For the Greater Good

Fandom: Supernatural

Character Ship: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1649

Summary: A town is slowly dying off and the only way to save it would be for an innocent to take their life. After finding out that you fit the criteria you go behind the Winchester boys’ back and decide to end the curse.

Warnings: Graphic Self Harm (not due to mental health), angst galore.

Author’s note: Mama(me) got all emotional while writing this so.. get tissues and stuff…

Originally posted by jared-jensen-misha-mark67

Keep reading

“This is not a good time to test me,” Captain Isabela said, tugging on a fistful of fine white hair below her. “Hold still.”

Fenris grimaced but complied, settling back between the Captain’s legs. He was seated on the floor, with Isabela on the mattress above him, preparing to braid his hair. She held a stoppered bottle of finely scented oil in her hand, which she insisted on applying to his scalp. The Captain’s Quarters flickered pleasantly in the low candlelight around him. 

“In Rivaini,” he reminded her, scowling only a little. “That was the deal.”

She snorted, winding his long hair around her fingers as she separated it into sections, following a long-ago ritual. “Ou aktyèlman konprann sa m ap di?”

“More or less,” he answered. His eyes half-closed against the sensation of her fingertips in his hair. The scented oil he could do without, but her confident hands against his head, even with the accompanying pulling and tugging, were surprisingly pleasant. Relaxing, even.

He spoke up again, a little drowsily. “I get a word here and there, enough to follow. With practice I will learn the rhythms of the language, the structure. Apre sa, mwen renmen tande ou pale lang nesans ou.”  

Isabela smiled. Clumsy, that last bit, but he was learning. Her eyes narrowed in concentration as she began to wind the channels of soft hair around her nimble fingers. “Sa ki te yon tan trè lontan de sa. I speak Rivaini so rarely anymore. You’d be better off practicing with the crew.”

“They are not as good at plaiting my hair,” he said, straight-faced, and Isabela laughed. Her fingers brushed against his ears when she did that, sending sparks of pleasure down his body, and he flushed invisibly in the candlelight.

“You can really learn a whole language just by listening to it? Gods, if I had that skill…” Isabela tugged his head closer, frowning suddenly at a difficult maneuver. Speaking of things she hadn’t done in awhile, it had been ages since she had anyone let her do this. It took some persistent convincing to get Fenris to allow it - only when the unruliness of his newly-grown long hair became undeniable would he consider such a thing, not without its conditions. 

Thoughtfully, she murmured in a lower voice, not expecting him to grasp most of it. “Petèt ou te kapab fè yon tradiktè pou mwen? Mwen te kapab itilize yon moun tankou sa.

“A translator, did you say?” Fenris’s voice sounded strange, bent down into the floor like that. Or was it strange for another reason? 

He was quiet a little longer, and she made real progress on the braid, down to the nape of his neck. Then he spoke again.

“I have been a translator, you know. It was one of my duties.”

Ah. That would be why he sounded strange. “The qunari, right?” She kept her tone light, and kept working down his back. “So how did you get that lot to converse with you? Did you braid their hair?”

His shoulders shook as he chuckled, low and deep. “Not exactly.”

Farfade bèl mwen. I’m almost done. Then we can do a little vocabulary lesson.”

She thought him entirely too quiet, as she finished the braid and tied it off with a bit of string. But when he turned back to her and looked up, he was smiling. “Will it be an anatomy lesson, by any chance?” 

“Cheeky,” she chided him, and giggled as he climbed atop her, eager to learn.