My name is Gray! I use any/all pronouns, but prefer he/they/neopronouns.
I am into a lot of different things. I like to read, write, listen to music, watch Youtube as well as consume content like it's a cup of Dr. Pepper.
I write self-insert stories, fanfictions, draw, create a variety of nerdy things, and am a part of many fandoms (feel free to ask if you're curious).
Feel free to request any stories you'd like for me to write.
Masterlist
I also have an AO3 account if you're interested: Demon_Daemon
Yes:
- Angst
- Platonic
- Romantic
- Family Relationships
- Male/masc. reader
- Trans masc. reader
- Gender neutral reader
No:
- NSFW/Smut
- Underage
- Age gap
- Female/fem. reader
Summary: You and Bucky were both in Hydra, but while he escaped their control, you didn't, and your paths inevitably met again under tense and dangerous circumstances.
Warnings: Violence, weapons, blood, injury, mind control, swearing.
Word Count: 1,703
Notes: This is more from Bucky's perspective of Reader. Reader is Bucky's friend, but their relationship could be read as something more if desired. Sorry for how the ending is, I didn't really know how to wrap it up.
It's been years. Years beyond what Bucky can remember or discern from the many that crowd his memory. He hasn't heard from you, seen you, or even found evidence of your work since he managed to escape Hydra.
Bucky does remember you, though. How could he not? The two of you were friends once upon a time. You, Bucky, and Steve, the unstoppable and inseparable trio. You picked your battles, finished each others' fights, and bought rounds of drinks weekly even though Steve was a light weight. You were lost to his mind when taken by Hydra, but so was the rest of Bucky's world. The last he can account for seeing you, was the mission on the train with Steve, watching you get shot in the leg and shoulder by enemy fire before he fell.
He had always wondered what happened to you after that. If Steve managed to rescue you, if you found someone, if you lived a happy normal life after returning home from the war.
But he doesn't have to wonder anymore. Because standing in the shadows of his apartment, there you are. Blending in as he once did on stealth missions, nearly unseen against the shades. Dressed in black tactical equipment, a gut wrenchingly familiar logo on the shoulder, and a gas mask obscuring the bottom half of your face.
No one alive other than Bucky and Steve would recognize you, but Bucky remembers those eyes. They've stared at him at parties and bars, across drinks and school desks, through rain and snow, watching him when should to shoulder and far apart.
"Y/n?" Bucky's voice isn't loud or quiet, just neutral, out of place even in his own home. He know he should be pulling out a gun, getting ready to fight, but he's stunned. Standing there, looking as he did only a matter of a few years ago.
You don't respond. You just stare at Bucky, your gaze stone, posture rigid but at the same time, ready to spring into action. There's no flicker of recognition in those familiar eyes of yours.
Bucky takes a small step forward as your hardened eyes track his movements. He holds his hands up, showing he holds no weapons. "Y/n, it's me, Bucky." The words and situation feel familiar to him, and he realizes this is what Steve did with him when he found out Bucky was the Winter Soldier.
Bucky wonders what your Hydra name is. He wonders if you're under the same mind control he was. He wonders if you got the super serum, too. Most likely. You're strong enough to survive that awful stuff, both a blessing and a curse in its own ways.
Bucky takes another step forward, and that's when you move. In a blur of movement, you unsheathe your weapon, a simple pistol, and aim it at him. Bucky freezes in place.
"Y/n, you don't have to do what they say," Bucky tries to get through to you. You tilt your head, eyes never leaving him as your gun points steadily at him, aimed towards his heart. "Y/n-"
"Who the hell is Y/n?" Your voice comes out muffled and deeper than he remembers, although you were a younger man then than you are now.
Bucky's heart feels like it skips a beat as your words process. Of course you don't remember who you are, but it still hurts. Hurts that you don't even know who he is, even when you shared so many years together. Now Bucky really understands how Steve felt.
"Your name is Y/n. Mine is Bucky. We're friends," Bucky explains calmly. He itches to move forward, to take the gun from your hand, and just talk, but he can see that won't be happening.
"I don't know you, and I don't have friends," you deadpan, and your finger presses the trigger.
Bucky barely moves out of the way in time. He hears and feels the bullet whistle past him as he lunges to the side, then run towards you. You fire the gun twice more at him, but he blocks the bullets with his metal arm, using it as a shield. Once close enough, Bucky goes for your gun, but you fire again, this time, the bullet grazing his shoulder before he manages to disarm you. Bucky hisses in pain, but you give him no time to recover as you instantly grab your knife from its sheath in one fluid motion.
Even though you've never fought against each other like this, you two fall into what can only be described as a coreographed dance of a fight. Neither or you have a lead over the either. You'll strike at him, and he'll block, only to follow up with a kick or punch that you dodge. Back and forth the two of you go until he manages to knock the knife from your hand.
The moment you lose your second weapon, you reach for another, but Bucky lunges and tackles you to his apartment floor. You barely react as the air is pushed briefly from your lungs. You struggle beneath him, trying to buck him off, kicking wildly. Bucky tries to pin your limbs down, but you punch at him, hitting him square in the jaw before shoving him to the side.
"Fuck!" Bucky swears under her breath. He grabs at your legs, but you just kick him, hitting his nose enough for blood to to gather. Bucky grunts, but quickly gathers himself.
Again, the two of you are standing. You've grabbed your fallen knife and now brandish it at the ready. Bucky raises his fists, ready to fight.
"I don't want to hurt you," Bucky says, shaking his left arm out to get it ready.
You stay silent before rushing at him with the knife. Bucky lets you come before blocking and punching back, but you swap hands with the knife, forcing Bucky to back away. You swing again, forcing him back further, moving more around the apartment. As you lunge forward, Bucky feels his legs hit the kitchen counter. He quickly moves to the side, letting you more forward, and grab your neck, using your momentum to slam your face into the countertop.
You try to swing your body around and escape his grasp, but Bucky slams you back down again, cracking your mask, but it stays intact. You change your grip on your knife and stab it backwards, forcing Bucky to let go of you in order to dodge the blow.
Stumbling slightly, you right yourself. Eyes narrowed, you move to attack once again, blinded by Hydra orders and the uncontrollable determination that Bucky knows all too well.
But he can't think that way. Right now, you aren't Y/n, the man he once knew. You're whoever, whatever, Hydra made you, and Hydra sent you to Bucky with orders to kill. He needs to stop you before either of you get seriously hurt, then he can try to snap you out of Hydra's control just like Steve did with him.
Steeling his resolve, Bucky meets you halfway, grabbing your arm with his metal one and swing you around, throwing you into the dining room table and chairs. He winces as they break and splinter beneath you. He'll have to buy new ones.
The throw barely slows you done, and you're up again. Damn, Bucky forgot how resilient Hydra soldiers are. You swipe several times at Bucky with your knife until he grabs your wrist with his metal arm and twists, forcing you to let go of the knife. It clatters to the floor.
You throw a punch, connecting blows to Bucky's jaw, bleeding nose, and stomach before he pulls a dirty move and knees you in the crotch. You stumble, and Bucky takes that opportunity to throw punches of his own.
Winding back his left arm, metal flexing, he delivers blows to your chest and face. Punch after punch, Bucky loses himself slightly in the violence. He hasn't had a good fight in a while and part of him has missed it.
At some point, Bucky shoves you to the ground, finally managing to pin your limbs with his as he continues to rain punches down upon you. Your mask breaks under one heavy punch, the pieces cracking apart and revealing your face. There's a scar passing over your lips, one that wasn't there the last time he saw you. But that doesn't stop him. Blood soon starts dripping down your face from a definitely broken nose and cracked lips.
What stops Bucky is when, past the blood, you manage to choke out a single word.
"Buck?"
It's quiet and raspy, barely discernable from your struggle to breath from all the blood oozing down your throat, but it makes Bucky pause. He looks down at you, slowly coming back into reality and out of the violent haze that he was spontaneously trapped in, and sees a spark of recognition and familiarity in your eyes.
"Y/n?" Bucky asks, lowering his fists and slightly loosening his grip on you. He tries not to pay attention to your blood that is smeared on both your face and his fists.
Your face screws up in confusion, as if you're battling with something in your mind, perhaps the lack of memories you have. Bucky remembers how difficult it was for him to perceive anything as true after coming out of the mind control, especially if it was about himself.
But he knows you can do it. He knows, remembers, how strong you are from the days you two hung out together as kids, protected Steve from the bullies of New York, and fought on the same side of a war long gone. He'll make up for not knowing what happened to you, for not saving you or finding you when you were both apparently in Hydra.
Bucky will make up, too, for all the pain he caused you tonight when he was just trying to find the old friend he once knew, and stop you from doing something that he knows would crush you if you remembered everything from being an unwilling Hydra soldier just like he does.
Summary: After a mission, unexpected angel overload leaves you on the brink, but Castiel arrives just in time.
Warnings: Injuries, blood, mentioned violence, swearing.
Word Count: 1,533
Notes: Takes place before the apocalypse, during Dean's recruiting era. Reader is the Winchester's long time friend and fellow Hunter. Y/n is used for Reader's name.
For once, among all the demonic activity, angelic interference, and plans to stop impending disasters, you and the Winchester brothers finally have a "normal" job. Just a few stray vampires rampant in the city that the three of you wasted no time in leaving Bobby's house to give chase to in a city only a few hours away.
Unfortunately, it wasn't just a "normal" job like the three of you thought. Well, it was at first. Until the angels caught wind of hunter activity and found you all. The very same angels that want to force Dean into consenting to be Michael's vessel, bring about the apocalypse, and allow Sam to become Lucifer's bitch all for the sake of God's will or whatever.
You don't really have a prime role to play in the whole end of the world, since that honor seems to be reserved strictly for Winchesters. Maybe that's why the angels didn't care what happened to a seemingly random dude, hunter or not. The angels don't have many qualms about what truly happens to humans, just if it follows along with God's plan, what they deem to be fate and destiny.
The angels didn't arrive in their vessel forms like usual. Instead, their true forms lay waiting, showing up gradually as you, Dean, and Sam walked back to the Impala, blood drying on your clothes and knives. You heard their divine voices first, or what you know to be their voices, but sound like endless high-pitched screeching.
They somehow managed to reign in for Dean and Sam, perhaps because of their importance, but not for you.
All three of you simultaneously collapse to your knees, gravel biting sharply through the fabric of your jeans, digging in harshly. Your hands immediately go to cover your ears out of instinct even though they barely block out any of the ear piercing noise. You see Dean and Sam do the same. There's the distant sound of screaming that doesn't match the angelic chorus of knives against chalkboards. You can't tell if it's coming from you or one of the brothers.
The few surrounding lights turn off in a violent crash of sparks as their bulbs explode, glass clattering to the ground. You flinch on the ground, hands pressing tighter to your ears to no avail, ad you're casted in darkness.
But the dark doesn't last long as light quickly begins forming, not from the broken bulbs, but from seemingly everywhere, illuminating the gravel you're curled on, Dean and Sam in similar positions, the Impala waiting patiently only a few yards away, and the trees and buildings where you fought vamps only ten minutes ago.
You realize a little too late what's happening. Too distracted by the noise clawing at your brain, rupturing your eardrums, you fail to realize it's the light angels cast off when they're in their true forms.
Your eyes begin to burn, as if you stuck your lighter aflame straight into your sockets. A hoarse cry leaves your throat and you can tell now that's it's been you screaming this whole time. As the light brightens more, you manage to clamp your eyes shut, pressing them closed with all your might as you shove your hands even firmer against your ears.
Everything hurts. The scratch on your arm where a vampire managed to claw you, the bruises on your knees from falling to the ground, your ears and head that are alight with agony from the neverending cacophony of angelic torture, and your eyes that still feel like they're burning. You curl further into yourself, your shouts drowning in the sheer volume of the angels. Light grows last your eyelids and you wonder how long this will last, how long you've been on the ground, and whether this is where you'll die. The angels have never appeared like this, and you wonder if Dean and Sam are okay.
Then, the light extinguishes, the noise that assaulted you ends, and you're left with a loud static in your brain. Your body hurts and feels numb all at the same time, like your mind can't figure out what happened to it. You feel the gravel pressing against you and realize your body slumped over completely, laying in a ball right on the ground instead of on your knees.
Distantly, you hear the clanging of metal on metal, the sound of flesh being hot and impaled, and familiar shouts, but you can't make out their words. Everything is quiet but for the static in your brain. Oh you just wish that would go away, change the channel, fix the connection.
"Y/n?" A rough, familiar voice says, but you think you're imagining it at first. It's too quiet to be real, it's volume doesn't combat the noise drowning out your thoughts.
"Y/n?!" Another yells, louder this time. You feel your body being shaken, gravel dragging against your skin and your headache flare. Involuntarily, a soft pained groan leaves your throat.
"Gentle," the first voice says. You feel your body being lifted slightly off the ground and laid against something both firm and soft. Much more comfortable than the ground. "The angels had much more of an effect on him than you two," the voice explains. Rough, calloused palms take your hands away from your ears, and you hear a sharp inhale as liquid trickles from your ears. You feel the stickiness of it on your hands. And now that you think about it, you feel it trickling from your nose, too. How long....
"What? Why?" A new voice says, responding to the other, but the voice is not new, you know it, you know them all. They're just too quiet and everything else is too loud.
Careful hands brush the gravel and dust off your body. "Likely because of your importance as true vessels. Y/n does not carry such high regard."
"Fuck," the second voice says. Dean. Which makes the third voice Sam, and the first voice...
Fingers gently pry your eyelids open, and you're surprised when your met with darkness still. There's a dim figure of someone above you, whoever's holding you, but you can't make out any details.
"Y/n," Castiel says.
"Cas?" You whisper, your voice hoarse.
"Yes, it's me. How are you feeling?"
A painful chuckle leaves your lips. "Like shit."
"That would make sense. You did just hear and partly see angels uninhibited. Tell me, can you see?"
"See?" Your voice cuts out. "N-no. A little but not really "
Castiel hums and you hear Dean and Sam erupt in panic and anger. The same fingers that opened your eyes rest on your forehead and you suddenly feel a rush of energy flow through your body. You gasp, your body seizing for a brief moment before your vision clears, returning to fill clarity and the static in your head clears completely, like someone muted the television. You even feel the cut from your earlier fight and the gravel heal, too.
You look up and are met with Castiel's ocean blue eyes staring into yours. Behind him, Dean and Sam stare at you with wide, surprised and relieved eyes.
"Hey guys," you say, your voice no longer hoarse.
"Hey man," Dean sighs. "You had us worried there for a second."
"Longer than a second," Castiel adds. "You were screaming for about two minutes before I arrived then five more as I killed the angels responsible." Castiel looks over you before reaching up and wiping blood away from both of your ears. You look at it in surprised before wiping your nose, staring at your hand I'm shock as you see it stained in blood all over. Your blood. "I'm glad my healing worked," Castiel continues. "Sometimes angelic harm is harder to reverse."
"Thanks, Cas," you say, looking back at him. "Appreciate it a lot. I owe you."
You turn your focus to Sam and Dean. "Are you two okay?"
They both nod. "Yeah," Sam says, "like Castiel said, the angels hit you harder. When they finally took vessels, they tried to target you, but we recovered enough to help Cas fight them off."
Castiel nods. "Yes, without Sam and Dean, I would have been outnumbered seven to one."
"Damn," you mumble. You shift, trying to stretch your sore muscles then realize you're still in Castiel's lap. You murmur apologies as you stand up unsteadily, Sam and Dean snickering at your awkwardness. You send them a glare as Castiel stand beside you, making sure you don't fall over, oblivious to the Winchester's teasing and your slight fluster.
"Are you alright?" Castiel asks.
"Yep!" You says quickly, ignoring Sam and Dean. "Now let's get back on the road! I want to get out of here as soon as possible."
The others nod and you resume walking to the Impala. Your steps are a little unsteady, but Castiel is still by your side, keeping an eye on you. You wonder why he hasn't disappeared yet, flown off to who knows where, but you welcome his presence.
You even help him figure out the seatbelts as you both sit in the back of the Impala, driving off to who knows where next.
Just realized that the reason the Nightmare animatronics-- specifically Nightmare Foxy-- have two sets of teeth is likely because they're the nightmare versions of Crying Child's bullies.
He sees Michael in the Foxy mask all the time. Two sets of teeth. And at night, the fear he has distorts the animatronics and his brother alike.
Summary: You're on the roof. Everything feels like it's led you to have your feet on the edge. You just didn't expect your attending to find you. Or for him to join you.
Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, depression, exhaustion/burnout, stress, hospital setting, and mentions of death.
Word Count: 1,414 words
Your shift had technically ended about half an hour ago, but an infinite amount of paperwork and patients kept you in the emergency room. Walking around like a corpse, your day continued to stretch on, so when you finally had a moment of freedom, you didn't waste it. Your feet guided you before your mind could catch up about where exactly they were taking you, and by the time you realized, you were already standing on the hospital's roof.
It's calm up here. Sure, the city is wide awake despite the late time, with its shouting people and honking cars down below, but it's open and freeing. Taking a deep breath, not minding the faint smell of smoke from who knows where and pollution, you feel more at ease up here than down below cramped between injured patients with holes in their heads or something stabbed through their stomach.
It's not the first time you've found yourself standing at the edge. In both a literal and metaphorical sense. There's been times where you have a patient, and, looking down at them lying on the operating table or a hospital bed, you know there's nothing more you can do. That's one of the worst feelings in the world: knowing that despite years of training, experience, hard work, and pain of your own, you can't save everyone. Not to mention the heart break of the loved ones you have to tell afterwards. There's been times after shifts that you've come up to this very same roof, or the roof of your apartment building, and stood there, looking down at a world who doesn't know you're in it and only delivers you more pain and exhaustion in exchange for sleepless days and nights, no social life, and an insane amount of student debt.
You've given what feels like everything just to have a stable life, but you can even have that it seems. Not when you work in the emergency room. Not when others' lives depend on you. Not when you hold mortality in one hand and your last shred of sanity and happiness in the other.
You take a deep breath as you crawl through the railing and stand on the other side, no longer protected from the dizzying height. You didn't expect to die today, then again, it's not a thing that someone can just tell at any given time. It creeps up on you, like a bug in the dark. Depression and stress over the years will do that to people, including you.
"Dana was looking for you," a voice suddenly says from behind you. You startle slightly, but your grip is secure on the railing. You hadn't even heard the footsteps approach on the concrete behind you. "Didn't really expect to find you up here. Maybe that's why I looked."
You turn around and see none other than your attending standing on the other side of the railing, looking at you with veiled concern. "Hey, Robby," you say casually.
Robby raises an eyebrow. "That's all you have to say?"
"What else am I supposed to say?" You shrug.
"Maybe why you're up here?" Robby asks, leaning on the railing beside you.
"To get a break," you answer. You honestly can't tell if that's the truth or not.
Robby hums and a second later, does the last thing you expected him to. He goes under the railing and joins you on the other side. The wrong side. The side closer to falling, to never making it back inside unless it's as a corpse.
You stare at him with wide, surprised eyes. He looks at you and huffs in amusement. "What?"
"I just didn't expect you to... to be here."
"Well, you aren't the first person to come up here when things get tough," Robby admits, leaning back against the railing. "Although, I didn't expect you to be the next one to enjoy the sights. You've always seemed like the kind of guy to have his shit together."
You exhale a breathy laugh. "Yeah, well, I guess trying to hide everything's working pretty well for me then."
Robby looks at you expectantly, but you have him off. "Nah, I'm not... I'm not going to randomly vent to my attending."
"I wouldn't say this is very random. A lots happened today. I could see that you're exhausted, maybe even more so than the rest of us. If you wanna talk, you can, otherwise, we have social workers available," Robby says, and despite his usual tone, you can tell he's genuinely trying to help you.
You shake your head. "I'm fine. It's nothing. Or maybe it's everything. Nothing really explainable, you know?"
You look out at the city in front of you. It stretches as far as you can see. An infinite numbers of lives, miseries, possibilities, and patients. The night is beautiful but in it await the horrors in the dark, whether it be muggers, accidents, simple mistakes, or a body falling from a rooftop.
You've handled your fair count of suicide attempts in your career, and while you'd hate for your coworkers to handle your own, that excuse isn't working so much anymore.
"I'm just so tired," you whisper, not even sure why you said it or if Robby heard you.
But you know he did, because the next thing he says makes you almost lose your grip on the railing.
"If you want to jump, I'll jump with you."
You whip your head around so quickly to look at your boss, the man who you sometimes see washing tears off his face in the bathroom, who you watch save patient after patient, taking all the hard cases, and not hesitating to tell the family so the others don't have to. You see the way Dana and Abbott watch him, careful, wary, like Robby is one step away from doing something he may regret.
"What?" Your voice is small and meek.
Robby stares straight ahead, as if he didn't just offer to commit suicide with you. "You're a good and capable doctor. This ER needs you. I understand how hard it is to get through the days, I really do," Robby pinches the bridge of his nose, wiping his face with a hand. "And sometimes I want to just let go, too, but this isn't always the answer. But if you really want to, if you know this is what you want to do, then I'll go with you."
You stare at Robby incredulously. "Why?"
"Maybe I need an excuse. Maybe I'm trying to make you rethink this and not jump. Maybe I'm overthinking that you will. Or maybe I just don't want either of us to be alone." Robby shrugs and looks at you. You can see the faint hint of tears in his eyes, like he was either crying earlier or he's trying to not cry now.
You look at your attending, a man who tries to always be fine, but obviously isn't. You knew the moment he showed up behind you just a few minutes ago that you wouldn't be jumping tonight. You aren't capable of putting such a sight, such guilt on another person. And his offer, you'd never take him up on it, and you realize that part of Robby's plan worked. He's trapped you, and maybe also himself by admitting such truths and tying your fates together.
You sigh, taking a deep breath of cold night air. "Best get inside," you say, "it's getting cold. Plus, Dana's probably wondering where we are."
Robby looks at you with a faint smile, a hint of pride in his eyes, and maybe just a tad of disappointment, like he was hoping you'd let him go. But you can't. The ER needs him, too, even more than it needs yourself, despite what Robby said.
The both of you go back to the other side of the railing, now protected from the looming promise of flying out into the city, free of ticket.
You walk back inside with Robby, the two of you silently agreeing not to talk about your conversation on the roof and the reason you both were really up there in the first place. As you reach the ER again, ready to finally clock out with the intent of returning tomorrow, you send Robby one last small smile, hoping he knows he's not alone, whether or not he's standing at the edge of the roof.
Everyone can agree that the scene where Rocky saves Grace is the most stressful and heart wrenching part of the movie.
But also, one of the most visually stereotypically scary, with the lighting effects and suspense.
So, I wondered what it would sound like with horror music. I couldn't find good horror music, so if you have recommendations, please let me know, but I used the song Red Sex.
I feel like Grace was fated to go on the mission from the start of the movie, not because we all knew it would happen, but because of a small hint I noticed.
Grace's raincoat is yellow. Yellow is basically his signature color since he meets Stratt.
