When she says his name, he’d be lying if he didn’t admit to himself that it caused a small shiver to run up from the base of his spine all the way to the little hairs at the nape of his neck. At first he doesn’t recognize her, but his list of demons who she might be has severely dwindled down the past few days. Not a mewl from his lips is to be heard when he finds himself trapped against the wall, green eyes sweeping across the interior of the room. Boyish lips crack into a particularly playful smile that seem out of place with the situation. The only thing that Dean Winchester seems capable of saying at this moment in time; ❝Kinky.❞
Hums eliciting, the stature slithers to its target like a mountain lion stalking its prey, dangled so precisely upon the obstruction that quicksilver burns throughout her optics, flickering to mingle with the spark of a grin lighting her countenance. It’s almost poetic, how pathetically effortless it is to captivate another victim, his valour an additional indifference stimulating scarlet veins to course with such fire akin to candlelight illuminating a cathedral with ethereal incandescent.
"You know, when your dear brother combusted my damn meat suite I pondered over various ways that I could get pay back." Slender fingertips coiled around neck, knuckles transitioning to a foreboding shade of pallid, as exhales became slow, and still to brush across his visage. "See, I could always kill him. Short, painless." Amusement twisted off her raspberry tongue, the ember igniting the shrill reminiscence to cast through the vices mounting her membrane, enveloping chills to sprout upon spine.
"But, then there's you — Dean. I can't wait to tear out those oh so pretty, green eyes."













