#will not stop reading it though. never. the patient needs terrible cat books to survive. no one said anything about thriving

[director-yomi-hellsmile]

one day when im stronger when i obtain testosterone i will record myself reciting the entire navy seal copypasta yomi rain code version. which will come out nearly completely undecipherable due to my powerful polish accent and semiverbality but i trust that those with a pure heart will be able to get it

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 40

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Your captor reveals what he wants with Bucky, and with you.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Witnessing past noncon (mildly graphic), psychological torture, isolation, captivity

AO3

Fear was a constant in the semi-darkness. Despite the man’s words that he would eventually let you go, you didn’t trust him an ounce. You remained hypervigilant, poised on the edge of flight, though you were more than ready to fight for your escape. It turned out, bond active or not, the thought of Bucky being used and enslaved was enough to move you to violence.

But between the dizzying seesaw of fear and anger, you were crushed with a deep sadness. You were worried about your mom noticing your absence. You worried about Monster being left alone, even though he was no ordinary cat and could fend for himself.

Most of all, you missed Bucky. You were grateful he was safe, even though hours before you’d been resentful of his situation. It had been a blessing in disguise, because no matter what he was out of reach of this madman.

But it didn’t mean you didn’t miss him terribly, and that you didn’t wish someone would hurry up and find you, wherever you were.

As you lay on the stone bench, you continually touched the marks on the wall, a reminder that Bucky had been there. It made you feel less alone, but it did nothing to ease the ache in your chest. You’d caught a glimpse of his life under HYDRA’s control, and you didn’t want to think about the things that might have occurred in this very cell.

You had time. Too much of it. Enough to play back the memories of the last three months and how they led you to this moment.

Bucky had been so reticent at the beginning. Distant, aloof and impenetrable wall you couldn’t climb. But you’d caught moments, glimpses past the armor into the man inside. Despite his grouchy demeanor, he’d been as lonely as you were. It had taken so long for him to let you past his walls, and it had been so worth it. Even the moments that would leave their scars, the memories that kept you up at night, it had been bearable with Bucky there.

Now, all you had was yourself. Alone in a prison that smelled of damp earth and forgotten things. At least… that’s what you thought.

You very carefully turned your head, trying to catch the thing you’d spotted earlier in the corner of the room. A flash of green, like the slitted pupils of a cat reflecting the harsh light from the single bulb overhead.

Heart leaping, you sat up and faced the darkness, about to call out Monster’s name… but then you shut your mouth. They were the wrong shade of green, and they were too high off the ground.

Not to mention Monster would never hide from you. No… this was something different. A second set of sickly green eyes you recognized.

“Did he tell you to watch me?” you asked, voice cracking painfully. You cleared it, and nudged the water pitcher with your sock-covered toe. “Make sure I don’t drown myself in this?”

The Alp didn’t respond except to blink its reflective eyes, not unlike the way Monster would when he was listening to you ramble on about your long day at work.

You frowned and chewed on the inside of your cheek. What did you know about this demon? You had assumed it was the same one that had attacked you on Halloween night, but Bucky had killed it, hadn’t he? Then again, you knew from experience that death wasn’t quite so permanent for demons.

Same demon or not, this one had abducted you at the man’s command. That much was true. And what you had also managed to recall just before you’d slipped into unconsciousness was the pained howls of the Alp being punished.

So, in conclusion, it was possible you had more in common with the Alp than you’d first realized. And from the way the man had been talking about wanting to enslave Bucky, it wasn’t a stretch to think this demon wasn’t a willing participant.

Okay. You could work with that.

“I don’t blame you for abducting me,” you said. “Maybe you didn’t even want to, but he made you. You didn’t have a choice.”

The demon said nothing, but it was no longer blinking.

You lowered your voice to a soft, understanding level, hoping the Alp would realize you weren’t the enemy.

“I know he hurt you. Punished you. Probably not for the first time, right?”

No response, but that was all right. The demon only had to listen.

“I can help you,” you whispered, leaning toward the bars. “There are sorcerers in New York, powerful ones who know all about demonic magic. They could free you from this man, or at least protect you. You could be free. We both could be free.”

You took a deep breath, putting all your sincerity into your words.

“All you have to do is get me out of there. Take me back. We could go to the Sanctum together, and—“

The demon finally reacted, or rather, it made a low, saddened noise that sounded suspiciously like a no. And then it vanished with a popping sound, black tendrils of smoke curling in the air where it had been, and then disappearing and leaving the faint but pungent scent of sulfur.

Sighing, you sat back against the wall and tried not to let the discouragement or the cold get to you. Your captor had slipped you a blanket between the bars, but it provided little warmth, metaphorical or otherwise.

You only had to hope you could survive long enough, either to be rescued or to escape. One thing was for certain: it would only be a matter of time until your abductor realized Bucky wasn’t coming.

***

It became a waiting game, one neither of you were going to win.

Time flowed in unpredictable lurches, but you could give a rough estimate from how often the man came back to the room with a pitcher of water and a tray of food. It was clearly prepackaged, maybe even from some kind of military ration, but you still ate it because you needed the energy and he wasn’t going to poison you. Not if he wanted Bucky to be caught in a trap with living bait.

If the man was feeding you three meals a day, then you’d been down here for a day and a half already. You would be missed by now. Strange would be searching for you, and while you didn’t know who this man was, you knew he wouldn’t stand a chance against the head sorcerer.

Or so you thought. On his eighth visit, he returned to the room and put down the folded chair. There was something in his hands. A book. Red, with a black pentagram on the cover.

Horror shot through your mind. You remembered that book: it had belonged to the Russian officer who had once enslaved Bucky. The Colonel. He’d been a high-ranking member of HYDRA, so how had this man gotten ahold of it?

“From your expression, you recognize this tome. But do you know what it is?”

The man, whose name you still didn’t know because he refused to give it to you, watched you with a patient smile. Almost as if you were a child he was teaching at his knee.

“No.” Your voice was hoarse from disuse, and it was a testament to your isolation that you were talking to him at all. But after being trapped in the semi-darkness, cold and alone, you were willing to talk to anyone. Even him.

“I do not know the book’s name,” he said, turning it over reverently in his hands. You noticed a thin, gold wedding band on one finger. He was married? “But I know its purpose. It’s an instruction manual, of sorts. A guide in all things demonic. It predates HYDRA, a stolen relic as many things were, and one must have proficient knowledge in Latin to read it.”

His voice was faint, far away as he mused, “A sacred text, written in a dead language, coveted by a doomed cult. There is a lesson to be learned there, I think.”

You let the man speak, the more he did the better it was for you. The last thing you wanted was for the effects of isolation to make you reveal something you shouldn’t.

“With this book, you will be freed.” He leaned forward, his soft voice taking on an eager quality. “Sergeant Barnes will no longer hold sway over you, but that’s not all I offer. With a new master, I can protect him from HYDRA, whatever little of them is left. Or I can protect him from the next group which attempts to use demons. There will always be men who lust for power wherever it resides, and your demon has quite a lot of it.”

You said nothing, resentful that he wasn’t wrong about Bucky in this regard.

“It was quite a journey to find the latest owner of this book,” he continued, apparently not discouraged by your lack of interaction. “It was in the hands of Colonel Vasily Karpov: Sergeant Barnes’ last master. He was in the Russian Armed Forces and one of HYDRA’s top men. Do you know where I found him?”

The man sneered distastefully.

“Cleveland.”

He looked down at the book and slowly shook his head.

“The man who enslaved and humiliated the demon you wish to protect was living not too far from your own home. I’m the one who found Karpov. I’m the one who killed him. Don’t you see? We are allies in this.”

A noise finally escaped you. A dismissive snort.

“You want to make Bucky your slave, and you have the nerve to think… what, that you’re his friend?”

“A friend? No. One does not make friends with a weapon.”

You looked away, grimacing in disgust.

“How are you any better than HYDRA?” you growled out.

“Because I will put Sergeant Barnes to a nobler purpose. He will not be used for cruel or evil intentions.”

“So you admit, you would use him.”

It was a terrible idea to engage with his dangerous man, to nurse his delusions, but you couldn’t stop yourself from letting him antagonize you, either.

He gave you a pitying look.

“Sergeant Barnes has been used his entire life, and the US Government was his first master. Drafted into the army, trained to be a sniper, he killed Nazis without compunction. Your sergeant has always been a killer; HYDRA simply unleashed him on their enemies. And I will unleash him onto mine.”

You opened your mouth, the urge to spit venom on the tip of your tongue… and then you shut it. Intentionally or not, he was revealing quite a lot of information, such as what he really wanted with Bucky.

“What kind of enemies?” you asked, tone carefully even. But the man merely stared at you, gave a small smile, and stood from his chair.

“I estimate that Sergeant Barnes should be here soon,” he said. “A demon master without its slave is vulnerable, and if the human inside him still exists and has compassion for you… then he will come even swifter.

“In the meantime…”

He approached the projector in the corner, and your stomach clenched, even as you weren’t sure why. His next words confirmed your instincts were right.

“I have something that will hopefully enlighten you.”

The man flicked a switch and the clicking of the old projector accompanied a square of light cast onto the wall. Distorted images from empty bits of film bubbled up onto the screen until it formed into a coherent picture. An image of the very room you were in, though the camera was facing toward the cell you currently occupied.

The image showed a horrific scene. A ring of men were surrounding someone, their boots and batons striking his curled body. You were sure the man must be dead after a beating like that, but once they stopped and backed away, the bruises and abrasions faded away… and your stomach sank as the man propped himself up.

You almost didn’t recognize him. His muscles were much leaner and less bulky, his face rounder and younger, his hair cut short. He was almost entirely human except for the demonic left arm and a smaller version of his current tail. The wings, the horns, his clawed feet and tapered ears—none of those existed yet.

“I can do this all day,” Bucky said, giving a smile stained red. He was entirely naked, stripped of his clothing, but he showed no signs of intimidation. Even through the tinny quality of the audio you recognized that stubborn tone of voice, and your heart ached at hearing him again, especially in such a dire situation.

“Good, Mister Barnes,” a voice responded from out of frame. His accent was heavily Russian, but he he spoke in English. “Because I am curious as to how much punishment your body can take before it runs out of its stored energy.”

Bucky cursed, and the man behind him laid him flat on the ground with a kick to his spine. Bucky wheezed and curled into a ball again as the men continued to beat him.

You were sure he was going to die. You knew he wouldn’t, but every instinct in you screamed to stop something had had happened over seventy years ago.

The man on the film was speaking as if documenting an experiment, noting Bucky’s healing ability as it slowed, leaving his wounds open and painful-looking.

“If you want to learn about demons,” Bucky cut him off with a snarl, “you can go to Hell.”

Pride surged in your chest. Bucky was a fighter, he would never give up—

The same man who had kicked him in the back now struck the side of Bucky’s head with a baton, and he collapsed hard. Bucky groaned on the ground, his claws digging into the concrete. It took you a moment to realize he wasn’t groaning from pain.

“Sufficient injury past the point of healing appears to drive the subject into heat,” the man behind the camera observed. “Note the expanded pupils giving the appearance of solid black eyes. Does pain turn you on now, Sergeant?”

Bucky didn’t answer. He only eyed the circle of men as they drew closer, and there was something other than wariness in his gaze.

“Turn it off,” you said, voice small and laden with horror. You didn’t want to watch. Didn’t want to see. You’d witnessed enough of Bucky’s humiliation without his consent. It wasn’t right.

“Not yet,” the man said. You couldn’t see his face, covered in shadow as he watched you watch the film. “Not until you truly understand.”

“And when the subject is in the throes of heat,” the cameraman continued, crackling from the old audio, “he produces pheromones that have a drastic effect on men near him.”

Bucky remained silent, glaring up at the men pulling closer. They rubbed themselves obscenely through their pants, clearly affected by the pheromones, but you doubted those pieces of shit needed much encouragement in that regard.

“Perhaps these fine men will assist you with what you need, if you ask them nicely, Sergeant.”

You could see it in Bucky’s eyes. How hard he fought, to resist the urges pulsing through him, and you knew the moment when he gave into them.

Bucky lurched to his knees, grabbed onto the nearest HYDRA soldier, and ripped open his pants.

You shut your eyes tight and turned your head away. If this bastard wanted you to watch, he’d have to force you to do that himself.

But he didn’t come into your cell and force you to watch, and unfortunately, you could still hear the sounds all too clearly. The heated grunts, the obscene wet noises that were uncannily familiar, in a way. You considered covering your ears, but leaving more of your senses blind with your captor wouldn’t be wise, either.

So you opened your eyes and stared at the floor, praying it would be over soon.

It wasn’t. The same man who was filming this torture, who seemed to be the man in charge, taunted Bucky. Mocked him that he wanted to be fucked by HYDRA soldiers until he was senseless.

He was their prisoner, helpless in so many ways, and still this man, whoever he was, chose to be even more cruel than he had to be.

“Who are you thinking of, Sergeant?” he eventually asked. “Your dear Captain, perhaps?”

You curled your hands next to your face, nearly covering your ears. You shouldn’t be hearing this, you shouldn’t!

There was an awful chuckle of laughter at however Bucky had reacted.

“You do hunger for your Captain?” the man continued. “Did he know what you were? Did he debase himself with you?”

You didn’t expect Bucky to answer; you’d seen him caught in the middle of a heat firsthand, and experienced something similar yourself and knew how difficult it was to think, let alone talk.

But he still managed to growl out, “F-fuck you… Lukin. Ste-Captain Rogers… never…”

“Perhaps we will send him a copy of this film: of you reduced to HYDRA’s whore,” the man called Lukin said, a sneer in his voice. “Do you think he would come for you knowing the things you think about him?”

Bucky’s voice was flat, defeated when he finally answered.

“No.”

The rapid clicking of the projector slowed to a crawl until it went silent.

“Do you see now?” your captor asked, his soft voice floating to you from the darkness. “Do you understand what I would be shielding him from? With Sergeant Barnes under my power, he will never suffer from such humiliation again.”

You said nothing and stared resolutely at the stone floor just before the bars. It gave you a decent peripheral view of the room without having to actually look at the man. You despised him. Hated him. More for him using Bucky’s pain to manipulate you than because of your own abduction.

“I won’t help you,” you finally answered, flat but final.

He sighed, taking the reel of film from the projector.

“You will,” he eventually said. “How uncomfortable you are in the process is up to you.”

The swing of the wooden door on its hinges left you in unbroken silence, but in that silence, you could still hear the terrible echoes of sharp gasps and pained whimpers.

Next Chapter

[crispychrissy]

Shrink - Chapter 31

Summary: When patients of a psychiatrist that caters exclusively to hunters start going crazy and dying, Sam and Dean Winchester investigate what might be causing these bizarre episodes. Pairing: None Word Count: 1685 Warnings: Smidge of angst A/N: My first fanfic! This is going to be a series, probably over 30 chapters total. Any feedback is appreciated, I am a newbie!

Purrr.

Purrr.

Ellen groaned and shifted slightly with her eyes still closed, feeling the warm weight of something vibrating on her chest. She moved her hand to her chest, only to feel the soft fur of an animal, making her eyes shoot open. "What the-" She said, sitting up, pushing the creature off her chest to between her legs. She stared at a cat and blinked a few times before shutting her eyes and rubbing them. She opened her eyes again to see the cat still there, licking it's paw. "Purrito? My...my baby!" Ellen's voice cracked as she scooped the small Maine Coon cat into her arms and began stroking it's fur. "Where...how...?" Ellen looked around cautiously, even though the sense of familiarity and safety overwhelmed her senses. She was laying on a soft leather couch in the living room of an apartment she had while she was still in medical school. Everything was exactly the same, down to the almost dead cactus in the windowsill that she could never figure out how much to water. Ellen turned and put her feet on the floor before gently placing Purrito on the couch next to her. She stood up and made her way to the extremely large bookcase on the far right wall of the living room. She brushed her fingers over the spines of the various books on the middle shelf. She had quite the collection of very old and rare medical texts that took up the majority of the bookshelf closest to the couch.

Ellen closed her eyes and took a deep breath, tears welling up in her eyes. She could remember it clearly. The smell of burnt wood and smoke filling her nostrils as she was driving home from her last night class. She rounded the corner to her block only to find her apartment building engulfed in flames. Everything she had...everything she owned...gone. She was pulled back to reality, or whatever this was, by a soft mewl and a warm sensation on her right leg. She smiled and looked down, only to be greeted by the brilliant apple green eyes of the cat she had lost in that fire looking up at her. "I was wondering why Dean's eyes look so familiar." Ellen smiled and scratched Purrito's head between his ears. "Still doesn't explain how the hell I'm here. Unless...." "No, you haven't been kidnapped by a djinn." A calm male voice said from behind her. Ellen turned around quickly, backing up against the bookshelf. "Who are you? Where am I?" The man smiled and stood up from his position in the chair next to the window. He was an older black man with soft eyes and salt and pepper scruff on his face. "My name is Joshua. Please," He motioned to the couch. "Come sit down, Ellen." "Joshua? The Angel?" Ellen replied, hesitantly sidestepping toward the couch. He nodded slightly and smiled as Ellen sat down on the far right side of the couch, tucking her legs up underneath her. Ellen exhaled quickly and closed her eyes. "Am I...Is this?" She stuttered. "Yes, you are dead and yes, this is your Heaven." Joshua tilted his head looking at Ellen, as tears began to stream down her face. "Aurriel? I didn't...I didn't survive?" Ellen said between sobs. "No. Being that close to a celestial blast as concentrated as hers caused deterioration on a molecular level. Frankly, I'm surprised you weren't vaporized." Joshua replied as his eyes followed Purrito as he climbed into Ellen's lap. "Are the boys alright? Did they make it?" Ellen said, absently running her fingers through the cat's fur, trying to regain her composure. "Yes. Castiel was able to heal his own wounds and Sam is injured, but they are all alive." Joshua said, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "All thanks to you." "Thanks to me?" Ellen scoffed and shook her head. "I just stabbed the bitch." "Be that as it may, the amount of good you do is unprecedented. You are one of a kind." Joshua replied, leaning forward in his chair. "Thank you." Ellen smiled and nodded. "But...I guess that's done and over with now." She looked down as her smile disappeared. "Ellen," Joshua said, placing his hand on hers. "You are not done." Ellen looked up and furrowed her brow in confusion. "What? I'm dead. How am I not done?" "Your destiny became intertwined with the Winchesters when they started investigating the deaths of your patients." Joshua began, before realizing Ellen was still confused. "Think of it as a detour on the highway you were already travelling on." "Alright." Ellen said, drawing the word out. "The Winchesters have the tenancy to...redirect destiny." Joshua sighed. "Oh, yeah. Lucifer and Michael's vessels and all that fun stuff." Ellen smiled. "I read the books." "Exactly. In this case, it wasn't their destiny they altered. It was yours." He replied. "So I wasn't meant to die?" Ellen asked. Joshua shook his head. "No. Your destiny is much more significant than you realize." "Are all Angels so cryptic?" Ellen shook her head and laughed lightly. "It comes with the job." Joshua smiled. A few moments passed before Ellen shifted her feet and placed them on the floor in front of her, taking a deep breath. "So what do you want from me?" "An answer." "To what?" "We are going to give you a choice. You can either remain in Heaven for an eternity at peace, or we will return you to your body to continue your path. We very rarely will provide a soul this choice, but we cannot make the decision for you as you have already died and deserve to be in Heaven." Joshua rested his arms on his knees and interlaced his fingers together. "If you need a moment to think, I will leave." Ellen blinked for a few moments before drawing in a breath to say something. She raised her eyebrows and shook her head, looking down at the floor and swallowing the thought. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Joshua. My passion is helping people. Whether it's being a shoulder to cry on, giving advice, or stabbing a psychotic soldier angel in the back." She smiled. "I know where my heart truly lies, and as long as there are hunters struggling out there, my work will never be done. My destiny will never be fulfilled. I may be one small person, but if I can change the life or destiny of even one lost soul...it's all worth it." Joshua smiled. "So, Ellen. What is your decision?" "I think you know." Ellen smiled and winked at Joshua.

"Dammit!" Sam yelled as the car came to a stop on the side of the road, about ten minutes after they started their journey to the hospital. Cas had told him that Ellen is dead and her soul has left her body, and there was nothing else anyone could do. Sam flung the passenger's side door open and stepped out, slamming the door behind him. Dean huffed a quiet Oh, boy as he also opened his door and stepped out. "Every time, Dean. Every time we meet someone that does anything good in this terrible world, we get them killed." Sam spat, pacing around behind the car. "Charlie? Kevin? Sarah? Everyone! Those are all on US! If they never met us they would-" "Don't you dare say it, Sam. If they never met us, they would have been dead a long time ago. Ellen chose this. She chose to help us and died a honorable death. It was a hunter's death and she will get a hunter's funeral." Dean said calmly. Sam shook his head and ran a hand down his face before running his fingers through his hair. Sam didn't speak. All he could do was stare at Ellen's lifeless body slumped over in the back seat of the car. He dropped his head and braced his hands on the trunk of the Impala, exhaling sharply. "Sammy, I'm so sorry." Dean said, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Let's get her home." Sam nodded after a few moments and patted the trunk with his hands. Dean stepped away toward the driver's door as Sam slowly walked over to the passenger's side and slid into his seat, giving Dean a solemn nod once he was situated. "Sam...I'm sorry that I-" Cas began. "No...it's okay Cas. You did everything you could." Sam turned and looked at Cas. "Thank you for trying." Cas nodded back at Sam with a sympathetic smile as Dean started the engine and pulled back onto the road. They drove back to the motel in complete silence to pick up their clothes and various personal items they had left. While Dean and Sam cleared out their motel room, Cas had moved Ellen's body so she was sitting with her back against the rear driver's side door and legs stretched out across his lap. He draped a blanket over her to make it appear that she was sleeping. Fifteen minutes later they were back on the highway starting their six hour drive back to the bunker. Sam sat in complete silence, turning off the radio every time Dean had tried to turn it on. Two hours had passed before the silence in the car was broken by Cas groaning and closing his eyes. "You alright back there, Cas?" Dean said, making eye contact with him in the rear view mirror. Cas nodded. "I'm fine. Just sensing a surge in celestial ener-" Ellen lurched forward, opened her eyes, and gasped loudly...taking in a deep breath before breathing fast and hard, looking around. "HOLY MOTHER OF-" Dean jumped, swerving the car into oncoming traffic before quickly correcting himself back into his lane. Sam spun around in his seat at the noise and stared at Ellen, his eyes wide in confusion and still bloodshot from tears. "Ellen?" Sam murmured as Dean pulled off to the side of the road. Ellen made eye contact with Sam, slowing her breathing. She smiled and nodded. "Hi, Sam."