#and another character came off as pleasant and heroic but was a deeply fucked up weirdo who knows exactly how to kill every sentient race

[ghostinthegallery]

Meeting Kabru: ooh, he seems interesting. Can't wait to learn more

Learning more: I wanna put you in a jar and shake it you perfect, beautiful, fucked up little man

[holylulusworld]

The girl on the bridge (1) - The bridge

Title: The Bridge

Square Filled: Firefighter AU

Ship: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Summary: You lost your child and life becomes too heavy to keep ongoing. That’s when you meet your guardian angel.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: angst, language, attempted suicide, suicidal thoughts, loss of a child, loss of a loved one, mentions of characters death, heroic Dean, jumping off a bridge, a hint of fluff

Written/Created for @spnaubingo​​​

2020 SPN AU BINGO Masterlist

The girl on the bridge masterlist

Please head the trigger warnings for this story! Take care of yourself. I mention suicide and other triggers.

Written in Dean’s Pov

I don’t know why I come back to the bridge every day. Maybe because it’s the last place I passed by before I lost my faith and courage in the fire. The fire killing so much more than my will to live.

I park my car at the end of the bridge, hide it in the darkness for no one to find. Maybe tonight is the night. Maybe I will take the final step and just jump.

I release a shuddery breath, press the picture of my family to my heart, shaking the thought away. Dad would be disappointed hearing I want to end my life. He sacrificed himself to save me and now I am only one more drink away from jumping into death.

I slowly walk toward the bridge, inhale the cold air deeply to fill my lungs with much more than air. I need hope, a glimpse of it to keep ongoing.

No one understands I can’t move on. Not with two deaths weighing heavy on my heart. My whole world spins around that one day. The day I did something stupid and lost my father to the fire.

When I reach the middle of the bridge I see a woman, she looks at the water, mumbling to herself. I don’t want to spy on her or disturb whatever she’s doing here on that bridge, in the middle of the night. 

I want to turn around and leave her alone but my instinct, the part of me which didn’t die in the fire, tells me to step closer. For fuck’s sake, I’m still a firefighter. Damaged goods or not.

“A pleasant night, isn’t it?” I don’t know why I talk to her but when you got a hunch, you need to do something about it. “What do you do out here?” 

“I-I could ask you the same,” the woman sniffs, angrily wiping her eyes. Her lips quiver and her hands, god her hands press a plushie to her heart. I got the feeling it’s not her toy and step closer, curiosity getting the best out of me.

I stand next to her, eyes drifting toward the worn-out plushie in her hands.

“I came here—” I bite my tongue, slowly taking another step closer to the woman on the bridge. No, not a woman. She looks like a broken girl in the dim light the moon provides. I know she must be elder, maybe even my age but the way she glances at me tells me she feels like a scolded child, caught in the act.

“It’s her birthday,” she finally says, lifting the plushie in her hand before she looks at the water running under the bridge again. “And the day she died.”

I don’t know what to say. Fuck, what do you say when a stranger tells you about his dead child? “Is this place special to you?” I ask. 

People don’t want you to tell them you are sorry for their loss or to act like they are broken. They want you to talk to them and listen to their stories.

“It was the last time we were happy,” she replies, glancing at me. I grip the railing of the bridge with one hand to prepare myself to stop the girl from jumping. I know that look, I know it too well. I saw it this morning in the mirror. “Last week he moved out, told me he can’t live with the woman killing his child.”

A cold shiver runs down my spine and I swallow thickly when she crouches down to place the plushie right in front of a name carved into the wood. 

“What happened?” I ask again, hoping the girl will give me the chance to save her. God, I need to save someone before I go through with my plan and end my life too.

She gets back up to hold out her hand, and I take it. “If anyone asks you after tonight, my name is Y/N, Y/L/N,” the girl whispers, giving me a sad smile. “Not that anyone would want to know about my faith. Now I got no one left.”

“What was your daughter’s name?” I hold her hand, not wanting to let her go. I can feel my heart beat out of my chest when she looks into the distance, yearning for the water once again.

“Her name was Abigail,” she sniffles, shaking her head. A choked-out sob leaves her lips and my heart breaks for the poor girl. “She wasn’t mine, but to me, it felt like she was my daughter.”

“A friend of mine likes to tell me that family doesn’t end in blood,” I hope she rethinks her decision when I tell her about my life. “I lost someone three months ago too. I failed them.”

She doesn’t seem to recognize I talked to her. Y/N looks at the plushie, crying bitterly. Fuck, I hate to see her cry. It feels like I can’t save anyone since I lost dad and the kid in the fire.

“Arthur, my ex-fiancé and she moved to town for me, and she got killed, by a car. I-I wasn’t looking for a second,” her voice trembles when her eyes finally meet mine again. Tears run freely down her cheeks, and I wonder if I should bring her into my arms.

God, I want to hold her in my arms so badly. Just to take both our pain away…

“Arthur was busy talking to a friend and she ran onto the street,” Y/N continues, and I hold her hand even tighter. “I ran after her, jumping in front of the car, but it was too late, the car hit us both.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Y/N,” she shakes her head, giving me a heartbreaking smile. “I got my father and a kid killed, sweetheart. I know it was not my fault, but it feels like it every fucking day since then. I came here tonight to end my life too.”

“Abigail didn’t stand a chance,” she listened to my words, but still doesn’t give me a chance to talk her out of this. 

“Why don’t we go somewhere else, Y/N?” I sound like a broken record but goddammit, I will not let Y/N die tonight. Not if I can save her.

“When I woke at the hospital weeks later, I got to know my daughter died. Arthur wasn’t there. The police officer told me the driver was drunk and too fast. We never stood a chance. He hit Abigail on the walkway after he ran me over on the street. Witnesses said that I pushed Abby out of the way to save her, but it was no use…”

“I ran inside a burning house without my equipment. I didn’t want to wait; I knew the kid that was still missing. My boss, Bobby ordered me to wait, told me to take five minutes to go inside and save the boy. His name was Ben and he was the son of my ex-girlfriend…”

“Ben,” Y/N finally listens to my words, and I swear the moment she places her hand onto my cheek to soothe me I feel better than I felt in weeks, if not months. “I heard about the fire at the school, but I was busy—”

“I get it,” shit if I can make her follow me by pouring my heart out, I do so. “It was my day off, and I drove past the school when I saw my unit helping the kids. I jumped out of my car, offering my help.”

“You’re a firefighter,” she monotonously says, and I know I lost her once again. “One of them saved that man. The cop said someone pulled the guy out of his burning car after he killed my daughter and hit a lamppost.”

“I heard about the accident from my brother,” fuck, just now I remember that day. It wasn’t me saving that bastard, but Sammy told me about an accident and the poor little girl. 

“What happened to Ben?” Y/N asks, hand squeezing mine tightly. “Oh, I didn’t even ask for your name.”

“I’m Dean Winchester,” I whisper my name, daring not to say it out too loud, afraid whoever cursed me will drag Y/N down with me when they hear my name. “And Ben, he was the kid I lost. I ran into the burning school after getting to know that he’s still inside.”

“That’s awful, Dean,” she says my name, and I feel like I haven’t heard it in ages. “This must be hard.”

“He was dead before I could reach him but—” my voice cracks and I drop my gaze, finally admitting my sins to someone. “due to my stupid mistake my dad ran into the school to save my sorry ass. While Sam and Bobby found me in time to get me out, dad didn’t make it out alive. I lost Ben and my father at the same time.”

“We are two lost souls,” I look her deep in the eyes, ready to bring the girl home when she takes me by surprise. She cups my face, presses a soft kiss to my lips before she meets my gaze one last time. “Never give up Dean. There is still hope for you.”

“I—Y/N,” her hand slips out of mine, and before I can say another word Y/N climbs over the railing of the bridge. She looks at me one last time before she jumps into the cold water. 

“Noooo! Fuck, Y/N,” my body works on its own. Before I can rethink my decision I kick my shoes off, remove my jacket to jump into the water to find Y/N, the girl on the bridge. My last ray of hope…

>> Part 2

SPN Forever Tags

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[lavoie-susie]

You Became His

Yandere Strade (BTD) x Reader       (Character belongs to @gatobob )

Read on Ao3

Summary:  It was his smile that drew you in. Friendly and full of life. Innocent.

-

It was his smile that drew you in. Friendly and full of life. Innocent.

You noticed him from across the lively bar, he was talking to someone. His voice loud, deep chuckles mixed with a faint German accent. You watched as someone came to collect the person the man was speaking to, you assumed he was the boyfriend. He was tall, his muscles rippling through his shirt. The man’s smile dropped as they left.

As he turned back to his drink at the bar, you continued to watch him. He wasn’t doing anything particularly interesting, nursing his drink, speaking to the bartender. But for some reason, you couldn’t take your eyes off his form.

He spun around in his chair, surveying the room. His eyes met yours, widening as he smiled at you. You turned around, biting your lip in embarrassment. Your eyes trained on the table, hiding in the booth you sat in. Your fingers, picking at your fingernails. A nervous habit.

“Hey there!” It was the man, he leaned over the table, his contagious smile on show.

“This seat taken?” he asked, already sliding into the seat.

You shook your head anyway, a shy smile coming to the surface.

“Here, I bought you a drink. You seem nervous… drink up! It’s on me,” the man chuckled.

You took it from him, albeit carefully. You knew it was dangerous to take drinks from strangers… but he just seemed so cheerful and innocent. No one with a smile so genuine could be a bad person.

“Thank you… Oh sorry, I didn’t get your name?

The man stuck out his hand, “Name’s Strade! Yours?”

You took his hand, gripping it weakly, “(Y/N).”

“Nice to meet ya, (Y/N)!” He watched as you shyly avoided eye contact, retreating your arm back into your personal bubble.

“Aw, no need to be shy! It’s just me,” he smiled.

You apologised.

Strade was nice, a little too friendly and touchy, but you didn’t mind his company. But, it was getting late. You didn’t want to be out for too long. His company made you feel warm and wanted, he complimented you, blushing himself when you did the same. He was so inviting, you just about spilled your whole life story to this stranger you met in a dingy bar.

It was… nice. Your face ached from smiling. Your stomach felt light, shoulders relaxed as you laughed at another one of his jokes. But all good things had to end.

“Strade… thank you for a lovely night, but I have to leave now… Gotta hit the hay and all,” you smiled.

Strade nodded, “Nice meeting ya!”

He waved as you made your way outside. You waved back before shouldering the bar door open. Shivering at the cold air, you pulled your coat tighter, rubbing your arms in an attempt to create warmth.

It was dark, the only light coming from the dim streetlights and the moon. It was calm. Serene. The cobblestone pavement was covered in dirt, bottles of all sorts of alcohol tucked into the corners. No people in sight, you could hear muffled sounds coming from a nearby dumpster, but you decided not to check that out. You didn’t need a hungry animal fighting you for food.

You wandered down the street, shoes clicking against the ground, taking in the unpleasant sights with a smile on your face. You had had an enjoyable night with Strade, you almost wish you would be able to see him again.

Arms constricted around your waist and throat, a hand clamping over your mouth as you were pushed into the closest brick-wall of the alleyway. Your screams were muffled, attempts at escaping unsuccessful.

“Are you gonna be good? Or am I gonna have to force you… hm?”

You frowned, shaking your head as you bit hard into the hand forcing in your screams for help. The man swore, his group loosening.

“Scheisse!” Blood rose to the surface of where you had bitten, angry red spilling from his hand.

Sparing no more time to watch him, you took off. Throat dry, legs burning and anxiety filling your gut. The stomping of his heavy steps following close behind you, his angry grumbling. If he caught you, you didn’t want to think about what he would do to you.

The sound of his steps paused, but only momentarily as a heavy weight tackled you to the ground. Hands found your wrists, knees pinning your back down, trapped. A blunt force hit your head, black spots filled your vision.

You startled awake, immediately struggling in your apparent bonds. Your wrists ached, the bonds that bit into your hands felt coarse. Probably rope. The room was dark, you could vaguely make out the blurred shapes of tools. Stairs, there was minimal light coming from the staircase, but enough for you to identify the cool ground as concrete. Memories resurfaced from the night before. Pleasant chatter, laughs, anxiety, pain.

Strade.

You glanced down. Fully clothed… without a jacket but it wasn’t too cold. Even your shoes were still in place. You breathed a sigh of relief. You crinkled your nose, it wasn’t obvious before, not was it even very prominent now, but you smelled something… coppery?

A door slamming and the stomping of boots on stairs preceded your flinch. Heavy-duty boots came into view, you shuffled backwards against the pole you sat against, pulling on the rope. The room was suddenly lit, the sound of a light switch registering after.

“Hey! You’re awake. Finally,” the man smiled. Strade. “How ya feelin’ there? Hungry? Thirsty?”

You shook your head, not trusting whatever he would give you.

He was eerily calm, maybe excited? That contagious smile. It made you nervous.

“Aw… shy? No need to be!”

You shook you head, breathing evenly in an attempt to calm yourself, “Sorry… I- can I ask why I’m here…?”

Strade placed his hands on his hips, he looked sort of heroic. “Ah… You see, we’re going to have a very… intimate experience! I promise you’ll enjoy it, does that ease your nerves?”

You didn’t reply.

You squirmed, nervous energy filling you.

Strade wandered over to his tool shelf, surveying the options with a hum.

“Hmmm… because I like you, I’m gonna give you a choice.” He chose two options.

One, a large hunting knife, the other a sharp hook. Fear coursed your body, fight of flight kicking in as your eyes widened and you swallowed. Dry.

“I… I don’t want either…”

Strade chuckled, his eyes showing his displeasure. “Hey, come on. I’m being nice, giving you a choice. You’d better choose before I decide for you!”

Slowly, you pointed at the knife. It would be better if he killed you with the knife, rather than toy with you with the hook.

But unfortunately for you, you would not be dying today.

His eyes shut, pure glee overtaking his expression. Sharp canines, shiny with saliva. The sharp clang of the hook hitting the hard ground startled you, shaking you to your core.

“Please stop. I’ll do whatever you want. Anything!” you pleaded, tears spilling over your cheeks.

A wolfish grin, eyes sparkling. “Anything? Take off your clothes.”

Slowly, you shook your head. He leaned in, angling the knife near your thighs, threatening you wordlessly. As he leaned in, you butted his head, pushing him over before straddling him. His grip loosened, the large knife dropping to the ground with a clatter.

Your hands tightened around his throat, his own pulling at your wrists. His eyes bulging as his face became red, his legs kicking as you heaved breath after breath, trying to keep your strength in your hands. Red morphed into purple, his hands loosened, his legs stilled. You took your hands off his throat slowly, full of caution. His body lay still, tears filled your eyes, spilling over onto your cheeks. You shuffled away, head in your hands.

It was in self-defence, you argued with yourself. You had killed him, but he wanted to kill you. You couldn’t just let it happen. Pain exploded in your skull, and you saw black.

Waking up the second time was less ceremonious than the last, though this time there was a dull ache pounding in your head.

You recognised your surroundings. The same dirty floor, the large variety of dangerous-looking tools, that copper smell. Now that you looked around more, you noticed the splatters of crimson that stained the concrete floor surrounding you. Blood.

“You’re awake. You know…you’re lucky, don’t you think? Even after you so brutally attacked me, I had to fake passing out, I was always told that I was a good actor, I’ve kept you alive! You’d better be thanking your lucky stars… thanking me!” That predatory stare, trained on your weak form.

His eyes narrowed. “Thank me.”

Quietly, you responded, silently cursing the tremor in your voice, “Thank you, Strade.”

Nodding, he pulled out a large hunting knife. The one from earlier, you recognised. You shook your head, but he ignored you.

He haphazardly cut away your skimpy clothes, nicking your skin, ignoring your gasps of pain. You were left in your underwear, tied up, bleeding and completely at his mercy.

“Mmmmmmmh… So unbroken, so beautiful.” He trailed his fingers over your thighs, “Look at you… shaking for me…”

The sharp knife sliced through the skin of your thigh, pulling a deep groan from the depths of your lungs. He shook too, but his looked as though it was from excitement. Blood spilled over your legs, the wound was deeper than you had realised. He stared intently at you, warmth splotching over his cheeks and throat.

“You… fuck.”

The pain came after your scream, he had raked the knife over your thighs again, shoving his fingers inside the wound and smearing the blood in harsh circles. He leant forward, shoving his face in your hair, breathing in deeply. It hurt, fuck it hurt. Your thighs throbbed, the ache spreading through your legs.

The blade was tossed behind him as he pulled out your legs, your wrists still tied behind your head. You laid on your back, the warm feeling of your own life-force pooling underneath you. His rough hands ripped your underwear from you, uncaring of the ruined fabric. Fingers covered in blood were forced inside you, eliciting a ragged shriek of pain.

They pumped in and out, ignoring your pleads for him to stop, to slow down, to go away. Biting his lip, he began fondling your sensitive privates, rubbing and stroking until you were sobbing and begging him to stop.

“(Y/N), I can’t wait any longer… I need you, I’ve been watching you for so long. Fuck, you’re gonna stay here with me.”

His fingers were pulled roughly pulled from your depths, your whine of relief was shortly lived before he was shoving his cock in, filling you up. His groan filled you with fear, and… want. “Strade, no stop!” you begged.

You gasped as he thrusted in with more force, his hips meeting yours with harsh smacks. His girth filled you up, stretching you and bringing tears to your eyes. He leant in and bit down on your sensitive neck, drawing blood.

He groaned in your ear, moist breath tickling your throat. Each time he pulled out, he would thrust in harder. “Fuck… you feel… fuck.”

“Sto-aaah!” Your screams echoed in the small basement.

It felt so good, yet it filled you with disgust. You couldn’t deny the pleasure.

You moaned as he slowed down his thrusts, teasing you. “Aw look at that… your hips don’t stop.”

It was true, his movements paused and yet your hips kept thrusting up, searching for more, begging to be filled. His movements were more drawn out now, denying your climax. Broken sobs filled the room, his strong hands grasping your hips with so much strength that you were certain that you were already bruised.

“Keep going… please don’t stop,” you cried out, as a result of Strade’s minor movements.

“Look at you… so ruined, broken, begging and sobbing like a bitch, just for me…”

He sped up his thrusts, fucking you good now. Slowly unsheathing his cock only for him to thrust back inside, basking in your moans.

His movements stuttered, cock twitching and pulsing. Warmth filled you, his cock squelching as his cum oozed out of you.

It was the sound of your defeat.

You heaved breaths, throat hoarse from your screaming, lips bitten raw and face stained with tears. You attempted to catch your breath, flinching as cool metal slid around your neck. Opening your eyes, you looked up at Strade. He was smiling down at you, hands caressing the collar-like object around your neck.

“It’s a gift, something special so that you know you’re mine! All mine, no one else’s… I’ve been waiting for this day, I’m so glad it worked out! I bet you’ll love Ren.”

With that, you knew you would never be able to leave.