#(v.) death looks down // ( var. · hunter ) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sorchawrites-blog · 6 years

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What’s Needed

Fandom: Supernatural Pairing: Reader x TFW // Reader x Castiel Word Count: 2537 Summary: The first time Cas heals you, he doesn’t notice the cuts. You’d all come back from a particularly rough case - a nest of five vampires had turned into an ambush of thirty and Sam had taken a nasty hit to the head. He doesn’t notice the second time either, with both Dean and Sam out for the count, it had come down to the two of you to exorcise the three lost and confused spirits. The third time around, he definitely noticed. Warnings: This story contains mention of self harm, depression, and hints of suicide.

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The first time Cas healed you, he didn’t notice the cuts. You’d all come back from a particularly rough case - a nest of five vampires had turned into an ambush of thirty and Sam had taken a nasty hit to the head. He didn’t notice the second time either. With both Dean and Sam out for the count, locked in separate rooms, it had come down to the two of you to exorcise the three lost and confused spirits. The third time around however, there aren’t enough distractions.

The case stunk of demon activity and you quickly set up shop inside an abandoned warehouse, devil’s traps drawn all over the floor and one very large one spray painted on the ceiling. There’d been a ladder and you were always a good climber - it just made sense to take extra precautions. Especially since it was you the demon would be chasing. It had been hunting people who fit your description and you were taking a gamble that they wouldn’t know who you were. Or at least wouldn’t know that you were working in tandem with the Winchesters.

Things went according to plan and soon you were standing outside the trap while Dean and Sam shot rapid fire questions towards the trapped demon. She just laughed, a horrible deep thing that didn’t match the young girl’s frame at all. Just as Sam began the exorcism incantation, you felt a prickle run down your spine and jerked as a rough hand wrapped tight around your throat.

A small squeak was the only sound that escaped your mouth before the second demon cut off your airways and slammed you against the nearest beam. Your fingers grasped in vain at his wrist in a desperate effort to get him to let go - he merely chuckled and squeezed tighter, his eyes going black as he leaned in to savour your death.

Just as your hands fell to your side, a sudden burst of adrenaline shot through your veins, your body refusing to give up just yet. You grasped for the silver knife you kept at your side and brought it up in one clean movement. The demon had no choice to drop you, his severed hand falling next to you on the ground.

Before you could react, he gave a low guttural cry and with one wave of his hand, sent you flying into the far wall. A burst of pain echoed in the back of your head and without seeing, you held up your bloody knife, prepared to go down fighting. When nothing else came, you cracked open an eye just in time to see the demon forcefully expelled from her vessel. Frantically looking around for the other demon, you realised that Cas was standing over his dead body and then he was next to you, two fingers gently pressed to your forehead.

Call it intuition or a gut feeling or whatever but the second he touched you and sent healing energy through out your body, you knew he would notice the cuts. Glancing up at him, you saw his eyes widened slightly as he tried to place the odd wounds within the context of the fight. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, you shake your head. “Not here, please.”

His brow furrows and you think he’s going to call out to the boys and out you here and now, with two dead bodies still to clean up. Instead he helps you up and you’re both go to help clean up the mess they’d made.

Back at the motel, Dean grabbed a few beers from his room before they all head over to yours - since you were bunking alone, you were also in charge of most of the stuff. “Didn’ think there was two of them,” he admitted, leaning on the back of his chair. “Though it makes sense how a kid was able to carry the bodies so far - demon or no demon that girl didn’t look like she could lift a pound of feathers.”

You nod in agreement, your smile tampered by the anxiety of Cas knowing your secret. He had been standing against the door, his eyes drilling holes into the back of your head until you were ready to scream. Just when you were about to call it a night, unable to sit still under the intense scrutiny, Cas finally spoke up. And your stomach dropped.

“Why did you have so many cuts along your arms Y/N? There wasn’t enough time for the demon to torture you and I could see no cuts in your shirt.” His low voice held a note of confusion. He genuinely had no idea why you carried the marks and it made your stomach twist into a bundle of knots. Wrapping your arms around your midsection, you tried to think of an acceptable answer even as everything went to hell. Dean and Sam looked up from their spots at the table, smiles fading away as they took in your defensive posture and Cas’ words.

“Y/N, what the hell’s he talking about?” Dean wasn’t so confused.

“I - that is…” Even as you tried to explain, the words got all jumbled in your throat and you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. Cas moved forward at your distress but a quick touch revealed that there’s nothing physically wrong with you. He shook his head and looked over to where Sam and Dean had now gotten up, both wearing looks of surprise and concern.

You were so wrapped up in your head that you didn’t notice Dean reaching for your arm until it was too late. With one hand wrapped tight around your wrist, he pulled up your sleeve with the other, letting out a series of curses as he saw your crisscrossed skin. The concerned look on his face quickly melted away and was replaced by a deep anger.

“You stupid idiot. What the hell is this?” You could feel his fingers bruising your skin but don’t try and pull away or move. It was what you deserved for making them worry. Sam was not of the same mind as you however, and pushed Dean away before stepping between the two of you, his hands held up in a nonthreatening manner.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You had things under control. It was helping.

“I don’t understand,” Cas finally said, his voice cutting through the tense silence that had fallen over the room.

“She’s doin’ it to herself,” Dean spat. “Those cuts are her own fault.”

Cas tilted his head, concern mingling with his confusion. “But why?”

“Yeah, why don’t you tell us Y/N?” Sam shot Dean a dirty look and took a couple steps forward, a comforting smile pasted on his face. As you considered his approach, you understood why Sam was always the one to get people to talk. Even with the fear and anger and sadness in his eyes, you still want to trust him, wants to crack and tell him everything. “You know you’re safe with us Y/N, right? We just want to help.”

A sudden burning sensation scratched at the back of your eyes and it was all you could do to hold the tears back, to keep your voice as steady as possible while you apologized and promised never to do it again. It didn’t answer the why but how could it when even you don’t understand it most of the time? Some hunters drink themselves into a stupor to cope, others shut themselves off from any sort of human interaction until they’ve turned into a monster themselves. How was what you do any different?

You didn’t realise that you’d started to cry until you were suddenly wrapped in Sam’s arms, your wet face pressed against his chest, and suddenly you were crying harder, deep wracking sobs that shook your entire body. He was patient, didn’t pull away until you were only sniffling, the occasional tear falling down your cheek. Stepping back, you rubbed at your face and tried not to think about how pathetic you must look, all bleary eyed from crying your heart out. This wasn’t how a hunter behaved.

Stuttering out another short apology, you pasted on something that couldn’t even be classified as a smile and managed to wave your hand as if it would set everything back to normal. “I’m sorry - I didn’t mean to bother you with all of this. Or to cry all over you. Or worry you. Like I said, this won’t happen again.” Your voice was shaky and you weren’t sure if they were buying it - when you looked over at Dean you were certain that you’d done a piss poor job of lying. When he moved towards you, you couldn’t tell if he was going to punch you or hug you so, as his arms tightened like a vice around your shoulders you breathed a sigh of relief.

“Don’t you say shit like that. We’ve dealt with too much crap this year to lose you to this - the next time you start feelin’ this way you call. Day, night, I don’t care.” His hands moved until they were gripping your shoulders, his eyes boring into your soul. “If we don’t answer, then you call Cas. And then you call us. Again.” You slowly nod your understanding but deep down you knew you wouldn't call. It wasn’t fair to bother them with your own petty problems. Despite your misgivings, Dean seemed satisfied with your answer and let go of your shoulders. “Alright then. Glad that’s cleared up.” Moving away from the small circle you’d all formed, he settled in to finish his beer.

Later that night, once Sam and Dean had gathered all their stuff and brought it back to their room, you jumped in the shower and scrubbed away the days events. You’d turned the water as hot as it could go and leaned your forehead against the yellowed tile, watching the grey sludge whirlpool down the drain.

Once your fingers were all pruney and you skin scrubbed red, you quickly toweled off and put on your old, ratty t-shirt and shorts, letting your wet hair soak into the back of it. You caught your reflection in the mirror and sighed. A ghost stared back at you, a phantom of someone who you’d once been. If you squinted this way and that, you could almost make out that happy go lucky girl who’d run off with a head full of dreams and a driving desire to save people. You wondered where she had gone, wondered when she had even left.

Maybe it was the first time you’d almost died. Or the second. Or the third.

In the end, it didn’t really matter when she had left. All that really mattered was that she had somehow ended up here and you weren’t sure whether that made you want to scream until you went hoarse or curl up in a ball and never move again.

Your thoughts were broken by a soft knock at the bathroom door followed by Cas’ deep voice. “Y/N are you alright in there? It has been almost two hours since you initially entered the bathroom and I am beginning to grow concerned.”

Opening the door, you stared blankly at the angel. You had thought he had left with Sam and Dean to do...well, whatever angels did at night. Him showing up here this late at night was definitely not normal. “I’m alright Castiel, promise.” You smiled softly and went to push past him, to clean your knife or fold your clothes or take inventory or to do something other than stand there while he stared at you with those soft blue eyes that saw far too much.

He didn’t move to stop you, just watched as you flitter from one part of the room to the other, packing up clothes, checking your stock and then making a shopping list. Eventually you got used to his silence and began to forget he was there, watching as you settled down at the table and started to clean your knife. You had just pulled out your sharpening stone when he finally spoke, his voice causing you to startle and nick your thumb.

“You are not a burden.” Glancing at him sharply, you sucked on the small cut until you were sure the bleeding had slowed. “You are a very competent hunter and one of the most compassionate humans I have ever met. This penance you suffer is not required by God. There is nothing fro you to atone for.” Stepping closer to where you were seated, he clasped a heavy hand on your shoulder and offered you a small smile.

For the second time that night tears began to well up and you blinked rapidly, trying to hold them back. A hunter was supposed to be strong, was expected to protect the innocent and ignorant from the things that go bump in the night. You couldn’t afford these kind of breakdowns, not with so many evils running unhindered on this earth.

Needing something to snap you out of your maudlin thoughts, your hand unconscionably reached out to pinch any open skin, but before your fingers connected, Cas grabbed both of your wrists and stopped their movement. Despite his loose grip, you knew that struggling would be pointless. “Enough,” he commanded. “Y/N, that’s enough.”

You weren’t sure if it was the act of someone actually stopping you from causing yourself anymore harm or if it was because Cas never used that tone of voice unless something was seriously wrong. Either way, the tears you’d been holding back burst forth and ran in streams down your face. You were just so tired. Tired of fighting, tired of hiding. Tired of feeling too much and tired of suddenly feeling nothing.

Suddenly you felt yourself pressed against the rough fabric of Cas’ trench coat and you grasped at the material like a swimmer grasping at a life preserve. You couldn’t apologise, couldn’t bring yourself to lie to Cas anymore. You had no idea how long the two of you stood there, embracing each other in a random motel room off the interstate. All you knew was that Cas wasn’t rushing you, didn’t push you away. He held you long past the tears until a soft silence fell over the two of them.

It was only when you began to sway in his arms, exhaustion suddenly sweeping over your body, that had him tucking you into bed. Resting a comforting hand on your forehead, he softly commanded you to sleep. Your eyes began to flutter shut but when he moved out of sight, you fought the dark embrace of sleep and managed to sit yourself up in bed. He turned back to you, confused at your movement until you said, “Stay. Please.”

Cas nodded and brought over the chair Dean had previously been leaning on. “I was merely going to sit at the table but I will remain close by if that is what you wish.” It was a struggle to nod your head but you managed some semblance of it as you curled up under the cheap motel covers, Cas’ blue eyes the last thing you saw before succumbing to sleeps embrace.

#castiel x reader #tfw x reader #spn x reader #spn imagines #ship: castiel x reader #ship: tfw x reader

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rocky-alex · 6 years

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A Hunter’s Life For Me

Word count: 1872

Warnings: none here

Pairing: OFC (Jules) x Dean (Don’t know to what extent yet, but yeah, that pairing)

Chapter 2: Cold as fucking ice

“How are you doing?” Dean asked.

“Do you honestly want to know?” He seemed to think about it and glanced at his brother.

“Maybe not…” Snort. Of course he didn’t.

After leaving the house Dean had taken one look at me and my one measly bag and asked where I was going. When I said I had no idea he offered me to tag along until I figured something out. Since my life had reached rock bottom, with no visible way up, I took him up on his offer. Now I was enjoying the most awkward car ride of my life.

“So is this what you do? Just ride around in your car?”

“While the tension doesn’t always run this high, yeah, basically,” Dean answered. I looked between the brothers.

“What’s with the silence?”

“Sammy here had a problem with looking into the demon deaths.”

“What problem?”

“You really wanna do this infront of her?” Sam asked and finally turned his head to look at the two of us.

“Oh look, he speaks!” Sam’s lips tightened. I leaned back in the seat, trying to become smaller.

“We had no idea what we were getting into, Dean.”

“And what, we usually do?”

“We at least try to find out as much as we can!”

“That demon was killing people, Sam! Fast. And besides, it’s over now.”

“Yeah, well, we got lucky.” For a second it looked like Dean wanted to argue, but then it was like the air went out of him and he turned his eyes back to the road. While they still seemed nowhere near done arguing, the so-called tension in the car had eased up significantly, and I relaxed a bit.

They hadn’t told me any specific destination they had in mind, and as it didn’t matter to me where I ended up, I sat back and started fiddling with me phone. After a few hours I spoke up.

“Hey, did you guys bother checking neighbouring towns for similar deaths?”

“Not this time no,” Sam said, casting a sidelong glance at his brother. “Why?” I leaned over the front seat to show him my phone. It was an article dated about a month back, about deaths in the city just a couple of hours away from where I lived. Sam took the phone and read through the article. There wasn’t much, barely any details, but enough to make it look like demonic signs. Like it could’ve been my demon.

“What is it?” Dean asked.

“Murders in the city, about a month ago.” “How come we didn’t hear about it?”

“There’s barely anything there. In bigger cities a murder is more common than in suburbia, this was probably not big enough to get on our radar, or the police held back the story from the media.” Dean frowned.

“Why did the killings stop?”

“Well it’s not because they caught the killer,” I said, taking the phone back from Sam. “And the last one happened just before the demon possessed my mom. Could it have been the same one?” No answer.

“How many people died?” Dean asked.

“Five.” Sam and Dean exchanged a look.

“Ritualistic? It could be a witchy thing, the demon was collecting debts,” Dean suggested, his tone suddenly low.

“Yeah, but why were the next murders so close to each the first ones? Witches I get, but two covens this close together?”

“Yeah, I hear ya.”

“Wait, what about witches?” I asked. It was like they were deliberately keeping me out of the conversation. Dean looked at me in the rearview mirror.

“Hey look, no offence, but you don’t want to get into this, trust me.” “Two demons have come after me in less than two years, I’d say I’m already in it.”

“And you don’t want to leave it behind while you have the chance?”

“How? Can you tell me for sure that another one won’t show up?” He was quiet for a few moments.

“No. No, I can’t.”

“But you still want me to try?”

“I think that if you have the chance, you should take it.” Honestly, I hadn’t thought about it like that until now. In my mind, neither me or anyone around me was safe right now. Not knowing what the two demons had wanted, I had my mind set on more of them coming after me. How could I just go back to normal after that?

I decided not to answer Dean, but instead leaned back and closed my eyes. We’d been driving for hours now, and afternoon had become night. I was exhausted, and just like that, I fell asleep.

When I woke up the light outside the car had changed. It was getting brighter, and I could just make out the first rays of sunshine in the east. The car wasn’t moving anymore, so I sat up and looked around.

“Where’s Dean?” I asked Sam, who was leaning against the door with his eyes closed.

“Supply run,” he answered, not moving a muscle. The car was parked outside a gas-n-sip, and I could barely make out Dean inside the store. I opened the door and got out. Damn, it felt good to stretch my legs after being in the same awkward position so long. I moved around, trying to get the blood flowing again, and out of nowhere there was loud crash from inside the store. Then a really loud bang. Just as I turned to see what was going on Dean came bursting through the door, hauling ass to the car, the gas-n-sip clerk hot on his heels.

“Get in the car!” he yelled and threw himself in the driver’s seat. Moving as fast as I could, I practically launched myself back in the car, barely managing to close the door before Dean hit the gas and, tires squealing, raced out of the parking lot.

“What the hell happened?” Sam asked. He’d jumped to attention at the noises, but hadn’t been able to do anything before Dean got us all out of there.

“Fucking demons!” Dean cursed, and hit the steering wheel. “It didn’t actually do anything until I was at the counter, probably didn’t notice who I was until then.”

“Wait, hold up,” I said, leaning forward. “Why would a demon know who you are?”

“We have a bit of a reputation.”

“Which means…?” “We’ve ganked our fair share of demons in our life, and it’s occasionally made us hell’s most wanted. The rest of the time demons just try to kill us for fun.”

“Was that meant to be reassuring?”

“Just telling it like it is, sweetheart.”

“Uhuh.”

“So there just happened to be a demon at the gas station we decided to stop at?” Sam asked.

“Hell if I know, Sam,” Dean answered.

“Why didn’t you kill it? Or at least send it back to hell?”

“It came at me like a rabid dog, Sam. No time.” “What about the knife?”

“… I thought you had the knife.”

“I never have the knife.” Dean didn’t say anything.

“What’s a knife gonna do against a demon?” I asked.

“Special knife, it kills them,” Sam explained. “Of course it does.”

“So where are we going?”

“Kansas, sweetheart.”

“What’s in Kansas?”

“Home, for lack of a better word.” Made sense.

“What’s home for you two?”

“Boy, you sure ask a lot of questions, don’t ya?”

“Well excuse the fuck out of me for being curious. You know, you could just say you don’t want to talk.”

“She’s got spunk, I like her,” Dean said to his brother. I huffed a laugh and decided to drop it. When, if, the brothers wanted to get rid of me they could just drop me at a bus station. But I’d given it some thought, and maybe I did want to be in this. I didn’t have anything else to go back to, so why the fuck not? At least until I knew there would be no more demons after me.

The drive to Kansas took all day, and it was past four in the afternoon when we zipped past the Welcome to Kansas sign. Dean parked by a small shopping area. He turned around.

“Last stop. Where to next?” I looked out the window and saw a small bus station. It would be easy to leave this all behind, find somewhere to live, somewhere to work. Maybe find a nice guy to fall in love with. But it wasn’t what I wanted. I took a deep breath and looked at the Winchesters. That path felt like so much more. There was a reason I hadn’t run screaming when I found out my mother was a demon. There was a reason I didn’t panic when the first demon came after me. Maybe I liked the idea of this life.

“Where you’re going.” Dean looked shocked.

“Jules, this isn’t a happy life. You don’t want this.”

“How would you know, Dean?” “Because this has been my whole life! Don’t you think I’d want to settle down, maybe not risk my life every day if I could?”

“You love this life.” “How would you know, Jules?” he fired back. I smirked at him.

“Because you would’ve done it already.” Dean stuttered and turned to his brother.

“Sam!”

“What, Dean? It’s not like it’s the first time we’ve taken in a stray.” Goddamn he sounded bitter. Dean tossed his arms in the air, giving up.

“Fine!” Yay! He turned he key in the ignition and the engine roared back to life. A short while later we were going down a small road, coming up on a tall brick building. At the base of it there was a large door, and a motorcycle parked outside it. It was gorgeous, a blue Harley.

“Fuck.” Dean said under his breath as Sam tensed up beside him. And just like that, the tension was back. Dean parked the car and turned to his brother.

“Sam-”

“Shut up, Dean.” Dean actually shut up, and Sam got out of the car, closing the door behind him. Dean’s eyes followed his brother. He looked worried.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“I’ll explain later.” Okay then. I looked out the window, seeing someone come out from behind a group of trees. It was a girl, older than me, and much more rugged looking. Another hunter? She looked wary, like she expected an attack.

“We should go.” Dean said suddenly, getting out of the car. I followed him, grabbing my bag as I went. Sam and the girl were just looking at each other.

Dean led me to a smaller door beside the big one. He unlocked it and we went inside. Had it not just been for the weird exchange outside, I would’ve been blown away by the sight that met me. It was a bunker, and it was huge. A big lit up room with a map table, and through a big doorway I could see a room lined with bookshelves. Who the hell were these guys? Dean led me downstairs and was about to say something when I interrupted him

“Who was that?”

“That,” Dean said, a weird look on his face, like he was in pain. “was Y/N.”

@carryonmyswansong

Note: Oh yeah, I’m going there. This will be a big mix of POV’s :P Also trying to work on longer chapters this time around :)

#supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural reader insert #sam winchester #dean winchester #dean winchester x oc #dean winchester x ofc #original female character #a hunter's life for me

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dreamin-of-somewhere-else · 7 years

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I’d Live Them All The Same

Hello mates! You know I love angst, and, well, it just happened to be Angst Appreciation Day today, so yeah ;)

Characters: Older sister Winchester!reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester [mentioned], other members of the Winchester/Campbell family.

Words: 2400+

Warnings: Broken reader, implied depression, just overall bad mental health. If you think about what Sam and Dean’s been through, it’s not far of a stretch from the show, but just know that it’s angsty (not the most angsty thing I’ve written though, sorry.)

A/N: I feel like I got a positive response to some of my older sister stuff I did a while back, and I also just got some older sister angst feels, so yeah, here you go. Also, there’s a couple of paragraphs (and title) taken from this song: Circles (MNG Remix) - Eden Project. If you want, listen to it while reading this, it builds up the angst ;)

If I told you how this story end,

Would you change a step you take?

And if I could relive all of my days,

I'd live them all the same.

'cause I'm scared, of all that I don't know,

'cause I want it all but all of it ain't gold.

And I'm scared, but I know it's not for long

'cause I'm learning what I should've long before.

You sat on the carpet clad floor of the dark motel room, right by the door. It was the middle of the night, but it wasn’t not quiet — your brothers’ steady breaths filled the room, filled you up with calmness. You clutched the shotgun tighter, and the cold metal of the barrel your hands were wrapped around was slowly getting warmer by the heat you were exuding. You’re 24 years old and you’re the protector of this family. Always had been, and always will be.

You couldn’t sleep. You’d tried. But the anxiety kept you awake and you just had this bad feeling that the creaking motel door would flung open any second to reveal someone or something that was there to kill your little brothers. Maybe you were being paranoid, or maybe you weren’t — but the idea had crept into your head, latching on and making its way into every single one of your thoughts, making sure that you ended up in the same place every time; the door and the possibility of it being forced open.

So now you sat here, trying to keep your heart from hammering in your chest. Listening to your brothers’ breathing helped though. Not only could you try to match your own with their even rhythm, but it was also a very appreciated reminder that your brothers were fine, comfortable and asleep.

’Take care of your little brothers, (Y/N).’

You were the protector, and so far, you had done a pretty okay job at it. Sure, you could’ve done it a thousand times better, because both of them had gotten hurt before — there had been several trips to the hospital. Things had happened, a broken leg here, a concussion there, internal bleedings, nearly-drownings — the list went on. Things that you, no matter how many years had passed since then, still were beating yourself up about. Things that you sometimes doubted that your brothers even remembered themselves, but that you could not let yourself forget. You kept track of every single one of them, but when it came to your own injuries, it was all a blur.

But, considering the dangers you exposed yourself to in your extraordinary lifestyle, you had gotten by better than expected. Better than most would have. That’s what the logical part of your brain was telling you, at least. The other part — the winning part — was waiting for something to happen.

And this way of thinking — it was wearing on you, and it had been for years. It was consuming your entire being, seeping its darkness into every moment. In fact, you never fully relaxed. You could watch your brothers joke around, and you could play with, but your senses were always on overdrive, almost. You never fully relaxed. And it was tiring.

Sometimes, you wondered if they noticed. Being 22 and 18, they sort of were adults — although to you, they would always be kids. They weren’t as innocent as you would have hoped them to be, but even though you tried, you couldn’t protect them from knowledge about what lurked in the night — you were only a child yourself, and it was your dad’s wish, so you couldn’t do much. Sometimes, you asked yourself if they noticed that you were falling apart, because that’s what you felt like. Like the dam would break. But then again, the facade you put up was convincing. It was perfected, in all fairness. Spotless, almost. Polish and strong, and not at all like the other side of you. Not at all like who you were when you let it all unravel at night when they were asleep. Whenever you were with them, you put on this faux calmness, this casual, happy aura, because you knew that made them feel safe — and maybe you felt safer too.

Because maybe that act made you believe that maybe you could do this, maybe you could keep them safe. You loved them to bits and pieces, you loved them way more than you loved yourself, more than you loved life. In a heartbeat, in a split second, without a question, without thinking about it — you would die for them. Without a doubt.

But you knew, you knew, deep down in your heart, that it wouldn’t be the case. No matter how hard you tried, you most likely would not be able to keep them safe. You were too weak, and meanwhile it felt like the whole wide world was after them. And well, you too, but you didn’t care about yourself. Sam and Dean were what was important. Sam, with his bright hazel eyes, wispy bangs, youthful dimples, admirable determination and enormous heart. Dean, with his soulful green ones, his freckles that were dusted over his cheeks, those dark blond strands, his fierce loyalty along with his pretty-gigantic-heart as well. They deserved the absolute world.

And how you wished you could travel back in time. How you could somehow stop your father from becoming a hunter, or even better, stop the demon from entering Sam’s nursery that night in ’83. Heck, maybe even travel back to your grandparents’ time and persuade them to shelve the gun and quit hunting, to never raise your mom into it. Because in this life, everyone died before their due-date, so to say. It was just a matter if you were 20, 30 or 40 when it happened. How long would you make it, that was the question. You wished that you could protect them from the life. Although, maybe you could try to talk them into leaving. Leaving hunting, leaving your dad, and maybe even leave you, if that was the ticket that would get them a safe life surrounded by a family of their own. You knew how your story would end — in death — but maybe that didn’t have to be the case for them?

If I told you how this story ends,

Would you change a step you take?

Even though you thought about it every day, you didn’t know how often they did. They were most likely aware, they were bright your little brothers, but maybe they denied it. If you knew Dean right, he probably did. Or at least he tried to make it seem that way. As for Sam, as brooding he could be, probably spent some more time contemplating it, but you didn’t know for sure. Maybe they still had dreams and hopes. You wanted them to.

And if I could relive all of my days,

I'd live them all the same.

No matter how much horror you had experienced in your fairly short lifetime, you still wouldn’t change it. Because you had them, and that’s all you needed.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm down. The room was warm and lacking precious oxygen — because in all honesty, it was a stretch to fit three young adults in a small motel room. Hell, there weren’t enough beds, so you slept on the couch, if you could sleep, that is. Despite all this, shivers ran through your exhausted body, creating goosebumps and making the little hairs in the back of your neck stand up as a finishing touch.

Rubatosis — it was a word which’s meaning you learned the other day; ’the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat.’

That’s kind of what you were feeling like right now. Your body was trembling. You were beyond tired, but your head was buzzing and it just wouldn’t let you relax. If the noise wouldn’t wake your brothers, you would have banged the back of your head against the wall.

If you were to be straightforward, honest with yourself, you kind of just wished someone would hold onto you. After all, the thing was that you looked out for Dean. You looked out for Sam. Well, for your dad too at times. Sometimes you wondered who looked out for you.

You wouldn’t admit it, no. But the truth was that it would be nice — although, it only further proved that you were, in fact, weak. You shouldn’t need that, shouldn’t wish for it.

You just felt so alone. Alone in a room filled with your family. You just wanted to feel calm and safe and sleep, but at the same time, it didn’t feel like you would survive the night.

Somewhere, far away, you thought you heard your name. It seemed muffled, almost as if you were underwater and it came from above the surface.

(Y/N).

There, you heard it again.

You frowned slightly, confused. What happened? What was going on? Everything was sort of fuzzy and you felt a little out of it, even you could tell that. You wanted to open your eyes, but they felt so heavy that you remained in darkness.

”(Y/N)?”

And then you realized; it was Dean voice. He was calling on you, trying to get your attention — something was wrong. Maybe something got into the room and maybe —

Your eyes shot open, a breath got stuck in your throat and then you couldn’t breath at all. And if it felt like your heart was pounding before; it now felt like it would jump out of your chest, bursting through your ribcage, landing on the floor. If you had been connected to a heart monitor at this moment, it would have given out such a screeching noise you probably would have gone deaf.

Your whole body froze, and you couldn’t move. Your wild, round, wide eyes darted through the room — now alight with morning sunshine — until they found green, moss green.

”Shit, (Y/N), I’m sorry.” Dean’s voice was laced with worry. ”I-I just wanted to wake you, you looked so uncomfortable… Oh god, you’re not going to have a heart attack or something, are you?”

Your eyebrows knotted as you blinked forcedly, trying to keep the room from spinning.

”W-what?” You stammered.

”I found you asleep on the floor, a-and I just thought we could move you to something more comfortable — you could take my bed…” His voice died down, as he realized he was rambling.

So you’d fallen asleep after all, how you didn’t know. You kept on blinking, trying to get used to the light. You tried to breath, you tried to get your pulse to go down to a more normal, healthy rate. You almost felt like you would pass out.

You only barely noticed that Dean dropped to his knees, sinking fully down to your level, where you were scattered on the floor, still with your back leaning against the wall.

Then, he gently placed his hands on the sides of your face, forcing you to look at him. Your eyes found his green ones again.

”It’s okay, (Y/N), I’m here. You’re safe.” He looked a little spooked, this wasn’t the big sister he was used to — his big sister always knew what to do and had things under control — but he showed that away, and handled the situation gently, calmly, and overall: well.

You swallowed, and never broke the stare. Time passed, you didn’t know how much, but it didn’t matter — you didn’t have the energy to think about that. Meanwhile, Dean softly rubbed his thumbs across your cheeks, but you didn’t really think of it — in fact, your mind was almost completely blank.

When your heartbeat had slowed down enough that Dean wasn’t scared for your health, scared to touch you and make things worse — he wrapped his arms around you; tightly. You found yourself pressed against his chest, your cheek against his collarbone, your legs in an awkward position and his head placed on top of yours. You felt paralyzed, but for the first time — for as long as you could remember — you felt sort of safe. Protected. Warm. He was fisting your shirt in his hands, and it kept you grounded. You weren’t okay, you had to admit — but you felt as you could get there, or at least closer.

Your eyes stung and you almost wanted to cry — but you couldn’t do that, you had some self-control left. Or maybe, it was just such a basic facility that it just wasn’t possible. You hadn’t cried in front of your brothers since you were a kid yourself and it was just such an alien and uncomfortable thought. So, you shoved the tears that wanted out away, hiding every sign they ever were there — but for some reason, you just felt as Dean could tell anyway.

Dean never let go, he didn’t even loosen his grip, and you were so thankful for that. Maybe this was your salvation, and you were lucky he found you because you would have never been able to ask for it yourself. Although, now you could tell you had needed it.

After a while you heard another pair of soft footfalls traveling across the carpet — and you knew it was Sam. He leaned against and slid down the wall until he was seated on the floor next to you and Dean, moving away the shotgun you had dropped besides you. The next thing you was aware of was how he placed a light kiss against the top of your head.

Sometime after that, he quietly spoke up.

”You’re so strong, (Y/N). But you don’t have to be all the time. It’s okay.”

You felt silly and a wave of disappointment aimed at yourself washed over you. You hadn’t kept it together, and now Sammy, the youngest of you all, had to reassure the person that was supposed to look out for him, that it would be okay. The person who was supposed to tell him that instead.

You couldn’t lie to yourself, you weren’t nearly as strong as you pretended to be. But then again, maybe no one was.

You were worried your brothers would be uncomfortable. Maybe they would wonder who the girl in front of them was, because it sure as hell wasn’t their sister. But they didn’t seemed to mind at all. Maybe, just maybe, it was because the roles had been reversed so many times before — all the times before.

The three of you just sat there for a long time, and you never managed to say anything. At most, you nodded. You just listened to Dean’s heart beating in his chest, feeling Sam gently play with your hair. Feeling the warmth and the love. They seemed to understand, and you wondered what you did to deserve them.

After some time, things began to feel a bit fuzzy again, but in a much more pleasant way this time around. You felt your eyelids droop, and the last thing you were aware of was someone lifting you up, and then how your face met an endlessly soft pillow.

Then you let yourself drift away into a dreamless sleep.

Tags: @winchesters-favorite-girl @jensen-jarpad @straightasdeanwinchester @evyiione @samanddeanshotsis @darkestgrungeuniverse @fabulouslycassie @delessapeace-blog @mariairwin666 @1amluke @saveprettydays @cookee50 @yoursmilemakesmeloveyou @infamati--et--obliterati @stillcooli0 @sammysbeanie @jamric @deepbreathssammy @extreme-supernatural-lover @lemonadegazeelle @mogaruke @winchestersmut @i-kdog-posts @steve-rogcrs @wordshowers @27bmm @jjsoccer11 @ivebeenraisedfromperdition @bluecookiesandbooks @disappointeddinosaur @nicolevanderstar @frayedphan @jared-jensen-misha-are-lovelyy @straightestgay-voice @legend-o-zelda @holysheeppanda @mynameisdesolation @to-stars-and-back @forevershadeddark @stonergirl4life95 @wxnchestervevo @captainemwinchester @rosie-winchester

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writings-andstuff · 7 years

Text

The Raid (Dean x Reader)

So here it is. Nothing special, just a lot of my thoughts on season 12 episode 14 put into what the reader tells Mary with a little bit of fluffy cuteness at the end.

Happy Reading!

Words: 3172

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: None

Excerpt: “Then why—”

“Because he’s not thinking rationally,” you said. “All Dean knows is that you weren’t there. Does it really matter why? And now he’s got you back, and, because he’s the ultimate family man, he thinks that everything is going to be okay. John isn’t here, but you are, and that’s good enough for him because now he doesn’t have to do it on his own. And then you go and do something like this. You tell me why he’s mad.”

Mary looked as if she was backed against a wall. If you were being honest, you thought that maybe she deserved it. Maybe she deserved whatever Dean said to her.

“I’m doing this for you,” she said in her ‘I’m your mother’ voice. “I’m playing three decades of catch-up here.”

Dean shook his head, shoulders set and jaw clenched. “And we’re not? How do you think this has been for us? We’re your sons, and you’ve been gone. Our whole lives, you’ve been gone.”

You crossed your arms from where you stood behind Sam and shook your head. Not only were you disappointed, but you were also angry. The Brits had tortured Sam. One of them had almost beaten Dean to death, until Mary came in and saved the day.

Out of everyone, you thought, she should be the most angry. You knew that if anyone ever came after your hypothetical kids, they’d be dead. Period. No if ands or buts. Yet, here she was, working with the damn enemy.

“You said that you needed time,” Dean went on, pointing at her. “No, you said that you needed space.” He put his hands up. “So we gave you your space. But you didn’t need just space. No. You needed space from us.”

Dean shook his head and you did the same. Mary looked genuinely hurt, and there was part of you that thought, “Good.” Then there was the part of you that tended to sympathize with everyone that thought that maybe this was about more than just Mary working with the British Men of Letters.

The boys had spent their entire lives motherless, and that, of course, was of no fault to Mary. However, you still resented your dad for dying. It wasn’t his fault, but the irrational part of you thought, “How dare he die on me.” It was the same with Dean.

“That’s not true,” Mary said angrily, but her eyes were welling up with tears. You took a deep breath and Sam looked up at you quickly before looking back at his mother and Dean. “Dean, I’m trying—”

“How about for once,” Dean’s anger was beginning to boil over and you took a defensive step toward him, “you just try to be a mom!”

Mary let her voice drop to a softer tone. You could tell she was recognizing his anger and what was behind it. “I am your mother, but I am not just a mom. And you are not a child.”

You took a sharp breath and exhaled slowly. She wasn’t handling this right, and you could tell that Dean was going to either blow up, or walk away angrily. In fact, he did neither. He looked at her sadly, his voice dropping low again.

“I never was.”

There was a long pause where no one moved or breathed. The whole room seemed to just stop. The planet seemed to cease to spin for a moment before Dean spoke again.

“So between us and them—”

“It’s not like that.”

“Yeah, Mary, it is.”

Now, Dean was resigned. You could tell he’d made up his mind about her. She wasn’t the enemy anymore, she was just another hunter who had done him wrong. He was icing her out and every fiber of your being screamed that it was just wrong. Yes, she was in the wrong about this. But Dean just icing her out like this was not going to help.

Then you thought about it again. Maybe a little time apart for the two of them was a good thing. She had hurt Dean and Sam—and you for that matter—and it was going to take a while for the three of you to get back on track with her. Even longer for Dean.

But there was a nagging part of you that said that it was safer keeping Mary in the inner circle. She was a connection to the British Men of Letters, men who you wouldn’t trust with anything. Some part of you was sure that they were going to double-cross her to get to the boys. Maybe if you could get her on your side, she could be your mole.

You shook your head at your inner thoughts. That’s how you worked, you thought too far ahead. You were needed in the here and now, not in the however-many-months from now.

Mary let out a breath through her nose.

“And you’ve made your choice,” Dean said, all trace of anger gone. Sam looked up at her sadly, but you were looking at Dean. He pointed. “So there’s the door.”

With that, Dean turned, and left. Sam got up then too, not even looking at Mary.

“Sam...”

Sam lifted his eyes to her. “You should go.” He also turned and walked out.

Mary leaned on the table and heaved a great sigh. She flinched when she heard the first door slam, and flinched again when she heard the second one close a little less forcefully.

You kept your arms crossed but didn’t move and didn’t say anything. Honestly, you didn’t even know if she was aware that you were still here.

She was the mother of Dean Winchester, the man you were silently in love with, but that didn’t mean you wanted to impress her. In fact, it only meant that you wanted to yell at her on behalf of Dean. You also wanted to go into Dean’s room and just hold him. You wanted to do anything in your power to make him feel better.

But first, you had to make sure he was heard.

Mary spoke first.

“And you?”

You pulled your eyebrows together and shifted your folded arms. “What about me?”

She raised her eyes to you shamefully. “Are you going to say something too? You look like you have something to say.”

“Oh, I do,” you said, trying to keep your voice even. “But it has nothing to do with me. I’m just disappointed. Dean is hurt. So is Sam. These are people who almost killed them—both of them. And now they find out that their mother, the one woman who they’ve spent their entire lives not knowing, but missing anyways, is in bed with the enemy.”

“They’re not the enemy.”

You shook your head and raised an eyebrow. “Oh no? Sam has a patch of burned skin on the side of his foot. That other agent broke Dean’s ribs and they’re still not healed properly.”

“I know that!” Mary said indignantly. “Don’t you think I know that? It was the work of a rogue agent.”

“And you believe that?”

“Do I have any reason not to?”

You blew air from your nose in a huff. “How about your two sons who, by the way, saved the freaking world several times. I think their judgement on the matter is pretty solid, especially because they’ve been double-crossed more times than any of us can count.”

Mary gave you the satisfaction of looking legitimately disappointed in herself for a brief moment before she was back to that wall of stubbornness. “We’re doing good work.”

“All bad guys think their cause is ‘good work’,” you said, using air quotes for ‘good work’. “This isn’t even about them. It’s about you. It’s about how you were gone for three decades and Dean had to pick up your damn slack.”

Mary set her jaw in a way that was very Winchester-like, and she straightened up. “I died. I was dead. How was I supposed to help that? How is that my fault?”

You softened your voice a little. “It’s not.”

“Then why—”

Mary wobbled a little as if an imaginary gust of wind had knocked her back and she blinked very quickly like she was trying to vanquish tears from her eyes. “That’s why?”

“That’s why,” you agreed. “You weren’t there, Mary. Dean doesn’t care why. He resented you for going away like that, even though it was nobody’s fault. He blamed you. And then you came back.”

There was a long pause where you waited for her to say something, and when she didn’t you began again.

“And Sam—”

Now you had her attention again and she looked back at you.

“Sam doesn’t remember you,” you said. “And I know that’s gotta hurt, but, believe it or not, it actually hurts worse when you can’t remember the person you miss.”

Mary frowned. “How do you miss someone you’ve never known?”

“It’s not that simple. You grow up with this one concept: mommy and daddy. The sun rises and sets on them because they gave you life. But when you lose one of them, even if you’re not born or too young to remember, it still hurts. Now it’s not mommy and daddy, it's just daddy or just mommy. Sometimes, it’s neither of them. And even if you’ve never met them, it hurts because of what you’ve lost. You’ve lost any time you could have spent with them making memories and using the words ‘mom’ and ‘dad’. Things normal people take for granted.”

Mary was staring at you wide eyed with her mouth open slightly. She let a tear slip down her cheek and when you stopped talking, she wiped it angrily and sniffed. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

You shrugged. “Let’s just say I’m very in-tuned to the feelings of other people.”

“Then you know why I’m doing this.”

You nodded once. “Because they’re helping you save the people you didn’t save while you were six feet under—all the people that Azazel killed after he killed you. But at what cost? Because right now, you’re losing your sons to guilt and a couple of know-it-all Brits.”

“You don’t understand,” she said, another tear slipping through her iron-clad wall of defenses—another Winchester trait. “I have to do this.”

You put your hands up. “Hey, if you have to, you have to. Just do me two favors: don’t die, and don’t work with the damn British. For the sake of your sons, at least.”

Mary shook her head. “I can’t do that.”

“Which one?”

“Either? Both. I can’t promise anything.”

You shook your head too, but in disappointment. “Then, I’m sorry, but I think it’s best that you leave.”

Mary gave a curt nod and turned to head toward the bedrooms. You turned and went the other way, heading toward Dean’s room to talk to him and see if he was okay.

The door was closed and locked when you got there and you knocked once. No answer. You knocked louder. Again, no answer, not even the sound of footsteps heading toward the door. He probably thought it was his mother, and he definitely wasn’t going to open the door.

“Dean,” you said softly. “It’s me. Please open the door. I know that you’re upset, but I need to know that you’re okay.”

There was a low grumble on the other side of the door, a creak, and then loud footsteps coming toward the door. The door didn’t click, though. He hadn’t unlocked it yet.

“What do you want?” he said angrily.

“I told you,” you took a deep breath. “I need to know that you’re okay.”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re not,” you disagreed. “You can’t lie to me.”

There was a long pause and then a sigh from the other side of the door. “She’s not with you, is she?”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you to try and play family-fixer,” Dean said. You frowned and scrunched up your eyebrows.

“You don’t mean that.”

Another long sigh. “No. I don’t.” There was a click and then footsteps retreating. You opened the door and closed it behind you. Dean was standing at the foot of his bed, hurt written all over his face, and a single tear line leading from one of his eyes.

You approached him carefully and wiped his cheek dry with your thumb. Surprisingly, he leaned his cheek into your hand and closed his eyes. You’d be lying if you said your heartbeat didn’t speed up a little bit at that.

Dean reached up and pulled your hand away from his face, looking down at you. He was still lightly gripping your wrist, but you weren’t going to tell him to let go. Silently, he wrapped his arms around you, and you did the same, breathing in the scent of Dean.

You held him like that for a while until he pulled away and sank down onto the end of the bed. You sat down next to him and looked up at him.

“I don’t get it,” he said finally, looking over at you sadly. “I mean—I just—”

“They hurt you,” you agreed. “I think that she’s using them to pay her penance.”

Dean frowned. “For what? What did she do wrong?”

You sighed. “She blames herself for what Azazel did—to Sam, to you, to everyone. They’re helping her save lives, and that’s all that she really cares about. Not how it gets done, just that it does.”

Dean shook his head. “But that makes no sense! It’s not like she made that asshat do everything he did to Sammy, and to those other people.”

“That’s something that you and her have in common,” you said. “You blame yourselves for things that aren’t your fault.”

Silence followed that statement, and you didn’t attempt to fill it. It wasn’t awkward silence, just heavy silence. Honestly, you had no idea what he was thinking or how exactly he was feeling, but that was okay. You’d talk if he wanted someone to talk to and you’d let him hold you if he needed someone to hold.

You put your hand on his arm and when he looked at you, you gave him a small smile. “It’ll be okay. I’m sure it will.”

He smiled a little too. “Is it ever?”

You shrugged one shoulder. “Sometimes. The important thing is that you’re not alone. You’ve got me and Sammy and we’re both here for you—”

And then he kissed you. There was no preamble to it, no reason for it, except that maybe you were very close to him. Of course, you weren’t complaining and you kissed back.

Dean pulled away first, slightly breathless and smiling a little. Your cheeks were on fire, and your mouth hung open slightly. Closing your mouth, you searched for something to say. What could you say? You opened it and took a breath as if to say something, anything, but no sound came out and you closed it again.

“You look like a fish,” he said, smiling a little wider. “What were you gonna say?”

“Um,” you said intelligently. “What—” You cleared your throat. “You—what was that for?”

Dean chuckled softly. “Just you, being all protective. It’s kinda adorable.”

“I—”

“And you were right,” he added. “I’m not alone, and I never have been. But I don’t think that this is something a heart-to-heart with mommy dearest is gonna fix.”

You still couldn’t get over the fact that he had kissed you right in the middle of your speech. “You kissed me.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, sweetheart, have you been missing for the last four months, or did I just imagine the whole thing?”

“I mean, yeah, but,” you tripped over your words a little, “I was gearing up for a killer speech and you just—you just planted one on me. That’s unfair. I’m calling awesome speech rights.”

“You’re calling awesome speech rights?” Dean laughed. “Pretty sure that’s not a thing.”

“We’re off topic,” you said, standing up so he couldn’t kiss you again and totally throw off your train of thought. “My point, before I was very rudely interrupted—”

“Oh so my kisses are rude now?”

You pointed at him. “No, but that’s not the point—the point is that Sam, Cas, and I, we’re here. And I think that, eventually, Mary will see what she’s doing and come back.”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know, Y/N. I don’t think so, not this time. I mean, she’s working with the people who tortured my little brother to get to me.”

“I know,” you said softly. “I remember. But I don’t think she’s going to see that they’re bad people until they’re doing something against her specifically.”

“I don’t want it to get that far.”

“Neither do I, but I don’t think we have a choice.”

Dean let out a long sigh and pulled you back to him, hugging around your waist. “I should go check on Sam.”

You nodded. “Yeah, okay.” You let him let go of you first, and then stood.

While he was waking to the door, you had another thought. Now would be a good time to tell him something you’ve been meaning to tell him for a really long time. You and Dean had been together for four months, but you didn’t have the courage to tell him how you felt about him yet.

Somehow, you found your voice as he was reaching for the door handle.

“Hey, Dean?”

He turned and looked at you with his eyebrows raised. Oh god, you couldn’t do it. You almost told him ‘never mind’ and left it there, but you were determined. Taking a deep breath to steel your nerves, you began.

“Remember when Cas thought he was dying and his last thought was that he loved us?”

Dean frowned. “I don’t think I’ll be able to forget it. Why?”

“Well,” you wrung your hands. “I don’t want to wait until I’m dying to tell you this so—”

Looking very worried, Dean turned completely and walked back to you, kneeling down in front of you with his hands on your knees. “Hey, nobody’s dying.”

“I know, but I just,” you took another deep breath. “Dean Winchester, I’ve seen you go to hell and back, literally, and I’ve seen you dance around your feelings for me for years.”

Dean grinned. “Ditto, sweetheart.”

You laughed lightly. “You’ve saved the world—”

“We,” he corrected.

“We’ve saved the world, and, um, okay—I’m just gonna say it: I love you.”

Dean’s goofy grin drooped a little. For a moment, you were very scared, until he kissed you with everything he had. He didn’t have to say it back—you knew he wasn’t all that good with words and that he’d say it when he was more comfortable—but he did say it. He said it every day in the little touches and the goofy grins and the cups of coffee made just the way you like them, and you couldn’t ask for better.

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rowdy-revenant · 7 years

Text

Fall an Angel, Rise a Human - Part One

[prologue] [general masterlist]

Words: 1200+

Pairing: hunter!Gadreel x reader

Chapter summary: The Winchesters run into an old... friend?

“Why do we have to suit up while Y/N does the cool stuff?” Dean asked his brother.

“Because you lost a bet. Stop being a sore loser.” Sam answered. “So what if you don’t get to check out the house right away?”

“So what? So Y/N gets to check out a freaking haunted house while we’re stuck here in suits.” Dean grumbled.

“You know what?” Sam asked.

“What?”

“Suck it up.” Sam said, patting Dean’s arm before they got to the crime scene.

“Agents Manns and Moran, FBI.” Dean announced, approaching the sheriff.

The balding man sighed. “More of you? Look, I already told your buddy from the office over there everything.”

“Buddy?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, says his name’s Ballard.” The sheriff answered.

Sam and Dean exchanged glances. Dean shrugged, and they walked in the direction of another man clad in a suit.

“Think he's a hunter or an actual fed?” Dean asked.

“I hope to god it’s a hunter…” Sam replied.

The figure in a suit was talking to a woman, mother of the victim most likely. Tears ran down her face as she recounted her story. The man in front of her, back to the Winchesters, handed over a tissue.

“Such a gentleman,” She sniffed.“Thank you.”

“It’s quite alright, madam. Those are all the questions I have for you today.” He said in a familiar voice. He passed her something else, a business card. “Do call if you remember anything else.”

The mother nodded and the man in the suit turned. The short brown hair, sharp jawline, tone a little too formal for this day and age, it was all very familiar.

“Gadreel?” Dean asked in disbelief.

Gadreel’s eyes widened when he caught sight of the brothers. They expected him to run, maybe even attack. But he just smiled.

“Sam, Dean, it’s been years.” Gadreel said, walking up to the hunters. “I take it you’re here for the disappearance case.”

“Well um… yeah. But why- how are you even here?” Dean spluttered.

Gadreel frowned slightly. He knew with the profession of hunting he'd run into Sam and Dean again sooner or later, it wasn’t a shock that it was now. He could tell that a lot of questions were coming. “I'll explain it all over lunch if you would like to join me.”

Sam looked over at his brother, who shrugged. “Sure.”

Gadreel smiled again. “Wonderful. I believe there's a diner around the corner. Shall we go there?” He asked.

“Sounds good to us, I guess.” Sam replied.

They followed the angel to a nearby diner, saying nothing as they got a booth and sat down. A couple minutes were spent in silence, reading the menu and making sure the angel in front of them wasn’t a shared hallucination.

“So,” Said a waitress, snapping Sam and Dean out of their trance when it was time to place an order. “What’ll it be?”

“Uh... garden salad and a coffee.” Sam ordered.

“Double cheeseburger with extra fries for me, sweetheart.” Dean followed, winking at the waitress.

Gadreel folded his menu, stacking it neatly on top of the others and passing them over to the server. “A stack of pancakes, side of bacon and eggs.”

“And how do you like those?” the waitress asked, smiling at Gadreel and ignoring all of Dean's advances.

“Sunny side up, please.” He replied politely.

She smiled and headed to the kitchen with the three orders.

Sam was the first to break the ice. “So years ago, back in Heaven, you sort of-”

“Exploded.” Dean interrupted.

“Dean!”

Gadreel undid his tie, taking it off and tucking it away in his jacket pocket to avoid getting it stained. “It's quite alright, Sam. He is correct.”

“So how the hell are you back?” Sam asked.

“I've heard stories if my brother, Castiel, sacrificing himself many times yet returning again and again after God rebuilt him.” Gadreel retold. “Are they true?”

“Yeah. The big man upstairs has been generous with Cas.” Dean acknowledged.

“Well, the same happened after my death. Only instead of grace and wings, with flesh and blood.” Gadreel explained.

“Wait,” Sam said. “As in you're human?”

Gadreel nodded. “I'm not sure how much my father would like me to reveal, but yes. I have been for over three years.”

The brothers in the booth across from him weren't sure what to reply with. Congratulations? Condolences? The question of ‘does that make you three years old or do your angel years still count?’

“So out of any career in the world, you chose hunting.” Dean said, raising an eyebrow.

“Indeed.”

“Why?”

“Why? Well, why do you do it?” Gadreel asked. “To help those in need. To continue the mission I was intended to do and redeem myself from my past mistakes.”

“Plenty of those to go around…” Dean mumbled before Sam shot him an icy glare.

“Please, I know I've gone wrong, especially to you, Sam. But this is my second chance to make things right.” The hunter explained.

The grim conversation ended abruptly once the food arrived and warm plates were placed in front of the men. Dean seemed to perk up a little at the sight of the cholesterol nightmare, Sam got to pouring dressing, and Gadreel picked up his silverware.

Gad admired his plate for a bit. “It's fascinating when you think about it. The effort and energy behind your food, the chemistry it took to make it the way it is, the intense combination of flavours-”

“Shut up and eat your bacon before I do, dude.” Dean said with a mouthful of burger.

The once angel smiled and began to eat.

“But Gadreel?” Dean continued. “Feel free to work the case with us.”

You waited by the dirt road outside the old farmhouse, watching as the impala pulled closer. But this time, for some reason or another, it was followed by an old, black, and slightly rusted land cruiser jeep.

Your moved your arm behind you, hand hovering over the gun tucked into your belt. Just in case.

Sam got out the car, Dean followed suit right after. They walked up to you, before the door to the jeep opened and a man you’d never seen before stepped out.

The man was clearly a hunter. He wore jeans, stained with mud and dried blood, knees worn and edges frayed. His shirt was loose and partially covered in a leather jacket, but didn’t hide the fact that the guy was built like a tank. A shotgun was held tightly in his hand, ready to fire rounds of salt.

But more than that, he had the eyes of a hunter. Eyes that told you he could handle a weapon. Eyes that told you he’d been through hell, possibly in a literal sense.

“Y/N, this is Gadreel.” Sam said, introducing the mystery man to you. “He’s working the case too.”

Gadreel smiled at you and in that moment, you forgot how to speak. “Uhhhhhhh…”

Sam cleared his throat. “So, the house?”

“Right! The house.” You remembered. “I talked to the neighbours, nobody will touch the place apart from on a dare. Gotta be haunted.”

Gadreel nodded. “Then we had better take care of that.”

~ Murdoch’s tag list - want to be added or removed? Send me an ask! ~

All: @alexanderhamlinsin @a-r-c-h-a-n-g-e-l @ashiewesker @ashtheironbat @authoressskr @baritonechick @blessedbebucky @crowleysprincess159 @cynda-kiwi @d4rzill4 @eileenlikesyou-maybe @ellienovak @fayemenelmir @feelmyroarrrr @gabriels-depressed-angel @hiswickedkitty @hunters-hiraeth @kristaparadowski @lenawiinchester @like-gabriel-and-castiel @madelineannmolder @negansgrimes @oldpaperfan @sdavid09@shrimpdrake @sumara62 @thehowling1234 @thewhiterabbit42 @treitike @tenderlybeautifulbarbarian @tyrex15 @unsink-the-titanic

Gadreel: @hackwriter

FAARAH: @ildaththedragon @marianita195 @quixoticcat @tolieboy

#gadreel #faarah #series #reader insert #gadreel x reader #supernatural imagine #gadreel x you

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imagineteamfreewill · 7 years

Text

Sequoias

Title: Sequoias

Pairing: Reader x Gabriel

Word Count: 1,833

Warnings: Angst, loss of sensation, fighting, character death

Request: Gabriel is your guardian angel and your best friend. Sometimes he likes to take you on little trips places. But one time something goes wrong (you can choose) and he can’t save you. So he brings you back to your brothers (Sam and Dean) to die.

A/N: This is unbeta-ed, so any mistakes are my fault. I might go back and edit it again later, who knows. Sorry this took so long to write! I don’t typically write Gabriel, so this is a little short, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

_________________

“Gabriel!” you cried, smiling from ear to ear.

Gabe had appeared in front of your TV just as you’d been setting your bag down for work, and it only took a second before you were running toward the angel and throwing your arms around his shoulders. He was right on time for your weekly excursion, but your excitement to leave town was even more prevalent than usual after a long day at work.

Gabe laughed, picking you up and twirling you. “There’s my girl!” he grinned as he set you back down. Taking a look around, Gabriel whistled in appreciation at your newly decorated apartment. “I like what you’ve done with the place! If I hadn’t watched you struggle to put those shelves up yourself, I would think that a professional did everything for you!”

“Shut up,” you groaned, still smiling all the while. “Some help with the shelves would’ve been nice, you know. And with the paint!”

Gabriel gave you a cheeky grin in response. You couldn’t resist the urge to stick your tongue out at him, which only made him laugh. You knew that he would’ve come if you’d asked, but somehow it felt silly to ask your guardian angel to help you with renovating your apartment. Still, you knew that Gabe wouldn’t have complained.

“You ready to go?” he asked.

Smiling, you nodded and grabbed your rain jacket, wallet, and keys from the hooks by the front door. You knew you never needed anything when you went out with him, but you could never tell if you would have enough time to come back to your apartment before you had to go back to work, and you would need your keys to open the shop the next morning.

“Where are we going today?”

“It’s a surprise.” He gave you a small, secretive smile, excitement glittering in his whiskey-colored eyes. “Close your eyes, Y/N,” Gabe instructed, as always, as he slipped his hand into your free one.

You did as you were told, and when the familiar tugging sensation in your gut dissipated, you opened them again. You couldn’t help but gasp at what you saw.

All around you were the tall sequoia trees you’d only seen secondhand, and the thick mist that the treetops disappeared into was just beginning to settle around you like a cool, soft blanket. There weren’t any tourists nearby—Gabe had a thing about not taking you where there were bound to be lots of people around—and you smiled softly when you saw a family of rabbits hopping around a few yards away. The two youngest were obviously playing a game, and you laughed when the larger of the two surprised the other from behind.

Reddish-brown dirt covered the ground as far as the eye could see, and the little bits of wood chips and branches scattered across it made it a drastic change from the level city sidewalks you were used to walking. Patches of green grass occupied a larger space a little farther off, and you could just make out a series of winding wooden paths that had been built for park guests to wander.

“Do you like it?” Gabe asked, stepping up from behind you.

You hadn’t even realized you’d let go of his hand and began to walk around. Turning, you grinned at him and nodded excitedly.

“This is amazing!” you cried. “I’ve always wanted to come here! I was just watching a documentary about this place last week and—”

“I know!” Gabe chuckled. “Where do you think I got the idea, sweetheart?”

The same cheeky grin from before was plastered across his face as he draped an arm over your shoulders and began to lope along the uneven ground. You walked alongside him, marveling over the trees’ incredible height and the width of their massive trunks.

“Hey Gabe?” you asked after the two of you had been walking for a while. He looked over at you, waiting for you to speak again. “Were you there when God created this forest? I mean, I know they weren’t always this big, but did he help them to grow faster or something? Or were they just little seeds like every other tree?”

Gabriel’s father had always been a touchy subject for him. You knew that he didn’t think too highly of God, but you figured that creation and trees were a pretty neutral subject. Still, Gabriel took a few long moments before he finally looked like he could respond without cursing out his dad.

“They were just seeds when he started. I was so excited to watch him grow them that he even let me plant some of them. You wanna see?” You nodded, and in the blink of an eye, you were standing in front of the famed drive-through tree. Gabe had to grab your arm so you wouldn’t keep going and accidentally walk into the edge of the split trunk, and you looked back at him gratefully.

Once he let go of your arm, you stepped closer and inspected the tree’s trunk. It was ancient and majestic, and you loved it immediately. Anything that Gabe did or created you adored, and this was no exception.

“This is beautiful,” you murmured, running a hand along the rough bark. “Did you really plant the seed for this tree, Gabe, or are you just kidding me?”

He didn’t answer.

Confused, you turned around to find him gone. “Gabe?” you called. “Gabriel?”

When there was no response, you went through the tree to the other side, but he wasn’t there, either. You walked around the whole tree, only to find that your angel was nowhere to be found.

A lump formed in your throat. Where had he gone? He’d never left you before, especially not in the middle of a forest on the other side of the country from your home. Something had to have happened, and you didn’t like the thought of that.

The mist from above had begun to fully settle around you in a thick fog. Your visibility had gone from almost miles to practically nothing, and nervousness bloomed inside of you.

“Gabe? Come on, this isn’t funny!” you cried. Your voice wobbled in fear, despite your best efforts to remain calm.

“I’m over here!”

Whirling around, you tried to figure out where his voice was coming from.

“Y/N!”

“Over here!”

“Come this way!”

“I’m over here!”

This couldn’t be happening—Gabe’s voice was coming from all different directions. That wasn’t possible, unless this was just another one of his jokes.

Pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes, you tried to focus. Which Gabe sounded the most real?

“Y/N, this way!”

Suddenly, someone grabbed your arm and pulled you in their direction. Trying not to stumble, you stepped after them and let your hands drop from your eyes. The person turned, displaying two shining red irises that glinted in the little light that filtered in through the mist.

It wasn’t Gabe.

“Let me go!” you screamed, trying to get out of their grasp. “Gabe! Help!”

The man laughed and pulled you after them. His grip on your arm was as tight as iron, and though you were in shape, there was no way you’d be able to escape from him.

You dug your heels into the soft earth beneath your feet, but it was to no avail. They kept pulling you behind them, and soon you realized that there was only one solution.

With your free hand, you reached into the waistband of your jeans and pulled out the gun you kept there for sticky situations. This, you thought grimly, definitely counts as a sticky situation.

“I said, let me go!”

Letting off a single shot, you forced their grip from your arm and stumbled backward, putting a few feet between you and the stranger. They grabbed onto their arm, howling in pain, but only seconds passed before you realized that the gunshot wound had already healed over.

“Silly hunter,” the man chuckled. “You really think you can get away from me? Your angel isn’t coming for you. He’s never coming for you again.”

The man reached out and threaded one hand into your hair, then yanked hard. You let out a yelp as he pulled your head down so you were forced look up at his grime-covered face. A slow smile spread across his face as he watched your eyes tear up in pain.

“Poor little girl. It’s a shame you had to go this way, but I need your little angel’s full attention. You’re a distraction I can’t afford this time around,” he hissed.

You opened your mouth to say something, only to be stopped by the sensation of pins and needles crawling up your left leg. It moved quickly, and soon there was no feeling at all below your hips.

“No,” you whimpered, grabbing onto the man’s arms to hold yourself up. “Don’t do this, please. I’ll leave him alone. I won’t talk to him ever again! You can’t do this! Don’t hurt me, ple—”

Your senses were slipping away one by one, and as soon as you lost feeling in your face and scalp, you realized that your hearing was quickly diminishing. You managed to get out a few more choked words before you stopped being able to hear yourself speak. Sight was the only thing you had left, as your sense of smell disappeared soon after your ability to listen, and your heart sped up when you realized that you were now on the ground, watching two men grappling for control of a silver sword.

Gabriel!

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when you saw that Gabriel was picking you up in his arms. It was strange to see the world moving around you, at least with your limited sense of sight, and everything seemed to be moving a lot slower than normal. So, it took you by surprise when you blinked and found yourself staring up at the ceiling of the bunker.

You’d moved out two months ago to have a place of your own. After you’d stopped hunting as much to have more of a normal life, your brothers had insisted that you move out so you wouldn’t be so involved in their hunts. You’d agreed, albeit reluctantly, and you hadn’t had a chance to come back to visit them since.

Above you, Sam and Dean had gathered next to Gabriel. Horror was written on all three of their faces, and your heart broke when you realized they were all crying.

Dean reached out and touched your cheek, his mouth moving. When you didn’t answer—or at least you think you didn’t answer, you couldn’t be sure—, his words grew more frantic.

They’re calling my name.

Your vision was beginning to grow darker and darker as time went on, and you struggled to speak.

I’m sorry. I love you. I’m sorry. I love you.

Please don’t leave me.

Please don’t leave.

Please.

_______________

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velocitycomics · 7 years

Text

Hey! There was something glitchy going on with our newsletter this weekend... if you haven’t received it, here it is!

Hello, all--

After chewing on it for a few days and deciding I like the way it tastes, we’re going to go ahead and have a SALE on Labor Day! Discounts all over the darn place! To find out how low we’re going, you’ll just have to come in and see. I think you’ll be pretty into it. We’ll only be open truncated hours, from 10-3… plenty of time to set you up with some amazing reads.

LAST CALL! Tell me if you want them now, subscribers. That way I order enough! My orders lock on these soon-to-be-shipping titles Monday:

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INFINITE LOOP: NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH (IDW) Sequel to the initial hit mini! Great-looking art.

GENERATIONS: CAPTAIN AMERICA (Marvel) Sam and Steve, time travelin’ pals.

GENERATIONS: SPIDER-MAN (Marvel) Miles and Peter, time travelin’ pals.

FU JITSU (Aftershock) This looks pretty fun. Fu Jitsu is an unaging genius adventurer, who counts Einstein and the Wright Brothers among his friends, who exiles himself to Antarctica to get over a bad break-up. That’s just bonkers enough to be amazing.

CAPTAIN KRONOS (Titan) European-styled, good ol’ fashioned vampire hunting!

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angelaiswriting · 7 years

Text

Back again | Charles Vane x Reader (part 1 of 2)

[Gif not mine] - READ PART TWO HERE

Requested by Anon: “First off I want to say how amazing your blog is!!!! I’ve been looking for stuff like this since the end of Black Sails! I was wondering if you could write an imagine where the reader brings Vane back from the dead (Kinda like Calypso & Barbosa In POTC) and Vane ends up falling for the reader. Thanks !!” + “Vane is Made Pirate King of Nassau and makes reader his Queen”

A/N: I thought I’d mix these two requests since I received them seven minutes apart and I had the feeling you were the same person who maybe forgot to add that second part + I apologize for any mistakes too. Also @selldraug would like to say "And Claudia said: bitch stop, you're gonna write a book" and I might. I MIGHT, because I’m just so in love with this request haha (part 2 might contain some smut because when Claudia requests I obey)

Fandom: Black Sails. Pairing: Charles Vane x Reader

Warnings: what if in which Vane is still alive. Nothing else I think ?

Word-count: 2887

Your hair color: submit What is this? document.getElementById("submit2").addEventListener('click', function(){ var s = escapeRegExp('Y/H/C'); Y/H/C PUT WHATEVER EXPRESSION HERE BETWEEN THE SINGLE QUOTES var val = new RegExp(s, "ig"); walk(document.body, val, document.getElementById("inputTxt2").value); }); function escapeRegExp(str) { return str.replace(/[\-\[\]\/\{\}\*\+\?\.\\\^\$\|]/g, "\\$&"); }

Charles felt uncomfortable. Something hard was behind his back – or beneath it: he wasn’t quite sure which of the two options was correct.

He clearly remembered dying, or at least standing on the gibbet. The Englishmen had hung him in front of the people that had once been his comrades or his enemies in the search for power and treasures that had led his – and still led theirs – life. He remembered saying something to them, something along the lines of ‘just kick their fat asses after I’m gone’, but he couldn’t quite grasp the exact words he had used.

His skin prickled. His neck hurt as if that damn rope were still around it, blocking the air from reaching his lungs.

Then it hit him. A strange smell of smoke. It wasn’t quite the smoke of cigars, or of bonfires, to which he had once been used to – it was sweeter, almost heavier, but smoke nevertheless. It felt like it was cuddling him, lulling him to sleep.

He had never believed in religion, in the distinction between Heaven and Hell, in the fight between God and the Devil, Good and Evil. He had never been quite a good person either – he had killed, kidnapped, robbed, hurt. He had been petty and violent. He had been enslaved, but he had eventually redeemed himself.

God had never been there for him – all his life he had believed only in himself, in his fellows and in his enemies, even. He’d send Him to hell if only he could.

That’s why he didn’t think he had ended up in Heaven.

Heaven would be too good for someone like him. He’d feel too much at peace there – Heaven was not a place for someone like Captain Charles Vane, restless, needing people, rum, gold, miles under his belt and under his Ranger.

He had probably fallen asleep, even though he had yet to open his eyes.

It was just too peaceful, laying or standing there like that – wherever he was. He didn’t even care if he was in a coffin six feet under or at the bottom of the sea. He felt like he had earned some sleep, some rest. Because let’s admit it: being a pirate and a captain is not an easy thing. You always had to watch your back, to grant the crew what they needed (which almost always was gold to buy rum or to bang a whore). You had to plan the assaults, to keep away from His Highness’s ships and bounty hunters, for you almost always had a bag of silver hanging above your head and a whole bunch of bigots who wanted you dead.

And he had died, to their utter joy.

They got rid of Charles Vane and they were now free from that terror.

Or at least that’s what they might have been thinking, Charles told himself.

Days had passed. Maybe centuries. Charles didn’t even know – time felt like it was flowing terribly slowly, it felt dilated, heavy. He didn’t know and he didn’t even care. He felt like it didn’t matter. And if this was eternity... well, he’d have to put up with it.

Then, suddenly, almost unexpectedly, his eyes fluttered open on their own accord.

For a moment the bright light blinded him and he squinted his eyes.

Now that he was wide awake he could feel something under his back, something soft, not hard as he had perceived it before. Peeking from under his lashes he saw the hem of a brown blanket covering him, rising and falling with each breath he took.

Did he just come back from the dead?

It was a silly thought, but a hope nevertheless. He wasn’t done with life. Heck, he’d never be done with the sea – it was still out there, somewhere, waiting for him, calling him like a siren, needing him to sail it again.

And maybe God – that God in which he had never believed before, that God who had always been against him – was the only one to actually know how much he still needed it – the sea, the sand, the rum, a ship under his feet. He still needed the world and whatever it had to offer. And he’d always be there to catch its gifts.

A low hum distracted him and he immediately closed his eyes shut, slowing his breath down, pretending to be asleep.

He felt someone entering the room, shuffling things around, humming an old tune he had already heard somewhere in his past – or maybe it was just an impression since he couldn’t remember the moment or the person who had once hummed it.

“My God, Charles Vane,” a woman’s voice huffed. “If only had I known you’d take so long to wake up from the dead, I would’ve never brought you back.”

Another sigh.

Then he felt the mattress underneath his body lowering, something warm – probably her body – sitting just millimeters from his left leg.

“I had heard you were a good company,” she went on and Charles heard the noise of moving water. “But I must be honest with you: you’re actually not.” She moved a little in her spot: what Charles thought was her thigh got closer to his own and he thought she had turned to look at him.

Him? Not a good company? Who the heck was this girl?

“I mean, I know that coming back from death is no walk in the park, but come on!” She got closer and pushed his thigh a little. He felt the blanket being lifted from him and the hot air in the room hit his chest like a slap. “I know I shouldn’t because let me tell you – you have a great body,” she spoke again and something wet started to clean his chest. “Scarred and all, but a great body indeed,” the woman added. “But, you know, I’m tired of cleaning you up. I can’t even get it – you’re always sweating.”

Charles tried not to frown – who the hell was she? What did she want? The urge to shut her up was so strong he literally had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from opening that damn mouth he had.

He let her wash his chest and when he felt her movements go lower, he opened his eyes.

He only had a couple of seconds to take in her Y/H/C hair before he grabbed her left wrist in a swift movement.

She jumped in surprise and the cloth she was using to wash him fell on his abdomen. She struggled to get free and ended up knocking his groin with her elbow. The grasp on her wrist disappeared all at once as Charles closed his legs and eyes, cursing under his breath.

Y/N jumped on her feet. Before he knew it Charles Vane had a gun pointing at his head.

“Don’t move or I’ll send you back where I took you from,” she growled, but he could see the fear in her eyes, hear it in her voice.

Charles got up on an elbow, one hand still on his groin. Damn, he didn’t come back from the dead to be kicked where the sun doesn’t shine, he thought. Or at least he hoped. “Who the hell are you?”

“Well, no ’thank you’?” she pouted, gun still aiming at him.

“Thank you,” he mocked her, sitting up. His eyes hurt like hell and they were so sensitive that they were watering.

“I’m Y/N,” she answered. “And close your eyes, they’ve not recovered completely yet,” she added, throwing him a dark bandage and lowering the gun.

She stared at him for a minute or so before reaching the bed again. Charles recoiled a little, scared he might get hit again, and dragged the blankets with him. Y/N simply bent down to grab the washbowl full of water but didn’t dare to retrieve the cloth she used with him.

The young woman reached the doorway and moved the curtain she used as a door. She had already taken a step forward when she stilled for a second. She turned to face Charles Vane and smiled. “Sleep now, you need to rest.”

A week had passed by quickly.

Charles had already started to go outside, even though Y/N always tried to stop him. He had just come back from the afterlife – the whole ritual had exhausted her and she couldn’t even start to guess how weak he had to feel – but he needed to go back to the world.

She almost liked him better unconscious. Those first three weeks had passed slowly, but at least he had been silent. Now he had turned out to be a huge pain in the ass. He whined about everything, had her to sleep on the uncomfortable couch she had in what could’ve been called a living room, and did absolutely nothing to help her out.

Charles sat by the sea, not knowing where he was. She told him they were still on New Providence Island, but in which fucking part? He was fuming: he had to go back. Go back and check on the Englishmen. Help out those who wanted them dead. Kill Eleanor himself.

“Make yourself useful,” Y/N’s voice grunted and a second later two big fish brushed against his head while falling.

He turned around and grabbed her by her ankle, stopping her from stomping away. “Who do you think I am?”

“I brought you back, Charles,” she growled, freeing her foot. “Show more gratitude or I’ll send you back. People like you cast me out. I helped you because I thought you could change the things on this stupid island,” and she knelt down in front of him, eyes burning, rage furiously flowing with her blood in her veins. “You’d better show me you deserved being saved because I’m no lady and I can be your worst nightmare.”

And with those words, she left.

“I’ve been a dick,” Charles said out of nowhere that evening, while the two were having dinner.

The fish he had cleaned was delicious and Y/N would’ve loved to have more of it, but that frigging pirate was starving and she had to cede part of her food. And she understood it, really – being dead and coming back, remaining unconscious for weeks and drinking somehow only fish soup didn’t sound like easy things, but...

She sighed. “Yes.”

“I’d like to apologize,” he continued, pouring more water into his wooden glass.

“You better,” she mumbled before standing up. She took his dish and hers and reached the sink in the adjoined little kitchen.

“Sleep in your bed tonight.”

She turned towards him and frowned. Was he kidding? Or did he really mean it? “You don’t fit on the couch,” she pointed out, raising an eyebrow. Was he going to sleep on the floor? She’d laugh: Captain Charles Vane sleeping on the ground just so that she could have her bed back. She shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t worry about me. Just think about your health: the sooner you recover, the sooner I kick you out of my house.”

They slept together that night. It wasn’t romantic, it wasn’t for sex – they just laid in Y/N’s bed, side by side, and they both fought to fall asleep.

They talked for a while – she told him how she had found his corpse a few feet from her door, that she had no idea who could have brought him there. She didn’t exactly tell him how she brought him back – and sure as hell all she wanted was to forget the things she had done to reach her target – but she explained how she had taken care of him before he woke up.

He let her talk and kept his gaze fixed on her face only because he knew she had her eyes closed. He like the sound of her voice, it always calmed him somehow. And when her voice did its magic he always realized how he had needed it without even knowing.

Her skin was pale, even though the sun burnt New Providence and everyone and everything on the island. She had the skin of a lady, one of those you could find in a big city, with a nice house, a rich husband and kids she didn’t have to look after.

He brushed his hand against her arm, but she gave no sign of feeling his touch.

“Why did you take me back? Why did you think I was worthy of it?” he suddenly asked, voice tired.

She managed to shrug her shoulders even if she was laying. “You were strong, determined. No one even dared to stop you, everyone feared you. But you cared for your people and followed your heart, doing what you thought was the right thing to do,” she answered and turned her head in his direction, eyes wide open. “I thought... maybe you were the right person to free Nassau, to bring order.” She snickered while adding: “To get rid of those Guthries.”

They both laid in silence for a while, him staring at the ceiling and her staring at his profile.

“And because you were a slave and freed yourself,” she whispered. “I wish I had your same strength back in the days.”

He frowned and tried to ask her what she meant, but she yawned and snuggled into the cushions.

Before he knew it, she was sound asleep. In the dim light of the candle still burning on her bedside table, he saw a pale long scar on her right cheek.

A month had passed since his resurrection, but Charles couldn’t accept the idea of leaving Y/N and the peace of the place where she lived.

It was quiet, no one ever came. Isolated God knows where her cottage was small but comfortable. A vegetable garden was the first thing that would welcome you when you reached her house. Tomatoes tanned under the sun, herbs scented the air, flowers shone like stars.

Charles had never thought of having a house, or a wife. For a long, long time his house had been the Ranger, his wife – the sea. His crew had been like an extended family – they were the only people he’d ever need, the only people he had trusted, the only people he had wanted by his side.

But now... with each day he felt himself falling harder for the young woman who had resurrected him. He almost felt the need to stay with her, to even just stare at her while she did whatever she did every day. He smelled the sea on her skin and that salty water – which he had loved all his life – smelled differently, it changed her scent and she changed its.

He had never been the romantic guy some women wanted. He was rough, he was vulgar at times, he was more like the raging sea than a man. But with her by his side, with peace filling his days, with nothing to worry about... a thought flashed in his mind, almost like a wish, like a hope: he could stay here forever. He could go to sea and come back to her, and in those days in which he'd remain home he could smell the scent of the unknown on her skin, see distant places in her eyes, hear in her voice the sound the wind makes when it caresses the sails.

“What are you staring at?” she asked, smiling, and sat next to him on the shore.

She was bare feet and wore blue cotton trousers and one of the shirts she had given him.

“You,” he blurted out before he could stop his tongue.

Her cheeks turned red, but he wasn’t quite sure whether it was because of the hot sun or because of his words.

He caught himself thinking how cute she was, with red cheeks and light freckles dotting the skin of her face.

She averted her gaze and turned towards the sea.

Waves were washing the shore and the sun looked like fire on the water. Seagulls were flying and screaming above their heads.

“Was it hard?” he asked, hoping to get her to talk.

“What?”

“Bringing me back.”

She looked at him and smiled, then shrugged her shoulders. “No,” she answered, but Charles knew she was lying.

“What’s that scar on your face?”

“The past,” Y/N sighed. “And the past stays in the past,” she added. “You’ve quite recovered.”

She looked sad while she stared at him. The wind was blowing from the sea against her face and her hair flew behind her in a Y/H/C mess.

He nodded and this once he was the one to stare at the sea. “Do you want me gone?”

Y/N sighed. “No, I’m not sure. I’ve been alone for years and it’s good to finally have someone to talk to, even if that someone’s just got back from the dead.”

“I like it here,” he confessed, wrists resting on his knees. “With you.”

She smiled and threw some sand in his direction.

“But I have to go back to Nassau,” he added, turning to face her.

She sat still for a moment and he saw her swallowing hard. Then she nodded.

“And I want you to come with me. I’ll need your help to take the port.”

#charles vane #charles vane imagine #captain charles vane #black sails #black sails imagine #black sails imagines #imagine #imagines #charles vane x reader #reader insert #writeblr #requests

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marril96 · 7 years

Text

Wounds

Characters: Rowena, Crowley, reader

Pairings: Rowena/reader

Genres: Hurt/comfort

Warnings: Fluff, torture, whump

Summary: Reader enlists Crowley’s help to rescue Rowena, who has been taken and tortured by a zealot. Rowena is badly injured and it’s up to reader to provide her care and comfort.

Being chained up had been nothing new for Rowena.

Being beaten and then chained up by a zealot intent of purifying her soul, on the other hand, had been quite a novelty.

She'd had her fair share of run ins with fanatics – she had, after all, been alive for over three centuries. It would have been surprising if she hadn't come across a fanatic or two in a lifetime that long.

Yet, this one stood out amongst them all. He wasn't a man of cloth. He wasn't a leader of a spiritual group or a hunter who'd taken his faith too far. He was just a simple man from a farm who'd owned as many weapons as he'd had rosaries.

Some would call him a hermit.

Rowena called him a bastard.

He'd apparently had a knowledge of the supernatural world, but instead of doing what so many like him did – going out into the world and eradicating the monsters, as they'd so casually called them – he'd holed up on his farm and creepily observed his neighbors and passersby through the window, giving them judging looks any time they'd display behavior he'd disapprove of – the horrible crimes of holding their partner's hand or dressing up in a way he'd find inappropriate.

He'd also appeared to have an irrational hatred for witches.

So when he'd spotted Rowena in the store and caught her muttering a spell under her breath, he'd wasted no time in sneaking up on her and putting her in iron. He'd made sure to gag her as he led her to his truck – forcibly, pulling on the chains he'd put on her with all his strength, as if she were a beast he'd intended to tame.

Which, as it turned out, hadn't been that far from the truth.

She'd put up a fight, struggling against the restraints. Her magic being bound didn't mean she was powerless. However, her resistance proved futile. The man might have been older, but he was nowhere near the stereotype of a frail old man. He beat on her until she stopped fighting him; after each punch and kick he'd made sure to point out that it was her who was making him do that, and that none of it would have happened if she'd just stayed calm.

Rowena had heard enough of those excuses all throughout her lifetime to know that it was bullshit. She'd only given into his demands to stop him from hitting her. She could handle a beating – it had, after all, not been her first – but she didn't know what he'd planned on doing to her later and she needed her strength in case he'd had in mind something especially bad.

After chaining her wrists up in his shed, he'd made a point of removing her heels and tossing them to the side. Rowena couldn't help wondering if that had perhaps been a fetish of some sort – you never know with these freaks. However, as he'd soon explained, he'd only done it to help her. He'd intended to keep her like that for a while so he'd gotten rid of the shoes because he knew it would hurt her to stand in high heels for so long.

How considerate of him.

"This can all be over soon," he said, his voice that of a man on the verge of madness. "You just have to repent and you will be free."

"Repent for what?" Rowena scoffed. She'd done plenty of crazy shit in her lifetime, but lately she'd been clean, as the humans would call it. She hadn't killed anyone in over six months. It wasn't much, but for someone like her, it was progress.

"For your wicked ways," he said.

"Think you’re the first man asking that of me? Please!" She chuckled. "I'll tell you what I told all those other zealots in the past – I'm not sorry. For anything. I know you people are big on the whole martyr thing, but that's not me. I love being bad. I revel in it. If you think you can get me to change my ways, you've got the wrong witch. I don't apologize, and I most certainly do not repent!"

She made sure to look him directly in the eyes as she spat those words. He may have gotten the upper hand in this fight, but she wanted him to know that she wasn't frightened of him. He could threaten her. He could beat on her. He could torture her. He could do things to her that would make other people cower in fear. He could do anything he wanted, and she would still not be scared of him.

He was just a pathetic wee man who was scared of his own shadow. He couldn't even face her without weakening her first. After being tortured by Crowley's demons and murdered – twice! – by the devil himself, a mere human with fancy toys couldn't scare her no matter how hard he wanted to.

"Give it time," he told her solemnly. "Soon you will see it my way."

Rowena's response was a chuckle.

Then he produced a whip, and her face grew serious, carelessness fading to allow dread to settle in.

Oh, no.

Convincing Crowley to help you rescue Rowena had been anything but easy. The two had been enemies before he'd even left the womb. They'd started to tolerate each other before the whole fiasco with Gavin happened – since then they could barely stand to look at each other. Not even dying at the hands of Lucifer and coming back to life – something they'd now had in common – could bring them at least a bit closer.

You'd initially planned to go look for her yourself, but after investigating the farm the locator spell had told you she'd been held at, you knew you couldn't just burst in on your own. You'd even called the Winchesters to ask about the owner, just to be sure the stories you'd read about him were true, and they'd told you everything rumors on the internet had – he'd known about the supernatural and would gladly kill any beast that dared step foot on his property, but he wasn't a hunter. That didn't make him any less dangerous.

Your first thought was to ask Sam and Dean for help, but when you'd called to ask about the man who had taken Rowena, they told you they were on a case. Thinking they'd had enough on their plate, you just thanked them for the information and hung up the phone.

Having no other options, you summoned Crowley.

It took half an hour of you threatening, crying, begging, and offering to sell your soul for him to finally give in. He said it was to shut you up because you were annoying him, but you could see that a part of him still cared about his mother. He wouldn't say it out loud, but the feelings, as small as they were, were still there.

He teleported you right outside the shed your spell pointed to. Bringing a finger to his lips to let you know to be quiet, he motioned for you to follow him.

Just as you approached the door, a scream sounded, loud and pained, followed by a cry you'd known all too well. Concern melted into fear as your heart started racing as if it was running a marathon. Heat burned in the back of your neck as dread you hadn't felt since walking in on her charred corpse settled in. It wasn't hear death that you feared now – it was pain.

A snap echoed, as if something leather collided with naked skin, and Rowena let out another bloodcurdling scream. Swallowing a scream of your own, you rushed forward. Before Crowley could stop you, you raised your hand and began muttering a spell, all caution thrown to the wind. You didn't care if you got hurt – not anymore. Rowena was in pain, and if her safety meant you'd have to suffer a few bruises, so be it.

The door flew off its hinges, led by an invisible force, slamming into the ground with a loud thud. You wasted no time in bursting in, mentally preparing defensive spells.

The sight that greeted your eyes made you stop dead in your tracks.

"Bloody hell!" Crowley said, unable to mask the shock in his voice.

Bloody hell, indeed.

Rowena hung by the iron chains clasped tightly around her wrists. Her legs were weak, wobbly, barely supporting her trembling body. Had it not been for the chains, she would have collapsed into a broken heap. She raised her head weakly, putting all her remaining strength into locking her eyes with yours. Her bruised face glistened with sweat. Her makeup was smudged, bits of eye shadow and mascara trailing down her battered cheeks. Her hair, always so beautiful and in place, now resembled a dirty, messy haystack.

Blood pooled around her bare feet. The very same blood that had colored her torn up gown deep red, almost brown. The very same blood that had glistened on the surface of the leather whip the fanatic had been clutching as he stared into you and Crowley with absolute madness in his eyes.

You realized, as anger you hadn't felt in a while flared in you, turning your blood into fire, that it wasn't the defensive spells that you needed – it was the offensive ones.

Just as you were about to spit out a spell, a gurgling sound made you turn your head. The zealot that had so mercilessly tortured your girlfriend had discarded the whip and brought his palms to his head, pressing into his temples in attempts to lessen the invisible pain.

"Repen–"

Before he could finish the word, his head split open, blood and brains gushing out like a burst of pressurized water. His headless body collapsed into the gore, blood pouring out the open neck.

You glared at Crowley as if he'd just murdered your entire family. You had been the one who wanted to make the bastard pay. You had been the one who wanted to torture him. How could he take that away from you, after everything that monster had done to your girlfriend?

The expression on the demon's face told you he was been just as angry as you, and that was enough for your face to soften with understanding. Crowley may have despised Rowena, but she was still his mother. He may have wanted her dead, but not even he was that cruel. Not even he would do to her what that monster had done.

You rushed to Rowena, with Crowley following close behind. He instantly started working on the chains to free her while you cupped her cheeks with utmost tenderness, as if the slightest trace of roughness in your touch would break her, in hopes of providing comfort she so desperately needed. Not that she would admit it. Rowena was a proud creature. She'd rather suffer in silence than ask for help. Yet, you could tell by the look of relief that crossed her face that she was glad that you were there.

"You found me," she said weakly, pushing forward to nestle into your palms. The movement caused her to let out a pained kiss, prompting you to step closer.

"Take it easy," you said, pressing your forehead to hers, careful not to disturb the bruises. "You know I always find you."

Her left wrist suddenly fell free and you instinctively wrapped your arms around her to steady her. Had you been late a single moment, she would have plopped to the ground. Slick covered your hands as you laid them on her back; one glance revealed it to be blood.

Your eyes widened at the state of her back. The ripped fabric of her dress revealed torn skin covered in cuts upon bleeding cuts. What used to be flawless, milky skin now looked more like tattered fabric.

"I'm sorry," you said when she yelped. You loosened your grip, moving your hands to her lower back that hadn't been as wounded as her upper one. "I didn't know. I'm sorry." You shot Crowley a dirty look, threat clear in your eyes. "Damn it, Crowley! Would it kill you to be careful? She's hurt!"

"My sincerest apologies for not helping the woman who sent my son to die in a way you'd prefer," Crowley said, every word dripping with sarcasm.

You rolled your eyes. "It was Gavin's choice," you pointed out. On one hand, you understood his bitterness. Had it been someone you loved, you would hold a grudge as well. On the other hand, you loved Rowena and seeing her in pain was breaking your heart. The thought of unnecessary harm coming her way just for the sake of Crowley's petty revenge pissed you off to no end.

The King of Hell scoffed. "I have to say, mother," he said as he started working on freeing her other wrist, "your ability to get yourself into crazy shit astounds me."

"Always happy to provide entertainment for you, Fergus," Rowena said.

He chuckled. "Flogging's a nice touch. Should've suggested it to my demons back when they captured you," he commented, throwing a short look at her back.

"A reminder of that is just what I needed," Rowena retorted. "Thank you so much, Fergus. It's nice to know how much you care about your mother."

"You're welcome."

"Leave her alone," you told him. His only response was a smirk. The chain freed her other wrist with a click. You stumbled as the weight of her entire body fell on you, barely managing to keep yourself on your feet. You may have been taller than her, but when it came to physical strength, she greatly surpassed you. That was one of the reasons you relied on your magic so much; what you couldn't do physically you made up for with spells.

Only, there hadn't been a spell to support a wounded person's body – or at least you hadn't been aware of one. You took a few steps back before finally steadying yourself and Rowena, your grip on her tight all the while. Despite her weakness, she managed to find balance on her own feet. She was nowhere near strong enough to stand on her own, but little support was better than no support.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you," you said, glaring daggers at Crowley, who just winked at you. "Your son's being an asshole."

"It's quite alright, dear. How bad is my back?"

You threw another look at her wounded back, hesitating for a moment before deciding on the truth. They were her injuries, after all. She deserved to know the full extent of them. "Very bad. I'm gonna need your help with the healing spell."

You'd only performed it before a few times, and that had only been to heal small cuts. You'd never even seen wounds alike those she bore, let alone attempted to heal them.

She sighed. "Alright. You better not leave any scars," she warned.

"I'll do my best." You couldn't promise her there wouldn't be any scars, but you would damn well do everything in your power to turn her skin back to its flawless glory. You turned back to Crowley. "Take us home, will you? My home."

"If you insist." He eyed Rowena from head to toe. "I certainly hope your carpets are insured. She'll make a mess."

If there was one thing you didn't give a damn about, it was Rowena getting blood on your carpets. Hell, she would get blood all over your apartment and you wouldn't bat an eye. As long as she was safe, you didn't care about your belongings. Her wellbeing came first. She came first.

You made sure to give Crowley your deadliest of glares to get your point across. Just because he considered her worthless didn't mean she was. Terrible mother or not, she was still a person. She had feelings. She hurt and suffered, and had gone through a horrible ordeal just mere minutes ago. She didn't deserve to be looked down on like that.

"Just saying," Crowley said nonchalantly.

"Why don't you keep your comments to yourself?" you snapped, having had enough of his attitude.

"Don't mind Fergus, Y/N," Rowena told you in an attempt to calm you. "He's just trying to get a rise out of you."

You wished with all your heart that you could ignore him, but seeing her like that, all broken and vulnerable, made you angry. You had to take it out on someone, and who better than her wiseass son? He had, after all, been the one purposely hurting her while trying to help her and making unnecessary comments.

"I'm just saying, if it were me, I wouldn't let her anywhere near my things. I'd probably dump her in one of the dungeons," Crowley said with a shrug.

Even the thought of doing something like that made you sick. How could he even joke about it? Hadn't she been through enough? "Good thing I'm not you, isn't it?"

"Depends on who you ask."

"That's enough, Fergus!" Rowena chided, getting irritated herself.

"I could always leave you here," he reminded her.

"So leave me!" she said. "I'd rather suffer here than listen to anymore of your nonsense!"

"Someone's in a mood."

"You would be, too, if you'd been flogged over thirty times!" she exclaimed, voice growing louder with every word.

That bastard had hit her over thirty times? Your teeth clenched in rage as your eyes trailed over to the headless, bloody corpse. You're lucky you're dead, you thought. For if he hadn't been, you would have made sure he wished he had. The pain he'd inflicted on Rowena would be nothing in comparison to what you would have done to him.

You wished there was something, anything, you could do to help her, but for now, until you were back in your apartment, there weren't many options. So you opted for the best thing you could think of – a kiss to her cheek, just under a particularly nasty bruise.

"Disgusting," Crowley commented, wrinkling his nose.

Before you could utter a reply, everything shook. In less than a second cold air was replaced by a warm one, foul smell fading into the sweet aroma of vanilla scented candles. Looking around, you sighed in relief at the sight of familiar surroundings. Just as you'd asked, Crowley had taken you and Rowena to your apartment.

"You're welcome, mother," he said before teleporting away.

"Jerkass," you muttered, causing Rowena to let out a soft laugh.

"That's Fergus for you."

You helped her sit down on the couch. Every now and then she'd let out a moan or a hiss. You'd utter an apology every time she'd make a sound. The last thing you wanted was to hurt her, but in order to get her comfortable – well, as comfortable as possible in her condition – a bit of pain was unavoidable.

"Stop apologizing, Y/N," she told you after what must have been your twentieth apology, following her hiss as you cut the shattered dress off her to free her from the dirty, ruined fabric.

"I'm sorry." You sighed when she shot you a glare. "I can't help it. I hate seeing you in pain."

"I'll heal."

"Yeah, you will," you said. "Right now you're still hurt."

"I'll be better after you cast the spell." She clasped her hand over yours, fingers squeezing yours. "Don't worry, darling. This is only temporary. Soon I'll be as good a new."

Soon. As in, in the future. Right now she was still hurting. You couldn't hold her the way you wanted to. You couldn't kiss her like you always did. You couldn't even hold her hand too tight. This tiny woman who'd held power greater than you could imagine was broken and there was nothing you could do to fix her all at once. That alone was driving you insane.

Smiling lightly, you leaned forward to lay a kiss to her cheek before continuing to cut through the fabric. Once the dress – or rather, what was left of it – was off her, you helped her lie down on her stomach. You took notice of the bruises on her torso and abdomen, their color matching those on her face. How hard did he have to beat her to do this kind of damage? Perhaps, in this case, ignorance was bliss. There were things you just didn't need to know.

Just as before, she'd let out a few groans, but instead of apologizing, you took her hand and laid a kiss to her knuckles, a silent promise that you would do everything in your power to make her pain go away.

Getting to your feet, you took a long, hard look at her injuries, observing the full extent of the damage that had been inflicted on her. Aside from the wounds on her back, some still bleeding, you noticed a welt on her right calf. Its deep red color contrasted the paleness of her skin.

You swallowed back the rage that built up inside of you, taking a few breaths to remain calm. Getting angry wouldn't help Rowena. The bastard that had done that to her was dead. He couldn't hurt her, or anyone else, again. All that was left now was for you to help her heal, both physically and emotionally, and leave what happened today behind her.

You listened to her instructions as you started on the spell, uttering magical words with utmost care – one wrong pronunciation could render the entire spell useless. You made sure to repeat every word exactly the way she said it. There was too much at stake for you to make a mistake. Everything had to be pronounced perfectly.

It took about half an hour for the spell to be over. The worst of the wounds had closed, and the lesser ones had almost completely faded. The welt on her calf was now a pale, barely noticeable line. The bruises on her face and torso, once deep purple, were now just greenish shades.

"How are you feeling?" you asked.

"Better," Rowena replied. She lifted herself up into a sitting position, letting out a slight groan.

"Are you sure?" you asked, eyeing her cautiously. The worst of her injuries might have been healed, but she was still bruised.

"Aye." She pulled you by the hand to sit next to her and leaned forward to kiss you. "Thank you, darling."

"You're still hurt," you said. "Thank me tomorrow, after I heal the rest."

"What you've done deserves praise," she told you. "Don't be so hard on yourself. You were wonderful."

You smiled. You may not have been completely content with your work, but you could never tire of her praise. No feeling in the world could compare to the one that came with a witch of her caliber admiring your work.

"Do you need anything?" you asked.

"I'd like to take a bath," she said. "And get some beauty sleep afterwards. I'm tired."

You nodded. "I'll go run you a bath."

"No," she said, pulling you back down when you started to get up. "I can do it."

"But–"

"Darling, I'm wounded, not crippled," she pointed out. "Why don't you go pick out a nightgown for me while I'm in the bath?"

"Any nightgown?"

"Any nightgown," she confirmed with a smile. "Alright?"

"Okay," you said, still uncertain. "But if anything happens–"

"You're a shout away," she finished. "Nothing will happen. I'll be fine. Don't worry."

After everything that happened today, how could you not worry? Giving another uncertain nod, you pecked her on the lips. You watched her as she gingerly rose to her feet. She took a moment to steady herself before heading to the bathroom.

You went through her vast collection of nightgowns before finally settling on a black, lacy one, reaching to mid-thigh. You knocked, waiting for her okay before walking in to drop off the gown. You couldn't help smiling at her calm, serene expression as she laid in the bath, looking as if she didn't have a care in the world.

"I came to drop this off," you said, showing off the gown you'd chosen.

She raised a teasing eyebrow. "Interesting choice, dear."

"What can I say? I like it when you're sexy." You said with a nonchalant shrug.

"Are you saying I'm not usually sexy?" she said, feigning hurt.

"Maybe," you teased. She pouted, making you chuckle. You leaned down to give her a quick kiss. "You know you're always sexy to me, no matter what."

"Good answer," she said.

"Will you take long?" After such a tiring day, the only thing you wanted was to tuck yourself into bed and sleep for an eternity.

"I'd like to lie here for a bit. Why?"

"I'm sleepy," you said.

"I can hurry if you want me to," she offered.

"No," you said, shaking your head. She deserved to relax a bit. "It's okay. Take your time. I can wait."

"You can join me if you'd like."

"Tempting, but I'll leave you to it. You deserve some you time. I'll take a shower after you're done."

"Suit yourself." She took your hand, pulling you down for another kiss. "Give me half an hour, alright?"

True to her word, half an hour later she was out. You hopped in for a quick shower, throwing your blood-soaked clothes in the washing machine. You hoped the stains could be removed. If not by human means, then certainly by magic. You made a mental note to ask Rowena about it.

Rowena was waiting for you on the bed. She looked almost regal, lying down like that, dressed in that nightgown that hugged her curves perfectly, as if it was made specifically for her. Not even the bruises on her face and chest could take away from her natural grace. It was a complete contrast to your sleepwear, which consisted of panties and an old undershirt. Sometimes you wondered what a lady like her was doing with a commoner such as yourself.

You plopped down on the bed next to her. "Come here," you said, opening your arms.

She nestled in your chest with ease, like a kitten cuddling up to its mother. Nuzzling her hair, you breathed in the fresh aroma of her expensive shampoo. Nothing but the best when it came to your girl.

For a moment you just laid there, enjoying the comfort of each other's warmth, before you broke the silence, unable to keep the question in anymore. "Rowena?"

"Hmm?" she said softly.

"Did… did he really hit you over thirty times?"

Instinct prompted you to bring her closer and tighten your grip on her. You feared you would disturb the injuries on her back, but when she made no protest, you kept your arm wrapped around her.

"Aye." Your heart broke at the confirmation. "You stopped him somewhere close to forty."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Everything. Him doing that to you. Me not being there. I could've been there sooner if I hadn't gone to Crowley. The truth is, I was scared. I found out he knew about the supernatural and I was afraid to go alone. I was selfish and it cost you."

She raised herself up on her elbows to look at you. "I told you I'll be fine. Don't beat yourself up over it. What matters is that you came for me." She brought a tiny hand to your cheek, giving it a caress. "You saved me, Y/N. And healed me and took care of me. What more could I ask for?"

"A girlfriend who isn't a coward?" you suggested.

"You're not a coward," she told you. "I think you're being too hard on yourself."

"I just hate seeing you hurt," you said with a shake of your head. "What's so wrong about that?"

"Nothing," she said. "Nothing at all. It's just… this is all still new for me. Being cared for and… loved. God, it sounds so unnatural! It's strange to have someone fuss over me when all I've ever done is walk the pain off."

"You don't have to do that anymore. I don't mind taking care of you." You clasped your hand over hers, bringing it to your lips to lay a kiss to its top. "I think I kinda like it. Makes me feel useful."

"You're not useless," she pointed out.

"I'm no good in a fight, either."

"You were good today."

"That's because I was mad," you explained. "He hurt you. I couldn't forgive that." As soon as the words left your mouth, her face fell. She lowered her gaze, avoiding your eyes. "What is it, honey? Did I say something wrong?"

She gave a slight shake of her head. "I hate that you had to see me like that."

"I don't mind. You shouldn't either." You ran a finger down a curly lock of her hair, playing with the tip. "Rowena, I know you're proud, but, I swear, this changes nothing. I don't think any less of you. Let me be strong for you for once, instead of the other way around. I owe you that much."

You put your arms on her back, giving a gentle press to get her to lie back down. A slight moan that escaped her caused you to promptly let go.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay." She laid on her side so she could look at you. "Thank you, Y/N. You're one of the few people who've shown me genuine kindness."

Your lips curled into a smile. "I love you. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you. Get used to it."

"I suppose I should," she said, sporting a smile of her own. "I love you, too. Another thing I can't seem to get used to."

"You can do it. You're already halfway there." You pecked her on the lips, moving forward to press your forehead to hers. You wished you could stay that way forever, with her by your side, safe from harm. "You feeling okay? Does anything hurt?"

She shook her head. "Not at the moment. It hurts a bit when I move, but for the most part I'm good."

You cautiously put an arm around her. "Does this hurt?"

"No."

You kissed her cheek. "This?"

"No." She chuckled. "You can hold me and kiss me and do everything you always do. I'm not going to break."

"Can you blame me for being careful?" you asked with a pout.

"I most certainly can," she teased, causing you to let out a soft laugh.

"Will you?"

"If you make it up to me, then no."

You grinned, knowing exactly what she had in mind. "When you're better."

"Fine," she said, sighing in defeat.

"Don't be like that! Be honest, do you really think it'd be a good idea to have sex when you're still hurt?"

She hesitated for a moment. "I suppose not," she gave in.

"Not everything's about sex. What's wrong with just lying here, being a good girl, and letting me spoil you rotten?"

"Sex is more productive," she said. "Though I'm not opposed to being spoiled."

"Good," you said, "'cause you're on bed rest until I say otherwise."

"But–" she protested, but you cut her off.

"No buts! You still have a lot of healing to do. The spell won't fix everything. We can't exactly take you to a hospital, so you're stuck with me playing doctor, and I say no moving around until you're all healed."

"Y/N!" she whined, pouting, and it was the most adorable sight in the world. How a woman that has been alive for over three centuries could look so damn cute while doing something as innocent as pouting was a mystery that had yet to be solved.

"Don't 'Y/N' me! You'll get breakfast in bed and all the tea and alcohol you could wish for, amongst other things. All you have to do is ask."

A playful smirk played on her lips. "I suppose a wee bit of coddling couldn't hurt."

"I knew you'd see it my way."

She shrugged. "If that's the treatment I get, I should consider getting hurt more often."

"Don't push it," you warned.

"Or what?" she challenged.

"I'll hurt you myself."

She scoffed. "Darling, you're afraid to touch me because of a few bruises. I very much doubt you have it in you to hurt me."

She got you there. "Shut up and let me threaten you."

Letting out a laugh, she snuggled up to you in an almost childlike manner, burying her head in the crook of your neck. "Hold me, will you? Just for tonight."

"You don't even have to ask," you said. If it were up to you, you would never let her go. "Sweet dreams, my witch queen."

Editors: @apritelleorai and @oswinthestrange

#rowena #rowena x reader #rowena macleod #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #spn #supernatural #torture #rowena fanfic

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impala-imagines · 7 years

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Back from the dead

Fandom: Supernatural Prompt: Imagine jo being resurrected but her memory of basically what happened and maybe even she doesn't remember who the winchesters are and she's given an address so she goes and dean is there and dean is like OMG and jo is like who the fuck are you Word Count: 899 Characters: Jo Harvelle Warnings: None Author note: This is for my lovely @samwinchesterrph, I hope she enjoys it.

It was near perfect silence as you lay in bed, the gentle ticking of the clock reminding you that you’d soon have to get up and start a day of hunting. Then again, being a hunter meant that there was no actual work time; you could get up whenever you felt like it and go to bed whenever you wanted. But then again it didn’t matter tonight, as you adjusted your body in the lonely double motel bed, a feeling of foreboding was seeping into you.

But finally somewhere close to four am the sandman entered and covered you in dust, sending you into a slumber. It was a slumber that would only last a little while; while the dreams that filled your mind were the most beautiful you’d had for some time, being stripped of the pain that often plagued your heart and filling you with happiness and hope. It was taken away by a simple knock.

Waking up, your eyes scanned the room that was slowly filling up with light from the rising sun, your groggy mind wondering if you’d dreamed the knock or not. But then it came again, telling you that it wasn’t a dream, there was someone there. A gentle sigh escaped your lips as you pulled the covers back and got up; making your way to the door you looked through the peep hole, only to see nothing but a dark figure.

Grabbing your gun, you slowly pulled the door open and looked at the figure. Your gun fell from your hand as your mouth fell open; your eyes focused in shock a mix of tears appearing at the same time. “Jo.” You croaked out, moving to fling your arms around her and hug her tightly. She was back, she was back in your life, you held her in your arms and it felt amazing.

“Get off of me.” The words escaped her lips causing you to fall back as she shoved you, your eyes filled with instant hurt as she looked at you. “Jo.” You whispered. “I don’t know who you are, why the hell are you touching me?” She questioned causing your face to wrinkle slightly, bending down; you picked up the gun and moved back inside not saying a single word.

“Excuse me, I’m talking to you.” Looking up at her, you placed a small flask and a sliver knife down. “How do I know that you’re Jo?” Your eyes stared directly at Jo as she looked between the flask and the knife, and you. “You were raised as a hunter Jo; don’t pretend you don’t know what these things are for.” You replied, trying not to snap. Your words caused her to huff and walk forward; she picked up the flask and took a drink, then used the knife to cut her skin. “Happy stranger?”

You nodded ever so slightly, before walking over to grab your phone. “I don’t even know your name.” Jo commented causing you to look at her. “Y/n, my name is Y/n…” It hurt, she didn’t know you. She didn’t remember everything that you’d been through together, didn’t remember how much you’d loved her and been that one person that she’d always been able to turn to. “I’m going to call Dean.” You uttered, your eyes looking at the time and then scrolling for Dean’s number. “Winchester?”

So, she remembered him? Sucking in a breath, you nodded. “Yes, Dean Winchester.” You replied. It was a risky move calling Dean, what with him being like a brother to your current girlfriend, but you had no choice. Jo was here, the Winchesters needed to know. Calling Dean, you sighed. “Dean, it’s Y/N. I need you to ring me the moment you get this. Jo is here… she’s alive.” Hanging up the phone, you looked over at Jo; you could see the clear look of confusion on her face, causing you to look away.

“What did you mean; I’m alive… what happened to me?” Swallowing hard, you looked down at your bare feet for a moment, then back up at the beautiful blonde in front of you. “You died Jo, you were ripped apart by hellhounds then you and your mother killed yourselves in a blast to save Sam and Dean.” You explained tears starting to trickle down your face. “No, that isn’t possible, no. You’re lying.” You shook your head over and over, throwing your hands up into the air. It was already like old times, fighting with Jo. “I’m not lying Jo, I mourned your death for three years, I cried over you for six months, I wouldn’t lie about that.”

You snapped back at the woman, your head shaking softly as you did. “How do I know you are telling me the truth? I don’t know you; I don’t know anything about you!” She replied, looking at her you turned away for a moment and scooped up something from inside your bag and threw it at her. “Because Joanna Beth Harvelle, you were my wife!” Your words caused Jo to fall silent; the pair of you stood staring at each other in silence for what seemed like forever.

It was only when the soft rumble of your cell phone ringing, that the silence was broken. But it was left unanswered as lips hit lips and bodies pressed against each other in a moment of passion.

#jo harvelle #jo harvelle reader insert #jo harvelle one shot #supernatural #supernatural reader insert #spnosall #allos

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rocky-alex · 6 years

Text

A Hunter’s Life For Me

Note: For this chapter I urge you to listen to Berlin, by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, HAPPINESS, by NEEDTOBREATHE, Libella Swing, by Parov Stelar, and Walk On Water, by Thirty Seconds To Mars. In that order. Just trust me.

Word count: 2557

Warnings: Torture, unintentional self harm, mentions of blood. Yeah kinda gruesome chapter.

Pairings: OFC(Jules) x Dean, Reader x Sam

A Hunter’s Life Masterlist

Chapter 6: It would be easier to walk on water, than to win this fight tonight

I was vaguely aware of something making a sound somewhere around me. Unconsciousness was still pulling on my mind, and oh boy, I really wanted to just let it suck me down again. I didn’t want to live through another second of this. I’d held on for… wait, how much time had passed? The thought that several days had passed and I was still in the dingy little room made a panic rise in me, which was enough to pull me the rest of the way up. That’s when I realised that the sound I heard was coming from me. I was… what the hell? I was laughing? I opened my eyes and saw the demon infront of me, and suddenly remembered what I’d thought was so funny before he clocked me over the head. I took a rustling breath, feeling blood trickle down my throat.

“I thought you demons had more to offer. Or are you just not happy to see me?” A flash of movement and the wind was knocked out of me. I bent over, coughing, wanting to throw up from the pain of the fist hitting me in the stomach.

“What makes you think I haven’t been holding back?” I looked back up, meeting his eyes, a mad grin stretching my face. “Because you would have done much worse by now.”

Sam POV

Dean didn’t realise it himself, but Sam saw that Jules getting taken was really getting to his brother. One might even say he was slowly going crazy. After two whole weeks of searching they had come up with absolutely nothing. They knew it had to be demons, because of the case they’d been working on. Y/N hadn’t been able to help, setting off a big fight between her and Dean. She wasn’t telling them anything knew, and it infuriated both Sam and Dean. They’d even gone so far as to summon and trap Crowley, something that had become decidedly more difficult over the years.

“Hello, boys. What can I do for you today?”

“Where is she, Crowley?” Dean skipped right past the small talk.

“Where’s… who?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know who we’re talking about.” Dean’s hand twitched, wanting desperately to shoot the snarky demon out of pure spite. The older Winchester had gotten edgy and more trigger happy after about three days of looking for Jules.

“I’m afraid you for once have me at a disadvantage.” Crowley looked at the two brothers. “Well, if that’s all, would you be so kind as to let me out?” He gestured to the devil’s trap under his feet. “We all know the alternative would get terribly messy.” Dean went to throw himself at Crowley, probably to strangle the smug asshole, but Sam caught him, knowing it would do them absolutely no good.

“Look, we know demons took her, alright?” Sam was still holding onto Dean, not trusting that he wouldn’t go after Crowley again. “And you know everything the demons do. So where is she?” Crowley smirked.

“As riveting and amusing this conversation is, I have better things to do. So what’s it going to be? Will you let me out or will I have to do it myself?” Sam felt the hope slowly leave his body. Crowley was right, they couldn’t hold him indefinitely, he was going to get out, one way or another. going against every fibre of his being, Sam slowly bent down, taking out his knife and scratched a break in the paint on the floor.

“Always a pleasure, Moose.” Crowley was gone.

“Dean-”

“Don’t fucking say it, Sam. Just don’t.”

“No, you can’t do this anymore.” Dean was pacing the room, pulling his hair like going bald would mean living another minute.

“So what?” Dean stopped, facing Sam. “We give up? Let her die?”

“Of course not!” Now Sam stood up from his seat on the bed. “But I don’t know what else to do. We’ve done everything we know how, and more, and we still haven’t found her. Even a tracking spell didn’t work. If the demons have her, they are more hell-bent than ever to keep us from finding her.” Dean laughed, but it wasn’t out of joy. He started pacing again, and Sam threw his hands in the air, exasperated and downright done. They really had done everything. What absolutely boggled Sam’s mind was how the magic had failed. They’d done everything right, bending their morals left and right, and still nothing.

Out of nowhere, Dean’s phone started to ring on the table. Dean obviously didn’t care, so Sam picked it up, not recognising the number. Something in the back of his mind told him he had to answer.

“Hello?”

“… Sam?” Sam’s eyes widened. “Is Dean there?” He let the phone drop from his ear and held it out to his brother.

“Dean.”

“What?!” He looked at the phone in Sam’s hand, then up at his face. He took two quick steps and all but ripped the phone out of Sam’s hand. He held it up to his ear, and Sam heard the air leave Dean’s lungs like a popped balloon.

“Jules?”

Jules POV

I didn’t know what day it was, or even what time. It had all blurred together into a jumble of light, dark, pain and fear. I opened my eyes, not seeing anyone else in the room. That was new, they’d always kept at least one demon in the room with me. I tried to move my arms and pain shot through my limbs. They hadn’t untied me even once since they brought me here, and my body was locked and stiff after being in the same position for who knew how long. I worked through the pain, feeling the ropes give a little more each time I moved my hands. The only mercy I’d had in this place was that the demons hadn’t noticed the ropes slacking. I caught the rope on an edge and worked it over.

I sat like that for hours, expecting one of the demons to show up at any moment. The one who’d tortured me the first time came back the most, seeming to enjoy my pain like a junkie enjoys his next fix. Finally, to my extreme surprise, the rope snapped. I sat there in disbelief, expecting to wake up from a new kind of torture. When that didn’t happen I tried to bend over to get to the ropes holding my feet to the chair’s legs. And almost tipped the chair when my chest caught fire. It had to be fire, nothing else could hurt this bad. I bit my tongue so hard I felt blood start to trickle down my throat and over my chin, doing my best to hold back a scream that would have demons descending like bats out of hell, pun definitely intended. I held as still as possible, waiting for the pain to lessen before moving again. When it finally ebbed enough for me to let go of the bite of death I had on my tongue, I hesitated before moving again. I shifted slightly, and the pain wasn’t as bad. Moving as slow as possible, I finally got my arms down to my feet and untied the ropes. Standing proved a new challenge, and I fell twice before managing to keep my balance. How fucking long had I been in that chair? My body felt completely useless. I got to the door and gripped the handle. And stopped. What if it was a trick? What if the pain I’d gone through to get here was intentional and the demons were enjoying seeing me do it to myself, giving me hope along the way?

No. If I thought like that I’d never get out of here. I twisted the handle, wanting to cry in joy when it twisted and the door opened. Moving carefully I managed to get out without the door squeaking. Outside my torture chamber I was met with a corridor. I looked left and right, seeing nothing to indicate which way was the exit. I’d been unconscious when they brought me here, so I had no way of remembering the way in. Fifty-fifty chance it was. Always go left, a little voice in my head reminded me. I went left.

My instinct proved right when I finally got my first breath of fresh air in days. The little voice in my head nagged at me that it couldn’t be this easy. If this were a movie, the villain would soon appear before me, plucking hope from me like you’d pluck feathers from a chicken. I looked around, trying to adjust to the light. It looked like the sun was going down, but it might as well have been high noon in the Sahara Desert for all my eyes were concerned. I blinked, covering my eyes with my hand. I heard the door close behind me and jumped. It was too quiet all of a sudden, like my ears were just now registering the silence.

“To be honest, I expected you to get out of there much sooner.” I screamed and fell backwards, trying to get away from whoever it was that had said that. I looked around, catching sight of a short man in a black suit and trench coat.

“Who are you?!” My voice came out sounding suspiciously like a hoarse cat.

“Name’s Crowley, love. I’ve got to say, I’ve so been looking forward to meet you.” My heart was pounding. The light had finally stopped hurting my eyes, and I looked him over, seeing his eyes flash red. I knew it.

“You’re a demon.” No question.

“More than that, sweetheart,” The endearment, although I doubted he meant it as such, made my heart clench. He leant forward, as if he were sharing a big secret. “I’m the King of Hell.” Oh great.

“So you’re the devil.” His face tensed.

“I wouldn’t say I am.” Ouch, did I hit a sore spot?

I braced myself against the ground, barely feeling the scrapes on my hands, and stood up.

“I take it you’re in charge of the demons who kidnapped me?”

“Ah yes, I’ll need to have a little chat with them. As far as first impressions go, I assume this one falls on the bottom of the list.”

“You could say that…” Crowley laughed. Asshole.

“Now, Jules, I want to discuss a few things with you. Shall we?” He held out his hand. My eyes narrowed.

“Pardon my french, but why the fuck would I go anywhere with you?”

“Now don’t be like that, dear.” I didn’t answer him. He sighed.

“I see the Winchesters have rubbed off on you.” That caught my attention, and fear started to build inside me. He knew them. More than that, he knew where to find them.

He saw the realisation on my face and grinned, still holding out his hand, so sure I would take it.

“Now, come along.” A realisation that I was completely at his mercy and had no way of escaping hit me like a freight train. The fear reached an all time high, and I felt something start to explode inside me. I had to let it out, or I would die. Letting loose a scream, I threw my arms out towards Crowley, feeling the explosions move through them and hitting him like a grenade. Before he could even blink, he fell to the ground in a pile of completely mangled limbs.

Breathless, I fell to my knees. Red smoke started to rise from the broken body, drifting up and away. Crowley. He wasn’t dead, but he also wasn’t here with me anymore. There was something wet running down my cheek and I realised I was crying. I’d truly thought I was going to die. I had no idea what it was that had saved me, but for now I was grateful as fuck that it had.

I had to pull myself together and get away from here. I got up and walked around. The building I’d come out of was relatively small and had a small dirt road leading up to it. With darkness coming fast it was easy to hide among the trees lining the road. Soon enough I stumbled out of the trees, where the small road met a bigger one. There were cars driving all along it and I threw a hand out, trying to stay on my feet. Blackness was starting to creep up in my vision, but I fought it off, desperate to get as far away as possible. A car stopped and a woman stepped out of the driver’s seat, reaching her hands out to catch me as I stumbled forward.

“Are you okay?” Do I look okay, lady?

“Yes, I’m fine,” I lied. “I just really need a ride.”

“What happened?” she asked as she led me to the car, tucking me in the backseat.

“Camping accident…” I mumbled. She looked concerned, but refrained from asking anything else. Thank god. She got back in behind the wheel and started driving down the road.

“Where are you headed?”

“Nearest gas station would be great.” I met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Thank you,” I said in a low voice. She smiled, still looking worried.

Turned out, demons weren’t that good at frisking people. I couldn’t believe it when I felt my wallet in my pocket and could pay the clerk for the water, crackers, spraypaint and salt I’d picked out at the gas station. Next was finding somewhere I could protect myself. I was in the outskirts of a small town, and it only took asking four different people, all of who seemed to want to avoid me, to get directions to the nearest motel. Walking down the main road I felt exposed, like several pairs of eyes were watching me constantly. I had no idea if someone around me was a demon, if they had already found me, or if I was just simply losing it. I wasn’t as far away as I wanted to be, but my body couldn’t take much more. For anyone not on the run from demons a stop at the nearest emergency room would be preferable to a rundown motel, but I couldn’t bring myself to be in such a crowded area. All I wanted to do was get somewhere alone and put up protections, lest the demons find me again.

At the motel I got a room as far away from the others as I could, and barricaded myself in there. After spending a whole hour drawing devil’s traps and lining the doors and windows (and the walls) with salt, I sat on the bed, staring at the phone sitting beside the TV. During the walk from the gas station I’d realised that I didn’t have Dean’s number. Or Sam’s. I had no way of reaching them. And the phone kept taunting me. Unwanted thoughts kept intruding in my mind, and I couldn’t stop them. Why hadn’t they come for me? Why had I been forced to endure days of torture in that tiny room, with next to no hope of getting out? Why hadn’t Dean found me?

I started crying and fell back on the bed. Eventually darkness took over and I blacked out.

@carryonmyswansong

Note: I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean for it to be so long before I updated again! I’m sitting up at 4:30 AM to get this out (don’t worry, I start work late tomorrow) and I actually really like how this chapter turned out.

I’ve seen all the new followers I have and It bring me so much joy you have no idea! :D I love all of you, and thank you so much! If anyone wants to be tagged in A Hunter’s Life, let me know :P

#supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural reader insert #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean winchester x ofc #dean winchester x oc #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x y/n #supernatural oc #original female character #a hunter's life for me #motels won't cut it anymore

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imagine-it-like-this · 7 years

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Title: Tell Me You Love Me Characters: Rowena, reader Relationships: Rowena/reader Genres: Angst, Drama, Romance Warnings: Feels

"You love me."

"No, I don't."

"I know you do," you insisted. You weren't going to let her get out of this that easily.

You've known about her feelings for a while now. She could deny them all she wanted; her actions spoke louder than words.

She spoke to you in ways you've never seen her speak to anyone else – sweetly, with kindness she rarely showed.

Unlike with everyone else, she always, without hesitation, rushed to your aid when you called her. Never once had she uttered a complaint or even sarcastic remark. When it came to your safety, sass could wait.

And the way she looked at you… Your knees turned to jelly from even thinking of that loving, smitten gaze, similar to the one you'd always give her.

If she wanted to keep it to herself – fine, but there was no point in denying the existence of obvious. You weren't the sharpest tool in the shed, but you weren't blind. Your mentor had a thing for you and you'll be damned if you let it go.

You wanted this more than anything in the world. Your thoughts and dreams were filled with images of Rowena and you holding hands and loving each other until the very end of time.

Maybe it was selfish for you to confront her about it like this. After all, it were your daydreams that you wanted to turn into reality, and your feelings that you wished would be acknowledged. But after everything the two of you had been through together, you figured you could get away with a little bit of selfishness.

One of the first things Rowena had taught you after agreeing to teach you magic was that if you want something, you take it no matter who or what gets in the way. Because you're a witch and what you say goes, she'd explained.

You think it? You deserve it.

You order it? You get it.

You want it? It's yours.

And you wanted her.

Rowena scoffed at your words. "I think I'd know if I loved ye." She spat the word love venomously, rolling her eyes as it fell from her lips as if the mere act of uttering it offended her.

"Don't play dumb with me!" you snapped, sick of her games. Why couldn't she just admit it?

You could handle her not wanting to be with you – the only thing you wanted was to hear her say what everyone – even the ever clueless Castiel, for fuck's sake – could see. It wasn't a relationship that you were after; you could live with never being anything other than her friend. You just needed to hear her say the wretched words.

"I know you love me, or at least feel something for me. I've seen the way you look at me. You always treat me nice and help me whenever I ask you to."

"It's called kindness, my dear," she said, shooting you a look that was supposed to be annoyed, but instead came off as desperate. She wanted to make herself believe the lies she was feeding you, but just as you could see through every single one, so could she. And it was driving her crazy that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't sell fiction dressed as fact; not to herself, and certainly not to you. "I don't show it to many people, but rest assured I'm capable of it, to an extent. Unlike love."

"Exactly – you don't. Yet you've always been nothing but kind to me. Why is that?"

She shrugged with fake casualty. "Ye annoy me far less than most people."

"Yeah. Sure," you said sarcastically. "And as for this bullshit about love, leave it for someone who hasn't known you for almost three years."

Rowena sighed, getting desperate. The more you called her out on her lies, the more compelled she felt to feed them to you.

"Goodness, Y/N! Save the drama for the stage!"

"At least I'm not spewing lies in your face, like you've been doing to me for the past half hour!" you retorted, growing angry. How hard could it be to just admit that you love someone? It's not like you were a stranger; you were the only friend she had, the closest thing she had to family, excluding her estranged son. If there was anyone who would never judge her, no matter what, it was you. "You've never lied to me before. Even back when you were a manipulative bitch, you were always honest with me. What changed, Rowena?"

"Nothin'," she replied. "Nothin's changed. That's the point! I'm still that manipulative bitch you met two years ago. It's not my fault ye've convinced yerself I'm somethin' I'm clearly not. Ye call me a liar, yet ye're the one feedin' yerself lies about my nonexistent feelings. It's not healthy, darlin'."

You shook your head in disbelief. Her denial was seriously starting to piss you off. She could lie to herself all she wanted, but no one gets to make a fool out of you. Not even her. You weren't going to let her get away with it.

"You know what's not healthy? You gaslighting me! That's unhealthy!" you told her, your firm tone letting her know you were in no mood for nonsense. "I know you, Rowena. You can lie to yourself, but you can't lie to me. Have you forgotten, sweetheart? I know you. When you tried to sell that motherly bullshit to Crowley, I knew. When you told Sam and Castiel you've never loved anything, I knew. When you tricked everyone, everyone, with your little deal with Lucifer, I fucking knew! I kept quiet, but I saw through you right then and there. So don't you dare make this about me when you're the one who'd rather lie than own up to that fact that she's not the heartless bitch she wants everyone to think she is!"

Her expression changed, softening around the edges, crossed with something you couldn't quite decipher. Was it guilt? Or admission that there truly was something going on; something she wasn't ready to say out loud?

"What do ye want from me, Y/N?" Her voice was a mere whisper, laced with pain and hurt. Her eyes, ever defiant, filled up with tears she prayed wouldn't fall.

"I want you to admit it!" you exclaimed. "I want you to tell me you love me! Be honest for once in your life. I won't ask for a relationship or anything like the. I don't want to pressure you into anything. I just want you to say it because I can see what's going on and it's killing me to watch you do this to yourself. Do this for me and I promise I'll never ask you to do anything again."

"I can't!" she snapped, letting tears slide down her rosy cheeks. Her lips trembled as the words left her mouth, and her voice followed soon after.

The Rowena you've never seen before, the fragile, vulnerable one, the one she'd kept locked behind thick walls she'd built to protect herself from hurt, surfaced from the depths of her soul, and you weren't certain how to react. This was a new territory for you, a new person you've never had a chance to fully get to know for so far you've only seen her in traces.

"Because if I do, if I let myself love ye, I'll put ye in danger. They'll use ye against me just like they used Oskar. And I can't do that to ye. I can't let anyone else die because I love them."

It was as if something inside of you broke. For a few long, dreadful moments, the only thing you could do was stare as her words echoed in your head, louder and louder, swallowing all your thoughts.

All this time you thought her a bitch when in reality she was scared. You never even talked about Oskar; you'd tried bringing him up once and the only response you got was a simple "I'm over it" before she changed the subject. You doubted her words, but you never once thought his death had impacted her on such a large scale.

You should have known she wasn't over it. You don't just keep on living your life after being forced to murder your step-child. You can pretend, you can busy your mind with meaningless things, but you can never forget. Such a thing stays with you.

You shuddered as realization that that was the only lie she'd managed to sneak past you settled in. The only lie you should have seen through and helped her deal with.

"I'm not gonna let that happen," you told her, letting sympathy fill your voice.

"Silly girl!" she scoffed. "Ye think ye'll have a choice?"

"I don't care," you said simply. And you didn't; you knew they couldn't hurt you. Not with her by your side.

Rowena wasn't the only one who'd changed since then; the Winchesters had become acquaintances rather than enemies, and Crowley had eased up on his anti-Rowena-ness.

The hunter brothers and their pet angel have never treated you bad in the first place. Despite you leaving hunting to become a witch and getting one of the most notorious witches to tutor you, you were still friends. Crowley and you were more frenemies, but the two of you shared mutual respect. If him saving you on a couple of occasions told you anything, it was that he'd never do anything to harm you – even if he wasn't fond of you dating his mother.

"Nothing's going to happen to me."

"Ye can't promise that."

"I can," you insisted. "I am. Rowena, I know there aren't many things I can do right, but this isn't one of them. I can do right by you. I can care for you. I can love you. You just have to let me."

Your eyes watered at the expression of pure and utter devastation on her face. It was as if she'd lost all hope, as if she'd made peace with the fact that no one could or should ever love her. How could someone do that to themselves without breaking apart? What had she had to go through in her long life to even think it was a good idea to do something like that?

The thing with Oscar was just the final blow; the blows before that had to have been devastating.

"I can't," she echoed her own words, her voice breaking after each letter. "I'm sorry."

This prompted tears to spill down your face. Rowena never said sorry. No matter what she did, how many people she hurt, and how much damage she caused, she never said sorry. It was genuine emotion you were facing, raw and unpredictable, too much for her to handle for for centuries she'd only had to deal with pride.

"You're scared."

Your heart shattered into thousands of pieces at the realization. Rowena didn't do fear. You were used to her being headstrong and brave and powerful in so many ways, but scared? This was new territory for you just as it was for her and you had to tread lightly. The last thing you wanted was to cause her more pain.

"I am," she admitted. Then her lips tightened into a firm line, and her meek voice rose to almost a shout as she added: "Go on! Laugh!"

Instead you took a cautious step towards her and took her hands into your own. She flinched at your touch, startled, but was quick to relax as your fingers gently laced with hers.

"Never," you told her. "Rowena, I understand how difficult this is for you. But rest assured, I would never do anything to hurt you. When you love someone, the only thing you want is for them to be happy. And I want that for you."

"I can't be what ye want me to be," she told you.

"The only thing I want is for you to be honest with me. Nothing more."

"And what if I was honest?" she asked. "What if I told ye what ye wanted to hear and ye got hurt?"

"It's my life," you replied. "My choice. Whatever happens to me isn't on you."

She nodded in understanding, still not quite convinced of your words. "What if I'm not what ye're expectin'?"

You gave her a loving look, bringing a hand to her cheek to caress it. "You're everything I could ever wish for. Nothing you could ever do would change my mind."

She leaned into your palm, relaxing into your soothing touch. "I'm dangerous, Y/N."

"It's a good thing that I happen to like a little danger, then," you said, the corners of your lips curling into a smile.

"Ye don't know what ye're gettin' into," she said.

"I know perfectly well what I'm getting into," you countered.

She let out a small, teasing smile. "Thought of everythin', haven't ye?"

"What can I say? You're quite a challenge."

"That I am," she agreed.

"So will you say it, then? Will you come clean? Rowena, I wasn't lying when I said I don't expect a relationship or anything like that. I swear. Nothing has to come of this. I just want to hear you say it."

She gave you a look she'd never given you before, one you couldn't read despite your best efforts. For a long moment she just stared, her teary eyes gazing into yours as if trying to break into your mind in search of your dirtiest, most sacred secrets.

Then, taking a breath for courage, she softly said: "Y/N, I… I love ye."

All your tears vanished as soon as you heard her utter those words. Your smile widened as your heart raced as if it would explode, beating wildly against your chest. Your thoughts swirled, a hurricane of words and pictures you'd summoned in your wildest daydreams storming through your mind one after another.

She finally said it! She finally, after months of you desperately wishing for your dreams to become reality, said those fateful words.

Rowena, on the other hand, stood still, motionless, not daring to look away. You felt her hand tremble in yours and tightened your grip on it in support.

"And I love you, as you already know" you told her with a small chuckle. "Thank you. I can't even begin to describe how good it feels to finally hear you say it. You just made me really happy, you know that?"

"Y/N–"

"You don't have to say anything," you cut her off, wiping a new batch of tears that fell down your cheeks. "I already told you I don't expect a relationship. You don't have to justify yourself."

"Y/N–" she tried, only for you to interrupt her again.

"I understand."

"Let me finish, will ye?" she exclaimed, starling you. She took a calming breath before continuing: "Y/N, I can't promise ye things will be easy and that ye won't get hurt. As ye said, ye're aware of how dangerous it is to be around me. For some reason that doesn't bother ye, which leads me to conclude I've made the right choice when I accepted to tutor ye."

"Crazy loves crazy," you joked.

"Correct," she said. "For months I've tried to ignore these feelings, thinkin' they'd go away, but they never did. It may not seem that way, but I'm grateful ye confronted me because I'd have never been able to come clean on my own."

She cupped your cheek like you did hers, giving you a bright smile.

"Ye're a wonderful girl. I'm happy to have met ye. Even happier now that the truth has come out."

"What are you trying to say?"

Was this going where you hoped it was going? Your heart jumped at the thought.

"If I was to propose a relationship, would ye be up for it?"

You swallowed, trying your hardest to maintain your composure while your insides raged like a wild rave. "That depends. Are you proposing a relationship?"

"I am."

"Then my answer is yes!"

Without giving her time to contemplate what you said, you pulled her to you and crashed your lips into hers. She responded instantly, her mouth moving against yours in swift, hungry motions. The kiss was everything you imagined it to be; sweet, passionate, a perfect mixture of wild and gentle that made your head spin as pure delight washed over you, setting your insides on fire.

"I waited so long to do that," you told her as you parted, gasping for breath.

"Me, too," she breathed.

"Up for another round?"

She shot you an incredulous look. "Do ye even have to ask?"

Editor: @apritelleorai

#rowena #rowena x reader #rowena imagine #spn imagine #supernatural imagine #spn spoilers #supernatural #rowena macleod #rowena macleod imagine #rowena macleod x reader

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myriadimagines · 7 years

Text

Preference: Star Wars (The Prequels)

How You Meet

Characters: Anakin Skywalker, Boba Fett, Count Dooku, Darth Maul, Jango Fett, Mace Windu, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padmé Amidala, Qui-Gon Jinn, Sheev Palpatine, Yoda

Warnings: violence, mild swearing and mentions of death

Request: “Preferences : SW: The Prequels; how you meet (every characters you can?)” - Anon

A/N: I hope I did all the characters you wanted me to! First preference ever, enjoy!

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Anakin Skywalker

“Anakin, look out!”

Anakin ignored Obi-Wan’s shouts and continued running down the street. There was some conflict involving bounty hunters going on in downtown Coruscant, and Obi-Wan and Anakin were sent to deal with it. He deflected a blaster bolt into a bounty hunter’s leg, and Anakin loomed over him before he felt Obi-Wan’s hand grab his shoulder.

“We’re not here to kill, Anakin, just arrest.” he said sharply, and Anakin sighed as he reached for a pair of handcuffs and quickly restrained the bounty hunter. Obi-Wan disappeared down another street, chasing after another bounty hunter. Anakin stood up and turned around, and came face to face with a blaster.

Raising his hands above his head, the bounty hunter holding the blaster jerked the gun up, indicating Anakin to stand. Anakin slowly got to his feet, and wondered if he could reach for his lightsaber before getting shot in the face.

Suddenly, the bounty hunter fell and Anakin looked behind him in shock. You were standing there, a hood pulled over your head and a gun in hand. You watched the bounty hunter fall, before clipping your blaster back onto your belt. You looked Anakin up and down, and then smirked.

“Huh, now I can say I saved a Jedi.” you jeered, and Anakin rolled his eyes.

“I could handle the situation.” he responded defensively, and you snorted.

“Sure you could’ve.” you turned around, looking over your shoulder. “Guess I ought to be going. You’re welcome, Jedi.”

“It’s Anakin.” Anakin took a few steps before you, and you paused. “Wait, don’t go. I want to get to know you.”

“I’ve got business to finish.” you said hurriedly, not wanting to become associated with a Jedi. But something about the earnest look in the man’s eyes changed your mind. “Go to the cantina downtown, and ask the bartender for y/n. They’ll find me.”

Nodding, you turned back around and sprinted for your speeder. A faint grin came across Anakin’s face as you sped away.

Boba Fett

“Be nice, y/n.” your dad hissed, his arm firmly on your shoulder. Groaning, you rolled your eyes and reluctantly gave a tense smile to Jango, who was your father’s friend. Your father was going to be on a mission, and he had dropped you off on Kamino to be taken care of while he was away.

“Their room will be next to my son’s.” Jango nodded at your father, and your father thanked him before making his way back to his ship. You watched as it flew off, and then turned back to Jango, who gestured for you to follow him. You trailed behind him as you walked down a corridor, and suddenly a young boy appeared.

“Boba, come meet y/n.” Jango called to him, and Boba hesitantly stepped towards you. You nodded at him, and Boba looked at his dad.

“What are they doing here?” he demanded.

“They’re here for a few days.” Jango responded vaguely. “Go show them to the guest room.”

Sighing, Boba began to walk away and you jogged to catch up with him. He punched in a few buttons and a door slid open, and he gestured for you to go inside. You stepped into the room and immediately lay on the bed after tossing your bag on the floor. Boba sat down on the chair next to you, fiddling with something.

“What’s that?” you asked, raising your eyebrows at him. He paused, then reached his hand out. Inside was a small model of a ship. “Did you build that yourself?”

“Duh.” Boba rolled his eyes, and you smirked.

“Looks good, but not as good as this.” you reached into your bag and pulled out your own model you created of an X-wing. Boba tried to mask the fact that he was impressed.

“I have more materials in my room.” Boba stood up. “Want to have a competition on who can build the best ship?”

You had already gotten to your feet. You knew you were going to be good friends with the boy.

“Absolutely.”

Count Dooku

“Count Dooku, we have captured the group on Geonosis.”

Dooku spun around upon hearing the news and immediately made his way to the jail cells at the bottom of the base. A small group had tried to attack the droid factory on Geonosis, but had evidently failed.

The door to the dungeon slid open, and Dooku walked down the corridor and peered into the cells. They were only big enough for one person, and he looked amongst the exhausted, injured people staring at the walls.

“You will not win, Count Dooku.”

Dooku looked into the last stall, where a determined, young person stood in front of him gripping the bars. Dooku smirked as he stepped closer.

“What did you say to me?”

“You will not win.” you repeated, staring straight into his eyes. He looked at your tattered closed and bloody wounds, but it didn’t seem to dim the fire of rebellion in your eyes.

“What is your name?” he crossed his arms.

“y/n.” you replied, unfazed.

“y/n.” he echoed, then gestured for a guard to open your cell. The guard handcuffed you, and you glared at Dooku. “Follow me, I’d like to hear what else you have to say to me.”

Darth Maul

Maul stood before the burning village, watching as the walls crumbled under the flames with lifeless bodies laying beneath it. He clipped his lightsaber back onto his belt and was about to turn back to the ship when he heard the sounds of screaming and yelling.

Making his way to the back of the village, he made it just in time to see you thrashing around as a small group of droids grabbed you and prepared to execute you. You snapped at one of the droids, trying to bite them, but it quickly jerked out of the way. Maul paused for a moment, observing the execution, but more specifically you.

He had seen plenty of people in the face of death. Most of them were either begging and fighting for their life, or peaceful as if they were awaiting death. You were fighting, that was for sure, but you weren’t begging. There was something in your eyes, some sort of uncontrollable fury that ignited them. You looked almost insane, how angry you were in the face of these droids. As one lifted its gun and aimed it at your face, you looked it square in the eyes.

“Go to hell.” you spat, and straightened up. Before it could pull the trigger, Maul stepped in.

“Enough.” he raised his hands, and the droids stepped aside. You glared up at the Sith, unintimidated by his appearance. A devious smile appeared on his face as he reached for his intercom. “Darth Sidious, I think I have found a new apprentice.”

Jango Fett

“I’m in position.” you mumbled into your radio, tilting your head slightly to look through the scope of your sniper rifle. Your target’s head was in the dead centre of your scope, and your finger hovered over the trigger. “Give me the word.”

Patiently, you monitored the target as you waited for your boss to give you the go.

“Execute.”

Your finger had barely applied pressure to the trigger when the target suddenly fell, and the screaming commenced. Shocked, you looked up from your scope to see the target had fallen and people all around him were rushing over. You scanned the area, and saw the shadow of a figure from the opposite roof. Grabbing your bag and slinging your gun over your shoulder, you sprinted after him.

You leapt over the roof and followed the footsteps you could hear in front of you. You pulled out your blaster and held it in front of you as you yanked open an attic door and sprinted through. You could see the figure about to head down the stairs, but you pointed the gun at him.

“Stop, or I’ll fire!” you yelled, and the figure froze. “Who the hell are you, you stole my kill! Show yourself!”

Without hesitation, the figure stepped into the moonlight, and your jaw dropped. Standing in front of you was Jango Fett, one of the most feared bounty hunters in the galaxy. You stammered, trying to think of a response, but he removed his helmet.

“I’ve heard you are a skilled bounty hunter, and I think you proved that tonight. Despite not getting your kill before me.” he reached his hand out, and you timidly shook it. “What’s your name?”

“y/n.”

Placing his helmet back on, Jango nodded at you before turning around.

“I think we’ll be working together in the near future, y/n.”

Mace Windu

You sprinted up to the clones, who were in a tight circle around a tall man in robes.

“y/n, reporting for duty.” you panted, breathless, as you ran up next to them. “Apologies for being late, I lost track of time.”

“Apology accepted.” Captain Rex had an amused smile on his face. “It’s your first day anyway, I’ll let this slide.”

You had barely heard what Rex had said, because you were too busy staring in awe at the man in robes, who you realized was a Jedi.

“A new commander, Rex?” the man asked, and Rex nodded.

“My new lieutenant,” Rex clarified. “y/n, this is Jedi Master Mace Windu, Master Windu, this is y/n.”

Mace shook your hand firmly, his intimidating gaze scaring you a little.

“Master Windu will be overseeing our mission today.” Rex explained, putting his helmet on. “Alright, let’s move out!”

The clones began to file away, moving towards the ships and collecting their weapons, leaving just you and Mace behind. He looked you up and down, before nodding approvingly.

“I can sense you’re going to be a very promising soldier, y/n.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi

It was another day at the Jedi Archives. You were running around, slightly panicked, trying to reorganize all the records you forgot to take care of yesterday. You accidentally fell asleep on the job, and now you were rushing to do everything before the chief librarian came back. You were training to become the next chief librarian, but at this point, it didn’t look like you were doing a very good job.

You were struggling to balance a mini tower of datatapes, and rushed around the corner towards one of the shelves. As you turned the corner, you accidentally slammed into someone. Falling backwards, the you winced in preparations to hear the datatapes smashing on the floor, but it never happened.

Confused, you looked up, and came face to face with a young man. You had seen him around occasionally, but apart from that all you knew about him was that he was a Jedi. He had staggered back when he had run into you, but quickly composed himself and used the Force to prevent the datatapes from falling. Sheepishly, you quickly collected the datatapes that were hovering centimetres from the floor.

“Thank you, Master Jedi.” you said politely as you picked up the last one. You glanced at him briefly, noting how attractive he was. He tucked his hands under his robes.

“Please, call me Obi-Wan.” he nodded at you, and you smiled.

“I am the junior librarian, y/n. What can I help you with today, Obi-Wan?”

“I’m trying to find some records on Kamino... it should be in the Outer Rim.” he responded, a troubled expression crossed his face.

“I would be happy to help you find your planet.” the two of you smiled at each other broadly, and began walking together, side by side.

Padmé Amidala

Padmé was strolling through an the forests of Naboo, trying to gather her head before she was crowned as queen. She was still very young, and was debating if she was ready to be the leader of her planet. Shaking her head and attempting to distract herself, she perked up at the sound of running water.

She made her way into a clearing, where there was a waterfall and a small lake. Sitting down by the lake, she closed her eyes and just listened to the sound of nature around her. Padmé liked spending time in nature when she was feeling frustrated or confused; it helped her calm down.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps approaching. Opening her eyes, she turned around and came face to face with you, who froze uncertainly when you saw the soon-to-be Queen.

“Your Highness,” you spoke quickly, giving her a bow. She smiled and stood up to approach you.

“Oh please,” she laughed laughed lightly. “I’m not Queen yet, I still have a few more days. Just call me Padmé.”

“Hello, Padmé. I’m y/n.” you made eye contact with the pretty young woman, relaxing a little at her friendly tone. You then noticed her curious expression, and bashfully explained. “I like to come here when I’m nervous.”

“I like to spend time in nature when I’m nervous too!” Padmé exclaimed, then blushed slightly at her outburst. You grinned at her instead, and reached out your hand.

“There’s an even better waterfall a little farther from here. Want to come with me?” you asked, cocking your head.

Padmé looked down at your hand, and smiled as she reached out and held it.

“That sounds lovely.”

Qui-Gon Jinn

Qui-Gon strolled though the park idly, taking in the scene around him. There were small children running around, playing some sort of wild game, and some elders sitting on the benches having animated conversations. The park was a little distance away from the main district in Coruscant, so Qui-Gon liked to come here to get some peace and quiet when he could.

He approached a bench that sat on top of a small hill that overlooked the whole park. This was his favorite bench to sit and and just mediate sometimes. To his surprise, you were sitting there, a book in your lap. No one was usually here, since no one really ventured this far out from the park.

“Your book looks very interesting, judging by your focused expression.” Qui-Gon spoke as he sat next to you. Looking up at the man with the deep voice, you laughed.

“It’s for my studies.” you lifted the book and showed him the cover, which Qui-Gon recognized as a history book. “It’s not really that interesting, but I have to read it.”

“Understandable.” Qui-Gon chuckled. You glanced at the man sideways, looking at his robes. You knew only certain people wore those robes.

“A Jedi?” you asked casually, looking forward.

“Of sorts,” Qui-Gon smiled. “Though I don’t really follow the Jedi Order as much as they want me to.”

“Ooh, a rule breaking Jedi.” you grinned at him, and he grinned back. “I like the sound of that, I’d love to hear more about it. I’m y/n.”

You outstretched your hand, and Qui-Gon warmly shook it

“Hello, y/n.” he leaned back and smiled up at the sky, and began to spoke “Well, there was one time during a mission where...”

Sheev Palpatine

As Palpatine stood in the Senata Arena, he felt his gaze fall onto you. You were standing behind one of the politicians, listening intently. He assessed you, looking at your plain clothes and haphazardly styled hair, and assumed you were an assistant of some sort. But there was something about you that stood out to him. Somehow, he sensed you were connected with the Force.

When the conference was over, Palpatine made sure to send some of his men to escort you to his office. You were taken aback as the guards opened the door to Palpatine’s office, and you hesitantly stepped inside.

“Chancellor.” you greeted him, bowing slightly. Palpatine smiled as he approached you.

“Hello, y/n.” he responded, and you looked at him in surprise. Sensing your uncertainty, he quickly explained. “I got your name from the records. I want to talk to you about something.

He moved his window and gestured for you to follow. The two of you looked at the Coruscant landscape, admiring it.

“What a beautiful city.” you sighed, and Palpatine nodded in agreement.

“Do you know the ways of the Force?” Palpatine suddenly asked, and you shook your head, slightly taken aback. “I have a feeling you are one with it, though. I have requested that the Jedi Order take you in for training.”

“Training with the Jedi?” you exclaimed, both shocked and excited. “Why, I would never dream of it!”

“That is why I am giving you the opportunity!” Palpatine gestured grandly with his arms. He patted your shoulder, smiling, but you didn’t pick up on the maliciousness behind his smile. “You will become a powerful Jedi, y/n. I think the two of us will work together in the near future.”

Yoda

Slowly making his way through the markets, Yoda watched as the people around him rushed by and listened to the merchants yelling. Yoda liked wandering in busy places sometimes when he had free time, because he just liked to lose himself in a crowd of busy people.

As he reached the end of the market, he noticed a small stall neglected in the corner. Approaching it, he noticed a young person sitting on a crate, mending a piece of cloth. You looked up when you hear something approaching, and your eyes widened.

“Master Yoda.” you scrambled to your feet and bowed, well aware of the Jedi Master. Yoda smiled feebly and gestured for you to sit back down.

“Fixing, what are you?” he asked, reaching out to your cloth. Shyly, you handed it to him. It was a piece of embroidery, depicting the sunset over Coruscant. Yoda smiled at the piece of work, handing it back to you. “Very talented, you are.”

“Thank you very much, Master Yoda.” you smiled, not reaching out to take it back. “You can keep it.”

“Keep such a beautiful piece of art, I cannot.” he insisted, and you took it back and carefully folded it back into your bag. You stood up, slinging the strap over your shoulder, and smiled politely at Yoda.

“It was an honor to meet you.” you bowed again.

“Your name, I did not get.” he pointed at you.

“Oh, of course!” you laughed. “y/n.”

“Again, we will meet y/n.” he nodded, before slowly hobbling away, leaving you wondering when that next time would be.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

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rowdy-revenant · 7 years

Text

Haunted Hearts

Pairing: ghost!Kevin Tran x reader

Request by: @hunters-hiraeth

Beta-reader: @unsink-the-titanic

Words: 1500+

Warning: angst, bittersweet ending

[General masterlist]

You stared at the table in the library. His papers were still there. Hell, his mug was still there.

“What are you doing awake?” Kevin had asked you.

You’d just shrugged. “I could ask the same for you.”

Kevin had bags under his eyes and his short black hair stood up at odd angles. “I have to finish translating the-”

“No, no you don’t,” You replied. “You have to sleep.”

Sighing, Kevin got out of his seat. He wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed your cheek. “What would I do without you?”

You giggled. “The question is what I’D do without YOU.”

“You’d do just fine without me..”

But you weren’t just fine. You hadn’t been fine since the night Kevin died. Since the night where you found him lying on the floor of the bunker, eyes burnt out of his skull.

That was all you saw when you closed your eyes. You couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t bring yourself to even shower. You just shuffled around the bunker, occasionally grunting if the Winchesters asked you a question.

You could still feel his arms around your waist. No, really, right now you could feel slight pressure pushing into you. Then it was gone.

Why did Kevin have to leave you? Why did Metatron need to order his death? It wasn’t fair! None of it was.

You trudged to the kitchen, picking up the mug Kevin used to use. It helped a bit, using that one.

You put some coffee on to brew and thought back to times when things were right.

"Favourite musician, go!” You said, sitting on the counter and swinging your legs.

Kevin pondered for a second before reaching a conclusion of “Mozart.”

You blinked, unsure if you'd heard that right. "Mozart?”

“I mean, Bach has good stuff too. Can't forget him.”

You smiled. Then you chortled. Then you full on laughed. "I meant like someone alive!”

“Oh!” Kevin exclaimed, his cheeks growing red.

"You're such an old fart.”

“Am not! Take it back, Y/N.”

“Y/N?”

The voice repeated your name, but not in your head this time. You dropped Kevin’s mug. It shattered once it hit the floor, sharp sound echoing around the empty kitchen.

“No! Nononono…” You cried out, over and over as you tried to pick up every bit of ceramic. “I- I can fix this…”

A fragment dug into your palm, sending a prick of pain running up your arm. A line of crimson beads began to form on your palm.

“You're hurt.”

You looked up, and there he was. Kevin stood there, looking just like he used too. Maybe a bit paler, a little less solid, but definitely there. He smiled like he always did, flickered and disappeared.

“You're dead…”

The tension between the brothers had risen to the point where any conversation was an argument. The events with Gadreel, Metatron, Crowley and especially Kevin set everyone on edge.

And things weren’t right. Lights in the bunker flickered on and off. All of you knew what that meant.

You were in the kitchen with the boys, Sam packing shotgun rounds with rock salt.

“How is this possible? I thought you said this was the safest place on the planet!” Dean cried out, breaking the silence.

Sam sighed and stopped with his work. “Look, I know nothing got in. I mean, the bunker is warded and sigiled from top to bottom. There's no way something came in from the outside.”

“Okay, so whoever's haunting us died here.” Dean grumbled.

Sam scoffed. “What, dead man of letters?”

“Has to be a recent death.” You replied, the first time you’d spoken to the brothers in days. “Kevin.”

“No.” Dean said, crossing his arms.

“How can you be so sure?” You asked. “I know it’s Kevin, I saw him!”

“ I burned his body myself, okay? It's not him.” Dean growled.

“So I’m seeing things?!” You asked. “You cremated him, so what? I was there! You cremated Bobby, too, and-”

“Don’t bring Bobby into this!” Dean demanded, still shaken by the incident with his almost father’s ghost. “Y/N, I'm telling you, this ghost, it's not Kevin!”

At that point, the coffee maker screamed, its clock going crazy. The mug in Dean’s hand shattered. The brothers looked shocked, backing away. However you got up and walked towards the machine.

“Kevin?” You asked softly.

The coffee maker stopped making strange noises, beeped once, then shut off completely.

You looked over at Sam and Dean. “Believe me now?”

“Woah…” Dean mumbled. “So what now? Seance with a coffee maker?”

“He’s trying, Dean.” You said. “He’s new at this, and stuck in the veil. I mean, Heaven is all fucked up!”

“It did take Bobby ages to make contact.” Sam agreed. “It could take a while.”

Dean frowned, sitting down at the table. “You said you saw him, Y/N.”

“I thought I was insane,” You admitted. “But I really did see him. Idiot wasted his energy just to show off to me.”

The coffee maker beeped and you smiled. “I was just teasing you, Kev.”

“Y/N, now isn’t the time to goof off.” Dean said sternly.

“My boyfriend is a ghost and you’re telling me how not to grieve?”

“There’s more important things to do than play hard to get with a damn coffee machine!” Dean retaliated.

“Oh, like what?” You asked. “Begging for forgiveness?”

“His death was my fault!”

“Tell that to the angel possessing me.” Sam cut in.

“I should have been there to protect him!” Dean yelled. “I got him killed!”

“Dean, no! Stop blaming yourself for everything!” Sam said, raising his voice too. “It was my-”

The coffee maker screamed again, Kevin trying to make contact, whether it was to argue or end the fight. You’d had enough.

“ALL OF YOU STOP IT!” You screamed. The room went silent. You stood there, shaking with rage and sadness, trying to prevent the tears from running down your face. “It was all of our faults, maybe mine the most! But arguing isn’t going to make Kevin any less dead and stuck! So shut the fuck up, and act like adults!”

“Y/N-”

You didn’t know who’d spoken your name and you didn’t care. This was all too much and you’d had enough. You stormed into your room without another word.

Sam knocked on your door. “Y/N?”

“Go away, Sam.” You mumbled, turning over in your bed.

“It’s about Kevin.” He added.

You were curious. You opened the door, hair a mess and eyes red, cheeks stained with tears. “What.”

“We saw him too.” Dean added. “After you left, he was there for a couple minutes.”

“So?”

“So, he wanted a favour.” Sam explained. “We go save his mother while he has time here with you.”

You nodded. “You sure he wants to see me?”

Dean sighed. “Dude wouldn’t stop talking about how he missed you, almost talked our ears off ‘till he got to the point.”

“Talk to Kevin. We’ll be back soon.”

When the Winchesters left, you sat back down at the kitchen table, unsure of what to say next. Minutes passed before you gathered the courage to speak. “Kevin?”

Across from you, a form flickered. “Y/N can- can you see me?”

You nodded as his form solidified, Kevin standing right in front of you. He grinned. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

He sat across from you, flickering when he tried to move the chair. It looked like it took a lot of effort even just to be seen. “I missed you.”

You smiled and wiped your eyes. “God, I missed you too. I’m sorry Kevin. I’m so sorry!”

“Hey, don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault.” Kevin assured.

“But-”

“Trust me.” The ghost said, his voice calm and soothing. “I’ve had time to think. And I know that it’s not your fault any of this happened. If I hadn’t become a prophet I would never had met you.”

You laughed through your tears. “What will you do without me?”

Kevin shrugged. “The question is, what will you do without me?”

You were silent for a bit. “I… I don’t know.”

“Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Live your life.” Kevin told you. “Stay safe and live out your life. Grow old, get grey, adopt twenty cats. I’ll wait for you.”

“Then I guess I’ll wait for you too.” You replied. “I promise.”

The two of you spent the rest of the day just talking. When Kevin couldn’t hold a visible form any longer, you moved to the front room and turned a movie on, knowing he was right beside you.

The boys returned with Mrs. Tran, and you had a decision made. You looked at the ring Kevin’s spirit had attached to, turning it over in your hand. “I’m done hunting.”

“What?” Sam and Dean asked in unison.

“I’d like to go with Kevin and his mother. If that’s okay with Mrs. Tran.” You admitted.

Kevin’s mom smiled. “I could use some living company too.”

You hugged the Winchesters and turned to Linda Tran. “Give me ten minutes to pack.”

“Take all the time you need.”

You slipped the ring onto a small chain around your neck, feeling the cold metal against your chest. You’d wait to be with Kevin again, even if it took forever.

~ Murdoch’s tag list - want to be added or removed? Send me an ask! ~

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#kevin tran #kevin tran x reader #supernatural #reader insert #supernatural imagine #angst #ghost!kevin

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winchesters-imagine · 7 years

Text

Sister!Winchester - I’m Back

Imagine being Sam and Dean's sister, and it's difficult to convince you it's really Dean when he comes out of hell. Word Count:1,509 Warnings:none

"This isn't going to work, is it Sammy?" You ask in disappointment, as you realise that since you wanted to continue hunting and Sam did not, you both would have to go your separate ways.

Grief still consumed you, and you think about Dean every day. You think about how he protected you, cared for you, always told you he loved you whenever he could. You think about how he hugged you - tightly, like it would be the last one you would ever get. And one day, it was. The thought that Dean may be calling out for you and Sam to save him from hell makes you sick to the stomach, as you know there is nothing you can do.

Isn't it strange how something can change in a second? A glass could be perfectly fine but with one force, it could be knocked off of the table and shatter on the floor. It wouldn't be a glass anymore. How about a car crash? One second your car is perfectly fine, just driving along, and the next there are dents along the sides, and injured people in it. It's the same with death. You're never prepared to deal with it, so when you're faced with the problem, you don't know what to do. A stray tear fell down Sam's face as you shovel the last pile of dirt into Dean's grave. You felt it in your heart, the sadness. How would you deal with one of your brothers gone forever and your other probably on the other side of the country? What if you needed back up on a hunt, and try to call Dean, only to receive a painful reminder of why you couldn't. You still had Bobby at least. You both drop your shovels before running into each other's arms. You feel tears sting the back of your eyes and you don't bother to blink them away. Everyone needs a good cry now and again, right? You clutch Sam tightly, grabbing fistfuls of his soft jacket. He wraps his arms around your shoulders and holds the back of your head in one hand. Sam always smelt like fall. Mixed spice, like gingerbread, along with apples and sometimes pie. Pie. You could never eat the dessert the same way again. Sam strokes your head and kisses your hair, before pulling away and holding you at arms length. He wipes away your wayward tears with his thumbs and you lean into his touch. "Be careful, you hear me? Stay alive," His voice breaks and you let more tears fall as you nod. "I love you, Sammy." "I love you too."

Four months on, to the day, and you still haven't moved forwards. You reckon you might've done a month ago, if it weren't for shapeshifters and monsters alike to painfully remind you of him — he was your weakness, even though he's dead.

You feel tears sting the back of your eyes and a lump in your throat. You haven't cried for four months. You became one of the best hunters in the area, not failing or getting hurt on a single one. You blink these tears away, and smile sadly while thinking of all the times you and Dean have had fun together. You and Dean sang along to classic rock in Baby. You tried to teach him how to bake pie. Whenever he found a new hunting trick, you would be the first person he would tell. You know he secretly liked chick flicks, which is why you often made him watch them with you.

You open your duffel bag and take out two pictures of you and Dean.

One was taken by Sam, and it was of you jumping onto Dean's back. He started laughing as he had trouble holding you in place, and Sam had captured the perfect moment where you both had wide smiles on your face, when you were truly happy. That was taken two years ago, just after Sam had joined you and Dean to find your Dad. The other photo was of you and both of your brothers. You were on the left and Dean was in the middle, with Sam standing next to him. Dean was in a great mood that day, and he posed while kissing your cheek, making you grin widely as Bobby snapped the photo. Sam's dimples were showing as he peered over to see what was making you giggle so much. Thud. Thud. You jump slightly as you hear knocks on the door of your motel room, grabbing your silver knife as you unlock it, knife behind your back. Your heart skips a beat and a wave of fear flies through you when you see the person at the door. Your breath hitches in your throat. Y/N! It's not him! Stop! Dean stands in front of you awkwardly, as you take in his appearance. He had dirt on one of his cheeks, and was only wearing one layer of clothing. His hair was messy and he looked... broken. "Hey Y/N," He spoke, voice breaking. You're too stunned to speak, but when he takes a step forward, you swing your knife at this, this monster who was pretending to be Dean. 'Dean' grabs your wrist and twists your arm around your back, not hard enough to break your arm, but hard enough to stop you from moving. You elbow him in the stomach with your free arm and swing again. This time he grabs your arm and knocks the knife out of your hands before someone pulls you roughly away from him. "Y/N! Stop!" It was Bobby. His voice relaxed you, as you turn around and hug him, letting the tears fall. You knew this was Bobby. The faint smell of beer mixed with a slight car scent. His hug was around you waist, where it had always been. "Bobby - it can't be him — a shapeshifter or something! Make them stop!" You break down in Bobby's arms. He rubs your back, whispering reassuring nothings into your ear until your sobs turn into small hiccups. He then holds your shoulders and puts you at arms length. This reminds you of Sam, which makes more tears fall. "Y/N, it's him! It's really him!" Bobby convinced you excitedly. "I've done the tests already." You linger on the decision of whether to trust him or not. If Bobby is one of the best hunters in the country and is traveling with one of the things he kills for a living, why would he bring it to you? Wouldn't he have killed it already? "Okay," You take a deep breath, rubbing your puffy eyes which are beginning to feel a lot more tired. Bobby smiles as you turn to face your brother. He rubs the back of his neck, looking slightly hurt, his eyebrows slightly creased and his eyes wide as he takes slow breaths. "D-Dean?" You stutter, still in a vulnerable state. He nods. You breathe out heavily as he picks up your silver knife from the floor and rolls up his sleeve. He makes a cut on his arm and let's the blood trickle out. No sizzle. "Bobby," He holds his hands out to catch something Bobby throws his way, which happens to be a flask. A flask of holy water. He takes a big swig before tossing it back to Bobby and reaching for a rag on the side of a table to tie around his arm. He struggles tying it with one hand, so you walk over to him and swat his hand away. You tie the rag around the cut, securing it loose enough with a tight knot. You look up and him and he smiles at you. "Y/N I—" You never find out what he was going to say as you throw your arms around his neck. He hugs back immediately, lifting you off of the floor and kissing your temple. His arms are wrapped tightly around you as you sniff. He smells just as you remember. Worn leather, gunpowder, beer, cherry pie. "You were dead," You whisper as he puts you down. "I know." "How long?" "Forty years. How long?" "Four months." Dean glances to the side and spots the pictures you were looking at just before. "Dean?" someone knocks on the door and you turn to see Sam. You meet his gaze and slowly walk up to him. He's lost for words, frozen to the spot as he watches you. "Y/N, I am so sorry. I regretted leaving you the moment I did but I could never track you," Sam says this very fast, which is too much information to process at once. "Sam, it's okay. I was okay," You slowly wrap your arms around his waist and he does the same, loosely holding on to you while you rock from side to side slightly. You don't care that people stared when they left their rooms. You had both of your brothers back. That was what mattered today.

#SPNFamily #SPN FANDOM #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #SPN #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #supernatural family #Supernatural fanfic #supernatural oneshot #dean winchester #dean #reader insert #dean winchester imagine

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