#the initial idea for this story didn't come from the bingo card

[no-where-new-hero]

This may be only speculation, but I suspect the lack of critical acclaim for Traitor Baru Cormorant comes down to the faulty nature of identity politics in publishing, whereby a book written about a marginalized female character navigating colonialism, racism, and homophobia with subversively progressive and incredibly smart ideas is diminished because the author doesn't share those marginalized identities. I haven't seen any flack against Dickinson for appropriation or anything (I mean, he didn't seem to be, but you know people), but the nature of publishing has made it so much easier to raise up, say, Babel by RF Kuang, as the last word on empire and the stealing/erasure of culture because she's a Chinese-American woman earning a PhD in literature about decolonization, trauma, war, and race in an Ivy League University.

Now, I really loved Babel, I very much respect Kuang for her accomplishments, and I understand that diversity among authors is important. That being said, I think there is this automatic elision of author-identity with book-subject matter that hasn't really...gone away despite initiatives toward inclusivity, which you'd think should mean that anyone can write whatever they want. But such is often not the case. Yoon Ha Lee wrote a stunning article on the subject coming from the point of view that he still has to "write Asian" to appeal in the industry. I think there's a wariness about writers not "staying in their lane" these days, a kind of polite fear of stepping on toes and thus backing away from the line entirely.

I feel like someone is going to take this the wrong way as though I'm saying white male authors are being oppressed or something. That is NOT what I'm saying. I'm trying to make the larger point that maybe we as readers or the industry as a marketing machine makes too much of authorial identities because of how we’ve decided to construct identity as a marketing tool. Which is also stereotypical and reductive just generally. You’ve seen those bingo cards like—read a book by a trans author! Read a book by an East Asian author! Read a book by a gay author! And a reader can therefore feel very open-minded in their tastes without ever really grappling with tokenization or which types of trans or East Asian stories are hyped and which aren’t. There’s a whole gnarly web spreading out from this situation.

[sparklinpixiedust]

Stalking

Oof. I've had this idea since the day @uselessyellow requested a fic to be made on this prompt. Its taken me what, a month? But I finally got the time to sit down and type this out. Hope you like it.

Bingo card by @badthingshappenbingo

Next up: Infected Wound or Thrown down the stairs. Idk, like the story is going to be the same regardless, just don't know what prompt to use.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I've got a bad case of the 3:00 am guilts - you know, when you lie in bed awake and replay all those things you didn't do right? Because, as we all know, nothing solves insomnia like a nice warm glass of regret, depression and self-loathing. ~D.D. Barant

------x------x----------‐-----x---------x----------x-----

Benjamin pulled his hoodie closer to his body as the cold winter breeze hit him.

Just a few more minutes he thought, before he'd put an end to this madness.

See fame , while fun and exciting with it's exclusive parties and glory , had it's own downfalls.

That being , constantly being watched through a microscope. His rise to fame had brought in a lot of attention, especially the unwanted kind.

Eyes, eyes, eyes.

On him.

Everywhere.

All.the.time.

Be it at school , at home. Mr smoothies. Everywhere he went he could feel the gazes crawl up his skin, whispers buzzing in his ears like the mosquitos from summer camp.

He appreciated his fans, he really did, but it was becoming too much lately. It surprised him how something so mundane as having a nice little queit stroll around the block had become something he craved.

However that wasn't even the worst of it all. The worst was knowing that it wasn't just the fans who knew his whereabouts, it was his enemies too.

The horror of his fame had eventually dawned on him after his mother had been kidnapped. It had become too easy to to track him and his family down.

He hoped that it was a fluke, a one time thing. But when Psyphon came to earth after some stupid youtube show made by Cash and JT, it really pushed him over the edge. Psyphon got them from space. Space!

From freaking YOUTUBE!

So over the course of the coming year he became hyper vigilante, constantly running off to end crimes. Even the petty ones because he had to nip every little thing in the bud before it spiraled enough to hurt the people he loved. And truth be told , he was left exhausted.

The daily family checks ins , the constant checking of locks and bolts around his home. Whew.

When the insomnia hit, which happened more often than you'd imagine, he'd patrol bellwood by himself making sure the city was safe.

He hadn't told anyone , but he had installed GPS trackers on all his family members too. How had he managed that? Well that's a story for another day.

Gwen and Kevin tried to reassure him that things would be okay and they'd be around for anything. While initially unhelpful, he had begun to calm down a bit after they agreed to each take turns staying up at nights.

However 3 weeks ago he came home, and behold, something was off.

Someone had been in there. At first he tried to shrug it off but when he couldn't find his grey hoodie, he knew for sure that someone had broken in. He distinctively remembered giving it a sniff that proving and tossing it on his bed. It couldn't have just grown legs and walked away.

It terrified him. Despite all the precautions, someone has managed to break into his room.

Over the coming weeks he was extra cautious. He didn't go home often and kept his distance from gwen and Kevin too. He didn't want to involve them just yet, it was his problem. He was the hero.

he began to feel the unsettling presence more and more around him, as though stalking him from the shadows.

After 3 weeks of the lingering feeling around him , he decided enough was enough. The longer this went on, the better the chance it gave his stalker to plan an elaborate attack.

So tonight he grabbed a plumber gun , put on his new brown hoodie and and tried to lure the enemy into an ally.

He could feel the footsteps behind him. The brunet began to walk faster and faster , almost breaking into a sprint. The stalker followed suite, until Ben reached the familiar ally behind Mr Smoothie. He stopped in front of a dead end, making out a dark figure in his peripheral view.

So he wasn't imagining it! It was real !

The hero slowly pulled out his gun and shut his eyes.

It ends now.

Without hesitation spun around and wildly shot at his stalker.

" Leave me and my family alone!" he yelled.

It was only when he heard the thud of the body falling falling on the ground did he open his eyes to the horror that lay in front of him.

The blood drained from his face, leaving him pale.

For in front of him lay the body of a blonde teenage girl wearing his now blood stained grey hoodie, with a bracelet that read " #1 fan"

Oh what had he done?

_____________

" this just in, after a tireless search over the past week, we have finally recovered the body of 14 year Clara Simmons at the abandoned military site Los Soledad.

We are not sure why she was there but close friends suggest she could've been sneaking around the area in hopes to catch a glimpse of her favourite hero Ben Tennyson.

Clara Simmons is known among her peers to be a Ben 10 superfan, even as far as to occasional follow him around and has even reportedly broken into his room several times before. The most recent time being a month ago as told by her best friend Susy, where she stole a hoodie, the same hoodie that she was wearing when her body was found.

There is no indication of what truly happened but Gwen Tennyson, a fellow member of Team 10 has released statement, stating the area always has high alien activity and its possible Clara Simmons unfortunately got caught in a cross fire.

Folks , let this be a reminder to steer clear of Los Soledad. There are signs stating to keep out for a reason and the let hero's do their jobs.

Guards are to be placed at the site to avoid further inciden--"

Ben switched off the TV as he hopped off of his bed.

" I'll take of it, Gwen take him home" was all Kevin had said when Ben had called them that night sobbing.

Too bad there's wasn't anything to take care of the massive weight of guilt on him.

He quietly made his way down stairs as not to wake his cousin and best friend who had decided to take up residence at his house.

He walked up to the front door and slowly jiggled it. He sighed with relief when it didn't open at his attempt.

It just never ends does it?

[theverybestpencilsoftuscaloosa]

The Heat of Battle

My first story for the One Piece Bingo event hosted by @op-pirate-fleet and also my first One Piece fanfic ever. Which is weird because I think I’ve tried to write like a hundred. Oh well. This is for the prompt “near-death experience,” which I think it just barely qualifies as, but hey! It’s my fanfic and I can be as loose as I want (OP Pirate Fleet please let me be as loose as I want). It’s a little thing about Usopp, who is my favorite, doing a thing. AO3 link here.

~~~

The fight had been going so well.

Usopp was watching from the foredeck, firing into the fray. Each shot was well-placed, and more often than not felled one of the fodder clogging the Sunny’s deck, but from time to time he aimed into the one-on-one battles in progress. 

Nami was missing her Clima-Tact, snatched from her hands by a self-proclaimed witch wielding what looked like a magnet on a stick -- which, against all odds, had worked. It didn’t work on wood, though, and Nami had swept up a broom handle for an improvised staff and pressed the attack. Now the two were locked in combat, the staccato rhythm of their fight audible from across the deck. 

The same rhythm was feeding the battle on the other side of the mast, where Brook was improvising on it, mixing stabs and slashes with swipes at his violin. Every few measures he managed to catch one of the bounty hunters with his music, and they dreamily swung into battle against his opponent -- but just as quickly, her pendant danced in front of their eyes, sending them back towards him with spiraling pupils and slack faces. 

Sanji had been sparring with what seemed to be the bounty hunters’ second-in-command, and taking the upper hand -- but then the woman fighting Brook had cried out for help in a perfect imitation of Nami’s voice, and as Sanji turned away, his own opponent had swung his tonfa into the cook’s knee. Sanji had dropped to the deck with a crack that was still echoing inside Usopp’s head, and now Robin, who had dispatched the second-in-command as he moved in to finish Sanji off, was standing over him and fending off anyone who came too close. Franky was on her flank, picking off bounty hunters with bursts of gunfire as they tried to slash the Sunny’s sails. Chopper was at the wheel, trying to keep away from the bounty hunters’ cannons. Luffy -- Usopp cocked his head and listened, and heard the sounds of wood breaking and panicked yells from the bounty hunters’ ship -- Luffy was fine. And Zoro…

The center of the Sunny’s deck was a no-man’s land. The grass gone, mowed down to the dirt. Every so often, a hapless bounty hunter would stumble or be thrown into the circle at the center and be flung out, bloodied and unmoving. Zoro was stripped to the waist, bandana tied around his head, all three swords in constant, furious motion. Opposite him was Riser, whose name was proudly emblazoned on the hunters’ sail, smiling, empty-handed, and utterly unharmed.

Usopp dropped another hollering bounty hunter headed for Nami’s back, and took stock of the situation. His crewmates were holding their own in their one-on-one fights, Sanji was still secure, and the cannon fire from the bounty hunters’ ship had faded into the distance. He looked out over the water at the distant ship and thought for a moment to ask Chopper to bring them closer, just in case they needed Luffy back on board -- but Chopper had abandoned the wheel, looking out over the deck. “I’m going to try and get to Sanji,” he said, voice shaky but certain, and as Usopp watched Chopper shifted into a reindeer, galloped across the deck, and leapt, nearly clearing the length of the deck. As he descended, he changed again, and a gorilla-sized doctor landed in the fray, swinging his fists as he pushed towards the wounded cook. 

Now alone on the foredeck, Usopp looked back to the fight dominating the center of the ship. “No banter, Roronoa?” Riser was still smiling. Shusui whistled towards his face, but before it struck he deflected with an open palm, sending it off course above his head. It didn’t even leave a mark on his glove. Zoro grunted, deflecting a chop towards his neck with the flat of his blade.

“Save your breath.”

Riser laughed. “Perhaps you feel the need to, but I’m hardly in--” He ducked a swipe that nearly went through his throat -- “Any distress here, Roronoa. Shame. Perhaps your captain would be more of a challenge.”

“You’re fighting me,” snarled Zoro, and brought two swords down in an arc as Riser laughed.

“Shame,” he said again, and delivered a punch that sent Zoro flying.

Usopp’s eyes widened. A second later, Zoro hit the main mast with a thud and dropped, barely landing on his feet. From across the deck, Usopp saw his eyes go hazy for a second. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all.

“You long-nosed freak!”

Usopp had no more warning than that before what sounded like a small explosion annihilated the ground where he was standing. He looked down, realizing his legs had thrown him clear without any conscious effort, and then around, taking in the barrel-chested man standing behind him. He raised his fists, and Usopp’s eyes widened as he saw seven unlit bombs mounted on the man’s fingers. As he watched, the bounty hunter passed his left fist under his beard, where a lit match was braided into the hair, and swung at Usopp.

He dodged again, barely, feeling the heat of the explosion on his side. Bomb knuckles? Bomb knuckles? What kind of crap was that? It sounded like something from the Usopp Factory, but the early days of the Usopp Factory, before he had any idea of what was cool and daring and what would blow your hand off. Honestly, how stupid would you have to be to use --

Usopp came back to himself and realized he had backed into a corner. The bounty hunter was advancing, both fists raised to his chin. One by one, all six of the remaining fuses ignited. The man smiled a horrible smile. “Nighty-night.” Both of his fists slammed home into Usopp’s chest.

Nothing happened.

The bounty hunter blinked, and looked down. Between Usopp’s chest and his bombs, the sniper was holding something: a small, circular, spiraling shell, marked with even holes. His eyes widened. He looked back up.

Usopp stared the bounty hunter in the face. Say something cool, he thought to himself. Come on. He laughed nervously. “Whoops.”

Both of them screamed nearly in unison. Usopp clutched at his wrist, feeling the aftershock travel up through his shoulder with such intensity he thought it would pop from its socket. The bounty hunter took it far worse, flying backwards through the air and over the side of the Sunny altogether. Slumped against the rail, Usopp massaged his wrist, flexing his fingers as he reached for Black Kabuto again. He stuffed the Impact Dial back into his pocket and pushed himself up, peering down at the battles again. 

As he watched, Nami leapt backwards, dodging a wild blast of hot air from her opponent, who was now -- Usopp winced -- inexpertly wielding the Clima-Tact. Apparently Nami didn’t care for it either, as she whacked the other woman upside the head, yelling something about weather patterns Usopp could only half hear over the noise of the battle. Brook lashed out with his sword and got the hypnotist in the shoulder, and her pendant fell from her fingers -- releasing a dozen fighters from their stupor. Chaos rippled across the deck as those bounty hunters came to, unsure of where they were, and began to swing wildly, unable to distinguish friend from foe. Chopper was forced to drop to the ground, activating Guard Point and shielding Sanji with his own body. Eyes sprouted across Robin’s skin to watch every angle of approach, and Franky shed his hands’ false skin, meeting the wave of bounty hunters with fists of naked steel. Usopp watched it all happen in a matter of seconds before his eyes fell to Zoro.

He had a horrible realization.

“Zoro!” Usopp screamed over the increasing chaos of battle. If Zoro heard him, he didn’t respond. “Zoro!” Usopp screamed, and then for good measure sent a lead ball whistling past the swordsman’s ear. That got his attention, a quick backwards glare before Zoro ducked under a swipe from Riser. That was all right, Usopp thought. Zoro could yell at him later. Usopp just had to make sure he survived.

“Zoro, duck!”

Zoro looked back and saw Usopp’s slingshot drawn back, aimed squarely at Riser -- and at himself. With a curse, he dodged another swing and rolled, leaving the bounty hunter momentarily alone in the center of the deck. It was all Usopp needed. He closed his eyes and let the projectile loose.

As if in slow motion, the ball flew through the air towards Riser. He saw it coming, smiled, and raised his hands, poised to block the projectile perfectly. Less than a foot away, it exploded into a burst of orange flame.

Riser went over backward, gloves burning. Usopp was doubled over, stomach cramping from stress, but he managed to give Zoro a thumbs up. “Dials,” he said, panting. “In his gloves.” Zoro blinked. Then he nodded evenly, respectfully, just once. Usopp sighed in relief as he turned away, back to Riser, who was straightening up, but Zoro was already in motion, swords arrayed in front of himself, and Riser was too slow to block as he sprang forth. 

“Oni Giri!”

For a second, as Zoro touched down behind the enemy captain, there was silence. The fighting slowed as all eyes turned to Riser, dead center of the deck, reeling from the triplet slashes across his chest. Usopp smiled smugly. Take that, you bastard! Teach you to use the great Usopp’s own trick against him.

Then the slashed fabric fell away from Riser’s chest, and Usopp saw the skin underneath: hard and reddish pink, spiraling outwards and patterned with tiny holes.

“Shame,” said Riser, shaking his head. “A true, true shame.”

And then he exploded.

Halfway across the ship, Usopp was hurled back by the force. Black Kabuto dropped from his hand, spinning away, seconds before he slammed into the Sunny’s railing and blacked out. He came to a few seconds later, head spinning, blood in his mouth. The rigging was slashed to pieces, the sails hung in tatters, and deep grooves scored the lawn. Usopp, one eye cracked, scanned the deck for anyone left standing. He saw Nami, crumpled against the door to the womens’ cabin. Brook, folded in half precariously over the railing. Franky, Robin and Sanji all piled atop one another. Chopper slumped against the mast, slowly deflating out of Guard Point -- and Zoro, flat on his back in a pool of his own blood, Riser standing over him.

The bounty hunter was talking, but Usopp didn’t hear a word. The rest of the hunters were unconscious, their bodies littering the deck, and Riser’s back was to him. He was up on his elbows now, mind racing, looking for a way out. Riser’s body had transformed. The Dial armor covered his body like chitin, deep spiraling grooves running through his skin. Up his arms, over his back, even his head -- Usopp shuddered. What was he going to do?

Then he saw it. Tiny, barely the size of a coin, but there on the back of Riser’s neck, right at the base of his skull: a patch of unblemished skin. It was a small target, but Usopp had hit smaller from farther away. But he didn’t have his slingshot -- he looked around.

Just to his right, as if placed there by an invisible hand, was a pistol.

Usopp looked up. Riser’s foot was on Zoro’s chest. Think, think. Black Kabuto had to be somewhere, but -- there was no time. He had no choice. Usopp felt his stomach flip as he reached out and grasped the handle of the pistol. Riser was drawing back his foot, hovering above Zoro’s throat, and Usopp felt his stomach rise into his throat, and he raised his arm, and --

In one quick, smooth motion, he hurled the pistol, sending it end over end through the air until the butt of it smacked Riser square in the back of the head. He stumbled forward from the impact, fell forwards, and hit the deck hard. Usopp blinked. Then, cautiously, he punched the air, and then he laughed and got to his feet and screamed as Riser pushed himself up into a kneeling position.

Usopp scrambled back, dropping to the deck as Riser stood and turned. It was too late to play dead, Usopp realized, and as he watched the color leeched from Riser’s skin, the patterns crawling over his face and chest to concentrate in his right arm. It swelled and darked, and Riser raised it towards Usopp with murder in his eyes.

“I was saving this for your captain,” he said. “But I’ll settle for you. Dial-Dial: Infinite Reje--”

There was a twang, like a rubber band fired into the air. Riser turned. Standing on the deck less than a foot away, shirt torn and burnt, blood streaking his face, was Monkey D. Luffy.

“Usopp.” Usopp looked to his captain, past the Dial man standing between them, and almost sobbed with relief. “Sorry. You guys drifted away, and their ship was broken, so I had to--”

“You,” snarled Riser. “I will take your head, Monkey! Take this! Dial-Dial--”

Luffy’s fist slammed into his jaw, and Riser fell to the deck again. This time, he didn’t get up.

*       *       *

    “Ow!” Usopp jumped in alarm, and looked up. Franky was standing over him, arms raised in a powerfully super dance pose. He sighed, trying to force himself to relax.

    “Franky. Hey. What’s up?”

    “Just came in to check on you, bro,” Franky said. “Sanji’s up and kicking -- uh, well -- up and walking, and he’s starting on dinner soon!” He flashed Usopp a smile. Usopp didn’t return it.

    “Thanks, Franky. I’ll be right down.”

Usopp sat in the library for a few minutes more, trying to settle his stomach. Before long, though, he gave up, and headed down to the galley.

“Usopp!” Chopper was the first one to greet him, looking up at Usopp with a brilliant smile. “Are you doing okay? Still feel fine?” Usopp’s hand reflexively went to his face, where a bandage covered the cut on his cheek: somehow, the only wound he’d taken in the entire battle. He snatched his hand away guiltily and nodded.

“Yup! Doing great!”

“Your back isn’t hurting you, is it?” Chopper’s brow wrinkled in concern.

“Nope! Just fine!”

“Oh, thank goodness -- Zoro! No!” Chopper turned away, growing into his human form as he reached out to take hold of Zoro, who was absentmindedly tugging at his bandages. With a sigh of relief, Usopp took a seat at the table. 

He looked around at the crew. They were trading stories from the battle. Just then, Nami was describing how the woman she had fought nearly electrocuted herself trying to use the Clima-Tact. “I should have let her keep going,” Nami said dismissively. “Honestly, she probably would have knocked herself out.” Usopp laughed along with the rest of the crew, but couldn’t help looking at Nami’s right leg, bandaged from ankle to knee. 

As he looked around the table, he noticed the sheer amount of work Chopper had done evident on every body present. Sanji was leaning on a crutch while he stirred the pot, gingerly testing his left leg every so often. Robin was listening attentively to Brook, conspicuously keeping her hands slack in her lap so as not to disturb the heavy bandaging on her arms. Franky was wearing his sunglasses, but Usopp noticed a slight slackness under his left eye and realized it wasn’t there at all -- something he recognized from the time or two he’d had to help Franky recalibrate his vision. Even Luffy had taken a beating dealing with the crew of the bounty hunters’ ship, and Zoro had come off worst of all, his skin barely visible below his neck. Usopp’s fingers twitched, and he resisted the urge to once again touch the single lonely bandage on his own face.

“All right,” said Sanji, snapping Usopp from his thoughts. “Soup’s up in fifteen.”

“Soup?’ Luffy said plaintively. Sanji shot him a look that shut him up (just barely, judging by his crestfallen face) and leaned against the bar separating the kitchen and the table.

“So,” he said, looking around the room. “What happened after I went down?”

Usopp waited expectantly in the silence that opened up, and only realized after a few seconds that Sanji was looking at him. No, strike that, everyone was looking at him. Even Luffy had shaken free of his soup-filled melancholy to stare inquisitively at Usopp. He swallowed nervously. What had happened?

Well, Sanji, Usopp thought, I stood on the deck away from the fighting, threw one guy overboard, then totally miscalculated and almost got Zoro killed. Oh, and I’m fine, thanks for asking. But his instincts kicked in, and what he said was:

“Oh, you know. The bounty hunters were after me, obviously, so I cleverly evaded them, but then the captain pulled out a crazy special move and took down Zoro, so I had to step in and…” He trailed off. “And… I stepped in to…” Save him, supplied his brain. Don’t stop bullshitting now. But he couldn’t finish the sentence.

Sanji chuckled and nodded, not unkindly, and turned away. “Okay,” he said, “so what actually happened? Anyone? Robin?” Usopp’s gaze dropped, his stomach twisting again. Maybe, if he was very quiet, no one would notice if he just slipped out the door.

“Of course, Sanji,” Robin said. “But I’m not sure what else I could say. Usopp gave more or less the whole story.” She smiled. “Aside from the bounty hunters targeting him specifically. But perhaps they did have a grudge against him. Otherwise, that was all correct. He hung back, their captain rendered most of us unconscious, and Usopp stopped him from killing Zoro before Luffy returned.”

Usopp just stared, slack-jawed. Robin, apparently not noticing, turned to Zoro. “Would you agree?”

Zoro looked at Usopp for a moment. “You throw that gun?” Usopp, wordless, nodded. Zoro shrugged. “Then yeah, that’s all true.” He turned his head to Sanji. “Got that, cook? I thought that asshole broke your leg, not your eardrums. Or are you just too stupid to listen?”

Chopper threw himself between Zoro and Sanji, trying to restrain them both at once, while Luffy cheered them on. The rest of the crew’s attention followed, and Usopp sank into his chair, staring at the table -- only to be surprised when Robin leaned in, speaking softly so only he could hear.

“That was very smart,” she said.

“Yes,” agreed Usopp, having absolutely no idea what she meant.

“The gun,” she said, and Usopp froze, thinking back to exactly what he had done. Oh, god…

“I was following the hunter who dropped it, and I saw them fire without reloading,” she continued. “Were you watching them as well, or did you know it was empty just from picking it up?” She shrugged. “Either way, it was an impressive throw. Well done, Usopp.” And then she leaned away, turning to the spectacle with an impenetrable smile.

Usopp blinked. The gun was empty. Right. He had known that. 

Right?

Well, he thought as Chopper burst into Guard Point, forcing Sanji and Zoro apart as the kitchen filled with fur, maybe it didn’t matter. It had all worked out in the end anyway.

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

In No Mood for Games

This fic is part of @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone’s “Aud’s Writing Challenge” aka “The Make Me Horny Challenge”. This is my second entry in this very fun, very hot challenge! Hope you enjoy this one too, Audrey! 😉

It will also cover two of my spaces on my bingo card for @anyfandomkinkbingo

Any Fandom Kink Squares Filled:

Breath Play & Hair Pulling

Pairing: Dean x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,320

Summary: Y/N has wanted him for weeks, but he's ignored her. But her timing might be right tonight.

Warnings: Smut. All Smut. Not even really PWP, there's pretty much no plot here. Dom!Deanmon. Demon!Dean being pretty savage. Dirty talk. Demeaning language. Spanking (just a bit). Fingering. Face fucking. Cumshot (facial). Hair pulling. Breath play.

A/N: Since I can’t include the hot af gif that the beautiful Audrey sent me for this challenge, I have included a gif that relates slightly to this story, namely a gif of Demon!Dean.

But the parts of the fic that directly describe the naughty gif Audrey sent will be in italics.

A/N 2: So this is the first time I've ever written Demon!Dean, and the first time I've ever written anything as dark as this. Dean is not sweet here in any way, he's all Dom!Deanmon, so be warned. Also, please be kind (you always are!) since I've never tried something quite like this before. 😬👀

Rating: 18+ Explicit. Read the warnings!

Created for @anyfandomkinkbingo

Y/N wasn't really sure how she'd ended up here, it had all happened so suddenly and so abruptly. But she definitely didn't want to be anywhere else.

She had been watching him tonight when he walked angrily down the stairs that led from the hotel rooms above. But then, she was always watching him.

The little blonde waitress he'd been screwing around with for a while had come down twenty minutes before him, obviously upset. She left The Black Spur minutes after that.

Now the man Y/N had been quietly stalking for the past two weeks was sitting at the bar and knocking back shots like they were water.

Maybe tonight was her chance.

She had no idea who he was, or why she was so drawn to him. But from the moment he and the short British guy had come in through the doors together weeks ago, she'd wanted him. Desperately.

She'd tried to get his attention a few times, but he never took the bait. She'd sidled up close to him at the bar a couple of times, she'd sent him a drink, she'd worn every low cut top and tight, tiny skirt she owned trying to entice him, but no dice.

Tonight she wore a skin tight, mostly see through white top and a short, pink, flippy skirt that twirled enticingly around the tops of her thighs.

She was determined to get him tonight. She had wet dreams about him night after night, and she felt like if she didn't fuck him, he might haunt her dreams forever.

She took the absence of the blonde waitress as a sign that now was the time to take matters a step further and try initiating an actual conversation with him.

With that as a plan, she approached him at the bar and sat down beside him. As he had every other night, he ignored her completely. She swallowed hard and barreled ahead anyway.

"Looks like you're having a rough night."

The man threw his next shot back and slammed the glass down on the bar, signaling for another. When he still ignored her, she decided to go all in; she laid her hand on his forearm.

The muscles under her hand tensed and the man slowly turned his head, finally making eye contact with her. What she saw in their forest green depths made her shiver. There was something so dark and dangerous there, so beautifully terrifying.

"Excuse me?" He asked, his deep voice intoxicating even in two words. His expression showed mostly disdain, but something in her wouldn't let her back down.

"I was just saying it looked like you were having a rough night."

The man swept his gaze up and down her body, coming back to rest on her face.

"So?" he asked.

"So," Y/N cleared her throat. "I was wondering if you wanted to talk about it."

The man looked at her for nearly a full minute, his eyes once again scanning her body, lingering over some parts, and brushing past others. It was as though he was studying her, dissecting her. It was incredibly unnerving and unbelievably hot.

Finally he licked his lips, an action that had Y/N's panties flooded again. He shook his head.

"No, I don't wanna talk. I wanna fuck."

Y/N's jaw dropped open and her stomach muscles and core muscles tightened.

He lifted his chin toward her and spoke in a nonchalant manner. "Can I fuck you?"

Y/N floundered, her mouth opening and closing several times.

He turned to face her completely and stared into her eyes so deeply, she felt like she'd already been stripped naked by him.

"I don't wanna play the game. I just wanna fuck someone. Hard. So, is that gonna be you, yes or no?"

Y/N snapped her jaw shut and nodded. Without a second's hesitation, he grabbed her hand roughly and pulled her out the door.

He walked very fast and Y/N had a hard time keeping up, but he had a vice-like grip on her wrist and she somehow knew that if she fell, he'd just drag her along behind him. So, she ran quickly, glad she'd worn a pair of pink sneakers rather than heels.

After about a block they reached an empty parking garage. He pulled her after him, towards the end of the lot, where a concrete brick wall stood.

As they reached their destination, he pulled her forward and gave her a slight shove toward the wall.

"Turn around and put your hands on the wall."

When Y/N stood slightly dazed for a moment, he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close to him. Up close he was even more intoxicating, his scent was like a drug and she felt her head swim a little as she looked up into his perfect face.

Perfect even with the sneer that now covered it. "I've seen you, you know. Watching me, drooling over me. I know how hot you are for me." He walked her backwards until he had her pressed up against the cold stone.

He stuck his hand up under her skirt and ran his fingers over her soaked panties. "I know how badly you want me to fuck you. Like a bitch in heat." He fisted his left hand in her hair and yanked it back, causing Y/N to yelp. "So, obey, bitch."

Y/N felt the slick pooling in her panties, and all she could do was nod at him, not able to contradict a single thing he said. She did want him so desperately, she was willing to let him do whatever he wanted to her.

He released her with another small shove.

"Turn. Around." He said, each word precise.

Y/N turned and placed her palms flat on the wall, her breathing shallow and rapid. She felt him come up behind her and grab hold of her hips, slamming her back against the hard cock she could feel through her skirt and his jeans.

His lips fluttered against her neck as he whispered to her. "Are you gonna take this cock? Like a good little whore?"

Y/N whimpered and nodded.

"Say it." he demanded.

"Yes. I'll take your cock. Please." Y/N begged as she pushed her ass back against him. But he just raised her skirt easily and landed a hard slap to her ass.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, whore. Who owns you?" His palm came down again, stinging and shooting heat straight to her core.

Y/N was so desperate for him to touch her, to rub his fingers along her aching cunt, to have him fill her completely with the huge cock she could feel pressed against her, she could barely even understand what he was asking her.

But another hard slap brought enough sharp pain that Y/N was able to form an answer. "You. You own me."

"That's right. You're my good little whore, aren't you?"

Y/N nodded and he slapped the other cheek, hard and heavy. "Say, it bitch! Tell me you're my good little whore."

Y/N sucked in a breath. "I'm a good little whore." Another crack from his massive palm made her amend her words. "I mean, I'm your good little whore."

He ran both his hands over her burning ass cheeks. "That's my good slut. You will obey what I tell you, do you understand?"

Y/N nodded and then quickly answered. "Yes, I understand."

"Good."

At that he grabbed hold of her hips and pulled them back, while pressing his hand into the middle of her back, forcing her to bend, her ass sticking out.

He pushed her flimsy skirt up and merely pushed her thong aside as he drove two fingers into her. Y/N screamed out her pleasure at finally feeling him inside her. "Oh, god! Please, fuck - more, more!"

He pulled his fingers out. "Shut up, slut. You'll take what I give you and you'll take it quietly, you understand?"

Y/N nodded. "Yes, yes. I'm sorry, please?"

He kicked her feet apart and pushed three fingers into her body. "Fuck me. My little slut," he said, his voice darkly pleased. "you're dripping onto my hand. Do you know who does that? Greedy little whores."

He crooked his fingers inside her and Y/N bit down on her lip trying desperately not to scream as he pressed repeatedly on the soft spongy spot inside her.

She couldn't contain a deep, harsh moan as her orgasm overtook her. She gritted her teeth, trying hard not to scream and disobey him. But then just as she was coming down he pressed against the spot again, while his thumb circled her clit over and over and her second orgasm hit and she couldn't help the scream that issued from her throat.

His right hand came up and wrapped around her throat, strangling off the scream.

"If you can't shut up, I'll make you shut up."

She felt him line himself up at her entrance before he slammed into her so hard, she lurched forward into the wall, popping him out of her cunt.

He came up right behind her, and rammed himself back in. Bending his knees slightly, he pushed in and out of her quickly, keeping himself pressed up tight against her ass and not pulling out very far before slamming himself home, rocking her body in a continuous, hard and fast rhythm.

He wrapped his left hand further up her throat and squeezed with both hands. Y/N could feel her climax building as the lack of oxygen made dark spots begin to move around the edges of her vision.

Just as she was sure she was going to pass out, he let go and grabbed hold of her hips, pulling out and slamming into her so hard, it felt like he was ripping her apart. The harshness of his thrusts combined with the oxygen returning in a rush to her lungs and brain, gave Y/N the biggest and longest orgasm she'd ever experienced.

She screamed again, and knew she'd pay for it, but she couldn't have stopped it.

As she came down from the high, he spun her around to face him and then pushed her down on her knees. She landed hard on the concrete and felt it scrape her skin.

But she didn't even have time to gasp because the moment her knees hit the ground, he was prying open her jaw and ramming his cock down her throat.

She gagged on it again and again. But he was merciless, he held her head in both his massive hands and wouldn't let her move away.

"Maybe this will shut you up. Huh? Can't talk around my cock in your mouth, can you, bitch?"

Y/N felt the saliva and tears dripping down her cheeks as he pressed deep down the back of her throat, holding her face tight to the base of his cock. Again as her vision began to waver, he pulled out and Y/N coughed and choked as ropey strings of spit and precum kept her mouth connected to his dick.

She pulled in gulping breaths before he pushed himself back in, hitting the back of her throat again and pulling all the way out, slowly.

Y/N swallowed quickly, loving the taste of his saltiness on her tongue. He moved in and out of her mouth a half dozen more times, smoothly and slowly before he pulled out completely.

He twisted her hair in his fist again and pulled it hard, arching her neck and forcing her head back. He smacked his dick against her cheek and then tapped it against her lips.

"Open your mouth, whore. This is what you've been wanting. Take it."

He pumped his cock twice and ropes of hot cum shot across her face, falling into her mouth, where she swallowed it up quickly, licking it from her lips as he yanked her head back again while he pumped his cock with his other hand, his hips bucking, balls slapping against her chin.

With a final groan and a shudder, he let go of Y/N's hair and stepped back.

As she kneeled there, covered in his cum, still shuddering from her own incredible climax, he put his cock back in his pants and pulled them back up over his ass, which was as far as he'd undressed.

Unsure of what else to do, and already missing the fullness of his cock inside her, Y/N stood up and tried to wipe her face off with her shirt the best she could.

He started to walk away and she called out to him.

"Wait! I don't even know your name."

He walked back to her, pushing into her personal space until she was pressed up against the wall again.

His eyes sparkled bright green above her before they blinked black for just a second. Y/N gasped, already sure that it had just been a trick of the dim light of the garage.

"The name is Dean. And it's too bad I didn't pay attention to you till tonight. We could have been having weeks of fun." He sighed. "But now, I gotta leave."

He pressed his plump, soft lips against her neck for a moment before he opened his mouth and sunk his teeth into her skin hard enough that she gasped in pain and could feel a little blood trickle down, staining her white shirt.

Her inner walls clenched at the pain and pleasure his mouth was bringing her. He pulled back and grinned at her expression of ecstasy.

His voice was all gravel and wickedness. "Obviously, I picked the wrong girl to fuck at The Black Spur." With that he patted her cheek and disappeared into the darkness.

Y/N's dreams were never free of the green-eyed man named Dean, and his black-eyed sins. The heat and pleasure of him haunted her all the rest of her days.

And she wouldn't have traded a moment of it.

@akshi8278, @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @foxyjwls007, @b3autyfuldisast3r, @myloversgone, @kazsrm67, @fangirlxwrites67, @kickingitwithkirk, @charred-angelwings, @hopefuldreamers-world, @siospins, @deanwanddamons @deandreamernp, @my-sherlock221b, @jensensgotyoudean @lyarr24, @snowlovespie, @stixnstripesworld, @thoughts-and-funnies, @magssteenkamp, @norman1967, @princessmisery666, @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

Masterlist Tag Lists

[rickssoberjourney]

I Have the Capacity to be Just Like the Tasmanian Devil

A whirling mass of anger, wreaking havoc on the people around me. Sometimes, I feel just like that!

I've been doing a lot of thinking about this lately. I truly feel that my Higher Powert is leading me into this conversation with myself. By exposing my character defects, my HP is compelling me to examine my part in feeling unwanted.

I remember standing on the playground in 5th grade. I was looking at the girls playing foursquare and the boys playing softball. My thought? "I don't belong...I don't fit in. I felt like I was on the outside looking in."

That feeling follows me into the AA/CMA rooms. Even though many people do greet me when I walk in, there are those who (for some reasons of their own...I can't presume to know what is going on in their lives!) choose to ignore me. Sometimes, it is a person with whom I have talked, exchanged texts with, or am Facebook friends. When those people ignore me, I go right into Tazmainian Devil mode.

Now, I don't do it outright. That wouldn't do. No, I do it quietly...to myself. I wish I could say that I don't know where these feelings of not fitting in come from. I wish I could feign ignorance as to why I get so upset when people (especially in the rooms) don't greet me in the way that I think they should. I wish I could say those things, but I can't. I know exactly where it comes from...

My father.

At the risk of sounding like Southern California pop-psychology, I have "daddy issues." I'm an only child and I was raised to please my father. When I would do exactly what he wanted (being obedient, getting good grades, etc.), he would shower love and praise upon me. But, woe to me if I disappointed him! Once, I came home with a C on my report card and the didn't talk to me for a week. He would treat my mom the same way. So, I learned a powerful lesson that was reinforced day in and day out until the day I got married and moved out of his house. That was 24 years of "learning" that my happiness was dependent upon sources outside myself. If YOU like me and approvedof me, I feel great; if you don't like me, I'm shit.

Through my involvement with CoDA, I came to understand the dynamics of my daddy issues. Today, when I feel rejected because someone doesn't respond to me the way I want them to (in the rooms, in person at a bar or club, or even online), I immediately feel unlikeable and unworth. I wonder, "What's wrong with me? Why doesn't that person like me?" Then, as a defense, I resent that person.

Case in point. There is a handsome, muscular guy in one of my meetings. We exchanged phone numbers and texted a couple of times. Then, he sort of ignored me at meetings. If I started a conversation with him, seeking him out, he would talk to me but he never initiated contact with me.

One day, he walked across the room, greeted the guy sitting right next to me with a hug and conversation, and totally ignored me. His reasons? I have no idea. But, I jumped to the conclusion that he didn't like me and I started my downward spiral. This went on for meeting after meeting. And, what's worse, I began to feel that way about several other people in the room.

Nevermind the people who DID greet me! I was hurt and pissed that the people that I WANTED to greet me didn't. What a shithole of self-doubt and anger because they didn't give me what I wanted. I knew there was a problem, but I placed the blame mostly on them and not me, even though I knew the genesis of my feelings.

Last night, things came to a head. It's amazing how my HP will smack me in the head to get my attention. That is exactly what happened at the Speaker's Meeting last night.

A Facebook friend whom I had never met face to face was at the meeting. We greeted each other and then he said, "Do you know Greg D.?" I wasn't sure. "Well, he told me that you sent him a friend request and then blocked him a few days later when he didn't respond right away." I was embarrassed and tried to explain, but the meeting was starting and I had to go sit down. That was a long meeting!

My HP was working on me. I knew that I had done Greg wrong. I knew that by sending a "nasty" message and blocking him, I was being hypersensitive and that I was definitely in the wrong. Then, I sat there looking out over the large audience. Unconsciously thinking, "Oh, that person is not nice to me." "He knows me and has talked to me on several occasions and yet he walks right past me unless I say something. Well, fuck that! Why should I HAVE to be the one to reach out all the time?" That kind of thinking went on for a few minutes.

Then God-smacked...

Maybe it is not them. Maybe it's you! Maybe you behave that way to build walls so that no one can hurt you. Maybe you look for reasons to keep people out. Maybe you think, "I'll hurt them before they can hurt me!" All of those choices (although difficult to swallow!) were definite possibilities. I sat there realizing just how fucked up I really am.

Now, I've learned enough from my sponsor to question my thinking. I've learned to be gentle with myself and to not tell myself that I'm "fucked up!" But the thoughts came anyway. And, while I could have been gentler with myself, I had to face the fact that I was running headlong into who I really was.

None of this is THEIR problem; it's MY problem. Thank you HP for giving me that uncomfortable realization.

What do I do with this? At times, I simply don't know. I'm trying to concentrate on those kind people in the rooms that always greet me and ask how I'm doing. I try to get out of myself, making sure that I talk more about them than I do about me. But, there's still a rub.

Today, in the 8:30 meeting, I shared about what happend last night. I confessed that I didn't feel welcome in the rooms but that I realized that it was MY PROBLEM and I wasn't blaming them at all. I told them that by "coming clean" about my issues that maybe I could trust them enough to love me through it. I'm so glad I shared!

The next person to share was that guy that walked right past me, ignoring me in favor to greeting the man next to me. What he shared floored me.

"I do exactly what Rick does!" he said. He related a story about a burgeouning friendship with someone in the rooms. He talked about the interests that they shared...and then, how that guy simply stopped communicating with him.

Just like me, he started in on himself. "Why doesn't he like me anymore? What did I do? Must must be a pretty shitty person for someone to treat me like that!" My thinking pattern EXACTLY! Then, he shared something that his sponsor shared with him. It went something like this: "Expectations are resentments waiting to happen."

Bingo!

He and I have expectations of people and of how we want to be treated. Nevermind that they have lives and struggles of their own. "You need to make me feel good about myself but treating right, damn it! You aren't living up to MY expectations!"

Fuck...what a trap!

The only conclusion I can come to is that I need to take care of my side of the street. I need to be open to those who greet me warmly. I need greet others warmly. And, if they don't, rather than making it "all about me!" I can utter a silent prayer..."Peace be with you!" and move on with my life.

But what about situations where I want to make friend with someone. There is another young man that I have become friends with. He (so far!) has been very welcoming and open to conversation with me, both in the rooms and on Facebook. But, I find myself doing things that will engage him. I find myself playing "come and get me," saying and doing things on purpose that I know will elicit a response.

I do it all the time in almost every aspect of my life, wheher it is baking for people or blocking them on Facebook. In doing those things, I try to elicit a response...responses that will make me feel OK about myself. Doesn't always work, however. There are those expectations setting up resentments.

Ok. I get it!

My dilemma: how do I get to know this guy (and others in the rooms) without playing "come and get me" and without manipulating them to soothe my wounded ego? Is every overture to another person a veiled plea to validate me? How do I know? Do I keep to myself and only interract when someone approaces me? With this man, do I sit back at let him come to me instead of manipulating the situation? How do I navigate this without building walls, while at the same time being able to live with the very real possibility that my expecations might be wrong and that I might get my feelings hurt? I'm not sure I have the answers yet.

For now, sitting back and letting things happen naturally seems the course that I will take. I desperately want this guy to like me (not necessarily in a romantic way!) but I think that my need for approval from him just might drive him away. So, I sit back and wait on my HP. If I'm supposed to get to know him, I will. I don't have to orchestrate it. In fact, I need to get the hell outta the way and let my HP take care of things because when I take the helm, I'm sure to run aground!