Dean lays you down gently on a bed. The room is spartan in its furnishing, there are no windows, but it feels secure. A man trails him into the room, wearing a trench coat and tie.
Dean sits on the edge of the bed. “(Y/N), this is my friend, Castiel. He can heal you, he’s an angel.”
Your eyes widen in surprise. You’d heard the stories of course, but you’d never met an actual angel. “You’re real?” you blurt out.
Dean chuckles and Castiel looks puzzled. He looks down and pats himself, as if to reassure himself that he is, indeed, real. “Of course I’m real. Do I look strange?”
Your cheeks redden, embarrassed. You have no idea how to address an angel. Probably formally. You’d heard from another hunter that angels are egotistical pricks.
“Cas,” Dean says, “can you just get with the healing? She needs to rest.”
“Oh, yes, of course, Dean.” The angel crosses the room and reaches out a hand to your forehead. You cringe, not knowing what is about to happen. He touches you briefly, light seemingly emanating from his palm. It’s as if you can actually feel your body healing itself - bones knitting together, skin growing back into place. A sense of peace washes over you while he touches your skin. When he removes his hand, you feel whole once again.
“Thank you,” you whisper.
“You’re welcome,” he says simply before slipping out of the room.
Dean stands too, the mattress springing upward, free of his weight. “Get some rest, (Y/N). We’ll talk more in the morning.”
There is a slight moment of panic when you wake in the morning, the room unfamiliar. Your heart pounds against your ribcage. It takes a moment to focus and remember that you are safe. Safe. Is there really such a thing? Yes, you decide. You’ve felt it in the last twenty-four hours. Every time you are near Dean Winchester.
You realize that you’re still wearing his flannel. You wrap it tightly around yourself, as if it’s some kind of magical armor, and step out into the hallway. It doesn’t take long to figure out which way to go - you follow the tantalizing aroma of bacon wafting down the hall.
“Mornin’, sunshine,” Dean says when you step into the kitchen. The smile on his lips reaches his eyes when he sees you’re still wearing his shirt. “Have a seat, I’ll grab you a plate.” He jerks his head to indicate the blonde woman standing in the kitchen. “(Y/N), this is my mom, Mary. Mom, this is (Y/N).”
Mary crosses the room to you. She extends her hand and you shake it. Her grip is firm, her face is a mask. You can’t quite get a read on her. “It’s nice to meet you. My boys told me what happened. How are you doing?”
“Much better, thank you.” Dean slips a plate in front of you and you tuck in, still feeling the effects of starvation. “Do you know who it was that tortured me?”
Mary and Dean exchange a look as if they are deciding what to share with them. Smart move, considering they don’t know you from Adam. Mary shakes her head, almost so slightly that you barely miss it. Dean tilts his head as if silently arguing with her.
Apparently, Dean wins, because he answers you. “I don’t know if you remember much from last night, but this is the Men of Letters bunker,” he says, waving his hand around.
“Wait - the Men of Letters were real?” you ask, snatching another piece of bacon from the tray. Mary’s lips quirk up in an approving smile.
“Yep, Sam and are I legacies,” Dean responds with a twinge of pride.
“Oh, congrats…I guess?” you ask.
Dean deflates a little and Mary stifles a giggle. Did you hurt his feelings? God, you feel like a moron.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, but he doesn’t seem mad. “Our grandfather was a member. It’s a long story, but he traveled through time and told us about the Men of Letters. We moved in here shortly after. We figured the Men of Letters was essentially defunct after all these years.”
“I’m sensing a plot twist,” you comment and that earns you a dazzling smile from Dean. It makes you feel warm and tingly all over.
“Turns out the British Men of Letters were still operational all these years. And they’ve decided that they need a foothold here in America too,” Dean explains.
“Yeah, and they are total assholes,” Sam’s voice booms out behind you as he enters the kitchen. He reaches out and squeezes your shoulder. That small kindness is worth more than a thousand words. “We’re pretty certain they were the people who tortured you.”
Your fists curl into tight balls, anger flooding through you. Though your body may be healed, the rage you carry at being tortured can’t be healed as easily as your body. You were going to kill every one of those bastards. “Where are they?”
“We’re trying to track them down, but we don’t have much to go on. We’ll let you know as soon as we know anything,” Dean assures you. “Don’t worry, we’ll find ‘em. I got you.”
The bunker is comforting, a refuge, you feel safe within its walls, but you are a woman of action. Sitting around doing research is nothing short of maddening. When Dean stands and says he’s running into town for a supply run, you jump at the chance to go with him.
The ride into town is pleasant, it’s a mild day and the windows are down. You ask Dean about his car and listen while he describes it. It’s clearly the love of his life. It’s almost sexual the way he describes the sleek lines and the purring engine. Most of the technical detail is beyond you, but you are happy to listen, to see the way he lights up talking about something he’s passionate about.
You are acutely aware of the way his hand rests on the back of the bench seat, close to your shoulder. How would it feel for him to reach out and touch you? What is it about him that draws you to him so strongly? He’s certainly easy on the eyes, but it’s more than that. He turns to you and smiles, the sun glinting off his face. His fingertips barely graze the bare skin on your shoulder. Your stomach fills with butterflies.
God, you are so done for.
At the market, you place your items on the counter. “Dean,” you say quietly. “Don’t look, but we’re being followed.”
Dean pitches his voice so only you can hear, leaning his head down close to yours, your foreheads almost touching. You imagine how it looks to anyone around you, the two of you inclined toward one another, whispering like a couple sharing secrets. “Where?”
“Standing by the magazine rack, blue shirt. He’s been watching us since we came here,” you respond. Dean lifts his shirt and slips a blade out his waistband and pushes it into your hand. You haven’t handled a weapon quite like it but you know how to use it.
“K, when we leave, turn down the alley to the right. I’m going to come around the other side, we’ll surround him.”
“Got it,” you reply. Dean hefts the grocery bag in one hand and the two of you exit the store, splitting up.
The guy exits shortly after and turns to follow after you. So that answers who he’s looking for - he’s after you. Hiding flat against the wall, you listen to his footsteps approaching. Taking a deep breath, you ready the blade. As he makes the turn, you use the element of surprise to you grip him by the shoulder and whirl him around. You slam him to the wall, the blade glinting in the sunlight as you press it to his throat.
“Who are you?” you demand.
“I’m nobody,” he says.
“Fucking hell, you’re nobody. Why are you following me?” You press the blade a little further into his flesh, blood dotting the shiny metal.
“There’s a price on your head, girl,” he says smugly.
“Who is looking for me?” you question, increasing the pressure on his throat.
He shrugs in your grip. “Don’t know, don’t care. I’m just in it for the prize.”
Boot treads indicated Dean’s presence in the alley. “What prize, you fucking prick?” you question.
“Freedom,” he says.
“(Y/N), watch out!” Dean shouts. You realize your mistake - so caught up in questions that you didn’t see the weapon your stalker pulled from his pocket.
You spring back, the knife slicing through your shirt. He charges at you, knife raised high. You duck and twist to the side as he runs at you. Sweeping out your leg, you knock him to the ground. He keeps his grip on the knife, but he’s had the wind knocked out of him. Quickly you grip the blade in your hands and slam down with as much force as you can, breaking through his rib cage and stabbing him in the heart.
By the time Dean reaches you, the body below you is sparking, orange light emanating from the body. Dean kneels down and grabs you by the shoulder, “You okay?”
You’re breathing rapidly, the adrenaline coursing through you. There’s a thin line of blood streaking your shirt, but it’s a shallow wound. Yes, you are okay. You are more than okay. It felt really fucking good to kill something, to let that anger out that you’ve been holding at bay since your capture.
“Good, yeah, I’m good.” Dean stands and reaches out a hand to pull you to your feet.
“Why is a fucking demon following you?” he asks, staring down at the body.
“I don’t know, but he says there’s a bounty on my head.”
Dean snaps his head up, eyes clouded with concern. “Let’s get back to the bunker.”
Back at the bunker, Dean explains to Sam and Mary what happened in town. You’re glowing with pride at the way Dean describes you taking down that demon like you’re some kind of goddamn superhero.
“So now is every demon after (Y/N)?” Mary asks.
“I don’t know, I tried calling Crowley but he’s not answering,” Dean responds.
Sam’s phone beeps and he holds up a finger and steps out of the room. “What do we do know?” you ask.
“We’ll figure it out. In the meantime, keeping you safe is my number one priority, don’t you worry,” Dean assures you. Your heart skips a beat, just a tiny little erratic skipped a beat, when he focuses his attention on you. Your eyes lock together and you feel the intensity of his gaze. Neither of you seems willing or able to tear away.
The enchantment is broken when Sam enters the room. “We have a problem,” he announces. “Two more hunters are dead.”
summary; in this story, you have known your best friend for more than 15 years and you were utterly and wholly in love with him
You promised that you would get to tell him.
Soon, that is.
But not now— not when he had been stressing out over midterms and you, being just as busy with packing your things and talking with the administrator back and forth about how your trip would all go down.
The global internship was a chance for you to finally do something that you loved and prove that you are worthy of something more than just purely passing every midterm and getting good grades effortlessly (at least that’s what they say when you’re not listening). But truly, you knew that this internship to see dozens of places could help you go back to your roots and experience the many things you wouldn’t be able to do with just plain studying.
You were going to Australia, the first place that your mother took you when you were seven and you could vaguely remember the streets that everyone walked on all throughout the day and you grasping onto your mother’s arm as tightly as you could in fear of getting side tracked and losing her all at once.
Show Me Your Heart And I'll Show You Mine - Part 4
Parring: Bucky Barnes X Reader
Summary: Soulmate!Au. What you write on your skin/tattos/wounds shows up on your soulmates skin. Reader and her soulmate wants to meet
A/N: I am going to London for five days this Monday, this means i won’t update until then, but i planned out what is going happen, and i think there will be 12 parts. enjoy, and tell me what you thought
The familiar smell of coffee greeted Bucky when he
stepped into the café and looked around. Normally he would take his time and
enjoy the cosy café, but today his eyes searched for a table in the corner. He
had asked his friend, Sam, that worked there to reserve the table. And he had
told you to just ask for his table. But the table was empty. Bucky looked at
the clock, he was a few minutes late.
“Hey Sam” He said and greeted his friend. Sam looked
“Hey Bucky” He answered with a short smile.
“Do you remember I talked to you about my soulmate,
Y/N? How I was going to meet her? “Sam nodded, waiting for Bucky to continue. “We
were supposed to meet here at two, you haven’t seen any… “
“No” Sam shock his head. “But if it’s only five
minutes, then maybe she’s just late? “
“Maybe” Bucky sighed.
Bucky checked the clock again. 14:16.
Where were you? Why hadn’t you showed up? Even if you
had missed the first bus you would still be here. The café was just at the
other side of the street, it was impossible to get lost, and even if you did,
you would have written to him, right?
Bucky wondered shortly if you had decided you wouldn’t
meet him, and just got home. He looked at his arm.
I think I may be running a bit late
I’m on the flight
Great, I can’t wait to see you
Had he been too forward? Maybe you had never wanted to
meet him? Maybe you had just felt bad for him, and that was the reason you said
Bucky reached down in his pocket, and found the black
sharpie he always carried. He was just about to write something, when he
For the first time, he didn’t know what he should
write. You had always been his escape from reality, but this was real, and he
had no idea what to do.
He finally wrote.
Where are you?
Are you okay?
Please answer me?
It’s okay if you don’t want to meet me
Just tell me
Are you there?
Won’t you answer me?
Bucky’s arms were covered in black words. He had three
empty cups in front of him, and one almost empty. The sharpie was in his pocket.
He had given up around 15:20. Why he still was here, he didn’t really know. He
couldn’t bear the pitiful looks Steve and Peggy would give him when he got
home. Sam had gotten off around 15:15, so there was no one in the small café who
knew why his eyes were as glued to the table.
He had gotten a few messages from Steve asking how it
was going. Natasha had told him to “Got get her!”, and Peggy had told there was
dinner at six, and asked if they came home to eat. Bucky hadn’t answered any of
The customers had started to look weird at him. The
barista, a girl wearing a name-tag reading Wanda, had asked him if he was okay.
He had answered that of course he was, and ordered a muffin. He didn’t really
eat it when she came with it, he just sat and looked at it like it was the
muffins fault you wouldn’t answer him.
He had gotten more messages Steve, Peggy, and Natasha.
They all demanded to be answered, but he had no idea what he would say to them.
He was considering finding a bar instead of the café when he saw it.
His arms were covered in black words. Your name,
questions, everything was written in black, except two words. Right under his question,
are you? were two words written in green. He didn’t recognize the
handwriting, but as soon as he saw the words The hospital he hurried
out of the café.
Chapter Summary: As much as you attempt to keep out of the Saviors’ way while they raid Alexandria, your daughter decides to have a word with Negan.
Pairing: Negan x Reader
Prompt: You live in Alexandria with your very sassy daughter, Riley. After Negan takes over, Riley grows to be the one and only person that challenges him - and to say the least, he loves it.
Word Count: 2.1k
Fandom: The Walking Dead
Warnings & A/N: so basically halfway through writing this i realized the daughter was giving me Lilo vibes - so if you could imagine, she’s very much like Lilo :) | no warnings
“Where’s Maggie, Mommy?” your daughter’s high-pitched voice met your ears as she stumbled down the hall. You turned to her, closing the book in your lap, “She’s not here anymore, she - .. ‘moved,’” you stuttered. Technically, you weren’t lying. After the run-in with the Saviors, she would be better off, and much safer, not in Alexandria.
Summary: takes place during sequences of star trek beyond; the last few years of episodic space travel have been taxing on jim as his heart remains with you and the abronath remains with him. a trade-off is imminent, however, when he spots you and someone else spots the artifact. (series following loot; no real reason to read it, though)
Warnings: language, lil angsty
A/N: finally! i missed reader from loot so much and i’m so excited to write that character again! the story is going to be like star trek beyond but with a VERY large addition. so! should be good, should be long. we’ll see! (i’ve tagged those of you i used to tag for loot just in case!) peace out
It was a long time in the making— two years and three months, to be precise.
Jim wanted to rid the Enterprise of the artifact as soon as he was alerted of its presence on the starship. He wanted to launch it into open space and watch it freeze up, watch it drift away from his life— hopefully with any memory pertaining to it.
But planetary emergencies, more pressing peace negotiations, and other Federation business caused the artifact to drift from priorities. It was logged in the archives and remained there— neutralized as much as can be and collecting whatever dust could cling to the protective case.
As more time passed, Jim found himself increasingly hesitant to set course to Teenax and finally pull the Abronath from the depths of the ship.
Not because time had led to an increased attachment to the damn thing, but rather because he wasn’t as mentally prepared, as filled with anger as he once was. Facing the issues that caused the last two years and three months of space travel to stretch on like taffy in episodes that melted and oozed together was a daunting task— a task the slump-shouldered Captain didn’t think he could handle anymore.
So as he stood and spoke before the Teenaxi Delegation gingerly clutching the case he avoided meeting the gaze of at all costs, he could see and feel his own exhaustion, his own reluctance.
He thought right then that he actually might have grown attached to it. Though it sat in the archives and was long-forgotten by the crew, it had become a source of comfort for him. After all, loving was so short but forgetting was so long and on the self-indulgent days that led forgetting to seem like an impossible chore, the artifact was a trace of you.
The artifact served as a reminder that he couldn’t feel his heart beating in his chest because it was somewhere far away— lying beside the perpetrator, beside someone who was likely unaware of its presence. He didn’t know its precise location, didn’t know what condition it was in, but he knew you still had it— as much as he wished that wasn’t true, as much as he’d tried otherwise.
Jim stared at the creatures perched several stories above him, seated all around him so he stood in the middle like the circus performer he likened himself to. Their rough skin was grooved and dented to form spikes and wide features that were contorted in anger and suspected dissatisfaction as they leaned forward, extremely muscular arms holding them against the barrier while they clung onto it with curved, sharp claws.
Jim swallowed, stood up straighter, and began the introduction Spock had written, “My name is James Tiberius Kirk of the United Federation of Planets. I am appearing before you as a neutral representative of the Fibonan Republic. I bring you a message of goodwill and present to you, esteemed members of the Teenaxi Delegation, a gift from the Fibonan High Council with the highest regard.”
wow sam you actually posted the second part of the professor series?? (make sure you read the first part. it’s tagged somewhere.) its only been a month (may 9th is when i posted the first part.). this is really short but the next part will be better/longer (hopefully). also thanks for everyone who has followed me, reblogged, and liked my stuff it means a lot. so enjoy.
also @gubler-cm you wanted to be tagged in the next part. sorry it took so long.