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stusbunker · 5 years

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Known: Hell and Other Delusions

A Supernatural Dark Fan-fiction

Featuring: Dean Winchester x Demon!Reader, Dean Winchester x Female OC

Series Masterlist

A/N: With respect to my readers’ devotion to the show and its story lines, I have included dates relevant to air dates for reference points. I try not to repeat information you already know, but please ask if something doesn’t make sense! xoxo Stu

Warnings: Torture, captivity, demons, smells, pain, blood, bile, possession, hinted potential sexual assault, Slow Burn. Each chapter will have its own warnings, because I am generous like that.

Earth Date: August 16, 2008

Location: Hell, Alastair’s Quarters

“Does it have to smell all the time?” Dean growled as he sucked in a deep breath of the slightly less offensive office air.

“Well, it’s Hell, you see. If we made it aromatic, that would be poor marketing. Wouldn’t you agree Mr. Winchester?” Alastair didn’t look up from his notes, until the last syllable, brows lifted and face unimpressed.

“Your point? Over-promising and under-delivering would be worth it.” Dean muttered, mindlessly playing with the trinkets on one of Alastair’s clinically organized shelves. The Higher Demon sighed and tossed Dean across the room with a flick of his wrist.

“Don’t touch things that aren’t yours, Dean. Didn’t your parents teach you any manners?” Alastair stood and approached the paralyzed soul of his new apprentice. “Oops, I mean that petulant rage-o-holic father and that charcoaled corpse of a mother teach you any manners?”

Dean grunted against the strain of the demon’s strength, his voice stuck in his throat. Alastair glared back, allowing his true eyes to glow with power until Dean stopped struggling.

“You have patients waiting, Dean. Why don’t you scurry along to your post,” Alastair straightened the young man’s collar before patting him on the back, “Wipe that snarl off your face while you’re at it.”

Now that you knew it was him, the soul you had envied and empathized with over years of torture, you couldn’t help but take in his appearance in complex detail. The way his eyes shifted in the harsh light, gold giving way to moss covered teak. His teeth were impossibly straight, though you rarely saw them as Dean stood impassive above you. Light brown hair unchanging from the moment of his death. It was a solid year before you used his name, casually greeting him as he entered. His shoulders hunched, but his face bordered on endearment when he spun to face you.

The softness in his lips and the lines around his eyes were too sacred for this refuse pile. He was easier on the eyes than Alastair, though it hurt to look at Dean like that, even with his faux sincerity, it fluttered long forgotten feelings within you. He didn’t reply but cleared his throat and continued to sort through his tools. There was a crack that broke open in the back recesses of your logic that day, and something like a permeating gas sank through.

You weren’t the only victim who felt the grips of Dean’s rack, never the only one to feel his wrath. You couldn’t keep count of the other souls that filled the expanses of the chain webs, nor the dozens waiting in line for the first-class treatment that Alastair’s minions were renowned for. There was no point, with communication restricted and connection only giving the guards more things to use against you. You began to feel transparent once more, another one of the huddling masses from your former pit. Even among the most vindictive of captors, you were one of many that were carted to their dens, day in and day out.

Until that moment each day when Dean locked eyes on you and you felt all that delicious concentration for as long as you could stand him. Dean had learned over his years behind the blade, observed your tells and triggers, and used them to his every advantage. The choking moans and strangled cries each giving him more ammunition for his arsenal. You fed on the shadows in his eyes, the way they moved and lingered with every whimper that passed your lips.

Dean had started to crave the job as you longed for him to hurt you, to see the glint of his teeth as he grinned at your misery. The warping of your form was imperceptible to his untrained eye, but Alastair sensed its progress from his observation platform. He was nearly as pleased with his student as he was with himself.

Earth Date: September 2, 2008

Location: Bonaventure Cemetery (Outside Savannah, GA)

Chloe Collins cursed her choice in jobs as the clinging, swampy air soaked through her top while she filled the grave. Although the salt-and-burn was ordinary enough, the drive across country had left her restless rather than exhausted. She packed up her supplies in near silence and quickly wheeled onto the Interstate, with no discernible destination.

The weight of the humidity dampened her hair while leaving a sheen to her naturally tanned skin, she tried to ignore the less than subtle once over from the motel desk clerk. As if she could be anymore physically uncomfortable in that moment. She took the old metal key ring and gave him a toothless smile. The shower pressure did little to relieve the tension from her scarred shoulders, but CC used every drop of lukewarm water to wash away the sweat and filth of the last hunt.

Adabelle, GA

Ruby dragged her bag from the backseat of the Impala, sighing at the cliché décor of the patriotic motel. Loyalty to something as fleeting as political structures seemed a waste of initiative, if not all together disappointing to the demon encased in the trim brunette brain-dead woman. She followed the surly hunter she had latched onto into their shared room, curious to see what he possibly had planned for them in this corner of the Bible Belt.

Unfortunately for her, research involving the surrounding haunted sites was Sam Winchester’s primary agenda. Ruby dragged her feet, grabbing food and drinks while casually messing with the local teenagers loitering at the superstore. She smirked at the gawking boys complimenting her ‘cool contacts’ before stumbling out of the way. When she pulled into the motel’s parking lot a voice caught her attention.

“Hey Winchesters, you’re a little late for the case,” a curvy woman called across the parking lot at the Impala, Ruby noticed how the female hunter recoiled at the sight of her crawling out of the driver’s seat. “Oh, sorry, I thought you were somebody else.”

Ruby calculated the risk of confirming the woman’s assumption before she smiled politely. “It’s no problem, the car is kind of a giveaway there’s a Winchester within earshot.” Ruby shifted the bags into one hand, offering to shake hers. “I’m Ruby, Sam’s inside if you want to set him straight.”

“CC, thanks. What about Tweedle Dean?” Damn the innate skepticism, Ruby thought, but her face fell enough to cause the stranger real concern.

“I think you should talk to Sam about that,” Ruby nodded toward the grimy red door.

Earth Date: September 18, 2008

Location: Hell, Pit 2A

It was a cold day in Hell, which was not as uncommon as the phrase would have mortals believe. The biting chill snaked up the chains causing them to moan and freeze beneath the deadly forming icicles. And unlike your living experience, numbness and shock never saved your body from the burn of subzero temperatures. The imaginary needles struck every nerve against the unsuccessful shivering caused by the day’s environmental torture. Dean sat beside your restraining table as you were dragged in for your session.

His eyes rolled over your puckered flesh and frigid lips deciding how to proceed with such a canvas. You felt more exposed than you had in front of him, even more than on the days you were bare naked. His look broke you open, a freshly burst vein of emotion. It felt as if he was listening to your inner most secrets and finding them comically childish. You inhaled against the protest of your ice-lined lungs, ignoring the grubby paws of the demons locking you in place.

Dean circled the end housing your feet, cautious and calculating. He dragged his calloused palm over the crook of your ankle and the plane of your shin, instinctively you shied from the contact. Your toes clenched, and your legs fought against the restraints. As his hand slid over your knee, your mind began to spiral. Dean hadn’t slid into that sort of depravity, even after years yielding the position. You don’t think granting him that pleasure would bring you the sort of twisted satisfaction your periled screams had.

You didn’t notice the screams that broke off in the distance. Nor did you see the reflection of the implement in his free hand. All you could focus on was the weight of his hand on your thigh and the heat of his gaze. You pleaded against the muzzle, the leather and metal stifling your cries. Then the door exploded behind Dean in a shower of blinding light which flooded through the door way, inside out, from a dazzling human-shaped figure. The brass knuckles fell from Dean’s right hand as he gaped at the intruder. As soon as you saw it, your face grew hot, the layers of skin and hair melting away in the heavenly presence. Before you lost your vision, you caught the being’s shining arms grab for Dean.

In the darkness before your remaining brain deteriorated, the truth of what happened came to you on the wind. A victorious overture resonating the liberation of your captive captor. There were tunnels and passages, hidden doors among the rows of barracks which lead through the massive and complex layers of Hell. And while the security around the gates in Wyoming had been tripled and constantly tested since the mass break out that cost them countless souls and certain high-profile demons. Even the ways of Crossroad Demons were limited and utilized by those only deigned fit for teleportation privileges. In short, there was no way it should have happened. No being of darkness knew of the portal or the subsequent means that were taken to secure the extraction. And yet, the Angel Castiel entered the unfathomable depths of the abyss and raised Dean Winchester from perdition.

You awoke to the demanding voices of angry demons all around you. Your eyes had regenerated, which were soon followed by your tongue and lips. As soon as sounds could be formed you howled at your audience, the sheer terror from what you had witnessed, and the uncertainty of Dean’s fate culminating in a wail. The words came eventually, after a swift slap from a childlike demon you had never seen before. The combined rage from the loss of their Righteous Man rumbled the walls, and just as you had recovered, you were atomized once more.

The next morning the shift settled in your essence. You were no longer all soul, somehow a sliver of grey had wedged itself into your being; cracking you wide open.

Earth Date: November 2, 2008

Location: Hell, Alastair’s Quarters

The news was growing concerning, Heaven sinking to their level for an upper hand in a war they hadn’t earned. Hell’s agenda was clear, concise. Those winged light beams were painting targets on their own kind while leaving humanity to rot. Alastair read the messages that littered his inbox, rolling his eyes at the mess. He needed a release, he needed to feel the unparalleled bliss of flailing a soul within an inch of existence. He stood and walked out of the once-meticulous space. He wandered the halls between the various chambers of anguish, listening to the screams, waiting for the perfect call. He had lost his most promising protege, but there would be others. There already were many vying for the favor of the Master of Torture, but none had the passion Alastair expected.

He had a new crop of souls coming up from the lower levels due in any day. Yet, not enough had been turned since the momentum had nearly halted with the incident. It was then, when Alastair worried about the progress and purpose of his students that he heard her. She was like a phoenix, rising from the ashes. Her cruel retorts caused her guard to muzzle her before getting to her appointment. She giggled at the demon’s irritation, humming to herself beneath the strip of tanned hide. All was not lost.

It was a cancer, but like any transformation, the need for change only accelerated the process. Before long the lumps of logic, longing and empathy dwindled until they became cumbersome. The grey matter that had been pierced through you, had enveloped your remaining light. Alastair had taken it upon himself to continue with your daily sessions, stoking the fire of damnation that the loss of Dean and vision of a Heavenly Host had kindled within your soul-psyche. He hadn’t loss any steps during Dean’s tenure.

Alastair carved into you like a miner drove through ore, searching, prying and chipping away at any and all valuables. He hummed when your eyes buzzed in your sockets, the onyx slowly flooding the Scleral tissue. His nasally voice recited all the changes you had undergone, and the awestruck anticipation of what your end results would be. Horns or a tail? Perhaps both. His list of your possible outcomes was as detailed as a spoiled child’s demands to a department store Santa.

Alastair was your gift wrapper and receiver, all in one.

But, like so many people in your human life, he left before he could see the scars, he had left upon you. Before you had blossomed into his reviled creation, Alastair returned to Earth in search of Dean and a girl who could hear Angels. The War for the Seals had escalated, and he was needed in the frays of battle. You took it extremely personally, futilely clinging to the scraps of humanity that remained in tiny pockets of your soul. Telling yourself that he would come back to finish his and Dean’s work. That if you remained microscopically human; your demonization would not complete. That they would be back to finish their job.

That you were not alone.

It was during one of your internal rants while hanging by your ankles below one of the chattering mechanical spiders that you realized Alastair’s last crescendo to your symphony. The feeling of loss and regret you had been wearing since the angel had melted your face was a wound akin to heartbreak. Love. They had given you your greatest torture to date: an unusable devotion to the once more mortal hunter Dean Winchester.

There were (and continue to be) innumerable ways to torture the human soul, emotionally, spiritually, physically. But that knowledge wouldn’t remedy this transgression, couldn’t right or lessen its burden. This unfulfilled longing was the purest form of torture. This blasphemy, this raw human ache was more than your warped being could endure. The frustration, of it stewing alongside the deepening darkness within you, shot through your very existence, burning, churning and scrambling you into something new. Something broken, yet focused. In time, you became fully demonic, raw and unfettered, but not without purpose.

tags: @dontshootmespence @because-imma-lady-assface @mrswhozeewhatsis @smi727 @sassykayla255 @dxr-supernatural-fanfic @supernaturalboi @dumbthotticus @eve05glee @veroinnumera @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @forgettingthoughts @shokushuhime-stuff @fanfictionrecommendations-com @soullesscollection-world @igotdressedthroughthemess @thoughtslikeaminefield

Next Chapter: Hunters

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bananagator · 7 years

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*mysterious person mysteriously appears* Hiya. Wanted to ask something about your OCs: You described Leveni as a Middle-Eastern/Egyptian character. Would you mind describe the other OCs? Just out of curiosity...

*heavy breathing* y-you wanna know about m-my OCs? s-sure!! You can also see some of the character designs here. Not all of them are posted yet, but these are most of the main cast!!

Sam - A baby angel that falls from the heavens and gets adopted. Her white feathered wings are bound with thick glowing chains due to a mysterious, powerful curse. She’s got short, black hair that curves and frames her face. She’s Japanese. Her eyes are brown, and despite her introverted personality, she’s got one hell of a temper.

Sozoshi & Tadashi - Two Japanese bird demon brothers with snow white hair and red eyes. Sozoshi’s hair is worn in a ponytail, and Tadashi’s is shorter with some flair. They each wear matching red scarf-like things around their necks. When they were human, they had brown eyes and lived in poverty and sometimes committed crimes to stay alive. Sozoshi is very quick to anger and overprotective of his little brother, even if he won’t admit it. Tadashi is easy-going, but underneath his innocent exterior is a very dangerous demon. They don’t fully remember their human lives, but in demon years they’re still very young.

Byakko - A Chinese swordsman with long white hair he wears in a ponytail. This unusual hair color is because the spirit of the white tiger ‘King’ resides within him, powers lying dormant. He wandered lands searching for worthy opponents to defeat. In Japan he fought Sam’s mom (a powerful fox spirit) when he disrespectfully stole from her shrine, but as a result lost the use of both legs. Despite his broken spirit, an angel falling from the sky gave him new purpose in life; he’s a very doting husband and father, if a little tactless.

Sam’s mom - An elegant, beautiful fox spirit with long, rich red hair and eyes. Her fur and hair are a source of great pride for her!! She can shape-shift into a huge fox and use spell charms. She paralyzed her future husband in battle, but she helped give purpose to his life again. Although she’s usually playful and slow to anger, she’s unstoppable when roused to fight. She speaks to and commands other foxes to do her will.

“Cluck” - A kid from Sam’s school. He’s Hispanic and has dark black eyes and hair in a mohawk that tends to flop a little on one side and is dyed bright red (like a rooster, hence the nickname). He’s often beaten up by others and treated like a coward, but he won’t fight unless you bring harm to his bird friends (he often keeps birds in his hair) and he’s actually quite strong. He has the power to see the spirits of the dead and tells children who have lost family what their spirits are saying on the Day of the Dead. His two moms are part of a biker gang for “justice.”

Tabris - An angel who was once a noble warrior admired by many. He had beautiful brown hair that curled and glowed golden in the sun. He was captured by demons and tortured until driven mad. Although he was rescued, heaven locked him away in fear. His wings are rainbow colored, though no longer resplendent but like an oily river spill, and his eyes are always shifting different colors. His once beautiful skin has a reptile-like scaly appearance. Despite his mental illnesses and volatile personality, Sam unwittingly finds and frees him from his prison, and as a result, she is the one person he won’t harm. He has a vampire-like thirst for demon blood due to being force-fed the substance in Hell (it’s toxic to non-demonic beings).

Kambara - He’s a single dad who hunts the supernatural!! He’s got dark skin and lives in a swampy region with his little daughter whom he teaches to hunt. She may be really cute and playful but isn’t to be trifled with thanks to her dad’s special training!! They might have part Australian/aboriginal blood, but little is known about them.

Asmodeus - Prince of Hell and demon of lust/gambling. His hair is black at the roots and changes to gold, just like a golden eagle. He always wears a bartender outfit, shades, and gold earrings, but despite his outward charm and good looks, he’s always manipulating other’s desires. He can be downright sadistic and obsessive. However, Asmodeus’s seductive powers don’t work on asexuals, demisexuals, or lesbians, much to his shock. He’s always hosting orgies in hell, but he secretly yearns for an intimate, passionate relationship with someone who can take charge, but all those whom he's taken an interest to want nothing to do with him.

Teddy - He has brown hair that fluffs up in the middle of his head!! He’s a self-appointed supernatural detective and is cheerful (maybe too cheerful) and likes to be nosy. Teddy‘s specialty is wind/floating magic and a sharp gift of “sight.” He’s always wearing sandals. He’s estranged from his father for reasons he doesn’t want to talk about, but he always tries his best to help others in need.

Leveni Karak Ravencroft - Dark black hair shaved into an undercut. They wear golden earrings and a cursed golden necklace that can’t be removed. Very sensitive to supernatural energies. Leveni is generally steady and collected as a counterbalance to Teddy’s frivolous behavior, but has some insecurities about their gender and trusting others. [For More Click Here]

#anon #asks #OC #TGoF #THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING ME ABOUT MY OCS #I WASN'T QUITE SURE IF THIS WAS WHAT YOU WERE LOOKING FOR BUT #I'M SO HAPPY #there are also a bunch of other links in the link i provided so feel free to browse #don't hesitate to send me more questions about my OCs #long post #ramblings #my writing

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