supernatural one-shots [requests closed] UNDER EDITING

lucifer || i love luci

|| not edited

"Hey! You take that back!"

You were eight years old, and you already had a tongue on you. It had always been a problem, now more than ever. 

You wagged your finger in a scolding manner at the woman who'd cast a scornful look upon you and your father before pursing her lips and announcing snarkily, "Oh, look, the drunk and his child. Trying to pretend to be a good father by taking your daughter to the playground, are you Frank? That's a fine idea, but try not to corrupt your daughter in the process."

Your father hushed you sharply as the woman's eyes widened in shock and she pulled her son protectively towards her. "Frank! Control your daughter!" Then she ushered her son away from you, as if the drunkenness and the rudeness were an infection.

Your father tightened his grip on your shoulder and twirled you around to face him, kneeling so that he was at your level. "(Y/N)," he told you in his mellow voice. You were immediately washed with guilt. Your father had that effect on you. "What have I told you a thousand times?"

"But she was being horrible!" you protested, tears begin to well up in your eyes. You weren't sure why, but everyone in town seemed to hate your father. They would taunt him and whisper about him and he would do nothing. You just couldn't understand it.

"What have I told you a thousand times?" your father repeated sternly.

You sighed, knowing you wouldn't win this fight. "If you have nothing nice to say, don't say anything at all."

"Good," said your father, rising to his feet. You couldn't help but notice the emptiness in the air, the chill. He didn't ruffle your hair. He didn't call you his sweet baby girl. All he could think about you was that he was mad at you, and that was clear. He turned around and began to walk away. "Come on, (Y/N)," he told you. "It's time to go home." 

You had only arrived at the park minutes before, but you didn't want to protest in fears that you'd only make your father hate you more.

You began to trudge somberly to the car, your head ducked down, but something made you look up. And when you did, you met the piercing blue eyes of a man sitting alone on a park bench. A brooding look seemed to be permanently etched in the lines of his face and you knew that something was wrong. He seemed like one of those men that parents always guided their children away from in fears of what he might do in the dark. 

You knew that something was wrong, but you felt no fear. If anything, you were fascinated by the dark cloud that seemed to surround the man.

You felt his eyes on you as you walked to the car, and even still as your father drove away. But you didn't mind, not one bit.

-|-
ten years later
-|-

"I don't understand why you put up with this bullshit!" you shout frustratedly, slamming your fist on the dining table. The silverware quakes at your touch against the wood and you can't help but shrink back a little at your sudden fit of rage. Your anger has only developed over the years, and sometimes, it's terrifying.

Your father, however, doesn't even flinch. "(Y/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N)," he warns, his eyes beginning to flash caution behind their alcohol glaze.

"No!" you yell, standing your ground. "This is it! I'm done! You've put up with everyone else's shit for too long. They called you names, they gossiped about you, hell, they even hurt you! And you did nothing to stop them! You didn't stand up for yourself. You didn't sober up. You did nothing. You just tried to drink your problems away and pretend like they didn't matter." Your voice falters and you take a step back, running a shaky hand through your hair. "You know, I thought..."