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selene-writes · 4 months ago

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What I've become

Hey new the boys fanfic? If people like this, I would love to make it a series! BIG TW!!!! This has implications of r*pe and assault though it is not detailed (Homelander) My writing is based off of past experiences- which is why I decided the reader can't say his name, this was actually very relieving to write. Other warnings include smoking, cursing, angst, and I guess some suggestiveness? Reader if morally grey (It's the boys lets be real). All my fics are 18+

Billy Butcher x Reader

“You're just a toy for my amusement.” He leaned closer, a sinister smile stretching across his face as he loomed over you. “Nothing more,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. You recoiled, instinctively leaning backward and flinching. The stark whiteness of the room seemed to amplify the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights, casting harsh shadows that accentuated every cruel line and feature of his face. “Pathetic and weak,” he continued, his tone cold and mocking. “But I’m going to fix that.”

“No! No!” you cried out in terror, your voice breaking as you jolted awake with a start, gasping for breath in the dimness of your room.

“Whoa, whoa there, luv,” Billy’s voice called softly from beside you on the bed. His hand, rough yet reassuring, rested gently on your back. “You’re all right; you’re here.”

You gasped and flinched, your heart racing as you struggled to ground yourself in the present moment. Slowly, the realization dawned on you: you were safe, and Billy was there with you. You took several deep breaths, desperately trying to calm the frantic pace of your breathing and stave off the urge to hyperventilate.

Billy’s steady gaze locked with yours, his eyes filled with concern. You held his gaze, terrified that if you closed your eyes even for a moment, HIS face would reappear, haunting you once again.

You took another deep breath, your lungs filling with the cool air as you worked to steady your racing heart. It was the third time this week you’d been jolted awake by the same nightmare, and the frustration simmered beneath your surface.

“Was it—” Billy began, his voice heavy with concern.

“Yes,” you interrupted, your single word carrying significant weight.

Billy’s jaw tightened, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Anger flickered in his eyes, a mixture of fury and helplessness. Thoughts of you, trembling and vulnerable, and of Becca—whose face he saw too clearly in his mind—haunted his thoughts.

We’re going to fucking kill him,” Billy said with fierce determination, his voice unwavering. “I promise you.”

All you could do in response was nod as Billy gently pulled you close, his body enveloping yours in an embrace. His usual roughness gave way to an unexpected tenderness as he spooned you, his warmth a stark contrast to the cold sweat of your nightmare.

Caught off guard by his gentle touch, you lay still, trying to find solace in his presence. But sleep eluded you. As Billy’s steady breathing turned into snoring, you carefully got yourself up, out of his embrace.

Quietly, you slipped out of bed and made your way to the kitchen of the safehouse—a temporary refuge among the network of hideouts the Boys had. The dim light of the kitchen barely illuminated your path. With trembling fingers, you grabbed a cigarette from a nearby table and lit it, inhaling deeply. As you took another long drag, the smoke curled around you. You felt a surge of raw anger that left you reeling. Anger at HIM for the nightmares that plagued your nights and what he had done, for an entire year of constant torment. Anger at Billy for the hot and cold behavior, and anger at the world for being so unforgiving. But most of all, the anger was directed at yourself—anger at what you had become.

You’d met Billy four years ago, a year after HIM. At that time, you had already been drawn into the criminal world, where you had taken on a sort of vigilante role. When you crossed paths with Billy, it felt like a twisted form of fate. You’d both sought revenge and had agreed to team up, driven by a shared desire to take HIM down. In the later months, your relationship had evolved into something more intimate. You had ended up sleeping together, though it was never meant to be a relationship. Billy had made it abundantly clear many times, and you had accepted it. Still, there were moments, like tonight, when he revealed a softer side of him.

You were under no illusions about Billy; you knew he wasn’t a good person, but neither were you. None of you were. In this world, morality was nothing but a concept, and everyone had their secrets.

For all these years, you had kept your own secret—a deep, hidden truth about what else HE had done to you, about what he had turned you into. It was a secret that gnawed at you, a burden you carried alone. Sometimes, you wrestled with the thought of revealing it to Billy, but you knew that doing so would only push him away. He would despise you for what you were—a Supe, a freak. And the last thing you wanted was to be abandoned by the one person who, despite everything, you cared about-

If only he did too.

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selene-writes · 4 months ago

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You-Me-Us Part 2

Hey! So should I make this a series based on the X-men movies? Let me know. I can't think of any warnings for this chapter, maybe just a mention of needles? And light angst/ jealously. Anyways enjoy :)

When Logan regained consciousness, his first and foremost thought was of you. The worry gnawed at him—where were you, and were you safe? His mind was a whirlwind of concern and irritation, heightened by the discomfort of needles pricking at him. The redheaded woman tending to him, despite her intentions, triggered his frustration. In a swift, instinctive reaction, he grabbed her by the collar and choked her until he realized she wasn't a threat and left. He felt a pang of guilt as he looked at her—she was strikingly pretty, and he didn’t relish the idea of hurting her. But his priority was clear: find you and get out.

He managed to find some clothes in a nearby locker, changing quickly.The uniforms in the center of the room caught his eye, but he pushed aside any thoughts about them for the moment. His only focus was finding you. He darted for the elevator, and after a brief ride, he emerged into a well-furnished wooden corridor, a stark contrast to the sterile environment he had just left.

Hearing footsteps approaching, Logan ducked into the nearest room. Inside, he found himself face-to-face with four kids seated behind desks, absorbed in their own activities like a regular classroom. The unexpected scene threw him off for a moment.

“Good morning, Logan,” a voice called out from behind him.

Startled, Logan spun around, his claws extending instinctively as he searched for the source of the threat. There, behind a desk, was a bald man, now sitting calmly with a chalkboard behind him.

“Give me a moment,” the bald man said, turning his attention to the students. “So, we'll see the definitions of both weak and strong anthropic principles on my desk by Wednesday, all right? Off you go.”

The kids gathered their belongings and left the room quickly, leaving Logan and the bald man alone.

“Where is she? Where am I?” Logan demanded, his voice low and tense.

“Westchester, New York. You were attacked,” the man said, his voice calm but firm. “My team brought you here for medical attention. You’re safe now. The woman is in the next room and has just recently regained consciousness.”

“We don’t need medical attention,” Logan replied tersely, his voice rough with irritation.

“Of course,” the man responded, his tone placating. “And the girl?”

“Rogue? Yes, she’s here,” the man confirmed.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and several figures entered the room. Among them were the redhead from earlier, a woman with silver hair, a man clad in dark glasses, and finally, you. As soon as your eyes met his, you couldn’t contain your relief and excitement. You rushed forward and enveloped him in a tight, heartfelt bear hug.

“Hey, Bub,” Logan said with a genuine smile as he looked down at you. The sight of his face filled you with relief. However, the moment was interrupted by a throat clearing from behind you. You turned to find everyone in the room observing you with curiosity. You blushed as you stepped back from Logan and faced the group.

The introductions began, with everyone introducing themselves to Logan—people you had already met. You couldn’t ignore the pang of jealousy when you heard that Logan and Jean had previously crossed paths. Jean, with her undeniably beautiful and seemed taken with Logan. Although you got the sense that her and Scott were a thing.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the voice of the man in the wheelchair, Professor Charles Xavier. “...You’ll be safe here from Magneto.”

“Magneto?” you asked, confusion evident in your voice.

“Yes,” Professor Xavier continued. “He’s a powerful mutant who believes there is an impending war between mutantkind and the rest of humanity. I’ve been tracking his actions for some time. The man who attacked you is one of his associates, a mutant named Sabretooth. He led me to you both, and I need to understand why.”

You glanced at Logan, whose face remained a mask of unreadable emotion.

“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Logan said, his voice filled with frustration. He reached out, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards the door. “We’re leaving.”

Scott, the man with the glasses, stepped in front of the door, blocking your exit.

“You don’t want to do that,” Logan growled in anger

It’s been fifteen years, hasn’t it?” Professor Xavier’s voice came from behind you, calm as always. Both you and Logan froze and turned around. “Fifteen years of living day to day… Moving from place to place, wondering who you are?”

“How do you—how do you know that?” you stammered, a wave of panic washing over you.

Professor Xavier’s gaze remained steady, and his voice echoed in your mind while his lips remained sealed. “As I mentioned, you’re not the only one with special abilities.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed as he looked around. “What is this place?”

Part 1

#james logan howlett x reader #logan howlett angst #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett x female reader #logan howlett x reader angst #logan howlett x you #logan x reader #logan x you #logan james howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #james howlett #james logan howlett #hugh jackman

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selene-writes · 4 months ago

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You-Me-Us

AHHHH Hey guys! There's lots of Logan craze on here thought I would try writing. Should this be a series? Its short and there's lot of places to go from here.

You had known Logan for fifteen years—technically, that had been your entire life, or at least as much of it as you could remember. Your earliest memory was of his face peering down at you with a mixture of concern and relief. You were in some sort of ruined laboratory, your body aching with a pain you couldn’t fully comprehend. You didn’t even know your own name at the time. Instead, you went by Artemis, a name you had chosen for yourself, though Logan often called you "bub."

Like Logan, you were a mutant, endowed with the gift of regeneration. This ability made it impossible to determine your exact age. In addition to your regenerative powers, you possessed the unique ability to manipulate atoms. This rare skill granted you control over all elements, a power that made you incredibly unique and powerful.

You had both decided to stick together, united in your quest to uncover the truth about who you were and why you had ended up there. It was evident that something significant had happened to both of you, something that had rendered you both invincible. Despite the mysteries that surrounded your origins, the bond between you and Logan only grew throughout time.

As time passed, the nature of your relationship evolved in ways neither of you had anticipated. Somehow, amidst the chaos and the search for answers, you had found yourselves tumbling into bed with each other. While the physical connection had become a part of your lives, nothing had fundamentally changed, and you never talked about it.

Even as you navigated your complicated relationship, your focus remained on the shared mission: to piece together the truth about your past and understand the full extent of your powers.

Everything happened so quickly. You and Logan were in the middle of your usual routine—hitting various bars and grifting people for money. It was a familiar pattern, one that had become almost comforting in its predictability. But that night, things took an unexpected turn.

A teenager—no older than seventeen—had sneaked into the back of your car. Her name was Rogue, and despite your initial reluctance, you and Logan ended up arguing about what to do with her. Logan, ever the soft-hearted one despite his gruff exterior, eventually agreed to give her a ride, though it was clear he would have done so regardless of your persuasion.

The situation quickly spiraled out of control. Out of nowhere—a caveman-like brute—attacked you. Logan was momentarily knocked out in the chaos, leaving you and Rogue vulnerable. The man’s strength was overwhelming, and before you could react, he hurled you against a tree. The impact was brutal, and you felt a jarring “crack” as your head struck the trunk.

You crumpled to the ground, falling into the snow. As the world around you dimmed, the last thing you saw was the silhouettes of the figures moving closer, their shapes growing more defined against the stark whiteness of the snow.

You woke with a groan, sitting up abruptly as if propelled by instinct. Your body felt as good as new, fully healed from the earlier impact. Instinctively, you scanned your surroundings, your mind racing with concern for Logan and his whereabouts.

As your eyes adjusted to the dim light, you noticed a bald man sitting in a wheelchair across the room. Despite his lack of visible movement, his voice seemed to come from all around you, resonating in your mind as much as your ears.

“There is no need to panic,” he said, his lips remaining still, not in sync with his words.

You tensed, on high alert. “How are you doing that?” you demanded, your voice edged with suspicion.

The bald man responded aloud this time, “How do we do anything? We’re mutants.”

Your frustration boiled over. “Where am I? Where is Logan?”

The man’s calm demeanor didn’t waver. “He is safe… you both are.” He began to wheel closer; his movements deliberate and smooth. “As for where you are… You are at my academy, where we help those like you. You are with… the X-Men.”

#james logan howlett x reader #logan howlett angst #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett x reader angst #logan howlett #hugh jackman #wolverine x reader #the wolverine #the wolverine angst #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine imagine #wolverine x you #wolverine

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selene-writes · 4 months ago

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Hellfire series- Skin part 1

Hey! New chapter out now. This is based off of supernatural episode season 1 episode 6 "skin"

Warnings include violence, descriptions of blood and cursing! W:C- 2298

“What am I supposed to do, just cut everybody out of my life?” Sam’s voice was sharp, his gaze fixed on Dean with frustration. Dean was leaning against the Impala, filling up the tank, while Sam sat in the front seat, absorbed in his phone. You were seated in the back, window down, trying to keep up with the conversation between the two brothers. You chewed nervously on your thumbnail, their argument making you uneasy.

Dean let out a heavy sigh. “Look, it sucks, but with a job like ours, you can’t afford to get too close to people.”

Sam scoffed, barely glancing up from his phone. “You’re kind of antisocial, you know that.” You let out a quiet laugh, but quickly stopped when you caught Dean’s piercing glare.

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean muttered, clearly annoyed.

“God,” Sam said, his voice tinged with alarm.

“What?” you asked, turning around to face him. Dean leaned over the open window, peering at Sam’s phone over his shoulder.

“This email this girl, Rebecca Warren,” Sam said, his fingers tapping on his phone. “She’s one of my old friends. She says her brother, Zach, has been charged with murder.”

“Is she hot?” Dean asked, eyes still fixed on Sam.

You rolled your eyes at Dean’s comment. “I went to school with her and her brother Zach. Rebecca says Zach has been arrested for killing his girlfriend. Rebecca says he didn’t do it, but it sounds like the police have a pretty solid case.”

“Jesus, Sam, what kind of people are you hanging out with?” Dean’s face was a mix of disbelief and concern.

“No, I know Zach. He’s no killer,” Sam replied firmly, shaking his head with conviction.

“Well,” Dean said, his tone skeptical as he tilted his head slightly to meet Sam’s gaze, “maybe you know Zach as well as he knows you.”

“Dean,” you interjected in a warning tone. Dean shot you a brief, narrowing glance before turning his attention back to Sam.

“They’re in St. Louis. We’re going,” Sam said, ignoring Dean's comment.

Dean laughed, shaking his head. “I’m sorry about your friend, okay? But this doesn’t sound like our kind of problem.”

“It is our problem. They’re my friends,” Sam retorted, his anger evident.

“St. Louis is four hundred miles behind us,” Dean said, exasperated.

Despite Dean’s reluctance, you found yourself on the road fifteen minutes later, heading towards St. Louis.

You arrived in St. Louis a few hours later, the Impala’s tires rumbling over the pavement as you pulled up in front of Becky’s house. You stood outside, taking in the well-maintained large, elegant home. Sam knocked on the door, and within seconds, it swung open to reveal a petite blonde woman with a bright, welcoming smile.

“Oh my god, Sam!” Becky exclaimed, her eyes lighting up with recognition.

“Well, if it isn’t little Becky,” Sam replied with a chuckle, a genuine smile spreading across his face. Becky’s smile widened, and she shook her head playfully as she leaned against the doorframe.

“You know you can drop the ‘little Becky’ crap now,” she said, laughing as she pulled Sam into a warm hug. As she stepped back, her gaze shifted to you and Dean.

“I got your email,” Sam said, his tone growing more serious.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” Becky admitted, her smile faltering slightly.

“Dean, older brother,” Dean introduced himself, stepping forward and offering a firm handshake. You noted his reluctance, a hint of annoyance in his posture.

“Hi,” Becky replied, smiling as she shook Dean’s hand. Her attention then turned to you. You stepped forward, extending your hand.

“Jane, family friend,” you said, offering a warm smile as you shook Becky’s hand.

“Nice to meet you,” Becky responded, her smile returning.

“We’re here to help, whatever we can do,” Sam assured her, his hands tucked into his pockets. Becky nodded, her expression somber.

“Come on in,” she said, stepping aside to let you all enter. She led the way into the house, Sam following closely behind. Dean hesitated for a moment, and you noticed his reluctance. You placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“This means a lot to Sam. It’ll be fine,” you said with a comforting smile. Dean sighed but followed you inside, catching up with Sam and Becky as they made their way through the house.

“Nice place,” Dean remarked, looking around at the interior.

“It’s my parents’,” Becky explained, glancing back at the three of you. “I was staying here for the long weekend when everything happened. I’ve decided to take a semester off and stay here until Zach is free.”

“Where are your folks?” Sam asked .

“They live in Paris for half the year,” Becky replied, her gaze meeting Sam’s. “They’re on their way back now for the trial.” She led you into the kitchen, where she moved behind the marble countertops and looked at you expectantly.

“Do you guys want a beer or something?” Becky offered.

“Hey!” Dean exclaimed, his face lighting up at the mention of beer.

“No thanks,” Sam said, glancing back at Dean with a disapproving look.

“So, uh, tell us what happened?” Sam asked, leaning on the counter as he turned his full attention to Becky. Becky took a deep breath, before continuing.

“Well, um, Zach came home and found Emily tied to a chair,” Becky began, her voice trembling as she looked between the three of you. “She was beaten up and bloody, and she wasn’t breathing.” Her voice cracked as she struggled to maintain her composure. “He called 911 immediately, and the police showed up and arrested him.” Tears welled up in her eyes, and she glanced down before meeting your gaze again. “But the thing is, the only way Zach could’ve killed Emily is if he was in two places at once. The police have a security video from across the street that shows Zach coming home at 10:30. Emily was killed shortly after that, but I swear Zach was with me here, having a few beers until at least after midnight.”

“You know, maybe we could take a look at the crime scene?” Sam suggested, his gaze focused on Becky.

“We could?” Dean interjected, glancing at Sam with a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

Becky looked back at Sam, her eyes red and filled with confusion. “Why? What could you possibly do?”

“Well, I might not be able to do much, but Dean and Jane are detectives,” Sam explained. You shot him a look of disbelief, but then offered a reassuring smile and nodded.

“Detectives, actually,” Dean corrected, a hint of pride in his voice. You winced inwardly.

“Really? Where?” Becky asked, intrigued.

“Brisbee, Arizona,” you replied quickly. “But we’re off duty right now.”

“And you two are partners?” Becky asked, her gaze shifting between you and Dean.

You nodded, smiling. “We are indeed.”

Becky seemed to weigh her options, glancing down in thought. “It’s really kind of you to offer, but I don’t know…”

“Becky, look, I know Zach didn’t do this,” Sam said earnestly, leaning closer to her. “We need to find a way to prove his innocence.”

“Okay,” Becky sighed, looking between the three of you. “I’m going to get the keys.” She turned and walked toward the entrance, leaving you with Dean and Sam.

Dean walked over to Sam, whistling softly. “Oh yeah, Sam, you’re a real straight shooter with your friends.”

Sam stood up and met Dean’s gaze, his expression unchanging. “Look, Zach and Becky need our help.”

“I just don’t think this is our kind of problem,” Dean said, shaking his head.

You joined the conversation, standing next to Sam. “Two places at once, Dean? We’ve looked into weirder cases than this for less.”

Dean sighed, then nodded reluctantly. “Fine, let’s see what we can find out.”

You arrived at the house about ten minutes later. The white brick building stood, highlighted by the yellow caution tape wrapped around it. Curious civilians on the sidewalk cast glances toward the scene.

You walked inside, with Dean leading the way. Sam and you followed, entering the kitchen. Blood was smeared across most surfaces: the wooden floors, the chairs, and even the kitchen island, which was cluttered with newspapers and bruised fruit, now stained with more blood.

“Beck, do you want to wait outside?” Sam suggested, glancing back at Becky, who had paused at the entrance. She stood there, her arms wrapped around herself and fear evident in her eyes. She hesitated for a moment before shaking her head resolutely.

“No, I want to help,” she said, ducking under the tape and walking toward you all.

Dean moved forward to examine a photograph on the counter. It depicted a smiling couple: a man with dark hair, a small beard, and warm eyes, and a blonde woman with bright, cheerful eyes. They were wrapped in each other’s arms.

“What else did the police say?” you asked, trying to get more information.

“Well…” Becky cleared her throat, her voice quivering. “There was no sign of a break-in. They think Emily let her attacker in. The lawyers are already talking about a plea bargain.” Her gaze swept the room, taking in the blood-splattered walls, and she let out a sob.

“Look, Beck,” Sam said, his tone gentle but firm, “if Zach didn’t do this, then someone else did.”

Becky nodded, her eyes filled with tears. “Any idea who?” Sam pressed.

She shook her head, her gaze fixed on the floor. “Um, there was something. About a week before the murder, someone broke in here and stole Zach’s clothes. The police dismissed it, said it was probably just a random robbery. We’re not far from downtown; sometimes people get robbed.”

At that moment, growling and barking pierced the silence. Dean walked over to the window, pulling aside the curtain to see a pit bull chained up next door, barking furiously. Becky joined you and Dean at the window.

“You know that used to be the sweetest dog,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief.

“What happened?” Dean asked, narrowing his eyes.

“He just changed,” Becky replied with a sigh.

“Do you remember when he changed?” Dean asked, glancing between Becky and the dog.

“I guess around the time of the murder,” Becky said, shrugging.

Dean sighed, turning to walk past the counter as Becky exited the room.

“So the neighbor’s dog went psycho right around the time Zach’s girlfriend was killed,” Dean observed, glancing between you and Sam.

“Animals can sometimes sense the supernatural,” you said, blowing a strand of hair out of your face.

“Maybe Fido saw something,” Dean replied, peering at the window with a hint of skepticism.

“So, do you think this might be our kind of problem?” Sam asked, turning to Dean.

“No, probably not,” Dean said, shaking his head, though there was a trace of concession in his tone. “But we should definitely check out the security tape to be sure.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, nodding with a slight smile.

“Yeah,” Dean echoed, nodding more firmly. You glanced over to see Becky approaching with a determined expression.

“So, that tape—the security footage-do you think maybe your lawyers could get their hands on it?” Dean asked. “We don’t have that kind of jurisdiction.”

“I’ve already got it,” Becky said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I didn’t want to mention it in front of the cops.” She looked a bit shy as she added, “I stole it from the lawyer’s desk. I just had to see it for myself.”

“Alright,” you said, giving her a reassuring smile as you pursed your lips. Dean gestured toward the exit, and Becky turned, with you following closely behind her.

You returned to Becky’s house just as dusk began to settle.

“Hey Beck, can we grab those beers now?” Sam called from across the room. You glanced over at him, noting his fatigue. He looked worn out—his nights still plagued by nightmares. You were equally sleep-deprived, though you tried to push past it. Sam’s request struck you as odd; he wasn’t usually one to drink on the job.

“Oh, sure,” Becky replied, standing up with a nod.

“Oh, and Becky?” Sam added as she reached the doorframe. She turned back to him. “Maybe some sandwiches too?”

“What do you think this is, Hooters?” Becky replied with a playful smile before walking out of the room.

“I wish,” Dean muttered, sighing as he relaxed on the couch arm.

“What’s up?” you asked, turning to Sam with curiosity.

“Check this out,” he said, eyes fixed on the TV, which was currently displaying the security footage. You and Dean walked over, standing next to him as Sam fiddled with the remote. The video frame moved backward slightly and paused, focusing on Zach as he walked past. At that moment, his eyes flashed white.

“Maybe it’s just a camera flare?” Dean suggested, looking from the screen to Sam and then to you.

“Not like any camera flare I’ve ever seen,” you said, sighing and shaking your head. Dean squinted at the screen, clearly intrigued. The white flash wasn’t a typical camera glitch.

“A lot of cultures believe that a photograph can capture a glimpse of the soul,” Sam said, glancing between the two of you.

“Right,” Dean agreed, nodding.

“Remember that dog that was freaking out?” Sam asked, looking at both of you. “Maybe it saw this thing. Maybe this is some kind of dark double of Zach,” he said, gesturing toward the TV. “Something that looks like him but isn’t.”

“Like a doppelganger,” Dean suggested, glancing at Sam with a mix of interest and concern.

“That would explain how he was in two places at once,” you said, stepping back from the TV, your mind racing with the implications.

“Fucking hell, just great,” Dean muttered.

#supernatural fanfiction #spn fic #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #sam winchester x reader #spn angst #supernatural #sam winchester fanfiction #spn season 1 #spn fanfic #spn

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selene-writes · 4 months ago

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Hellfire series- Jane Singer (OC)

No chapter today but there will be tomorrow! Anyway... what do you think of Jane? Imagine her however you want to, but she does have known parents in the spn universe! (no spoilers)

Anyway... based on that this is how I imagine Jane to look like

Anyway, this is how I imagine her as created on Artbreeder.

#supernatural fanfiction #spn fic #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #sam winchester x reader #spn angst #supernatural #sam winchester fanfiction #spn season 1 #spn reader insert

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selene-writes · 4 months ago

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Hellfire- Bloody Mary part 2

Hey so sorry it took so long. I will be back to writing! Also, how would you feel about me writing fanfics for the boys?

Warnings for this chapter include canon level violence and cursing as well as some light steaminess. This is an 18+ fanfic

WC: 4734

Sam quickly pieced together that Gary Bryman, an eight-year-old boy killed in a hit-and-run, had been struck by a black Toyota Camry—the same model Jill drove. Returning to Donna's house, you examined a mirror that bore the name "Linda Shoemaker," the wife of Mr. Shoemaker.

"Why are you asking me this?" Donna's voice quivered as you questioned her about her mother's death.

"It's important," Sam replied gently, his eyes fixed on Donna. The atmosphere was tense in the Shoemaker family's living room, where Donna anxiously glanced between the three of you.

"Yeah, Linda was my mom," Donna finally admitted, her voice strained. "She overdosed on sleeping pills. It was an accident, and that's all."

"I think you should leave," Donna said firmly, her emotions raw as she stormed upstairs, leaving you in an uncomfortable silence.

"Well, that went smoothly," you remarked dryly, breaking the tension.

"Do you really think her dad could have killed her mom?" Charlie asked, turning to Sam and Dean with wide eyes. You exchanged a serious glance with your companions.

"It's possible," Sam nodded gravely, his expression troubled.

"Whatever you do, Charlie," you cautioned, looking directly at her.

"I won't say a word," Charlie interrupted firmly, shaking her head in understanding.

The room hung heavy with unanswered questions

You returned to the dimly lit motel room.

"If she's haunting the town, she should have died in the town," Sam mused, sinking into a chair beside Dean and you.

"There's nothing local, unless you’ve got a better idea—" Dean scratched his head, eyes fixed on the laptop screen.

"It seems like there's a pattern," you interjected, leaning forward.

"I was thinking the same thing," Dean agreed, nodding thoughtfully.

"Between Jill's hit-and-run and Mr. Shoemaker killing his wife—" Sam's voice trailed off as he glanced between Dean and you, his eyes widening.

"Both had secrets involving someone's death," you added, nodding in agreement.

"Right, there's a lot of folklore about mirrors," Sam continued, looking across the table at you and then Dean. "They reveal lies, secrets, they’re supposed to be a true reflection of your soul. That's why it’s bad luck to break them."

"Maybe if you have a deep, dark secret where someone died, Mary sees it and punishes you for it," Dean suggested, nodding along with Sam and you.

"Whether you summoned her or not," you added, chewing your lip in contemplation.

"Take a look at this," Dean said, gesturing towards the laptop screen. He printed out several pictures and handed them to Sam. You leaned in next to Sam, examining the images. They depicted a woman in a white dress standing near a mirror, with bloody handprints smeared across it and the word "Tre" scrawled in blood.

"Looks like the same handprint," Sam remarked, studying the pictures in his hands.

"Her name was Mary Worthington," Dean read aloud from the computer screen. "An unsolved murder in Fort Wayne, Indiana."

You decided to leave first thing in the morning to go and talk to the officer in charge of Mary's case. Sitting alone in your dimly lit motel room, a sinking feeling crept in as you realized you had left your journal in the boys' room. Like John Winchester and your adoptive father, you meticulously chronicled the monsters you encountered on your hunts.

With a determined breath, you approached their door and knocked. Initially, there was silence, but then Sam opened the door, shirtless and clad in only sweatpants.

"Oh," you muttered, slightly taken aback. "Sorry, is this a bad time?"

Sam hesitated for a moment, then relented. "No, it's fine. Come in. Deans in the shower," he said, stepping aside to let you into the room. The air felt thick with unspoken tension as you passed by him, noting your journal lying on the table.

Walking over to retrieve it, you stole a glance back at Sam, who was hurriedly throwing on a t-shirt. His face contorted with a mixture of discomfort and guarded emotion.

"Sam—" you began cautiously, uncertain how to break the silence.

"Jane, I really am not in the mood for any pep talks," he interrupted tersely, his frustration evident.

You bristled slightly, crossing your arms defensively. "Fine by me. I just wanted to say... I'm here for you. You don’t need to go through this alone," you asserted, meeting his eyes squarely.

There was a tense silence as Sam regarded you, his expression unreadable. Without warning, he pulled you into a tight embrace, catching you off guard with the intensity of his need for comfort.

"Thank you," he murmured against your ear, his voice thick. You held him in return, feeling the weight of him pressing against you.

The intimate moment was abruptly shattered by the sound of the bathroom door opening. Dean emerged, clad only in a towel wrapped around his waist. You and Sam quickly disengaged, awkwardness settling between you like a heavy blanket.

You held up your journal in a feeble attempt to diffuse the tension, mumbling a quick excuse before retreating to your room. Alone in the darkness, you replayed the encounter in your mind, the unresolved tension between you and Sam lingering heavily on your thoughts as sleep eventually claimed you.

"I was on the job for 35 years," the detective said, his voice carrying the weight of decades spent unraveling mysteries. You had driven to Indiana to meet with him, a seasoned investigator on Mary Worthington's unsolved murder case. The detective, around seventy years old, continued, "Detective for most of that. Now everyone packs it in with a few loose ends." He looked down solemnly. "But the Mary Worthington murder, that one still gets me." His gaze lifted, meeting yours.

"What exactly happened?" you asked, your eyes fixed on the weathered face of the seasoned detective.

"You said you all are reporters?" He narrowed his eyes, glancing at Dean and Sam standing behind you.

"We know Mary was 19, lived alone, won beauty contests, dreamed of leaving Indiana to become an actress," Sam stated, meeting the detective's gaze. "And we know on the night of March 29th, someone broke into her apartment and brutally murdered her, gouging out her eyes with a knife."

"That's right," the detective affirmed with a slow nod.

"Sir, when we ask you what happened, we want to know what you think happened," Dean's voice added from behind, his tone direct yet respectful. You kept your focus on the detective, waiting for his response.

He sighed heavily, then gestured for you to follow him to his office. He retrieved a worn folder from a cabinet, placing it on his cluttered desk. "Technically, I’m not supposed to have this," he confessed, flipping through the papers until he found a photo and pointed. "See that? T-R-E? Mary was trying to spell out the name of her killer."

"Yeah?" you replied, studying the photo closely.

"There was a local man, Trevor Sampson," the detective continued, pulling out a faded photograph. "He was a character around here. Always had a smile for the ladies." The image showed Sampson in sunglasses and a suit, raising a glass in a toast.

"You think he did it?" Sam inquired, his brows furrowing with concern.

"I can't say for sure," the detective admitted, shaking his head. "But Mary's diary hinted at an affair with someone she referred to by the initial 'T.' Her last entry suggested she planned to reveal it to 'T's' wife."

"Why do you suspect Sampson?" you pressed, searching the detective's face for clues.

"The way her eyes were mutilated... it was almost clinical," the detective explained, his expression pained. "But without prints or witnesses, we couldn't nail him."

"Is he still alive?" you asked, leaning forward with anticipation.

"No, he passed away some years back," the detective replied, sinking into his chair wearily. "Mary's last moments, it seems she was trying to expose his secret."

"Where is she buried?" Sam questioned softly; sympathy evident in his voice.

"She wasn't buried," the detective admitted gravely. "She was cremated." The news hung heavy in the air, complicating your investigation.

"What about that mirror?" Dean interjected, pointing at a photo of the crime scene. "Has it led to anything?"

"It was returned to Mary's family long ago," the detective confirmed, leaning back in his chair.

"Do you have her family's contact information?" you asked, hoping for more leads.

The detective shook his head regretfully. "I'm afraid I lost touch with them over the years."

"Thank you, Detective," Sam said appreciatively.

You were driving down the highway in the Impala, the rumble of the engine filling the car as Dean focused on the road ahead. Sam sat in the front passenger seat, his expression tense as he listened intently to the voice on the phone.

"Alright, thanks," Sam said, flipping his phone shut with a frustrated sigh.

"So?" Dean prompted, casting a quick glance at you in the rearview mirror. You met his gaze, waiting for Sam to share the latest update.

"That was Mary's brother," Sam began, his voice grave. "The mirror had been in the family for years until he sold it a week ago to a store called Estate Antiques in Toledo."

"So, wherever the mirror goes, Mary goes?" You interjected, looking up at Dean.

"Her spirits definitely tied to it somehow," Sam confirmed with a nod.

"Isn’t there an old superstition that mirrors can capture spirits?" Dean mused, glancing over at Sam.

"Yeah, there is," Sam replied thoughtfully. "When someone died in a house, people used to cover up the mirrors so the ghost wouldn’t get trapped."

"Mary dies, it draws in her spirit," You added, nodding in agreement.

"Yeah, but how could she move through hundreds of different mirrors?" Sam questioned, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"If the mirror is the source, I say we find it and smash it," Dean declared firmly, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

As you continued your discussion, your phone suddenly rang, interrupting your conversation. You fished it out of your jacket pocket and flipped it open, hesitantly answering, "Hello?"

On the other end, you were met with a panicked voice. It was Charlie, sobbing uncontrollably.

You drove to Charlie's house as quickly as possible and brought her back to the motel. Once there, you and the brothers sprang into action, covering all the mirrors and reflective surfaces with towels and sheets. Charlie sat on the edge of the bed, her knees pulled up to her chest and her head buried in her arms, shoulders shaking with sobs.

"Hey, it's okay," you said softly, sitting down beside Charlie and gently placing a hand on her back. "You can open your eyes."

Sam joined you on the other side of Charlie, his voice gentle and reassuring. "You're going to stay right here on this bed. Don't look at any glass or anything else that has a reflection, okay? As long as you do that, she can't get to you."

"But I can't do that forever," Charlie replied in a shaky voice, lifting her tear-streaked face slightly. "I'm going to die, aren't I?" Her voice broke into another sob.

"No, not anytime soon," you reassured her, shaking your head and continuing to rub small circles on her back. Dean sat down near you; his expression serious as he focused on Charlie.

"Alright, Charlie, we need to know what happened," Dean urged gently, his eyes fixed on the distraught girl.

"We were in the bathroom," Charlie began, rocking back and forth slightly as she stared down at the bed. “Donna said it.”

"That's not what we're talking about," Dean interrupted gently but firmly. Charlie looked up at him, tears falling freely down her face.

"Something happened, didn't it? A secret where someone got hurt," Dean probed, his voice soft but insistent. Charlie remained silent, and you exchanged glances with Sam and Dean before turning back to her.

"Can you tell us about it?" you asked, tilting your head slightly so Charlie could see your face. Her lip trembled as she struggled to find the words.

"I had this boyfriend. I loved him, but he scared me too, you know?" Charlie's voice was barely above a whisper as she recounted the painful memory. "One night at his house, we got into a fight. I broke up with him, and he got upset. He said he needed me, that he loved me." Her voice broke, and tears streamed down her cheeks. "He said, 'Charlie, if you walk out that door right now, I'm going to kill myself.' And you know what I said?" She looked at each of you in turn, her gaze pleading for understanding. "I said, 'Go right ahead.' And I left."

A heavy silence hung in the room as Charlie's confession sank in. None of you knew quite what to say, the weight of her words filling the air. You continued rubbing circles on her back.

"How could I say that?" Charlie choked out, her body trembling with emotion. "How could I leave him? I just... I didn't believe him."

"Her boyfriend killing himself, it isn’t really her fault," you spoke up from the backseat, breaking the heavy silence in the Impala.

"Spirits don’t exactly see shades of gray, Jane," Sam replied quietly, his gaze fixed on the rain-slicked road ahead. The windshield wipers beat back and forth rhythmically, matching the cadence of his thoughts.

You were en-route to the store where the cursed mirror was located, intent on destroying it once and for all. The rain poured relentlessly outside, adding to the grim atmosphere.

"Charlie had a secret, someone died. That's good enough for Mary," Sam continued, glancing back at you through the rearview mirror. You nodded in agreement, understanding the gravity of the situation.

A tense silence fell over the car for a moment before Sam spoke again, his voice laced with concern and determination. "You know, I've been thinking... It might not be enough to just smash that mirror."

"Why? What do you mean?" Dean asked, turning to his younger brother with a furrowed brow.

"Mary’s hard to pin down, right? She moves from mirror to mirror. Who’s to say she won’t just keep hiding in them forever?" Sam reasoned, his eyes darting between Dean and you. "I think we should try to pin her down, summon her to the mirror, and then smash it."

"Who’s going to summon her?" Dean questioned, his grip tightening on the steering wheel as he kept his focus on the road.

"I will," you declared firmly, clenching your jaw with determination.

"No, I will. She’ll come after me," Sam countered, his voice equally resolute. Dean’s knuckles turned white from the force of his grip on the wheel.

"Okay, you know what, that’s it," Dean abruptly announced, swerving the Impala to the side of the road and bringing it to a stop. Sam fell silent as the car idled, tension thickening in the confined space.

"This is about Jessica, isn’t it?" Dean finally asked, turning fully to face Sam.

"Sam, what happened wasn’t your fault," you interjected softly, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Why don’t you take your own advice?" Dean shot back, turning to look at you sharply. You met his gaze, your jaw clenched in frustration.

"You think that’s your dirty little secret, that you killed her somehow," Dean continued, his tone somber yet insistent. Sam's expression remained stoic, though his eyes betrayed the turmoil within.

"This has got to stop, Sam. The nightmares," Dean paused, glancing at you meaningfully, "and calling out her name in the middle of the night—it's going to kill you," he added, his voice tinged with concern. He looked at you through the rearview mirror. "Both of you."

You looked away, unable to meet Dean's intense stare.

"If you want to blame something, blame the thing that killed her. Or hell, why don’t you take a swing at me? I’m the one that dragged you away from her," Dean said bitterly, shaking his head.

Sam met his brother’s gaze evenly. "I don’t blame you, either of you," he responded quietly. You glanced at Sam in the mirror, seeing the sadness etched in his eyes, and felt a pang of disbelief.

"You shouldn’t blame yourself, Sam. There’s nothing you could’ve done," Dean insisted, gesturing toward his brother with a mix of frustration and compassion.

"I could’ve warned her!" Sam suddenly burst out, his voice cracking with emotion.

"About what? You didn’t know it was going to happen. Besides, this isn’t a secret. We know all about it," Dean pointed out, gesturing toward you. "It’s not going to work with Mary anyway."

"You guys don’t," Sam countered, his gaze fixed ahead, avoiding your eyes in the mirror.

"We don’t what?" you asked, speaking up, your confusion evident as you looked at Sam through the mirror. He met your gaze for a fleeting moment, then turned toward Dean.

"What are you talking about?" Dean demanded, his brows furrowing in confusion and concern.

"Well, if I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret," Sam replied evasively, shaking his head. Dean leaned back in surprise, turning to glance at you in the mirror. Your heart sank as the weight of Sam’s words settled in.

"No, I don’t like it. It’s not going to happen," Dean stated firmly, pointing a finger at Sam.

"That girl back there is going to die unless we do something about it. Who knows how many people are going to die after that? We’re doing this," Sam asserted, his voice unwavering with resolve. Dean turned to his brother, narrowing his eyes with a mix of frustration and concern.

"You’ve got to let me do this," Sam insisted, his gaze shifting from Dean to you.

"Jesus, Sam!" you exclaimed, your voice rising with frustration. "Enough is enough. You don’t have to do this. I’m sure the three of us all have secrets where someone died, so stop with the self-degradation!"

Sam and Dean both looked at you in stunned silence at your outburst.

After a tense car ride, you finally arrived at the antique store. Sam skillfully picked the lock, and as you entered, a chill ran down your spine. The interior was dimly lit, filled with an unsettling number of mirrors reflecting the faint light.

"Great," you muttered under your breath, your annoyance palpable. Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out the photo of the mirror they were seeking. Sam directed his flashlight onto the photo, and you leaned in close beside Dean to get a better look. The photo depicted a large, ornate gold mirror with swirling edges.

"Start looking," Dean instructed with a sigh, and Sam took the lead, guiding you and Dean deeper into the store. As you scanned the surroundings, you couldn't help but voice your concern.

"Maybe they already sold it?" you called out to Sam, who was a few steps ahead.

"I don't think so," Sam replied, his voice echoing slightly in the eerie silence. You glanced at Dean, who nodded in agreement. Sam's flashlight suddenly illuminated something on the ground, catching your attention.

You and Dean hurried over to where Sam was standing. There, before you, was the mirror from the photograph. Dean held up the picture for comparison.

"That's it," you confirmed, peering down at the photo and then back at the mirror.

"Are you sure about this?" Dean asked cautiously, turning to look at Sam, who handed him the flashlight in response. The three of you approached the mirror cautiously until you were standing directly in front of it.

"Bloody Mary," Sam murmured, staring into the mirror's reflection. He repeated the name twice more before turning to face you and Dean.

"Bloody Mary," he finished, a sense of solemnity in his voice. You exhaled deeply, nervously scanning the room for any signs of change. Suddenly, the creak of the door opening behind you made you jump, and lights spilled into the store from outside.

"Fuck," you muttered under your breath, praying it wasn't the police arriving.

"We'll go check that out. Stay here and be careful," Dean instructed firmly, gently pulling your arm towards the entrance.

SAMS POV

Sam stood before the mirror, a crowbar gripped tightly in his hand, poised to strike. A noise from behind startled him, and he spun around, scanning the room filled with mirrors that reflected his tense expression back at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her—a haunting figure in a blood-stained white dress, her face obscured by a curtain of black hair. Without hesitation, he swung the crowbar, shattering the mirror into a shower of fragments that scattered across the floor.

When he turned back, she appeared again in another mirror, relentless in her silent presence. Sam continued his frenzied assault on each mirror that trapped her reflection, driven by fear and desperation, until only one mirror remained unbroken—the one reflecting her. "Come on, step into this one," he muttered urgently, his heart racing as he stared at his own reflection, searching for any sign of Mary.

Suddenly, his reflection smiled—an eerie, unsettling grin that sent a shiver down his spine. Blood began to trickle from its eyes, and Sam recoiled in horror. A searing pain surged near his eyes, and he let out a groan, dropping the crowbar which clattered loudly to the ground. The pain spread to his chest like a vice squeezing his heart, agonizing and intense.

"You killed her," the reflection said with contempt. "You killed Jessica. You never told her the truth, who you really were."

Sam collapsed to the ground, overwhelmed by the weight of his reflection's accusation. His chest tightened with agony, each breath a struggle against the inevitable.

“But it's more than that isn’t it?” His reflection asked, sneering at him. He could taste the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. “Those dreams you’ve been having about Jessica dying, screaming, burning, you had them for days before she died. You were so desperate to ignore them, to believe that they were just dreams, how could you ignore them like that? How could you leave her to die?!”

White hot, searing pain engulfed Sam's entire body as he lay on the ground. The agony was overwhelming, threatening to consume him entirely. Suddenly, the mirror shattered into a thousand pieces. Through the haze of pain, Sam glimpsed Jane and Dean rushing towards him. Dean held a crowbar tightly in his hand, evidence of their struggle.

"Sammy!" Dean exclaimed, kneeling beside him. Jane reached him moments later, her hands gently gripping his shoulders as she checked him over for injuries.

"Are you okay?" Jane asked softly, concern evident in her voice as she tried to wipe the blood from his face with a trembling hand.

"Yeah," Sam managed hoarsely, his voice strained. He felt drained, every movement an effort.

"Come on, come on!" Dean urged, pulling Sam up with effort. Sam felt dizzy, his legs unsteady beneath him. Dean wrapped an arm around his shoulder for support, while Jane mirrored the gesture on the other side.

Dean and you struggled to drag Sam forward. Dean had initially tried to bluff his way out of the situation by pretending he was the owner’s son, and you were his wife. But when that ruse failed, Dean resorted to a more desperate measure—punching the cops. Fortunately, there were only two officers, but even so, you were keen to put as much distance between yourselves and them as possible.

You grunted with effort, straining under Sam’s weight as you moved forward. Then, you heard a faint, unsettling sound—a soft, glassy clinking coming from behind you. Your heart raced as you turned around.

There, emerging from the mirror, was Mary. She moved toward you on all fours, her movements eerily reminiscent of the girl from The Ring. As she stood upright, an intense, searing pain shot through your entire body, leaving you gasping.

Her voice, a chilling whisper, cut through the agony. “You’re a freak. Deep down, you know something’s wrong with you. The dreams… everyone you couldn’t save… don’t you think there’s a reason?”

Her words echoed in your mind as you struggled, the pain threatening to overwhelm you.

Hot liquid streamed down your face as her voice echoed in your mind. You collapsed to the floor alongside Sam

You looked over and saw the boys, blood streaming from their eyes. To your right, a mirror caught your attention. Summoning every last ounce of strength, you staggered toward it, grabbing it with trembling hands. You held it up, positioning it so that Mary would be forced to see her own reflection.

Fresh blood flowed from her empty eye sockets as she dissolved in front of you, her form disintegrating into broken mirror shards.

You threw the mirror aside, the sound of its shattering echoing in the room. The intense pain that had gripped you was now gone. With a groan, you pushed yourself into a sitting position and turned to check on the boys. They looked as worn and battered as you felt, their faces reflecting your own exhaustion.

You scanned the room for any sign of her, but there was nothing—she was gone.

“Sam? Jane?” Dean’s voice was rough, filled with concern, from where he sat beside you.

“Yeah?” Sam and you responded in unison.

“That’s got to be like, what, 600 years of bad luck?”

“So this is really over?” Charlie asked from the back seat of the car, her voice tinged with a mix of hope and uncertainty. You were pulling up to her house, ready to drop her off.

“Yeah, it’s over,” Dean confirmed, giving a reassuring nod. Charlie’s face lit up with a relieved smile as she opened the car door and started to step out.

Just as she was about to walk away, Sam called out, “Hey, Charlie?”

She stopped and turned back, curiosity in her eyes. “Yeah?” she asked.

“About your boyfriend’s death,” he began gently, “you should really try to forgive yourself. No matter what you think you could have done, you probably couldn’t have stopped it. Sometimes, bad things just happen, and it’s not always within our control.” He let out a heavy sigh, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

Dean and you exchanged glances through the rearview mirror. Dean’s eyes met yours momentarily before he shifted his focus back to the road. You lowered your gaze, feeling the weight of the conversation settle between you.

Charlie gave a slow nod. Without another word, she turned and walked back into her house, the door closing softly behind her.

“Good advice,” Dean commented, his eyes lingering on his younger brother with a hint of approval.

Sam offered a bittersweet smile, his own grief evident. The car fell into a silence, each of you lost in thought.

“Hey, guys?” Dean’s voice broke the silence as you left town.

“Yeah?” you responded, glancing at him briefly. Sam, who had been absorbed in his book, looked up, curiosity etched on his face.

“Now that this is all over,” Dean began, “I want you to tell me what your secrets are.”

You turned your gaze to the window, struggling with how to respond. How could you explain something when you barely understood it yourself? Your nights were filled with unsettling dreams, and during the day, you often saw things that weren’t there. Lately, you had even caught glimpses of your own glowing red. It was overwhelming and confusing.

Before you could find the words, Sam spoke up, his voice steady. “Look, Dean, you’re my brother, and Jane, you’re my best friend. But there are some things I need to keep to myself.”

Sam’s gaze was intense as he spoke, and his words made your stomach churn with a mix of anxiety and guilt.

You nodded slowly, understanding but feeling slightly hurt. Dean’s eyes remained fixed on the road, his expression unreadable.

“You’ll know eventually,” you said softly, hoping your words would offer some reassurance. Dean turned his head slightly, giving a small, resigned nod in response.

As you looked out at the road ahead, the steady hum of the Impala’s engine filled the silence. You noticed Sam’s reflection in the window, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The sight made your heart ache, but you chose to keep your focus on the horizon, letting the music from the Impala’s stereo drown out your thoughts.

In God we Trust

Salt turns to rust

Ashes from Eden

and bone into dust

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