#ploy reader insert

[munsons-hellfire]

How Did It End? | Lucien Vanserra

SUMMARY: He chose Elain over you, but your mates are there to help rebuild what he broke when the relationship ended.

PAIRINGS: Poly!Feysand x Reader, Lucien Vanserra x Reader (Past), Lucien Vanserra x Elain Archeron

CONTENT WARNING: SFW, heartbreak, poly!feysand, angst, fluff, happy ending

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Inspired by How Did It End? by Taylor Swift. This song is one of my favorites of TTPD: The Anthology. When I was listening to this on repeat, it just got me thinking about characters from ACOTAR, and I just thought this best fit Lucien. I hope you enjoy this!

WORD COUNT: 2.0K

Lucien Vanserra was many things, that much you knew. Before Elain had come into your lives you’d spent such a long time with him. He made you believe things that you didn’t think you’d ever had. When he finally found his mate, the last thing you expected was to hear him say he chose her. You should’ve known this day would come.

He kept you in the Spring Court even when it was falling down. And when the war was over he kept you hidden from your friend. He kept you hidden away from Feyre. You rotted away in the Human land while your lover worked tirelessly to win his mate over. You guessed that he had done so. He stood in front of you, years after winning the war.

He looked so different from the last memory you had off him. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d kissed him, the last time he held you in his warm embrace. There were so many last memories that you just couldn’t remember when they had happened. Elain was in the room, her sister and brother in law also with them.

“Oh.” Was all you could muster up, the word breaking as it fell from your lips. That single word didn’t so much as affect the male, or his mate. But you could see the pain Feyre and Rhysand held on their faces and it confused you. “When did you work it out?” You went on to ask. Lucien stepped forward, but you stepped back. You were in a home that Lucien had found for you and you knew that he’d most likely take it away from you.

“We accepted the bond a few months ago.” Elain’s voice was soft, and you understood why Lucien had fallen madly in love with her and wanted to work it out. You shook your head not understanding why they would wait so long to tell you this important information.

“I see.” You turned around and grabbed your go bag.

Even before Lucien had shown up with the others in tow you had planned to leave. But now you have more incentive to do so.

“Where are you going?” Lucien questioned, finally he spoke.

“I’m leaving.” You looked back at the male you thought would choose you over his mate, but you were wrong, so wrong. “I don’t know when what we had ended or how it ended. But I do know when I’m not wanted anymore. I should’ve left when you said you wanted to pursue another female that is your mate. I’m not her, I never will be. So I’m making this easy for you Lucien.” You walked over to the door barely glancing at Rhysand or Feyre. “You can keep the house.”

You stepped out of the house and walked over to the horse that was waiting on the side. Climbing on you took off just as the four ran out of the home trying to call your name. You ignored them all. You needed time to process the news you already knew was true. Years with him had been wasted, they were nothing. You were nothing to him but trash to toss aside.

Tears slipped down your face blurring your vision. But it didn’t give you a reason for you to stop. You continued on until you were finally back in Prythian. You’d ride until you could make it out of the Spring Court, hopefully you could avoid Tamlin’s guards. Though it was nice to see that he had finally been able to rebuild his Court. You didn’t make it far into the Spring Court when said guards appeared surrounding you and stopping your horse in its tracks.

You released a defeated sigh, held your hands in the air and dropped your head. There was no fight left in you, not right now at least. The guards dragged you deeper into the Spring court until you were face to face with Tamlin himself, though he wasn’t alone. A female stood by his side, you didn’t know who she was.

“High Lord.” You whispered, bowing your head to him. You were afraid of what he might do considering what he’d done in the past.

“I heard what happened. I’ve alerted Feyre and Rhysand of your arrival in my Court.” Tamlin’s voice ran through your ears and that was the last thing you’d expected him to speak to you.

“W-What? Why?” You were confused, so utterly confused. The female stepped forward, a soft smile on her face.

“Your mates are worried about you. You left in such a hurry they didn’t have a chance to get to you.” She answered. Now you were even more confused.

“My love, I don’t think Y/N knows that they’re mates.” Tamlin’s green eyes were on the female you assumed was his mate or maybe his lover.

“Rhysand and Feyre aren’t my mates. It’s not possible. I can’t have more than one mate.”

You were still processing the new information when Rhys and Feyre winnowed into the room. They were here with you in the Spring court. Both High Lord and Lady kneeled in front of you. Each reaching out with one hand to caress your cheeks.

“It is possible. It’s rare, but a mated pair of three, or a triad is very possible.” The female said.

“My mate, Luna, she’s spent most of her life researching mates and how bonds truly work between the Fae. She was the first one to notice that Rhys and Feyre were missing another part of themselves.” Tamlin spoke, Luna, the female you now knew to her be, gave a nod of approval to her mate’s words.

“When?” You asked.

“We truly didn’t know until Luna talked to us.” Rhysand whispered, keeping his violet eyes gazing into your eyes. He was searching for something in them, maybe searching to see if you’d run away again.

“But you have a family.” You just wanted to call it quits, you wanted whatever pain you were feeling to just be over.

“Yes, we have a family but it never felt complete. And now we know why.” Feyre said.

“Why?” Your lips trembled, afraid of the words that either might say. Too much had happened today, it was exhausting.

“Because you weren’t in it, you weren’t a part of the little family we have. Lucien kept you hidden from us. He thought Elain would truly reject the bond and he’d come back to you. We’d spent so long trying to figure out what was missing. And when he mentioned going back to you, we felt a tug but we didn’t understand any of it.”

“Why now?”

“Because you deserve to be happy too. Lucien knew that you’d run, we asked Tamlin to keep an eye out for you. We had to talk to you, to tell you what truth we had learned.”

“I can’t. I can’t.” You cried out. You stood up and backed away from them. “It’s not possible, this…” You cut yourself of staring at Rhysand and Feyre. They were hiding the hurt, but you could feel their pain. That was new, so new and it was overwhelming. “I just want to lie down.” As you said the words you felt your legs give out beneath you. However Rhysand was clutching onto you before you hit the grass.

“Let’s go back to the Night Court. You need some rest and time to heal before we discuss this.” Feyre whispered to you. You nodded, your hand gripping onto Rhysand’s arm tightly. Almost afraid that he’d disappear. He picked you up from the ground, your head rested on his chest. Feyre nodded her head and he disappeared.

“Thank you.” Feyre whispered to Tamlin and Luna. Tamlin gave a nod of his head while Luna stepped away from him and walked closer to Feyre.

“Y/N, will need both of you. This is going to be a lot.” Luna said.

“I know. Rhys and I will do everything to make sure that Y/N is comfortable with this. It’s going to take time, I know that much is true.” Luna smiled in understanding. Then Feyre said her goodbyes winnowing back to the night court.

───── ☾☾☾ ─────

Months had passed and you were still in the same state you’d been in since Rhys and Feyre had brought you home. They were worried about you now more than ever, not sure how to fix what Lucien had broken. You knew the bond had snapped for you but you will still try to process everything. Trying to process the fact that not only did you have one mate but you had two mates. They were High Lord and Lady and they had a son together. You didn’t understand how you could fit into their family when they had such a perfect family already.

Nyx had helped when they’d bring him in to visit you. You already had a bond with the child and sometimes it was hard to put Nyx down to sleep because he’d cry for you to be the one to put him down for a nap. But you were still so scared that you’d mess it all up, that you’d be abandoned again. Just like your parents had abandoned you, and just like Lucien had abandoned you.

You were so lost in your thoughts, stuck in your mind that never seemed to go to sleep when you needed it to, to hear the door of your room open and close. Rhys and Feyre thought it was best for you to have your own room until you were ready to take the next step. The relationship between the three of you was on your terms. A sob left your lips feeling the bed dip down on both sides. Feyre lied down in front of you while you hugged your blanket tightly. Rhys pressed his body against your back.

“We’re here for you Y/N.” Feyre whispered, a sad expression etching onto her face.

“I know.” You whispered, closing your eyes. Rhys and Feyre had been trying to get into your mind since you’d come home with them, but your shields were strong. You also weren’t letting them get into your mind, not yet anyway.

“It’ll be okay, love.” Rhys whispered into your ear.

“I just don’t understand how it ended, I mean I understand it. But there were never any signs, I never saw it coming.” You whispered, letting your tightening grip on the blanket loose. Feyre finally closed the gap between you and her, Rhys lifted a wing and covered himself, you, and Feyre with it in protection.

“Sometimes the relationships we thought were meant for just end without any signs. Sometimes there are better things out there for us.” Rhys said while Feyre nodded in agreement.

“Will it ever get better?” Rhys kept his gaze on both of his mates, though his eyes lingered on Feyre for a brief moment.

“Eventually, it will. All you can do is take it one step at a time. Rhys and I will be here through that process. When you're ready to accept the bond we’ll accept it. If you’re not ready then we’ll wait until you are.” Feyre paused, her eyes found yours and she could see the shock that was on your face. “You are worth every moment, worth every shared memory, worth waiting for.” Another sob escaped your lips.

“I don’t want to be abandoned again.” The fear of what had truly happened to you finally left your mouth. Feyre and Rhys wrapped their arms around you and huddled closer.

“You will never be abandoned, not by us. Not ever.” Rhysand said sternly.

“Promise?” You switched your gaze from Feyre to Rhys waiting for them to take back what they’d both said.

“We promise. You’re our mate, and we are yours. We’re in this together until the end of time. Until the Mother decides that our time is truly at an end.”

You gave a soft smile, though your lips were trembling and tears were slipping free. It was going to be a long journey but you knew you’d be able to come to terms with the past and move on for a better, happier future. And with Rhys and Feyre by your side it didn’t seem so scary anymore.

[saiacross]

Bonds Unveiled

Supernatural FanFic: 10,865 Words: Series: Reader-Insert Note: I Changed the format of the story from Saia to Y/N for readers but you can still read the original on my AO3.

Chapter 7: A Fateful Reunion

This Work is part of an overarching story that can be read as a one-shot with little overlapping information from other chapters. **Major Story Plot Chapter** ________________________ Chapter 7:

The wheels have been set in motion now as Crowley comes to collect on the debt Y/N owes him. Little does anyone know that the toll is far greater than anyone could imagine. The task? A hunter that has been causing Crowley trouble and Y/N will need to take care of him. Y/N knows there is no refusing him but what no one expected was for the target to be.... As they meet once again, centuries worth of memories and pain begin to mix with new fears and nightmares. Even Crowley didn't account for this one. ________________________ Main Story: Y/N is no ordinary Huntress and when she runs into the Winchesters her life takes a turn. As time unfolds, they get to know each other, rely on one another, and demonstrate they care for one another in their own ways. Y/N's life begins to unravel into her history, present, and what lies ahead. She faces resurfacing fears she believed she'd escaped long ago, aided by the Winchester brothers. Their journey together is one of confronting old horrors and finding newfound strength.

Y/N stirs from her sleep, her eyes fluttering open as she reaches for her phone on the nightstand. The ringing pierces through the quiet of her room, indicating an incoming call. She glances at the clock and realizes it's still early in the morning. With a groggy voice, she answers the phone, "Hello?"

“Good morning Kitten, hope you slept well.” Y/N could hear the grin in Crowley’s voice from the other side of the phone.

She clears her throat her eyes widen as she hears Crowley's voice on the other end of the line. She sits up straight in bed, fully awake now "Crowley.”

Crowley's smooth and confident tone resonates through the phone. "Yes, It's time for you to hold up your end of the bargain. I trust you remember our deal?"

Y/N takes a deep breath, her mind racing as she recalls the agreement she made with the King of Hell. "Yes, Crowley, I remember. What do you need from me?"

Crowley chuckles lightly. "Oh, it's nothing too demanding, my dear. I simply require your assistance with a small matter. Meet me in the town of Blackwood, Wisconsin. There is a pesk I need dealt with, and you Kitten are just the person for the job.”

Y/N clenches her jaw, realizing that there's no escape from fulfilling her deal. She resigns herself to the fact that she must honor her agreement with the demon. "Alright, Crowley. I'll be there."

Crowley's voice oozes with satisfaction. "Excellent. I knew I could count on you. Don't keep me waiting too long."

With that, the call ends, leaving Y/N staring at her phone, a mix of determination and unease swirling within her. She knows she must fulfill her end of the deal, but she also knows that dealing with Crowley comes with its own set of risks and consequences. She takes a moment to steel herself before getting out of bed, knowing that her journey to Blackwood, Wisconsin is about to be a long one.

Y/N, her bags packed and slung over her shoulder, stands outside her room, hesitating for a moment. She knows she needs to leave, but facing the boys after the argument in the kitchen feels daunting. With a heavy sigh, she decides to leave a note for them instead.

She grabs a pen and a piece of paper and quickly scribbles down a message. The words are concise, but she hopes they convey enough information. The note reads, "Hey guys, got a call. Heading out for a job. Call if you need me. Take care. -Y/N"

Y/N pins the note to the kitchen noticeboard, making sure it's visible to both Sam and Dean. She lingers for a moment, feeling a mix of relief and guilt. She knows it's better to communicate with them directly, but the tension from the previous day's argument still weighs heavily on her mind.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N straightens her posture and adjusts the straps of her bags. She walks toward the front door, glancing back at the bunker one last time before stepping out into the world. She knows she has a task to complete for Crowley, and while it may be dangerous, it also gives her the chance to clear her head.

As she heads towards her car, she hopes that the note will be enough to convey her intentions to the Winchesters. She knows they'll be worried, but she believes it's for the best to face this challenge alone.

Y/N continues driving along the open road, the engine of her purple Stingray Corvette purring beneath her. The song "Love is a Battlefield" by Pat Benatar fills the car, its catchy chorus echoing through the speakers. She taps her fingers on the steering wheel, lost in her thoughts.

Just as the chorus reaches its peak, her phone begins to ring, interrupting the music. Y/N glances at the screen and sees Dean's name flashing. She hesitates for a moment, debating whether to answer the call or let it go to voicemail. She knows Dean could be angry, but there's also a chance that it might be something important.

Caught in the midst of her internal dilemma, Y/N takes a bit too long to answer the call, and the ringing eventually stops. She lets out a frustrated sigh, realizing that her hesitation has only added to the tension between them. She knows that not answering will only fuel the fire of their argument from the previous day.

Y/N, contemplating whether to call Dean back, reaches to turn down the music in her car. Just as she's about to make a decision, her phone rings again. This time, Sam's name appears on the screen. With a hint of relief, she accepts the call and brings the phone to her ear.

“Hey Sam, -”

As she answers, she can already hear Dean's frustrated voice on the other end. “What the hell, you ghosting me now?”

Y/N is taken aback by his angry tone and remains silent, unsure of how to respond. But before she can say anything, Sam interjects. “Damnit Dean, give me my phone back!” The sound of wrestling and the boys cursing at one another can be heard over the phone.

Suddenly there is silence on the other end until Y/N hears Sam huff before clearing his throat. “Hey, sorry about that, Y/N.”

 "It's alright, Sam. Is everything okay?" Y/N tries to play it off like it's nothing, not wanting to cause further tension.

"Yeah, yeah, everything's okay. We just saw your note about leaving and wanted to make sure you're alright."

"Right, sorry about leaving like that, but it's nothing major. Just a small case I wanted to check out on my own."

"Y/N, you know we're here for you, right? You don't have to handle everything on your own."

"I know, but this one... I just need to handle it myself, okay? It's personal."

"Alright, if that's what you want. But at least tell me where you're going?"

"I'd rather not say, Sam. It's best if you don't know. Trust me on this."

"This is ridiculous, Sam! She's being secretive again!" Dean can be heard hollering from the background. Sam shoots him a look before turning back to the phone.

"Okay, Y/N Just... be safe, alright? If you need anything, don't hesitate to call us."

"I will, Sam. Thank you."

“Stay safe out there."

The call ends, leaving Y/N with a mix of determination and uncertainty. She knows she's keeping something from the Winchesters, but she believes it's for the best. Meanwhile, Sam and Dean exchange frustrated glances as they try to understand Y/N's decision, even if they don't fully agree with it.

After ending the call Sam turns around to face Dean who is pacing the library floor.

“Dean, did you ever go and talk to her last night?

Dean stops with his hands on his hips. “I was going to. This morning. But then she just took off.” Dean waved his hand through the air in a random direction.

Sam looks at Dean, frustration and disappointment written on his face. His nostrils flare as her breaths heavily trying to calm himself.

“What you think this is my fault?” Dean asked, feeling accused as he read his brother's expressions.

“Yes, Dean!” Sam said matter of factly with all his built-up anger.

Dean did a double take looking at Sam, surprised and unsure what to say at this point.

Y/N walked into the bustling diner in Blackwood, Wisconsin, her senses immediately filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon. She found an empty booth and took a seat, ready to make the call to Crowley and let him know she had arrived. As she reached for her phone, she heard a familiar voice next to her.

"Hello, Kitten. No need to make that call. I'm right here."

Y/N looked up, surprised to see Crowley sitting across from her in the booth, wearing his signature smirk. She couldn't help but feel a mix of annoyance and amusement at his ability to always appear when least expected.

"Crowley. Always one step ahead, aren't you?" Y/N raised an eyebrow.

"Indeed, my dear. So, no Winchester brothers in tow this time? Quite the solo act you've got going on." Crowley would lean back in the booth,

"That's right. I decided to handle this one on my own." Y/N nodded.

"Ah, the intrigue. A lover's quarrel back at the bunker, perhaps? Did you and the boys have a falling out? Have you been playing favorites? Did one get jealous?" Crowley playfully poked the bear with a smirk.

"Sometimes it's necessary to take some time apart to regroup." Y/N tried to pay no mind to how close Crowley might actually be, was Dean just jealous? Nah…. Nah.

"Ah, the delicate art of balancing multiple partners. I can understand how challenging it can be to keep everyone happy."

"Let's focus on the task at hand, Crowley. I'm here to fulfill my end of the deal, not discuss my personal life." Y/N had rolled her eyes and was ready to move on.

"As you wish, Kitten. We'll put the drama aside for now and get down to business. But I must say it is good to see you back on your feet as soon after our little rescue mission.”

“Thanks, I guess.” Y/N's eyes widen as realization dawns upon her. "You...you gave that book to Dean and Sam, didn't you? You were the one who exposed my secrets!" Y/N was yelling through her teeth to keep her voice low and not bother the others in the dinner.

 "Guilty as charged. But hear me out, Y/N. I had no choice. I needed to ensure you recovered, that you kept your end of the deal we made." Crowley spoke matter of factly.

"You had no right, Crowley.” Y/N's anger intensifies, her fists clenched in frustration.

 "I understand your anger, Y/N. But I assure you, I had no other option. Your recovery is vital, and I needed to make sure you didn't falter."

Y/N falls silent, her anger mingled with a sense of helplessness. She despises being a pawn in Crowley's schemes.

“What is it you want.”

“There's a man out there who has been mercilessly hunting down and killing my men. I was you to find him and put an end to it."

“Wait, the King of Hell, a Demon, wants me, a Kitsune, to go after a hunter that's targeting demons? Are you joking?" Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Do I look like I'm joking?” Crowley raised his eyebrows while slightly tilting his head up in ‘superiority’. “This isn't just any hunter. There's something different about him. He shows no mercy and strikes down anyone or anything that crosses his path, not just demons. The body count he's racked up is significantly higher than any ordinary hunter I've encountered including the Winchesters."

"Crowley going after a hunter like this, it's dangerous. I'm just one Kitsune. What makes you think I can handle this?" Y/N’s confusion turned to a mix of apprehension and concern.

"Oh, my dear Kitten, I have complete faith in your abilities that make you the ideal candidate.” Crowley has folded his hand in front of him on the table by this time. “And besides, you don’t have much of a choice. We did make a deal.” He reminds her.

Y/N takes a moment to contemplate the situation, realizing that this task is more significant than she initially thought.

“Alright, Crowley. I'll do it But I need as much information as you can provide about this hunter. Do you have a name, a picture, any idea of his whereabouts or his next move?"

 "I thought you'd never ask, my dear. Here's what I've gathered so far." Crowley leans back to reach into his pocket.

Crowley pulls out a small folder from his pocket and slides it across the table to Y/N. Y/N opens the folder and finds several photographs of his handy work, documents, and a map detailing the recent activities of the hunter; but nothing on what he looks like.

 “This is more than I expected. It looks like you've been thorough."

"Well, when it comes to protecting my interests, I leave no stone unturned. I want this hunter dealt with, Y/N, and I trust that you're the one who can get the job done."

“I have a good start with this information. I'll keep in touch." As Y/N gathers the materials and carefully tucks them away, she feels a mix of determination and apprehension. The weight of the task ahead is apparent, but she knows that with the information Crowley has provided, she has a fighting chance to bring an end to the hunter's reign of terror.

Over the next few days, Y/N throws herself into the hunt for the relentless hunter, determined to bring him down. She traverses through dark alleyways, abandoned buildings, and the seedy underbelly of various supernatural communities, following the trail of destruction he leaves behind.

Y/N seeks out demons, werewolves, and other creatures willing to share any information they have on the hunter. She uses her wit and charm to coax out even the smallest tidbits of knowledge, piecing together a clearer picture of her target.

During her relentless pursuit, Y/N's efforts are rewarded when she manages to obtain a piece of clothing stained with the hunter's blood. With this invaluable clue, she now has his scent, which she carefully preserves for tracking purposes.

Y/N employs her keen sense of smell, honed by her Kitsune abilities, to follow the faint trace of the hunter's scent. It guides her through forests, urban landscapes, and even desolate wastelands, pushing her to the limits of her physical endurance.

The journey is fraught with danger and close calls, as Y/N encounters various obstacles and confronts dangerous adversaries who try to impede her progress. However, fueled by determination and her desire to protect both innocent lives and her own, she presses on.

Y/N's focus intensifies as she zeroes in on the hunter's whereabouts. She moves with swift agility, her senses heightened, as she closes in on her prey. Each step brings her closer to the ultimate showdown, where she will face the hunter head-on.

As the days turn into nights, and the hunt reaches its climax, Y/N remains steadfast and unwavering in her pursuit.

Y/N sits in her parked car, the engine humming softly as she speaks on the phone with Sam. The town of Chancellor, South Dakota surrounds her, the quiet streets illuminated by dim streetlights. She leans back against the seat, the glow of the phone casting a faint light on her face.

“Hey Y/N, we're hanging in there. Just wanted to check in on you since we hadn’t heard from ya in a while. How's the case going?” Sam’s voice was calm and almost soothing. She hadn’t realized it but this might be the longest she had been away from the brothers since she teamed up with them.

“I'm getting close, Sam. It's been a bit tougher than expected, but I think I'm nearing the end. Sorry, it's taking longer than I thought.” Y/N's voice is filled with a mix of weariness and determination.

 “No worries. But hey be careful out there, I've heard reports of a random hunter causing havoc in different towns. People are getting killed.” The concern in Sam's voice is palpable as he expresses his worries.

 Y/N's grip tightens on the phone, her brows furrowing slightly. She knows that the dangerous hunter Sam is referring to is the same target she's been tracking. However, she chooses to keep this information to herself, not wanting to burden Sam with the specifics of her pursuit.

“I promise I'm being careful.” Her voice carries a sense of confidence, although a hint of fatigue lingers beneath the surface.

“Alright well you know if you need backup or anything, just let us know.” Sam's concern persists, his words filled with genuine care for Y/N's well-being.

“Will do. Talk to you soon.” The call ends, and Y/N sits in her car, the weight of her secrets and the concern from her friends lingering in the air. She takes a moment to collect herself.

“Was that Y/N on the phone?” Dean asked as he walked into the room with a sandwich in hand.

“Yeah, it was. She's still working on her case.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “How much longer is she gonna be out there?

“I'm not sure. She said she's close, but…. something didn't sound right over the phone.” Sam’s worry was evident on his face.

“Well, she's a tough one. She can handle herself.” Dean would say as he took a bit.

“Yeah, I know, but still... I can't shake this feeling. It was something in her voice.”

Dean notices Sam's worry but doesn't say anything as the two exchange a look filled with concern.

Y/N stood outside her car, dressed in her hunter attire, ready to face her target. She wore black cargo pants that were tucked into her sturdy boots, providing both mobility and protection. Her choice of clothing allowed for easy movement while still blending into the shadows. The vibrant purple halter top added a touch of her own personal style to the practical outfit.

With her weapons at the ready, Y/N meticulously checked her pistol, ensuring that it was loaded and secured in its holster on her right hip. She knew the importance of being prepared for any situation that may arise. On her left thigh, a knife holster held a sharp blade, easily accessible for close-quarters combat. Strapped to the back of her waist was her twin sai, deadly weapons that she wielded with precision and skill.

As a Kitsune, Y/N's heightened senses allowed her to be acutely aware of her surroundings. Her fox ears twitched as she listened for any signs of danger or movement, her focus honed on the task at hand. The weight of responsibility and anticipation filled the air as she took a final moment to gather herself.

Satisfied that everything was in order, Y/N closed the trunk of her car with a decisive thud. The sound echoed in the silence of the night, a symbol of her readiness and determination.

Closing the trunk of her car, Y/N's keen senses detected Castiel's presence the moment he landed nearby. She turned to find him standing there, his intense gaze fixed upon her. Y/N, unfazed by his sudden appearance, voiced the obvious question.

“Cas, what are you doing here?”

Castiel glanced around their surroundings, taking note of their location before answering. "Sam and Dean sensed something was amiss during their last conversation with you. They asked me to check on you."

Y/N, her tone firm and assertive, dismissed the idea of needing someone to watch over her. "I don't need a babysitter, Cas."

"I had no intention of revealing myself, but… something doesn't feel right here. We should leave this place immediately." Concern was routed deep in Castiel’s voice.

"I appreciate your concern, Cast, but this is where my case has led me. This is where I find my target. I can't abandon it now."

"I understand your resolve, Y/N. But please, consider the dangers. I only wish to ensure your safety."

As Y/N remained firm in her decision to stay and face the challenges ahead on her own, Castiel weighed his options. He couldn't shake the feeling of malevolence emanating from the eerie building before them. With a deep breath, he turned to Y/N, a determined look in his eyes that sent shivers down her spine.

"Y/N, I can sense something dark and malevolent within that building. I may not have all the answers, but I can't let you face this alone. Please, tell me about this case. What are you hunting?"

Y/N hesitated, her eyes locked with Castiel's intense gaze. She understood the risks of involving him, but there was an undeniable sense of concern and determination in his words.

Y/N though will stand her ground, refusing to reveal the details of her hunt to Castiel and rejecting his offer to assist her, a voice interrupted their conversation. Crowley's voice filled the air, causing both Y/N and Castiel to turn their attention towards him. Crowley's tone was filled with amusement and a hint of authority.

"Now, now, no need to get your feathers all ruffled. Y/N is just fulfilling her end of our little deal."

“You made a deal with him?” Castiel asks.

Y/N sighed, her frustration evident as she glanced between Crowley and Castiel. The situation had become more complicated than she had anticipated, knowing that Castiel would likely inform Dean and Sam about what he had discovered.

“Yes. In exchange for Crowley’s help during that Alpha Vampire situation, I made a deal with him that I would owe him a favor. I was hoping to keep Dean and Sam out of this one.” Y/N admitted.

 "Well, Kitten, that's a problem, isn't it? Seems like you've got yourself caught between an Angel and a Winchester. Quite the sticky situation."

“Enough distractions. I have a job to do.” Y/N would huff as she walked past Crowley and Castiel, her steps resolute and determined.

As Y/N ventured further into the building, her senses on high alert, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched. The dimly lit corridors added to the eerie atmosphere, casting long shadows that seemed to dance in the corner of her vision. With each step, she followed her intuition and the scent that led her closer to her target

“Where are you, you son of a bitch?” She would whisper to herself. Her voice echoed through the desolate halls, the only response being the faint sound of distant dripping water. As she turned a corner, a sudden movement caught her attention, and she froze in her tracks. There, at the end of the hallway, stood a figure cloaked in darkness. The presence emanated a malevolent energy that sent shivers down Y/N's spine.

“Show yourself!” Y/N yelled as she drew her pistol and held it tightly.

The figure slowly stepped forward, revealing himself.

“Well, well, well... Look who's come to play. My little fox, all grown up.”

Y/N stood frozen in place, her entire body trembling with a mix of terror and anger. The man before her, the hunter she had been tracking, was none other than her own father. The man responsible for the unspeakable act that had forever scarred her.

“No…” Y/N whispered, her voice barely escaping her lips as she tried to comprehend the horrifying truth. Her heart pounded in her chest, threatening to burst from the overwhelming emotions coursing through her.

“I must say I am impressed you've come so far to find me. Your determination matches that of your mother's.”

His voice dripped with arrogance, relishing in the power he held over her. Memories of her mother's death flashed before Y/N's eyes, fueling a surge of anger within her.

“You…. you..” Y/N’s voice quivered with a mixture of anguish and fury. She longed to speak, to confront him, but her voice remained trapped within her dry throat.

“You know, I've searched for you all these years. Ever since that night in the forest. I heard whispers, and rumors of your betrayal. Turning your back on your own kind, aligning yourself with humans. Oh, the audacity!” His voice dripped with contempt, each word laced with a vindictive satisfaction. The darkness within him emanated, engulfing the space between them.

Y/N's heart raced as she listened to her father's twisted words. She knew he was playing a game, manipulating her emotions to draw her closer like a spider ensnaring its prey. But she couldn't ignore the truth. She had stepped into his trap, willingly walking into the lion's den.

“Ah, my sweet, frightened Y/N. Don't worry, I won't hurt you... just yet. I simply wanted to remind you of your place, of the debt you owe me. Your little adventure with the humans ends here, my dear. You belong to me, and you will come to realize that soon enough.”

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as her father drew closer, his outstretched hand inching closer to her face. But as he approached, a surge of strength coursed through her body, fueling her desperate escape. With a burst of adrenaline, Y/N sprinted towards the door, her mind focused on finding a way out.

However, as her hand gripped the door handle and she pushed with all her might, the giant metal door remained stubbornly shut, refusing to yield to her frantic attempts. Panic surged through her veins, causing her breath to catch in her throat. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision as she desperately scanned the room for another escape route.

Through the haze of fear and desperation, Y/N could hear her father's laughter echoing around her. It sent shivers down her spine.

“Oh, my dear Y/N, how thrilling! Just like the old days, isn't it? You run, I chase. The game is never-ending.” His voice dripped with sadistic glee, each word slicing through the air.

Feeling cornered, Y/N turned to face her father, her hands trembling as she raised her pistol and emptied her entire magazine into his chest. Each shot echoed in the room, but to her horror, her father seemed unfazed by the barrage of bullets.

“How..” Y/N's breath hitched as a mixture of disbelief and dread gripped her. She had hoped that this final act of defiance would end the nightmare, but it only seemed to fuel her father's amusement. Y/N's heart sank as she realized that her actions had only served to entertain him. Her efforts to escape and fight back felt futile in the face of his unstoppable presence.

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she fled from the locked door, desperate to put as much distance as possible between herself and her sadistic father. She knew that staying in the same room with him was a death sentence, and she had to find another way out. The echoes of her father's voice reverberated through the building, taunting her, and reminding her that he was always one step behind.

As she ran, Y/N's mind raced, searching for any possible escape route. She needed to find a way to the roof or a higher floor with a fire escape, anything that would lead her to safety. Her legs propelled her up the stairs, each step bringing her closer to a potential means of escape.

Her father's menacing voice followed her, his words dripping with malevolence. He claimed that she could no longer hide from him, that he would always find her. Fear surged through her veins, but she refused to let it paralyze her. Her mother's screams echoed in her head, fueling her determination to survive.

Finally, Y/N reached a higher floor, her eyes scanning for a fire escape or any means of exit. The building seemed to hold its breath as she frantically searched for a way out, her heart pounding in her ears. Every second felt like an eternity, the weight of her father's presence pressing down on her.

Y/N's heart raced as her phone shattered the tense silence, the sound cutting through the air. Her trembling fingers fumbled to retrieve the device from her pocket, and as she glanced at the screen, her breath caught in her throat at the sight of Dean's name displayed boldly. Tears welled up in her eyes, blending with the raw emotions that coursed through her veins.

Desperate for the solace Dean's voice could provide, Y/N answered the call, pressing the phone to her ear. Before she could utter a single word, Dean's voice burst through, brimming with anger and demand.

“Why the hell are we hearing from Cas that you’re working for Crowley like some kind of dog?” But Y/N couldn't find it within herself to care about Dean's anger at that moment. His voice, even laced with frustration, was a balm to her battered soul, and it evoked a floodgate of tears that streamed down her face as she choked out his name.

“... Dean..”

The single word, spoken through trembling lips, held layers of vulnerability and a plea for comfort. Dean's keen ears picked up on the rawness in her voice, the tears that mingled with fear and desperation, causing a surge of concern and worry to replace his initial anger. His tone softened instantly, shifting from frustration to genuine concern.

"Y/N? What's wrong?" Dean's voice was now filled with worry, his protective instincts taking hold as he sensed the depth of her distress.

Sam, standing nearby, noticed the shift in Dean's voice. Concern etched across his features, mirroring the worry that had settled in Dean's eyes.

"Dean, what's happening? Is Y/N okay?" Sam stepped closer, his voice laced with concern.

Y/N's voice, laden with sorrow and fear, quivered as she whispered into the phone, tears cascading down her face. "It was a trap, Dean. He found me."

Dean's concern mingled with confusion as he urgently questioned, "Who found you, Y/N? Who's got you?"

Through choked sobs, Y/N managed to utter the name that struck fear into their hearts. "My father... I'm trapped."

Panic etched across Dean's face, his mind racing with the gravity of the situation. With conviction in his voice, he reassured Y/N, "Hold on, Y/N. We're coming for you. Sam and I are on our way. It's going to be okay, I promise."

Desperation echoed in Y/N's voice as she uttered Dean's name once more, her words filled with an unspoken plea for rescue. But before she could say anything further, the cell phone signal abruptly vanished, leaving them with dead phones in their hands.

Turning to face Sam, Dean's expression hardened with determination. "We need to get to her, Sam. Now."

Sam nodded in agreement, the urgency reflected in his eyes. Both brothers turned to Castiel, who had silently observed the conversation unfold. Sam's voice was resolute as he addressed the angel. "Cas, we're taking us to Y/N right now. We can't waste any more time."

Castiel nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation.

As Y/N's phone went dead, the ominous sound of footsteps reverberated through the dimly lit halls. Panic surged through her veins, urging her to find a means of defense. Frantically scanning her surroundings, she realized she was standing in a break room, equipped with a small kitchenette.

A nagging thought crept into her mind: What if her father was not acting alone? What if he was possessed by a demon, rendering him immune to her earlier shots? The uncertainty only heightened her fear, intensifying her need to take precautions.

Her eyes darted towards the cabinets, desperately seeking something that could aid her in this perilous situation. Relief washed over her when she spotted a container of salt tucked away in one of the cabinets. With a silent prayer, Y/N grabbed the salt, her mind racing with the possibilities.

Hastily, Y/N retreated into the darkness of the break room, concealing herself from sight. Her heart pounded in her chest as she clutched the container of salt, her knuckles turning white from the grip. Every nerve in her body was on high alert, waiting for her father's approach.

Time seemed to stretch as Y/N crouched in the shadows, her senses heightened to detect even the slightest movement. She knew that her next move could determine her survival, and she steeled herself for the impending confrontation.

Y/N's grip tightened on the canister of salt as she unsheathed her knife, her movements fueled by a mix of adrenaline and determination. Her heightened senses honed in on the approaching footsteps, growing louder and more menacing with each passing second.

As the figure's shadow loomed before her, Y/N's muscles tensed, ready to strike. In one swift motion, she burst out of the darkness, unleashing a spray of salt directly into the man's face. Blinded and disoriented, he staggered backward, desperately trying to clear his burning eyes.

Taking advantage of the man's vulnerable state, Y/N charged forward, delivering a powerful shoulder check that sent him crashing to the ground. With her heart pounding in her chest, she swiftly drove her blade through his shoulder, eliciting a pained grunt from her assailant.

Seizing the moment, Y/N's voice rang out, her words laced with the ancient incantation of a demon exorcism. The air crackled with energy as she chanted, her voice unwavering. Black smoke billowed forth from the man's mouth, twisting and contorting before flying into the air.

As the smoke dissipated, Y/N stood there, breathing heavily, her gaze fixed upon the fallen man. Her eyes widened with realization and disbelief; it wasn't her father lying before her. The weight of her actions settled upon her, a mix of relief and confusion flooding her mind.

As the realization sank in, Y/N's mind raced with a whirlwind of fear and panic. Questions flooded her thoughts, amplifying her unease. How many more demons were involved? Where was her father now? And perhaps most concerning of all, how would Dean and Sam walk into this treacherous situation unaware of the impending danger?

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she grappled with the weight of her newfound knowledge. The gravity of the situation hung heavily in the air, the silence punctuated only by the sound of her own rapid breaths. She realized that time was of the essence, and she needed to act swiftly to protect those she cared about.

Sam, Dean, and Castiel materialized just outside the imposing building where Castiel had last seen Y/N disappear. Dean's brows furrowed in confusion as he glanced around, scanning the surroundings. His voice was laced with frustration and concern, and he turned to Castiel, demanding an explanation.

"Cas, why the hell are we outside? Why didn't you just take us straight to Y/N?"

Castiel, his expression tinged with uncertainty, met Dean's gaze and sighed softly.

"I'm not entirely sure. Something is preventing me from going directly inside. There's a powerful force at work here."

Sam, his determination overriding any concerns about Castiel's current limitations, swiftly drew his pistol from its holster. He checked the weapon, ensuring it was loaded and ready for action.

"Doesn't matter, Dean. We need to find Y/N. Let's go."

Without hesitation, Sam took the lead, striding purposefully toward the entrance of the building. Dean, his concern etched on his face, followed suit, his own pistol firmly in hand. Castiel brought up the rear, his eyes scanning their surroundings.

Sam, Dean, and Castiel stepped cautiously into the eerie stillness of the building as they scanned their surroundings for any sign of movement or potential danger. The silence hung heavy in the air, amplifying the tension that filled the space.

Dean made a swift hand gesture, signaling to Sam and Castiel that he would take one direction while they would explore another. With a shared understanding, the trio each ventured into different sections of the building.

Dean's footsteps echoed as he moved stealthily through the dimly lit corridors, his eyes darting from side to side, searching for any trace of Y/N or the presence of the demonic beings they suspected were involved. He gripped his weapon tightly, ready to defend himself or his loved ones if necessary.

Meanwhile, Sam and Castiel each proceeded through separate sets of hallways, their senses attuned to any disturbances or anomalies that might indicate the presence of their adversaries. Sam's gaze swept across every corner, his focus unwavering. Castiel's celestial awareness allowed him to perceive the subtlest disturbances.

 As they ventured deeper into the building, the tension continued to build. The ominous atmosphere seemed to close in around them, and every creak and groan of the old structure amplified their apprehension.

Y/N, breathing heavily and adrenaline coursing through her veins, straddled the motionless body of the demon she had just vanquished. Her eyes scanned the room, assessing the aftermath of the intense battle that had unfolded. Blood stains marked the floor, evidence of the fierce combat that had taken place.

With a trembling hand, Y/N wiped away the fresh blood from her split lip, the result of a lucky hit from the fallen demon. The taste of iron lingered in her mouth, a bitter reminder of the dangers she faced. But there was no time to dwell on the pain as she knew there were more adversaries to confront.

As she stood up, her body aching from the exertion, a creaking floorboard echoed behind her. Y/N's instincts kicked in, and she swiftly turned, her senses on high alert. Her eyes locked onto the figure of another demon, a malevolent glint in its eyes.

Reacting with lightning speed, Y/N brought up one of her sai, the gleaming weapon poised to block the demon's attack. Metal clashed with metal as the demon swung a pipe at her, the resulting impact resonating through the air. The ringing sound reverberated in the confined space, a testament to the intensity of their confrontation.

Y/N's muscles strained as she pushed against the force of the demon, her determination and training driving her forward. She twisted her body, her movements fluid and calculated, aiming to disarm the demon that stood before her. The demon stumbled back a few steps, momentarily losing his balance before regaining his composure. A sinister grin spread across his face, his eyes flickering to a solid red that sent a shiver down Y/N's spine. What were Red-Eyed Demons doing here?

Before the demon could take another step towards her, three gunshots rang out, their echoes filling the air. Each bullet found its mark, striking the demon in the chest and causing him to collapse to the floor. Y/N's eyes widened in surprise, her gaze shifting to the doorway where the shots had originated.

Standing there, his pistol still raised was Sam Winchester. His eyes briefly met Y/N's, a mixture of relief and determination reflected in his gaze. At that moment, a wave of reassurance washed over Y/N's body.

Sam's eyes met Y/N's, no words were spoken. Determined and relieved, he made his way over to her, keeping a watchful eye on the fallen demon to ensure it wouldn't rise again.

Once he was close enough, Sam lowered his gun and enveloped Y/N in a tight embrace. His grip conveyed his relief, his worry, and his deep care for her well-being. As he held her, a heavy sigh escaped his lips, the weight of the situation finally sinking in.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

Y/N nodded against his chest, her silent affirmation. The warmth and comfort of Sam's embrace provided a temporary respite from the fear and chaos that surrounded them.

Sam's grip loosened slightly as he pulled away, his eyes searching Y/N's face for any signs of distress. His voice was laced with regret as he apologized for letting her face this danger alone. He couldn't help but blame himself for not being there to protect her.

Y/N remained silent, her expression reflecting a mix of emotions. She understood Sam's guilt and appreciated his concern, but she couldn't find the words to console him. The weight of the situation weighed heavily on her, and self-blame consumed her thoughts.

“Come on, we’re getting you out of here.” His determination was evident, his devotion to keeping her safe unwavering.

But Y/N shook her head, a hint of resignation in her voice.

"There's no way out," she admitted. "Every door, every window... They're sealed somehow. My father has finally got me right where he wants me. God, I feel like an idiot for walking into this trap and dragging you all here."

Sam's expression softened as he put his arm around her shoulder to pull her into his side, he rubbed his hand along her arm. “We’ll find a way out.”

Sam and Y/N swiftly exited the room, their hearts racing, as they heard gunshots and the chaos unfolding below. Y/N's worry for Dean was evident in the gasp that escaped her lips, her voice filled with concern as she called out his name.

Without hesitation, the two of them sprinted towards the stairs, their urgency pushing them forward. Their minds raced with the unknown, desperate to offer their support and assistance to their brother in need. Each step felt like an eternity as they descended, their hearts pounding in their chests.

But as they reached the ground floor, an eerie silence engulfed the once tumultuous scene. The echoes of gunshots and the commotion had dissipated, leaving only an unsettling stillness behind. Sam's grip on his pistol tightened, and Y/N's sai remained at the ready, both preparing for any potential threat that lay ahead.

Moving cautiously, Sam led the way, his senses heightened and alert. Each step was calculated, and his focus honed on detecting any signs of danger. Y/N mirrored his movements, her footsteps are light and deliberate, her eyes scanning the area for any subtle movement or indication of their enemy's presence.

Sam's instincts guided him toward the source of the gunshots, leading them through a maze of hallways and corridors. The air grew heavy with anticipation, both Sam and Y/N preparing themselves for what lay ahead.

Finally, they arrived at the source of the disturbance, their eyes widening as they took in the scene before them. The room was empty, devoid of any immediate threat or signs of a struggle. Confusion marred their expressions as they exchanged a quick glance, uncertainty clouding their thoughts.

Sam and Y/N cautiously surveyed the seemingly empty and pitch-black room, their senses on high alert. Their eyes strained to penetrate the darkness, searching for any signs of movement or threat. Suddenly, the overhead lights flickered to life, illuminating the room and revealing Y/N's father standing in the center, seemingly alone.

As the figure of her father stood before them, a mixture of emotions surged through Y/N. Fear, anger, and deep-rooted pain intermingled, causing her heart to race and her hands to tremble. Sam instinctively raised his pistol, ready to defend them against this formidable foe.

But in a chilling display, one by one, several other demons materialized beside Y/N's father, surrounding him in a sinister formation. The room was now filled with a nefarious presence, their eyes glinting with malice, and a twisted grin etched upon her father's face.

Y/N's heart sank, panic gripping her once again as began to recognize more and more of the demons who appeared, their faces unchanged since she last seen them all. Her nightmares had come to life, her greatest fears personified before her very eyes. The presence of these demons, these men only added to the overwhelming sense of dread that enveloped her. Then she watched all their eyes flicker to solid red.

Her father's voice filled the room, dripping with a sickening satisfaction.

"Thank you all for joining us," he proclaimed, his voice laced with malevolence. Y/N's blood ran cold, her mind racing to comprehend the magnitude of the threat they now faced.

Sam's grip tightened on his pistol, determination burning in his eyes. He refused to let fear to overpower them, his focus unwavering as he aimed at Y/N's father. "We won't let you hurt her," he declared, his voice steady despite the tension in the air.

Y/N's father, the source of their torment, chuckled mockingly, relishing in the power he held over them. He turned his gaze towards Sam, his eyes gleaming with a twisted sense of knowledge.

"Oh, Sam Winchester, I am well aware of who you and your brother are," Y/N's father taunted, his voice dripping with contempt. "Your arrival was sooner than I expected, but fear not, I always have a contingency plan."

With a snap of his fingers, another demon materialized by his side, holding a knife perilously close to Dean's throat. Sam's heart pounded in his chest as he watched the dire situation unfold before him. He called out to his brother, shock, and concern lacing his voice.

"Dean!" Sam's voice trembled with a mix of fear and anger.

"Got a little jumped, Sammy. But I'm fine, just a scratch." Dean, his face a mix of apology and determination.

As Y/N's wide, terrified eyes locked with Dean's, a rush of memories flooded her mind. The potential scene of Dean's life being snuffed out before her eyes played like a haunting replay of the past, triggering an overwhelming surge of fear and anguish within her. It was reminiscent of the night her mother had been taken from her, the same person responsible for both tragedies.Y/N's body trembled uncontrollably, she couldn't bear the thought of losing another person she held dear, especially in such a cruel and familiar manner.

Dean, perceptive as ever, caught a glimpse of the sheer terror reflected in Y/N's eyes. He knew all too well the trauma she had endured, as he and Sam had witnessed her mother's tragic death when they fought against the Soulweaver. Dean's smile, once a mask to protect her, wavered for a moment as he sensed the depth of her distress.

Y/N's vulnerability was laid bare before him, and he couldn't ignore the pain etched on her face. He understood the magnitude of her fear, knowing that the memories and emotions tied to her mother's death had resurfaced. At that moment, Dean realized that his attempt to downplay the situation wouldn't be enough to ease her anxiety.

“Hey, Y/N.” Dean tried to get her attention to focus, though when he spoke the demon holding him jerked Dean back and pressed the knife slightly harder into his throat. Dean didn’t care though. “It’s gonna be fine.”

Hearing Dean's attempt to comfort Y/N only fueled her father's amusement. His chilling chuckle echoed through the room, taunting them all. Y/N's father took a step closer, relishing in the fear he instilled within his daughter.

"You know, Y/N," he began, his voice dripping with sinister delight, "your mother once said something quite similar." The memories of her mother's words haunted Y/N, intensifying the gravity of the situation.

Y/N's father's voice grew more commanding as he made his offer. "All I want is you, Y/N. Join me willingly, and the Winchesters can walk out of here unharmed. It's that simple."

Dean, unable to contain his anger, shouted in defiance from his restraints. "Bullshit! We're not leaving without her."

Sam, his brow furrowed with determination, directed his attention to Y/N's father. "What do you want with her?" he demanded, his voice firm and unwavering.

Y/N's father's eyes glinted with a mix of malevolence and something else, something Sam couldn't quite discern. He studied Y/N with a possessive gaze before finally answering. "She's special, Samuel. Special in ways you can't even fathom. I have plans for her. Plans that involve unlocking her true potential."

Y/N's heart felt heavy as she made her decision, torn between the conflicting emotions pulling her in different directions. Her gaze dropped to the floor, unable to meet Dean's eyes. This moment shattered the stare they held since Dean first appeared in the room.

"No!" Dean's voice rang out with anguish and disbelief, his heart breaking at the sight before him. He couldn't bear to see Y/N surrender to her father, to give herself up for their safety.

Y/N dropped her weapons with a heavy thud, the sound echoing through the room as her resolve wavered. She sank to her knees in submission to her father's demands, her heart aching.

Sam, his mind struggling to process the situation unfolding before him, stared in disbelief. He couldn't comprehend Y/N's decision at first, but when the realization struck, he stepped forward, determined to intervene. His hand reached out to grasp Y/N's arm, to pull her back to her feet.

But before Sam could reach her, Y/N's father waved his hand with a flick of his wrist. An unseen force sent Sam hurtling through the air, crashing into the nearest wall before landing on the ground, momentarily stunned.

“Sam!” Dean's voice shook with concern as he called out to his brother, his rage for both Sam and Y/N’s safety consuming him.

“Well done, my dear. You've made the right choice.” Y/N's father chuckled with twisted satisfaction, admiring his daughter's compliance. He flicked his hand, signaling his demonic minions to take action. Two demons materialized behind Y/N, their presence chilling and menacing. One demon gripped her shoulders tightly, while the other approached with a large shackle adorned with symbols to seal her abilities.

The demon fastened the shackle around Y/N's neck, the chain leading from it to his hand for control. As the weight of the shackles settled upon her.

“Now then. Since you’ve been such a good girl, I will let you in on a little secret. I’m not really your father.” A malevolent grin spread across his face.

Y/N's eyes remain fixed on the ground, her expression unreadable. Meanwhile, Dean and Sam exchange bewildered glances, their confusion growing.

“Alright, enough with the games! If you're not her father, then who the hell are you?” Dean angrily demanded answers.

“Ah, Dean Winchester, always so impatient. Well, you see. Long ago, Y/N's mother, in her true form, descended upon our world disguised as a beautiful woman. She sought refuge in my village, and I offered her shelter and protection. It was love at first sight between us.” The man smirked as he spoke.

“Ah yes, love. We shared a connection, a bond. But little did I know, she was already with child when she arrived. She convinced me that the child was mine, and I was ecstatic about becoming a father. However, when the child was born, it became evident that she was not human.” His voice became more and more bitter as he spoke before it turned into complete angry dripping with betrayal. “The monster deceived me, lied to me about the true nature of her existence and our child's. I couldn't bear to let that treacherous bloodline continue. Their existence had to come to an end.”

Silence hangs heavy in the room as the truth sinks in. Y/N's father stands there, his expression filled with a twisted sense of satisfaction and vindication, while Dean's fury intensifies.

“Oh, but hunting Y/N and her mother was a delight! A thrilling chase that lasted for years.  We all relish in the hunt much more than you can imagine.” He gestures towards the demons in the room.

“What did they do to deserve this?” Sam asked as he picked himself up off the ground, his non-dominant arm wrapping around himself as pain shot through his side.

 “Deserve? My dear boy, their very presence taints this world. They are abominations, creatures that shouldn't exist.” The man laughed.

“Open your eyes! You're so blinded by your hate that you can't see you're doing their bidding. You're working for the very creatures you want to kill!” Dean yelled at the man.

With a wide grin the man looked to Dean. “Oh, Dean, you always were a sharp one. But let me correct you. I don't work for them; they work for me.” His eyes then became solid yellow.

Sam's expression hardened as he processed the man's twisted revelation. His eyes narrowed, filled with a mix of anger and determination. "You made a deal with….," Sam stated, his voice laced with contempt. "You think you're some righteous judge, but you're nothing more than a pawn in their game."

The man chuckled, his yellow eyes gleaming with malevolence. "You can't comprehend the power I possess now. I am the judge, the executioner, and the savior of this world."

Dean's voice dripped with disdain as he shot back, "You're just a monster hiding behind excuses. Killing innocent people doesn't make you righteous. It makes you a coward."

The man's face contorted with rage, his voice rising. "I am no coward! I am the instrument of justice, delivering punishment to those who deserve it."

Suddenly the demon holding Dean let out a blood-curdling scream, his body convulsing as flashes of blinding light burst from his eyes and mouth. As the light faded, the demon's lifeless body crumpled to the ground, revealing Castiel standing behind him, his angel blade in hand.

With a determined look in his eyes, Dean swiftly reached for his Angel blade, its cool touch reassuring in his grip. He lunged forward, driving the blade deep into Y/N's father's chest, the sharp steel piercing through flesh and bone.

"You think you're doing some righteous cleansing?" Dean's voice resonated with a mix of anger and conviction. "You're just a monster, no different than the ones we've hunted and killed. And we're gonna put an end to your reign."

 However, Y/N's father simply grinned in response, seemingly unfazed by Dean's attack. It sent a shiver down Dean's spine, a cold realization creeping in. Something was terribly wrong. Suddenly, Dean felt an intense force grab hold of him, his shirt tightening around his chest. Helplessly, he was lifted off the ground, his body suspended in mid-air.

Dean's eyes widened with both surprise and alarm as he was swiftly hurled across the room, crashing into the wall beside Sam. The impact rattled his bones, leaving him momentarily winded and disoriented.

Sam rushed to Dean's side, concern etched on his face. "Dean, are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with urgency.

Dean groaned, pushing himself up from the floor. "Yeah, just a little bruised," he replied, his voice strained but determined.

Castiel swung his blade towards the man, aiming to sever his head from his body and put an end to his vile reign. But as the blade descended, the room was filled with a chilling silence. Castiel's movements abruptly halted, frozen in place by a simple raise of the man’s hand.

A wicked grin spread across the man's face, his voice dripping with a dark amusement. "You must have forgotten who I am," he taunted, his tone filled with arrogance. "I am a child of Lilith herself!"

The room now stood divided, Sam and Dean on one side, their eyes filled with determination and concern for Y/N, who remained kneeling on the ground in chains, caught between the clashing forces. On the other side stood Y/N's father, surrounded by his demonic companions, reveling in his power.

Amidst the echoing laughter of Y/N's father, a chilling sound cuts through the air like wolves in the distance. First one, then two, the howls grow louder, their mournful cries carried by the wind piercing the darkness. The intensity of the howls grows as more join in, creating a haunting chorus that sends shivers down the spines of all present.

Dean breaks the silence, his voice laced with a mix of dread and disdain. "Sam, tell me we're not hearing what I think we're hearing."

Sam's face tenses, his eyes scanning the room for any signs of danger. With a nod, he confirms Dean's suspicion. "Yeah, Dean. Those are Hellhounds.”

“I hate Hellhounds," Dean clenches his fists, his voice filled with memories of past encounters.

As if responding to Dean's words, the windows on either side of the room exploded inward, sending glass shards flying. Though there are no visible animals, the room fills with the menacing growls and barks of the Hellhounds.

Y/N's father, once arrogant and confident, now wears a look of displeasure as he witnesses the unexpected turn of events. The demon at his side, sensing the imminent danger, starts to retreat slowly, eyes widening in fear. The hulking forms of the Hellhounds were visible to only them, their fierce eyes locked onto their prey.

Snarls and growls fill the air, punctuated by the horrifying sounds of flesh being torn apart. The demons, caught off guard by the sudden onslaught, either vanish in a desperate attempt to escape or find themselves ruthlessly brought down to the floor, their bodies reduced to shreds by the relentless Hellhounds.

Sam and Dean stand at the ready, their weapons clenched tightly in their hands, their eyes scanning the room for any sign of danger, though they know they won't see it coming. However, to their surprise, they find themselves untouched by the Hellhounds' onslaught. The supernatural beasts seem to focus their attention solely on the demons, leaving Sam and Dean unharmed, yet wary.

Y/N, still in chains but unscathed, watches the chaos unfold with a mix of relief and awe. The Hellhounds, her unexpected saviors, move with precision and ferocity, targeting the demons surrounding her. The demons, once arrogant and powerful, now cower in fear as they are torn apart by the relentless hounds.

Amidst the chaos, Y/N locks eyes with her father, who wears a twisted smile of both displeasure and wicked satisfaction. His words echo in the room, promising a future encounter and a watchful eye that never sleeps. With a final glance, Y/N's father vanishes, leaving behind an eerie silence that contrasts with the lingering echoes of the Hellhounds' snarls.

The room is now filled with a sense of both relief and unease. Y/N's immediate danger has passed, thanks to the unexpected intervention of the Hellhounds. Yet, the knowledge that her father still lurks in the shadows, vowing to return, hangs heavy in the air.

The room falls into an eerie silence as the last remnants of the demonic presence dissipate, leaving only the lingering presence of the Hellhounds. Y/N remains calm in the midst of their presence.

As one of the Hellhounds approaches Y/N, its hot breath blowing loose hairs around her face, the tension in the room heightens. But instead of fear, Y/N addresses the Hellhound with a surprising familiarity.

"Hello Juliet," she says, her voice steady and without a trace of apprehension.

Sam and Dean exchange puzzled glances, their confusion evident.

“Did you say Juliet?” Sam asked the recognition dawns upon them—the name of Crowley's favorite Hellhound. The familiarity between Y/N and the Hellhound allows them to relax slightly, realizing that they may not be in immediate danger.

Dean, ever the skeptic, raises an eyebrow but keeps his guard up, remaining cautious. Castiel, observing the interaction, remains silent but maintains a watchful presence, ready to act if needed. The Hellhound, Juliet, seems to respond to Y/N's words, her demeanor softening as her menacing growls transform into a more subdued sound.

As Sam and Dean cautiously make their way toward Y/N, their attention is suddenly drawn to the sound of a creaking metal door behind them. They turn to see the massive entrance of the building swinging open, revealing Crowley, the King of Hell, standing there with his characteristic air of confidence. He casually stands in the doorway, hands nonchalantly tucked into his pockets.

“Hello, boys.” Crowley greeted. “Kitten.” He looked to Y/N with a nod.

Dean turned to Sam, motioning to him to help Y/N. Sam nodded with concern etched on his face and approached Y/N to inspect her shackles and see if he could find a way to free her. Y/N looks at Sam with a mix of gratitude and weariness.

Meanwhile, Dean strides purposefully towards Crowley, his anger palpable. He runs a hand over his face, trying to collect his thoughts before speaking. His voice is laced with frustration as he addresses Crowley. "What the hell were you thinking, Crowley?" Dean demands, his tone edged with anger. "Sending Y/N alone after that... that lunatic."

"Dean, I swear, I had no idea who that man was. I was just trying to protect my own investments and collect what Y/N owed me. It was a simple exchange of services, no foul play intended." Crowley admits in all seriousness, his face bearing a rare expression of sincerity.

Dean takes a deep breath, his anger gradually dissipating as he considers Crowley's explanation.

"Well you showed up just in time, Crowley," Dean concedes, his voice softer but still filled with underlying frustration.

As Dean and Crowley engage in conversation, Castiel quietly approaches them, a solemn expression on his face.

“That is my doing actually.” Castiel sighed.

Dean's gaze shifts to Castiel, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Cas, you? You called Crowley?" Dean asks, his voice filled with disbelief.

“Yes.” Castiel confesses, his voice carrying a hint of reluctance. Castiel meets Dean's gaze, his eyes reflecting a mix of guilt and reservation. "There are certain things I would rather not discuss, but I assure you, it was to ensure Y/N's safety."

“Yeah.. Alright.” Dean nods his head.

Sam knelt down in front of Y/N, his eyes filled with concern as he gently asked,

"Are you Alright?"

 "Yes." Y/N's voice was quiet and hoarse as she replied.

 "Alright, well  I'm going to remove the shackle around your neck.” Sam’s eyes were filled with heartbreak as he took in the sight of her.

Y/N nodded in approval. Sam carefully moved her hair aside, searching for the lock that held the shackle closed. His fingers traced the intricate mechanism as he focused on picking the lock, his movements steady and deliberate.

“Sam, I’m ready to go home.” Y/N’s voice was soft and broken as she tried to hold back tears as her stress and anxiety washed away leaving her feeling tired and drained.

“Yeah, don’t worry we’ll be home soon.” Sam looked up at her, his eyes filled with empathy.

Sam was successful in removing the shackles from Y/N's neck, carefully handling them as he set them aside. He reached out his hand, offering it to Y/N, who took it gratefully. With Sam's support, she managed to rise to her feet, her legs still shaky from the ordeal.

As Y/N stood upright, her gaze shifted to Dean and Castiel who had approached them. Her heart ached with the need to apologize to Dean for…. everything. But before she could utter a word, Dean enveloped her in a tight hug, pulling her close to him. Y/N's voice caught in her throat feeling the warmth and comfort of his presence.

Dean spoke softly, his voice filled with relief and genuine concern, "Thank God you’re alright.”.

Y/N remained in his embrace for a few more moments, finding solace and reassurance in his strong arms. With one hand, she discreetly took hold of the end of Dean's jacket and touched it, a small gesture that spoke volumes between them. Dean could feel her grip on his jacket, and at that moment, no words were needed just unspoken gratitude and reassurance.

During the six-hour drive, Y/N rode with Dean in the Impala while Sam took the wheel of her Corvette, accompanied by Castiel. The atmosphere in the car was filled with a mix of exhaustion, relief, and lingering tension. The radio softly played a familiar tune, providing a subtle backdrop to the silence that enveloped them.

Dean occasionally stole glances at Y/N, his concern evident in his eyes. He wanted to ensure she was alright, but he respected the silent agreement of just being there for each other in the quiet solitude of the car.

Entering the bunker, Sam's concern for Y/N was evident; her exhaustion palpable.

"Y/N, you've been through a lot. Why don't you go take a bath or something, try to relax, and get some rest?" Sam suggests as he genitally puts his hand on her back, rubbing it slightly.

Y/N nodded in agreement and quietly made her way toward the solitude of the living quarter.

"We need to find out more about that guy.” Sam addressed Dean as Y/N disappeared down the hallway, their eyes meeting in a shared understanding.

They both knew that the events they had just experienced had left an indelible mark. The boys make their way to the familiar confines of the bunker's library. Castiel followed closely behind.

Once settled in the library, Dean took the lead, his voice steady as he began to relay the information he had acquired from Crowley.

“Crowley had no idea. He didn't even know about his connection to Y/N or that he was a demon." Dean was pacing the library as he spoke.

“But he's not just any demon, Dean. He's a yellow eye, one of the high-ranking ones. Like Azazel."

The room fell into a momentary silence, the weight of their shared history and the menace represented by yellow-eyed demons sinking in. Sam and Dean knew all too well the havoc and sorrow that had been caused in their lives. Azazel, a yellow-eyed demon had killed their own mother.

"How is it possible that Crowley didn't know about such a high-ranking demon?" Castiel had spoken up to break the silence.

"I don't know, Cas. It's strange. Crowley seemed genuinely surprised. He said he would look into it." Dean shrugged his shoulders.

"Did you talk to Crowley about Y/N's debt?" Sam turned to look at Dean with concern.

"Yeah, I did. It's a sore spot, but her deal with Crowley is complete. He doesn't have any hold on her anymore." Dean nodded.

“What do we do now?” Castiel would ask.

“Well.” Sam would let out a heavy sigh. “Y/N is a target now so we need to keep a close eye on her and stay on guard,” Sam admitted though he knew she wouldn’t like the idea of being watched.

Castiel, Sam, and Dean exchange determined looks, ready to face the challenges ahead and uncover the secrets surrounding Y/N and the new mysterious yellow-eyed demon.

Chapter End

[getouyuri]

r/Marriage: am i (24m) overly obsessed with my wife (24f)? — a satoru gojo fic preview

౨ৎ pairing — oyabun!gojo x secretary!reader

summary — work and no play makes the fearsome oyabun of the gojo-gumi a tremendously dull boy. since you're a saint, you come into his office with no panties and a mission; to let your puppy play.

౨ৎ content & warnings — mdni 18+, mlw, fem! reader, normal modern au, yakuza au, humor, smut, pet names (baby, sweets, sugar, princess, pretty, wifey, hubby), gojo and reader are married, whipped gojo, gojo is actually insane, dark themes, violence, mentions of murder

author's note — this is just a preview of a fic i’m releasing tomorrow :3 if you want to be tagged for the full thing feel free to reply!!

A soft knock at his door pulls him out of his reverie. “I’m busyyy, Kento, Ijichi!” he calls just in case they’re here to hound him, fingers adorned in rings absently adjusting his tie.

It opens to reveal Kento’s unimpressed stare. He glances over Satoru’s unorganized desk, important documents scattered all over and clearly not finished. ‘Organized chaos’ he calls it. You tell him that it’s just shit on a platter. “… cat’s outta the bag, I guess,” Satoru says glumly, his pout unbefitting of an oyabun further deepening.

Apparently, by the little entourage that Kento has with him, his second-in-command isn’t here to scold him, though. Because you, his gorgeous wife, enters his office next with Ijichi shuffling in behind you, who closes the door behind the group of three.

Satoru perks up like a meerkat and leans forward, fingers dropping away from his tie to instead interlace as he regards everyone, you in particular harboring most of his attention, with a cheery grin that’s at odds with his reputation. Though he’s the epitome of lax playfulness, there’s a questioning sharpness to his gaze as he looks them all over. You have a folder tucked beneath one arm and you look bored.

"Well, well, well, look who it is," Satoru drawls, his tone as smooth as silk. "My three favorite people alllll in one room. It’s a little too early to be throwing me a surprise birthday party, isn’t it? My birthday isn’t for another few months,” he jests.

Ijichi not so subtly checks the date on his phone even though he knows damn well it’s April, not December. On the other hand, Kento’s eyes flatten slightly. One of his hands goes to his hip while the other massages at the bridge of his nose as if he’s already getting a headache; as he usually does in the oyabun’s presence. “Now isn’t the time for jokes, Satoru,” Kento inserts, dour as ever.

Your poker face twitches.

A blown raspberry echoes in his office. “You always say that, Kentooo! Would it kill you to pull that stick out of your ass and smell the roses? Experience joy and whimsy?” Satoru dramatically intones. His hand splays across his chest. “You wound me.”

Kento doesn’t even bother to entertain him. Back straight and thumb practically digging into his skin, he rattles off his report; the Gojo-gumi were able to intercept Ryomen’s ploy to undercut the Gojo-gumi’s control over the heroin trade. When he finishes, he promptly turns and makes like Scooby Doo, not wanting to be there a second longer. Ijichi hurriedly scurries at his heels.

The door clicks shut behind them and he puffs out a breath of relief at his wakagashira’s and saiko-kommon’s departure, sitting back in his chair with a gentle creak of the leather beneath him. Satoru kicks his leg up over the other, the side of his calf resting on his knee, and looks you up and down. “And then there were two. Fancy seeing you here, wifey,” he drawls.

“You say that as if we don’t work in the same building,” you snort. Thwacking the folder against the wooden surface before scattering it among the pile, you then round Satoru’s desk and plant yourself in front of him. He inhales unsubtly, catching a whiff of your perfume that makes him go a little cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, and your lips twitch as you take your throne on the lip of his desk. “Normally I’d only be here to scold you and make you do your work, hubby.”

Everyone here at headquarters is required to follow a certain dress code. Satoru outshines them all, of course, fitted in finely tailored slacks and dress shirts with either a crisp light blue waistcoat thrown atop it or an ironed suit jacket. And as one of the many secretaries flitting around the building keeping the well-oiled Gojo-gumi machine chugging, it’s important for you to look just as professional. Especially since you’re his wife.

Which is why you look like an infuriatingly sexy librarian, decked out in a tight black pencil skirt that hugs your hips, a blouse with the top two buttons undone and the collar pressed open to flaunt the designer necklace he bought you swinging from your neck, sheer black nylon thigh-highs that he’d kill to feel around his head, and stilettos, cute little charms on the buckles giving your outfit a whisper bit of cheer.

(The thought of you making yourself look extra pretty today just for him has Satoru internally busting on the spot, his blood simmering beneath the fine layer of his skin.)

‘The oyabun’s wife’, his men always dreamily sigh when you walk past them— only to whip around and stare at the wall when he slinks by not even a step behind you, his blue eyes cold and caustic when he glares at them in warning. Gorgeous, breath-taking, a prized jewel— and you’re all his.

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ in my near future,” Satoru muses aloud, raising his eyebrows at you in question.

“No. Just a ‘however’.” Instead of being two dumb bitches telling each other ‘exactlyyy’, they’re two smartasses fashioned in the same factory, complete with warnings labels.

“Yeesh. Can I ever be right with you?” He plasters his hand over his heart yet again and gives you a simpering moue.

You roll your eyes, a wordless ‘duh’. Satoru's lips slant upwards into a Cheshire cat smile as you reach forward and loop his tie around your fingers before giving it a tug, coaxing his chair to roll forward on the sleek hardwood floor. He uncrosses his legs and allows himself to be pulled up and out of it, heeled like a dog, stepping forward to stand between your legs after lightly kicking his chair away with a soft clatter.

Looking down at you through long white lashes that flutter like the first snowfall of winter, his gaze is a mix of playfulness and appreciation in its rawest form. Satoru has to admit, this view is far more pleasant than any spreadsheet that he was pretending to give his attention to before you strode in.

Your perch on his desk gives you an air of sophisticated dominance that makes his cock give a very interested twitch in his trousers that he can’t help. Sue him for being horrendously attracted to his wife.

Though he towers over you by a mere head due to the slight height advantage that his desk gives you, there’s no doubt that he yields completely and utterly to you. His brain conjures up an image of Nike, the Greek goddess of victory. Glorious and championing above the rest of them; victorious.

Woof, he thinks unintelligently.

“However,” you finally continue, beginning to smile. You keep a hold on his tie and tap his nose with the pointer of your free hand, which he wrinkles at you. “I’ve decided that I’ll spare you the lecture for today.”

Satoru's hands come up to rest on your knees, thumbs rubbing slow circles on the sleek nylon covering them. Your inviting warmth bleeds through the thin fabric. He so badly wants to get on the floor, brush them down, and sink his teeth into your plush skin until your skin pinkens. He settles for giving you a gentle squeeze.

“I thank you, oh great and benevolent goddess of the yakuza underworld,” he proclaims, delighting in the fondly exasperated groan that rumbles low in your throat. “I gotta say, I'm grateful for the reprieve, sweets. Though I suspect your mercy is short-lived," he adds with a chuckle. “So give it up already. Spill.”

Fucking hell. There goes a tiny fraction of the element of surprise that you thought you were holding over him like an anvil in a cartoon.

You silently curse his eerie perceptiveness. And his newfound x-ray vision, apparently, since he leans back a fraction to take you in again, his focus lingering on your skirt. But hey, the ball’s still very much in your court, and you’re playing to win.

Not letting it faze you, you heft your legs up, his hands shifting with you, and drape them around Satoru’s waist. His desk creaks beneath you at the distribution of weight. “Yeah, yeah. What I mean to say is that your husbandly duties are calling to you, not your obligations as oyabun.”

Satoru’s blue eyes search yours and he tilts his head, adorably puppy-like in a manner that suggests he’s more innocent than his ruthless reputation paints him to be. Though he’s the epitome of laxness, there’s a questioning sharpness to his expectancy that’d make lesser men quiver and confess to their every sin.

You stare right back at him. “I don’t have any panties on,” you explain simply.

If Satoru was aroused before, he’s now hornier than a pent-up nun. He hardens so fast that it makes him dizzy. “So you’re on that type of timing, got it,” he notes through his suddenly dry mouth as if his brain chemistry isn’t actively warping with this new information.

He wets his lips. His attention darts to the door. “Ijichi locked it,” you confirm before he can ask his question.

Good. Now he can focus on what matters: no panties. No panties. No panties. Fuck.

"Well, as your husband, it's my duty to attend to your every need and desire. And right now, it seems one of those needs is to have me buried deep inside your pretty kitty,” he coos, voice dripping something sinful. “But wowww, I never thought I’d see my stern ‘business over pleasure’ sweet pie pulling this kind of stunt. Seducing me so shamelessly in my own office, where anyone could walk in and catch us in a compromising position... for shame! What would people say if they knew you were on a mission to tempt your poor innocent husband into sin?”

You sigh, long-suffering.

Suddenly curious to see if you’re hiding another surprise elsewhere, one hand leaves your knee and drifts up to the undone buttons of your blouse, popping another one open to expose more of your soft skin. Satoru bites his lip as his eyes snag on the lace of your bra. A shame that you’re not bra-less, but he’s fine with seeing you wear half of the set he commissioned for you from a designer in France that you like. He’s more than okay with this, actually.

You make no move to scold him or cover yourself up— you just amusedly stay fixed on him, your eyes gaining that telltale gleam when you’ve got him all tied up in knots. He’s walked into a honeytrap, hasn’t he?

Despite the clear desire emanating from him, there's a tenderness to his touch, a reverence for your body as the hand on your knee skirts up. He slides it higher up your thigh until the hem of your thigh-high gives way to skin, disappearing beneath your tight skirt to ascertain your bold claim. When Satoru’s knuckles graze your bare folds, which are slowly slickening, he whines as if he’s the one being touched. “Fuck, princess... you're actually not wearing anything at all, huh?” He groans softly, half surprised and half not that you were telling the truth.

“Duh,” you exhale. “I didn’t think I’d have to spell it out for you, though. Did you not see the—“

“The little treat that the panty fairy snuck into my pocket?” Now understanding, Satoru’s grin grows. Reverent… and, well, very perverted. “Sure did. I sniffed them, too.”

Your face contorts as if you don’t know what part to address first before you give up.

“But sometimes thiiis guy.” His eyes pointedly roll upwards in the direction of his forehead, then down at the obvious bulge in his pants. “Likes to take the backseat and let this big guy do all of the thinking. Can you blame me for being a little off my game today?”

“I can, actually. Do better. Even Yuuji gets more work done than you do,” you reply plainly.

Which says a lot. Yuuji’s one of the other secretaries here, though giving him that title feels… a little generous. You and Satoru see him regularly since Choso feels more comfortable going out and doing his job when Yuuji’s safe at headquarters. The teenager comes scampering into the building every day after school and Satoru pays him to do the class work that his teachers send him off with, play on his Nintendo Switch, and sometimes organize the racks of boxed files or make phone calls.

“Heyyy!”

Your cool breaks and you laugh. “You’re just easy to get to. That’s okay, though. It makes things more fun for me,” you tease in a slight singsongy lilt. You turn your head to worry his earlobe between your teeth, nipping then sucking for good measure before releasing it with an audible pop.

Breathing starting to pick up, he drops his face into the crook of your neck and drowns himself in the cocktail of the spritz of that floral perfume you favor and your natural scent. All the while, he blindly traces your slit. Up and down, entrance, clit, entrance, clit.

You cup your husband’s nape as Satoru nuzzles into your neck more urgently, feeling him shiver against you as your palm rasps over the short prickly hairs of his undercut, petting him. Your legs part a bit, skirt inching up as you rut your cunt against Satoru’s exploratory fingers and smear your wetness on him. Still, he doesn’t push in yet.

You’d think he’s teasing you if not for the obvious signs that he’s stalling. Either waiting for your permission or waiting for the best time to ask for it.

How well-trained.

[4mrplumi]

ZERO (ii): SCAVENGERY . (ms/prev/next)

-> plot synopsis - you don't think you're as odd and horrifying as the news makes you out to be. but you have never much cared for the validation of others, and certainly not theirs. 

-> batfamily x serial killer reader. playlist (wip) ask 2b added to taglist

-> tw; gn reader, toxic relationships, fem love interest, unhealthy coping mechanisms, obsessive compulsive disorder, paranoia, murder, sociopathic tendencies, full on master list.

> a/n; this entry is skippable! while ive done work to establish the laws and details for the insert and the world around them, the batfamily moments one would look for scattered across. the prologue is planned for this world building exactly, and the next part will be focused on the family.

you have to be prepared. profiled. planned. not paranoid. you are not paranoid.

plans upon plans, plots behind plots, ploys behind ploys. by sixteen, you had your entire life planned out, exactly what you'd do, what you’d do if that didn’t work out, and another two back up plans just in case. you were prepared for yourself to get moved around like this too, driving into the third option you’d laid for your life. with its own backup plans, own what if’s and what not’s, probables and situations.

order. organisation. prepared.

it only makes you a little sick to see your behaviour mirrored on the man of the house, with his contingencies and protocols. but you’re not that stuck up, surely. you do it only out of resentment, you're nothing like him. he and your family are unable to save the scraps they've left, you have to do this to make up for the mess they've created.

you make sure none of your outings, meeting areas, contact lists or even the names you sign on grocery bills are the same. you can’t let any common clue stick out, whether it’s in your civilian life, or under the duty you’ve taken up. even though you’re relatively low on their radar right now, studying the world’s greatest detective’s tactics and those of his rogues has taught you that a frayed past never does anyone any good. it was a backup plan, a just in case, in the event you gained too much unwanted attention.

you want your family out of your business. it’s funny how the teenage, "i’m my own person" phase has so morbidly warped in your life. but you mean it. you don’t trust them with their rules, and will not risk anything trying to correct their errors and making yourself a target. they can live in oblivion, but you won't let them intrude. you don’t trust them.

to ensure your “friends”, as you have termed them, stay similarly in line, you make sure they update you on everything. no detail of common interest is hidden, because everything is common, aligned, on your principles and clues. everything must be known, not because you are paranoid. you check in on them, their health, their whereabouts, their families. they’re in debt, with not much space to refuse, taking the burner phones you force into their hands wearily. but sentimental isn’t the best word to use for you.

you are concerned for the wellbeing of your accomplices only to the extent that they remain in your line of work, alive. yes, you will feed their families and see to their wounds, but only and only to tip the scales of their debts towards you. it’s the exact reason why you make sure the work you put on them isn’t too much, so that there's a low chance that scale could be imbalanced, this time, against your favour. they need to remain in your control, to propel your movements and wipe out the instance of a snitch, a tattle tale.

in a way, with much reluctance, this is a trait you’ve picked up from the batman. you’ve learnt that his training comprises many different things, how to stop a man from running, how to disarm their guns, how to keep them from fleeing. but never how to kill.

of course, you don’t do as much fighting as he does, but you’ve taken the liberty to curve his ways to suit you. you’ll teach the people who work for you how to figure out plots, hidden intentions, the next move and the one after that. but never your next move.

you’ve wondered morbidly, only once, if he’d be proud of you, if your skills were somewhere more suitable, per say. but you have no intentions to change your ways for his peace of mind. you do not care for his pride.

you’ve made of yourself an independent dependant, unreliable. you'd caught on early that having expectations from others and expectations on yourself was an unnecessary burden. your first year in the manor was terrible, and it has improved only out of your isolation, your distrust.

you trusted just about no one, and made sure no one trusted you. no debt, no obligation.

you had to know everything, but not because you were paranoid.

there are only five people out of the handful you keep, allowed into your inner circle. people to confide in and accompany you when you need a plus one. they’re the easiest to keep in line, students or workers, and of course, her. your ‘girlfriend’ who too was a device for your plotting.

however, with her drawling voice and less than weary affections, you need to remind her of it often. you’ve heard very little endearment from people in your life; called “kid” or “doll” by the people in your childhood, your proper legal name by your ‘family’, and a plethora of less pleasant things by self-proclaimed rivals in school and on the streets.

so when she takes to calling you angel, you pause from smacking her hand away from curling in your hair. in an attempt to decipher her intentions, knowing damn well she did all this to gain your favour (you would not so kindly give it), you think upon it. for more hours than considered normal.

is she calling you inhumane? damian had said the same thing to you once, coming across your little hobby in the greenhouse once. is she calling you frightening? you were kinder to her than the others, just by a sliver. dick grayson had looked at you with weariness once, perhaps seeing the hint of a familiar scowl on you. or is she genuinely, as genuine as the glorified scum of your accomplices get, being genuine? an angel… you.

you don’t dwell on it any longer after that, pushing her hand aside and her legs off off of yours, leaving. you were not weak, and if that was what she was trying from you, it would not work. you were not weak, and not ashamed to show that you weren’t. people deserve to know their faults. and you’re no exception.

you did not ever, ever hide your disappointment nor disgust. damian wayne was scorned out loud for his empathy, dick grayson scowled at for his sensitivity and tim drake hissed at for his distance. jason todd for his dramatics, but not to his face, and duke for his concerns.

you judged, as an interrupting scoff that broke their peace, and did none of it for fun. you did not gain anything by irritating your brothers, nor did you hope to lose anything. you were speaking your mind, what they deserved to know.

if they resented you for it, fine! you couldn't care less, since you didn’t owe each other anything for it. you wanted them out of the way, and needed none of their kindness. you are unbothered.

you are not paranoid, but you can always be more prepared.

> a/n; i hope i’ve made a good effort to build on the mindset here. i had to rewrite this whole chapter cus the styles weren’t matching up (- - ;;) the prologues are super just set ins. plot starts from ch1 that i'm hoping to get out before my exams.

i’m incredibly happy that people are finding interest in this!! however, i need opinions on the relationship dynamics you think would be visible with the “friends”. i will expand on it maybe in a drabble? even though this is something i’m writing, i think it's important to know what kind of thoughts my sentences create. this means valid criticism on the writing is also appreciated (just please don’t be mean).

thank you for reading!!

taglist: @boredselkie @shirp-collector-of-fixations @randomlyappearingartist @bat1212 @maicenitas @xjesterxjacksx @heartjwonie @lucienneb1ue @vikkus-main @adornedlace @cuntiesweet @minorlyatfall @staarflowerr

[caffeinatedmunchkin]

absolutely insane, out of pocket WIP that no one asked for that's not in my usual tense OR style, but I needed to exorcise it, under the cut

Ummm slight NSFW? Religious themes ? Dub-con? Age gap? Canon-divergence AU for the explicit purposes of (eventual if I continue this) smut ?? Under-age (female reader is a high-schooler of unspecified age, probably 17 ?? almost legal but not? idfk)

I've never written anything in the reader-insert or present tense ballpark. I have no business doing this. Anyway here's some of it! xoxo

UPDATE it's done

Heels click the tile in brisk approach, luring his attentions to Mrs. Grady, an attendant of the main office, with you in toe. The rubber soles of your mary janes fall silent in your step, though your head is held high behind her, assured with the saunter of your hips. You're but a girl, though your walk is a womans. You carry yourself with the oversized confidence of a fatale. One who looks into his tired eyes and wary posture and sees herself staring back, wicked and red. A devil. His devil.

You come upon him like you know it all. Wiser than your years, lethal in your innocence feigned. You fix yourself to Mrs. Grady's shadow as if the position offers you to him meek, but your posture holds to a maturity that betrays you.

Father Brennan straightens with an amicable smile in greeting. Mrs. Grady returns it, though the quirk of her lips raises and falls so fast it's almost missed. Her skirts hem modestly swishes below the knee, three inches below to be exact. Three to four inches or so longer than yours had often been. Your waist band rolled twice to achieve the shortened length. An act of rebellion, a stab at the salacious you pretend yourself heedless of. Too pure to be deliberate.

The stunt with the skirt has landed you in the main office many times. Only until recently, when they turned to him for disciplinary action.

Their sole priest. One of but a few male staff members. They came to him at their wits end, and suddenly, you behaved. So mild and pious, suspicious with how quick you bent the knee. Confirmation he loathed.

Yet here you were, dragged before him once again. The same long walk to his domain, after school hours, when your studies wouldn't be interfered.

Not a walk of shame, but a strut.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

"What's been troubling you, my child?

He doesn't recall when my began to precede child, but he notes the way you're alight with covetous pride, and it beams up at him through the white of your smile, and glint in your eye. He basks in it with rueful conflict, one whose favor tips the scale in disappointment, both in himself, and you. Or at least he tries to tell himself that, shift part of the blame.

He sits on the edge of his desk before you, a bold maneuver, a vulnerability, but one he subjects himself to willingly. A deliberate ploy to show he can. To assert you have no hold over him, a display of his strength, his determination. Lofty and unaffected by your wiles.

Wiles you somehow seem unaware of even as you wield them; in your blushed cheeks and gaped lips, sighing his name minty fresh and bubblegum sweet, from the chewing gum you sneak, and the tinted lip balm that has sent you to his office more times than he can count.

A little silver crucifix collars your neck, dainty and simple, it signals your virtue, brands you as one of his own. He finds himself captured by it, dangling from your throat.

"What has you acting out so?"

He observes with the same raw anguish settling in his gut like a brick with how you sit before him. Your leg crossed, one over the other. Foot bobbing from a small ankle, restless and blurring. Your kilt slides back over your leg, hinting bare thigh above the thin green cotton of your knee-high.

The girls of St. Marys are supposed to sit straight back, hands clasped and ankles crossed. Demure, innocent, juvenile. You've been told not to sit the way you do, as if the correction itself scolds you for the impurity of which he fears you implicit. The way you are now. Alone in his office. Looking up at him.

He wonders if he shouldn't correct it again himself, but thinks better of it.

Weakness. He thinks. He chants. He affirms.

Baseless, primal, profane. He shouldn't pay any mind to how you sit. Like a woman.

You sigh, long-suffering, and troubled. Pouty lips and pleading eyes. Your lashes flutter, jet black and spindly with mascara applied so light it might go unnoticed. It doesn't.

Weakness.

Red flares within him, pointed, sleek. Igniting with a spark that fizzles and fades to gooey pink, soft and tender. And then golden again. Reverential. The sun setting on a dismissed mass. The aftermath of grace and due deference to his person leaving him hazy and contented. A school of faculty and students alike who adore him. Without them he's left to the sobering of an empty chapel, one whose light then shuns him. Daring him to continue to fester with the new, hungry monstrosity that swells and stiffens, ugly and blunt.

Heavy on his shoulders, digging at his back. A cross to bear, he drags it along his pilgrimage to the hill, where he will stake it in the ground, climb to its center, and crucify himself on the broad tines. And you're both the hammer and the nail. Sharp and unforgiving. A pierce of his flesh that damns his rotten soul. A giggle through his left hand, a sigh through his right, and kiss through both feet. He takes the pain and bleeds. He bleeds for you.

Weakness.

"I don't know, Father." You surrender, fingers picking the pleated hem of your skirt at your knee. A budding chest rising and falling beneath your buttoned blouse. His molars crack as he clenches his jaw firm. "I don't feel like I'm supposed to be here. I don't feel like I do any of this right."

His brows bow and his eye droops. Frosted brilliance chilled in pity. How wistful and lost his little lamb bleats.

"Do what right?" His voice is old and hoarse, and it catches in his throat. He hopes you think its breaks from disuse. From solidifying, stoic and cold in his lonely office, his clearing throat and crisp strokes of pen all that keeps him company there.

And not because of the way you take your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Belong." You reply, plain and real. So ahead of your years, and the vapid nuance that fill the heads of your classmates. Boys and lunches and status. He sighs, his smile so thin it disperses imperceptible in the deep lines that etch his face.

"We all belong, lass." He lilts around the pet names, feeling one weight lift in place of the new.

His vow of celibacy is a mutt gone rabid, and you're the child unawares, as you pull his ear and yank his tail, pushing at the warning ripple of jowl to get at his canines. Slick and yellowed by marrow, the memory of it's taste a perpetual haunt from the decades since it last soaked his tongue.

You're no Jezebel.

He almost sinks to his knees and sobs in relief. You're wayward. Wayward he knows. Wayward he can curve, he can herd, he can appease. And all without so much as a scuff to his shining piety. His stirred faith settles. Balls back up tidy, and tamed.

"You speak of nothing the Lord cannot quell." He eases himself into this routine, to the familiarity in advice he's since taken to using as a shield against your temptation. Or a muzzle to his own. "You need not but turn to him."

His suggestion is reasonable. One any good mentor, or spiritual counselor, should provide. You shake your head before his graveled words have the chance to settle.

"I try." Your insistence is earnest, as is your defeat. It strengthens his pity. "He doesn't listen to me. He never responds."

"My girl, of course he listens." You remain unconvinced. He sees it in your furrowed brow, and pout. "Come, I'll show you." He holds both of his palms out and open to you, thick and creased and stable. "We'll talk to him together."

[gudvina]

I can't get over my conspiracy theory of Suzanne not having written SOTR. Like, I'm picky about books I like because of how the narrative voice is constructed. And TBOSAS and the OG trilogy have the same narrative voice- but not through the same character lens, if that makes sense. SOTR reads like an entirely different person wrote it. Like they were given TBOSAS, and the Trilogy, told to read them, and then write Haymitch's story, without any in-depth knowledge. Maybe it's partially because in Tbosas and the OG we got new characters, but everything in SOTR is recycled? Everyone is friends, and despite being a 'small town' all of them being close doesn't make much sense. Also, they tried so hard to make Lenore Dove seem interesting/someone to 'aspire to' but made her dumb, textually based on her actions. They also couldn't commit to it too hard because Haymitch teams up with Maysilee. And they pulled the stupid fandom 'omg she's his sister now/they're siblings!' thing that always happens when people want to act morally superior for bullying someone over a non-problematic ship. That is FANFICTION shit.

I won't deny that I also had the same suspicions at first, considering the way the storyline was constructed and, as you said yourself, the narrative voice of this book.

As someone who has always admired SC's writing, I find it extremely hard to concile Sunrise on the Reaping's writing with hers. It does read like a badly thought out fanfiction, like LD is a self insert character that was shoved into the narrative without considering how she'd work within it. While I often say I don't get how people love this book, I actually have to admit that I understand why it does; bringing back character that are tied to important characters in the other installments, for example, is a way to acclimate the reader to a prequel rather quickly

I don't completely agree with the idea of Suzanne having hired a ghostwriter, if I have to be honest. It's not that I think her incapable of doing that, this book at the end of the day is proof that money trumps quality, but I think a few reasons could explain why this novel's writing feels... different, let's say.

Firstly, this book, as I and many others already said, reads like a movie script and a way to add a few pennies to her pocket. Despite the fact that many say Suzanne Collins only writes when she has something to say, in this case she broke the formula, and decided to write this book to rectify the commercial failure that was TBOSBAS.

Secondly, even then, Suzanne had many ideas, but didn't know how to work them into the story without effort, so decided to cut many of them short in favour of an easy plot. And, I suspect, SOTR wasn't supposed to be Haymitch's book.

Thirdly, the Lenore Dove problem continues to be a marketing ploy; she's a strong call back to LG, her and Haymitch's relationship has a marketable catching phrase, and, most importantly, Suzanne Collins wanted to recreate the Everlark thing with them. Yet again, she didn't want to pur effort into writing her or the relationship, so in the end she decided to just write down other women to elevate her, but otherwise both her and the relationship seem to work very little within the narrative, despite the overbearing presence.

Which is interesting, because the ones she probably thought of as the strongest contenders to Lenore Dove (Effie and Maysilee) treat him with much better regard than his girl who lectures him and treats him like an idiot.

Fourthly, Suzanne Collins had only a few limits posed by her own self in CF/MJ, but the crux of the issue is that she kept writing herself in closed circles, making a lot of plots feel contrived and ineffective. I don't know why that is, but again, I suspect the reason, was the lack of effort into thinking the storyline through, and how to connect it from point a. to point b.

These are only a few reasons why I think it reads this way, and they might not be extensive, nor sufficient to someone who loves the books (they are not to me), but unfortunately I suspect reality is less cut and clear than we might perceive.

[boltwrites]

Perseverance

Fandom: Marvel; X-Men Pairing: Logan Howlett/Wolverine / Original Character, Logan Howlett/Wolverine / Reader Rating: T (for now) Tags: AFAB!Fem!OC/Reader, Mutant!OC/Reader, Enemies to Lovers, Third Person POV

Summary: Persy hated Logan. Hated his fucking guts for taking her spot on the team. Hated him for fucking up her perfectly good life.

Too bad the man was unkillable.

A/N: I originally wrote this as a reader-insert, but the character kind of birthed herself when I was trying to write a fic where reader honest-to-god hates Logan and it's not just an immediate ploy for a sex scene. Features a fem mutant OC whose mutation is that she has enhanced endurance. Sorry if that ends up being way too similar to any other character - I was trying to build off the idea that humans are such good predators because they have such fantastic endurance.

AO3

Persy absolutely, unequivocally despised Logan fucking Howlett.

To be honest, it's not like she wanted to hate the man. She didn't want to hate anyone – she had more important shit to do. But Logan? Oh, man. He was a hard fucking man to like, she knew that much.

Before Logan, she was content. Fulfilled, even. She had her place in life, and it was at Xavier's training students - and, most notably, with the X-Men. Whenever a problem arose, whenever Charles needed to send out a full team – there was a specific team he would send. Persy, Scott, Jean, and Storm. It was essential that she was a part of the team – she was their close-combat specialist, after all. Scott had range, Storm could control as crowd as easy as breathing, and Jean was fantastic for any kind of stealth work or trickery. But Persy – Persy was the heavy hitter.

Her mutation, after all, enhanced her endurance. She was just a little faster than others, a bit stronger - but her real talent was that she never quit. Her heart rate never rose, her muscles never ached - so long as she was properly fueled, she just kept going.

Plus, her mutation was perfect for combat. Absolutely perfect, conventionally suited to it. And she loved combat. By nature of her mutation, she loved anything physical - turns out, when someone’s body doesn't ache and their lungs don't burn, things like running, climbing, jumping? They're unbelievably fun. It's why Charles assigned her to most of the students' physical education classes - her positive attitude towards those sorts of things was infectious. While it took her a while to understand that the kids needed breaks (oops), she was knowledgeable, supportive, and she always enjoyed it when her students tried new things. Facilitating hand-to-hand sparring matches, encouraging kids to nag at Charles until he bought equipment for whatever new sport they wanted to try that month – she loved it.

But by far, her favorite physical activity was combat. Persy loved martial arts with her whole heart - she studied multiple, and not just to assist her in her duties as a member of the X-Men. It was because of the artistry, the diversity of it all. Each form she learned was like a dance, and each opponent she fought was a new challenge. She thought it was almost like a puzzle – picking apart the different techniques and moves an opponent fell back on, wearing them down until she could predict their next movements and finally go in for the kill. It meant that despite her enhanced longevity in the ring, she still had to put all her effort into her fight. She had enhanced endurance, not enhanced healing capabilities. While her muscles were able to accommodate the massive strain she put on them, her heart and lungs were inhumanly strong and infallible – a swift punch to the nose could still break it. It wasn't like distance running, or biking, or even some team sports, where she always felt that she carried the rest of her squad on her back - this was a challenge, for her.

Which is why Logan pissed Persy off, when he took her spot on the team. Why she gnashed her teeth and avoided him like a bad smell in the mansion. Because he didn’t just take her spot – he took her fucking livelihood.

But she was getting ahead of herself. That wasn't his first offense. Not even close.

His first offense came with Jean Grey.

"He what?" Persy scoffed, damn near spitting out her sandwich. Jean picked at her salad noncommittally, twirling her fork in the crook of her hand.

"It wasn't anything serious," Jean tried to downplay it, but she was having none of it. "He was just flirting-"

"Just flirting?" Persy raised an eyebrow as if Jean had grown a second head. "Jean - you have a boyfriend. Does he know that? Do you know that?"

"I know, I know," Jean sighed. "That's why I turned him down. It didn't go anywhere."

Jean stabbed at a cherry tomato. Persy didn't believe her.

"But you wanted it to go somewhere."

It wasn't so much a question as it was a statement. She'd never seen Jean so flustered over a man - except for Scott, that was. She'd seen that look on her face when Scott had gifted her something thoughtful, or when he'd told her something especially heartfelt. She still remembered how Jean would blush and hide her face in her hands when Scott would write her sweet notes.

And here she was, cheeks pink over some man that had literally attacked her. He'd been disoriented and scared, of course, and she didn't blame him for lashing out, since he didn't actually hurt Jean - but the fact that she was fluttering her lashes about the whole thing left a bad taste in Persy’s mouth. It was none of her business what happened in her relationship with Scott, but still. Those two had been an item for god knows how long. They worked well together. Jean seemed genuinely happy. And she was gonna - what? Throw it all away for some new guy? What was so great about him?

"He-" Jean chuckled softly, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "You wouldn't understand..."

"Try me," Persy cut in, doing her best not to frown. It was true - she didn't have much experience in long-term relationships. She wanted something like what Scott and Jean had, but - well. It never really worked out for her.

With men, she was intimidating. Her mutation affected her ability to continue exercising past the point of typical human exertion, but it didn’t stunt her muscle growth. She was – as some of the kids said – jacked. It wasn’t like she had the stature of a bodybuilder – no. She just had broader shoulders from boxing, thicker thighs from Tae Kwon Do, and a firm core from Judo. But she also needed fuel to burn as she exercised, so her muscles were padded – she liked to joke that she looked like a farm boy.

But – men didn’t seem to like that. The vast majority of them just hit on other girls, ignoring her. And that was fine. Honestly, she commended them, for knowing what they were into. The real problem were the ones that saw her as some kind of conquest. A mountain to be climbed, despite the fact that she was of average female height, at 5’3”. No – these men would approach her with a smile – the human ones asking if she worked out, what her routine was, where she hiked. They thought they could somehow take those athletic achievements and overshadow her with their own, fuck her into some lesser version of herself. They were never very satisfied when they failed. And mutant men, well – they always zeroed in on her mutation. Endless endurance was a fantastic mutation for sex, and they always thought that they would be the one to take full advantage of it – that they would have the magical mutation that matched her own, and could finally tire her out. It was idiotic. She could keep going all night, that didn’t mean she wanted to. And most of them weird mediocre in bed at best – with the remaining turning out to be forgettable or downright disappointing.

Persy had better luck with women – thought they were few and far between. And while she didn’t have the same issues with conquest or emasculation, that’s when a more pressing problem reared its ugly head:

She was basically married to her work, at this point. She focused on training the next generation of X-Men and protecting them from harm. That was her calling. Her mutation wasn't good for much else other than running and fighting. This is all Persy could do. And she made it very clear to whoever she took to bed that they would always come second to those kids, that Persy wasn’t going to somehow hang up the suit and settle down. For some reason, even to other mutants, that was a tough sell. Maybe it also had to do with how stubborn Persy was – and how dangerous her job could be. She was always showing up with bumps and bruises and lacerations. At least one girlfriend broke up with her in tears, saying that she wouldn’t be with someone who’d end up killing herself before her thirtieth birthday.

But it still hurt, when Jean brought it up. At least she had the decency to wince, after her reply. She didn't need to read Persy’s mind to know that she'd struck a nerve.

"Sorry," she apologized, sighing. "You're just - incredibly devoted, you know? Steadfast. If you want something, you do it, and if you don't want something, you stay away. I don't think I've ever seen you waver on a decision before."

Persy was a bit shocked at her reply. "What would that have to do with any of this?"

"Because Logan-" Jean sighed, taking a sip of her drink as she sat with her thoughts, collecting them into words. "-he's not a logical choice. He's not even - an option, really. He's a temptation. A desire. I can't act on it - I won't, but..."

Jean trailed off, levitating her fork to pick at her salad as she clutched her drink. Persy stifled a chuckle at the little nervous use of her powers.

"He's an attractive man, you know?"

Persy shrugged. "I still haven't met the guy."

She hadn't, but she doubted he looked that much different than any other man that passed through the mansion. Of course - unless he was green, or orange, or had a tail or something. But she kind of assumed Jean would have mentioned something like that.

And even if he was attractive – so what? Persy had dealt with attractive men before. Hell – there had been more than a few very, very tempting men she’d seen pass through either Xavier’s, or the surrounding bar scene. But the fact of the matter was, Persy managed to lock that temptation away behind a very thick mental lock. She could respect a man’s physique, maybe oogle him a bit for good measure – but she put a stop to that childish bullshit before she reached whatever level Jean had sunk to.

And to top that off – Jean was in a relationship. She wasn’t touch starved like Persy was, wasn’t at least two years out from any meaningful relationship. She had a loving boyfriend – who wasn’t Persy’s type, but was still very conventionally attractive. He was sweet, and kind, and attentive. Persy had no idea why Jean would risk that for some other dude. No matter how hot he was.

"Mm," Jean hummed around a bite of her food. "You'd get it if you saw him. Even Storm thinks he's... cute."

"Cute," Persy scoffed it, stuffing the last of her sandwich into her face. She almost laughed at Jean. Cute. Images of boybands and romantic comedy stars swam in her mind. Men with soft, fluffy hair - sweet little smiles and long eyelashes. Lanky arms, toned with the barest of muscle so that they might be able to hold some petite little thing in their arms, spin her around and dip her into a soft kiss. Gentle romantic gestures and kind words. Kid shit. Persy tried not to smirk at Jean for falling for that bullshit.

She’d be fine.

[dhampling]

moon river

“Remember when you asked me why?” “Why you cared?” He recalls with a joking menace on the last word, leaning back on his palm and bringing his chalice to his lips. “Yeah.” - probably the most personal thing i will ever post on the internet disguised as a reader insert. enjoy! w/c: 813

A considered silence, the earliest hours of the morning. The occasional break, the glug of wine into a silver chalice. Two. The city below still alive in a quiet amber hum.

The Lower City wall. One of the clandestine turrets just along from the Szarr Palace, blankets around shoulders.

“Can I talk to you about something?”

He turns his head in a dozy cant. Lids heavy. Looks at you through a slow blink, dark lashes.

If this were only weeks ago he’d have been skittish at the suggestion. ‘The guard’ would have gone up, the desperate need to keep you close.

How he luxuriates in your company now. Unwavering. Devoted. Proven. Known. Revered.

The Absolute nothing but a brain in the water.

“Anything.” Astarion smiles lazily. 

“Remember when you asked me why?”

“Why you cared?” He recalls with a joking menace on the last word, leaning back on his palm and bringing his chalice to his lips. 

“Yeah.”

He hums in acknowledgement, edging you on at your own pace. A calm quirk plays at the very corner of his lips.

“I saw some of myself in you.”

You let the statement hang for a moment. He swills the red nectar around his teeth and swallows slowly.

“You did, did you?”

“Yeah.’

You lift your own chalice. The stars above never looked brighter than they do now, the clearest of cool nights; the lax billow of sails far along the Chionthar, the couple you see stumbling blindly from a middle-distant tavern. The final call from within. 

‘A lot of my life has been spent making people feel exceptionally wanted. Stealing their hearts to whatever extent that’d allow me to get the reaction I wanted. A mechanical ploy - never cruel, not forced as such - but learned nonetheless. Reading faces, bodies; holding both with reverence.’

You sip. The water sparkles.

‘Giving to whoever promised adoration. Making the occasional someone feel loved enough to keep me safe in their head. A campfire tale.’

There’s a mirth to your smile, teeth glazed in wine and white bread.

‘From the moment I met you I knew there was a vulnerability to you. I loved it.’

Astarion pokes you with his elbow, clicking his tongue but remaining quiet. 

‘You’re beautiful. Those who are so damn godsly-blessed as you rarely have the insecurity I could smell from you, from the knife at my neck. From the fear in the furrow of your brow.’

You know he aches for the sun.

But as the moon catches his profile you see he is the ultimate divine here, now, in this light; at your side. Gossamer to the tips of his curls. Soft, heavy; tongue whetting his lips, mapping constellations in his glorious mind and listening.

Listening to you. 

Without witness. Without reward.

‘And it seems we were both playing the same game. The worst bit is I didn’t even know I was playing one.”

There’s a beat of silence before he opens his mouth to talk.

“In the moment you never do, do you?’

He understands. Gods, he understands. He takes the threads of your lives and weaves them together, just as you’ve done this whole time.

‘You just do what you have to. What feels right. Whatever is going to give you the response you need.”

He was being forced to do what he had to. You did it because you had to. 

It’d be so easy for him to play points in the viciousness of his situation, but he sees that there is familiarity - a gap, as wise as an ocean and simultaneously as small as a grain of sand - in the sentiment. 

You wonder where the point scoring mindset comes from. Why each experience has to be weighty and balanced against another. Why you compare yours to his in any coherent sense.

Then you see the smile.

Ruinous. Saccharine. Eyes of red honey. A hand covering yours.

“Listen, because I won’t repeat it.’

You look at him and you see every dream you’ve ever had. The golden mornings, piles of riches, robes of silk. A house in the clearing. Chickens. Children. A lover so infallible they won’t scare. Your charm, your wit and irreverence; a life of a charm offensive, and all of it evaporates the minute he takes your fingertips in tiny kisses.

‘It worked. You won. You never have to fight like that again. To convince, to perceive the thoughts of others and how they may benefit you or otherwise.’

He rolls his hand in the air, starbound; sweet. 

‘I love you. Irrevocably. You did it. My darling, you won.’

His head shakes a little from side to side as he sips.

‘Admittedly not a flawless prize, but one you’ve won fair and square. Devoted entirely to you.’

Astarion pauses to think. Looks to the moon on the river.

‘Rest east, lover. You’ve got this, and I’ve got you. From here on out.”

[alieinthemorning]

We're (Not) Lilith

Content: Angst, Post-Lesson 016, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert

Pronouns: None

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don’t forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

Satan looks and acts like her, Lucifer hates him for it. 

You look nothing like her nor do you act like her, and yet he still forces himself to adore you. 

Neither you nor Satan are happy with this, and yet, it has manifested differently between the two of you.  

You never thought that you and Satan would get along, but somehow you found a common ground. And that was your hatred for Lucifer.  Although your hatred hasn’t simmered as long as his has, but it was damn near just as intense. Though, the brothers assumed Satan’s hatred was born of his sudden creation, as well as him taking on the wrathful feelings of Lucifer that day. The truth is quite simple.

Just as he views you, Lucifer views Satan as Lilith. Unlike you, however, Satan not only looks, but acts like Lilith. 

But it’s odd…

Although you are only her descendant down a long line of blood, you are treated better than he who was created in her image. You often wondered if Luicfer treated Satan as he did because he didn’t know how to deal with his own failure and grief. How he went about creating Satan to have something lost, only to be enraged when what was found wasn’t what was wanted. 

Satan who had golden-blonde locks like her, and green eyes that reflect a bright sun. 

Just like her.

Satan whose temper flared, flashed, and erupted at the littlest thing.

Just like her.  

And you who died at the hands of your descendant’s sibling, only to be held by those same hands moments later. 

You who was nearly murdered (you were, you know you died that day) by the one who grieved her most.

You who was threatened over not wanting to entertain someone else’s sick games. 

You who was attacked for over a ploy for a pact mark. 

And you, who just wanted to survive your year in Hell.

Two souls who wanted what the other had, but had no means to do so. So, you did the next best thing, and found solace in each other. 

And yet, you both knew that without drastic measures, nothing would ever change. Until then, the two of you will continue reminding them:

“We’re not Lilith.” 

So, I was without power for like three days lmao. That wasn't fun, and it was really hot, but we're okay now!

I also whipped this up in an hour because I'm waiting for Boothill to drop on NA (as I'm writing this, I have 15 minutes!!)!

I WILL BE A MOTHER-FUDGING BOOTHILL HAVER!!

Anyway, please enjoy this piece that came to be because me and Rouge were talking (as we do).

Edit:

I GOT HIM IN 10 AND HIS LIGHT CONE IN 20 I AM FUCKING SHAKING

Ko-Fi | Commission | Masterlist

[thotsforvillainrights]

Could I have a smut scenario where reader’s colleague Skeptic is assigned to teach her coding (probably by Trumpet because he knows reader likes Skep), and during their sessions, reader is a tease but Skeptic does his best to resist but eventually gives into her temptations-

[COULD I?????? Yes...yes I could/and gladly will! Hope you don't mind as usual I try to leave the reader open so everyone can insert themselves into this. Also I'm not sure where Trumpet works himself in but this is fanfic so I'm gonna make sure he's in there one way or another!]

~Informative~

-Tomoyasu Chikazoku Smut-

Informative-providing useful or interesting information.

His mind worked a million miles an hour as he'd just finished up some leftover work from Feel Good when suddenly there was a dim knock on the door of his private space at Detnerat. He thinks nothing of it as he finishes saving his work and directs on of his puppets to answer for him. He was expecting anything but the sound of a shriek. He sighs, knowing that all to familiar voice at the doorway. When he turns his desk chair slightly he sees you standing there, gripping your chest and letting out a sigh. "Tomoyasu, you don't have any other real use for these things besides servitude???" You speak, moving past the creepy thing and making your way into the office. He rolls his eyes at your words and crosses his arms while still seated. "They're quite helpful if you ask me. Certainly more meaningful to the cause than you could ever hope to be. Now what do you want? I don't suppose you've come in here to prattle about and waste my time again, have you?" He quips at you. "I'll have you know, I'm plenty useful to the cause, handsome." You wink at him and he shudders in disgust. "What do you want..." He reiterates, trying to quickly change the subject.

You're always teasing him like this...

"I was sent in here with the task of having you become my teacher for the next few weeks." You speak proudly and he squints in suspicion. Was this another one of your ploys to bother him rather than let him work? How disgraceful he hasn't worked up the proper gall to drive you away from him yet. Or perhaps he didn't truly want to do so. He silently denies any feelings come budding up again. "Teacher? For what exactly? You couldn't be taught by me and learn, much less by anyone else. You couldn't pour water out of a boot even if the instructions were written on the side of it." He smirks at your look of shock. You place a hand over your chest and pretend to be offended, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "Oh my, that was just so very rude of you. Whatever am I to do? My heart is broken! Pshhh yeah right...and anyway, you better believe me. I'm telling you the truth. I was told it would be good to pick up on this other skill set because not only would it strengthen our defenses tech wise but it'd also give you some time to recharge when you needed a step-in."

"Step in? A step in? Rest assured there's no one on this planet that could 'step in' for me. I'm the best at what I do and I don't need some pathetic underling to-"

"Call and see then, since you don't believe me." You cut him off, placing your phone in his hand. He stares up at you and glares before opening your videocall app and seeing the last person you'd conversed with. "Trumpet..." He pressed the call button and grits his teeth when the politician's face comes up on screen. "Is this yet another prank of yours then? Where's the grand commander? Let me speak with him immediately." Despite Skeptic's angry disposition, Hanabata seems unbothered. He in fact ends up smiling instead. A rather mischievous one at that..."Grand Commander is home sick with the flu. He asked me to send Y/N in so she/he/they could learn to code from you. He did this personally of me so I wouldn't dare end up calling him to argue or go against his word...unless of course you don't seem to agree with him and his vision?" Trumpet smirked when he knew he had Skeptic's arm tied up in a metaphorical knot. What Skeptic didn't know was that ReDestro didn't specifically ask for his help. He'd originally asked for Skeptic to find someone at Feel Good that could assist with this. However, Trumpet knew you two were fairly engrossed with each other (despite the way you seemed to be at each other's throats half the time) and he knew the best course of action to push you together would be a little white lie.

Tomoyasu hung up the phone and slammed it on the desk next to him before turning back to the monitor screen. He sighs in annoyance and points at the chair next to him. "Sit down before I change my mind." You happily smile and take a seat next to him. He directs his puppet (still standing by the doorway) to shut the door and remain facing the wall there. At least he was considerate of your discomfort around them...

The entire first half of the hour was less like an informative lesson and more like him degrading you for the most simple of mistakes. The harder he was on you, the more mistakes you made. The more mistakes meant the harder he was going to be, thus only making you again mess up more. It was a difficult cycle you couldn't seems to get over. The next part of the hour he decided to get into a long lecture about the technique of coding and blah blah blah...Your mind drifted away. You find your eyes settling once more on his lips and down his clothed chest to his lap. This was not a first time occurrence when it came to you. You were attracted to him yes, but anytime you tried to honestly confess to him it all came out as teasing. You'd never known he'd felt the same way, would you? Or course not with the way his attraction came out as aggression and annoyance. Being in the same confined area as you for this long was making his mouth dry. He was trying to control his thoughts as best he could manage. He kept his eyes glued to the screen as he spoke to you but his mind was certainly elsewhere. He'd damned himself about 28 times a week for falling for someone like you. He'd damned himself 28 times more for touching himself in the shower at the thought of you last night. He was slowly losing his mind. You were the cause of it.

"If you're not going to pay attention then I'm not going to waste my time trying to teach you the basics. It's not like you've managed to make a lick of progress so far anyway..." He grumbles and you smirk at him. "Oh? Because I thought I did pretty good with that whole script thing earlier. I saw you smile when I got it right...that one little thing." You reach over and poke his side. He growls and huffs at you, poking back much harsher and causing you a bit of light pain. "Don't flatter yourself. That was the ONLY thing you could do right. I doubt you could even remember how to write your own name half the time." He laughs at his own mean joke. You smile mischievously and poke him back. He takes it as a challenge and returns the favor. To anyone else watching, you two would look like two toddlers fighting each other. Soon it got to the point where you got so rowdy with him that you stood up to run away and he followed. You didn't make it far as you tripped over one of the lose wires on the ground and he quickly caught you. It didn't register just how close you were to each other's face until you opened your eyes and looked at him. He was at an angle over you that you could see his greyed eyes beneath the long choppy black bangs covering them. His mind had gone blank for a bit as he stared back at you. He silently cursed himself for leaning in even closer. Couldn't seem to deny his own body when your lips reached each other. When you both pulled away from the kiss, he was trying to quietly catch his breath back. Of course you needed to say something stupid to ruin the moment.

"If this is the kind of lesson you give on coding, please by all means sign me up for the next few weeks!" You smirk at him and he scoffs. "Shut up."

"Make me..."

Oh there is was. There was the exact moment he decided to stop running and start chasing. There's much you could've said about the situation yourself but it would seem your words are caught in your throat when he has you bent over the desk with his fingers stuffed in your mouth to silence your moans. "I've grown tired of your constant teasing me. Perhaps I should've taught you long ago not to mess with me hmm? Oh why aren't you replying? Say something or I'll just have to fuck you harder." He's messing with you now. He knows you can't speak like this. Even if you could, it would all come out a jumbled mess anyway. He uses his free hand to grip at the back of your neck while he thrusts into you. Eventually he removes his other hand from your mouth and pulls himself out, replacing his cock with your hand and using your own saliva as lubrication. Without much warning, he forcefully shoves himself back inside. You gasp and quickly bite down on your own forearm to keep yourself quiet. Although you've both lost yourselves to pleasure, you're still aware enough to know the risks of getting caught having sex at Detnerat with each other and the embarrassment that'll come with it.

While you try to desperately contain your own moans, he resorts to covering his own mouth now. He can feel himself getting closer and you tightening yourself around him was only making it more intense by the minute. "Fuck~ Why don't you cum for me hmm? C'mon, I'm only doing you a favor by allowing you to finish on my cock. Hurry before I change my mind." He leans down to nip at your shoulder while slowing his thrust to a rougher and more direct pace. You feel yourself coming undone whether you were ready or not. You couldn't draw this out any longer if you'd wanted to as you finish right there for him. Your muffled moan into your own arm and the way you feel around him was just enough he needed for himself. He instead bites down roughly into your shoulder and groans as he finishes as well. When he pulls away he glances at the mouth/teeth marks he'd left on the skin there. The awkward silence of getting dressed next to you and praying no one heard you would've almost been enough for him to want to die had you not said those magic words he only heard you say in his dreams before this...

"So, you uh...wanna come back to my place later and watch a movie?"

For the first time in a long time he'd actually given you a genuine and non-sarcastic smile before he replied. "Yeah sure."

[angel-eyes]

Here’s the first reader insert headcannons for tgtbatu that were in my drafts I think these were written after bawling my eyes out so 😭

The main three catching you crying:

Angel eyes:

Sentenza will hold his pipe in between your lips until he’s sure you can hold it on your own. Take as many puffs as you want, hell, use the whole pouch of tobacco if you like

This turns into you two passing it back and fourth until your tears have of dried a little.

It’s fine if you don’t want to talk it out, he keeps his secrets too.

But if you do, Sentenza does this thing where he slowly leans in inch by inch until your forehead is pressed against his, and you can feel his mustache tickling your top lip every time you speak.

Tuco:

“Hey, hey now come to Tuco.”

He’ll bunch you up in his arms as if you were clothes he’s just pulled off the line. Nuzzling all over your face and practically drying your tears with his kisses.

You don’t really even have to talk about it because he’s whispering in your ear in Spanish

“Conejito bonito por favor no llores”

And you’re not immune to this whatsoever because by the time he’s done you’re giggling in his lap

Blondie (this one was hard tbh):

You two just kinda of stared at each other for a few minutes. Until he motions for you both to sit at opposite ends of the room.

Blondie will throw you a cigar and match, breaking the silence by saying something totally unrelated.

“Nice day today huh?” it comes off as him not caring but it’s actually a ploy to take your mind off of whatever’s troubling you

Because by the end of the night you’re both comparing guns and trying on the other’s gun belt.

[writeyouin]

When you get to writing again (no pressure), may we have a continuation of the Songbird human with the Decepticons please? Megs goes through with his idea to take the human for entertainment, and the Cons find themselves taking care of the human for reasons other than wanting to hear them singing

TFP/Reader Insert – Music in the Night Part 2 of ? - Songbird

A/N – NGL, I am legit considering writing a 3rd part smut to this either with Starscream, Knockout… or both. It gave me kinky vibes.

Warning – None. Despite the AN, this is actually a safe chapter.

Rating – T

You shivered in the cage you had been placed in. It was just like a birdcage, with enough room to pace around but little else. There was also a swinging perch, no doubt meant to mock you. You didn’t dare say anything as a bunch of overly large robots jeered you. Every time you tried to stand, one of them would knock your cage and laugh as you fell down.

You couldn’t distinguish much between the laughing and mockery, but you did catch snippets of words here and there.

A doctor of sorts was mentioned though alongside his title, you heard the words torture and experiment.

Then there was the case of a metallic bird being praised, the same one who had captured you. You believed he was called, Laserbeak, not that his name mattered much. You were terrified of the idea that the robots surrounding you might put Laserbeak in the cage with you, perhaps to kill you, or if you were lucky, only to scare you further.

What were these creatures? Who had made them? And who controlled them now? They seemed to be sentient, but what if they were just some kind of messed-up avatars for sickos on the dark web?

Finally, a hush fell over the crowd.

“All hail Megatron,” The newly parted crowd of Vehicons cheered.

You happened to be watching a silver bot, Starscream as you would later come to know him, when the chant began. Although he opened his mouth along with the rest, he wasn’t saying the words. Was he your opportunity to escape?

You didn’t have to ask yourself who Megatron was as another bot, larger and more imposing than the rest walked through the centre of his followers.

You scrambled back as he approached your cage, making yourself as small as possible, bumping into your guitar as you did; you hadn’t even realised it was there until then. Yet, instead of addressing you, Megatron stopped in front of your cage and turned to face his followers.

“Decepticons, tonight we were victorious!” He held up the fossilised tool that had been the prize piece in the museum only earlier that night.

The so-called Decepticons in the room cheered exuberantly, and another chorus of Megatron's name began. This time, with Megatron’s gaze sweeping his army, even Starscream chanted his name, putting in more apparent effort than those around him; it would do him no good to be caught plotting against his leader in front of everyone. Seeing him cheer so vigorously, you deflated further and became even more fearful for your life.

“As a reward,” Megatron said loftily once the cheering had died down, “I had Laserbeak bring you a gift.”

Megatron turned pointedly to you, tapping your cage just enough to make it wobble.

“Enjoy your new pet, I assure you it’s quite the songbird. Provided it gives up plenty of entertainment, it will be allowed to live. However, should it refuse to sing, it shall be put down,” Megatron grinned pointedly at you.

So, that was why they wanted you. You were just a ploy at entertainment to them.

“YOU HEARD OUR MASTER, SING!” Starscream cajoled you.

You slowly pulled your guitar into your lap, cuddling it for a moment of comfort. This wasn’t real – it couldn’t be; it was all too insane.

Starscream approached the cage menacingly, revealing a large electric prod he had been hiding behind his back. “Didn’t you hear my order, you pathetic little wretch? I said sing.”

Your breath caught in your throat and you thought that you might cry, or faint, neither of which would save your life. Throughout your life, you had sung for many reasons. You had chirped cheerful tunes, sung sad serenades, poured your heart into romantic arias, and belted out soulful symphonies. You had been paid to sing for weddings and funerals, birthdays, and festivals. You had played on the street for all to hear, and in the dead of night when it was just you and the moonlight; you had never had to sing to save your life before.

Suddenly, the weight of the situation came crashing down on you. You hurriedly stood up, relieved when you weren’t knocked down again. Righting your guitar so it rested where it should, you tested that the strings were all in tune.

E A D G B E – Yes, the instrument was fine and ready to play; you were relieved for that, fearing any wasted time.

Despite your shaking hands, you started plucking out a familiar tune. Although you tried to sing the opening lyrics to AJ Michalka’s Escapism your voice came out as a weak croak, much to the hilarity of your captors.

“Do better, filthy organic,” Starscream demanded hysterically, feeding off the laughter of the crowd as he threatened you. He certainly enjoyed the spotlight; the problem was that he kept drawing everyone’s attention back to you.

You started again, and though this time you managed to sing the opening lyrics, your melancholy melody served only to irritate the bots around you. They wanted music to aid their celebrations, not bring them down from their high.

“NOT LIKE THAT EITHER, FILTHY WRETCH,” Starscream screeched at you, slapping the cage.

You whimpered pitifully, having hit your funny bone against the cage bars; you weren’t finding the bone so funny at that moment.

“Starscream, have a spark,” A red bot stepped forward confidently. Although he seemed to be advocating for your safety, there was no real warmth beneath his words, only further ridicule.

“And what would you suggest, Knockout?”

“I’d suggest spicing things up a bit.”

Starscream stepped aside, gesturing for Knockout to have the floor. The red bot leered at you, his crimson optics and sharp fangs only frightening you further. You expected him to jostle your prison, much as the others had, or perhaps to take the electric prod from Starscream and use it on you. Instead, he slipped an electric guitar through the bars, the connected amp wire leading far out of sight; well, if worst came to worst, you could hang yourself, even if that was a defeatist way of thinking.

You scrambled towards the new guitar, choosing to survive at any cost. Alas, the new guitar wasn’t tuned well and your audience wasn’t happy to wait for you to twang the strings until they sounded as they should. That few minutes felt like an eternity as you were slandered, mocked, and generally abused, yet, though they made many threats of violence, you remained unharmed. You had a feeling that was something to do with Megatron, as he sat far away from you on a throne, his helm resting lazily against his arm, a smug smile on his face.

Although you didn’t feel like playing anything that wasn’t as sad and small as you felt, you stood up, trying to act at least semi-confident. Okay, so the bots were celebrating. Fine; you would lift their spirits and rouse their success.

‘It’s just like a paid gig,’ You thought, though the payment was your survival.

You swung your arm down on the guitar dramatically. Immediately, the Decepticons were roused by the movement. They were even further energized as you started singing the 1986 Spectre General hit, Nothing’s Gonna Stand in Our Way.

Your captors acted like a drunk college dorm, screaming in support of the song, especially whenever you got to a chorus or a line that they could relate to.

You continued belting out the tune as something called High-Grade was passed around in vibrant purple cubes; from what you could gather, it seemed to be an alcohol of some kind, and as the crowd grew more intoxicated, they became rowdier, demanding more songs.

You sang The Cherry Bomb’s Hunger City, a rendition of Kool and the Gang’s Celebration, Queen’s We Are the Champions, which you were made to repeat a further four times, and finally ended on a chorus of Don’t Stop Me Now, further cementing the fact that the Decepticons were Queen fans.

Finally, you were allowed to rest, and this time instead of being pushed down, you sank to the cage floor of your own accord.

Slowly, bots started filing out, and Megatron passed your cage, the last to leave.

“Well done, Songbird. You get to live, for now.”

With that, he threw a pet collar into your cage, laughing vilely as he left the room. You held the red collar in your arms, noting that the golden dog tag held your new pet name, Rover. You scrunched the collar up in your hands and wept; why was this happening to you?

Initially, life was as bad as you expected it to be. You were humiliated at every turn by bots who didn’t care about you or your well-being.

The only improvement to your conditions was that you were given a proper room aboard the ship. You were thankful for the toilet, shower, and cooking facilities, but you hated your confinement all the same.

The room could be viewed by any passer-by, with no privacy, and you couldn’t leave of your own accord thanks to the electrified plasma shield which kept you contained very effectively.

There was only a dog bed to sleep in, and as if that wasn’t humiliating enough, you didn’t have any proper plates or bowls, only a few pet bowls to eat out of. Whenever the Decepticons wanted you to sing, they would order you into the bird cage and carry you to their quarters for a private serenade, or to a bar on the ship where everyone could hear you. Nobody ever called you your name, you were Rover, Mutt, wretched flesh-bag, or whatever other terrible nickname came to mind. Every night, you cried yourself to sleep.

You didn’t expect things to change, and yet over time, unusual things started happening. It began with some of the Vehicons. After a rough loss, they would visit you; they didn’t seem to want anything other than to watch you. Feeling awkward, you tried your best to please them with whatever songs came to mind, sometimes on the electric guitar you had been provided, but more often than not on the acoustic. It’s not like they asked you to sing, but you found it better to be on their good side as if pretending that you didn’t mind your confinement might aid your chances of survival.

Soon enough, they began visiting you before missions. They acted almost ritualistically as if you were a good luck charm and visiting you meant that they would have better chances of survival. Those that came back alive started bringing you treats. The items were still degrading, but having balls to throw around your cell was better than having nothing in the way of entertainment; there was only so much time in the day you could spend playing the guitar. However, you hated it when they brought you chocolate or other such snacks; although you had been missing sweets, you detested having them shoved in your face and being forced to swallow.

You didn’t expect much to come of this until one day your visitor was Starscream. He looked like he resented you and yet there he was, giving you a good luck pat on the head much like the others had. That night, when he came back, battered and bruised from a beating off Megatron he grabbed you from your holding cell and carried you roughly to his hab-suite.

He threw you down on a countertop. You didn’t know what he wanted from you; he hadn’t brought an instrument with him, and for a moment, you were certain he was going to kill you, just out of spite.

“WELL?!” He demanded.

“I-” You shuddered, backing away from him the few steps you were able. “I don’t know what you want.”

“What I want!” Starscream spat hatefully.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Starscream shook his head disgustedly and turned away from you; he couldn’t even look at you as he admitted what it was that he needed from you.

“Those idiot Vehicons… They say you make people feel better. So, do it!”

“I…” You faltered, uncertain of how you of all people could make this 15-foot robot happier. You yourself weren’t even a person anymore. You were a pet, and a plaything; a songbird for those who needed to be entertained.

Annoyed, you took off the collar you were forced to wear and threw it at him. It hit with a small ping and though he didn’t really feel it, he turned and glowered at the collar on the floor.

“What is this?” He seethed.

“YOU THINK YOU’VE GOT IT BAD? I’M JUST YOUR STUPID PET. YOU COME COMPLAINING TO ME, EXPECTING ME TO FIX YOUR PROBLEMS. WHY SHOULD I? YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW MY NAME!”

To your surprise, Starscream deflated. It seemed that he couldn’t even get the ship’s mascot to obey him.

“Get out,” He ordered half-heartedly.

You glanced down from the side of the tabletop, but before you could try to jump, Starscream seemed to change his mind.

“Wait,” He commanded.

You froze where you were, tired and scared after your outburst.

“What is your name, human?”

“(Y/N),” You breathed, amazed at the sudden change in Starscream’s demeanour.

Starscream approached you and held out his servo. “Come on, I’ll take you back to your cell.”

Reluctantly, you climbed aboard Starscream’s open palm. You didn’t want to go back to your cell, but you also didn’t wish to push him further in case he decided you weren’t worth the effort of keeping.

Before Starscream could leave his room, you apologised.

“What could you possibly be sorry for?”

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t make you feel better.”

Starscream sighed, “Me too, human. Me too.”

The day after that, you were taken to Knockout for a doctor’s examination. He didn’t seem impressed to be working on a human without torturing it, but he complied with the job anyway and actually treated you courteously.

“Why are you being nice to me?” You asked.

“Because you’ve become a beloved fixture of this ship, and you really can rock a guitar,” Knockout replied suavely.

“I don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t suppose you do. Look, take it as a good thing. You’ve wormed your way into the crew’s sparks. We Cybertronians bond with very few creatures, scrap, we barely even bond with each other – too many losses in war, and all that. But you? Well, it’s become a superstition that when bots spend a bit of time with you, they survive their next battle. It’s all a myth, of course. I’ve charted the statistics myself, but those who do survive don’t tend to count the fallen.”

“So… I’m going to stay here forever?” You asked hollowly.

“Indefinitely. But hey, look on the bright side.”

“What do I possibly have to look forward to?” You asked bitterly.

“The crew has finally started calling you by your name.”

With that, Knockout flicked a brand-new collar at you. It was red leather and on one side of the golden tag was your real name, on the other was the Decepticon logo.

“Oh, and you do have to wear that by the way. It has a new tracking device in it so we can’t lose you.”

“No!” You said defiantly, throwing it to the far end of the berth.

Knockout picked it up and forced it into your hands. “If you don’t, I’ll just insert the tracker under your skin.”

You fully believed him and though you glowered at him, you put the collar on, gasping as an electric current passed through you, delivering a nasty shock until you had finished with the clasp. You whimpered and wiped involuntary tears away.

Knockout put a clawed digit under your chin and forced you to look at him. “I’d keep that pain in mind. You’ll get an even worse shock if you try to remove your collar again.”

You pulled away from him, only making matters worse as you tripped backwards and fell from the table.

“Oof, so feisty,” Knockout laughed as he caught you. “I do so love a pet that fights back.”

To add insult to injury, he kissed the top of your head and reiterated how much of a good pet you were.

The only good part of the day was when a Vehicon entered the room, having won the right to take you back to your cell. When you got there, you saw Starscream ordering several foot soldiers to hurry up and finish their work. You glanced into your cell and saw that it had been properly furnished, with a real human bed, and a private walled-off area which you later learned was now the bathroom so you could have privacy; it also had most of the general amenities of human life.

He caught you staring at him and snapped, “Thank Soundwave for the gifts. He seems to like that noise you make.”

As Starscream left, you thought you saw the faint hint of a blush. While it was likely that Soundwave was responsible for commissioning the new layout of your room, you had a feeling it had more to do with the silver seeker.

Indeed, your life was a horrible string of embarrassing torments and being treated like an animal. Yet, you hoped that if you could keep things up, you might be able to go from pampered pet to freed prisoner. You only hoped that the Decepticons wouldn’t get bored of you before then.

[raven-cincaide-words]

Raven Cincaide Beta Review 

Requested by: Jack-the-rapper  Work title: “Captured”  Chapter(s) reviewed: Chapter 1 Published fic (link): Yes link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55423462/chapters/140628064 Fic rating: M Mature  Pairing: Joker (DCU) & Bruce Wayne  Type of review: Medium Fandom & Fandom Familiarity: Batman. I have seen some Batman movies a few years ago but have never worked or written for the fandom. Thus I lack fandom specific knowledge. Please keep that in mind when reading the review. 

First Impressions First impression is that this is a dark fic which is something I look forward to reading. It’s got decent language and Bruce is not written in a way which creates no apparent hate or distaste towards him. However the fic loses me a lot in the beginning, because of long complicated sentences and a lot of repetitions while the action or the ‘happenings’ come towards the end of the chapter. In other words, once you get through the slow beginning, the end of the chapter is gripping and interesting, prompting the reader to continue reading the story. 

Opening Scene  The first sentence is supposed to capture your reader. Which it does, however the following sentences and paragraphs create confusions instead of clarity for the reader. More precisely, the reader understands that Batman is dizzy, fading in and out of consciousness- so why focus on it? Is something happening to him? Is there going to be a high impact scene next? Are we getting why he is like that? Some of this information comes much later, which runs the risk of the reader getting impatient and leaving the story. 

Another comment is language in the opening scene. More precisely the sentences are long (not varied) and at times overly complicated, misleading or unclear. For example “Through narrowed slits, he discerned the swaying silhouettes of a space that seemed to dissolve into darkness at its edges, as he gradually emerged from the depths of unconsciousness.”  What does ‘swaying silhouettes of a space’ actually mean? Are there shadows playing in the corner of his vision, is he seeing things, or is this another way you’re trying to convey that he is dizzy and disoriented?

Plot /Pacing/ Scenes/ Gaps If I understood the chapter correctly it can be summarized as follows; Bruce woke up hanging from the ceiling by the ropes, he was beaten, bruised and struggled with consciousness. He remembered being captured and repeatedly beaten, felt his injuries, tried to escape but fainted again.

The overall pacing of the chapter is slow: there is a lot of detail about being dizzy, feeling bad and falling in and out of consciousness that draws out the word count without adding to the plot and the overall theme and scenes. The repetitions do not appear to be a rhetorical tool (not like threes) and are not necessarily a creepy-feeling-inducing ploy. Their purpose is therefore a little unclear to me. 

There aren’t any glaring gaps, though the shift from flashbacks to present could be made clearer to the reader. 

For example a template that could used is instead of just writing ‘flashback’: *Bruce remembered something/ he thought of something*– *insert memory* then- “a wave of pain washed over him bringing him back to the present,” then again something happened making him remember, then again back to the present. 

Sorta like a ball being passed back and forth. This could make it flow better and make it clearer instead of repeating ‘flashbacks’ while adding more overall details. This could possibly help with the pacing and flow of the chapter. 

Characters & Character interaction Another possible gap falls under character description and concerns his appearance. How is Bruce dressed? Is he in his Batman getup? In his office suit and what condition is it in? Or is he in his boxers?Or something else entirely?  What does he feel of his attire and how do the clothes behave/feel on his beaten body?  A lot of this section is not covered/unclear so therefore I cannot give a deeper review here. 

Genre:(Romance/Angst etc) Not applicable or requested Dialogue Not applicable or requested Settings and landscape  The overall settings and landscape could be made more clearer. Perhaps by keeping it in their own paragraphs. For example how does he know it’s a warehouse, has he been there before? What gives it away? AND how does he know that it is abandoned? The overall description of it is rather vague and things like water(?) dripping off the pipe falls in between Bruce’s thoughts/breaths rather than be its own paragraph which makes it easy to overlook or confuse. 

Visuals and logic  Visuals refers to whether the description of an action makes sense, which is something that this story could improve on. There are several instances which are described in a fashion that don’t make sense or in the very least are difficult to visually comprehend. 

For example “As his senses gradually sharpened again, Bruce became acutely aware of the sensation of burning pain radiating from his wrists and shoulder” And later confirming that he does not know how much time has passed which may present a logical issue. A quick google search suggests that hanging by yourself on the bar is generally not something you’d handle for long (https://www.quora.com/What-happens-if-you-hang-by-your-arms-too-long), and the world record for a dead hang is 1h 20 min and 41 seconds. Considering Bruce is generally portrayed as being ‘buff’ or heavy in weight alt. If he is held up for a long time, then his shoulders would dislocate. If they aren’t dislocated, that should give him the indication of how long he’s been up or vise-versa. Also the pain itself (probably even numbness)would be in the entire arms, not just the wrists and shoulders. 

Then another inconsistency with time: “Time was a hazy concept, and without any external cues, he had no way of knowing how much time had passed since then.” yet this “His mind raced, trying to piece together when he had last eaten or drunk anything. Flashes of memory teased the edges of his consciousness, but nothing concrete emerged. Perhaps it had been that morning before the kidnapping, but he couldn't be sure” suggests that he has some understanding of how much time passed since he last ate/drank and thus was kidnapped. 

Another example “With each passing moment, it became increasingly clear to Bruce that his chances of breaking free from his restraints were slim at best.” Then “In his struggle to comprehend his surroundings, Bruce sharpened his senses, scanning the room for any indication of his captors or a potential means of escape.”  The question I get as the reader is; why is he studying the architecture of the room and the structure of it if he can’t even get out of his ropes? What difference does it make if the wall is paper or cardboard-thin and easy for him to punch through if he hasn’t gotten out of his ropes? 

Writing style/tone/Voice The general impression of the writing style is that it is very poetic and is written by someone who knows the language well. However it lacks variety and sometimes misses words. Predominantly the sentences are long, stretching several lines and held together with commas. In combination with flowery “Shakesprean” language, it is difficult to read in parts. Note that long sentences can be a disadvantage when it comes to building tension; generally speaking the shorter the sentences the faster you read them and the quicker you build the tension in the reader. Also short and simple sentences can be used to show confusion, disorientation and fear (part of the ‘show not tell’ approach). 

For example “Bruce's eyelids fluttered open with a groan, the dim light piercing his consciousness like needles, prompting him to reflexively close them again.” while I understand what you mean, my first thought is: How can eyelids groan? The descriptive word ‘groan’ is not connected to any other body part or thing besides eyelids (compare with “Door opened with screech”). I understand that you mean that he groaned as he opened his eyes, but the way it is written can give a more comical interpretation rather than seriousness of the situation you’re going for. 

Another point to consider is voices/perspective and how it perceives others actions. This goes hand in hand with logic and character interaction. Including too much can confuse the reader but also make your story foundation less stable. Even as an ominous reader/writer you have to consider what and how you formulate something.  For example “He noted the absence of tools or implements scattered about the room, a deliberate omission by his captors to thwart any attempts at self-liberation.“ 

As far as I remember Bruce can’t read minds and the assailants haven’t left a note saying they ‘didn’t leave any tools so he could not escape’.  An alternative would be something like: “He noted the absence of tools or implements scattered about the room, undoubtedly, a deliberate omission by his captors to prevent any unwanted self-liberation attempts.“  By including something like undoubtedly and re-writing the sentence slightly not only do you improve clarity but also leave yourself open in case Bruce misses something. 

Repetitions  There are primarily two different types of repetitions in this work that do not help driving the story forward. The first is the sentence repetitions where the same thing is described in different ways yet without adding to the story or driving it forward. 

 For example; “With each blink, the world seemed to swim and sway, a disorienting kaleidoscope of colours and shapes that refused to coalesce into coherence. Yet amidst the chaos, faint outlines began to emerge from the haze, like distant shapes emerging from thick fog. Though his sight remained muddled and uncertain [...]”

The first sentence, ending with swim and sway is plenty to let the reader know his sight is uncertain, even the first line that ends with’ coherence’ is plenty. The rest  such as the description of the outlines of shapes and the sentence after that ‘his sight remained muddled and uncertain’ all describe the same thing as you did with “With each blink, the world seemed to swim and sway” so technically, everything after your first sentence is a repetition that makes your story less clear. 

Another example;  “Fortunately, he found no signs of danger; the room was empty, and he was alone.” 

Again the room was empty or that he was alone would be plenty for the reader. Both become buttery butter so to speak. 

Final example:  “Bruce's jaw tightened,” and the next sentence “but Bruce gritted his teeth,”  both are different formulations of essentially the same thing. 

Second type of repetition is theme repetition without action or events taking place. For example  

Sentence 1 paragraph 1: “Bruce's eyelids fluttered open with a groan, the dim light piercing his consciousness like needles, prompting him to reflexively close them again.” Some form of struggling to keep eyes open or retain consciousness is present all the way down to

Sentence 2, paragraph 6: “ He blinked away the haze clouding his vision to make sense of the situation.“ 

The issue with keeping these repetitions is that it describes the same thing in different ways, does not add to the story while carrying the risk of losing readers. More precisely it is only on paragraph six the reader starts getting more than just ‘Bruce feels dizzy and falls in and out of consciousness’. A lot of readers, including myself, would not have the patience to wait an A4 page for something more to happen. People are generally impatient like that, unfortunately.

Overview & Overall impressions  My overall impression is that I like the idea and the concept, I like the approach and some of the story telling techniques. But the work could benefit from improving clarity.  My two points of advice would be; “Show not tell” to avoid the repetitions and “read aloud” to hear the repetitions, feel if there the same theme is coming back again (eg. if you get the impression “didn’t I just read/hear that?”) and see where you lose the red thread. Also do not be afraid to vary long and short sentences, and do not be afraid to use ‘simple’ language. Not only does it make the work more accessible but it also shows a great understanding of the language. Think quality (and whether it makes sense) over quantity.

Overall, given that it's your first fanfiction, I would say fantastic job! Please take my feedback into consideration and with a bit of practice you’ll be an amazing writer in no time! 

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[chromatic-lamina]

Okay, maybe off base here, but did tumblr also get paid to keep the netflix posts the top of the One Piece tag? Prior to this, they usually change on a weekly to mid-weekly basis, with often the latest art work or reader insert story or whatever at the very top (that drew in some numbers), then going through recents with sizeable notes, and then opening up to the posts from three weeks ago, three months ago, three years ago with tons of notes. Is the system changed, broken, or is it part of the marketing ploy, or is it just how tumblr works now? I'm getting more One Piece content from the "For You" tag than sorting by "Top".

(I usually then sort by "recent" too, but it's interesting to see what's trending in the fandom currently.

[lockifics]

Rock, Paper, Bucky (18+ Fan Fiction, Reader x Bucky Barnes) Part 6

Disclaimer: This work is 18+ and contains mature topics, not suitable for minors. This work touches upon triggering subject matters such as. Sexual Assault, Violence, Murder, Abuse, Mind Control, Flashbacks, Severe PTSD, Criminal Activity, Trauma and severe panic attacks. Please be aware of this going in.

This fic is written from a first person perspective and is designed to allow yourself to self insert into. I don't consider this a Y/N fic as I don't use this template, seeing Y/N takes me out of it personally. Before diving in, please be aware that the POV character is AFAB. They do not have set pronouns, or a name / gender assigned in the text, however, during sexual intercourse they are referred to as a girl. This POV character is described having sexual relationships with both men and women. The POV character is described as having long hair, as well as having a knowledge of both Star Wars and TRON: Legacy. The POV character is a survivor of sexual assault and abuse.

This fic has multiple sex scenes, as well as multiple scenes where the characters discuss there trauma, experience flashbacks, disassociation and other PTSD symptoms. It can be heavy.

This fic is set some time after the events of TFATWS. Bucky Barnes is over 100 years old and the POV character does not have a specific age set, however they are a adult, they own there own apartment.

I've not published a fan fiction online for over a decade and this is my first time writing Bucky as a character. As someone who's disabled and has experienced a lot of trauma, characterisation was very important for me. I drew upon a lot of my own experiences to try to portray a more realistic relationship, adapting to a sexual dynamic after experiencing trauma and abuse, as well as the challenges of that. I hope that as I continue to write I can improve upon making my characterisations more accurate and respectful. Bucky is a character with trauma, and is often heavily sexualised by the fandom. I wanted to make sure I avoided sexualising 'The Winter Soldier' specifically, while also not treating abuse victims as babies who can't experience sexuality. I hope that you enjoy reading, I'd like to hear feedback, although please be kind, I haven't done this in a long time! I write to hopefully make one person happy, even if that persons me!

You exit the room, keeping your eyes on him for as long as possible. You eventually turn to walk into the bathroom, You have to trust that he will be okay. Which is tough for someone who overthinks, so you lean against the back of the closed bathroom door for a second and take a deep breath. You finish attending to yourself, deciding to wash your face while you were in the bathroom, moving the flannel away, you can see your reflection in the mirror. "Are you okay?" You whisper to your reflection. You exhale and close your eyes. You repeat to yourself "Are you okay?" and you pause for a moment. You replay what just happened in your mind, and you can feel your cheeks pulling up into a smile. "Yes" you eventually answer. You felt it too, You always need to question your feelings and actions, to try to unveil some hidden ploy or, ask yourself if you wanted things for the right reasons. Bucky, felt right, what you did felt right, you felt safe. But, physical intimacy, trust at this highest level, It's a very overwhelming experience. Even when it feels right? It can be a reminder of when it wasn't, of the reasons why you have to question every action. You decided to sit down on the cold tiled floor for a second and just, be. You take in the tiny cramped space, The bath mat with a few bald patches near the edge, the towel holder with only half the screws still holding it in place. The background buzzing sound of the light above you. You are here in this moment and this place, this is your time to be human and vulnerable, alone.

You do this, until, well you get bored frankly. You realise Bucky is likely worried about you taking so long, so you open the bathroom door with haste and crash directly into his torso. "Whoah there!" He exclaims and he takes a step back from you barrelling into him at speed. He holds you by the shoulders "Are you okay?" he asks, more than a little taken aback. "S-Sorry! I didn't know you would be right outside" you explain, getting your bearings, you genuinely weren't paying attention to your surroundings. "Ah yes, sorry, I just wanted to check you we're alright, but I felt strange knocking on the door, so I was out here deciding what to do" he explained with a smile. "I'm-" you start, you were going to say okay but you stop yourself. "I'm a little bit overwhelmed if im honest and I feel like, It's making me come across as really cold and unhappy, when I am actually very happy" You do your best to explain. "Well, I'm glad to hear you are happy at least" he says, pushing a strand of hair out the way of your eyes. "But what can I do to help?" he offers next. "I'd like to talk about what happened, just now, between us, but I want to sit in the bathroom with you to do it". He blinks at you "What exactly do you want in" he peeks around you to look into the bathroom and then back to you concerned "there…." he trails off. "Nothing nefarious, It's just a smaller room with less distractions, I feel more collected in there" you say and take his hand to pull him inside. "This is a new one for me but, whatever works for you" he adds.

You slide open the door to the walk in shower and sit down inside. You have your knees up and tucked under your chin, arms wrapped around your calves, pulling your legs in. You look up at him to join you, and he does, with only a degree of hesitation. "Close it please" you ask in a quiet voice and, Bucky gently pulls the door of the shower closed. "Tell me your thoughts" Bucky says quietly, looking at the glass in front of him, shuffling to get comfortable. You let out a exhausted sigh "I just had an amazing time. A great experience, I felt safe and happy…so why do I feel so glum and heavy?" You ask, also staring straight forwards. Both of your voices were quiet and soft and the room gently echoed the words back to you. "How do you feel glum and heavy, don't focus on the why" Bucky asked. "Good things, make me wonder why, times ever had to be bad. It reminds me that they were not necessary. That those, things, didn't need to happen." You pull your knees in closer to you "I hate that even the good moments can be tainted by my past. It's like, I never left."

Bucky nods, letting you speak. "I feel like, my whole world has been restructured to be about those experiences, everything that ever happens to me, happens through the lens of what's happened. If something good happens? Well why was it ever bad before. If something bad happens? Then it's just like before. It feels like my ability to experience the world, unbiased and with just my own eyes, is gone. Everything I will ever do, will be linked to the things that happened to me, everything, it's not enough for bad people to ruin my life at the exact moment that they hurt me. That they tore away my agency and humanity then, but having it constantly change my entire outlook to feel like that, It's like I'm being tortured forever."

You found yourself staring into the floor as you spoke, the words tumbling out of you, you felt so, utterly wounded when you spoke like that. You catch yourself on the last line however and realise, You maybe shouldn't have said that. You worry whether apologising would make things even more awkward, but you decide, to do it anyway. "No, not like that, I'm…I'm sorry Bucky I probably sound insensitive". You turn and see he's been staring at you this whole time, you feel yourself gulp and your mind whirls with the feeling that you have royally just put your foot in it. "Can I ask.." he starts and you jump in immediately with "yes" and he pauses before replying "but you don't even know what it is yet?". You look at him with eyes that are less blank than before, way more full of warmth and tell him "But It's yes either way, you can ask me anything. I'm sorry for blabbing, It just, helps me sometimes to talk about it and I was very worried you would think I was..unhappy, with, you".

He restarts "Can I ask, Did having sex with me bring up memories of being sexually assaulted" he asked and you respond truthfully. "No, and I mean that, It really only hit me once I was alone, and it was much more about feeling angry that, those memories exist and are trying to taint the now when I'm finally free of that". "Can I be honest?" he asks. You meet his gaze and nod "It did for me" he says solemnly. He seems to realise he needs to clarify "Not, that, I'm in any way saying I wasn't happy with what we were doing". He cant stand to meet your eyes any longer. "I feel like I had to fight through flashes, of my hands, my hands being in the same places that they were. It's like my brain overlayed them inside my mind. It felt like a static shock when it did, it felt like it physically hurt". He pushes his hands underneath the back of his knees as he spoke. "When, they can control your actions, your entire body and you are forced to watch yourself. Locked inside a prison cell of your own mind. My eyes, being the windows to my soul, of a vessel I could not stop. Sometimes, I can't look at my hands. I can't bear to think of what and who they've touched and hurt" He turns his gaze all the way away from you now "This was the first time, I'd gotten to choose what I wanted, with my hands looking like this." "Oh Bucky…" You start and he turns his head back to be facing forwards. "But I knew it was my choice this time, I was doing what I wanted and it felt good. But when I felt like I lost control of myself like that? I couldn't take it. I felt convinced I would hurt you". You nod before responding "I know I already said it but, I want you to know you haven't physically hurt me at all, or upset me emotionally with your actions, and I would not lie to you". "I know that." Bucky responded flatly "I'm just having a hard time accepting that, I could lose control and not hurt someone, It makes me worry if I always could, if my actions were my fault for not trying hard enough. Or if there's a part of me that wanted those things to happen. I don't know what to do about that, if I can stop now? Don't I owe it to people to have stopped then too? It's not fair".

You allow the silence to hang in the air for a moment. It seemed like the words needed time to really settle for you both, baring ones soul means as much about the other listening, as it means listening to yourself. "We can't change our past. Only our future." You say into the still air. "Wishing things could have been different, only wastes the time we have now to make it be different. We owe it to our past selves, to be the person they couldn't be. Because without them? We could not be who we are now. Looking back and asking, why couldn't I do this back then? Well the only reason you can right now, is because of everything you did back then, and since, to get to here. We are not one decision, we are every decision and every day that we've decided to be better and to make the world better, because of when it wasn't for us." You reach out and take his hand very softly, "We are who we are now, because of the people we've been before. Not in spite of it. I'm very proud of the person you've become, and I want you to tell me if you don't want to do that again. I want you to feel safe enough to tell me the truth, regardless of whether you enjoyed it".

"I don't want to be someone, who can't ever be intimate again, because I wasn't given a choice. I want the opportunity to choose. I don't want that taken away from me" Bucky answers solemnly "You we're right though" he added and you answer "About what?" Bucky points to the shower head above you "Talking in here is less overwhelming". He pulls his arms out from behind his knees and turns his body to face towards you "I want to be able to do everything, I want to be able to be more of the man I was before all of this" You nod, "But, what do you need, not what you want" you question. "I think we both need to understand each other, that afterwards we might" he stops himself, interlocking his fingers together "We might feel like this for a bit. Knowing to expect it might make it easier to handle these feelings, I hope…" he trails off. "I agree, I think me knowing, that you understand that, I might have complex feeling afterwards. Makes them feel less complex" you explain, turning your body around to also be facing him. You were feeling more and more at ease the more you talked. "Maybe one day, for us both, It will be less complex" Bucky matches your gaze as he speaks "I look forward to finding out" you offer with a smile.

"Would you like a hug?" Bucky asks you, matching your smile, you nod and crawl on into his arms, he shuffles back to he's flat against the wall and holding you closely. "Our past, is not today" he says with a kiss on the top of your head "That's profound" you reply while pulling one of his hands closer to your chest "I can't take credit," Bucky begins "It's one of my therapist asked me to try out, I scoffed at first but, maybe she's not totally full of crap". "Be careful not to tell her that, she might die of shock" you say while giggling "Good point, I can't be going breaking rule number two around her" he smiles down at you in his arms.

You both sit together on the floor of the shower cuddling, for such a while that the glass starts to fog up from your breath. You lean over Bucky's leg and draw a little love heart on the glass with your finger. He smiles at you and adds your initials and the plus between them into the centre of the heart. "We used to see these on trees all the time growing up, I always wondered who I'd make mine with" He says while taking your hand. "Thank You for talking to me Bucky, I feel much better" you say and let your shoulders drop. "I'm kind of emotionally drained now though". Bucky seems to think for a moment. "Do you think you have it in you to be vulnerable again today, or would you rather I carry you to bed?" he asks.

You think for a moment "What do you mean by vulnerable?" You ask and he smiles at you, pulling his shirt above and over his head. You can for the first time, see what he looks like and he's so stunning, your breath catches in your throat. His dog tags clink together as he moves and you can for the first time see where his metal am and flesh connect. He pulls open the shower door just enough to throw his shirt outside into the bathroom and then shuts it again. "Take a shower with me?" he asks with a smile "I can do that" you confirm and lean up to kiss him on the lips. His hands reach down your back to pull your shirt over your head. Without opening the shower door, he simply launches it over the top, with way too much ease, that makes you convinced he's just showing off.

He takes your hand and interlocks his fingers with yours. "Can we pause for a second, I think I got a little over confident there" you smile at him "Of course, I can match whatever pace you set". He's still with his back against the shower wall and you are knelt in front of him, while you are fine taking a breather you are also feeling Goosebumps along your arms from the cold air hitting your exposed skin. He closes his eyes slowly and takes a breath. "This must seem so silly, we just had sex but here I am acting strange about getting naked with you" he says with his eyes still firmly shut. "Being vulnerable isn't easy, It's okay" you respond with a smile that, he cant see, but you hope he can sense. "Can I set a boundary?" he asks, eyes still shut, but you can tell he's looking in your direction, ears attuned to you. "You never need permission for that, what is it?" You ask softly. "I don't want you to, touch, it" he says while opening his eyes and looking down at his metal arm, which he raises. "Or, where it meets, me, the real me I mean". "I don't have to touch you at all if you don't want" you respond and he shakes his head "No, anywhere, that's me, is okay, I'm just not okay with you touching, a part of me that was forced upon me, right now." "Of course, I don't want you to touch my feet, I'm ticklish" you add with a laugh and he gives you a half smile. "No feet touching, got it, let's keep those firmly on the ground" he stands up, pulls his pants down and throws them over the shower door. Before you could even take in him being fully naked he steps towards you and hugs you. He holds you close, one hand at the back of your head, the other across your back. You hug him around his waist, locking your fingers together.

You go to pull away and he pulls you in tighter "No, not yet" and he kisses the top of your head, once, twice and three times. After a minute you start to look around the room wondering if he's ever going to let go. "Bucky, are we going to turn the shower on now?" you ask, trying to reach behind you for the taps and failing. "No, I'm not done enjoying this" he mumbles to you and you have to agree, finally having this skin on skin contact is oddly the most intimate you feel like you've been all day. You can feel his heart beating in his chest, how his chest rises and falls with his breathing, It makes you feel all tingly. "We should probably get clean though, this was your idea" you say again and he simply grumbles at you. You roll your eyes "Come on, you can cuddle me after" you offer and he grumbles again, before sighing and relenting. He reaches up and over you and pulls the taps. You SHRIEK as the cold water hits the top of your head immediately and he picks you up under your elbows and pulls you clean out the way of the water. "You gotta let it warm up first oh my GOD" you exclaim shivering. "Shit, sorry!" he says and pulls you into his warm chest. You are tiptoeing around where you are touching and leaning against, making sure not to touch metal.

"I didn't know" he says apologetically and swaps places with you in the shower. "W-What" you start between shivers "A lot of my nerves are fried, sometimes I genuinely can't feel temperature, I didn't realise it started cold, Sorry about that my love" he rubs along your arm trying to warm you up. "Y-Yeah it's fucking freezing!" You protest. "How is it now?" He asks, and stands to the side of the shower so you can reach out a hand to touch the water. "See now it's perfect" you say, turning your hand over in the stream. "After you" he puts out a arm to let you shimmy past him to stand under the water. You feel the warm water hit your skin and its like your whole body unlocks, you instantly relax and feel so much more soothed. You grab his hand and pull him into the water stream with you. "Can you feel it now?" you ask him "I know that it's wet" he offers and you nod. "If it's the right temperature for you, then that's what matters" he says with a smile. You grab the shampoo from the shelf behind you, squeezing some out into your hand, you then reach your arms up towards him and start lathering it into his hair. You can't resist pulling yourself up to kiss him in this embrace with the water running down both of your bodies. What you weren't ready for was him kissing you open mouthed and tongue first, his metal arm bracing himself against the back wall of the shower, the other holding you by your lower back. You react by gripping into his hair, fingers clenching in reaction as you feel your whole body tensing in response to his kiss. This seems to make him push even further into you, pushing in more passion to the kiss. You can't deny that the warm water and being naked together certainly felt intimate, skin against skin, moving and sliding against each other with ease. It was difficult to keep your thoughts on track. You break away breathlessly "Seems we can't keep our hands off each other today" you say with a fully flushed face, embarrassed by how eager you've been acting.

He looks down and smiles, with a shrug he responds "I'm not complaining, so long as we actually get clean today" and he grabs the same bottle of shampoo. He starts running it through your hair, much more regimented, he does section by section and pulls the lotion through, he's being so dedicated to getting all of it and doing such a good job. You are smiling and watching him as he concentrates. "Can I ask a question?" you start and he replies quickly "Sure, because I've forgotten who's turn it is, or what number we are up too". You grin and ask "Have you done this before?" He looks you in the eyes quickly, before back down to the task at hand "No, I've never showered with a partner before, but I have shampoo'd my sisters hair before, admittedly a lifetime ago so I could be rusty" "Well I think you are doing a great job" as he finishes up with his lathering you add "Maybe we should body wash ourselves, might be a little less overwhelming" he nods in response and passes you the bottle. You can't help but feel a little self conscious as he's watching you, so you offer "It's your turn now". "U-Uh" he stutters, feeling like he's instead being put on the spot. "Are you upset we stopped watching the movie?" he manages eventually "No, although I would still like to finish watching it with you today, Maybe with some take out later?" you offer with a smile and pass him the bottle and starting to rinse yourself under the water. "I'd like that a lot actually, But it's your turn now" but instead you had no words, having stepped back you were able to take him all in and as he's rubbing over his entire body with soapy suds everywhere your mind just draws a blank. Can you call it being hot under the collar if you are naked? you wonder to yourself. "See, It's tough when your put on the spot" he jokes "N-No it's not that" you manage to get out, suddenly concerned he places a hand on your arm "Are you okay?" he asks "Oh I'm fine!" you convince him, and continue "It's just that you are so handsome" you manage while swallowing and blushing. He grins and you can see he's fully charmed by you, it was one of the most genuine smiles you had seen from him and it's like the wounds of time were stripped back for a moment, and you saw a gentle young man smiling back at you. He walks up close to you, bodies touching, he places one hand around your waist and holds your hand with the other. He carefully places his leg between yours, you realise he's pulled you into a pose to dance. You wonder how on earth this is going to work in a shower and start to doubt your feeble balance skills. He simply sways with you however, grinning from ear to ear the whole time. His eyes are closed, as if hearing a song inside his mind, You had yet to see him this content and it warmed your heart.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask "Hmmm" he starts, but then laughs "Honestly? Something way too raunchy for how sweet you are being right now, Sorry". "Try me" you say with a sly grin, meeting his gaze, it seems all of your soap suds have been perfectly rinsed away now, so it's just showering for the sensation, or because neither of you wanted to leave. "I don't want to ruin" and he pulls you in tighter "This, because this is lovely".

"Why, don't want to pull me around like that a little more?" you taunt with a raised eyebrow "Oh now you are actually the most devious aren't you?" he says with a smile and picks you up by the waist to kiss you, with one arm, effortlessly of course. "We're never going to get back to what's his face if you keep acting like this" and you throw him a quizzical expression "Who?" you ask genuinely "The meesa-so-silly alien guy" Bucky offers, donning the silly voice to match as well. "OH! You mean Jar Jar Binks? He becomes a Senator you know" Bucky laughs heartily "I guess anything is possible!" He sets you down onto your feet again "Yeah we can't get back to Mr Jar-Jar if were just in this shower all day". "He wouldn't mind" you offer "He has his own girlfriend anyway" you say while pulling your hair back and flicking the water off the back of your head. "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that" he stated coldly. "Now you tell me what you are thinking" he asks with a devious grin of his own.

<3 Thanks for making it to the end of part 6! <3

All previous and future parts should be available on my page. Sorry folks, this is the real sad part. But, It's also probably my fave to write. Writing this fic has been extremely therapeutic for me after having just the worst 2024. I believe that so many people look in, on people who love Bucky and just see, well, they just see people sexualising him because Sebastian is attractive. Which to me has always been besides the point. The reason people gravitate to male characters like this? Is because they can relate to a lot of these same experiences and emotions. I know not everyone subscribes to Bucky being a SA victim under Hydra. However, For this fic? I'm running with that.

SA is a very serious topic and I don't approach it lightly. Like so many? I'm a victim myself and I think it's important for us to feel free to talk about our experiences. But, as this part is so heavy? I also wanted to take the time in my notes to remind you. Bucky are never alone. It was never your fault, and people will believe you.

I know this is just fan fic about a 100 man who does not exist, but the issues tackled here are real and I wish to be delicate and respectful.

[cas-readsandwrites]

GLICKED

I somehow managed to coordinate a group of friends into seeing not one but TWO movies today. Gonna blarf my thoughts on both below the cut if you're interested in some storytelling discourse! All the spoilers, beware beware...

GLADIATOR aka "this feels familiar didn't we just have an election about this or something". I think it was an acceptable seasonal blockbuster, it struck a medium between enticing characters that made me go WAIT STOP SLOW DOWN I want to know more! (this is why fanfic exists) and between a plot that felt heavy enough to roll on it's as own as long as you didn't stop and think about it too much. The twin emperors gave me the ICK so I guess they were effective in that way. Denzel's character was probably my favorite. Obviously I am here for Pedro, but fuckin BRICK WALL PAUL ok that was impressive.

Going into it, my main question was how they were going to put Lucius and Acacius at odds and how that was going to resolve... DID NOT LOVE that both Acacius and Lucilla had to die but it makes sense harking back to what Acacius said about not wanting to sacrifice another generation of young men to feed Rome... he had to sacrifice himself to make way for change for the next generation. I'm unconvinced about Lucius' dedication to the cause, which I don't think was Paul's fault I think it was just the plot and the writing not giving enough time or opportunities for any complexities. My headcanon is that he feels really resigned and for some reason he wants to live and so he is basically forced to step into this, if he didn't want to live I think he would have figured a way to yeet himself off in one of the first fights and die with honor like his fellow commander guy. (listen the Imax was so big and so loud I was so overwhelmed and I don't know what half the characters names are).

I liked it more than I thought I would, I was thinking it was going to be a pointless blood bath but I did like all the conniving ploys that came together. Some of the symbolism felt a little heavy handed but it was effective, like seeing the differences in "government for the people" portrayed in the arena vs in the senate vs the very end with the two armies with Lucius literally uniting them. And the meta perspective of watching Roman citizens watch a war game in the coliseum... oh right, isn't that what we're doing in this movie theater?

Basically, fanfic writers have at it, because I want a novelization of everything. Denzel did a great job but I want MORE, which is where I think some of it fell flat for me like who is not keeping guard on Lucilla and just letting her walk around and visit her son as a prisoner, and how did Acacius get so jaded with war but still build up basically an entire army loyal to only him, and where did Denzel learn all these skills? The PPCU is the first fandom I've been in where the Reader Insert style is overwhelmingly popular, and I feel like I'm always more comfortable diving in to the in-betweens of established characters, and I'm drawn to the backstory and dynamic between Acacius and Lucilla... so stay tuned, perhaps.

~~ 45 minute intermission where we went for a quick lap around the theater, refilled, and back in for Wicked! Let's see how what the overlap in fandoms is here...

Same as Gladiator, honestly, I thought it was FINE. Wicked was not **my** musical, like so many other theater kids growing up, but I do appreciate it and I've seen it a bunch of times. I hope the theater kids are happy with it, I think it did the stage show justice. I'm not sure how they stretched the first act to fill almost the same timeslot as the entire show without really adding to it? I was a little disappointed they didn't pull in more from the book or add more with Nessa or more universe-building knowledge about magic. Ariana Grande surprised me and I thought she did great, Cynthia I had no doubt would be stellar. J Bail ATE. I am excited for P2 with As Long as You're Mine and No Good Deed. Though, that brings me to two final things: this is PG which from a marketing and numbers perspective I understand, but are we going to lose some of the intensity in P2? Also, HOW did my confused questionably queer self in high school and college COMPLETELY MISS the subtext between Glinda and Elphaba, and props to this movie for managing to sneak some of that in despite that PG rating.

Thank you for tuning in, and I am interested to hear what others think! I think the discussion about storytelling universes and our explorations of what our perceived themes, standouts, etc are is so interesting, being mostly surrounded by various creators on this platform. I think it makes for excellent fanfic fuel!

I am surprisingly pretty exhausted after all that - it was definitely a sensory fest and an emotional ride to experience over 6 hours of major media today!