[supernatural imagines & short series']
disclaimer: i do not own supernatural, it's characters or it's plot. the imagines, fics & head canons are mine, however, so please do not steal them. they're mine; i wrote them. thanks :')
if you do repost any...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
YOUR NORMAL, CONSECUTIVE morning routine never changed. Your annoying alarm tone screeching in your ears and provoking an over-dramatic groan to tumble from your lips as you considered staying in bed all day and not going to class. Today, that routine had been broken. There was an eerie absence of an alarm, not that you (piled under your blankets and snoring ever so softly) noticed.
You had woken up naturally, your eyes fluttering open and an inevitable yawn escaping. You found yourself burying your head further into the solace of your soft, feathery pillow to shade your irises from the sun's warm rays that seeped in through the window. You had almost fell back asleep, feeling so warm and comfortable, until a thought striked.
It was incredibly sunny for eight o'clock in the morning. In the middle of November.
The sudden realisation made your heart jump and spelled any sleep from your body. Your eyes snapped open and you shot up, flailing slightly as you shoved the blankets from you.
Your hands snatched up your phone from its place on your bedside table and roughly pressed the power button; the screen lit up and you eyed the illuminated numbers. 9:56 am. You had exactly four minutes to make it your psychology class. Your professor already thought bad of you for forgetting to hand in one essay a few weeks ago and being late, again, would just pile onto his list of reasons why he couldn't tolerate you. Plus, there was no way that anyone could do anything in under four minutes.
"Fuck," The curse fell from your lips in mumbles and then, the late morning rush began.
Haphazardly brushing the knots out of your hair, another inevitable string of curse words followed but eventually, you managed to throw your silky hair up into a ponytail. You shoved your glasses onto your face, knowing that you wouldn't have time to sit and poke at your eyes with your contacts before trying your best to brush your teeth and rummage through your closet for something to wear coherently, but simultaneously.
Four minutes had come and gone and it was already 9:20 am by the time you had successfully chapped your lips with your peach flavoured chapstick, grabbed all your books and slammed your door closed with a shallow huff, the puff of air whisking the loose, unkempt strands of hair that delicately framed your features around.
Your jean clad legs carried you rapidly down the corridors full of fatigued and enervated students, taking their time and trudging down the halls exasperatingly slow. Taking a quick break from dodging all the sluggish bodies, you eyed the busy stairway with narrowed orbs, mapping the grounds of the vast complex out in your mind - highlighting the quickest route to your class, instead.
When you were struck with the idea, you almost cursed at yourself again for not thinking of it sooner before taking off into a jog to the doors of the ample library that sat in the heart of Stanford's grounds. You flung the heavy, glass doors open and winced when your librarian shot you an irritated glare and grumbled under her breath at the sudden noise breaking through the comfortable quietness.
