Supernatural Preferences and Imagines

31 | Dean Winchester x Angel!Reader

His Angel, Her Human

Beneath the glistening crescent moon, Y/N felt an overwhelming sense of vulnerability, as if at any moment the starry night would take her away into the cold emptiness of space. Still, her elliptical orbs continued to peer upward towards the milky-way sky, brimful with subdued admiration. Past the thin blanket of feathery clouds and diamond stars, lied her childhood home, a place she missed dearly ever since she had been casted out just six short months ago.

Home. She remembered it fondly; every solicitous memory parading behind the security of her eyelids, like a permanent dream that didn't require the act of sleep. All she had to do was flutter her eyelashes together or simply gaze up at the sky to be surrounded by the small enjoyments of heaven, her haven that she longed to see again one day.

She laid her head comfortably against the motel window, each soft breath that released from her lips causing a wispy fog to appear against the glass. Her body performed a steady balancing act on the ledge of the windowsill, her legs stretched out as much as possible, demanding that her knees be tucked in slightly to fit the small space evenly. Dressed in jeans, a white cotton tank-top, and a blue-plaid flannel coverup, Y/N should have been warm—if not sweltering—under the layers of thick fabric. Yet, her skin pricked with painful goosebumps and the hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. Inhabiting a new vessel did not come without its kinks, and apparently the one she was wearing now was naturally cold, even if the temperature of the room was set at a toasty eighty-five degrees.

Shifting her gentle gaze downward, she refocused her curiosity towards the notebook she had laying in her lap. Before coming to Earth, she never once held any artistic talent nor did she have the desire to learn, but now with the endless amounts of time on her hands she became rather devoted to her new hobby. Her drawings merely consisted of rough pencil sketches of her former dwelling, ones that would bring a sweet smile upon the face of her brother Castiel or provide visual aids for the Winchester boys whenever she retold them about her adventures in heaven.

Her latest muse, however, lied just a few feet away in the daybed, ensnared by the delicate mistress of sleep. Label it boredom or secret attraction, the charmingly handsome hunter definitely captured her creative eye.

The thought of him made her heart murmur abnormally against her ribcage, a feeling she never experienced before within this sort of context. As an angel, humanistic emotions such as joy, sadness, and love existed in even levels and were programed to be submissive towards God. She wasn't born with the luxurious freedom that humans always seemed to take for granted; she couldn't explore her feelings independently nor could she express them without corruption. In heaven, order was solidified that way, unified with an obedient army that fatefully worshiped their leader.

However, now that she had cut the ignorant binds the tied her to her former life, it was not unknown that her faith—something she once followed deeply—had been tested in recent months. She spoke when she wanted to speak, she cried when she felt like crying, she learned how to draw because she desired the need to feel special, but most importantly she began to fall for a man that willfully showed her the unbreakable power of human love.

Heaven's abomination, earth's legendary hunter, and hell's ultimate enemy—Dean Winchester—was not who she had expected. From all the rumors bouncing between heaven and hell, descriptions and personas got lost in translation—some good, but almost everyone had something negative to say about him. Y/N, of course, was never one to judge a book by it's cover, yet the moment she met him that practice was greatly challenged.

He tended to carry himself protectively, relying on his snappy wit and careless flirtation when introduced to new company, and Y/N was no different. But as time went on—their mature persons getting to know each other slowly and carefully—they built a bond that not even God himself could ever conjure.