Supernatural Preferences and Imagines

29 | Established!Destiel x AdoptedDaughter!Reader

Warning: This imagine contains adult themes. Includes alcohol use and language. Also, it's very long.

NOTE: You are 16 years old in this imagine and also unaware that the supernatural exists.

Please, enjoy! 😊

*-*

Revenge Is Sweet Like A Birthday Cake

The warm air invaded your skin as you shed your first layer of heavy clothing, allowing your body to regulate to a cool temperature against the intensity of the evening sun. In front of you laid a large forest lake, it's waters murky and brown in color. In the midst of late summer, the lake was as flat as a mirror, only the reflection that it regularly held was smudged with dirt and algae. From the tall pines around the edges of the shoreline came not a sound; no movement of branches swaying in the breeze, no birds singing, and no fish bobbing in the water. The area, however, was pungent with the sweet fragrance of lilac and jasmine, an aroma so strong that you couldn't believe it was almost September.

Feeling the sweat beam down your temple, you silently craved for the subtle chill of the fall season. You hated the summer months, it's brutal heat and humidity partially ruining all of your outdoor plans, including the stroll you had decided to take in order to escape the stuffiness that infiltrated your motel room. It had been about a hour since your fathers and your uncle had left for "work," leaving you to entertain yourself, as per usual. This type of typical behavior regularly didn't bother you, but today was your sixteenth birthday and you  couldn't help but feel a little lonely with their absence. Usually, when you felt this way, you'd find something to occupy the time, whether it be a book or TV. Only you couldn't find anything in the motel room that seemed to hold your interest longer than five minutes, so you threw all of your cautionary thoughts out the window, and preceded outside to enjoy your last bit of freedom before your family returned.

You wondered around the hotel for a bit, observing the small flow of people that checked in. You laughed, watching one couple bicker back and forth as they entered the lobby. The women, about forty, complained to the motel clerk about her husband's lack of common sense to ask for directions about fifty miles back after they mistakenly took a wrong turn on the interstate. Her husband had already fled the scene by this point. He stormed off down the winding road, feeling the need to walk away before things turned ugly; little did he know that choice wasn't the smartest.

The clerk, whom looked to be about twenty years younger, listened intently to the women's rant, acting as if she was the only things that mattered to him. Even a blind person could tell that he only cared about one thing, and that one thing was getting into her pants.

About ten minutes had passed and the women was still chatting the employees ear off, while downing the margarita she had ordered from the hotel bar. Though the conversation was lengthy, the women had a pretty wild imagination when it came to retelling stories of her so called "glory days," especially since the alcohol had began to take its affect on her thought process. Soon, she could barely stand or talk straight, her posture hunched forward in a drunken stands that you had seen your dad, Dean, sport a few hundred times before. Finally, the clerk escorted the women back to her room, where they wouldn't emerge for another hour or so.

Once the husband came back from his walk and had realize what his wife had been doing, he had a few choice words for the clerk that weren't so apologetic and friendly as before. By that time, you had took your leave, quickly becoming bored with the small-town drama.