SPN One Shots... (Dean Winchester x Reader)

Raven Eyes (Dean x Nephalem!reader)

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

_____

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.