so heartbroken before, so shattered that he cannot stand being around people anymore, he cannot stand the betrayal, the disappointment that would come with that. At the same time he is oh so, so desperate to be loved, to love, to be given and to give in. He is a reliable and responsible one, he cares for people around him. He knows how ephemeral and fast a human life and even moments and time itself can be, he has seen so many times before, dripping through his fingers both lives and time.

He's most serious, doesn't talk much and just hums or lift his eyebrows as a way of saying yes or no, call him emo if you like (that's what he is, this fucking emo). Can appear as cold and sarcastic, and sometimes he can be a little bit theatrical. He's the type: as-long-you-don't-annoy-me-I-won't-kill-you type of person. He's not the type to laugh, he can scoff a laugh and smirk, but a full laugh? Nah.

Values his independency more than anything and is not the type to get involved in conflict HOWEVER, if it's something that really piss him off, my god you better start praying, for real, it's not afraid to throw punches or buy a fight that its not his, he's collected but has a heart different from the other angels.

Even if he seems collected and calm, his mind is a eternal turmoil. He is the original prince of wrath after all. His calm personally comes from many years of self discipline and control. Even so, it doesn't matter how much he push away, how much he meditate, how much he tries to vent with music and singing. He still has anger in his head, his heart still ache. He's not a holy being anymore, anything is better than going back to heaven. He's not a demon either. What is he? Is he now deemed to be pure anger? To haunt the world with his pitiful existence?

♱˙LIKES: his peace, the smell of coffee and after rain, the sound of the cafe bell when someone go past the door, the rustle of paper bags when he prepare a to-go snack, the rumble of the milk blender, low bass, jazz, cold breeze, black cats and dobermans. He really enjoy cooking, most of the pastries and breads on the cafe are made by him. Loves to sing, probably is a angel thing. Black beer, and black coffee. Also likes his crucifix that he carries proudly around his neck, he do enjoy to go on church and hear the choir, probable because it scratch his brain and make his relax a bit. He's fond of paganism and often lit incenses around the cafe to whoever god or deity feels like listening to him he doesn't pray too, he's too proud to ask for forgiveness or help.

♱˙DISLIKES: the bible, however unlike Niccolo that has a disgust with the bible and churches in general, Yao Mei likes to read the bible out loud and proceed to say: "nu-uh that wasn't what happened, look at this they made me seem like I'm a fool". Hate any kind of form of betrayal, so yep if he ever hear someone on the cafe talking about being cheated he'll probably going to beat someone ass that night. It's not very much found of default vodka? Like, the no flavoured one. Hates when the cafe gets too crowded or when there's too much kids inside, specially if they're the noisy ones. He doesn't like much kids by the way, it reminds him of the times he was a guardian angel (he hated taking care of toddlers). Hates hospitals with burning passion. He claim to hate Niccolo but he know deep in his heart that Nicco is his bestie, either he like it or not, also he hates when Niccolo don't wash the dishes after he eat. Doesn't like to pray, since it bring him bad memories but it's often to see him speaking alone to himself, specially when he feels alone. He'll never admit it but he's grateful for Niccolo's noisy ass and personality, Yao Mei would be in a way bad state of mind if wasn't for him.

♱˙TRIVIA:

his name was supposed to be Mei Yao and he had a red skin

he was my second oc not related with an existing universe like anime or whatever (first was Ghostien), i wanted to draw a demon and just made him out of nowhere, i still have the sketch of him

he choose his name because it was the first thing he heard after he fell from heaven

dislikes people (me too) but his cafe is well known around town not only because of the good ambiance and music, but because the barista and the owner are very attractive

plays guitar, bass, drums, anything, it is music a angel thing? Yes

think that cats are nice, and im thinking about giving him a hairless black cat with sum very edgy but silly name like edgylord or graveyard idk

his holy weapon is a sword

The crucifix he wear was a gift. Is used to hurt and burn his skin but he got used to it, it's like a eternal reminder of his origin and also a mocking to the heavens

He also is always with two bracelets, one in each wrists, he always wore bracelets on his angel form so it's kind of a bad habit of his, same thing with the crucifix, used to hurt and burn since it was holy silver

Yes he was the snake that lured Eve and Adam. But different from what we hear, I like to think that Adam was the one who bit first and lied that was Eve, and that was the first betrayal, so Yao Mei cursed all mankind to always carry Adam's apple in their throat because of that lie

Lucifer named him as the Prince of Wrath, so he is the original Sin of Wrath

His voice when he sing sounds like Vessel

@itsmmatchaa ; don't copy, rp, translate, or use as your own ; last edited: feb/2024

#oc x reader #monster oc #oc #monster oc x reader #falleng angel #angel #angel oc #fallen angel oc #angel x reader #fallen angel x reader #nephilim #.yao mei

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sleepingdeath-light · 2 years

Note

hi this is the first time i ask for something here so i'm kinda nervous... very straight to the point i would like to ask for headcanons or a scenario for kuroshitsuji very specific reader is a friend of elizabeth visiting the phantomhive mansion elizabeth takes her friend along with her to meet Ciel, I want to know how you think Ciel and maybe Sebastian would react to being a Nephilim.

Nephilim Reaction Headcanons | Ciel & Sebastian

thank you for requesting, anon!

reader is assumed as being gender neutral and a nephilim

Ciel Phantomhive

ciel’s unfamiliarity and obliviousness to your heritage is solely because he’d never even considered crossbreeding a possibility — hell, he wasn’t even sure that angels were involved with humanity because sebastian never spoke about them.

so upon first meeting, he’d likely raise an eyebrow at your height (being rather tall due to your heritage) but that’s about it

he’d greet you politely and might poke fun at elizabeth for speaking about you so often — referencing previous conversations they had just to embarrass her (all in good fun, of course)

though he’d quickly realise how cautious and closed off sebastian had become in your presence and would call him away to discuss his concerns

and then the shock and even slight fear would set in

nephilim are real? nephilim exist? and there’s one in his drawing room feet away from his cousin and he hadn’t noticed

why were you here? elizabeth had known you since before ciel was taken so surely you weren’t here for him — unless you were… could nephilim predict the future?

his mind is racing a mile a minute with dozens of questions as he rejoins you and hides his concerns behind a thin lipped smile and a cup of tea

but the moment lizzy leaves and he’s about to confront you, you shush him, show your wings and assure him that you’re there of your own will and mean him and his contract no harm

you’re lizzy’s friend, not his enemy

and whilst he doesn’t entirely believe you and has sebastian shadow you whenever you’re near him, he is more at ease and open to interacting with you generally with his fiancée and personally to ask you what you knew about the supernatural and any cases he’d taken on

Sebastian Michaelis

it’s highly unlikely that sebastian was entirely oblivious to your heritage when elizabeth brought you up in conversation - knowing that you weren’t entirely human from her descriptions of your behaviours and accomplishments but falling short on placing exactly where you fell in the grand scheme of things.

all that to say, he wouldn’t react much externally when he saw you for the first time

but he would be slightly caught off guard by you because of how rare mixed-species creatures are in general - let alone in recent times when separation was so heavily pushed across the board

also not entirely fond of your angelic heritage and would be more likely to pick up on your flaws and tease you in a subtle enough manner that only you would pick up on it (i mean, he is a demon after all)

will flaunt his contract around you, emphasising what is his and treating it almost like a competition that you had no way of winning - not when the contract was already sealed

pulls on your wings as a form of teasing, grabbing and pulling on what your human companions can’t see in an attempt to get a rise out of you

all in all, you two will not get along and will end up being barely polite enough around each other as to not raise any suspicions from mortal company

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aylacavebear · 8 months

Text

She Thought She was Normal

Story Summary: Maria really thought she was normal, for most of her life. It was normal for people to have natural talent, she would tell herself the older she got. Many things came easy for her, and that was probably how their rivalry began when she was five and he was seven and she met the Winchesters. Little did either of them know that it wouldn't stay like that forever, both having a far larger destiny than they could imagine

Word Count: 1688

Please don't take my work. I'll post warnings for each chapter. Will eventually be 18+!

Warnings: Childhood Rivalry

----------------------------------------- Chapter 3

Her alarm woke her promptly at five. She did her typical morning routine, only today, she put her hair up in a braid, preparing for the challenge with Dean. The sun wasn't up yet and the house was quiet, but she could hear the faint sounds of birds outside, beginning to wake up.

When she went into the kitchen, she noticed the boys sleeping in the living room, so moved quietly into the kitchen. Bobby had picked up a few of her favorite cereals when he found out she'd be staying with him, so she grabbed what she needed and went back into her room to eat at her desk. While she ate, she read through some of her assigned book, so her lesson would go faster later. After breakfast, she did her exercises and movements with her knife and gun, as her father had shown her.

Her thoughts drifted a bit during her routine, back to the book she'd read the night before. There were things she'd read that she had almost brushed off as just coincidence. Things she could do that Nephilim could also do. Even now, there was too much information missing for her to connect all the dots since the book did explain that the mother of the Nephilim always died in childbirth and her mother hadn’t.

“So, you ready?” Dean asked from her doorway.

She'd been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she hadn't even heard him open her door, and because her gun was in her hand, she swung around and had it aimed at him in seconds.

He put his hands up, almost worried she might shoot him, “Chill. It's just me.”

She let out a breath and lowered her gun before sliding it back under her pillow, “Sorry. Lemme go wake up Sammy, I promised. Then I’ll be ready.”

He nodded as they headed out to the living room, where Sammy was still sleeping on the couch. Dean was confident that this time, he’d win. She gently woke him up. When he realized why she was waking him up, he quickly threw on his shoes, a huge grin on his face.

Dean made a mental note not to sneak up on her if she had a weapon on her. He motioned for her to follow him as he headed out to the back of Bobby's scrapyard. The sun had almost broken the horizon. Maria took note of where he led her, the way the sun would make its rays of light across the yard, and how it could affect the throws. He marked an X on the wooden fence and then stepped back ten feet. She watched him, curiously as he pulled out his knives.

“We’ll start at ten feet and work up to twenty. The one who gets closest to the target, wins,” he explained, with that damned smirk on his face again.

“Alright,” she said plainly, crossing her arms.

He wasn’t bad, she had to give him that. His first throw almost hit the X in the center, as did his second at twelve feet. However, his third throw at fifteen feet was further from the center of the X, which made her raise an eyebrow. When he got to twenty feet through, his aim was worse. Dean marked where he had landed the hits as he pulled out the knives before handing them to her. The smug look on his face only made her roll her eyes.

“Good luck,” he told her, crossing his arms and leaning against the closest car, hoping that this time, he had her.

“I don’t need luck,” she replied, a cocky smirk on her lips.

It didn’t matter how far away she was from the target, she lined up all four of the knives almost dead center of the target. Bobby had been watching them from the second-story bedroom window, smiling. Sammy was smiling from ear to ear and had stayed quiet the entire time. Dean was fuming on the inside. He had no idea how she kept beating him in these challenges he came up with and it was more than annoying now. He walked over and removed the knives, not saying a word to either of them. She casually shrugged her shoulders and headed back to the house, leaving Dean in the scrapyard, Sammy following behind her, practically skipping.

Bobby met the two in the kitchen, getting himself a cup of coffee, “Not bad, kid. How long has your dad been having you practice with throwing knives? It’s not an easy skill.”

“A couple years now. He said I was a natural. Why?” she asked him, tilting her head slightly.

“Knife throwing isn’t something easy that just anyone can learn. Plus, some people just can’t do it at all,” he answered her.

Maria thought about his words and glanced at the window in the kitchen. She couldn’t see Dean but had a feeling he was out there practicing more since he hadn’t followed them back inside. She decided that she would at least give him some recognition for as well as he did. To her, it just seemed like the right thing to do. Bobby could almost see the wheels turning in her mind, which made him smile.

“I’m gonna guess you already ate breakfast,” he stated as he looked back toward the window.

“Yes, but Sammy hasn’t. I’m going to get started on my lessons for the day,” she replied before heading back to her room.

Bobby chuckled to himself as Sammy got himself some cereal for breakfast. Bobby then headed back to his desk and glanced toward where her room was, thinking back to when her mother was alive and the conversation he’d had with his brother-in-law when Maria had been conceived. He wondered if she had any idea what she really was and why her mother had been killed five years ago or if William had kept it a secret from her. These were all things he’d attempted to ask William about but he had always dodged the topic.

Dean came back in the house a couple hours later, tossing his knives in his bag, frustrated, “How does she do it, every damn time?” he grumbled.

Bobby chuckled quietly, not looking up from his book, “She’s different, kid.”

“She’s annoying is what she is,” he grumbled, sitting down on the couch.

“Go get some breakfast and quit your bellyaching,” he told Dean.

Dean rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Sammy had been sitting on the other end of the couch, doing his best not to laugh at his brother for losing to a girl, yet again, as Bobby had been clear not to rub it in. Sammy went back to his schoolwork though, even if he was still grinning.

Maria came out of her room about a half hour later, the book she’d been reading and her journal in hand, “I’m done with my morning lessons Uncle Bobby,” she told him as she stood in front of his desk.

He looked up at her and took her books, “Did you want to say something to Dean first?” he asked.

She pursed her lips for a moment, “Yes,” she answered.

He nodded a bit, “Go do that and I’ll take a look at this before your quiz,” he told her.

Maria took a deep breath before she walked into the kitchen, seeing Dean sitting down at the table. She took note of his expression. He looked almost defeated but at the same time, he looked as though he had a deep determination in his eyes as he read the book in front of him. He’d always been hard for her to read since she’d met him since the challenges between them had started. She noticed how he could easily hide what he was really feeling or thinking about. He may have been annoying, but at the same time, she was impressed with him.

“Hey, Dean,” she said, a softness mixed with her confidence as she sat down across from him, “I wanted to tell you that you did really well earlier, with the knife throwing. I didn’t know it was something difficult to learn and my dad’s had me doing it for a couple years now,” she explained, sounding as genuine as she could.

Dean was surprised at what she’d said, it only adding to her complexity and mystery, as well as him still finding her annoying, “Yeah, thanks,” he practically mumbled, keeping an expression to match.

She narrowed her eyes slightly and took a deep breath through her nose before she got up and walked back over to her Uncle’s desk, “I’m ready for my quiz.”

Bobby had heard what she’d said to Dean, and it had made him smile a bit. She had tried, and she was ten after all. In his mind, she’d said it fairly well for her age. He quizzed her on what she read, even trying to trip her up. If he ever had to admit it, he only tried to trip her up because he loved hearing her be able to correct him, having actually learned the material and not just skimmed over it to find the base parts of it all. He knew he didn’t say it enough, but he was beyond proud of her.

She took her books back to her room after the quiz, making sure her door was closed so she could read more of the book on Angels. Maria was completely fascinated by it and had no idea why she was drawn to the information. She’d never read anything on angels before, not even sure if they existed. Although, as her mind would argue, how could there be demons without angels, the world needing the duality, the balance? Maria knew she couldn’t ask any of the adults in her life, as they’d want to know where she’d heard of or learned the information from, as it wasn’t on any of her list of reading materials. She looked up from the book and sighed, then closed it and slid it back under her pillow.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 4

Tag List: @deans-spinster-witch @kazsrm67

Link to the master list for this story.

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cherub-notifs · 8 months

Text

NEPHILIM MOODBOARD, HEADER, AND TEASER UNDER THE CUT. 🪽

You saw his need to care, protect, understand. Not be understood. But just understand. You would let yourself dream of taking his rough edges to the smooth plane of a whetstone. Buff it out. People claimed you cannot buff brass into gold. That it was a fools game, but the fool is rich in content, and poor in sorrow. For the fool has little to worry about while they live in ignorant bliss.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #nephilim #joel miller smut #the last of us #moodboard #joel miller one shot #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller tlou

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granddaughterogg · 1 year

Text

another shitpost (bear with me)

You: *slowly entering the room* Strife? You there? Can I come in?

Strife: (Sitting next to his workbench, full gunsmithing mode on, hands black from machine grease, back bent, eyes focused, not moving away from it to grace you with eye contact)

Strife: I dunno. Can you?

You: *awkwardly* I've missed you...

Strife: *matter-of-factly* Sure you did. That's probably why you went away and dissapeared without a trace for T W O. F U C K I N G. Y E A R S. Or was it three? Can't even tell, my memory's not what it used to be. I'm an old man after all.

You: Did you and Death actually switched personalities while I was away or something? Cause you sounded just like him right now.

Strife: *even more flatly* Believe you me, I hate this as much as anyone would.

You: I'm sorry. I've done fucked up...You have all the right to hate me now.

Strife: (throws the piece he was tinkering over onto the bench with a sharp metallic "clang!", stands up, steps away, turns around to face you and buries your whole person in a bone crushing hug)

Strife: Oh I hate you allright. I hate you so...fucking...much.

You: (hold your breath, feeling the salty wetness dripping onto your face from somewhere high, high above)

#darksiders strife #darksiders #darksiders strife/reader #I feel that after abandoning my Nephilim bois for this long I'd need to issue an apology or something #and Strife would be the drama llama about it

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a-998h · 2 months

Text

Welcome to Hell

Hello @bloobewy, I hope you enjoy this!

TW: reader does "die" at some point but doesn't stay dead technically Reader also gets stabbed in the hand

Clicking Keep Reading means you've read and understand the trigger warning.

I missed the bus, great, I say with as much sarcasm as possible. It was hot, and my body was already a natural heater, and school is draining. Lucky me, the house isn't to far from the school, so walking is still an option. To make the walk less unbearable, I put on my favorite playlist.

After 10 minutes of walking, I reach a crosswalk. Pushing the button, I wait for the sign to change. Once the sign goes from hand to person, I step onto the crosswalk. Having already checked left and right, I thought I would be fine.

I didn't hear it... and that damn truck didn't see me either. I didn't hear anything, but I felt everything. The music cut off, and my body was in so much pain. Why, why is everything fading? I can hear sirens, and begging, and people. Blood... I see and smell blood. I try to turn my head, but I can't. I can't move at all.

"What's happening?" I mumble.

Soon, my vision goes black and I hear a voice. It's a woman's voice, full of warmth and authority.

"Your time has come child, we cannot wait to meet you," I hear her say.

The voices of the people becomes more muffled, and the pain starts to go away. The darkness takes over my vision until I can't see anything. I don't feel the pain, or roughness of the road. I feel nothing at all, like I'm floating. There is nothing in my view but inky darkness, so... This must be how I die. This isn't an isekai, so I'm not gonna go to a fantasy world, I'm just going to die.

I was so bad, fighting, yelling, and being a jerk to people who want to help me. Now, dad is gonna lost his only when they didn't even make it to adulthood.

"I'm sorry dad... I'm so sorry," I say in my head.

It's not fair, first mom abandoned me and dad and now I'm gonna die. Why couldn't I just make it to adulthood? Whatever, I can't change things now. I just wish I had another chance. I see my tears floating in the inky darkness. I don't know why I'm crying, but it feels well deserved right now. As I cry, my eyes closed and I finally feel at peace.

I hear a whistling near my ears, and the feeling of wind? My eyes shot open and I see myself falling. The sky above me is red, and is that a clock tower with an hourglass in it?

it's clear I'm going to crash into the ground of a city, but I have no idea where the fuck I am. Things are in ruins, and I don't seem to be stopping. I scream in fear as I pulpit towards the ground, I just died and I have no idea where the fuck I am!

"Is that a blimp with a ray gun?" I ask myself as I see steampunk blimp of supervillain proportions blast at the ground.

There is a loud smack sound as I hit the ground, and I'm, surprisingly, not in pain. I look myself over, and something is wrong with my hands. They're stained red, not like gloves or splatter, but it's like an ombre.

"Well that's not normal, and where the fuck am I?" I ask myself.

Standing up I rush towards a shop window, and look at my reflection? It has my hair color and style, skin color, eye color, height, but it has a pair of white wings , my hands have the ombre of red, and there is a pair of jagged horns like a four horned ram on my head. I back away from the window and start walking in a random direction.

No one here looks normal, so look like anthropomorphic animals, full animals, of a mix of human and object. Thees people range in size and shape, like normal, but they clearly don't look normal. Walking past the werid people here, a few give me looks that range from confusion, to fear, to cruel. Trying to ignore seems to be my best hope. As I keep walking, I see a bunch of people who look like different types of sharks. They spot me, and I hear them mumbling, before getting close to me.

They introduce themselves and immediately invade my personal space. They keep talking about an extermination, which confuses and worries me. One wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer, to him. Scared, I try to get away but they won't let me. Well, I'm probably doomed. Swinging my head around, I mange to hit the two shark guys near me in the face. Using th distraction, I run for my life as I hear them yelling after me.

Looking for a place to hide, I duck into a crowd in front of a shop window. It's showing a pale skinned blond woman in a pale red suit jacket, wearing a bowtie with yellow eyes. Next to her is a second pale skinned blonde woman with a creepy smile, soulless red eyes, and shoulder pads. Creepy smile lady calls suit lady, Charlotte, to which suit lady corrects it to Charlie. As I watch, something Charlie says catches my attention.

"As princess of Hell," I hear Charlie say.

Hell, holy shit I'm in fucking Hell! I can't pull my eyes away from the screen, but I have a hard time paying attention to what Charlie is saying. She keeps singing about something called, the Happy Hotel, and how it'll be a place to rehab sinners. Sounds crazy to me, but I'm not the princess of Hell. As people laugh at her idea, I feel a bit more hopeful.

"Seems like the safest place here," I mutter to myself.

This Happy Hotel seems cool, but I have no idea where it is. I scan the screen looking for an address but I can't find one. Annoyed I do my best to avoid people. Looking up at the red sky, I see the clock tower and a large hill with a building on top. I figured the building on the hill is the Happy Hotel. I hear noises from the TV, but I dont care at this point. I just want a safe place to be, but this is Hell so safe isn't really an option. Walking towards the hill some crazy looking dog frankstein's monster woman grabs me.

"Hand over your wallet!" She demands.

I have no wallet to speak of, so I tell her I can't. I'm so close to a safe haven and now I'm being mugged, this day gets worse by the hour. She keeps demanding my non existent wallet, and I keep telling her I don't fucking have a wallet to give her! She starts foaming at the mouth, and I see her brandish a knife. Backing away, I pray she doesn't do anything. But, they go unanswered as she stabs me in the hand before stomping away.

I walk the rest of the way, my shirt covered in blood as I use my shirt to try and stop the bleeding. Reaching the hotel, the sign says Hazbin Hotel but I could care less what it's called. Knocking on the door, I'm greeted with a grayish-lavender skinned lady wearing a bright red hair bow We stare at each other for a bit.

"Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, my name is Vaggie and you are?" She asks.

"Y/N, my name is Y/N," I tell her.

I swear I see an unknown emotion flashing across her face. She opens the door wider, and I walk in and sit on the couch.

She looks at my hand and offers to bandage it up. I thank her and she tells me it's not a problem. Once she's done, I hear an excited squeal. Turning towards the noise I see Charlie, minus her jacket, looking at me with a smile. She introduces herself and asks If I'm going to stay at the hotel. I nod and say that was my plan. Her smile grows as she asks me my name and how old I am since I looked young. When I tell her I'm a teenager, her smile drops. She looks at me, then kneels down to hug me. I tell her it's ok, and she seems to get slightly better. Grabbing my uninjured hand she points to the other demons and tells me their names.

"Over there is Angel Dust, he's another guest," she says, pointing to a fluffy spider demon.

Said demon looks at me, waves and tries to flirt. Charlie scolds him and says to not flirt with me as I'm a child. He looks at me and laughs, complimenting me for, "a good fucking joke." I tell him it's not a joke and he asks how a kid ended up in Hell. I say I was hit by a truck, and that seems to satisfy him.

"Oh, and this is our bartender Husk!" Charlie exclaims as she gestures to a cat demon in suspenders and a top hat.

I wave to him and he just gives me and unamused look as he drinks from what's probably a bottle of some kind of alcohol. Charlie then gestures to a short red haired woman in an equally red poodle skirt running after a roach with a comically large sewing needle.

"That's our housekeeper Niffty," Charlie says.

I just watch Niffty try to stab the roach, not wanting to end up stabbed agian because I interrupted the werid housekeeper. I turn my head and see a tall man dressed all in red, he has deer ears and a staff the looks like an old fashioned mircophone. I nervously wave to him, and he walks over. Charlie gestures to him and say he's Alastor, the hotel's facilities manager. He gives off an aura of authority and power that sacred me. He holds his hand out, silently askign for a handshake, I follow the silent order.

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, my dear. This run down hotel will surely feel more like home with your youthful energy," Alastor says, his voice sounding like it's coming from a radio.

Charlie looks back at me, still with a warm smile on her face, and grabs my shoulders. She promises me that I'll love it at the hotel, and that I'll get to Heaven in no time. I shrug and nervously say thank you, this makes her smile more, if it's even possible. Holding my hands she looks me straight in the eyes. Something feels deranged about her, but I don't know how to place it. All I know is, I'm stuck in Hell with it's princess and her friends. But, I could be worse off than here.

"You're going to love it here! Welcome to Hell, Y/N!" Charlie joyously says.

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cherubispunk · 8 months

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NEPHILIM: BAMBI - Jackson-era!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: when does a human stop being regarded as a human…and, instead, seen as something different entirely?

a note from Lucy: No smut? Huh? Someone check my temperature please. I liked writing Nephilim so much that I decided to do a small Drabble of the exact moment Bambi got her name. Think of it as a prequel of sorts. Takes place soon after Bambi recovers from sepsis. Enjoy!

playlist | moodboard

wc: 1563

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! no use of y/n but reader is referred to as ‘Bambi’, no physical description of reader apart from ‘long lashes’, brief descriptions of injury and blood, religious imagery, use of guns/ being taught to shoot, me not remembering how to shoot even though I was taught how to so there may be inaccuracies lolsies, Joel is a little bit of a dick but it’s only because he cares!

series masterlist | m.list

Psalm 18:33 He maketh my feet like hinds' feet, and setteth me upon my high places.

When does the man become the monster? Is it his first kill? Or maybe his first thought of pulling the trigger? It might be the moment he picks up the gun. When the metal is cold in calloused palm. A human would find it heavy and unwelcoming. A monster might find it a comforting thing though. To know he is protected at his own hand. Are they even entirely separate? A person may be both at once. Monster. Human. Who is the righteous one, the wise one, who draws the line. Is it God? The people? And how thin of a line is it?

Joel could be both. In the Venn Diagram, the spectrum of Monster and Man, he resided in the very middle. That’s what they told you anyway. You took it with a pinch of salt. Thought it a rather hypocritical comment to make for no one in this world was truly pure of sin. Even the lamb grazes the grass that the foal could have. Though Joel thought you came damn close to purity. He now associated the colour of your eyes with innocence. Conditioned to the thought whenever he saw it in nature, or in a person's clothing. Slaved away to keep it. Protect it. Was a man that protected truly a monster? Because the things he did, the sin he committed, the blood on his hands, was all in the name of protection in one way or another.

He quite liked being alone before. But the more time he spent engaging in the odd conversation with you, the more he realised how dull it was to talk to himself. He and himself were only acquaintances. You felt more like a friend. His first real friend since Tess.

So maybe the question is this; When does a human stop being regarded as a human…and, instead, seen as something different entirely?

—

“I can’t do it.” You huffed, looking back at him and dropping your arms. In your hands was Joel’s rifle. The weight of it foreign and uncomfortable. The trigger cold, and your fingertip not calloused enough for it to feel like it belonged. The metal bit back. It said ‘you don’t belong here’. It commanded you: ‘Give me back’. The weight of it was unsettling. In your hand was the weight of a life taken. Or a life spared. And yet he stood behind you with his arms crossed, his brow set in stone, furrowed together in a frown akin to the busts of Caracalla. Narrowed hawk eye on your poor form. Unsteady on your feet and uncertain with your trigger finger.

“You can.” He replied, voice clipped and snippy. Not giving you a choice. “And you will.” He spoke in such a grating edge it seemed he was frustrated merely through your apprehension. “Eject the cartridge.” So you sighed, abiding his words, pressing the butt of the rifle into the crook of your shoulder and staring down the barrel at the tree you hadn’t landed even a graze on once. “Feet shoulder width apart, girl.” He reprimanded. Joel had repeated that one point about five times now in the past hour. And each time you’d forgotten. Something as simple as the planting of your feet on the snow blanketed ground. Your mind was in disarray and a disconnect with your body.You looked down at your feet and shuffled them wider apart.

You felt his strict grip find temporary and telling purchase on your hips, jerking you side on so the foot the side of your non-trigger hand pointed towards the target. Even through layers of winter clothing his touch made you shiver far more than any biting winter wind could. “Like this.” That tone again. It was windburn on your cheeks. It was pins and needles in your feet. Unpleasant, painful, and long enduring.

“Sorry.” You mumbled.

“Don’t be sorry. Be better.” And he stepped back to observe once more.

He didn’t do it to be mean. He didn’t say it to be curt, and rude. He did it for your benefit. Because one day your loose tongue would very well find you without it entirely. Still, it hurt. To know he was so willing with criticism and so restrained with compliments. He must bite his tongue so often that it grows back sharp. It felt like lashes from the cat of nine tails upon your back; Your skin now lacerated and tender from each blow. Regardless, you swallowed the lump in your throat whole. It could suffer and scorn and burn in your churning stomach. You inhaled, and on the exhale you pulled the trigger.

Miss.

You huffed again, utterly defeated. Your heart seemed to sink lower when you looked at him. His face still set with the same Caracalla frown.

“Again.”

“What’s the point, Joel?” You protested for the second time. Desperate to go back to town and wallow. To not have to face that grimace. You felt like a child, waiting for that fateful ‘I’m not angry, just disappointed’ speech. “I’m not a violent person. I’m not like you. I’m not—“ the words faltered as you tried to find them. You stopped yourself before you could blurt the first that came to mind. But he knew. Joel always knew. He didn’t need to say anything for you to admit it. Merely raise a brow and dare you, urge you further.

“Y’should think before y’speak.” You nodded at his words, eyes trained on his boots. “Again.”

Too ashamed to fight any further, already treading on thin ice and skidding miserable on wobbly doe legs. Too soon would you thud to the floor and plunge into the icy waters below. You must find your footing again.

It was in this very shame you obeyed, picking up the weapon again with bated breath and aiming. But your mind was elsewhere. It scattered like the spray of a shotgun's fire. Your form was off. You’d lost that stance from before. And you were too busy in your own head to even think about paying attention to the tree trunk down the other end of the barrel. You fired without the inhale before as well as the beat of your exhale. The recoil was strong, the butt of the rifle ricocheting into your shoulder causing an ache to dissolve through flesh and sink to bone. The sound was jarring, it rang in your ears, rattled in your head. And you lost your footing, stumbling back with the force towards the snow.

Joel saw it coming. He expected you to right your footwork. To breathe in and fire on the exhale. But the sound of the bullet leaving the chamber came before any of the aforementioned. A simple stride in haste and he was behind you, stopping you before you fell to the floor.

“Jesus, Bambi!” Joel gritted through his teeth when you collided. The sound was becoming less jarring. But the name. The name was new. It was fresh. And ripe. A fruit that would never rot. Be eternally sweet. He had thought about it before; You had these wide eyes that looked up at him through thick lashes. You were tentative with your footing. And uneasy on your feet when it was cold. He remembered when he found you in the snow; Curled up on your side with the flesh wound under your trembling palm, bleeding through your shirt and gaps between frail fingers. He thought of a doe just born. Fresh and pure. So vulnerable it ached to not reach out and nurture it. When he looked into those eyes, the eyes of the woman in his arms, he saw it all again. A picture that was printed on the backs of his eyelids when he slept. Or where he blinked for that matter. In waking and in sleep, it haunted him. Whispered in his ear with a warm breath that paralleled the alive and beating. He felt a sharp sting in his heart. He didn't know it then, but it was Eros’ arrow. He would know soon enough.

You shared the time between the words and the writhing of your feet. Shared it with a stare in imperturbable silence. A simmering, deep stare. It wasn’t deep in the sense of a gaping void. More like a watering hole. Something that promised plentiful supply and the chance of survival. The satiation of the unquenchable.

You would learn one day that his love for you can quench any thirst, satiate any hunger and rest any fatigue. All this and he would still be left thirsty, starving and exhausted. Accept him for what he is. Heavy handed, colossal, brutal. Loving, nurturing, tender. Just a man. Give him on chance — one meagre, single moment in time — and he’d decay at the swipe of his tongue across the bottom of your lip alone; Finding a homage for him between them. A feeling he would wish to indulge in selfishly cradling his beating chest. And maybe, just this once, he will let himself be selfish with something that wasn't just for the purpose of survival.

So I beg of you, contemplate: if a man deemed a monster can still love, if a man named the devil can see innocence, grace, beauty, and nurture it— is the man still a monster? Something else entirely? Or is he just human?

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #joel miller imagine #the last of us #joel miller tlou #tlou joel #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #nephilim #pedro pascal #joel miller smut

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imagine-darksiders · 2 years

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Death is so worried about Strife stealing his human away when he introduces you to his siblings, but he never considered the threat of his sister moving in for the kill.

Anyway, I was listening to this song and got major Fury vibes

#darksiders #mmm lesbians #darksiders 3 #Fury x reader #afab reader #sketch #Nephilim #Horseman #Horselady?

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winchester-girl67 · 2 years

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My Father's Daughter

Summary: Y/N gets nervous when her anti-possession tattoo heals overnight. On her second attempt to make it stick she meets a boy that she might have more in common with then she thinks.

Requested by @rachelcarroll1819 : “Can you do ome where the readers is the daughter of luicfer that john and bobby found as a baby bobby ends up raising her as his owns then when angels show up her powers finally show up also and sje in a relationship with either dean or sam ( whichever works for me)”

Pairing: Dean x Nephilim!reader

Square: Tattoo @supernatural-jackles

Word Count: 5,805

Warnings: some SPN spoilers for season 12-15 (mainly surrounding Jack, and nephilim), not canon, language, adoption and related topics, implied relationship with Dean before the reader’s 18th birthday (reader and Dean are both 18), implied minor allergic reaction, injured!Dean, injuried!reader, blood, a little violence (involving guns/angel blades), angst, a little pining, kissing, fluff

A/N: This is before Castiel joins the Winchester’s side, I also took some liberties with the nephilim lore. Jack is such a fun character to write for, I had to include him in this request… Enjoy :) Also written for @supernatural-jackles’ Tell Me a Story bingo.

_____

“What the H-E-double-hockey-sticks?” You gasped at your reflection in the mirror. “Balls, that can’t be a good sign.”

You held open the collar of your flannel and traced your fingers over the unblemished flesh below your collarbone. It was easy to ignore when it happened the first time. A pencil standing on its point for three seconds longer than it should’ve was easy to play off as an illusion soaked in extreme boredom at the time. Strange occurrences were common especially around the Winchesters or anyone involved with the Winchesters, but this was- wasn’t possible. It was your eighteenth birthday yesterday and Dean brought you to get your first tattoo, an anti-possession symbol. You had it inked into the left side of your chest over your breast, just like him, but now it was gone as if it had... healed.

You decided not to tell anyone and buttoned your shirt a little higher than usual. You would just go back to the tattoo parlour today before you met up with Dean. You kept the little anomalies like this to yourself more often than not lately, after finding out you were adopted and who your biological father really was. Lucifer. Talk about daddy issues. You didn’t want anyone finding out that you had inherited anything from him. Eighteen years without a single sign of angelic anything and now you couldn’t deny there was something filtering through you, trying to get out. It felt like power.

“Meeting Dean this early, pumpkin?” Your father, Bobby, asked as you bounced down the stairs and into the kitchen. You nodded, not wanting to lie to him but it was for the best, “Do your old man a favour and grab something to eat before you head out.”

“Alright, dad.” You said, grabbing an apple from the fridge.

“You make sure that boy gets you home in time for dinner,” he cocked an eyebrow at you, “I mean it this time, Y/N. I will get my shotgun out if you’re a minute past six, got it?”

You were his little girl, but he wouldn’t actually shoot Dean, right?

You laughed and nodded, playing it off as a joke. He could only be about eighty-percent serious, at most. You didn’t have a curfew but tonight was an exception. There were family and friends and family-friends, coming over to celebrate your birthday, since yesterday was a weekday and Bobby had steaks marinating in the fridge.

“We’ll be home on time, promise. Bye, daddy.” You pecked him on the cheek and turned his cap around so the visor was in the back.

“Always with the damn hat,” he grumbled as he fixed it back to the front.

You giggled as you twirled out of the room and bit into your apple. You took a couple of bites before holding it between your lips as you laced up your boots and slipped on your jacket.

Outside, you chucked the core into the tall grass opposite the house and climbed onto your motorcycle. You started it up and pulled your hair into a quick braid for the wind, otherwise it would tangle to an extent that could never be brushed out, and took your helmet off the handlebars. You secured the strap under your chin and revved the engine as you kicked it into gear, fish-tailing around before speeding off down the laneway.

Leaves were changing colour and it was cooler outside now. For a moment you wished you had remembered your gloves but you would power through, the tattoo parlour wasn’t too far away anyway. You chose a different parlour across town than the one Dean had brought you to, just in case the artist that tattooed you the day before was on shift today too. Too many questions would be asked and you didn't have the answers.

It was easier this time around, since you knew what to expect and how much it would sting, but you hated that Dean wasn’t there to hold your hand. The woman wiped away the excess ink when she was done the final flame and held up a mirror for you to see. You grinned at the permanent ink, marring your flesh the same way it did Sam and Dean and Bobby and every other hunter you knew.

To anyone else, they’d probably think it was odd but to you it meant protection and family. It was pretty, even with the red raw edges that would eventually flatten out as your skin healed. You loved the way new tattoos raised the skin and appeared to jump out at you. You felt like a badass sporting your fresh ink and bit your lip at your excited smile.

The artist snapped a pic for her portfolio and the shop’s website and you noticed a boy about your age smiling at you from behind the gap in the privacy curtains. He was sitting in the waiting area with his hands on his knees and just staring. At. You.

“Hello.” He said when you passed him on your way out.

His blonde hair was combed to the side, unlike Dean’s whose was always spiked up like an angry hedgehog. You gave him a nod of your head and nothing more. Glancing back at the parlour as you climbed onto your motorcycle, partially just to make sure he didn’t follow you out. He didn’t give off any creeper vibes but he was… odd.

“Ow,” you hissed suddenly as your chest burned. You pulled aside your flannel to see the tattoo glowing white hot before it fizzled out. Your body healing itself again and your tattoo disappearing. You looked up at the tattoo parlour sullenly, there would be no point in trying again. “Shit-balls.”

Just when you thought puberty was over. What the hell was going on with your body now? All you could think was that your bio-dad’s genes were finally kicking in.

It would be easy enough to hide it from Bobby, not so much Dean. Things were getting heated between you two lately and it was inevitable that he’d see you in a bra again. The thing was, the only people who knew about your bio-dad were John, who had passed away a couple years ago and Bobby, who promised never to tell another living soul; especially the boys. Sam would probably understand but he was four years younger than you and he couldn’t keep a secret from his older brother. Dean on the other hand, thought of things in black and white and anything tainted with the blood of a monster must be a monster in and of itself. And Lucifer was a monster, you heard the stories.

You wanted to be like Bobby, not your bio-dad and you wanted Dean to keep loving you. Which you weren’t entirely sure was possible if you told him that you were a nephilim. Until recently you had been questioning it yourself but you couldn’t ignore the weirdness surrounding you anymore or the dreams you’d been having of a man with glowing red eyes, a raspy voice calling out to you. You always woke up in a cold sweat and now you were thinking they might be more than just dreams. Maybe if you’d said something Bobby could help you make them stop.

You started up your motorcycle and pulled on your helmet, glancing back at the parlour one last time and watching as the blonde boy walked down the steps. He still had a smile on his face when his blue eyes met yours and he raised his hand to wave. Then he started walking towards you and you didn’t stick around to find out what he wanted. You weren’t in the mood to be hit on, although you didn’t get that vibe from him. He had more of an innocence about him. You still weren't in the mood.

You must’ve drove past the laneway to your house six times before you decided you couldn’t face your father or everyone else who had congregated there for your birthday dinner. Bobby had bragged about you finally getting your anti-possession tattoo and becoming a real hunter and what if someone asked to see it? How could you explain that?

You went to the one quiet place where you could always think. The graveyard on the west side of town. You didn’t know anyone there but you felt it was nice if someone visited them from time to time. You were always respectful and you liked to sit on the bench at the back between the overgrown trees. The spot was hidden from the road and you could hear the resident owl from time to time.

It was late now and well past six, when dinner was supposed to be ready. Bobby would likely be fuming or worried as hell, probably both. On the brightside, Dean would be with him and everyone else so Bobby would have no reason to blame him or shoot him. Except it was possible he still might try.

You checked your phone to find too many messages from both Bobby and Dean, all asking where you were and when you were getting back. One more recent one asking if you were in trouble. You typed off an ‘I’m fine’ when you heard the leaves crunch under the weight of a sneaker.

You whipped your head around to find the blonde boy from the tattoo parlour peeking out from behind the trunk of a tree. He smiled brightly as he slowly approached you, waving again and if you were about to make a run for it, you no longer felt the need.

“Hello, I’m Jack. I’m sorry if I scared you earlier. This is my first time..." he paused, seemingly struggling to find the word, "-talking." He grinned again.

“O-okay.”

Did he just break some sort of oath-of-silence or something?

You were still skeptical even if you weren’t scared. He wasn’t all that big, kinda skinny, you could take him in a fight if you had to.

“Are you following me?” You asked, he smiled and nodded like he didn’t understand how creepy it was to admit to following someone. “Why, -the fuck?” You almost laughed, it was so awkward, but you settled for a single puff of air. “How’d you find me?”

"I've been looking for you, I’ve been wanting to meet you, you're not easy to find, I can only sense you some of the time -This place is nice." He glanced around, it was hardly the word you would use to describe a graveyard but what-the-hay there were stranger things at foot, “You seem troubled. Can I help?"

"Um, no? I'm just a bit confused. You ‘sensed’ me?" You asked, squinting your eyes up at him.

"You put off an energy when you're stressed and I could tell you needed me. It smells like... sour strawberries -Are strawberries good?" He asked and tilted his head. Dude was weird, but probably harmless.

“Um, yeah, when they have chocolate on them, otherwise they make my tongue feel funny.” You shrugged, Dean had bought you chocolate covered strawberries for Valentine’s day, almost made it worth the itchy throat. “Why do you think I need you? I don't need you, I don't even know you.”

“We have more in common than you think.” He alluded and you wanted to wipe that smirk off his face as he stood there.

“I’m getting impatient, Jack, and you won’t like me when I’m impatient.” You quipped and he tilted his head in confusion. Dean was rubbing off on you, after all those hours watching ‘classic’ movies with him. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why do you feel so familiar?” That was the feeling you were picking up from him, a closeness; you finally figured it out.

“I’m your brother.”

Your face blanched, “The only person I’d consider a brother is Sammy -even if it is a little awkward since I am dating his actual brother- but we’re not related, we just grew up together, sort of... our dad’s knew each other and we hung out… quite a bit actually but that’s not the point. I don’t have blood relatives, up here, anyway.”

“But we have one in common, down there." Jack pointed as he laughed and sat down beside you.

You scooched over to the end of the bench, "So... Your father...?"

"Is Lucifer, yes, and so is yours." He said.

Did he always smile? He seemed too cheery to be a descendant of the Devil himself. At least you had the decency to be unbearably irritable once a month.

"Prove it," you smirked back snidely. Yup, too much time around Dean.

"Okay," he pulled a long silver blade from his jacket, one you knew as an angel blade and levitated it in the air. He moved his fingers and the blade mimicked his motions. "Pretty cool, huh?"

You nodded and remembered the pencil; could you do something like that someday? Maybe you had to focus more or less, he didn't seem to put much effort into it.

"Do you want to try?" He asked, grabbing the blade from mid air and handing it over to you. "It's easy, just focus on what you want it to do and make it happen."

You focused on the blade in your hands and squinted your eyes, picturing it spinning in a circle like a top. You almost burst a blood vessel in your eye before you huffed and gave up, "It's no use! I can't do it."

"You're just trying too hard. We can work on it," he smiled again and you handed him back the blade.

Jack wasn't a threat, somehow you just knew, but how long was he planning on staying? And if he stayed you'd have to explain yourself and him to Bobby, that wasn't something you were looking forward to.

"Do you have any tattoos?" You asked.

"No, should I?" He asked, his smile fell and he looked worried for a moment as if you wouldn't like him if he didn't.

"I tried to get one, twice now, but it keeps healing." You pulled open your flannel a little to touch the skin where the tattoo should've been. "Kinda sucks, you know? I've been injured on hunts before and I have scars, so it doesn't make any sense to me. Why now?"

"Maybe..." he thought and tucked the blade back into his jacket, "Your powers are only developing now because you grew up slowly. You had a normal adolescence."

"I'd hardly call my childhood normal," you rolled your eyes. You were raised as a hunter and Bobby took you out for target practice every Sunday and when John and the boys were in town, you would have to participate in sparring and weapons training, all before you could read. And when you could read, lore was added to your studies along with your typical -normal school work. "How come you have your powers already then? You're about my age."

"I had to grow up faster than you, there are things -people here that want to hurt me and I needed them to protect myself." He explained, “That’s probably why yours are just showing up, your body feels it too.”

“Feels what?”

“Our father, his return.”

“Bio-dad, Lucifer?” You huffed, “Uh-yeah, I don’t think so. My surrogate dad sealed him in a cage eighteen years ago with the late-great John Winchester, you might’ve heard of him? Trust me, dude, we’re safe.”

“You can’t feel him? Maybe I can help you along,” Jack reached out to touch your forehead with two fingers and before you could push his hand away your body was flooded with images, feelings, light, dark, energy -it was too much and you pulled away, trying to catch your breath and blink away the numbing headache.

You gulped and met his blue eyes, “How are you only a day old?!”

Not only had he transferred everything he felt to you but also every memory he ever had, tracing back to even when they were just feelings in the womb of his mother. You didn’t remember any of the same stuff from your own life. How could you be the same but totally different? You were stressed beyond belief, your mind racing a mile a minute and that’s when you noticed the pulsing light coming from your palms.

“Um, Jack,” you said, inspecting your palms and turning them to face him as the light got brighter and pulsed more frequently with every heavy heartbeat. “What’s happening to me?”

“I helped you find your powers, they were -uh… hidden. I just pulled them to the surface so now you can access them.” He smiled and you gaped as a single pulse of light left your palms, hitting Jack like a force field and knocking him off the bench. He landed a good ten metres away but shook it off and stood back up, “-Ouch.”

Voices filled your mind as if multiple people were whispering in your ears all at once and they kept getting louder and louder until all you heard was a blaring hiss as if a radio was in the midst of tuning. You fell off the bench, clutching your ears with your hands, squeezing your eyes shut as if it would help.

You screamed over the noise though you couldn’t hear yourself, “Jack! Jack!”

You felt his hands rest over yours and a moment later the noise faded away. You sighed and blinked open your eyes. Your ears felt as if they were bleeding and you touched them to check.

“What the balls was that?” You asked, catching your breath.

“Angel radio, I forgot to warn you it can be overwhelming but you’ll get the hang of it. It gets easier to tune out with practice.” Jack said, helping you to your feet.

“I don’t like it.”

“Yeah, me either.”

“All I really heard was buzzing, will I be able to understand them? When I get the hang of it.” You could hardly believe this was your life now, hearing angelic voices in your head and pulsing shockwaves from your palms.

“Yes,” he nodded, “The pain will always be there though.”

“What were they saying?” You asked, noticing the dirt on your jeans and brushing off your knees.

“It was a distress signal about Lucifer.” Jack explained, brushing some crumpled bits of dried leaves from your shoulder.

You heard someone approach, heavy on their heels, “Get away from her!” Dean yelled with his gun drawn, eyeing Jack like he was ready to kill.

But you didn’t want him to hurt Jack, your little brother, “Dean, No!” You spun around and held up a hand. You didn’t mean to release another shockwave and it sent Dean flying into the tree behind him. He hit it back first and slumped to the ground, unconscious. “DEAN!”

You ran to him and cradled him in your arms, pulling his head to your chest. Tears welled in your eyes and dripped onto his cheeks as you curled over him and rocked back and forth. You didn’t know if it was your new powers but you could tell he wasn’t okay. He hit his head hard and you didn’t even know if he’d wake back up.

“Stay right there, boy.” You heard your father’s voice warn Jack as he approached you.

“Daddy?” You sobbed.

“It’s okay, pumpkin, he’s gonna be okay.” Bobby crouched next to you and inspected Dean’s head. His hand was covered in blood when he touched the back of it. He frowned and scrubbed the other palm over his scruff, “Oh, balls! Hang on, Dean.”

“Y/N,” Jack risked a step forward even with Bobby’s gun still trained on him. “I can help him. I’ve done it before.”

He had, hadn’t he? A single memory of Jack healing his birth mom while still in her womb came to mind. He wasn’t lying. You nodded and put your hand on Bobby’s gun to lower it. You weren’t even sure at this point if a bullet could even hurt him... or you anymore. Now that you feel more angelic than human.

Jack knelt next to Dean and laid a hand on his head. His fingers glowed a warm gold, the same colour as his irises and you felt Dean’s body react; his heart stabilizing with stronger beats and his breathing evening out until he began to stir. You watched intently as his green eyes fluttered open and you wiped away your tears, then dried his cheeks with your thumbs.

“Are you okay?” You whispered when he locked eyes with you.

He stared up at you, registering all that just happened and then a shot rang through your ears. Dean sat up and pushed away from you, his gun smoking in his hand and you looked down at your chest. Where he shot you.

“Idjit! What did you do?!” Bobby yelled at Dean and tried to inspect your wound. It actually didn’t hurt all that much and when you opened your shirt, the same golden glow you’d seen moments ago healed the wound until it was as if it was never there.

“That’s not Y/N! What are you, you bitch?! What did you do with her?!” Dean shouted, raising his gun again. "I swear if you hurt her-"

“Boy, you better put that gun down if you wanna see your next birthday.” Bobby warned and Dean glanced between you both, noting that he was the one out of the loop. He lowered the gun but kept it ready on his thigh and felt the back of his head curiously. “I was wonderin’ when those nephilim powers of yours would kick in, the only question I got is... Who in the holy balls is this guy?” Bobby asked, nudging his head towards Jack.

You always loved how he could incorporate balls into any sentence whether it fit or not and you guessed you did it too; you were your father’s daughter after all.

“He’s -um, my brother. Half-brother.” You said and glanced back at Jack who smiled and held a hand up as if to shake your father’s. Bobby didn’t reciprocate though and you added, “On my bio-dad’s side, obviously.”

It was well known that a human mother couldn't survive the birth of a nephilim child. Your note was more to tip off Bobby to shut up in front of Dean about it. Not that Bobby took the hint since he probably felt the cat was out of the bag anyways.

“So, good-old Lucy got sprung from the cage, eh? I figured that would happen eventually -was hoping for more time though.” Bobby grunted and fixed his cap like he did when he was unnerved and not wanting to show it.

“Am I the only one who doesn’t have a fucking clue what in the hell is going on? Y/N?!” Dean huffed and furrowed his brow.

“I -um,” you didn’t know how to explain. “I -um, I’m adopted. Surprise.”

“You’re Lucifer’s daughter?” Dean asked, catching on quickly.

The light in his eyes dimmed at the idea and you knew you needed to correct him and fast.

"No! No, I am Bobby’s daughter and I suppose... a by-product of Lucifer’s sperm donation.”

Dean nodded, then cringed. "That’s kind of gross.”

“I’m still me, Dean, the girl you’re in love with but won’t ever admit it to.” You said, hoping for him to see you the same way he did before. “I’m the same girl.”

“No, you’re not. Your eyes are different.�� He stared hard like he was trying to see past something.

You looked to Bobby as if he had the answers, “Your eyes are glowing, pumpkin.”

You imagined your reflection with the eyes you’d seen Jack wear when his powers filtered through him. Then you felt it, the difference, you weren’t in control of them yet, they manifested with the waves in your emotions. It was extremely hard to control.

“Jack, how do I make it stop?” You asked and squeezed your eyes shut.

“Take a deep breath and let it go.” Jack said.

You didn’t think it could really be that fucking easy, but gave it a try. When you opened your eyes again you could feel the light dimming and then extinguish. You were exhausted.

“I wanna go home.” You looked to your father and he nodded. Jack’s smile seemed to turn upside down and you added, “Can Jack come too?”

“Might as well, party’s cleared out anyhow.” Bobby stood up and eyed Jack, sizing him up. You could tell your father didn’t trust him yet, but you knew Jack was good, you could feel it.

“Sorry I missed the party.” You stood up and hugged Bobby.

“Don’t worry about it, pumpkin.” He patted your back and ruffled up your hair when you broke the hug. You frowned and tried to tuck the loose strands of hair back into your braid. “We should get outta here before-”

You heard what could only be described as a rush of feathers before a bald man in a suit appeared before you, "Hello, Robert.”

“It’s Bobby, jackass.”

There was another louder rush and two others appeared next to him. One of them oddly wore a trench-coat over his suit. You knew instantly that these men were angels. You could see their halos shine brightly above their heads. A side effect of finally getting your nephilim powers you assumed. In all your time hunting you hadn't come across any angels, you never wanted to either based off of the stories Bobby and other hunters told you.

"Zachariah," Bobby said, nodding at the bald angel before him, then the other in the tight suit, "Uriel... long time, no see."

You knew from your studies that Uriel was an archangel, by far more powerful than the others, even if he seemed to let Zachariah take charge at the moment.

“I thought we had an understanding." Zachariah continued, "If the nephilim child showed any signs of getting her powers you were supposed to contact me, right away."

“Like you wouldn’t have known, don’t you have some sort of angelic radar? As soon as the kid showed any signs of grace you'd feel it. That’s why you’re here isn’t it.” Bobby snapped back at the man, or angel wearing some poor sap as a meat-suit like a demon would.

“Precisely, which is why we wanted to avoid an event large enough to attract our attention. She hurt the boy, didn't she? That could've been avoided. She is an abomination and she will offset the order of the universe, given the time; there’s only one way to deal with this sort of thing... Castiel.”

The angel wearing the trench-coat stepped forward with a stoic face as if he was about to carry out some unspoken order. Like a good little soldier of heaven. An angel blade dropped into his hand from his shirtsleeve and he advanced towards you. You stumbled back and Jack grabbed your hand and puffed out his chest. Castiel stopped in his tracks just as both your eyes began to glow.

“That can’t be.” Castiel said as he backed off. He glanced back at Zachariah and then disappeared with a flutter of his wings. At least he knew when he was outranked.

The others however, Zachariah and Uriel, did not retreat and advanced upon you. Each with their own angel blade in hand. You and Jack channeled your powers together and raised your hands. You released a joint shockwave that blew them apart to mere atoms which floated away in the wind like snowflakes on a cold winter day. Your power alone was great, but together it was unmatched.

There would be no issues destroying or caging Lucifer when the time came for it. But you would have to find him first. Or maybe he would find you now that your powers had emerged. Apparently it sent up a pretty big blip on the angelic radar or whatever Bobby called it and Lucifer was probably still connected to that, right? Or at least had some sort of version of it.

"Holy hell,” Bobby cursed, “Come on, Y/N, we best be getting home before someone or something else comes looking for them or who did that to 'em."

You let your father lead the way to his truck and towed Jack along with you. Meanwhile Dean trailed behind keeping a watchful eye on your new found brother. All the while not saying much.

He didn't say anything actually, not even when you remembered your motorcycle. He just took the keys from you so you could drive back with your family. Or maybe he just didn't want to be squished into the cab of that old Ford with a being more powerful than an archangel -that was born yesterday- and your father. Bobby was super protective of you, and Dean and his relationship was strained because of that. It was a miracle they drove here together without someone getting shot now that you thought of it.

And Dean's silent treatment continued for days longer than any fight you'd had with him since you had gotten together. You didn't even know if you were still together anymore. So to say you were surprised to see him show up when Bobby and Jack went out on a day trip for some bonding, was an understatement.

"Hiya, sweetheart." Dean said, standing in the front doorway and glancing behind you, his eyes searching the space. "Bobby out?" He asked, you nodded, "How 'bout your -uh... b-brother?"

"You mean Jack?" You asked, he'd probably just forgotten his name. Dean gave you a soft smile and nodded twice, "Yeah, s'just me home. Why, you come to snuff out the monsters? One abomination at a time?"

Dean pushed his brows together and frowned down at you. "Listen, girly-"

"Girly?!-"

"Y/N," Dean pleaded, slipping your name off his tongue with his hands held up as if to pose no threat. "I know Bobby said you needed time and you didn't wanna talk to me, but I just gotta get this off my chest and then I'm gone, okay? Can you just listen? Please."

That wasn't true. Bobby lied. But you motioned for him to continue anyways.

"I was pissed at you. For not telling me, not trusting me. You were there for me when my father-" Dean choked up and cleared his throat. His eyes watered as he searched for the right words to say, "I just -I didn't understand why you didn't want me there for you, so I blamed you. But then I thought about it, really thought about it and it's no wonder you couldn't trust me, hell, why would you? All I've ever done is maim and kill-"

You'd heard enough, "Dean, I trust you! Nothing's ever going to change that and I didn't tell my dad to tell you shit. You just looked so hurt, I didn't know how to reach out and thought maybe you didn't want me to." You chewed on your lip before you decided to swallow your embarrassment and rolled your eyes at yourself, "Fuck it, I love you." It was the first time either of you said that out loud, "And I know at one point you felt the same about me and I guess, I'm just hoping that's still the case?"

Dean gave a delicate nod and shrug of his shoulders, "You'll always belong with me, Y/N." He confessed and stepped forward to wrap his arms around you. You let him and he pressed his forehead to yours. "And I care about you, too."

It hurt a little that he didn't say it back, but that was close enough for you. Dean wasn't touchy-feely in the case of emotions and you didn't need to make him say it. You felt it in the way he clutched you to him and you sunk into his embrace.

Dean pressed a hard kiss to your temple and another open lipped kiss to your cheek. You felt the heat of his breath on your lips before his mouth molded to yours and your tongues touched. His movements were slow and passionate and when his fingertips touched that ticklish spot on your neck you giggled into the kiss.

He felt like coming home; safety and warmth in his arms. Even if you didn't need protecting anymore, it was nice. It was the first time in days you let yourself relax and it seemed like you weren't the only one.

Dean pulled away to let you catch your breath and you slowly blinked open your eyes to meet his. He let out a breathy chuckle and his forehead fell to yours again, his eyes admiring yours with an amused grin on his face.

"Your eyes are glowing," he breathed and sucked on his bottom lip. "You are so damn beautiful.” And he brushed the hair from your face. “You’re everything to me.” You felt his eyelashes brush your cheek and his hand sink from your lower back to grip your butt cheek. "You’re my everything.”

Your cheeks instantly hurt from smiling so bright at his words.

His other hand met on your backside and you squealed when he squeezed hard enough to bruise, but only for a second. Dean chuckled, slapped your butt and kissed you again. And you got lost in it.

Until the backdoor slammed shut, “Boy, get your damn hands off my daughter!" Bobby commanded as he set the cooler he was carrying on top of the counter.

Jack followed in behind him and smiled at Dean with a small wave.

Dean stopped kissing you and raised his hands as he stepped away from you. He was grinning wildly and biting his lip, his eyes roaming your body like they always did before they held your gaze.

You so easily fell back into the way things were before with him and this was the good part. The part where you could speak novels with a wink of an eye. It was like a language only the two of you could speak and he was saying 'I still love you, so damn much'.

Your father cleared his throat and you rolled your eyes, "Dad, I thought you said you were taking Jack fishing? Shouldn't that take a couple more hours?"

"Not a chance, pumpkin." Bobby side-eyed Dean, "Besides, kid, already caught a week's worth. He's a natural." He boasted, coming around to Jack much faster than you expected him to.

"I'm a natural," Jack repeated and beamed with a little tilt of his head. He bounced on his heels, twice, he was so excited.

You groaned and shook your head, "I'm surrounded by dorks."

"What's a dork?" Jack asked and furrowed his brow.

Dean answered, "A little brother."

Forever SPN: @hobby27

Tell Me a Story Bingo: @princessvader15

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